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[WP] One day, everyone mysteriously receives a document which contains the information about their past lives. Suddenly, you have a bounty on your head and many people are trying to hunt you down.
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It's funny to think that I swore when the envelope materialized on my table.
I mean, it's understandable. When an object suddenly appears out of thin air, swearing's a natural reaction. And so is jumping, which is why my flailing hand knocked a full cup of coffee all over it. I picked up that envelope, dripping and unreadable, and tossed it in the bin. Only paper. I didn't know, back then, just how much damage paper can do.
My reminiscence is cut short by the distant screams. The envelope was unnecessary, in a way – when people see you, they just *know*. They see who you were. They know what you did.
I only wish someone would take the time to enlighten *me*.
They're hunting me, you see. Oh, the mob will pause to slice up any reincarnated evil they come across – the famous ones, at any rate – but that first scrape of a pitchfork against my back made it quite clear who they're after.
It's bleeding a little. Leaving a trail. I've scrambled up to a rooftop, and I know it's not the best hiding place in the world, but I'm tired of running. There's the emptiness of the cold stars above, and there's my blood trickling down to pool against the chimney, and there's the howls of the mob, growing closer. None of them matter to me.
"Who was I?" I whisper. Hitler? Stalin? A murderer, a torturer, a thief? The possibilities are endless. It's strange, though; I try to be good. Always, I try to be good.
The screams and yells are so close now. They must be just outside the building, below me, only separated from me by a few metres of air. I catch the scent of smoke, of burnt flesh, and huddle lower on the roof.
Strange things often happen to me. Not like this, though. Never like this. I want to sit every single one of them down with a cup of tea and hear why they're so angry, so afraid. I want them to tell me who I was.
"He's on the roof!" a voice yells, thick with fury.
With no options left, I stand. Stars above. Blood down my back. Upturned faces all focused on me, like I'm some kind of bizarre superstar about to break into song.
"Quiet," I tell them. Miraculously, they quiet. Their faces are still contorted, though – some mixture of fear and rage, some sort of disillusionment. What did I do to them, before I was born?
I search the crowd for a leader. There is none. Men and women, children and wizened old bodies – they all stand alike against me. Suits and rags. Every colour and creed. Strange that it took hatred to unite them.
"Well?" I ask. "Who am I?"
They look at each other, shuffling their feet. Nobody seems to want to be the one to say it.
A man steps forward. He's fresh-faced, young, scrubbed clean. "You're an imposter!" he yells. "You're someone who's *not* dead. Who'll never be dead. You're a fraud."
Someone else raises a fist. "You never existed!"
The words come all at once then, as though these accusations have released a dam and given every person their leave to speak. They scream their explanations, red-faced, and though they're out for blood, I can't find it in myself to be angry. Their protests are like the yells of infants denied some long-awaited treat. Only children. Prone to mistakes. Not harmless, no, but with a sort of innocence. It's touching that they found me so important.
"Oh," I say. "I think... Yes, maybe I do know who I am." Nobody hears me in the fray.
Shrieks. Chaos. They swarm onto the roof and grab hold of my arms.
Somebody shoves me, hard. It's the fresh-faced boy from before, the first to speak. His eyes are wet with tears.
"If you really think you're –" He stops, stumbling over the name. "If you think you are – who you think you are, then maybe we should give you a fitting ending, huh? Find some wood." He gestures wildly at the crowd and they scatter, searching for something, heads low like bloodhounds. "Find me some damn wood."
"I don't think I'm anything," I tell him, my voice low and quiet. "You're the one making claims on who I used to be."
"You weren't," he says, and tries to shove me again, but ends up clinging to my shirt like a baby monkey, chest heaving in shuddering sobs. "You *weren't*. He's not dead."
I try to pat his shoulder, but the crowd have brought him his wood and he pulls away from me, suddenly a man again. Chest out. Tears wiped on his shoulder – just sweat, don't mind me, boys. Chin up. Taking the wood from them. Taking off his belt, using it to clumsily bind the two pieces together...
It's not a great job. *He's* no carpenter. It will suffice, though – I can see that much. There's no getting away.
A little girl runs up with a fistful of nails, proffers them to the boy with a smile and a nod of her head. Someone else has already got hold of a hammer.
"Jesus Christ," I whisper.
He turns on me then, eyes blazing, and for the first time I notice the lump of a cross beneath his shirt.
"Don't say it," he snarls, "Imposter – don't you say it..."
And the crowd roars and the stars shine on, and they put metal through my hands and metal in my feet. And some of them do it because they wanted me to exist and I don't. And some of them do it because they didn't want me to exist and I do. But their anger unites them and there is nothing I can do – I'm just a man, a man who spilled coffee on an envelope and didn't know enough to run away. The past is gone. There is no magic in my fingertips.
But the last thing I see is the desperate snarl of the fresh-faced boy and I whisper a blessing, just in case.
***
Links to all my writing on and off reddit can be found over at [r/OnlineFic](https://www.reddit.com/r/onlinefic)
|
I was so excited when the announcement was made. Everyone was going to learn about their previous lives. Maybe I was a jester. Maybe I was nobility. Today was going to be the day that I found out. To be honest, I did find out. It just isn’t what I expected.
Fifty-five million civilian casualties. All my fault. I am literally Hitler. Come to think of it, I have always had this strange feeling while learning about World War II in high school. It felt so… familiar. Like I had already lived it. It horrified me that there had once been a man that was so crooked, so racist that he systematically killed off millions of people. Not even because they were his enemies, well, he did that too, but because they were Jewish.
To think that I have somehow been responsible for this all absolutely wrecks me. Somewhere deep inside me lives the evilest man to have ever lived. I would want to live a better life, but I can’t ever make up for tens of millions of lives. No single human being can do any such thing.
I know I will pass this guilt onto yet another person. I just hope they won’t have to learn about their past life. If they do, I truly feel sorry for laying this burden on them.
Mom, dad, if you read this, I’m sorry for the mess.
I will always love you,
Daniel
| 2016-09-02T15:37:53 | 2016-09-02T13:49:48 | 24 | 10 |
[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."
|
"You're going to have to say that again, because I have no idea what in the fuck you're trying to say," I inform the sparkling conversationalist that just conversed in little more than grunts and growls.
"Nobody's spoken that language in thousands of years," the young man behind the counter informs me, seemingly confused as to how I didn't understand him the first time.
"Cool, can I get my food now?" I ask, impatiently. I really don't want to get mixed up in anything today.
"I don't think you understand - that language? It's more than dead. It's extinct. How do you know it?"
I pinch the bridge of my nose with an exasperated sigh. It's damn near midnight, and I don't feel like going through the whole process of explaining my "skill".
"Congratulations; I don't care. Can I get my food now?"
"Not until you tell me how you know that language," he hisses at me. "My family have kept that language alive, but secret, for generations."
"Well, then, it's not very extinct, is it?" I lean against the counter, the exhaustion of the day catching up with me. "Look, man - I just have this ability, to speak the native language of whoever I speak to. Can't understand it, but it just comes out of my mouth. It's useful in a traffic jam, but that's about it." I yawn, my eyes drifting shut as I feel myself growing even more tired. "So I don't know your fuckin bullshit language - I just want some food."
"I don't believe you."
"Once again, I do not care. My food, please."
He purses his lips and completes the transaction. Finally!
After waiting for what feels like an eternity, I finally get my tray of food, and simply nod to the cashier as I head over to the closest empty table. Being the only customer in here, it's not hard to find one.
Before I even have a chance to eat, my newfound irritation sits down across from me. I close my eyes, and take a deep breath. "Look, can I just enjoy my food in peace?" Taking another look at my burger, I mutter to myself, "okay, maybe 'enjoy' is pushing it..."
"If what you told me about your ability is true, then we could use your help - there's a word we've lost, a very important word. The only word left unknown in the language, in fact." He leans forward a bit. "And it's the word that opens an ancient safe, in which who knows what kind of riches are stored. If you help me open it, I'll give you some of it."
I stare at him, the cogs working in my tired brain. Eventually, I decide to just humor him - after all, money is money. "I'll open it, so long as I don't have to speak to anyone else in your family."
He nods, and I sigh as I quickly scarf down my food. We head outside, exchanging no conversation whatsoever, and share a quiet car ride to his home. It doesn't take very long to get there.
It's an old house - maybe seventy years old, judging by the area and the style of the design.
He leads me to a shed behind the house, and opens it with a key from his belt.
"This better be a decent amount of money, because you're probably very fired right about now," I mutter. He chuckles at that, and silently opens the doors, letting enough moonlight in for me to see the single box on a small table. It looks like it's steel, and it doesn't seem to have any seams at all.
"It's a code - and we know all the numbers in it, expect the zero. We don't know what that translates to. The code is just the numbers one to nine, and then zero. Could you say that, and maybe your ability will automatically translate it?"
I nod, and approach it while clearing my throat. I speak as if I'm speaking to him - I don't know what the limits of my ability are in terms of just speaking aloud to nobody in particular. I list one to nine, and, my heart pounding and nerves on edge despite how tired I am, I say the final number: zero.
As soon as I say it, my throat feels like it's on fire. I fall to me knees, coughing and hacking, and feeling as if I'm going to die. Tears come to my eyes, and I feel something coming out of my throat - not through my esophagus, as if I'm vomiting, but my trachea. It's painful, but I don't think it's causing any kind of damage.
One huge cough brings with it the cessation of pain, and the sound of metal falling onto wood. I open my eyes in confusion, and see I've coughed up a metal disk of some sort.
"What the fuck - what is this!?" I exclaim, confused and a bit scared. I look over at my new "friend". "What happened!?"
He looks pale, and just as confused as I am. "Y-you're speaking English now," he informs me. I look back down at the disk, even more confused than before. I frown, not really understanding what in the hell is going on.
Regardless, I wordlessly follow a faint instinct. I pick up the disk, stand, and press it against the cube.
The disk is immediately absorbed into its mass, and I jump as a loud mechanical clunk echoes throughout the shed. Whirring and mechanical sounds persist, and I faintly hear a door open and confused voices approaching the shed. I swallow back fear and look up at...
"I never got your name," I announce. It seems so trivial to think of, while a solid cube makes otherwordly sounds. But it's all I can think about, oddly enough.
"William," he introduces himself. "You?"
"Simon," I reply. I return my attention to the cube as the sound suddenly stops, and become acutely aware of people watching me from the doorway. I hear William explaining stuff to the new observers, but find myself captivated as the cube slowly opens, transforming in ways that shouldn't be physically possible.
Out of it comes a single, glowing stone. Despite my better judgement, I reach out to pick it up.
"No!" Someone behind me exclaims. It's too late - even as they grab my shoulder, my hand has closed around the enigmatic treasure. I feel a sudden surge of energy, and my vision goes white. I feel myself fall to the floor, and then - nothing.
|
"Hey thanks, I hope you have a good afternoon"
The swirling void took me by surprise, really. The crimson red eyes of the cashier, not so much. I'd seen it before, I thought. Glimpses and glances, really; bad punctuation as a coda to the overbearing sentence of ordering a Whopper.
"We don't sssserve Whoppers," she hissed, hissingly. She was a she. And she didn't like what she heard.
The tail hadn't struck my eyes, but now it was striking my face. In a very feminine, demonic way at McDonald's. I thought about all the times I'd made children smile with a wink, a nod, an utterance I barely understood in a language I must have butchered around the world. Airports, ESL classes, daycares... something had always touched me.
It was too late though. The room melted away like guess on an SAT analogy I'd glazed over. Never enough time. Never enough time.
A feminine body curled snakishly and femininely atop me, a forked tongue darted in and out, the sound a hiss but the words I heard:
"If you 'Go Looking' for your Lovecraft book in the ball pit again I'm calling the fucking cops."
| 2018-06-24T21:55:57 | 2018-06-24T21:01:01 | 80 | 20 |
[WP] You wake up in a world of anthropomorphic animals. Unfortunately for you, you quickly discover every major religion in this world contains humans in some way, shape, or form
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the very last thing I remember, I was late for work. I rushed out past my lazy roommate, down the stairs, and through the door of my apartment building. as I made a mad dash down the sidewalk, I tripped on a lip. I had lodged several complaints to the city, that it was a hazard, 'we'll be sure to take a look at that, the lady on the phone said emptily, with the personality of a dry mop. as I came tumbling down, in the middle of the street, the last thing I heard was the blaring horn from an incoming moving truck, and then a white light.
when I awoke, everything was different. the sounds of bustling traffic were replaced by the chirping of birds, and the rustling of wind as it blew through the trees. the strange odor that always seemed to emanate the New York city street, replaced by the sweet aroma of spring flowers. I rose up, and I felt a sudden throbbing pain in my head as if I had struck an invisible ceiling above me. wincing from the sudden pain, I slowly opened my eyes as the throbbing slowly faded.
around me, was a green clearing surrounded by large oak trees. a field of what looked like a mix of Indian paintbrushes and bluebonnets surrounded me. the mix of orange and blue created a beautiful painterly effect in the meadow. I got up to my feet,
"Where am I?" I wondered aloud, "is... is this heaven? am I dead!?"
As the realization came, I heard a sharp gasp pierce the silence. I turned around, and nearly jumped back from fright, I wasn't the only one here, except, what stood before me, wasn't quite human. in fact, I didn't think it was human at all, except that it stood on its hind legs.
it had a wolflike head, from the ears right down to the snout, its fur was a light gray color but mostly covered up by what appeared to be farmer's clothing, a loose-fitting white shirt, strapped at the waist by a brown leather belt. it even had a straw hat, with holes fitted to it, which its ears poked out of. in its hand- erm, paw, was a metal pitchfork, aimed right at me. 'i had better find a way out of this I thought, 'i don't want to die twice in one day.'
"um, hi!" I said in my friendliest voice, "I... don't know where I am, could... you help me find my way?" why did I ask the weird wolf-thing that!? that was stupid!
"Na'rook mow Kim Talak!" It yelled, voice trembling. as he fell backwards and into a run.
if he ran that way, then there must be civilization. I don't know what id do if I found it, but it's better than just staying here. that's for sure.'
​
civilization I found alright, a bustling village full of the weird, wolflings. walking along the dirt paths of the town, performing various bouts of manual labor. some wore similar clothes to the one he saw before, some wore aprons and held hammers in their hands, others wore olive green cloaks and had swords on their hips. one of them even had a full suit of what looked like metal armor that was shaped to fit the wolfling anatomy.
'well let's see what I can do' i thought.
I approached the village, and as the various wolflings noticed me, they all got this terrified look on their faces and darted away. each of them shouting something to do with the, 'Kim Talak'. one of them didn't run from me however, the armored wolfling approached me, sword drawn, backed up by two of the ones in green cloaks.
"Hi guys!" I said calmly, "I know you probably don't understand me. but i am... *very* lost right now. so on the off chance, you all know what I'm saying, can someone please point me towards new york city?"
they remained silent.
"New York? the big apple? Manhattan? the place with all the douchebags and the rats the size of dogs? ring a bell?"
again silent.
"**NEW YO-**"
"Ni'hil makhat lo maleek ko'nakal!" said the armored one, his voice was deep and rough, "nuumik to nai manu ka Kim Talak!"
the other two then howled in unison, and advanced toward me, the armored one signalled, and the other two stopped.
"No ta... Ai Kim Talak mo kip mi"
he raised his blade and swung it, I dodged swiftly, falling to the ground."FUCK!" I expleted, as I scrambled away from the wolfling. as I returned to my feet, i dashed into the woods.
"fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck" I repeated out loud as I weaved through branches, jumped over exposed tree roots, and avoided ramming into a terrified wolfing mother. all while I heard shouting, and the buzzing of arrows, followed by the thud of them hitting the trees near me. unfortunately, my safety didn't last long, as I felt a searing pain in my left thigh. "FUCK!" I called out again. looking down I saw a long wooden arrow piercing my leg, blood gushing from the fresh wound. I was slowed, but I didn't stop, I limped through the forest, across a stream, over a rock, through a group of startled ravens, and finally, after I had been sure I lost my pursuers, I dove behind a rock.
I again examined my wound, it wasn't bleeding anymore, but i needed to do something about the oak shaft protruding from my leg. 'what is it they do in movies again?' i thought to myself. "oh yeah!" I exclaimed as I reached for the shaft, gripping it tightly at the point where it enters my thigh; I apply as much force as i can, and voila, one broken arrow shaft, which i promptly toss away.
"now to figure out what to do next;" I said to myself.
a branch snapped next to me, the sound of an arrow being drawn rung in my ear, as I felt the cold stone head press against my neck.
"Don't move" I heard a voice say... in English.
|
I am a god.
Growing up I always hated going to church. I hated the idea of worshipping a higher being. Like, maybe there is a higher being or creator, but how egotistical does he have to be do demand worship?
I finally understand.
I wasn't born a god way, of course, I was some nobody from Kansas who sat at a computer all day. But these animals, they love me. They don't see the loser who could never do anything right, who couldn't even get laid. They don't even acknowledge my flaws. They love me more for every action I take. It doesn't matter how much I mess up, they still worship me. It's addicting.
I could flood their world and they'd still adore me. I could proclaim the lions as my chosen people and have them slaughter the rest and everyone would still worship me. I could demand that they mutilate their children at birth and they'd adore me. I could kill their spouses and children, they'd still sing my praise. No matter how many more I kill, I will always rule them. And long after I die, they'll slaughter each other to ensure that my name is revered for generations.
I am a god.
| 2022-04-03T00:36:03 | 2022-04-03T00:28:46 | 171 | 43 |
[WP] When you’re 28, science discovers a drug that stops all effects of aging, creating immortality. Your government decides to give the drug to all citizens under 26, but you and the rest of the “Lost Generations” are deemed too high-risk. When you’re 85, the side effects are finally discovered.
|
"Dang it John stop day dreaming and help me!" Adam wheezes through clenched theeth. ak as I pickup trusted Betsy. She's been with me for years now, trusted old shotgun. Load a fresh shell and hobble towards the windows. Of course bars make it hard to see, but you can still shoot out of them.
"Hey John remember when it was just a simple day in the retirement home?" Adam says while walking towards my room loading his faithful bolt action.
"I don't remember too much these days, with how many years we ran out of meds. I do remember you still owe me ten bucks." I tease back.
"You keep switching it, you owe me twenty bucks and a pack of cigs darn it!" Adam starts peppering the hoard outside.
The magic shot, the immortality shot, forever young shot. All these words are now curses. We all sort of remember when it came out. Nearly all of us old timers can sort of think of the past.
The magic drug that allows one to never get old, boy how wrong and right that was. They never told you the side effects of course. Those blasted scientists only saw the green paper it made. Of course the oh so minor problem was ignored. It was a such a great promise for those who could take it. Immortality, to never age. As well as a huge side bonus of extreme regeneration. No one ever wanted to know the cost of course.
What seemed like a minor glitch which everyone laughed off snow balled to ugly proportions. For immortality and nearly never being able to die, other then mass damage to the brain of course, you would just have a slight case of needing more meat. Just a little of course. That's how it always started, that slippery slope. Always that slight nudge in the wrong direction costs oh so dearly.
The side effects? You hunger, more and more for meat. They said it was just that the body needed more protein to balance out the after effects. Yea effects that kept getting higher and higher while no one noticed. It of course started small, two hamburgers when before you could barley eat one. Five hamburgers became the norm for a sit down. Prices of meat started to rise, started? It sky rocketed to huge numbers. When a 10 year old would devour his weight in meat, there was a problem. Then the question, what happened when meat got scares? Now the real effects showed. The hunger it seems was larger and larger until all rationality was driven clear of the poor person.
At first all the animals were targeted... but after they ate all those they started looking for mature meat. Human meat. Old people meat.
Who would guess that retirement homes would become bunkers. Once we pulled all the children we could in we hunkered down. People hoped that if they couldn't get enough meat they would just burn themselves out. Such an empty hope. We call them skinnies now. Easy to spot of course, having no hair and gaunt looks. You might mistake them for just a starving person. That would be the last mistake someone made. They seem small and weak, but they have some crazy strength, and they don't relent.
Everyone always asks, where is the government for this. They had been the first to go. As they got the shots two years earlier then the public. The irony the first to go looked the sharpest cloths.
Part 2
It didn't help that those in power used that power to hoard up all the meat which was left. The other larger problem was that all the egg heads and doctors had been on the second wave, the young ones of course. The older ones ended up all retiring and then kicking the bucket. Leaving the check to us "younger" oldies.
They of course as well figured out what was going on ahead of time. In hind sight the wars we had where just a prelude to the real war. The war to live. Us olddies didn't get much warning, but at the very least because the government pushed us to the side it might have saved us. Far enough away from the cities but close enough for a bit of food. When the walls fell the cities got hit the hardest. I can't even remember how touch in go things got back then.
It took some time to figure things out. Trying to get a hold of what was going on and how to get around them. Laud noises was always the best, but it also caused more to come. Cell phones had been a great boon leave one somewhere and call it they would rush over to that location, but those stopped working when no one was around to run things. Power? Yea that was still somewhat here or there, but power generators made a load of noise which again pulled the skinnies to the location. It wasn't normally worth the risk, but sometimes you would still need to get info out, and lucky for us ham radios still worked. Who would have thought classic tech would come back in style?
The problem of course was food, with no animals around meat was far harder to come by.
"Dang it John stop day dreaming and help me!" Adam wheezes through clenched teeth.
"Oh sorry started to day dream there for a bit, next cig is on me." I hurry as my old bones creek to push the table over the window with Adam.
The sound of fighting can be heard all over the old bunk. It seems the search party prodded a nasty bee's nest.
"It's going to be worth it, they found a truck with half a pallet of cat food. It might even be still good. I was just coming back from getting the kids into the safe room when the skinnies got spotted." Adam huffs as we finish fixing the window with the make shift table. Normally we wouldn't block the window, but this one's bars got bent from a mean tall skinnie. He's still smacking his lips at us, not worth the shells now that he's stuck.
I use to hate the cafeteria, they always gave us bland food there. Now it's the safest place as the kitchen is made out of concrete.
"John let's go we need to find out what's happening in the west side, there might be a breach." Adam hobbles off yelling back at me.
I miss the good old days of just sitting and sleeping, at least then you didn't have to worry about some person coming up and nibbling parts off you. We are at least lucky, some other old homes didn't have any vets around and just folded over after the breakout. I suppose it could be worse, we had a school trip visiting us oldies when the walls fell. Otherwise these young kids would have been and a dire straight. I shudder thinking about it.
|
My back aches. My knee’s gone funny somehow- I now use a cane to go about my day. Four legs to two legs to three legs. The good ol’ riddle. But the people around me, all puppy fat and doe eyes, they’ve gone the other way. Memories like grains of sand. I doubt there’s any thought left in those pretty little heads. Heh.
The streets are crowded today. I pass through a crowd of immortals, laughing at thin air. Their heads are thrown back, and I see a gleam of pearly teeth. I knock a few ankles aside with my cane. A couple of them call me stupid. The others, wide-eyed, gasp and cover their mouths. As I pass, I hear the word scattered among peals of childlike laughter. I don’t look back.
Sometimes, I wonder what would’ve happened if I was two years younger. If I was brave and lionhearted, and stole the serum. If I wouldn’t feel these aches. If my friends were around me, laughing and talking again. My cane bumps into the doorstep of my home. We thump out an unsteady rhythm together, the cane and I. The keys are in my right pocket. They jingle as I fish it out. The key is turned, and we limp in.
‘Honey,’ I call out, waving a wrinkled hand, and a radiant figure turns around from her seat at the dinner table, young and forever beautiful, ‘I’m home!’
 
Critiques welcome!
| 2018-06-04T22:08:40 | 2018-06-04T20:51:56 | 65 | 45 |
[WP] Your cat is literally Satan. You've learned to live with him, but this Friday you've got a date coming over.
[WP] Your cat is literally Satan. You've learned to live with him, but this Friday you've got a date coming over
|
"Mallory, what are you doing?"
Mal stopped scrubbing the toilet just long enough to side-eye the little beast beside her.
"Cleaning," she said.
The kitten blinked its orange eyes once, very slowly.
"Yes, dear," he said with patient contempt, "that much is quite obvious."
"Was it?" She dumped the toilet brush in its plastic container and stood to wash her hands.
"Mallory, *why* are you cleaning the toilet?"
She turned off the sink faucet and flicked the water off her hands, taking care to send a spray of droplets in the direction of her fluffy companion.
He twitched, but otherwise said nothing, staring up at her with blank expectation.
Mal grit her teeth and started towards the kitchen.
"Because it's dirty," she said. She looked up at the clock. 5:15. She had a little more than an hour. Shit. Her stomach was already tying itself up into knots. She need to figure out how to handle this, and she needed to do it fast.
She also needed to clean the kitchen.
She ducked under the sink to sift through her collection of almost-empty cleaning supplies and settled on a foamy bottle of Windex.
A deep, feral growl rumbled through the kitchen, rattling the cabinets. Mal turned, holding the Windex like a weapon, aimed directly at the kitten who was now perched on her countertop.
"Put that down," he commanded, his voice far larger than his tiny form.
"Use your inside voice," Mal replied.
Orange eyes narrowed. A moment of tension stretched between them.
The rumbling growl faded. Mal sighed.
"I would appreciate a straight answer," the cat said.
"Yeah, I bet you would," Mal replied. "Funny, how you always want a straight answer from me, but you seem incapable of giving them, yourself."
He lifted his chin. "Perhaps you simply do not know the right questions to ask?"
Could she put him away somewhere? But where? He had escaped from the cat carrier three times, already. Shoeboxes were easy prey; he enjoyed wreaking utter destruction upon them. He even knew how to open doors, for Christ's sake. *Locked* doors.
Mal turned away and started wiping down the kitchen counters. She needed time to think.
"Yeah, well, neither do you," she muttered.
Tiny, vicious claws pricked her skin as a ball of fluff materialized on her shoulder.
"Apparently not," he said with a huff of amusement. "How about this, then: you tell me what's going on, and I'll give you a real answer to a question of your choice."
Maybe the crisper drawer in the fridge would hold him for a while?
"Three," she said aloud. "I tell you what's going on, and you answer any *three* questions, straight up."
He dug his claws a little bit deeper into her flesh. Mal did not wince.
"Two," he snapped.
"Three, and I'll give you pinch of catnip."
"And I want wet food for dinner," the cat said, his voice shadowed by a faint purr. "The beef flavor, the one with the cheese in it!"
"All of that, plus I'll turn on the heated blanket," Mal said, reaching up to rub the soft, downy white fur on the top of the kitten's head. His claws retracted, and the pain disappeared. "But I want you to promise you'll behave, tonight."
Orange eyes widened.
"I always behave!" he said with an indignant squeak.
"Promise me, little demon."
He batted her face playfully with his tiny white paw.
"You just wait until I'm freed from this form, darling," he said. "I'll show you *little*."
"Your word, cat."
The little beast sighed. "Very well. I hereby bind myself to the terms of our agreement. I will answer three of Mallory's questions, in full and without deception or misdirection, and I will behave myself for the remainder of the evening." His words echoed, vibrating through the air as he intoned them with his power, signifying a binding contract. "Happy?"
"Yes," Mal said with a smile.
"Good. Now, tell me what's going on. Please."
Mal picked him up and settled him in the crook of her arm, carrying him up the stairs and into the bedroom.
"I have a date," she said as she switched on the electric blanket on her bed.
He went very still in her arms.
"You have a *what*?"
"A date," Mal said, setting the cat onto the blanket. "His name is Lee. I met him at work. I'm making us dinner and then we're going to watch a movie. And you are going to stay up here, all night, without making a sound, just like you promised."
Every hair on the kitten's body stood on end, puffing him up like a furry, angry marshmallow.
"I never promised to be quiet," he said mutinously.
"You promised to behave," Mal replied, her voice calm. "You are bound to me by your word. I am clarifying the contract."
"Why you... you scheming little witch!" He pounced on her, gnawing on the sleeve of her jacket like it was his favorite mouse toy. "I'll... grnff... get you back... frrfffll... for this!"
Mal reached into her desk drawer and pulled out a small plastic bag. She grabbed a pinch of the dried, green substance within and sprinkled it onto her little demon-cat's nose.
The change was instantaneous. He opened his eyes, blinked a few times, and released his death-grip on her arm, arching his back in a leisurely stretch and licking his paw to avoid having to meet her eyes.
"Sorry about that, love," he purred. "My temper got the better of me for a moment."
"It's okay," Mal said, smiling as she popped open a can of wet food and set it on the desk. "So long as you don't try to eat me once you're freed from your tiny, furry prison."
The little devil laughed. "You have my word on that, Mallory."
Mal nodded and turned to head back downstairs. As she closed the bedroom door behind her, she heard a purring voice murmur:
"I would never harm my favorite pet."
|
It's not easy living with an incarnation of evil, but I had gotten used to it. When he meows at your door in the middle of the night, you make sure the iron seals are in place. When he makes a mess, a spray gun filled with holy water will do. And when he starts coughing up a hairball, you call the CDC. But my trouble tonight was not something I knew how to handle.
"Morning, here morning!" I called. The lightbringer came to me.
"WHAT DO YOU DESIRE, MORTAL?"
"Look man. I've dealt with you for years. I just want to call in a favor."
"ANYTHING, FOR A PRICE."
"I have a date coming over tonight, and I don't want any satan stuff. No souls bursting out of the bathroom. No making bets with the Almighty about whether I truly love him, nothing like that."
"A REQUEST SUCH AS THAT REQUIRES SACRIFICE. WHAT DO YOU OFFER?"
"Meow mix, a belly rub and I'll break out the laser pen."
You could tell he was considering it because the screams of the damned stopped for a second.
"DEAL."
| 2016-02-22T08:18:56 | 2016-02-22T05:36:17 | 1,336 | 594 |
[WP] There's a saying among the galactic community. "Never hire a human"... you just hired 200 of them. And you're about to find out why that saying exists.
|
"Never hire a human," the old saying goes.
"They're a volatile bunch. Surviving all that war and all those atrocities changed something in them. They don't play well with others."
My father always said that. Our mercenary company was well-known throughout the cluster. Any job with good pay and a high risk of death or dismemberment was our thing. That meant that we had a high attrition rate. Usually lose a couple redshirts every mission, which meant after awhile it became hard to replace the rookies.
After a couple of jobs got caught in the proverbial event horizon, we were up the Malcarex without a sonic speargun. We needed new blood, bad. They had to be a little nuts to join up with us now.
The humans had that in spades. A seed ship with about 200 of them, coming from Titan, contacted us. They were looking for a home away from home. They were all battle-tested and just needed to get out of Sol. Now, Titan's a prison colony. These guys were definitely escaped prisoners on a jacked seedship looking to escape human "justice", likely in the form of a Ravager-class battlecruiser with a few shiny ion cannons and a recovery crew of the genemodded psychopaths they call their police force.
"Fine, I need new blood for my crew anyway. We'll take you in. Equal cuts of the take for everybody after your third mission, and you can bunk in the rookie quarters. They're cramped, but it's better than a damn colony skip-jack any day."
Cut to a few weeks later. They were a motley crew. Kept to themselves though. I got the impression they were a xenophobic bunch. Still, they handled the first two missions well. A hit on a senior Thraxian military official and his personal guard went well. No casualties, targets eliminated and we managed to get to his personal safe in time to steal what was left of his personal accounts.
Same for the second mission. Corporation war. Blew up a station with core-mounted charges and made sure their electronic records were transferred to us. Managed to sell 500.000 credits of somebody else's stock on top of the bonus for "liquidating" their other assets.
Third mission was a nasty one. I hated these runs. Colony raid on an outlying human settlement. We were supposed to leave no survivors. The Bal-garrack Empire claimed that land as an ancestral tomb world from their early space age days, and they wanted it back. Wanted to send a message too.
Well, we touched down with the whole lot of the human contingent in tow, along with a few of the other vets. Figured humans wouldn't mind dusting a few other humans. None of the rest of the crew did, and humans were notorious for killing each other, from what most of us had heard.
We came up on the colony late at night. Though, the planet is tidally locked, so "night" is a bit of a misnomer. People were sleeping. That's the important bit. I sent the greenest humans and a couple of my vets ahead to scout the place and round up the locals so we could do this quickly, before anyone had a chance to hit a distress beacon.
No more than 10 minutes into the op, gunfire. Lots of it. Then, nothing. Dead silence. Not a good sign when you send that many people out. Tried to radio the ship. Nothing. Comms are down or blocked.
*hammer clicks*
"Stay where you stand, Alcarnix. Move too fast and you'll spend the rest of your days down a couple tentacles and sipping out of a kid's juice cup through a tube in your thorax."
It was Markus. The human mercs' erstwhile leader.
"You didn't tell us we were here to kill our own kind, Alcarnix. There's families in there. Kids. I don't hurt kids at all, but especially not our own kids."
"Then what were the gunshots, Markus?"
"Your boys. Dead. Vex had a signal jammer on him. That was nice. Can't call down more of your boys with the comms knocked out. I figure we've got about 30 minutes before they realize something is up."
"Heard you humans were bloodthirsty savages. I figured you wouldn't mind offing a few of your kind for cash and safety."
"You heard wrong, Alcarnix. That old saying, 'Never hire a human'? There's a second part to it. 'Never hire a human to kill his own kind'. You might have missed this in galactic history, but we fought a war over this. The Unification War enshrined the central principle that humans would never kill other humans again. We almost wiped ourselves out three times. Never again."
"You all were on a seedship fleeing Titan. I thought you were criminals."
"Criminals that don't kill humans. All those stories about Sol are just scary rumors to keep you bugs on your toes."
"Bu.."
*Boom*
*Alcarnix hit the floor, a chunk of his skull's exoskeletal bits bouncing off the window of the dropship.*
"We do, however, have no qualms killing aliens."
*Markus kicked his corpse down the gangplank of the dropship and onto the lush ground of the colony world.*
"Team, wrap up recruitment and prep to return to the ship. We've got a roach infestation to clean up when we get back. You know the policy when it comes to aliens looking to harm humans: suffer not the xeno to live."
|
And then it hit me, the thing everyone had tried to warned me about. They were offically an utter waste if resources, transporting and acquiring these ridiculous humans. I stared at the one standing before me. He wobbled a bit where he stood and his eyes weren't quite in focus, "What do you mean you need to sleep!?"
| 2018-04-27T11:17:51 | 2018-04-27T11:07:38 | 659 | 35 |
[WP] You live in a world where your soulmate is unable to hurt you, intentionally or otherwise. You are fighting in a war, when one of the enemy's knives harmlessly glances off you.
|
*They had me dead to rights.*
Caught with an empty magazine, surrounded, someone came up behind me and stabbed. I felt the knife point touch skin. I closed my eyes. I waited to die.
The knife point trembled.
I had yet to turn around, though.
“I will not be taken prisoner by the likes of you, Loyalist. I would rather die freeing this town from your tyrannical grip.”
Again the knife point touched me, but this time the softest sigh of frustration that I have ever heard came with it.
“It’s *you*.”
I turned around to look at my assailant, ready to hit whoever it was with my rifle, and follow it up with one of the few pistol rounds I had left. Smooth, clean, efficient. It was going to be like an action movie, and I was the hero. This person wasn’t going to get away with threatening *me.*
The concussion grenade that rolled opposite my cover had other plans for my day.
A loud noise. A massive push. A sharp pain. Darkness.
---
I don’t remember much, from getting dragged away.
I remember a voice, soft and kind, begging someone to help drag me up some stairs.
I remember the sounds of struggling, as whoever it was had to drag me up the stairs alone anyways.
I remember falling asleep a few times; the incapacitating power of the new Loyalist Concussion Grenade was no joke.
On the third flight of stairs, since I was already unable to move, I allowed myself to fall asleep.
I guess I was going to be a prisoner.
---
I woke up to the smell of bacon frying. The gentle *ding* of a toaster popping. I suppose it was breakfast time for the non-POWs. Whoever had taken me would find they were going to have a hell of a time trying to break me. I had been trained to resist interrogation. I would not give up the Insurrection.
The door opened, giving me my first bit of light. I wasn’t handcuffed. I wasn’t chained up. I was in a soft bed, in a nice bedroom, with my makeshift uniform draped over a chair. I tried to sit up, only for a searing pain to keep me where I was. A bandaged wound, most likely freshly stitched. That Loyalist bastard and his knife. Well, judging from my treatment, I was at least in a safe house. I had that going for me.
As the door opened fully, I had to reevaluate my situation. A boy. A Loyalist uniform. Fair skin. Elegant demeanor. Clearly, the richest of the rich. Someone that I would have dragged out of their home for supporting such a corrupt government. *That* is who had saved me. *That* is who had tended to my wounds.
Ridiculous.
“Just because you saved me, and tended to my wound, does not excuse the fact that one of your ilk stabbed me and tried to take me prisoner.” I spit acidly, letting my captor know at once that I would not be so easily calmed down.
“I didn’t stab you, *whiner*,” He says in that same soft voice that I remember begging anyone for help. “The force of the grenade blasted you on to my knife. An interesting outcome, in that I kinda sorta got what I wanted… but not really.”
I am sure my expression was one of blatant confusion. It should have been. I was blatantly confused.
He laid the tray of food oun my lap, a fork and knife there for the sandwich he had made me.
“Giving your prisoner a weapon? Bold move. Bad move, too.”
Sure, he had been nice. He had tended to my wound. He had done all he could.
He was a Loyalist. I was an Insurrectionist. One of us had to die. He had just given me the out I needed. The paring knife that he had given me to cut my food was a silver blur in the air as I swung it at his neck. He didn’t even have time to flinch.
It stopped a fraction of an inch away from his skin, and stayed there. I tried to push, the knife still didn’t budge. I gave it all of my strength, feeling my wound start to tear and bleed… and nothing. I couldn’t do a damn thing to kill this guy, and there was no real reason for-
“Oh, *really*?” I sighed, giving the amused-looking boy the most exhausted look I could manage.
“Yup. How inconvenient. It was super frustrating for me, because I legitimately *had you*. Your back was to me, you were fumbling a reload, even a medical officer like me could take you. I went for the sneaky knife, and… nope.”
I wince at his derision, and at the fresh pain from my wound. This was not my day.
“I don’t like men. There’s gotta be a mistake.” I spit again.
“I don’t like traitors. I feel the same way.” He responds, sounding bored.
“Is it even possible for enemies to be soulmates?”
“Apparently so.”
“We could just go our separate ways, pretend we never met, all of that.”
“Except you have a bleeding wound in your side.” He sighed, reaching for a medical bag and pulling out cloths, a needle, and some surgical thread.
“It feels dirty,” he continued “having to waste anesthetic on you, but the needle won’t puncture unless you can’t feel it. Please be careful, next time.”
With that, he went to work sewing me shut and disinfecting the wound again. He was quick, efficient, and the way he smiled when he worked let me know that he loved his job. Even if he was just healing me.
“R-right.”
It was all I could say. His light brown eyes didn’t have a hint of malice to them. He worked, knowing that if it hadn’t been for fate and the strange way the world works, one of us would have died by the other’s hand, already. He worked quietly, humming a soft song and wiping his brow when he was done.
“Please, eat. I am not an awful cook, if I do say so myself.”
A few bites into the breakfast bacon-egg toast sandwich, and I had to agree. This was good. Good and hot and better than the protein bar rations I had been living off of for months. The juice was fresh, too.
When he came back with another tray, I found myself hoping there was more for me. Of course that was ridiculous. He needed to eat too, after all. Still, something he said was giving me an itch to ask.
“You said that you didn’t like *traitors*.” I ask, my voice mostly casual. “I said boys. Have you… I dunno, have you had a boyfriend before?”
He put the tray down, looking down at his lap.
“I have had a boyfriend before, yes. His name was Alec. He and I grew up together. Went to the same boarding school. All of it. He was visiting his brother during his brother’s summer vacation. He was in Cambridge on July 14th. He was there for the nuke that started the insurrection. I saw it on the news. The fireball. The burning buildings of famed institutions. The loss of life. I… am not strong. No Loyalist is. We are rich. We have all been rich for generations. My family hasn’t ‘worked’ since my great-great-great-grandfather struck it big in the 1890’s gold rush. We invested. We invested. Became doctors or lawyers or other non physical things. We grew weak, like a lot of my class grew week. If this were purely a physical war, you would have won by now. We have technology and infrastructure. We don’t want this war, but… seeing the city where my boyfriend was burn… I offered my services to the Loyalists.”
I hadn’t expected such a long-winded answer. I hadn’t expected him to be open about his past, or anything. He was supposed to be cold. To treat me like a prisoner. To treat me like I would have treated him. Instead, he was only ever kind.
“I lost my sister.” I responded, quietly. “She was sick, and there was an embargo on my county. No medicine made it in. She died from something preventable. I joined up with my local insurrectionist chapter to avenge her.”
Short, bitter, and to the point. This was had gone on for over 5 years, now. Everybody has lost someone. His story shouldn’t hit me as hard as it did.
We both gave each other a quiet “I’m sorry.” at the exact same time. It caused us both to laugh.
“You're going to be here for at least a couple of weeks, recovering.” He said quietly, looking me over again.
“That...May not be so bad.”
The smile he gave me confirmed it. It might not be so bad.
|
Epikrates was walking through a forest. His commanding officer sent him to intercept a runner carrying vital orders to an enemy encampment. The runner was due to arrive by dawn's light, but the sky was still black as coal, so Epikrates was walking.
"Why are they still using runners? Have they never heard of birds? My tutor taught me of messenger birds over a decade ago. What kind of civilization are we conquering? Not a very good one."
He was 6 miles into enemy territory, and he had left behind a 6 mile trail of blood. He was trained to kill each patrol quickly and silently, and that is what he did. He did feel a little bad about spilling their probably innocent blood, but such was his way in life. He was taken from his family while they slept. He was beaten, forced to work, and when his captors discovered his innate intelligence, educated to an absurd level of competency in music, arts, science, mathematics, poetry, and battle. He excelled in battle. He excelled in everything, but combat was the one area in which he did not consistently procrastinate. It suited him, and so did his career. Epikrates did not want to sit alone and paint, or solve complex equations. He wanted to experience new things, meet people, travel to new and exciting places. Killing was an unfortunate requirement of his position, but he would rather have blood stains on his soul than live a life of boredom.
The sky was beginning to turn gray, and there was now a distinct circular path carved into the leaves.
"Where is this runner?" He whispered, growing impatient.
As if in response, a blade smacked Epikrates in the face. Not the side of a knife, a blade. An apparently very dull blade. He rubbed his nose. No blood.. It came from the edge of the forest, but no one was there. In one swift movement, he grabbed the knife and slipped behind a tree, waiting.
*crunch*
*cruunch*
*crunch*
The sound was now at the spot where he had been hit in the face with the knife. He absent-mindedly rubbed it with his thumb. It drew blood, causing Epikrates to twist his foot in surprise. This made a very loud rustling sound in the dry leaves he was standing on. What trick of the gods was this, to turn a sharp blade dull for a moment just as it struck him?
The leaves rustled once more as the messenger crept over dry leaves around the tree. Epikrates began silently climbing the large trunk. When he reached the height of two men, he looked down to see a shadowy figure carrying a bronze sword, glinting pale gold in the morning light. He drew an arrow from his pouch, and fell on the messenger.
He instantly felt warm, and a feeling not unlike opium. Her hood had fallen under her curly black hair, and she was smiling at him. She was beautiful. Her hand gently touched his, still holding the arrow to her heart, and she stopped smiling. The clouds parted suddenly to reveal the most glorious sunrise ever to be completely ignored, and a ray of light illuminated her eyes through the trees on the edge of the forest. Her pupils dilated. Their lips pressed together as Epikrates pressed the tip of the arrow against her skin, and ripped her tunic from the bosom down to the waist, where the shaft of the arrow broke. She laughed and took his knife from its sheathe, then thrust it into his chest, creating a slit into which she inserted both hands. They were writhing in the leaves, connected through various tears in their clothing. It was the best experience of either of their lives to date. They ran away that night, after fully exhausting each other. The message was never delivered.
-----
God damnit, what a boring story. Thanks for the prompt, OP, but fuck. That sucked. Gotta warm up, I guess.
| 2017-04-22T07:04:13 | 2017-04-22T05:50:31 | 113 | 75 |
[WP] Humans have always been the friendliest and the most peaceful species in the galaxy. When one of the most ruthless empires decides to wipe out the pathetic humans and their diplomacy, they discover that humans have something that no one in the galaxy has ever seen. Nuclear weapons.
|
“High Negotiator, the human ambassador wishes to see you.”
Sil Dunnan, High Negotiator of the Akkarat sighed, and gestured his assent. Of course she wanted to talk. The war was necessary, but still he felt a twinge of guilt. He’d known the ambassador for a long time, and they’d always gotten along well.
The Terrans were the natural choice. Of the Five Ancients, they were by far the least threatening. They didn’t field the horrific armies of the Gene Splicers, or command the AI strategists of the Machine Lords. Despite that, the peace stifled the mighty Akkarat race might as well be called the Pax Terra.
The other forerunner races had grown old and tired. They wouldn’t - couldn’t - maintain the peace themselves through force of arms. It was the humans that did that, not with weapons, but with their relentless sociability and diplomacy. Every government in the known galaxy sported a human ambassador who gently steered that race towards harmonious coexistence.
That peace threatened everything that made the Akkarat the Akkarat. Since unifying, they’d had nobody to fight. The old ways were dying. The galactic order had to be destroyed.
Quiet reconnaissance had been done. To the amazement of the War Council, human ships were essentially unarmed. It was beyond bizarre. Perhaps that was how they afforded their spendthrift aid missions - they had no military budget.
In fact, the humans really only seemed to have one thing going for them: their ships didn’t show up on normal scans.
Space was big, but ships were easy to find. Hyperspace shunts, the technology that turned every wheel in the galaxy, drew power from the endless energies of higher-dimensional space. To perform this miracle, each one of them ripped a tiny hole in space-time that a good sensor could pick up across a star system.
At some point, the humans had found a way to cloak their shunts. Even with their stunted military, this gave them a concerning edge in a prolonged conflict. As a result, a decisive first strike had been ordered.
Naturally, he hadn’t been able to tell the ambassador in advance. No doubt she felt betrayed. The least he could do was answer her questions.
As if on cue, the human ambassador threw open the doors of his audience chamber, his aid trailing rather uselessly behind her. She was visibly distressed.
“Sil!” she shouted as she bore down on him. “Tell me this is a lie, a mistake, anything! Just tell me you haven’t attacked the Terran Confederation.”
He tried to pitch his voice in a manner humans found soothing. “I’m sorry, Maria, I’d have told you sooner, but the War Council bound me to secrecy. Of course, I will ensure that your friends and loved ones are spared as best I can. I know how social your people are-”
“You damned fool,” she hissed back at him. “Don’t you understand? *You* are my family. This planet holds everyone I love.”
Without waiting for an invitation, she slumped down into one of the chairs on the far side of his desk. His aide looked at her disapprovingly; Sil waved him out of the room.
The High Negotiator regarded her with concern. “Is there… anything I can do? I realize our nations are at war, but you have served your people and ours well for living memory and beyond. If there is anything in my power that you might need, please, tell me.”
She responded with a dismissive motion. “It’s too late. Had you told me sooner, I could have tried to stop it. But nothing can stop it now.”
Sil chuckled. “No need for that. Human bluffing is good, but it’s not that good. We figured out your secret. No weapons! No military infrastructure! Just myths about the destruction of Terra’s enemies in ages past. As if a psychological operation could keep your peace safe forever!”
“It was clever ruse, yes, very clever. But the age of the Ancients is over. It’s time for conflict, change, and glory. I’m afraid that as a human, you wouldn’t understand.”
Maria laughed, bitter and hollow. “I understand, Sil. That’s why I was posted here. I’ve personally killed an enemy soldier with my bare hands. I can report that it is not glorious at all.”
The High Negotiator frowned. “There is no recorded history of any human war. If such an event had ever happened, it would have predated The Treaty of the Five Forerunners!
To his shock, the normally staid and proper ambassador put her feet up on his desk. "Yeah. I was there.”
Sil stared at her, stunned. “But how?”
“Well, since we’re all about to die it can’t hurt to tell you. See, humans figured out immortality before we were really ready. Our numbers grew, resources ran thin, and we nearly wiped ourselves out.”
“After we came back from the brink of extinction, we decided we’d do whatever it took to make sure it never happened again. It’s a job we ambassadors take very seriously.”
The High Negotiator snorted. “So you melted down your weapons and rely only on words to make this peace you love so much?”
She returned his gaze levelly. “Who says we melted down our weapons?”
A tiny seed of doubt began to take root in Sil’s heart. The look Maria was giving him reminded him more and more of an expression he’d seen only on the battlefield. It was the look of one who no longer has anything to lose.
“Our analysis was thorough, I read the reports myself. Your ships are-”
“Your reports are bullshit or you wouldn’t have done this. I’m going to let you in on a secret, Sil. I’m going to tell you how our stealth systems work.”
“Really? But that’s been the subject of research for centuries; it’s one of humankind’s most closely guarded secrets!”
“Yeah, but again, impending death. Do you want to know or not?”
He regarded her warily. “I suppose I do.”
“We don’t have a stealth system. We just don’t use hyperspace shunts.”
“What?!” Sil surged to his feet. “That’s impossible. A shunt is the only source of power light and powerful enough to fit into a spacecraft. You’d never be able break the hyperspace barrier with chemical fuels or solar power.”
“You’re right about that,” she replied laconically. “Chemical fuels are no good. But it turns out human brains are pretty bad at hyperspace physics. Uniquely bad, in fact. So we just learned to chain the stars instead.”
The hackles rose on the High Negotiator’s shoulders and neck. “You have small stars inside your ships. And these stars generate power all the time, even when the ship is jumping through hyperspace?”
The ambassador nodded. “Yup, that’s my understanding.”
Now it was Sil’s turn to fall back into his chair. “Your ships are practically invisible. And they must have range far beyond anything we could possibly have guessed.”
He gave her a sharp look. “Why are you telling me this? The element of surprise is all you have.”
The human ambassador’s expression was shifting again, this time towards sadness. “No. It’s really not. Do you know how hyperspace interdiction works? I mean, in general terms.”
Sil looked at her with fear as realization began to dawn. “I don’t know how it works, but I am afraid you are about to tell me.”
Maria removed her feet from his desk, resting her chin lightly on a clenched fist. “I am. Hyperspace shunts create a knot that crosses both normal space and h-space. Hyperspace inhibitors work by being a kind of comb that grabs the knot and pulls the ship back into our dimension.”
The High Negotiator blanched. “Hyperspace inhibitors won’t work on Terran ships. An invasion might come at any moment.”
His human friend just shook her head. “There won’t be an invasion. Don’t you get it? We learned to chain the stars *second*. We turned them into weapons first."
“My gods.” It was little more than a whisper. Sil cradled his head in his hands as the awful reality set in. “You can send star weapons through hyperspace. We’ve murdered our entire species.”
“No,” the human replied. “It was my job to stop it. I failed you. I’m sorry.”
She walked around the desk and gathered the High Negotiator into her arms. “It’s alright. It won’t hurt. And I’ll be there with you. Gods willing, we’ll be able to walk one another across to the other side.”
|
"What do you mean its gone?" General Ashak asked, half angry, half confused.
"We've lost communication, we no longer have visual confirmation of its existence, the airspace where the fleet should be is vacant of anything but a bit of debris. It just vanished." The ensign replied.
Ashak closed both sets of eyelids hard enough to see spots of bright color bloom in his mind. His tongue flicked the air in annoyance.
"Did they make hyperspace?" He asked after a long moment of contemplation. He didn't even want this war. He was supposed to retire next year. The humans had never done anything to him. He had no quarrel with them. But the Empress, may the sun forever shine upon her, wanted their technology. Supposedly they had discovered a method of mining rare minerals for almost zero energy cost.
"Our instruments say no. They were there one minute and gone the next."
A young private, probably in his early 400s, barely past his first shed, sprinted onto the deck of the command ship.
"General," he saluted, right fist to left shoulder, first and second claw extended in the traditional manner. "I've been sent with an urgent message. All remaining fleets are to return to the capital. The humans have launched a counter attack."
"With what? Sure they have amazing tech, but when it comes to war they're little more than hatchlings with pointed sticks."
"My apologies, sir, but this private does not know."
"Very well. Spread the word: were preparing to male hyperspace for return to Arin. All crew in their stasis pods withing the half-hour."
---------‐----------------------
2 hours later the stasis pod beeped and opened. Akash stepped out, rubbing his eyes, groggily. He made his way to the bridge and turned on the forward view screen to begin docking procedures.
He flipped the switch on the communications board and said into the mic, "Arin tower this is The Empress' Holy Ship Desert Sun. Reporting for orders and preparing to dock. Please send docking code and stand by for touchdown."
He began flipping more switches as the rest of the flight crew made their way into the room.
"Sir, I dont understand. We were supposed to arrive directly above Arin." The navigator sounded unsure.
Akash looked at the screen for the first time and nearly lost his cool. The screen showed a large crater, with rubble strewn about like a hatchlings playroom. He recognized some buildings, the base where he had trained after joining the military, his hatchlings school and the office building his mate worked in, all little more than crumbling walls and shattered stone. Several more ships materialized in the sky around the Desert Sun. Soon the air waves were crowded with captains and generals demanding to know what happened. Within the next 4 hours, the entire armed forces of the Grellian empire hovered above a city that was no longer there.
A single missile blipped on the instrument panel. Some from another ship laughed hysterically about the humans single missile against the entire military.
Akash thought of his hatchlings and his mate. He missed them already. What sorcery could have done this.
The missile detonated against one of the ships. It was engulfed in a small star in the span of a second. The world went quiet, and akash shut his eyes. He felt the heat wash over him. And the Grellian empire ceased to exist.
| 2020-02-07T16:52:19 | 2020-02-07T14:41:07 | 33 | 22 |
[WP] 20 tons of Nutella have been stolen. You are part of a secret task force tasked with finding it. Your partners: the M&M guys, an Oompa Loompa, and Count Chocula
|
I sat hunched in front of the computer monitor. Behind me, I could hear Count Chocula pacing up and down in agitation. We all knew that our careers depended on bringing down this crook. I shot a brief glance at the Red M&M. His face was impassive but the corners of his mouth were tauter than I've seen before.
The grainy security footage replayed again. Our resident Oompa Loompa suddenly let out a shout and pressed pause.
"There... there I saw it. Look closely. Behind the red car. If you look through the windows you can just make out a crouching figure and a face"
The thieves had taken out the only working camera moments before pulling off the heist. The other cameras were duds designed to scare off nosy teenagers and the homeless.
The Count stopped his pacing and leant in more closely.
"By Granola you're right! It's clear as day now you point it out!"
Yellow M&M had been silent ever since we got the news but at the Counts words he visibly perked up and turning to walk towards the armoury he said with a grimace
"we'll get that fucker alright."
---
It took the Oompa Loompa only 10 minutes to find a picture matching the description of our thief. His name was Hans Müller and he had a criminal record longer than a cereal ingredients label. He had also been implicated in more than a dozen cases involving the infamous Krispies gang led by the ruthless trio Dean Crack, Richard Snapple and the ringleader known only as Pop.
Locating Hans was more difficult. He had no last known whereabouts and his family were all dead. In the end, it took some intrepid and clever detective work by Count Chocula to discover Han's hideout. His final clue had come in from his old friend Tony who had spotted an empty storage truck a few kilometres from the scene of the crime.
---
"Alright listen up fuckers"
Red M&M said roughly.
"We're about to bust in on one of the most dangerous criminals this side of the Atlantic so I need you all to listen carefully."
We bunched together more closely.
"Yellow and I are going to break the door down and go in the front. You -"
he said pointing a gloved hand at me
"- will take Oompa and go round the back to ensure we don't have any escapes. Count Chocula are you receiving us? What does it look like from above?..... Count Chocula?"
Suddenly Count Chocula's voice blasted through the still night air loud enough for me to hear it from Red's earpiece.
"YES I AM RECEIVING YOU."
I winced in sympathy for Red who almost fell over from shock. He hastily turned down the volume of his earpiece before tersely asking:
"What can you see from up there?"
I couldn't hear the reply but it seemed to satisfy Red.
"Copy... Over. Stay up there and keep me in the loop. Alright, boys, it's game on"
Oompa trailed me as I made my round the almost abandoned timber yard, his orange skin glistening with sweat in the moonlight. He wasn't used to fieldwork but this operation needed all hands on deck particularly after the recent loss of Cap'n Crunch in our previous operation.
As we neared the back of the building I relayed my position to Red. He acknowledged it and the next thing we heard was a great bang.
In the ensuing few seconds all we heard from inside the building were shots and screams.
Moments later the back door flew open and out ran Hans. The whites of his eyes shining in the bright moonlight. I was about to spring up to intercept him but a millisecond before making a move I saw who was following Hans and my blood ran cold in my veins.
I had only ever seen sketches of Pop but they were realistic enough for me to recognise him instantly. Pop was a man more feared than any other. It was said that he drowned his enemies in milk and fed their remains to unsuspecting consumers. I also knew if he was there then Crack and Snapple couldn't be far behind - or perhaps those were the screams I'd heard?
Pop was not a man to be messed with but I wasn't about to let him get away so I sprang out from behind the pile of wood I had been cowering behind and leapt forwards propelling my whole weight towards him. I knew I had one chance to nap him or I would be toast.
He let out a surprised yelp as I made contact with him. A metallic taste filled my mouth and my vision flashed briefly. I had knocked into him harder than expected.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Oompa battling with Hans. For a small creature, he was fierce.
Pop was lying winded on the ground under me but I could feel his sinewy muscles contracting to strike me like a viper ready to bite. I anticipated the blow before it struck and this gave me a moment to shield my head. His fist connected with my raised left arm and I felt the bones try to resist before snapping.
I knew my time had come as Pop aimed his second blow. There was nothing I could do.
Slowly like a bullet travelling through treacle his fist descended downwards ready to snuff out my existence as quickly as it had begun.
Just before the blow could connect Pop was thrown violently backwards and Count Chocula dove down from the sky transforming from bat to Count. Pop growled angrily like a dog and shouted a curse word I couldn't quite make out.
Chocula bared his teeth and lunged at Pop again digging his teeth deep into his neck.
Rivulets of blood spurted upwards like a fountain and Pop went limp in Choculas firm grasp.
The pain in my arm grew worse as my initial adrenaline began wearing off.
I felt a darkness enveloping me.
---
The radio in my hospital room was playing when I woke up.
"Yes that's right John, they were able to find the culprits and stop them carrying out their dastardly plot with the Nutella but sadly one M&M lost his life. In an effort to prevent Crack and Snapples escape Red sacrificed himself by pulling them into the saw blades with him. His friends have paid tribute to him saying he was a brave confectionery who valued his team and task above all else. He will be missed"
I turned off the radio having heard enough.
We'd succeeded but at great cost.
As I dozed off again I could only think of Reds determined and resolute expression that he always wore for missions.
I'll miss that dude I thought and then I was asleep again.
|
The radio buzzed with the words *"Sergeant O'Riley, you and your crew have been sent the coordinates of the stolen Nutella, neutralize all of the hostiles in the faculty and prepare for the trucks to transport it back."*
"Well.." I looked at my crew, the red and yellow M&M, one Oompa Loompa, and Count Chocula (the most capable of them all) "Get ready to go."
The chopper waited outside for us, one by one every got in. As it lifted up I knew one fact - our mission is dangerous.
We reached the hostile faculty, I looked over it as we dropped the ropes. "Go! Go! Go!" We all went down, I could already see the amount of manpower they have.
"This will be hard, follow my lead." I whispered as we started to plant C4 on the walls. "Back, back, back!" Then it went off. The wall wasn't there in I knew we messed up - they were waiting all around it, some were fun but they sprayed down on us. Yellow M&M was hit, falling to the ground, "Cover, now!"
Within moments they surrounded us, all the Nutella they stole was for a massive weapon of mass destruction, we were too late. Oompa Loompa tried to break in song but was shot dead, Count Chocula tried to stage a break out but would be blinded with light. Mission was a failure.
| 2017-08-19T10:13:15 | 2017-08-19T09:15:42 | 101 | 35 |
[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.
|
There is a human saying; to beat your plowshares into swords, your pruning shears into spears. Let the weak say "I am strong."
​
Our research had missed old religious texts in our scanning of their culture, and how could we not. There was not real need to research archaic beliefs. The Sol Confederacy was easy prey, a species that had focused on science and not war. They build grand research stations in orbit of their planet, colonized their oversized moon, and spread to the fourth planet in their system. The most they had were patrol ships to keep off the odd criminal, but no warships, no soldiers. They focused on rehabilitation and re-education of their worst people. They were pacifists, and they were ripe for enslavement.
​
Our ships had arrived, and they broadcast on all known subspace channels, reaching out to the void to greet us, to welcome us to their home. They assumed we came in peace, to meet them as equals. They were *excited*. As the first of our cruisers took up orbit, we fired upon their home world, lancing their space elevators from their moores and pushing them out of orbit. Their capital city was burned from orbit, and their meager defences were quashed. Our beachhead was built on their home, and their people were enslaved, to strip their spinning blue gem of its resources for our empire. Their moon fell next and we grew complacent. We figured we had them, so why would we push?
​
We were wrong.
​
The first sign of trouble came from a drone carrier, which suddenly went silent. Communications errors happened, so we considered nothing of it. Next a camp on the surface went black, so we sent soldiers to explore. We found our men and women dead, some looking so shocked in chairs, it was as if the attacker had materialized from nowhere. We now sent boarding troops the the carrier, however, they never made it. Its fighter and bomber compliment turned on us. We shot it down, watched it as it crashed to the surface, and we figured that enough, that this little rebellion would end. Again, we were wrong. Mining and cargo ships from the planet called Mars arrived, but they did not carry goods. Their mining drones swarmed ships, punching holes in their hulls, and stripping atmosphere away. We watched in horror as the bodies of our comrades were floated into space. Our loses were now mounting, even as we destroyed their rigged up attack craft, we paid for every kill with blood.
​
I was on Earth when I saw the horror we had awaken first hand. A mining exo-suit walked down the street, armor strapped to it in an ad hoc way, turning a tool into a weapon. Carried in it's hands were our own weapons, and as the lone assailant advanced towards me, shrugging off energy weapons and ordinance, only a lucky hit brought it down. Still, the rebel climbed from his armor and I saw his eyes, not those of a captured pacifist, but those of a killer. We learned later the man had been a chemical engineer, never served with the patrols, and had built the suit himself in private. We assumed he had snapped, surely the humans couldn't go from pacifists to warriors, they were a peaceful species. But we dug into their archives, we learned their history, the monsters that we had happened upon. But now they had three hundred years of peace and prosperity to build new technologies, and with them, we learned what they could do.
​
It was called the Military Industrial Complex, the ability to turn any technological marvel into a weapon was no unique, but the way in which they did it was. Most species develop nuclear energy before they develop nuclear weapons. Humanity had done it in reverse. Their chemical rockets were not made to deliver them into space, but adapted from weapons to do so. After they had turned those weapons on themselves, they had learned to find peace, quelled their demons. We had reawoken those demons, and given them more technology than ever before to do it. Their ability to strip materials to energy, and convert it back to raw matter had been used to mine without destroying massive areas of land, and to build ships of exploration and peace. Now those fleet yards, orbiting a planet we thought was to be an easy picking, they cranked out warships in bulk we had never seen. Hardware meant for construction and rescue was now used to armor troops to attack. One armoured assailant became hundreds, then thousands. Our own ships were captured, reverse engineered, and then turned on us. We watched in horror as our slaves became boogymen. Our hope had been to glass the planet, to hand them a defeat, but we never got the chance. One by one our legions fell. Once our ships were controlled by them, and our communications with our hme severed, we were brought before them.
​
We learned of their rules of war, what they would do to prisoners, and how we would be treated. We didn't expect the mercy we gained, nor did we deserve it I am sure. After all, we would not afford them the same. I was treated to a tribunal, and told I was to be held accountable for my crimes and the crimes of my people, and my execution ordered. Lead to a small room, I was hooked up to IVs and promised it would be painless. As they added the chemicals to my veins I could only think of my home, and hope they could forgive me for awakening humanity. I could only pray that one day these beasts would return their swords to plowshares, and the warriors would rest again. The galaxy can only hope.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
EDIT: Spelling and grammatical errors.
|
This is commander Xxar speaking. I am ordering all troops to retreat. I repeat, all troops must retreat. We were wrong about these creatures. On the surface, they seemed weak, they seemed like non-intelligent vermin. They hadn't even developer nuclear fusion for vxyyr's sake!
Once we had landed, they approached us with caution but friendliness. We scoffed at this and massacred them. At first, they fled like bugs. Then, the warmachines arrived. You see, the entire planet had been at peace for 300 years. Humans, however, had kept their weapons, locked away and taken care of in case something would happen. The battallion's mothership was destroyed by nuclear bombs. They used _nuclear power_ as bombs!
The mothership crashed down onto the earth. The humans were quick to study and replicate its delicate technology. We must have sent their technology five thousand years into the future. In the span of one moon rotation, they went from not having nuclear fusion to having lightspeed engines.
One can only hope they didn't find the coordinates to our home planet stored in the mothership's database.
| 2019-02-26T10:12:21 | 2019-02-26T09:29:33 | 310 | 60 |
[WP] A group of space explorers decided to visit Earth, a long forgotten planet of a long forgotten empire.
|
## The Return To Earth
*This is a continuation of a story I started with an identical writing prompt. You can read the beginning of the story here: |* [Part 1&2](https://www.reddit.com/r/CataclysmicRhythmic/comments/m62tay/the_return_to_earth_part_1_2/) *|* [Part 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/CataclysmicRhythmic/comments/m639l2/the_return_to_earth_part_3/) *|*
\----
“*Id*, tell me more about the humans,” I say as I pour a glass of nysin in my sleeping quarters. My hands are shaking a little. It’s been a while since I’ve taken a drink, but my nerves feel shot. I just need a little bit to calm me down, help me think.
“The Humans began life on this planet in the Taliesin year 64-440. They rapidly advanced, becoming the dominant species on the planet and soon they spread through their solar system, and by 66-780 they had created an empire spanning a significant portion of the Thon Galaxy, or what they referred to as the Milky Way.
"The Sphere-Cycle War devastated all habitations within the solar system including Earth and so the Humans abandoned it for far more fruitful solar systems already under their rapidly growing dominion. But the empire had stretched too far, the differences in culture between distant solar systems and regions of the galaxy were too great and soon after Emperor Thyridan the Fourth Light died, the Human’s empire fractured permanently into seven factions. Taliesin being one of those factions.”
“Show me what they looked like, *Id.”*
A hologram of a human male displayed in front of me. I took another drink of nysin. This human looked not much different than me. Smaller. Less genetic modifications, yes. But similar. It was strange to think of them as our long lost ancestors.
Is this what attacked Tumi on the surface? I thought to myself. But how could they live in such an environment? The air was poison. The sun did not penetrate the sulfuric clouds. The surface temperature alone would be intolerable. Did they live underground? If so, then why did they leave a cache of their DNA as though to preserve a dying species.
Layla’s voice came over the intercom in my chambers.
“Captain, the engines have been inspected and we are ready for takeoff.”
“That’s good news,” I say. “Let’s get off this god-forsaken planet.”
I down the rest of my nysin, feeling the warmth spread through me in comfortable tendrils. I was feeling more relaxed already. Just one more drink, I thought and poured a little more and downed that also. Now I could think.
I need to figure out what to do now. We were sent here to explore a lost civilization, but what we found was a dead planet. For a mission that I had looked forward to for so long, now I felt I wanted it to end as soon as possible.
The planet seemed to exude an eerie feeling. As though it did not want us here. And whatever attacked Tumi, that thing and its kin could stay on Earth and rot for all I care. We were leaving. We'd analyze the DNA samples we collected and I'd report the findings as soon as we entered hyperspace.
The mission will be seen as a failure. But I would not risk the crew, nor the ship in the hostile environment of Earth. There were other civilizations for the *Annunaki* to explore.
I felt the familiar hum of the engine drives as they began wind up for ascent. I always loved that feel and I felt more comfortable out in the black of space, with the engines surrounding me, rather than on a planet with its oppressive gravity and unfiltered air.
My father and his father before him were in the Taliesin Admiralty. My grandfather fighting with distinction in the Battle of the Vikarian Wedge. My father a drunk who was dishonorably discharged and taking up as a low-level frigate Captain for the Kanten Corporation.
When I get to the bridge of the *Annunaki,* Lieutenant Layla Briggs, my second, turns to me and smiles.
“We are cleared for liftoff,” she says.
I nod. “Let us proceed.”
\---
“When?” I ask looking at the body of Tumi.
He is almost impossibly pale. His hard skin shining under the light of the med bay.
“I called you when his heart stopped,” An’in says. “I attempted artificial resuscitation, but the rest of his organs have failed and there’s nothing I could do. I’m sorry, Captain.”
I’ve seen many dead bodies before. But none that looked like this. I touch Tumi’s shoulder, the skin is cold. He was one of my best crewmembers and I’ll miss him. I should have taken more precautions before we touched down on the planet, but in my haste and excitement I got one of my crew killed.
I am not fit for command—the thought lingers in my mind. And look at you. You have been drinking as one of your men lay dying on a table. I clench my fist tight.
”What’s that smell?” An’in says, looking around the room.
I smell it now too. It is a smoky scent that stings my nostrils. It reminds me of my search and rescue mission to the research lab: the *Astrande.* They had reported a cabin fire which spread out of control. When we opened the hatch, we were greeted with that same scent of burnt flesh that now filled my nostrils.
“Oh god, it is coming from Tumi,” An’in says, leaning down.
I look and see thin, hoary tendrils of smoke rising off the pale flesh of Tumi. His whole body seemed to be burning.
“What is happening?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” An’in says, looking at me, helplessly.
I stumble backwards as a horrible scream comes out of Tumi’s mouth. He bolts upright, the tendrils of smoke still rising off his body.
An’in lets out a panicked yell. “Tumi!” she shouts at him and Tumi turns. His eyes are filled with terror and pain, and he reaches out desperately, grabs An’in brutally by the hair and yanks her towards him.
An’in shouts, pleading for my help as I stand there in shock.
Suddenly, Tumi bares his teeth and plunges down onto An’in’s exposed neck and she lets out a whimper and I hear a disgusting, wet slurping sound. An’in pulls back desperately but Tumi doesn’t let go, clamping onto her harder.
I run over and grab Tumi and try to yank him off An’in but I cannot. He is impossibly strong. He lets go of An’in for a second and she crumples to the floor, limply, moaning. He turns to me, his eyes yellow, jaundiced, his skin seems to have gained color from just a second ago. The smoke still rising off his flesh. He strikes me in the side of the head as I lean towards An’in, trying to help her, and I fall backwards hard against a medical cabinet.
My body feels limp, loose now and I watch helplessly as Tumi gets on all fours, his naked pale body still smoking under the light of the medical lamp, and reattaches himself to An’in’s neck and the wet, slurping sounds continue and An’in’s moans get quieter and quieter and then everything blacks as I slip into darkness.
\----
*Will work on more soon.*
\---
r/CataclysmicRhythmic
|
The fabric of space tore open and a hulking mass of metal paraded out, the name “The Life Sail” painted on the side. As engines continued to drive the ship forward in the blackness of space. As the ship emerged completely from the tear, it was warped shut. Derthi stood on the bridge observing the barren and brown planet before him. The bridge was alie with crew giving reports of the successful travel and the arrival at their destination: Earth. Supposedly the crown jewel of the decrepit Republic of Man.
“More like a snot of a Jekid than a jewel.” Derhti remarked, then started giving commands “First away team deploy and tell me what is down there.”
“Yes High Greel’cha.”
The away team gathered onto their shuttle and strapped their six limbs into their seats and awaited launch. The shuttle vibrated as the engines warmed and then shot out of the hangar. The shuttle continued with great speed to the planet, upon entering the atmosphere there was significant turbulence.
“Some planet this is.”
“Maybe it will get better past the clouds.”
“No it won’t, you saw the place. It's a death world, nothing can possibly live here. I don’t know why or how anything **could** have lived here.”
“Terraforming?”
“I guess we’ll find out. Make sure your life support gear is set, no telling what we may find.”
The shuttle touched down and the team immediately sprung into action. Two members rushed out on their four legs and arms aiming a long rifle. The next two slowly walked out with various devices in their hands.
“There is faint radiation and excessive CO2 in the atmosphere and a Galagra of other elements.”
“Mmmm Galagras.”
“Think about your buffet another time.”
The team of four took in their surroundings. Large ruined buildings were everywhere. Mayn still held their shape and structure but many more had begun to decay and collapse under the constant assault of the corroding wind. Bits of white and yellow were scattered about the sand, dirt and rubble, bones of the original race. Eagerly two began to assemble various bones together on the ground.
“Seems they were a bipedal race, very different from us, very simple by the looks of it. One head, two arms, and two legs. Nothing like the current Galactic Conglomerate races.”
“Strange creatures.”
“Let’s grab some samples, maybe they had something special about them.”
| 2021-03-27T10:03:23 | 2021-03-27T09:53:20 | 16 | 10 |
[WP] When the human's elf girlfriend broke up with him due to the difference in the lifespans, the human went on to become a mercenary. Thousands of years later, the elf, now an old woman meets the human who hasn't aged at all, known as a scourge in mortal form, even death feared to take the human.
|
With some struggle, Haera walked down the stairs of her cottage. The chief of her village had ordered his citizens to evacuate their homes as a fierce dragon had slothered some of the residents. But, whether there was a dragon or not, her aging legs couldn't handle the weight of her feeble body.
There was no one to assist her. Her husband had passed away 500 years back and her children had long since left. The only silver lightning was that now at least the portraits hanging on her walls had someone from her past that her family would certainly not approve of.
The young human who had been a thorn in her side ever since she broke up with him.
The fact that she kept his portrait during all that time had always been a reason for a bitter wrangle between her and her husband, but in the end, Haera still kept it claiming that the human had died many years ago and her husband had nothing to fear.
Now was not the right time to brood over her past, however. The hubbub outside made it crystal clear that something important was taking place in front of her cottage.
Her sluggish pacing ensured that when she opened her front door, whoever had caused the commotion in the village was already arguing with the chief.
"It's your duty to slay the dragon. I heard from you before, you are the scourge in mortal form, the dark mercenary who takes up on any opponent for the right amount of gold. We are elves, we can afford any price."
The hooded man was indifferent to the chief proposal. "I haven't come here for gold."
Haera doubted her ears as she heard that voice that had been rooted in her very soul. The shock was so great that when her eyes also gave her the confirmation, she began to question her own sanity.
"Haven't come here for gold? What else would someone like you do in a place in the middle of nowhere like this village?"
Haera ignored the chief.
"Leon? It can't be you." Her usually weak voice was heard by everyone as if it had regained a hint of its previous vitality.
"Haera?" Leon's face writhed in an unusual way. Haera was the last person he would expect to find after all this time.Thousands of years was too much even for an elf.
"How come it's really you? I was not supposed to be breathing anymore, much less you." Haera was utterly shocked.
Leon took off his hood without even thinking. "Too much happened after we parted our ways, Haera. But yeah, I'm still alive."
The chief couldn't stand the fact that he was being ignored, "So, both of you have a shared past? That should make things easier. The dragon is threatening this village, just state you price servant of darkness."
"I don't serve anyone." That was the last straw for Leon. "I came to this village with only one purpose. I have a score to settle."
As he spoke those words, three tendrils of pure darkness emerged from his body. At a speed faster than any human or elf could see, those tendrils engulfed the tree young elves besides the chief. In a matter of seconds, the bodys of the three elves withered like a rosebud exposed to the searing heat of the desert.
The chief could help but lose it at the sight of murder being comittted in broad daylight. "How dare you! Filthy criminal. The Elven court will not let this go unpunished."
Leon couldn't be bothered to reply.
Haera widened her eyes. "Why have you done this, Leon?"
He could feel a hint of sadness in her voice. "You know why there is a dragon attacking the village? It's because those fools have tried to steal gold from the hoard of a dragoness. They have shot an arrow into her eyes causing a wound that will take more than a year to heal. I'm I supposed to stay idle while they attempt to rob my partner?"
It was not unbelievable that greed had blinded a few young elves.
But something else was.
"Your partner?" Haera found it hard to believe that the human who she had broken up with due to the difference in the lifespans was now dating a dragon that could live hundreds of times longer than an elf.
"I met her a long time ago in my darkest days, she helped me a lot with the struggles of having a very long lifespan." Leon offered her the truth without mentioning the fact that she had been the one who had paved the road to his darkest days.
"If you knew that you could live that long, why didn't you come back to look for me?" Haera regretted those words as soon as they left her mouth. "Forget it, I was the one who doubted that we would have a future together and left you out of fear."
"Don't blame yousef, Haera, if we had stayed together I don't think I would have had the courage to enter those old ruins that contained the legacy of the first necromancer." Leon spoke from his heart. "I would've died much sooner than you, and you were way too young to be a widow."
"I guess we just weren't meant to be." She lied.
Even if he had died when she was still young, she still believed that it would have been worth it.
She deeply regretted her decision.
Leon saw through her lies, but he pretended he didn't. For he knew that nothing good would come out from exposing her. "It was nice to see you again, Haera, I will drop by some other day with Izilth so that we catch up on the past millennium."
"Please come." She beamed. "I'm all alone here since my kids left."
Just like that, the human and the elf bade their farewell as the other elves were still shocked to say anything.
Upon entering her cottage again, only a bittersweet feeling remained as she looked at the portrait of her old lover.
\[A prompt per day 2022 challenge: \[13/365\]
|
You left so suddenly. I loved you. I *still* love you.
I was angry. I was confused. Worst of all, I saw your point and hated it. At first, I just drank. All day, every day... with hope and my heart gone, I just wanted some way to lay down and die. To sink into oblivion every night.
I drank, every day, for five years straight. I was killing myself slowly, making my pain the core of everything I held onto.
But then I met someone. She was kind and patient and smart and funny, and she somehow made my pain less. She brought me back to my life. The pain of you was never *gone* gone; I always knew you were still out there, living your life. Letting go of you was a neverending task. It still is.
She and I, we lived a good life. We were blissfully, ecstatically happy together. For exactly three years and five days. And then death came for her. It was as sudden as when you left.
I broke. My misery became a consuming fire, and I lashed out at the world. I vowed to never let death take me, that the world would die before I would lay down my fury.
When the reaper came for me, I challenged him. He held out his hands, placating, and his voice rasped from across a windswept chasm a thousand years deep. "I need a champion," he said.
| 2022-01-13T10:01:50 | 2022-01-13T09:03:10 | 50 | 30 |
[WP] You work at a hospital. Outside a terminal patient’s room, someone tries to enter. You stop them, “Sorry, family only.” They give you a strange look, as do those nearby. “You can see me?” They ask, summoning a scythe from thin air. You just told Death they couldn’t claim a soul.
|
The cool blue eyes and flashy silver hair made her stick out like a sore thumb. One would expect Death to be more... subtle. The way her body rocked so slightly to the music coming from her headphones was hypnotic.
"You sure you can't cut me a deal?" A smile, slight turn of the head. Quite cute, but undoubtedly calculated. Death wore such a beautiful visage.
"I'm sure. Family only." I tried to rationalize away what I was seeing, for surely indulging this fantasy would be to indulge in madness.
"You know, I was only being nice. You're not supposed to see me." She leaned on her scythe, poking my chest with a thin finger with every syllable. She even stank of corpses.
She turned and attempted a quick dodge around me. I grabbed her wrist, she swept my leg with the blunt end of her scythe. We collapsed in a pile and the other nurses noticed. I tried to get up as casually as possible while keeping ahold of her. "Eh, em." I tried to think of an excuse. Death refused to cooperate as she tried to escape my grasp. "Tired." I faked a yawn and earned a jab to my exposed stomach. "I'm going to grab a coffee and clear my mind."
"I think if you clear it any more it'd be empty!" Death berated me.
"Shut up!" I yelled, the staff jumped in shock.
"You know, it's slow around here. I'm sure we can handle it if you need some... extra time off." Gina, the head nurse, was always very understanding. Some people abused that.
"If you could, I mean. That'd be great." I managed a grateful smile at her as the reaper tried to pry my hand free.
Walking death out to my car proved to be something of a task, she delayed me by digging her heels into the floor. At one point I had to carry her as she grabbed onto a doorframe. I managed to get her in the car and awkwardly lurched her into the passenger seat.
"Just what in the hell do you think you're accomplishing?" She stopped struggling. "Someone else is gonna come sooner or later. He's as good as dead."
"But if I can stop you... the kid's on an experimental treatment. If he lives then it could save others." I didn't want to tell her why, not really.
"Hello? Obviously it's not working! He was supposed to be dead more than," She checked her phone. "Fifteen minutes ago!"
"Okay, so you missed the appointment or whatever," I licked my lips nervously. "Give it a few more hours. Just a few more. He'll turn around and there won't be any reason for you to do this."
"I really shouldn't." She swept her hair out of her eyes. I let go of her wrist. "I suppose the circumstances are rather... strange though."
"Who will it hurt?" I looked intently in her eyes, pleading.
"Okay, okay." She shook her head. "You have a deal. But I gotta do something, I've never been here before."
"Here?" I began to make our way out of the parking lot.
"Earth, this..." She paused to think. "More physical version." She watched me work the gear shifter. Observing me like a human does a strange insect. I drove to a nearby burger joint. I was rather confused and ordered two meals. We ate in the car. "This is amazing, what is it?" She took another massive bite of the burger.
"Grease, loads of it. It's best not to think of it." I forced back another fist full of fries and sipped my coke. She tried to mimic my eating habits and ended up choking.
"Damn... physical limitations." She muttered as she went back to the burger. "I don't think I want this anymore." She opened the door and dumped the leftover food on the ground.
"That's kind of a waste of food. You don't throw out that much food just because you're not hungry right now." I folded the paper back around the half eaten burger and put it in the bag along with the fries.
"Oh," She opened the door.
"Don't pick it up!" I shouted. "It's all dirty and whatnot."
"Fine, whatever." She closed the door. I only managed to kill forty minutes. Maybe a movie would be good.
"You ever see a movie?" I was already on my way to the theater.
"I've heard of those." She was back to observing my method of driving. "What do movies do?"
"They, uh. Make you feel things. Just by watching them. Like a story but with moving pictures and stuff." I tried to explain. "Hey," I pulled into a parking lot. "Did you want to try driving?" I gestured to the wheel.
"Sure!" She hopped in the driver's seat as I walked around to the passenger side. "There's more levers down here?!?" I could tell she was pressing the gas, the engine sounded angry.
"You're gonna want to be careful with that one. At least at first, it speeds the car up. The other- uh- lever down there makes it stop." I explained a few more things about driving to her.
"And you move this thing to make it move different?" It was all too quick. A screech of tires on pavement, then we were on the road. The sound of metal on metal and shattering glass. All I could really remember were street lights, they were sideways and blurry.
"Is she okay?" I asked the emt in the ambulance. Of course they didn't find her in the wreckage. If only I had done something differently. I was just so lonely. I was worried I was going to lose my brother. The same way I lost my mother. They'd been born with genetic defects. I'd taken after my father, my little brother was less lucky. Not only did he have my mother's macular degeneration but he also had my father's weak heart.
"Hey, are you okay?" It was death, she looked down over me. Was she flying?
"Yeah. Do you know how... how the kid's doing?" I choked out. My body had been damaged more than the morphine let me realize.
"He's good." She shed a few tears. "They say he'll live a long time, your brother."
"That's good then." I let my head fall back.
"Yeah, but... I'm sorry. There was a mix up." She descended until her cool body was chilling my own. "I was sent to take you."
|
"Apparently so..." I respond, very hoarsely.
"Why?" Death looked me dead in the eyes.
"Fuck'd if I know." It was a long day, and I generally just got done helping the poor Man in there, so I wasn't really in the mood for... "Negotiations."
"Well, you have to let me in, I have to claim this man's soul. He needs to depart to the afterlife." Death was also getting annoyed, I couldn't blame him. This probably isn't the first time this happened, and probably won't be the last.
"Sorry, family only." People were looking at me like an insane person, except for my coworkers, they knew I had a tendency to talk to myself.
"No. Death can't be stopped, you can't prevent this!" Death rushes to try and enter the room, but I grabbed him by the throat and pulled him back.
"Wait, why were you able to grab me? The only people who can do that are God and Sat-" He pauses, slowly realizing who I am.
"SATAN WHY THE FUCK?!" I burst out laughing, by this point, no one could see me, I turned to normal.
"It's always priceless to see your reaction to my pranks Deathy boy." I put my hand on his shoulder, with a cheeky smirk on my face, still giggling from it.
"Alright Death, you can go in now. Thanks for the laugh." Death enters the room, as I return to hell whence I came.
This wasn't the first time this happened, and it definitely won't be the last time.
| 2019-03-24T00:47:30 | 2019-03-23T23:45:47 | 28 | 19 |
[WP]Recently a new tribe was discovered in a rainforest that has never been seen before. Rather than being behind the rest of the world technologically, they are far more advanced.
|
Amanda's machete swished softly through the thick wall of leaves and vines, as it had done for the past seven hours since leaving camp. They were four weeks out of Manaus, and had traveled upstream looking for the source of some rare-earth minerals that had flooded the marketplaces of small Amazonian villages. Natives had been selling cerium and neodymium as bits of scrap metal, not knowing the worth of these valuable materials. According to Amanda's contact, they claimed that that the metals were simply found in the jungle, already purified. Anyone with a discerning eye could tell you that these pieces were high quality and definitely unlike any lode found anywhere else on Earth. And the quantities were astounding. Amanda's company, Allied Electronics, wanted to find out where they were, and stake its claim before any competitors caught wind of it.
The machete came down with a hard *clank* that sent vibrations rattling through her arm. The cover of moss was thick, but that sound had not come from a boulder.
David, Amanda's companion, stooped for a closer look. They were two days from the supposed site where the minerals had been gathered, but who knows how wide of an area these metals were found in? This could be a whole second lode! He brushed the leaves and vines aside, kneeling in the soft mud. Being incredibly dirty no longer bothered either of them; one must give up comforts like "cleanliness" out here in the jungle.
It was a squat square of steel that hummed softly, if you put your ears close to the one side of it covered by fine mesh instead of metal plating. Practically invisible through all the brush, and certainly not audible over the constant whine of bugs and rain and wind and all of the other sounds of the Amazon. Stumbling across this thing was a one in a billion chance.
"What is it?" Amanda asked, still clutching the machete in her hand.
David was running his hands all over it until he finally found what he was looking for: Rivets. "Some kind of casing," he said. "There's something inside of it." He reached into his pocket for a multitool and began prying them up.
---
Amanda watched a snake curled in a nearby tree, which seemed to be lazily wondering why these humans had been obsessed with this box for the past hour. Her machete once again hung by her hip, put back in its loop once Amanda realized that they weren't going to make any more progress for the day.
David, on the other hand, was completely enthralled. The metal plates from the casing were scattered around him, and he had begun to disassemble whatever this thing inside of the box was, trying to discover what it did. He'd spent the last fifteen minutes just staring at a microchip that he'd pulled out of it. Like a kid with one of those "spot the differences" games in a magazine, he was noting every single miniscule detail.
"I don't think we're the first company here," he told Amanda. "Whatever this is, the design is advanced. Far above what Allied produces. I don't know *anyone* in the market who could make something like this." His face grew pale. "Do you think it's the military? Is this some kind of testing ground?"
Amanda was doodling in the dirt with a long stick. "Nope," she said, bored with the conversation. As amazing as it was to find this little box, they had an objective to find, and this wasn't it. "Brazilian military is practically still at World War II levels, and there's no way that they'd let the Americans use something top secret out here." Relations between the two hadn't exactly been friendly since the NSA spying scandal. "And they wouldn't let anyone else in here either."
David went back to the little machine, which had ceased humming about ten minutes ago when he removed a small but powerful cooling fan.
"We really should get going," she said, checking her watch. "The sun is going...."
Her gaze had gone up to the canopy to see how much daylight they had left. But her speech trailed off.
"Going to what?" David asked, still tinkering. Amanda didn't answer.
David adjusted his glasses and looked up. His companion was just staring off into space, jaw hanging open like Wile E Coyote in a cartoon. David followed her gaze, and promptly fell over.
Less than a hundred meters away, a sliver had appeared in the sky. Small, maybe only 30 or 40 meters across but at least 300 meters up. It was something like a doorway, with a dark grey background contrasting with the bright blue sky and fresh green of the jungle. Inside, in what appeared to be a vast dome, they could see a cityscape of towering skyscrapers, all lit with bright golden lights.
"What the...." Amanda couldn't even finish her sentence. David was still rolling around in the mud, too busy staring at the slice in the sky to figure out how to stand.
Men approached out of the jungle as though they'd just materialized out of thin air. David and Amanda were so preoccupied that they weren't even aware of the new arrivals until they were only a meter or so away.
"You'd better come with us," one of them said in perfect English, despite wearing traditional native clothes including full face paint.
Amanda took an unconscious step back and placed a hand on the machete. But one of the natives drew a weapon, made of dark metal and with a flashing light. It wasn't any gun that Amanda had ever seen, but it was definitely a weapon. "Not a good idea," the native told her.
"Come where?" David asked to the first man.
He looked at his companions, then back to David. "Amrentaraz," he said. The name sounded a bit like a weird sneeze. Amanda and David had no reaction; it wasn't a city on any of their maps. "But our last visitor from the outside named it 'El Dorado.'"
---
If you enjoyed the story, you should visit my subreddit, /r/Luna_Lovewell! If I think of a good way to take the story, I'll try to write a continuation there tonight.
|
"That's funny," the graduate student said aloud.
"What is?" asked a fellow graduate student.
"Did you see this picture, there's like a whole square of forest missing!"
"Strange."
It took another year before the pattern emerged. Two decades of satellite imagery showed some odd things about that patch of rain forest. Every so often the square of forest would be nothing but a black square in a sea of green forest. It took another two months to figure out that the black squares were only in the satellite images around the time of intense sunspot activity. Like the color was being switched off when the magnetic inference of the sun was at its peak.
Thermal imagery confirmed it. The patch of rain forest was slightly hotter than would be expected. What was causing the subtle differences in heat was anyone's guess? It wasn't until the next sunspot cycle that the thermographs lit up like a Christmas tree.
Something strange was going on in that part of the rain forest.
| 2015-07-10T10:20:42 | 2015-07-10T10:10:02 | 427 | 18 |
[wp] Sick of somebody trying to get into your servers, you let them in, only to spring a virus into their system. To your surprise, the news the next day says that the goverment's systems have been absolutely wrecked.
​
|
"GDP suffered a small downturn today after a raid on the Pavelex Corporate Branch Netscape by an unknown group. Wide-scale breaches and data-corruption have been detected and at least two Monitors have reported themselves as compromised. The motives and purpose of the attack are not yet know, but local law enforcement and Pavelex's Internal Security Board have convened to discuss the matter. The company issued its public statement just moments ago."
*"This attack is unprovoked and malicious in its intent. While we could understand an assault on our private servers, we have never denied that we have made enemies, the damage to basic network infrastructure is inexcusable. This will not only hurt the economy of our fair planet, but the lives our employees, our customers, and our citizens. Know that you have crossed the line from criminal to terrorist. And when you are found, you will swiftly meet the long arm of the law as it squeezes your throat."*
"While effects on the macro-scale are still being calculated, the average citizen can expect increased delays in net response and lowered bandwith. NetSec has also released an advisory on the loss of personal information-"
Simon shut off the feed before the talking heads could get too far into their roll. Details wouldn't matter to anyone outside the corp or the conspiracy boards. A few weeks of slow service and angry execs yelling at the cops to bust heads. Keep your head down on the street and plan for a good show in two weeks when they found their scapegoat.
"Feel sorry for the bastard they grab. Suit looked mad enough to bring out a goddamn guillotine." He rolled his chair away from the table, covered in BoostBar wrappers and cereal bowls, to the other table, covered in loose wiring and batteries. And a small mechanical kitten. Kept freezing up, from bad joints AND a faulty board. Had to have it done in two days, he promised Naima.
So of course, his goggles flashed with an incoming call just as he picked up his multi-tool. Unknown number, but local. Probably a customer.
Hey, if payed well enough he could give the thing a new paintjob. Make a little girl smile.
"Simon Says Work. It breaks, I fix. How big a thing are we talking about?" he asked as he set to work removing the legs.
*"What. The fuck."*
Simon stopped working.
"Excuse me?"
*"Shut up and listen,"* the woman started. Her voice would have been smooth, maybe sultry, if she didn't sound angry enough to have spent the whole day huffing combat stims. But they were real words which suggested sobriety which was damn impressive. *"Only two people would be in this kind of shit. A jackass or a stooge. Which are you?"*
"Uhhhh-"
*"Stooge, good, I can work with that."* The voice paused and there was a pop. Pill bottle uncapping. Bad sign. Very bad. Bad enough to fish out the key chameleon taped to the bottom of his desk. *"So, you see the news? How someone decided today was a good day to stick their dick in a wasp nest?"*
"What's a wasp?"
*"Bad thing. Worse is that they used yours."*
Simon really didn't want to follow that analogy further and rushed over to his apartment's two cabinets. He tore the bottom one open, throwing spare tools and old concert flyers aside until he could see the keyhole hidden in the bottom.
*"So, and take a moment to think real hard on this cause it's important, there been any suspicious activity on your account lately?"* The last words were done in an accent that managed to sound both perky and monotone. Like a telemarketer. At least she was having fun.
"Nothing besides the usual. What did you mean? They used mine?" The lock clicked and he pulled the false bottom out of the cabinet, then followed it up by hauling up the duffel bag. His downstairs neighbors were the nice kind of never questioned the unusual sound of someone drilling into their air-duct.
*"Focus Mr. Fixit. It's important."*
"I guess..." Remembering something so small was asking a lot. Hundreds of hits of 'suspicious activity' rolled by every day, he had that kind of service. Picking one out from the others...although... "A fake job. Too good to be true, too specific wording, lots of attention to the money. Usually ignore them, but this one, same one every time, kept popping up every two hours. Kept it up for three days until I just got sick of deleting it."
*"So you let it in?!"*
"It was just a spambot! They only ever want personal information and that webpage is just an ad with my phone number! I WANT to get that out there, what was the harm?" He pulled a heavy black bandanna out of a pocket and tied it over his mouth. Lined to keep out imaging software. A jacket with the same treatment with a hood to hide his hair. A mental toggle set his work goggles to opaque. Face hidden, his strapped the bag onto his back.
*"Oh you poor little...you have a bugout bag, so I guess there's hope for you."* He could here the laughter in her voice. Practically see her muttering 'amateur' under her breath. But it was a start, if he wanted the voice's approval.
Simon reached for the door, only to watch the green lights switched to red. He hadn't locked it.
*"Bad idea,"* she said, all but confirming she was hacking him. Then she confirmed it by switching all the lights off and rolling up the blinds on his window.
The piercing pink light of the ad on the building across from him turned the room into a headache. A giant woman, almost terrifying in attractiveness, stared at him with eyes that glowed. Scrawl promising a hundred more features than his dinky goggles. In far higher definition. All he had to do was pay to let them scoop out his real eyes.
"I'm getting the sense I need to leave. Should I just stay here?" He set his goggles to filter the ad, showing the dull gray of another monolithic hab block. Definitly worth the five script a month.
*"Course not. But the Drags are edging close to your floor. Figured you'd want to avoid them."*
The room seemed to freeze at the name. Dragon Vultures. Pavelex's own personal shitkickers. Armies worth of technically-not-military grade cyborgs. Best on the planet, if you bought the hype.
They could be bottom rung gang-bangers and he'd still be a dead man.
"Shit," he muttered, all but biting through his cheek to keep from hyperventilating. "Shit shit shit."
*"Whoever sent that spam wasn't after your phone number, they wanted to put a relay through the server of your building. There are thousands of connections inside, it'll take them time to sort through it all."* The voice grew louder and louder in his audio implant. Had to over the sudden rush of wind and skycars as she opened the windows. The wrappers and wires were whipped up into a small storm of random trash. Some part of him noted with annoyance that he wouldn't be able to clean it up. The rest of him was screaming. *"But they left a big, fat tell sitting right in your webpage's source code. Obviously fake, even you'd be able to tell. But the average citizen won't after a sham trial and a two week media blitz soooo...guess you're gonna learn how to bleat."*
He swallowed, but it just made him realize how dry his mouth was. He thought he heard a thump somewhere. In the hall. Was that the Drags? Were they heading towards his door?
Naima was never getting her kitten back.
"Why is my window open?"
*"Only way out of here."*
Simon's hands shook as he gripped the frame. Peered out into a three hundred story drop filled by hundreds of skycars.
*"Normally we wouldn't give a damn about this, but they attacked a node. Directly or indirectly, they attacked US. And if you think the corps are vindictive, you're comparing a koifish to a kraken."* Without really thinking about it, he pulled his legs up over the lip. Stood in the window. An automatic alert told him to step back inside, that a trained negotiator was on the way. *"You're nothing. But you got fucked just like we did. We can use that, I like new talent. Or I just want you to kill yourself to deny Pavelex a show. You're going to have to trust it's the first one. Call it a leap of faith. Trust review."*
Something slammed into his door. A spike of metal. Crowbar.
*"When I tell you."*
The door opened. Shouting. Demands he step down and get on the floor.
Well, better than a guillotine.
*"Jump."*
Gunshots sounded behind him as he stepped off the edge.
------
https://old.reddit.com/r/FiresofFordregha/
|
Labor day . May 1st. The day we get off from Labor, if you don't work retail and you don't work emergency stuff, or you were stupid enough to get into IT. Which is why, at 954PM, I am staring at a rack of Dell servers. Wireshark already told me what I need to know- where the packets are coming from, who is flooding them, and whatnot. I already know what I have to do. I just... It's late. I'm tired. This... *Breathing exercises.* Let's back up and talk ransomware for a minute. By the time we are done, I may have the willpower to continue.
​
Imagine you are my employer, MegaCorp. MegaCorp has to do things around the world at all hours. MegaCorp does millions of dollars of business. MegaCorp has server farms that let you buy "Jeggings Black M" at 945PM from you couch. MegaCorp counts of lots of business online, which requires MegaCorp to have computers that are always on.
​
BadGuy is someone who, with a little experience working for places like MegaCorp or simply the brains to use the internet, knows that MegaCorp needs these servers up and running. Using the experience or brains (and occasionally both), BadGuy whips up a virus that takes down MegaCorps servers and until MegaCorp pays them BitCoin. The key part is, BadGuy needs an internet connection. So, BadGuys lovely little virus gets on a MegaCorp server and starts poking around, trying to phone home.
​
Now, places like MegaCorp have people like me, OvertimeMachineHerder. OvertimeMachineHerder has firewalls that say who gets to talk to what. OvertimeMachineHerder sees the same server get ill, over and over. (Who targets the ERP system anyway?) People like OvertimeMachineHerder know how backups work and, surprise, surprise, just run the backup. Wipe the drive, rebuild an image, call it a day. *And that's what I should do. OvertimeMachineHerder is just going to do the backup.* *Just like the other five @(#\*ing nights this month.*
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"You know this wasn't planned. This could not have been planned." My head aches from a vodka induced hangover. The rest of me aches from the man in front of me.
"You know why you still have a tongue?" His eyes are dead. "And your beautiful teeth?
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
OvertimeMachineHerder is a patient man. He thought that this was just some normal scammer trying to break in. Two can play at that game. It was just a little itsy bitsy upload. What's the worst that could happen?
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The lamp in my eyes again. They won't let me sleep. "Please, *please,* please... If I had done it, there would have been some sort of command and control..."
The announcer boomed out. "Again?"
"I...if I wrote it, there would be command and control. I could see who was trying to pay and could turn it off."
*Did they hear?*
*"*And I would have some.... some tech support, so if you did pay, an-and had trouble, you could-ould get help."
*Silence.*
*"*I would have charged more! And I would have let it sit before attacking so it infected their backups!"
The lights went out.
"When you wake up, we may have job for you... We will negotate conditions of employment soon. Dobroy nochi."
| 2018-09-03T21:04:03 | 2018-09-03T19:21:59 | 915 | 302 |
[WP] The new generation of vampire has discovered that just by taking iron supplements and vitamin D drops, they’re feeling fine without drinking human blood
|
It was the middle of the night when they met up. It was always the middle of the night. Why, you may ask? Because they would spontaneously combust the second they ever got in contact with the sun. Not even getting severe burns first. Just the second they touch the sun, it’s over. One of them was the third oldest currently living vampire, lord Carvaáles, a vampire that witnessed the beheading of queen Marry and drank coffee with young Hitler in Austria back when he was still an aspiring artist, wearing an old purple cloak decorated with bones. The second was his son, Gourìèl. Even he was old by vampire standards, since his father was a horny teenager back in the day. He wore a tuxedo that was, despite being over a hundred years old, still looking like it just came out of the shop. The third vampire was Gourìèls son, Frank, wearing sweat pants and a Metallica shirt. “Now, my dearest boy, tell us, why have you called an emergency meeting all of a sudden? I have a feast to attend to and the night is not getting any younger!” Carvaáles announced in a raspy, yet wise voice. “Well, you guys remember how we need to drink human blood to live? Which makes us murder a bunch of innocent people?” Frank asked. “That is correct, it is said, however we have to keep doing it, it is our nature. If some higher entity made us like this, then it must be the right path.” His father reassured him about their violent ways. “Yeah… about that… See, one of my human acquaintances, Ashley has this thing called iron insufficiency, so she has to pop pills for it. It also makes her blood not as nutritious. That’s also the reason as to why I stopped when I started sucking her blood when we first met. Anyway-” “Wait hold on. You’re telling me you attacked a human, began drinking their blood, and then stopped, thus letting them know you’re a vampire, while also seeing her?” His father interrupted him swiftly. “Yes. That is exactly what happened between her and I.” “Oh for the love of Dracula, I told you this is what will happen if you father a child of a dumb woman, Gourìèl, the young one has inherited her intellect, or better yet, the lack off.” The elderly jabbed at his only still living son. “Father, we shall not re-open that Pandora’s box. Kriitila is a wonderful woman with whom I’m very pleased with. You’d known that if you actually showed up more. Or if you, you know ATTENDED OUR WEDDING YOUR DEADBEAT ASSHOLE!” “Can I please, for the love of Dracula, finish? I actually have some very important information to share with you two.” Frank requested. “Seeing how I’m in quite of a hurry, let’s let him speak his mind so I can go on with my night as quickly as vampirically possible.” The old one stated. “So anyway, I ate one of those pills by accident, thinking it’s candy-” “What is candy?” Gourìèls wondered. “Sounds tasty.” He also added. “It is, it’s a human thing, but that’s not relevant at the moment. So, I ate one of those pills while I was quite thirsty for blood and wouldn’t you know, I felt less hungry. Then I took two more and I felt like I just sucked an entire human dry. Turns out humans have found a way to take the essence that we need to live and mass produce it. We don’t have to murder people any more.” “That is incredible, what an amazing new discovery! I will definitely try these things.” Carvaáles likes complimenting his grandchild, but he did want to give compliments for a reason and not just throw them around so they’d mean something. And this certainly was worth it. “This… is not a new invention. It’s pretty old. Yeah, we sort of could have stopped killing humans decades ago. But you know, better late than never!” There were suddenly footsteps coming out of the darkness. It was a man with a headlight that was broken. “Oh, I didn’t expect to met other ghost hunters in this abandoned castle. How do you do? The name’s Mickey!” The man presented himself. He had a thick New York accent, a long beard and only a sprinkle worth of grey hair. “Lovely! I have not to find a feast! The feast has found me!” Carvaáles announced. “Time for brunch, father!” His son added as they both pounced on the man. “What the fuck are you two doing? I JUST said we don’t have to eat people any more!” “Oh, you are correct! My apologies, young one, it’s a force of habit! Well, we’ve barely nimbled on him, I am sure he is still alive-” “He’s dead I believe you’ve broke his neck when you jumped on him with such force, father.” Gourìèls interrupted his father amidst a sentence, which he rarely did. “Well, shit happens, just please stop killing people now that we don’t have to.” As both of the older vampires nodded, Gourìèls decided to inquire about the potential length of this meeting. “So, are we done here or is there anything else on the agenda? I’m missing the Vampiric chess world championship over this.” “Well dad, as a matter of fact, there is. There’s actually going to be four of us in the next meeting. I’m having a kid!” “Why that’s amazing, son! I am truly excited!” His father announced. “With Ashley, the human girl!” Frank added. Both of the elder vampires held eye contact for about half a minute and then facepalmed simultaneously. “Oh good lord, he laid in bed with livestock!” Gourìèls groaned. “And now I’m sure they’ll give him some pathetic human name like “Bob” or “Dennis”, the same way you did!” Carvaáles added on. “We’ve been through this, our traditional names don’t blend in with the humans. Do you have any idea how many weird looks I get every time I have to show my ID?” “HER NAME SHALL BE KÄRATĦĨËL, THE EATER OF SOULS, CRUSHER OF NATIONS!!!” Frank yelled as hard as he could. “I suppose some of my common sense skipped a generation!” Carvaáles announced while clapping his wrinkled hands with a giddy smile, seemingly already getting over the fact his great-grandchild will be of mixed blood. “I hate you both.” Gourìèls groaned
|
The synthetic supplements seemed the only option – a way to keep our deadly cravings outlaid. And so it was. For a time, the plan worked, we kept ourselves healthy, got what we wanted and our appetites kept in check.
It was then that I started to unravel. Physically I was stronger – stronger than ever before. I felt like I could fly if I wanted to – that I barely had to try to be powerful. But then something started to change. I noticed a darkness come over me and my thoughts started to become darker and darker. I hardly recognized myself and I just knew the supplements were to blame. I felt invincible and truly, truly sinister.
The next few weeks were a haze. I found myself indulging in activities I never thought I would partake in. People started to go missing and I'd find myself lurking in places I'd never been before – places of death and destruction. I just wanted to get away – away from my own mind and the darkness I'd created. But it seemed I had no control over it. My addiction was back in full force – the need to consume human blood was pressing. I couldn't help it and eventually I had to give in.
As much as I tried my plan had failed and I had become my own worst enemy. The people around me didn't understand. I was a killer – a vampire with an unstoppable hunger for blood. There was no turning back.
My life has become an endless cycle of guilt, death and destruction. And as for the ending? There is none. Just an endless loop in which I’ll never be free from my bloodlust.
| 2022-12-04T10:24:34 | 2022-12-04T09:56:46 | 19 | 11 |
[WP] "So they are a war species then, huh." The alien scratched his head: "Why are you interested in them. The humans, i mean." The other alien got closer. "They fight for peace. No war species ever fights for peace."
|
Hidden in space-thick, as humans would know to call it in 830 years, two high spectrum semi-intelligent colony aggregates spectated human history through a light beading-apparatus. Homo sapiens, blissfully unaware of its clandestine observers, plodded through time slowly and clumsily. The duo sensed closely. They communicated their findings in a "cross-feeling" that the humans would come to discover and understand one day, to the alien races' surprise.
"They are initiating vertical knowledge transfer. Really early now, but I expect rapid growth of information because of this." Alien 1.
"Affirmative." Alien 2.
"Biomass evaluation at 20% standard hereditary potential. Early lag phase population growth sustained for 3 oirons now. I'm wondering when they're going to spike, guesses?" Alien 1 questioned.
A long pause. "Unpredictable," Alien 2 responded. "Feel their basic physiology. They have not even left lag and are barely aggregating, but conflicts are making it impossible for an exponential setup. It is as if they are resistant to improvement."
"You and your idealism. I thought you bound to this duty to appreciate the diversity of semi-intelligence, not to scrutinize it." Alien 1.
"Almost the same thing." Alien 2 responded. This was not a gesture of wit, for asexual beings such as this were physiologically exempt from these things as their genesis did not require them. Yet, almost invariably there was a sense of humor, or some mechanism of irony or mishap. Alien 1 found that there was something sharp in what Alien 2 communicated.
(Try to think, reader, of a language so specific it was as if every synonym of every word that we use so flexibly today has its own specific meaning, so that context is always preserved in the passing of information. Then think even harder of using this language by feeling with hundreds of sensitive hands coated in feeling bacteria (endogenous of course to the aliens' home system), which conjugate and pass information at relatively incredible speeds to the aliens' neural networks. This is akin to what we fear artificial intelligence will become in the present day - instantaneous communicators that will far outpace us. The aliens' conversations themselves occurred in fractions of a second. But this was matched by the passing of human history in the observational equipment at ten million times normal human perception speed. For the aliens, it was a comfortable pace and they could speed it up or slow it down at will.)
"I disagree, but we shall not debate over the subject." Alien 1. "Some civilization now, agriculture. Of course, some cultural development with the accumulation of resource centers. The societal hierarchies are a little deviant, but that is to be expected from a species driven by instinct. But what is this?"
The Sumerians had built weapons, domesticated horses, and used them both to attack another human population, the Elam. The Sumerians slaughtered them, claimed their weapons and property, and extended their domain to that land. The aliens were not baffled by war; it was a reasonable die or survive response to overpopulation. Alien 2 found nothing significant in the event.
"This can only be due to societal pressure due to expansion. They're a war species, so they probably won't proliferate much more. Though it is premature, I predict that this semi-intelligence will not reach an exponential phase." Alien 2.
"The locales of the conflicts. They are far apart. How can you say that this is pressure of expansion that causes the war?" Alien 1.
"Because, look. Society is at 200% biomass of SHP. It's increasing slowly at this point but it is almost directly proportional is the rate of armed conflict." Alien 2.
"Only certain societies are warring. They seem to divide by nationality." Alien 1.
"It has been established how erratic their behavior is."
"Yes."
"And they are still in the lag phase. After 38 oirons now."
"Yes."
A short pause. "Then let us collect more data if you are so curious."
Wars continued. Little else occurred that the aliens could not explain. But Alien 1 was seeing a trend that Alien 2 was not. Preceding wars, civilizations would push to advance technologies to defend themselves. Then, the war would occur, leaving behind many deaths. From the victor came the evolved technology, the new land, and a more consolidated people. But then, due to threat of war, this briefly large society would fragment into nationalistic, smaller ones with more effective people. It was as if the wars were not occurring as a defense mechanism or a population control response, but a very inefficient means for stimulating progress.
As soon as the 19th and 20th century arrived, the light-beading apparatus was slowed about 20x for more specific viewing. Alien 2 had been wrong. Population skyrocketed. Wars and diplomatic conflicts transformed national boundaries. The rate of industrial improvement was impressive even to Alien 2, based off of the last 50 oirons (about 18,000 years) of relative population and technological stagnation.
Alien 1 was justified in its postulate about human wars. The industrial revolution and many inventions of the 20th century had been greatly impacted by the real threat of war everywhere. Pressures to improve society at the nationalist level brought groups of people together to solve problems that had positive ramifications outside of warfare. Alien 1 communicated this to Alien 2.
"This isn't really a war species at all. Even though it is a defining characteristic necessary to its development." Alien 1 concluded. "It is a semi-intelligence that simply tries to improve itself and is not afraid of death."
"Is it a threat to us?"
"No. But I don't think they will destroy themselves so give them a few thousand years and they might be."
|
"They fight for Peace?" The Alien scratched his head again. "Pretty much, Yes." The other Alien said. "But, why would they fight for peace? Isn't that a little Ironic?" The Alien said ,baffled at what the other Alien said. "This species has been fighting each other since their very beginning, from the smallest to the biggest of conflicts." "They have made songs, poems, music, and songs about war." The other Alien Said. (First time writing here, do apologize if this seems bad)
| 2018-03-17T05:20:00 | 2018-03-17T01:07:51 | 90 | 31 |
[WP] The four horsemen of the apocalypse are white, upper-middle class suburban soccer moms.
|
Judith sighed and brushed her hair from her face.
Just one match. Just one. A football match, simulated warfare, simulated aggression, tightly controlled chaos, was all she wanted. Just football, nothing more. Just to sit, and watch, and gently direct the passions of the onlookers onto the cheerful group of six-year-olds who followed the ball like faithful hounds.
Unfortunately, she couldn't go to one of her daughter's matches ever again.
It had all been going nicely. Maureen--who was the iconoclast of the group, short, fat, cheerful, loving--had been sitting next to her, collecting the drifting broken dreams of middle age to her ample bosom, loving as with a pile of lost kittens. Broken dreams, failing marriages, crushed hopes, all were tiny deaths, and she treated them with the same compassion and grace as when a body lost its heartbeat. Judy and Maureen made a point of always sitting together, since Judy's burning aggression balanced out Maureen's eternal calm. That, and, well, nobody in heaven or earth made better chocolate chip cookies than Maureen, and Judy was one of only a handful of beings on the planet who could eat them and live. Maureen always slipped Judy a few, wrapped carefully in paper, and Judy was always careful to never, ever lose a single crumb.
Rosy and Wanda would usually come to matches, but stay off to the side by themselves. Wanda early on established boundaries to keep the unsuspecting away, usually by putting ravenous hunger into the well-meaning busybodies who wanted to talk, and barring that, actually laying hands on the women and saying, my friend isn't feeling well, why don't you let her be so you don't catch something? Whenever that happened, Maureen and Judy would always take bets on how long it would be before the woman was hospitalised for an eating disorder. So far none of them had died, but eventually one would, and Maureen would come find her.
Still, they were a balancing force. As long as all four of them were present, the forces holding them into life would be kept even, and one of them couldn't rise ascendant over the rest. Today, Rosy and Wanda had not come, for whatever reason, and the results were dire.
There was a new child on the field today, with both her parents, and while the girl was chasing after the ball and her mother talking to the coach, the father casually slid behind where Judith and Maureen were standing, and pinched Judith's butt.
Judith, being a creature of desperate passions, oozed sex. She couldn't go to a bar for a fancy cocktail without two total strangers getting into a fight over her, over who would get to fuck her. When her daughter Amy first joined the soccer group, within six weeks any woman whose tubes weren't tied or her husband hadn't had the snip was pregnant--the passion inspired by Judith was released elsewhere, and what better destabilising force for violence was ever created than too many children living in too poor conditions, furious at their elders for lack of resources and lack of control over their own lives? (Although, she had to admit, watching those excess children tear the Ceausecus to pieces in 1989 had been so deeply satisfying that even Rosy congratulated her on it.) She blunted the path to wrath and desire as best she could with plain, unflattering clothing and changing her body to appear sallow and forgettable, and never went anywhere without her sisters. Still, rarely, humans would attempt to touch her sexually, and always with consequences.
Maureen noticed as soon as it happened. "Oh shit, honey," she said, and clamped a thick soft hand around Judith's arm. It was warm and comforting and reassuring, and far, far, far too late.
Judith, for her part, closed her eyes, tilted her head to the sky, and said, "Here we go."
That was when one of the girls on the blue team shoved a girl on the red team. Hard. Pushed her right to the ground. Tiny sparks of betrayal flickered through the air. Maureen collected them all.
"Hey, Ref, she pushed my kid!" shouted one father. His face had a suspicious bloom on his cheeks, passion funneled into wrath.
The referee, an attractive young blonde woman, separated the girls and sent both to the sidelines. "Number 7 Blue is benched for the game," she said. "Number 4 red, take a minute, shake it off, you can come back in later." The girls funnelled to the sidelines, looking shaken.
"She pushed my kid, and all you're going to do is bench her?" The father came out onto the field, shaking off the grip of his desperate wife. "She should sit out the next three games, at least."
The referee shook her head. "Leave the field now, sir," she warned. Along the sidelines, a trio of other fathers coalesced, ready to take him to the sideline. "Let the girls finish their game." She pointed at the red team coach.
And that was that. As soon as the coach came on the field to lead him away, the man took a swing at her. Coach, being a second-degree black belt in tae kwon do as well as a very competent childrens' coach, blocked the swing and pinned his arms, which would have been quite enough if one of the other fathers had not chosen to say something rude about the pinned man's manhood, and gotten a slap across the face from the pinned man's wife.
"Okay," Maureen said, her eyes sparkling, "even you have to admit that was funny."
It kind of was.
Out on the field, one little girl saw her mommy hit another man, and she ran to the sideline, which would have been a touching show of emotion had she not tripped and fallen face first on a 2-year-old playing in the dirt. "Hey!" shouted another father. "Watch your fucking kid!"
"Watch your language around my daughter," the woman shouted, running to collect her now-sobbing child and staring daggers at him. An older boy, about ten, ran with her, and threw his arms about his sister. The baby on the ground wailed. Another mother came bustling out of the cluster of grumbling parents to swoop up the baby, and said something condescending to the still-sobbing little girl, and got a kick in the shins from her brother.
That was the final straw. Within minutes, every adult man on the blue side of the field was in a fistfight. Every adult woman was screaming at the other women at the top of her lungs, babies were screaming, older children crying, and, the ten little girls wearing blue shirts were left standing on the field, tears streaming down their faces.
The referee, ever practical, led the girls off the field, red team and blue team alike, into the arms of parents who hustled the children away from the sight of six police squad cars showing up for the entertainment. The red team parents gave the girls juice and crackers as their fathers were taken away in handcuffs, and at least one mother arrested for assaulting one of the police officers. Phone calls were made to neighbours and friends, anybody to come comfort the girls (and more importantly, pass over responsibility for the junior football orphans to somebody else). A cake appeared from somewhere, and the rituals of using sugar to comfort sobbing children was repeated in the face of flickering lights and shouted obscenities.
Maureen and Judith both turned their heads to the cacophony just in time to see the man who'd started the whole affair being shoved into a squad car. They grinned at one another, and then looked at the referee, sitting on the field drinking out of a gatorade bottle. And then they turned to see Amy, her daughter, standing on the field watching them, and their grins faded.
Judith's heart broke at the horrified expression on her face. Maureen caught the ashes and buried them.
The cold cloth over her eyes helped. So did the chardonnay, and the enormous packet of fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies Maureen brought over. Who cares if they were fattening, ten minutes with Wanda would fix that.
The door creaked open. "Hey, honey," Stephen said.
Stephen, husband, father of her daughter, seraphim, sent from the Almighty to control her rages. After today's events, some sort of punishment would follow. Even without opening her eyes, she could tell that all six of his wings were out and blazing--the smell of brimstone was strong.
"Maureen told me what happened," he said. "I'm so sorry."
She pulled the cloth from her eyes and set the wine down. Looking up at him, his face was full of compassion. She blinked. His wings were out and blazing, but not the red-black of judgement, but the green-white of sorrow.
"Come here," he said, and pulled her closer, wrapping all six wings around her.
"I just wanted to go to the match," she said, burying her face in his shoulder.
"I know," he said.
|
It was the monthly book club. Their favorite time. You know, with plotting out the Apocalypse and what not. Those silly meatsuits they lovingly called pookie and hubbie-bear, they had no clue. They all thought their wives were incredibly intellectual, reading Tolstoy and Sun Tzu. But it was Batilda's year to choose the books, after all, and oh, how she loved to check up on the little ants that called her *muse*.
**"Ladies-"** she gleefully set down a tray of brownies and popped the cork on one of their wines. Batilda sniffed at the neck, sighing with a smile. **"Ah, Una. You always bring the best wines. Ironically."** They all twittered with light chuckles. Of course Una had already gotten into the brownies. The fat slut. Not that Batilda, or Mahlah or Thana for that matter, ever said it to her face. Oh but they all knew how they slung mud to whomever wasn't present at the time. If only TMZ could get ahold of *their* lives, how much better reality TV could be.
**"But 'Til. Before we start in on this, tell me you saw the news?"** Thana giggled with delight, clapping her hands together. Not only were her offspring promising in bringing destruction (anger issues and all that, the doctors were sure) but she had been setting many plans in motion.
**"Yes yes. The earthquake and the tsunami, was it? And Mahlah, you've started some minor...something."** Batilda waved a hand dismissively, examining her nails before pouring out four glasses. She got the most, naturally. **"Shame they caught your ebola strain. And it had such...potential. But we've all lost children, haven't we? Or, well...most of us, anyway."** She chuckled, handing out the glasses. No, *she* never lost a child. No matter what era, war was always a hot topic. And it never went out of fashion.
**"I've been working on Africa-"** Una began, wiping chocolate crumbs from her puffy little cheeks.
**"You've been working on that miserable hovel for the better part of a century,"** Thana snapped. Una glared, but took to her wine instead. They all knew that famine was the least popular among them. There was no presentation to her particular skillset. At least the rest of them could put on a show.
**"Please, ladies,"** ever the gracious host, when she felt like putting on airs at least, Batilda took a seat, smoothing her perfectly pressed pants and brushing a finger over her hair. She was trying blonde this season. **"Let us not forget, we do all need each other. Why, imagine the Dark Ages! We were still sisters then, having our girlish fun."** Yes, that particular memory always made them giggle. So much chaos and wonderful destruction, and even the humans had turned on one another. **"It's that time of decade again. I brought the globe."**
Thana lit up, her squeals turning into high-pitched giggles that threatened to shatter their wine goblets. **"Oh who's turn is it this time? I've got a few third-world countries I would simply *love* to wipe out."** Batilda was already pulling it from beneath the table, wishing it was Thana's year, just so she could take the satisfaction from her.
**"Mahlah,"** she handed the pin over, **"You get to pick our vacation spot this time."** It was always fun to hear their husband's concern, that the country had gone to shit as soon as they got back from their little "mission trips." She couldn't wait to see who was next.
| 2015-06-21T20:49:17 | 2015-06-21T19:49:37 | 29 | 12 |
[WP] The villain was sentenced 350 years in prison for the atrocious crimes he committed; 349 years later he has not aged a bit, the guards and people start to get nervous...
|
Silence embalmed the courtroom as everybody waited for the judge to read the verdict. Journalists and photographers stared at Angelo Shoemaker's face, not wanting to miss the reaction of the man who had killed and tortured fifty-two prostitutes. When asked why he had done it, he did nothing but smile. He refused to even speak to the state-mandated lawyer he was given. Nobody had heard his voice before, and people wondered if he was mute. Soon, that would change.
"Mr. Angelo Shoemaker," the judge bellowed out from above, "we, the people of West Minniha, find you guilty on all fifty-two accounts of murder. Using the power bestowed to me by the state, I hereby sentence you to the maximum allowed prison time by law: three-hundred-and-fifty-years of solitary confinement."
Silence again, as people waited for the reaction. Would he break down and cry? Smile as he always did? Would he say something finally?
His face changed. Camera shutters clicked; pencils frantically scribbled against paper.
Then, the laughter. Angelo Shoemaker stared at the judge with bloodshot eyes and laughed. First, it was a giggle, but then his shoulders began to jostle up and down, and he broke out into a maniacal screeching. The judge frowned then banged his gavel. The police escorted Angelo out, all the while he was laughing still. In that moment, the photographers were happy Angelo was giving them a show, but later, when they'd go to review the images they'd taken, a sense of dread would overcome them. *This man*, a human instinct deep within their soul would tell them, *is not one of us*.
The jail was huge. It was rumored that, if you got lost in certain parts, you'd never find your way back. Guards kept a map on them at all times and rarely left their scheduled routes. If asked to cover a different route for a coworker, most would deny. *Can't risk getting lost in here*, they'd tell themselves. Most of the cells were empty because the governor of the state who had made the fortress was an ex-military meathead who thought that he'd find ways to fill it up. He never did despite his best efforts.
The death penalty had been removed from society, but life in solitary confinement was even worse. After carefully following a map, the guards threw Angelo into a tiny, concrete room. It had no windows or furniture, only a hole in the ground to piss and shit. It was pitch black in there. The only source of entertainment, if you could call it that, was when the slot in the door would open for food. That was supposed to happen once per day, but if you knew the guards you'd know it didn't. Criminals deserve to rot, they all agreed.
So, for years, Angelo stayed there, in the dark, all alone, with nothing to do. After 5 years, the prison changed ownership. Apparently the state couldn't afford to keep it running, so they sold it to a private company. Then, the same thing happened after 15 years. Then again after 10. Every time this change of hands occurred, things got lost. Records, papers, sometimes criminals themselves. A lifetime passed, then two, then three. Outside the jail, children were born, lived their lives, and died. Inside, forgotten prisoners rotted away.
Another change in ownership, but this time the warden was somebody who cared. He was somebody who wanted to treat the people like humans instead of scum. Somebody who believed in salvation. His first order of business was to figure out who exactly was under his jurisdiction. Day and night he studied the history of the place. He read all the files he could find. Between reads, he'd also walk the halls, map the place out properly. The Lord would lead him back, always, he said to himself, so he was not afraid to get lost. Eventually, he came across Angelo's file.
The moon was covered by clouds that night. In his office, lit by a banker's lamp, the warden figured out where exactly Angelo was being held. He decided to go see. Of course the man would be dead, but he'd served his time, and the warden wanted to at least bury him outside.
A pipe dripped in the hallway. The warden had only been to solitary confinement once before. He noted to himself to fix the leak as he inserted the key and turned the giant handle. The door creaked open. The warden shot his light into the room, expecting to find a rotting corpse, but instead found nothing.
"That's strange," he said aloud, stepping into the room and taking another look at his map to make sure he was at the right spot. "This should be the place... Ah well, the file musta been wrong. I'll go get some tape for the pipe though."
His heart jumped.
The dripped sound had stopped.
The warden turned around, and standing in front of him was what looked like a corpse. Its hair was long and mangy and covered its face entirely. Its arms were bony and spotted black. The rags it wore were torn apart.
The warden pawed at his belt for his gun, but his hand gripped nothing but air. In the corpse's hand, he saw it. His own pistol. Aimed straight at his head.
"Wait," the warden said, backing up further into the cell. He bumped against the rear wall. "If you kill me, they'll catch you. There's no way you get out of here alive. Think about what you're doing."
Out from the matted mess of hair covering his face, a black and yellow smile peeked through. Then, the giggling.
"I've served my time," Angelo said, as he forced the door to the cell shut.
In complete darkness, the warden, who'd never escape this hell, heard Angelo's laughter get fainter and fainter as the criminal made his way to freedom, ready to haunt society once more.
|
“Fatalo, how have you survived this long?”
“What do you mean? I am Immortal.”
“Oh right, I guess someone would have killed you by now.”
“I’m immortal and have an atrociously good healing factor. What did you expect?”
“You to die.”
“That’s stupid.”
“You do realize that the “immortal” and “everlasting” Bright-man is mortal right? He died hundreds of years ago.”
“Yeah I heard. Who are the new heroes? They any good?”
“ well there’s the Infernal Knight he has fire based powers and is-“
“Generic next”
“Ok we’ll there’s the Magenta Storm and-“
“The magenta storm? That has to be the dumbest name I’ve ever heard”
“Well those are the only big active heroes in America after president Welles made vigilantism illegal.”
| 2022-09-02T23:39:46 | 2022-09-02T21:29:15 | 76 | 12 |
[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!
|
Emily waited until she and her father were alone. Then, she messaged him in sign language: "Dad, do you want me to call the police?"
Daniel stared at his daughter in shock and then began frantically signing to his daughter as his hands shook: "Emily, you need to contact the police. Your mom is completely fucking batshit crazy. She found out that I was flirting with the next door neighbor and then, she smashed her head in with a baseball bat right in front of me. And then, when I started screaming and tried to get away, she knocked me unconscious. When I woke up, she told me that she had implanted a bomb inside my body and that she would detonate it if I spoke to anyone ever again or left the house without her." He lifted up his shirt and Emily's eyes widened as she saw the massive scar on her father's chest. "I can feel it inside of me. Sometimes, I think I can even hear it ticking. For God's sake, Emily, you need to get out of here and get help or we are all going to die here."
Emily stared at her father for a few moments as her mind desperately tried to come to terms with the insanity she had just heard. Finally though, she nodded. "You can count on me, dad," she signed to him. "I'll leave the house and go straight to the police station."
Daniel felt a wave of fear and relief roll through him as he watched his daughter leave from the window. Finally, this long nightmare was about to come to an end.
"So, you broke your promise to be loyal to me yet again?" a voice whispered from behind him. "You know what happens next."
Daniel froze as a strangled sound came from his throat. He turned around to see his psychotic wife glaring at him as she held the detonator in her hand. "Amelia...please...I don't want to die," he stuttered in terror.
"Neither do I," Amelia replied as she casually stroked Daniel's trembling face. "It's sad that neither of us will ever see Emily grow up. But at least this way, the two of us can be together forever." And with those last words spoken, she pressed down on the detonator.
| 2022-07-21T09:34:34 | 2022-07-21T09:34:00 | 1,529 | 146 |
[WP] Unlike most people with super powers, you're perfectly content to mind your own business while using your powers in normal everyday activities. However the heroes seem to have decided that your disinterest in world affairs is suspicious and you're clearly faking it to hide your true agenda.
|
So there I was at the park getting a hot dog, right? Now, for whatever reason, a raven plunges down towards the hot dog guy like he's personally responsible for Edgar Allen Poe's death and the hot dog guy basically boils his hand while dodging the bird and getting me a delicious, delicious glizzy. Seriously these things are a godsend. I wish I knew where he sources them. There's like a specific blend of pork and beef where it's more beefy than porky, but it's spiced just right, y'know? Anyway, the man's hand is looking pretty bad. It's red and swelling quick.
I ask Hot Dog Guy "Can I help?"
Reasonably pissed, he asks back "ARE YOU A GODDAMN DOCTOR? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU GONNA DO?"
Now I'm the kind of guy that bitches and moans when he bumps into a table, so who am I to knock the guy for having a tantrum when his skin is basically falling off? The redness on his fingers is off-putting, but the guy's screams of pain distract from that, so this shouldn't be hard.
A crowd is already gathering. I point to this one lady in a beanie, which I don't know why she's wearing that thing it's like 80⁰F out, and tell her to call an Uber to get this guy to a hospital. Obviously she's very confused and asks why Uber, but I don't have time to explain the American healthcare system, so I yell at her "MEDICAL DEBT. SHUT THE FUCK UP AND GET ONE."
I grab the guy's hand and make eye contact. I send him to a nice relaxing bench at the park on a nice, sunny day – okay, so it was basically what I was doing 10 minutes before, but it was still nice. He stops screaming and the hand seems to be going back to normal. Two birds, one stone or one crow, one hot dog cart, I guess. Whichever sounds better.
Hot Dog Guy comes to after a couple shakes. He looks dazed wondering what's going on, but I walk him to the Uber and tell him he's going to the hospital. I'm pretty sure I got him alright, but I'm still covering my ass.
I make myself a hot dog because healing makes me hungry and who's gonna stop me? I just saved a guy's hand. I leave a fiver under the mustard. Beanie comes to me and asks "So he's gonna be okay?" I nod and give her a twenty for the Uber and walk away. All I hear is "It was $25 actually." I keep walking.
I get to a nice tree to sit under and grow a branch out to give me some shade. There's a ton of people out today, so a lot to look at. Dogs playing, people running, even some kids being absolute trash at soccer. Fun stuff.
The same raven from before lands on the branch I made. I know it's the same one because it's looking at me with the same beady little righteous eyes it used to target Hot Dog Guy. I make the branch fling the raven away from me. Now, I didn't think things through, because I forgot ravens are birds and birds fly. The thing caught itself midair, came back, and landed in front of me and stared for a while. There's a glint in its eye that's like a ruby with a secondary purple shine. It was then that I knew that this could only be one person, Raya.
So, Raya transforms right in front of me. It's less gross than I thought it would be, but watching that beak turn into a face is weirder in person. I'm still eating my hot dog, looking at her. Someone told me once that she looks like Raven from Teen Titans and I'm seeing it now at, like, the worst possible moment because she's in fighting stance, ready to beat my ass with a long glowstick she calls The Calling of the Ethereal, and I'm trying not to spit out white bread and mystery meat on her shoes.
"You almost fucked up my favorite hot dog guy," I said.
"I was aiming for you,"
"Really? That's kinda flattering, not gonna lie,"
"You really want us to believe you don't care, do you?"
"About what?"
"We know what you're up to"
"Yeah, up to here," I gesture above my head. I swear to god, I am such a shithead sometimes. I don't know why I do these things. "I just wanna finish my hot dog,"
"I don't think you understand. Come with us,"
"Us? I get to meet the rest of the Hot Topic staff?"
At this point Raya has had enough of me and starts walking towards me. Now, I'm not just gonna sit here and be beaten with a stick from someone who's not my mom, so of course I raise a tree root and trip her. She falls, I hold a laugh. I must've held it a little too hard because apparently I tripped one of the kids playing soccer, so says the tree i used to commit said tripping.
"Tripping children are we?" says a stern, condescending voice.
It's Magnanimous. He's basically Superman, but, like, shitty.
I go "Hey, Maggie. What's good?"
"Not you," he replies.
"What do you mean?"
"We know,"
"Know what?"
"What you're planning,"
"Which is?"
"Come with us,"
I genuinely have no idea what these nerds are talking about and they keep using these bullshit cop tactics on me. I think they watched the same Law & Order episode that I saw last night. They want a confession, but all I got is this hot dog.
"Nah," I say, kinda just standing there.
Raya shouts "CUT THE BLASÉ BULLSHIT," .
"I genuinely have no idea what you're talking about,"
"Tell us what we want to know" says Magnanimous.
"I thought you already knew,"
I've never seen such a disgusted, disappointed face made by a man.
"This whole careless attitude thing you're using as a mask, it's going to fall," said Magnanimous
Raya chimes in "And when it does, we'll be there to catch it,"
I've watched enough Cartoon Network in my life to know that exchange was lifted from a Justice League episode.
Magnanimous walks up to me and gets right in my face "Remember. Lightning strikes before thunder claps,"
I'm not exactly sure how that metaphor applies here and I don't really think Mag does either, but him saying strikes makes me wanna go bowling. But I can't go bowling alone, because the guys that are really into bowling try to make conversation with me. I've already made Mag and Raya mad enough, so why not go for a long shot?
"Speaking of strikes, do either of you wanna go bowling?"
Magnanimous flies away angrier than I've ever seen him. More than when he fought the guy who made a mecha fueled by the concept of violence. I look over to Raya who transforms back into a raven and flies away into a murder of crows. Based on the loud squawking and her changing direction, I don't think they took to her well.
Oh well. At least now I can finally finish my hot dog.
|
I always loved gaming, even before acquiring my powers and even though I used to suck at them.
But now it was different. If I wanted to I'd never lose. I'd win every time, most likely 16-0. And if I really tried I wouldn't get killed even once. No matter what powers my enemies had, be it superspeed reflexes or if they would be able to see through walls. I would always be in the perfect position, prefiring them.
The match chat would be something like this: "You shouldn't be allowed to play" or "F off with the mind-reading powers'.
One day though my joyous gaming was abruptly interrupted. That was when 3 people teleported behind me without any kinda of sound (irl). Suddenly I was unable move. Then one of them walked up to me and and whispered to me: "Sleep".
I woke up in a dimly lit white room. There was a huge muscular old man infront of me. "The hero council has spent a lot of time tracking you. We know all about your abilities. You'd be a huge help catching the villains".
After a moment of silence he continued in a less loud and excited voice: "And of course you could be of huge assistance to the villains too... ..which is why we would have to detain you for the rest of your life if you don't accept our offer.
I always hated the change powers brought to our society and all this heroes and villains bullcrap. So I answered: "Nah man I really don't care about any of this, I just wanna play video games".
"I SEE", he yelled angrily. "So our super detectives were right after all. You ARE meddling with the villains already".
Next thing I know is I hear a gun pop.
"The hero council has spent a lot of time tracking you. We know all about -"OH MY GOD YES". I interrupt him. "I would love to join the hero council!"
"I see your mind-reading powers are as great as the say, welcome abroad kid"
God damn I hate these guys. I guess I'm glad they don't know about my real powers. Maybe I'll just rid off all of them. The villains. The heroes. Just so I can play games in peace.
| 2021-08-16T19:42:36 | 2021-08-16T17:54:31 | 212 | 105 |
[WP] As you and your adventuring party make camp for the night, you hear rustling in a nearby bush. When you take a peek, you find a band of pixies who've been following your party. They've written a lot of fanfiction about your party. One of them is wearing a tiny cosplay version of your armour
|
Deirdre startled awake, hand on her shoulder and someone's face far, far too close to her own. Her senses returned, and she heaved a sigh, relieved it was nothing more than her friend, Chandra. The half-orc had a single finger held against her lips, eyeing their unwanted 'companion', a Drow who refused to go by anything less than Lady Sunchaser. Deirdre nodded and sat up.
"What is it? My turn?" She whispered, bleary eyes unhappy with the offensively bright fire. The fourth and final member of their party was still meditating, caramel skin tinged even further by the fire, giving her skin a glow and her yellow jacket a shine.
"No, not yet, but you have to see this." Chandra replied, giddy and grinning ear to ear. Deirdre smirked to herself and crawled fully from her covers. Chandra never smiled like that; it showed her tusks, and she knew it. Deirdre was happy to see it though.
"What is it?" She asked, letting Chandra lead her back towards her own bedding.
"You'll see." Chandra assured, voice straining against what Deirdre assumed was excitement. What could possibly have gotten dear Chandra so worked up?
Deirdre gasped when she spotted them. Pixies. Tiny beings, known for their mischief and pranks. They were huddled under a fern, whispering amongst themselves, seemingly just as excited. Chandra knelt beside the fern, gesturing for Deirdre to follow suit. The pixies had all come a tad closer, stars in their eyes. They wore tiny wooden armor and carried minuscule weapons. One stood out immediately; he wore a bright yellow jacket, a black shirt underneath that was short enough to expose his midriff. Black pants and yellow boots with little wooden plate armor on them. He was dressed like Mask! Deirdre spotted a small mask on his hip, painted black just like Mask's. Another wore wooden plate mail, painted black, just like Sunchaser's. One wore miniature leathers, and had green paint smeared across her face.
Deirdre gasped again when she realized the final one carried a needle, given a guard to mimic a lance. He was dressed like her!
"What-" Deirdre stuttered.
"They're fans!' Chandra blurted, smiling wide.
"We've been following you. Your adventures are incredible, and we love your dynamics, your characters." The pixie dressed as Mask stepped up. Deirdre was at a loss for words.
"They've made little costumes of us, and they even wrote stories about us. They wanted to tell me, but I just had to get you first." Chandra explained. Deirdre laughed, wincing after the first bark, hoping she hadn't woken the Drow. A flash of yellow at her right, in addition to startling her again, told her Mask had come to see what the fuss was about. She looked just as bewildered as Deirdre felt. Chandra signed to the human, who did a double take before signing back. The pixies were ecstatic, watching the signs like hawks. Deirdre didn't understand any of it, so she leaned close to the pixies and hesitantly offered a finger.
"Deirdre Aberwell. I guess you already knew that." She chuckled. The pixies dressed as Mask took her finger in his hands and grinned.
"Always nice to have a proper introduction. I'm Iz. Here we have Pif, Nim, and Sed." He introduced, gesturing to each in turn. Pif was Chandra, Nim was herself, and Sed was Sunchaser.
"It's, uh, nice to meet you. I mean, it is nice, I'm just... surprised. I didn't think anyone knew who we were, let alone were so... excited about us, I suppose." Deirdre tried, half-smiling. Chandra offered a finger, which Iz took as well.
"It's incredible to meet. But you said you wanted to read your stories to us?" Chandra prompted. Iz smiled, turning to his companions.
"Who's going to be the one?" Pif asked.
"I can't." Nim declined, shaking her head. Sed laughed and stepped forward. He even had what looked like a thread wig to mimic Sunchaser's silver hair.
"I'll read 'em. They're... we've taken some liberties with them, so please don't worry about inconsistencies." He warned before pulling out a tiny book.
He told the tale of when the four had managed to infiltrate an invading force's conquered outpost. Liberties was a bit of an understatement. In their version, Deirdre and Sunchaser had fearlessly charged in, Mask in hot pursuit, while Chandra stuck to the shadows and scouted. The fights were glamorous, with blows bouncing off armor and arrows snatched from the sky. Deirdre was wounded, and Chandra had managed to get the half-elf to safety. In their version, Chandra and herself were secret lovers. Sunchaser was mean, rude, but she had a big heart. Mask was accurate; silent, supportive, and lightning quick. The final fight between Mask, Sunchaser, and the invaders' leader began as a duel, but he played dirty, prompting Sunchaser to leap selflessly to Mask's defense.
Deirdre, as much as she appreciated their love, their enthusiasm, felt worse and worse as it went. They portrayed her as this brave, heroic warrior who always had a trick from her commoner's background up her sleeve. They got the injury right, but they told it as Deirdre fighting on until she'd won before having to be helped walk away from the fighting. In reality, the second she was hit she'd gone down, and Chandra had been forced to drag her away. In reality, Sunchaser was bigoted, cruel, tongue like so many daggers, and had even claimed she'd let them all die if it suited her. There was no kindness or altruism. And lovers? Deirdre did her best to hide her blush as discreet as would be allowed. At least it was still dark out.
By the end of it, the three who weren't telling the story had begun reenacting the scenes. It was a flattering and, honestly, quite impressive display. The three adventurers clapped as the pixie troupe bowed, smiles all around. Then the quiet of the night was shattered by the Drow's loud, clear voice.
"What are you fools playing at? It's not been an hour since my shift and you're making this much noise?" She lay into us, leering. We were silent, and she took that as defiance. She stomped across the camp to tower over us, and noticed the pixies as she neared.
"And what in the hells are those things doing here? Gods, don't tell me you're making more 'friends'. We have enough with the damned fox." She growled. She shoved Deirdre aside and stepped up next to the pixies, raising a foot.
"Don't you dare!" Deridre shouted. Sunchaser froze, fixing a harsh sneer on her, then gouged the earth with her heel, thrashing the fern. The tense moment that followed might have been time itself reacting in horror. Sunchaser huffed and walked back to her bedroll.
"All of you who aren't on watch go to sleep. Now." She demanded. Deirdre flicked a glance at the other two. Mask was visibly restraining herself, but Chandra was smirking off into the forest. Deirdre followed her gaze and spotted Iz waving from a bush. Chandra pointed him out to Mask, who practically melted. The trio waved back, and the pixies vanished into the shrubs. Mask returned to meditating, and Deirdre laid back down. Chandra sat on her bedroll just a foot away, copying Mask's pose.
"That was heartwarming." She whispered. Deirdre nodded.
"Surprising. But a good surprise." She replied, even if her feelings were mixed. Finally she drifted off to sleep, dreams lingering on the kiss she'd shared with Chandra in the story.
|
" Ryder, you're seeing this right?" Gawain said, confused and bewildered.
"Uh... Yeah." Ryder said, with his mouthed agape and his eyes focused on this strange sight.
A group of pixies, about six of them, the same size as Gawain's group. They all have the same look of shock and embarrassment, like they spilled wine on a noble mans white shirt. Gawain looking at the group, turned his eyes to his own group to gauge the reactions.
Trisha had stopped playing her lute mid strum, and looks confused by this predicament.
Marigold had accidentally dropped her ingredients for dinner from all the commotion, and has the face of a angry bear.
Thaymor has a stoic face, in fact, he has the same face for every situation, everyone is pretty sure he's emotionless.
Moradinn is in a haze from sleeping, and hasn't really taken in the sight.
"Okay, so, we can explain this. " A pixie that stood in front of the others said, "So, my names Thera, and uh... Well.." as she started to get nervous, one of the others speaks up, loudly and abruptly "We're your number one fans! We've been following you since you slew Thakmor The Wretched, writing stories about your-"
"Wait wait wait, wait. You've been following us for three years?!" Gawain said astounded, "That's crazy! I'm surprised we've never se-" he stops mid sentence as he looks closer at these pixies. " Are you wearing a miniature version of my armor?" He said, looking to the one at the far right.
"Gawain I'm your biggest fan! I love everything you've done so far, and all my stories about you will show the world the true hero you are!" this tiny woman said, posing like she has a sword pointed to the sky.
Gawain has never looked more perplexed in his life.
"Wait, so this is the second time you guys have mentioned writing stories about us." Ryder said as he steps in again, "You've been writing stories about us for three years, so, i guess the biggest question is; who do you pair Gawain with? I've been shipping him and Trish for a few years now.
"RYDER!" Trisha said, finally stepping into the conversation. "Are you serious??" she said exasperated.
"Eh, I always paired him with Marigold."
"I liked him with Lady Estella from Stone Lake,"
"Moradinn and Gawain forever."
"I mean I always wrote myself as his partner."
"The ancient female dragon was my personal choice."
"I write smut about you and Gawain sooo-"
"Why are you all writing about me?" Gawain said looking around, wide eyed and confused.
"I mean, why not? " Ryder said, shrugging his shoulders.
Gawain screams on the inside, for he is confused.
| 2018-09-30T17:20:32 | 2018-09-30T17:00:08 | 28 | 15 |
[WP] A tiny dragon must defend his hoard, a single gold coin, from being stolen.
|
The bell above the door of the menagerie tinkled as Gilda pushed her way inside, her little arms heaving against the bottom half of it as her father leaned against the upper to aid her entrance. The front-end of the store smelled like freshly struck lightning and midnight herb, its busy shelves and units filled to the brim with cages, foodstuffs, and accessories for the discerning pet owner.
"No, don't touch," Marten said, smiling down at his daughter as she dashed from display to display, inspecting everything as closely as she could. He checked his pocket watch. They had a short while before his wife's appointments were complete. Enough time to indulge the girl's interests for a moment or two.
"Hello there, can I be of any help?" A young lady walked through the screen of faux reeds covering the doorway into the back of the establishment. She pulled thick, blackened gloves from her hands and set them under the countertop.
"We're just looking, thank you," Marten replied, flicking his eyes back to his daughter. But it was too late.
"Yes please!" the girl cried, running to the counter and standing on her toes to see over it. "I want something fierce and wild."
The woman smiled at the girl, and then gave Marten a questioning glance. "Well, would you like to look at something fierce and wild?"
"Yes!" and "No, thank you," said Gilda and Marten at the same time. He sighed and nodded. Perhaps sating the girl's curiosity would be enough. Perhaps not.
"I have just the thing," the woman said, and stepped back behind the screen. Some strange sounds preceded her return. Scratchings and scrabblings. Squawkings and screeches. Marten instinctively stepped closer to his daughter and drew her too him. Gilda didn't seem to notice his concern and tried to pull away, eager to get as close to whatever was in the room beyond.
After a minute or two, the woman returned. A fresh scratch along her arm gave Marten pause, but her poise and tone as she spoke put him at ease.
"This, is a Shuggo."
She lifted her hands, palm open, to display a small, plant-like creature. Its legs, its fronds, splayed outwards from a central flower that pulsed with light and warmth. It wriggled in place, before contracting inwards and leaping off on to the countertop. There, it strutted, gangly limbs neatly intersecting as it marched, to a jug of water near the edge. It threw up one of its limbs and ducked it beneath the surface, rhythmically moving back and forth as it drank.
"Isn't that lovely, Gilda?" Marten asked, reaching out and tentatively stroking one of the Shuggo's frond legs. It recoiled at his initial touch, but after a moment seemed to relax. It buzzed as he stroked it and released a small cloud of pollen.
"She likes you," the woman smiled.
Gilda was less impressed. She leaned as close as she could from beneath the counter, eyes squinting, and pulled a face.
"That's not fierce," she said.
Marten frowned and rolled his eyes at the shop owner.
"We're not here to buy something though, are we dear," he began, but he could already see the tantrum building.
"Alright, alright," he placated. "Do you have something, perhaps of a similar size, that might be more suited to what my daughter is after?
"Of course." The woman nodded deferentially and carefully picked up the Shuggo. It seemed frustrated at its drink being cut short, but soon nestled into the crook of her arm as it was carried back behind the screen.
Marten thought about attempting to leave while she was away. Gilda didn't need another pet. She barely played with the dog they'd bought her last year as it was. But if it could keep her happy for a time, was there much harm? Whatever it was, he could always have one of the help take on the responsibility of caring for it. As long as it wasn't too destructive.
A thin gout of flame shot through the reed screen, singing a black ring in it and causing some to drop to the floor, dark and twising. Marten stepped back instinctively, but Gilda jumped up and down in excitement. The menagerie owner pushed through the screen with a small lizard on her shoulder. It danced between them, beating its miniature wings as it did so.
"They can't quite fly at this age, but youthful Cloud Drakes are boisterous. And fierce," she added, leaning down and winking at Gilda. The girl bounced with excitement and reached forward as the creature leapt onto the counter, swishing its tail aggresively.
Marten reached for his daughter, concern written on his face, but the shop owner beat him to it and placed a calming hand on the dragon, and another on his daughters outstretched hands.
"You mustn't grab him. He's an ornery little fellow when it comes to new faces."
Gilda pulled a sulking face. Marten knew what came next. The prospect of his daughter being burned was no less terrifying.
"We'll take it," he said, hurriedly. "I presume you can supply food and housing for it, also?"
"Naturally," the woman said, reaching for one of the cages along a nearby shelf and placing it down on the countertop.
She leaned down close to the girl and spoke softly, conspiratorially.
"The best way to keep a drake like this under control, is to give it something precious."
She reached behind Gilda's ear and with a flourish, produced a bright, golden coin. It was hard to tell who was more impressed, the girl or the dragon, for they both reached for it at the same time. But the woman was too fast for them both. With a flick of her hand it was gone and then, there it was again, resting on the small rocky outcrop inside the cage.
The drake's scaled ears perked up as it saw it again and it snaked across the countertop and into its new home. It walked in circles around the coin, before nestling itself on top of it, smoke curling from its nostrils.
Marten pulled a face, but the look on his daughter's was enough to cinch the deal. He grimmaced again when he learned the price of the thing, but what was he to do?
"How long do they live?" he asked casually, as the help packed their new purchase into the stagecoach's storage compartment.
"Nobody's quite sure," the woman said, handing a bag of mixed, dried meat to one of the attending servants. "No one person has ever lived long enough to track it. Perhaps 100, perhaps 200 years."
Marten sighed. At least it would be someone else's problem before long.
​
Edit: Thanks for reading. If you liked this story, I've just written up [another prompt here](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/bh49xr/wp_the_gamers_have_finally_risen_up/elqyhqx/).
|
It was my first time in a tavern when I was approached by a strange man in a tattered brown robe. The leather was worn like the thin garments he wore underneath. You wouldn't have guessed it, but his coin purse was fatter than that of many wealthy lords I knew. Flashing a few gilded teeth, he pulled it out, tugged on the silk drawstrings and rolled a few silver doubloons out on the counter.
He was kindly enough despite his roguish appearance and gruff manner.
"Two pints for me and this cunt here," he said as the coins hit the table, motioning towards my direction. The bartender gave him a glazed look.
"You drink?" he asked me.
I nodded.
"Two apiece," he shouted, "you hear that?"
The barman returned with two glass mugs filled to the brim, a lid of foam bubbles sitting on the top. The man took one silver piece off the counter and walked away.
"If this beer is good enough, you might just land yourself this," he said, holding up a gleaming gold coin between his grubby fingers.
I sipped my beer leisurely, "Cheers," I said.
"Listen up, do you want to know how I got this gold coin here?"
"Good investment? Inheritance?"
"You see, this isn't just any gold coin," he said, lowering his voice and looking about him, "This used to belong the most fearsome beast ever known. Eh? A-Dragon."
"You're kidding."
"It was a wee-little thing to tell the truth and all it had left was this to it's name, but aye I swear by it. On my life, look it has the indentations to prove it. You see that? From Dragon Fangs.."
"Ahh," I said, checking out the small perforated coin in the dim bar light, "Must have been just a baby."
| 2019-04-24T04:12:28 | 2019-04-24T01:06:19 | 859 | 37 |
[WP] Suddenly across the globe, large, feathered, rotted corpses begin to drop out of the sky. They are soon identified to be Angels.
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**The Third Book of Revelations, or, When The Angels Fell**
When God sent his Angels to earth in 2023, it was not heralded by heavenly choirs nor celebrations across the globe. It was a terrible awakening as rotting, winged corpses the height of two men fell from the sky. In the days that followed, the living followed the dead. They were terrible to behold, great six-winged seraphim, or naught but a single giant eye lidded with terrible flickering fire.
The Angels had come to Earth and they were not messengers, but warriors. And they were not here for us. The daemons of hell began to arrive. In their ones and twos, figures haunted the night and drove us back indoors.
We sent an envoy to the Angels when they made landfall en mass in the Balkans. The armed forces of the world escorted diplomats, hoping to broker an understanding, a peace, assistance from this evil. Great expectation followed the chosen few sent to greet the figures that rent our understanding of the cosmos and life in two. The Great Revelation was to be the turning point for all humankind, beyond which we would discover the truth.
Our ambassadors were ignored. The hosts of heaven cared not for the trials of men. They would not speak to them, their great crusade too important to acknowledge the vermin of Earth. Yes, vermin, rodents, parasites... that's all the 'messengers of God' saw us as. They would deign to kill those who wandered too close and stared too long.
Apathy was our only answer, the reward for millennia of worship and tales passed down generations. The truth was not that we were the chosen ones of the gods, but that the gods didn't exist and the nearest thing to divinity didn't care. It became known, somewhat laconically, as the 'Third Book of Revelations'. The cosmic joke. The End of Days.
The daemons, capricious and untrustworthy, at least acknowledged us. A laughing child with bloody wings and no eyes appeared in the Hague at the behest of the great nations and deigned to speak. They were also not here for us, they followed and battled the Angels across a thousand thousand worlds. Ours was just the latest no man's land in the endless war between those that dwelled in the abyss and the void. They cared not for us, but we made good sport for the bored beasts of hell. When all was done they would come for us.
We knew then that we were doomed. We had no weapons that worked against the creatures from beyond the gates of reality, and neither cared whether we lived or died. Cruise missiles, depleted uranium rounds and thermobaric weapons were shrugged off by abyssal iron and heavenly burnished bronze armour, while our tanks and bunkers were rent like cobwebs by their blades, spears, teeth and claws. They never came for us directly, but we died the same.
Cities, nations, continents fell. Inexorably, the war ate up the Earth and its people. Our extinction was mundane and of little consequence to the titans that strode across our home. Mankind was at the peak of its power, and it was being swept into the darkness anyway.
Our beautiful world, the Garden of Eden and the cradle of life, edged into madness and murder. A funeral pyre for over five billion people. Ash, wasteland, soot-blacken'd skies and endless battles. The war horns of the immortal hosts closed in around the last cities of the world.
And yet we were not ready to go into the night crushed under cloven hoof or armoured greaves. Our weapons, our great engines and Armageddon devices, had no effect on the creatures from beyond our universe. But we had not survived the long night our ancestors faced after coming down from the trees by hiding, by giving up.
A few outcast people had scoured the battlefield, looking for the scraps of weapons and armour left on the dead. It was put to use in desperate circumstances when fortune favoured, for cursed iron could not cut itself, nor blessed bronze. A man had to be armed with the right weapon to stand a chance of defending himself against the unworldly invaders. Discovering neither iron nor bronze could not be created by human hands, yet it could be melded and formed. In our desperation, in our madness, we found something even the hordes of heaven and hell would never have tried - it could be mixed.
Called Electrum, for the long-dead mix of golden and silver metals the Egyptians had discovered, this alloy surpassed all expectations of strength, malleability and usage. All attention and industry turned to scavenging all that remained, mankind remembered its nascent ability to forge and craft in cottage industries.
Speartips were made, armour was hammered and bullets were cast. For Electrum was proof against whatever weapon might be arrayed against it, be it human, heavenly or hell-forged. And above all, it could pierce armour and flesh from this world and the next. Electrum was something neither angelic nor daemonic, it was flawed and it was dangerous. It was human.
Soon there was enough to equip a battalion of men. They looked like nothing else on Earth ever had nor would. Imagine, if you will, a set of ancient Grecian armour, adorned with webbing, fragmentation grenades and modern weapons. Assault rifles and swords soon began to tell against the enemy in ones and twos. Ambushes and traps, desperate insurgencies and improvised tactics. Dirty, human skirmishes that we'd honed in hundreds of wars on ourselves proved effective against ignoble giants from beyond imagination. Though we still died, we took those bastards with us. Every dead hellspawn or archangel providing more precious metal and something even more vital: hope.
Once the supplies of scrap, recyclable metal were all but exhausted, mankind's need for more drove us from fleeing refugees to marauding plunderers.
They beasts of the realms beyond fought one another with savagery, close-in and hand to hand. Yet they were not ready for the humans. They had been pushed to extinction, had known only certain destruction for years. Five thousand million dead demanded not justice, but revenge.
For all their graven disregard for the human right to exist and not be trampled underfoot, the off-worlders at least fought with some honour and protocol. They engaged one another in massed, serried ranks and battled to the death. They looked their enemy in the face and met them claw to fist.
We, however, had no such qualms. High-calibre sniper rounds forged from Electrum could do what no thermonuclear warhead nor meteoric sword could, ending ancient warriors' lives before ever they saw their foes. Modified claymores hidden in amongst the ruins of our homes tore our enemies apart again and again. Before long there were cities and regions where angels feared to tread.
And if that was not enough, if main battle tanks plated with infernal, immortal armour and equipped with sabot rounds, if our hardest special ops killers armed with knives and rifles and grenades were not enough... imagine what a human race pushed to the end of its desperation could do when gifted a God-killer metal and stockpiles of parts and plans for previously useless scatter bombs, fully-automatic mortar launchers, flechette shells, cruise missiles and a thousand other murder machines could do.
It was... slaughter. We surpassed even our own dreams of effectiveness, turning the tide within months. They did not call for parley or truce, through arrogance or some other ineffable reason, perhaps. We would not have granted it. We remembered being the vermin. We remembered every death, every insult.
Angel. Daemon. It mattered not. They died the same.
They fell back under the advance of the humans until, at last, they were driven to their infernal portals and the last of them were put to the sword. Black ichor stained the pitted and cratered land. Despite the death of the sorcerers among their ranks who had opened the doors to Earth, they remained open.
The people of earth readied themselves. There were more worlds to cleanse.
|
The angel of death stood on the viewing platform of the Empire State building, watching his brethren fall with glazed eyes. He felt it too; the sharp pain in every one of his nerves, the searing heat of Hell opening, the terror, as everything did not go to plan. He got distracted by the screams below, and the immortal flesh of his left arm turned black with rot. It took all he could muster to bring it back to a dull, sickening grey. A legion of heavenly angels screamed and fell to Earth, on fire with red, unholy flames, and leaving a smoke trail as black as sin. Death sighed. He felt selfish. The demon-spawn of Lucifer were attacking Heaven and Earth, and the rising death tolls in both were keeping him alive, if just barely. God and the archangels had left to deal with His Darkness himself, but they were gone, Death felt it.
An immense heat and a dull throbbing appeared behind him. Leaning against the railing, he turned on weak legs and smiled with yellow teeth at the monster before him.
"God," It spoke, "is dead. But I suppose you already knew that, didn't you? I mean, I'd understand if you were in denial, or if you started drinking, but we all have to grow up and face the facts. For example, I lost my Father when I was very young, because he shunned me and my (It gestured vaguely, and took on the corporeal form of Anton Lavey) liberal ideas."
Death snorted, and grimaced. "You weren't liberal, you were evil! You killed for sport and ruined humanity! You broke God's heart! You were his favourite! He loved you and you took that gift and threw it all away to have fun! He banished you instead of killing you because he loved you!"
Lucifer rolled his eyes, and the New World Trade Center crumbled down. "He just saw me as a way to achieve his means. He used me and mine and the prison he built for me as a way to gain power without cheating, as if lying's any better. God," he chuckled, "no pun intended, but he was an idiot thinking I'd just play along with his plan. 'Intelligent design' my arse."
Death trembled, and puked blood. He was too tired to speak, and he let his muscles atrophy. His skin began to flake away, and his last image was Lucifer, standing over him, shaking his head, grinning like an idiot.
When he was certain Death had died, Lucifer took the angel's skull and drew a small vial of blood from a hidden pocket. He dabbed his finger, and drew his centuries old sigil on the forehead. "Luciferi excelci nomine dei nostri satanas," he laughed, and he threw the skull to the pavement below.
___________________________________________________________________________________________
Edit: Damn autocorrect
| 2016-07-19T07:49:43 | 2016-07-19T07:14:04 | 751 | 12 |
[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.
|
There is a human saying; to beat your plowshares into swords, your pruning shears into spears. Let the weak say "I am strong."
​
Our research had missed old religious texts in our scanning of their culture, and how could we not. There was not real need to research archaic beliefs. The Sol Confederacy was easy prey, a species that had focused on science and not war. They build grand research stations in orbit of their planet, colonized their oversized moon, and spread to the fourth planet in their system. The most they had were patrol ships to keep off the odd criminal, but no warships, no soldiers. They focused on rehabilitation and re-education of their worst people. They were pacifists, and they were ripe for enslavement.
​
Our ships had arrived, and they broadcast on all known subspace channels, reaching out to the void to greet us, to welcome us to their home. They assumed we came in peace, to meet them as equals. They were *excited*. As the first of our cruisers took up orbit, we fired upon their home world, lancing their space elevators from their moores and pushing them out of orbit. Their capital city was burned from orbit, and their meager defences were quashed. Our beachhead was built on their home, and their people were enslaved, to strip their spinning blue gem of its resources for our empire. Their moon fell next and we grew complacent. We figured we had them, so why would we push?
​
We were wrong.
​
The first sign of trouble came from a drone carrier, which suddenly went silent. Communications errors happened, so we considered nothing of it. Next a camp on the surface went black, so we sent soldiers to explore. We found our men and women dead, some looking so shocked in chairs, it was as if the attacker had materialized from nowhere. We now sent boarding troops the the carrier, however, they never made it. Its fighter and bomber compliment turned on us. We shot it down, watched it as it crashed to the surface, and we figured that enough, that this little rebellion would end. Again, we were wrong. Mining and cargo ships from the planet called Mars arrived, but they did not carry goods. Their mining drones swarmed ships, punching holes in their hulls, and stripping atmosphere away. We watched in horror as the bodies of our comrades were floated into space. Our loses were now mounting, even as we destroyed their rigged up attack craft, we paid for every kill with blood.
​
I was on Earth when I saw the horror we had awaken first hand. A mining exo-suit walked down the street, armor strapped to it in an ad hoc way, turning a tool into a weapon. Carried in it's hands were our own weapons, and as the lone assailant advanced towards me, shrugging off energy weapons and ordinance, only a lucky hit brought it down. Still, the rebel climbed from his armor and I saw his eyes, not those of a captured pacifist, but those of a killer. We learned later the man had been a chemical engineer, never served with the patrols, and had built the suit himself in private. We assumed he had snapped, surely the humans couldn't go from pacifists to warriors, they were a peaceful species. But we dug into their archives, we learned their history, the monsters that we had happened upon. But now they had three hundred years of peace and prosperity to build new technologies, and with them, we learned what they could do.
​
It was called the Military Industrial Complex, the ability to turn any technological marvel into a weapon was no unique, but the way in which they did it was. Most species develop nuclear energy before they develop nuclear weapons. Humanity had done it in reverse. Their chemical rockets were not made to deliver them into space, but adapted from weapons to do so. After they had turned those weapons on themselves, they had learned to find peace, quelled their demons. We had reawoken those demons, and given them more technology than ever before to do it. Their ability to strip materials to energy, and convert it back to raw matter had been used to mine without destroying massive areas of land, and to build ships of exploration and peace. Now those fleet yards, orbiting a planet we thought was to be an easy picking, they cranked out warships in bulk we had never seen. Hardware meant for construction and rescue was now used to armor troops to attack. One armoured assailant became hundreds, then thousands. Our own ships were captured, reverse engineered, and then turned on us. We watched in horror as our slaves became boogymen. Our hope had been to glass the planet, to hand them a defeat, but we never got the chance. One by one our legions fell. Once our ships were controlled by them, and our communications with our hme severed, we were brought before them.
​
We learned of their rules of war, what they would do to prisoners, and how we would be treated. We didn't expect the mercy we gained, nor did we deserve it I am sure. After all, we would not afford them the same. I was treated to a tribunal, and told I was to be held accountable for my crimes and the crimes of my people, and my execution ordered. Lead to a small room, I was hooked up to IVs and promised it would be painless. As they added the chemicals to my veins I could only think of my home, and hope they could forgive me for awakening humanity. I could only pray that one day these beasts would return their swords to plowshares, and the warriors would rest again. The galaxy can only hope.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
EDIT: Spelling and grammatical errors.
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This was a mistake.
When we arrived the whole planet focused on us as though a great beast was questioning who had awoken it far far to soon.
At the start. Before our intentions were known and we offered them a choice of submit or perish they were excited buzzing around in a frenzy that so many other species had when we first came to them. The curiosity in their eyes burned brightly that they could illuminate the dark mysteries of our universe.
Those flames were extinguished in a heart beat. Replaced by the cold dead eyes of untamed fury that knew no fear. Those weren't the eyes of a race that knew only peace. One of their leaders - female nearing the end of their short life cycle - stepped forward her shaking steps were only achieved by the aid of a short stick.
To those present that day it was something that still haunts us. The aged female showed her teeth, eyes closed, lips curled upwards. And her words resounded in everyone of our warriors and in the everyone of their population.
It was a challenge one that we were not ready for. Just as the galaxy is not ready for them.
"Come and take it."
| 2019-02-26T10:12:21 | 2019-02-26T09:23:50 | 310 | 227 |
[WP] Your mission is to topple the American government. You are armed with a banana peel, red pen, and mastery of the butterfly effect.
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“Three years, twenty two days, thirty two seconds.” The man in black gives me an empty stare. I exhale. Every single time they hire me, it’s like they forget the magic I can work. I rustle around in my paper-bag lunch. The man is getting anxious, he looks nervously around the room, eyeing the mirrored glass and the security door propped open lazily with one of my shoes. I continue.
“If I didn’t stick my shoe in there we’d be locked inside a Russian military base. Neither of us wants that. Though if you want to take down the American government, perhaps you’re more Russian than either of us thought, mm, comrade?” He’s not amused. Oh well. I’m not being paid for my humor. I dump the remainder of my lunch onto the cold steel table between us. I rip the paper bag open, and motion to the man for a pen. He doesn’t comprehend. Drawing salary from the government is like drawing water from a stone.
“Your pen. Please.” He fumbles in his pocket briefly before retrieving a disappointing red Bic.
“…Don’t you stiffs make a reasonable salary? Buy yourself something less embarrassing." I list my fee, bite my lip, and add another zero for good measure. I slide the piece of paper back to the man, he places it in his breast pocket without peeking. How very orthodox. He must be new. I put my feet up and sigh, retrieving an overripe banana. I nibble at the parts that haven’t yet turned to mush. At length the man in black speaks.
“Sir. If I may, must we stay here any longer than is absolutely necessary?”
I laugh. “We are going to stay here for exactly as long as is absolutely necessary.” My watch beeps. “Speak of the devil.” I get to my feet. “Let’s walk and talk, bub.” I pocket the pen, and proceed out the door.
I stride up through the labyrinthine tunnels of this compound. Every corner I turn is met with the backs of Russian security agents rotating through their guard. I follow mere seconds behind, cheating my way to the surface. The man in black is sweating. It’s cute. I almost feel bad for what I have to do. We’re at the security desk at the back of the building. The uptight agent with the hair-bun has gone to get her coffee. I slip behind the desk and retrieve a pair of keys. I turn to the man in black and point to the corridor in front of us.
“Wait here, five seconds. Then follow.” He nods. I continue around the corner and make for the rear exit. I drop the peel of the rotten banana from my pocket as I leave his view. He follows and I turn to see him off. He rounds the corner. He does his best Charlie Brown impression and I salute him. The crash of 200 lbs of secret agent is followed summarily by the porcelain crack of a coffee mug and panicked Russian. I make my way out the door as the exits electronically seal, hopping on an unnamed general’s Suzuki and retrieving the helmet generously left at its side.
The airport is at a stand-still. Something about a security incident at a nearby military base. I’m given a customs form to fill ahead of time. I retrieve my new red pen and fill my form to the dulcet tones of senior staff attempting to placate travelers over the PA. A scruffy short man asks me for my pen when I’m finished. I oblige, and head to my terminal. My job is done. I check the balances of my offshore accounts. Funds have been deposited as agreed. That’s my little game. I have no idea how they always know what to pay me. After all, I always dispose of the man to see my price. I’m sure someone else is out there that I never want to meet. But I guess that’s a story for another time.
Oh? You say. That’s all? You ask. Well, yes, and no. That’s all I have to do. The rest is set in motion. Three years, twenty-two days, thirty-two seconds of motion.
The agent I spoke with? He’s interrogated. He’s tortured. Everything you might expect. Eventually he has enough. They break him. They own him. He is Russian by the time America agrees to trade for his safe passage home. He returns to America; it turns out access to the email accounts of top U.S. government employees is easily gained.
The pen? Well that one’s cuter. The red ink on that friendly man’s customs form attracts just a little too much attention when we cross the border on the American side. They pull him aside. They hold him for three hours. He’s a bit of a socialist you see. He doesn’t like what he sees, so he’s quick to jump ship to Canada. Crisis averted. His actions in a small state would have turned one too many votes against the two-party status quo. An early and unexpected lead for an independent presidential candidate would have, against all odds, snowballed into a novel era of American socialism. For better or worse, even I couldn’t say.
But that’s not all. That’s amateur hour. The pen kept travelling. Lost and found in four different airports until it arrived on an airstrip in the middle-east. From there it found its way into the mountains next to a war-zone visited by one American foreign diplomat who would later run for president. While the rest of the small rebel troupe was taking potshots at the poor lady, the one sniper who would have hit her was busy slacking off and sketching an olive tree.
So she lives. Hillary Clinton lives, albeit one disgruntled ex-American leaks her emails. Bernie Sanders loses the democratic nomination when no miraculous snowball materializes. It could have happened, I swear. Either way, if you were wondering, that aborted immigrant actually has a family and a happy life in Edmonton now. And Trump? Well, I’ll be honest. I can’t take any credit for Trump. That’s what we in the business call an unstoppable force. That’s the kind of shit-show you plan around. So I did. And now we’re here. Two candidates nobody in their right mind wants to vote for.
This country will tear itself apart any day now.
...Ah. Now you're wondering: But what about the shoe? Now that's a secret.
Edit: Didn't expect this kind of response, thank you all for reading, and thank you kind benefactor for the gold!
|
What am I supposed to do with these? A banana peel, a red pen, and the butterfly effect? I could do so much if I had a time machine too - make George Washington slip on the banana peel and drown in the Potomac, redact the Constitution... But how can I take down America *now*?
Wait a second... Memes. Memes can change the world. Just look at all those marketing campaigns that failed because people misappropriated the company's hashtag. What if I could create a meme with a banana peel and a red pen? All I need to do is figure out what that meme is, and what effects it would have...
*6 months later*
"The 'Slippery Hillary' meme continues to grow in popularity, reflecting discontent among citizens with President Clinton's neverending scandals. In case you're not aware, the meme looks like this..."
A picture of a banana peel with Hillary Clinton's face drawn on it (in surprisingly exquisite detail) replaces the news anchor's face on TV. Then, the anchor reappears and she speaks again.
"There are already protests taking place in cities around the nation; no casualties have been reported, but the protests have turned violent on occasion, only to be broken up by police. Who knows how long the tension will hold, though?"
| 2016-07-26T19:19:16 | 2016-07-26T16:03:17 | 1,983 | 84 |
[WP] You're a ferocious demon king. You're surprised one day to find that a young woman has been left at your door. Only to later find out her father, the king, is using you as bait to find a knight worthy of marrying his daughter.
|
"Look, he, like... he just wasn't good enough for you. OK?"
"Yeah, I guess... He seemed nice though."
Nice. The guy comes charging into my palace dragging a terrified octogenarian in white robes clutching a wooden staff for dear life and a teenage girl with a bargain-basement spell book who looked like she was positively shitting herself, dressed all up in holy plate armor, shouting obscenities about the "fucking filthy bastard abomination piece of shit demons" he was going to "disembowel" while his "cleric" and "white mage" tried to keep from being eaten by the palace decor and scrambled to remember the three spells they'd memorized in the panic of it all. Super nice guy.
"Your infernal highness," one of the knights - a handsome, well-mannered incubus; seven hundred years on the job; great guy - said as he approached the throne. "I have a report."
"Is it about the... um, are we calling him a paladin? Is that what we're doing?"
"He was wearing the regalia of the Holy Order, your great dark majesty."
"It just seems like such a loaded term. You know, we're trying to get away from this whole us versus them rhetoric, be more tolerant, watch our microaggressions, eat fewer babies - you know, a better demon king for a better demon world."
"Yes, your magnificent wickedness, and I am honored to serve such a respectable lord of darkness, but the... um, the gentleman and his companions, sire..."
"Right, your report."
"Should the lady really be present for this, sire?"
"Oh, go on, Igzaril," the princess said, resting her head in her right hand as she tried to get more comfortable in her seat next to the throne, "I've heard much worse. Trust me. My father has all of the eunuchs who attend me castrated with string and bits of glass." Igzaril - that was his name; I'd been calling him 'Sir Sexy Horns' for so long in my head I'd forgotten - shuddered at the thought and then nodded.
"Entrails, sire. The hell hounds in the lobby did a spectacular job of ending the... gentleman's... crusade? Can I still say crusade?"
"Let's go with mission to be safe."
"Well, anyway, while the hounds were happy to tear the gentleman apart," and that's when I interrupted him, growing suddenly agitated by the entire situation. It had been sixteen months since the king of... whatever the human cesspool above ground and due East of here was called had orchestrated the "kidnapping" of his daughter in the desperately lazy attempt at finding a "worthy" and "honorable" man to marry her. And kill me. That was also big on his political agenda. Great way to score points with the Holy Order - kill Lord Zabuliz the Unkillable Evil. Ignore the "unkillable" part of my name entirely. Focus on the last word. Humans.
"Just call him the 'guy,' or something. Paladin is too political, but 'gentleman' is giving him entirely too much credit."
"Yes, sire. Well, the guy who attacked - oh you're right, that does feel a lot better - and his support team must have drank a rather impressive amount of holy water just before storming the palace. The hell hounds all have pretty badly singed snouts, I'm afraid."
"Oh no!" the princess said at once, sitting up straight with her eyes open and look a genuine concern for the cute - albeit snarling, ferocious, wreathed in flame, and almost constantly dripping with the blood of the innocent - hell hounds that stood guard on the lower levels - the only levels of the palace that any of her potential suitors had ever made it to. We ran a tight ship. "Are the puppies alright?"
"They'll be fine, Princess," Igrazil said, bowing to conceal an obvious smile, "they just might be sulking for a while. If another attack comes in soon we might actually have to send in personnel to deal with the situation."
"How well staffed is the lobby?"
"Well, there's the receptionist and usually four to six guards posted. We could up the number of guards if you'd like, sire, maybe give a few of the more industrious imps something useful to do, but Flzamin - she's the receptionist - has been complaining that she's getting a bit bored at her desk and she's actually an impressively skilled magician - necromancy, mostly, although I think I saw mastery of elemental conjuration and classical malediction on her CV. With the caliber of magic users that have been coming through on palad...'good guy' support I'm confident she'd be more than a match. She'd probably have them eating hellfire the moment they step through the door."
"Well, that's serendipitous to say the least. Inform... was it Fuhlazmin?"
"Flzamin, your unparalleled malevolence."
"Let her know she'll be getting a raise. I'll think of a new title as well. All I've got in my head right now is 'battle secretary' and that's hot garbage."
"There is another problem, my immortal oppressor of the light," Igrazil said, and I sunk instinctively back in my throne so far that my wings got all mashed up and my tail squished against the seat in a manner so painful that I had to instantly adjust. "The holy water that the guy and his companions drank. Their entrails splattered against the walls of the lobby. Steaming with holy magic."
"Ugh," I said, putting a clawed hand to my forehead. I felt a migraine coming on right behind my horns. "And no one can clean it up without getting burned, right?"
"I'll do it," the princess said, standing up and walking towards the door without a second word. She sounded happy, perhaps excited even to have something to do besides sit around and wait to be rescued, and even looked back once and smiled before disappearing through the gate of lost souls down the stairwell through the chamber of horrors and the tunnel of unrelenting evil that led past the cafeteria to the broom closet where she'd presumably - hopefully - break out the purple stuff and the good mop.
"She's great," Igrazil said once she was out of the throne room. "Really. It's been lovely having her around."
"I know. I'd marry her myself if I weren't so fucking gay."
EDIT: Wow, I did not respect this kind of response, thank you all so much! I'll post a Part 2 as a reply to this comment. I hope you guys enjoy it as well!
EDIT 2: Again, WOW. I really did not expect this to blow up. For my first (I think my first?) post on this sub, I was optimistically hoping for double digit upvotes at best, so THANK YOU ALL again! I will definitely continue this story - I have absolutely no clue what my next step is going to be aside from me writing and posting it (somewhere? somehow? someone help? advice?) but I obviously have an audience here and I love this story so far so I will definitely give you guys more. As in hopefully tomorrow more. Thanks again!
EDIT 3: (Last one, really) OK so for the time being I am going to be posting the continuation of this story directly on my profile until I find a better place to stick them, so - can I even ask people to subscribe to my profile? Is that soliciting? Will a Mod come strike me down? Anyway, for now, Parts 1 and 2 (and tomorrow, Part 3!) of "The Infinite Darkness of Lord Zabuliz the Unkillable Evil (And Friends!)" will be posted directly on my profile, /u/bochibochi
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"Sir, there's a lady at the main gate. What do you want me to do?" Inquired the tiny red minion in a squeaky voice.
"She from around here?"
"Far too pretty to be, I'd say"
"Ugh, must be Cobalt's daughter. All the money in the world yet this is how he thinks he's going to find his daughter a husband."
"How exactly would that work sir?"
"Well, he knows I don't turn away a guest. I'd invite her in for a cup of tea and not ten minutes later would all the tabloids read that I had kidnapped his daughter. Then we'd have to deal with a whole mess of single kids in shiny armours tryna break down our doors"
"Devilish, that Cobalt is. What would you have us do? We'll march straight down and knock some sense in him at your command."
"Oh I know you would, Copernicus. But no, none of that. Bring her in."
"But sir...the tabloids."
"I'll handle the tabloids"
In walked the lady wearing green, escorted by two of the Demon King's soldiers.
"Dearest lady," the king started "you seem to be lost. Are you looking for a place to stay"
"Oh yes," Cobalt's daughter faked a trembling voice of sadness, "I wandered off the trails and somehow ended up here"
She attempted to cry. It was all quite pathetic really. The act wasn't even well planned. For starters, no one would walk the trails in a dress and heels. She didn't even know how to fake cry. There were no tears and honestly couldve been mistaken for demonic laughter.
Nonetheless, the king played along, "Don't you worry. Its getting late, stay here the night and we'll get you back home."
She thanked the king and began walking towards the fireplace, but just as soon as she had her back to him, he pulled out his trident and drove it right through her.
One of the guards let out a stifled gasp. The king smirked as she fell to the ground.
"Copernicus, have her sent back home."
"Uh sir, I don't mean to question your decisions but won't you actually having killed her cause even more outrage"
"Oh no, all we have to worry about now is the king upset about his daughter. The white knights won't come marching down if there's nothing in it for them. They can't marry a dead woman surely."
"That's brilliant - bit harsh, killing her I mean' but still' brilliant."
"They won't even pay this a second glance in the tabloids. Who expects a demon king to do anything but kill."
| 2017-10-06T09:48:54 | 2017-10-06T05:49:44 | 2,620 | 1,808 |
[WP] Those who die in battle go to Valhalla, those who die by water or lightning go to Tlālōcān, and those who die while driving have their own mysterious afterlife. All drivers throughout time, whether they died in cars, on a horse, in a carriage, etc., end up here. Welcome to the Hotel California.
|
"Look Marsha, I'm not drunk. We don't need to spend the night at a random hotel!" The man said to his girlfriend.
"Yes, you are."
"My driving was perfect!" They argued in the hotel parking lot.
"We almost swerved into a tree in the middle of nowhere, Josh."
"It was a joke! I'm just buzzed. We can still get hours of driving done."
"Hey, you wanted a roadtrip from Montana to Florida instead of flying." Marsha said. "Then, you got bored driving and wanted to sample the local cuisine. All I wanted was a nice trip to Disneyland. "
"Yeah fine." They walked into a grand atrium with classy carpeting.
The front desk looked like it was a solid piece of wood. Not the kind of thing you see at a random motel. They hit the bell and from behind a curtain came a man with curly hair and a stained sweater. He held a clipboard and the nametag said Harry.
"Welcome to the Hotel. Marsha and Josh?" He said.
"Uhm... yeah that's us."
An older man wearing a cloak and top hat barged into the conversation.
"Good sir, this is unforgivable. Where are your hay bales?"
"Pull up behind the hotel, you'll see the stables. " said Harry.
"Is there a costume party?" Marsha asked
"What kind of establishment doesn't have hay ready? I thought these were civilized times." The stranger mumbled on his way out.
"Don't mind him, he just had an accident. There's always some party going on in the master room. Bar's on the other end of the main floor."
"Thanks. We'll just head to our rooms" she gave Josh a withering look.
"Planned this ahead of time, didja?" Josh said.
"No, I never called" Marsha was genuinely confused. She looked at the keys and suddenly jabbed Josh with them.
"Ow dangit! What was that for?"
"Hotel California? We were going the opposite direction!"
"Maybe it's just a name?" It wasn't. "Ok, look Marsha, You go on upstairs and I'll figure out what happened."
She was still pissed.
"How about we'll take a plane there?"
"And the car?"
"Oh, forgot about that. We'll go to bed early and get a head start!"
The woman gave him a look he affectionately called the stabby eyes.
"We'll stay an extra day at Disneyland" He pleaded.
After a few seconds she said "Mickey ears too."
"Come on, honey those things are expen-" the words stuck in his throat. "Ok, Mickey ears too".
"Yay" Marsha said, as she stomped to their room.
Now to figure out what happened. He could check the front desk, but he didn't want to bother Harry again. Totally reasonable to go to the bar. There'll be people there. While he's there, maybe Josh should get a glass of something. Gotta blend in.
A man was looking around outside the bar. He was wearing tight overalls covered in logos. Everything from cigarettes to wristwatches were advertised on him.
"Hey, do you know how I got here?" The racer said.
"Why are you asking me?"
"Don't know what happened, man. Was racing one moment, the next I woke up with my car parked here."
In the bar was only one guy in a trench coat, hunched over his glass.
"Let's ask that guy" Josh said.
It was a large area, full of glass tables. A nice warm fire burned by the bar. Bottles of champagne were plentiful, but no bartender.
"Hey, buddy." They approached the third man. "I think we're lost, are we still in Wyoming?"
"Whoa there, Wyoming? I was in Nashville" the racer said.
The seated man startled, then calmed down. "Sorry, I thought you were someone else."
"This Wyoming?" The racer asked again. " Or Tennessee? Are we at the North pluckin' Pole here, mister?"
"What? No. I wish. Wait, is there deer at the North Pole?"
"Hey, is there anyone else here?" Josh asked.
"Yeah, there's someone else here. This place is haunted."
"Haunted?" they asked, skeptically.
"By deer."
"Whoever heard of being haunted by deer?"
"All I know is, one day I'm driving 50 mph, minding my business then splat, the sucker with big antlers jumps from the bushes. Those horns get stuck in my steering wheel and we veer into a tree. "
"Somehow" he continued "I get here, and the damn deer keeps following me. He's in the windows, he finds his way through the hallway. I swear one time about 20 years ago the sucker broke through the bathroom door while I was on the toilet".
"Wait, 20 years?"
"Yeah, can you believe it? Damn deer won't leave me alone since I got here. It's been 50 years since. Oh no. There he is." The deer made its way through the back of the bar and was looking right at them.
The man bolted upstairs, buck in pursuit.
"Did that wild animal get in here again?" Harry yelled from the front desk. "Let me get the dog to chase him out"
"Wait wait wait" Josh yelled after him. "Just where in the heck are we?"
"Heck? You see anyone torturing you? Nah, this is just the plain old afterlife."
"What do you mean, afterlife?"
"Some people die fighting, and they end up in some viking dinner party. You all died driving cars, and horses and buggies, you end up here in Hotel California.
"Driving?"
"Yep. You guys should really make yourselves at home. Champagne is great. For a while. There's a jousting tournament going on out back too."
"Did you say jousting?" The racer asked.
"Oh yeah, real popular around here. My advice, don't bet against the guys with the lances and plate armor. "
Josh was silent for a while, then tried to go outside.
"Where you goin'?" The racer asked.
"To find the guys with lances. They can help me practice."
"What for?"
"When my girlfriend finds out we died before she made it to Disneyland, the stabbing is going to be a lot more creative."
|
I was driving a buggie on the newly discovered planet x when some natives circled me.
They rode strange large creatures we had not documented yet. Each native had a primitive spear.
"Don't worry, the rocks attached to those sticks can't pierce our nano ladden suits." My boss said right before a spear pierced his suit. He was wrong. I tried to change course but it was too late a spear pierced my heart and I died.
That's when things got... Well, strange.
I woke up in a concrete room with an obese woman, something that had been eliminated by nutrient bars, telling me to remove my suite.
"Now just wait a minute, where am I? Under what authority ..."
"Hun, the state of California, the US gubberment, and this tazer give me the authorization to do what ever I want to you." She pulled a small rectangular device from, somewhere, and it starts clicking as electricity arcs from one point to another.
"I'm with the federation of planets and I come in peace. The us government has not existed for thousands of years. You have no authority over me..." I was wrong, the tazer gave her authority.
The next time I came too I was wearing an orange suite in a concrete room with a metal door. There were two beds and a stainless steel basin. There was another person in the room with me wearing an orange suite too. I asked him where I was he said "the hotel California."
| 2019-01-29T13:41:02 | 2019-01-29T12:04:28 | 212 | 17 |
[WP] When a child comes of age their greatest quality manifests itself as a familiar that will follow them for life. You just turned 21 and you still didn't have one, until this morning when two showed up and they terrify you.
|
My brother had always told me that if I stared into the mirror hard enough it would just appear one day. He said that he got his familiar at 16, he was just brushing his teeth one morning before school, he spit in the sink and when he looked back in the mirror, behind him stood a huge dog like animal. Courage. He became a police officer after that, and is working on becoming a detective now.
My dad said that it would come to me when I least expected it, and that his showed up one day on a walk home from school, just followed him home. Compassion. He was a senior in high school, and decided to become a doctor that day. He studied hard, and made it through school, and now works as a surgeon overseas in war torn countries, despite being offered quite lucrative job opportunities here at home.
Everyone had one. Mom, temperance, sister, kindness, my other sister had faith. Shit, even the school bully had anger, a great red hound that followed him around and barked as he hit the freshmen and forced them to give their lunch money.
Everyone had tips on how to get them. Try harder, don't try at all, get out there and be something, do something, stand up and say something. Believe in God, question your faith, be more like this person and less like that one. Eat banana's after midnight (thank's uncle Larry), and, most often of all: Just believe in yourself. It was getting really hard to do that.
A sudden knock on the door startled me. The noise of the room came rushing back, water running, and someone was saying to get the hell out because they needed the bathroom. My eyes were still closed. I squeezed them until colors and shapes formed and danced and opened them. Nothing stood behind me. Nothing was on my shoulder. *knock knock knock* "Come on asshole, shit and get out!" I turned off the sink and dried my hands. The man who knocked shoulder bumped me on my way out and his familiar hissed at me. It was a great, green snake coiled around his neck. Envy. I hated snakes.
I returned to my friends, waiting for me at our table. Matt and Steve were busy in conversation, but Pat and Rachel noticed my return. Pat's eagle was more less sleeping, but opened one eye at me as I sat down and trilled. Rachel's dragon walked down her arm and sniffed me twice, made a face and withdrew back to her shoulder, where it sat on all fours and surveyed the restaurant. Rachel looked at me with a head tilt, auburn hair cascading off her shoulder and around her familiar, which caused it to snort in mild derision. "I washed them!" I exclaimed.
"Mmmmhm, sure you did." Pat's baritone cut through the din and noise of the bar, and his bird ruffled it's feathers. His tone was playful but I wasn't in the mood. I shot him a look, and he laughed at my discomfort. Asshole knew I was into Rachel and he was toying with me. His joviality got Matt and Steve to turn and engage with the rest of us.
"Did he not wash his hands again?" Steve asked, and winked at me. Asshole. Pat just shook his head, still laughing. Matt chuckled and said "If you aren't careful you are gonna give him Embarrassment. No one wants that thing." As annoyed and upset as I was, the thought of having embarrassment follow me around for the rest of my life was enough to make my stomach drop. It was bright yellow red and never made eye contact. I didn't want that to be my familiar. They say it smelled like piss.
Rachel looked at me and her eyes softened and made my heart flutter. "Shut up, dick bags. And anyways, Matt, you can't force someone to manifest something. You know better than that."
Matt's familiar, a monkey like animal signifying curiosity and playfulness, stood to it's height on the table and beat it's chest before hissing at Rachel. Rachel flipped the creature off and her dragon puffed a smoke heart. Pat laughed again as Matt said, "Yeah the jury is still out on that one, Rachel." He made an unkind face before looking down at his soda and taking a sip.
Rachel smirked and my heart fluttered again. The table grew quiet for a second, and I took a bite of pizza. I admired the weird group I had before me and how even though we didn't always get along, we stuck together. We had been the "group" since grade school, and even though they had all manifested different familiars that didn't always get along, we all made it work, and though they liked to tease me about not having my own, they were pretty cool about it. Only the occasional joke here or there. Most of the kids in school had shunned me. They figured I would be one of those weird guys who didn't manifest till 50 or something. Lately I was beginning to think they were right.
Out of the corner of my eye I see movement. The asshat who bumped into me in the bathroom was standing over the table, behind Rachel. She looked behind her, and his snake flicked it's tongue out. I stiffened.
"Hey, Rachel, how is it going?"
Her eyes narrowed and rolled before she screwed on a fake smile and turned around in her seat. "Hey, Dan, how are you?!" Her voice was an octave up, and her dragon didn't move from her shoulder.
"Just fine, babe. What are you doing with these guys."
"Don't call me that. And these guys are my friends." She went around the table, starting with me, and introduced everyone. He never took his eyes off me. His snake hissed, and I took another bite of pizza and pretended not to notice. He moved half a step closer and I looked up.
"Can I help you," I managed through the crust and pepperoni.
"You're the prick who wouldn't leave the goddamn bathroom. You fucking my girl, Ace?" I blushed instantly, and Rachel stood up, sending her dragon flying overhead.
"I'm not your girl, fuckface."
"Not what you said last month." Dan's smile was sinister and he glanced down at me. "And anyways, the fuck is up with this guy? Bro, is your familiar the table or something?" He laughed at his own joke, but the table was less amused. The dragon spread her wings, and Pat's eagle fixed both it's eyes on the snake. Rachel stood up quickly and turned to face Dan. The dragon flew into the ceiling tile and dislodged it. I also stood up, and the snake hissed, it's tongue only a few inches from my nose.
The dragon returned to Rachel's shoulder and was billowing smoke through it's nostrils. Rachel's tone was cold. "I think you need to leave, Dan." The smile evaporated from his face and was replaced with smug defiance.
"I am good right here." He planted his feet shoulder width apart and put his chin up slightly. The snake began to uncoil it's length and wrap around his arm.
Suddenly, Rachel smiled. "Oh okay, then do you wanna share what Oscar there does when you think the people are asleep in bed next to you?" Her voice lilted but there was a hidden challenge in it's musical notes. I looked up at her and her eyes were still cold despite the smirk curling on her lips. He downcast his eyes at the floor. "Because if not, I will certainly tell them how funny it was to have to revive you with your pants around your ankles."
Pat's laughter was bombastic, and I could feel it in the table. Matt snickered and Steve muttered "perv" under his breath. Dan turned and walked away quickly, stammering about Rachel being a bitch. Steve and Matt high fived Rachel and everyone relaxed. Dragon's were known for fearlessness and fire, passion and emotion. Rachel smiled, self satisfied and fulfilled. I hoped when I finally manifested I could be so lucky.
---
|
I was 21 when they came.
I was always told that sometimes familiars came late. I didn't really mind, to be honest; I'm told that having a familiar is like having a pet, a guardian, and a friend all in one. I was kind of a loner anyways, preferring to stay in my room most of the time and play video games from sunrise to sundown on weekends. Not exactly healthy, but I didn't care. I had a stable job though, working at my mother's dog grooming shop as I was generally too anxious and socially awkward to work somewhere else with better pay.
But it was a Friday when they showed up. I had the day off today due to heavy snow - I live in Washington, near the coast, if you need clarification.
The first one was astonishing; it was more like a blob of light than anything, though it was able to take shape of anything it or I wanted it to be. A tiny bug, a colossal whale, a twisted beast from Dark Souls or some other piece of media. That one represented my creativity, my ideas, my hopes and dreams.
The other however, was more along the lines of an placid eldritch god; it too was able to change it's shape like the first one, but it's primary 'form' was something I have trouble describing; so many legs, as many as a centipede's, more eyes than a millipede, and yet it was so kind despite it's horrifying appearance.
That one represented a few things like the other.
Anxiety. Depression from back when I was in school. Things I hate about myself. A desire to improve. A need to get better. Determination.
Of course at first I was incredibly scared; too scared to even scream for my mom and dad. But the darker one - the Eldritch one I now usually call it - simply rested it's body, which almost felt hot to the touch - and explained to me what it represented. How that I was destined for great things in my life, even if they seemed small to me, and they'd be always by my side until the day I died.
It still scares me a little bit, even today. Because when I get angry or sad or stressed or whatever it changes it's form to represent how I feel. A writhing ball of demonic energy, silently screaming. A sad little creature, curled up in my lap. A quivering being, with no mouth to scream.
When people see them they usually gawk and awe, point and stare. I don't mind; usually the Eldritch one takes the form of a dog to keep people from screaming in horror, though it always has the eyes and a few extra legs. The more angelic one so to speak takes the form of a nice fat snake coiled around my neck and shoulder.
I'm very glad to have these two with me.
| 2017-01-20T14:00:42 | 2017-01-20T13:56:52 | 78 | 52 |
[WP] You're a ghost trying to peacefully enjoy your garden, and quite frankly, you're tired of all these adventurers trying to "put you to rest"
|
The dead need gardens, too. Perhaps more so than the living, after all, alivers are so busy with being alive they more often trod upon gardens than enjoy them.
Take this fool with the double edged axe trampling all over those poor tulips. And for what? A chance to swipe his unenchanted hunk of useless metal through my ethereal form?
Oh Gods be damned! You idiot, you just cleaved my dandelion patch!
But no matter how much I scream at them they never stop. Somehow, I've become a fixation for the local adventurers. They seem to think I've got some cool treasure bits hidden under my flimsy white gown. Wont they be surprised when all they find are dry rose buds!
If they ever get me, that is. Judging by this moron swinging his axe harmlessly through my person I doubt any one of them will ever scrounge up enough brain cells to end me.
And I wished they would. I didnt wish to linger here in this beautiful garden and be tormented by idiots. If I had a choice I'd moved on a hundred years ago. How did I come to be here? I don't know. One day I was a baker's son running an errand and the next moment I wake up all glowy like here with an invisible wall confining me to this courtyard and naught but the flowers to keep me company.
Took me a decade or two to grow tired of this little plot of land but watching flowers grow is at least a thing I can enjoy.
Oh, will you look at that, the buffoon got tired of swinging his axe.
Wait-wait a minute you nincompoop! At least walk back the way you came! Oh my hydrogenas!
I swear if I could strangle these bastards I'd have done it years ago.
Well I do have one person that I like. A little local boy, Samuel, who visits some days. He would talk to me like a real person. Not that I can say anything intelligible back to him but he doesn't seem to mind my silence. Maybe he's just a lonely orphaned boy and at least I dont make fun of him for it.
My poor flowers, wilting on their broken stems.
Here comes Sam now.
"Hi Pete" he greets me. I dont know where he came up with that name and though I'd have preferred a different pseudonym, it has grown on me.
I smile at him, my silent reply.
"Another adventure party today? Looks like they got the tulips good this time."
I nod, sadly.
"Do you want me to plant some new seeds?"
I nod enthusiastically, smiling.
"I'll have to remember to bring some flower buds next time."
I dig out the dry bulbs I have hidden in the ruffles of my gown and show it to Sam. He looks at them with curiosity but he cannot touch them.
"Those look like rose buds, you must really like flowers. Why dont you try planting them?"
I'd never even thought of planting my bulbs before. I didnt see why not. I nod and gesture for him to dig.
Sam toiled for a few moments clearing a hole for my rose buds. I gingerly set them down inside. Sam covered the hole with dirt once more.
"Let me grab some water from the well outside the gate." He said as he ran off.
A moment later he returned with a stone pitcher and dumped copious amounts of water on my rose buds. We both sat and watched in peaceful silence as the water soaked into the earth.
As it was getting dark, Sam bade me good night and left. I smiled at him as he marched off to wherever his home may be, glad for his brief companionship. As the sky darkened I, too, nodded off.
A clamor of steel woke me from my slumber. I rose to the greetings of an early dawn sky. It was still rather dark but I could make out the sharp edged shapes of swords and spears teetering about the edge of the courtyard. Joy.
As I walked to confront these men, I noticed something glowing at my feet. They were roses! My roses! They had somehow grown overnight. They glowed red in the dim light of dawn with perfect shape and color. They made me so inexplicably happy.
I was roused from my euphoria by the din of men rushing forward in steel. Instinctively, I stood protectively in front of my roses. Having something to fight for after so long drove power through me. My anger, suppressed from years of mistreatment of my garden, welled into a tangible force and I unleashed it into them with a banshee like scream.
The men stopped dead in their tracks. Their hands covered their bleeding ears, some thrashed upon the ground. I continued to scream until blood trickled from their eyes, noses and mouths. A thousand capillaries burst from the unnatural vibrations of my scream.
Finally, I ceased, my anger spent. The men's screams didn't end. Some desperately crawled toward the courtyard exit, others squirmed upon the ground in agony.
I turned and sat back down in front of my perfect roses. They were speaking to me but I wasn't comprehending. I must have sat like that for hours. The next time I looked up the Sun was high in the sky. Careful footsteps approached from behind me, it was Sam.
"That was quite a sound this morning. You woke the whole village. There's talk of hiring a real hunter, with the tools to destroy you."
He sounded worried. I smiled my usual smile at him.
"I dont want them to hurt you."
Oh Sam, I thought.
He then noticed the roses.
"Wow, are those the roses we planted last night?"
I nodded. Even in the bright light of day you can tell they glowed vibrantly.
"They look so beautiful."
I nodded in agreement. They were so beautiful. I leaned down and ran a finger along the delicate petals. The moment I touched them, a flash of memory jolted me back.
I saw myself, walking the path from my father's bakery toward the hills. Another flash. I was amongst the wild flowers picking ingredients for my father's pastries. Flash again, red roses caught my eye. I pick them. Memories flush back as I remember walking home, my basket full of plants and flowers. I could feel the rose buds in my pocket.
Suddenly, a flash of steel, red blood flowing down my chest, I stumble. My basket tumbles, the contents pouring like a wreath around me. My hands still grip the rose buds.
My memories end. I am back in the courtyard with Sam.
"Are you ok? You were staring off into space."
I look at him. I knew what happened to me now. I knew what had to be done.
I gesture Sam with a snipping motion of my fingers.
"Cut? You mean for me to cut your roses?"
I nod and smile. My roses. The roses I meant to bring home to my father and mother. The roses that I never saw bloom.
"I cant cut them, they are so beautiful."
I shake my head. I gesture to myself and then toward the sky. It was time for me to go home.
"You mean, if I cut these, you will go to heaven?"
Such a smart boy. I nod to him, tears rolling down my cheeks.
Sam, sniffling back tears of his own, shook his head.
I smile at him, pleading.
"But I'll have no one left!"
He cries now, tears streaming down his face.
I shake my head to him. Still smiling. I point to the roses, I gesture one hand toward my heart, and I place my other hand over his.
Sam sobs at this but seems to understand. Finally, he nods his consent. He digs out a knife from his pocket.
Looking at me, he questions my will one last time.
I nod to him, smiling.
With a quick motion, Sam cuts the stems of the roses. The moment they sever I could feel my body grow warm.
I stand, smiling at Sam. I feel myself fading. Sam clutches my roses gingerly to his heart.
I smile and wave as I disappear.
|
The garden looked as good as ever this afternoon. The sun was shining, the hedges were immaculate, and the rose bushes had come back with a vengeance.
Mrs. Esterhazy would be proud. Her descendants had kept the plantation revival home in excellent shape. Many held their wedding ceremonies in this very garden.
When Alcide was the gardener of this home, he had vowed to maintain it. Old Mrs. Esterhazy gave him a well paying job when none of the industries wanted a "colored" man in their workplace. He worked hard and was buried under the gnarled old oak tree on the property. The owners even maintained his headstone.
They couldn't have known the old magic that was in the old oak tree. Now he haunted these grounds quietly and peacefully most of the time. Occasionally, the local kids came with their candles and pentagrams and other trinkets. He sent gentle breezes to extinguish their candles and scare them off.
Three vans pulled up the long drive. They read, "Creature Seekers." Alcide was dead but, the house still had basic cable. He knew this program from the Education Channel. It had really gone downhill the past few years.
*Oh, here we go. Let them have their fun. They better not trample my lilacs.*
The vans regurgitated their army of technicians, camera men, sound crew, and roadies. Last came the on camera "talent." Walter and Cadyn. Walter middle aged, short and stocky. He had thick glasses and long side whiskers. Cadyn was muscular with sandy blonde hair and a tan. Often the Creature Quests resulted with him losing his shirt because of ectoplasm or some other nonsense.
Walter gruffly ordered, "Some one get me the thing that makes beeping sounds. Lets get some daytime reel, it's going to be a long night. We have the fog machines right? Did the family get the scripts. What's the narrative? Old dead lady? Get some footage of the old timely family photos. I want a sugar cookie latte sent to my trailer in an hour."
Cadyn was transfixed with his phone. "Lets get some shots for the Insta. Get some mason jars, milk crates, fireflies, an old plow, all that trite southern shit. Jesus, this place it so remote it doesn't have snap stickers. What are we doing? Angry dead slave ghosts again?"
*SLAVES!?!? Alcide had heard the stories from his great grandmother. This was a plantation revival home. The Easterhazys never owned slaves and the property never produced any goods.*
They crews were running cables all over the garden. They hung lights from the trees. One of the roadies was openly urinating in the roses.
*Oh no you did not. Alcide was going to give them a show they'd never forget.*
| 2019-12-30T14:20:56 | 2019-12-30T14:04:15 | 31 | 16 |
[WP] Due to a typo, your less-than- common first name got put into the new edition of the Necronomicon. Suddenly, you're being called on to get revenge on people's enemies. That's fine with you, though. You work for the IRS.
|
“Do not call up that which you cannot put down” - HP Lovecraft.
Yumi Shakrasanda-Theodopolousia is my name.... Sounds exotic but I grew up in Cleveland. My family a fun mix of Japanese, Indian, Greek and Italian. It's a long story... But as a child I enjoyed math and my alcoholic mother made me do her taxes at the age of 8. Somehow it actually worked. At a college job fair, the IRS was hiring and the rest is history...
I'd found myself standing in a circle of chalk on a concrete floor, candles burnt down to the nubs, beneath my feet were lipstick stained dollar bills. A wild haired woman stood before me... “oh great balancer of scales, she who avenges wrongs, hearken unto me and grant me justice! ”
Where am I? I was comfortable at home and about to watch Dowton Abbey with my boyfriend, when The blonde haired woman wearing an occult looking robe looked at me in confusion...“Who are you and what am I doing here? Did you kidnap me?” I stepped out of the circle towards the woman... She jumped back... “The book said you can't leave the circle!!! Please, have mercy... I just wanted help against my husband.. He's hiding assets in the divorce...”“Well... you have reached the right person.. I know a lot about hidden assets..”I straightened my glasses and looked at her expectantly... “but WHAT AM I DOING HERE?” I demanded.The story came out.. Karen bought a cheap translation of the Necronomicon she found on alibaba. she thought she was summoning The Woman In Blue, Yumishathrasandratheodopolisia, a three headed goddess (A woman, a cat and a wooly mammot)” from a long forgotten pre hyperborean age, with wings made of snakes and eyes and ears which cannot fail to discern the truth.. A goddess scorned and so devoted herself to vengeance. A latte skinned woman in a puffy pink bathrobe and black glasses was not what she was expecting...Her husband was divorcing her, he was a cruel man. A wealthy man who had made a fortune from unmatched ambition and cruelity to everyone around him.... She eventually caught him fucking the housekeeper. Poor Karen told the tale that he swore that she get nothing if she failed to take his insultingly low offer. She knew he had more money than he had disclosed in court... I promised to look into it....
Judge Harold Jameson looked tiredly down at the courtroom, He dreaded this day as the first item on the docket was the source of most of his headaches and nightmares for the past year.. A ruthless businessman married an old money heiress who claimed that staying home to look after three kids had hampered her career in medicine despite her grades being nowhere near good enough to attend medical school. A woman in a blue pantsuit and glasses sat behind the defense table in the gallery. Her calmly measured expression was a sharp difference from the mood at the defense table. The three women at the defense table, Karen Everiche and her attorneys from the ballbreaker firm Victoria and O' Keesian radiated a horny mix of greed and smug satisfaction at their upcoming payday...” The Plaintiff's table was a somber mood, how those shell companies had been discovered was the real mystery... What betrayed those carefully planned transfers? Obfuscated far beyond the comprehension of anyone short of the devil, were about to be laid bare. And now they were in for it, and Rex Everiche was going to pay. That wretched woman and her she devils would win today...The case was called. The defense called it's witness, An IRS investigator, one miss Shakrasanda-Theodopolousia. She had been asked by defense to testify as to her findings as to the assets of the Plaintiff..
“In conclusion, Rex Everriche has far, far more money then declared in his declaration of assets submitted to his court, his holdings in foreign tax shelters are significant, as you can see from this list, it includes Tibet, Hutt River Province, Monaco, Switzerland and one of the most remarkable i've ever seen: North Korean aid backed by china.. His efforts to hide assets is going to create more work then possibly ever forseen for enforcement...”The judge was stunned but called for a recess to consider the new facts... He would have a ruling after lunch... But the bailiff handed a piece of paper up to the judge who read it over with a puzzled expression, then a dawning understanding which lead him to chuckle nervously.
The parties were once again seated at their respective tables, awaiting the judge to call the room to order.. Before the judge spoke, the rear door opened as the woman in blue walked in at the head of several large men in black suits.. “Rex Everiche, you're under arrest for money laundering, racketeering, tax fraud, amoung many other crimes, you have the right to remain silent....” The man and his lawyers were soon being hauled away...
Karen's smirk faded as the agents approached her table... How had her hidden earnings from her fantasy cam girl business so carefully nested within MLM businsses bundled into shorting schemes which would make wall street bets come from the sheer madness of it become discovered? Not to mention her family's old secrets... “Karen Everriche, you're under arrest for tax fraud, money laundering, human trafficking and many other crimes...” Karen launched across the table at the avenging woman, who brought justice... “You fucking cunt!” she screamed as the agents restrained her and her lawyers.
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(On mobile so sorry for bad formatting and length)
Well, that was an interesting debacle. More often than not, when my phone rings it's some jackass committing tax fraud. Never did I expect to be called upon as one of the elder gods to ruin the life of one Jim Banks. That was fine though. Bing bang boom, looking through some records, let's peg this guy with enough back taxes to make him take out 3 mortgages. Soon, I started to ruin people's lives as a side job. I gained a reputation for always getting a reliable job done with revenge, and all it took was some exploitation of the American Tax System
| 2020-10-16T00:07:39 | 2020-10-15T17:47:36 | 69 | 10 |
[WP] When a crippled, betrayed and disgraced hero turned to necromancy in desperation, He realized something that most necromancers who avoided fighting and danger didn't. All his decades of training, battle experience, reflexes, and skills were shared with each and every corpse, no matter the race.
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It has been five years since the nobles had put a bounty on my head. They didn't want me to get the credit for saving the realm. While I was out saving the the lands from the hordes of beastmen and demons they were intercepting my communications to the King replacing it with their own.
The Kingdom though It was the nobles who planned and paid for it all. It was the nobles who have saved everyone from the horrors that were heading their way. The Nobles had even convinced the king that I was dead and it was them who stepped up to ensure our safety.
I only found out too late after I had defeated their leader and started to head back. My food was poisoned and I was thrown off a cliff in a weakened state. somehow I survived. The nobles didn't follow the first rule of war - Confirm your kills.
After the betrayal, My body didn't heal the best, I could still use it but not like the days of old, Luckily I had been taught magic as well, wasn't good at it, I didn't need to be when you could swing a sword the way I could. But that obviously changed, and as I got better at the magic I started to learn more - about the different schools of magic and how flexible it really was. However, during this research is when I discovered Necromancy.
If I was going to get my revenge on these nobles I couldn't do it as a single fighter, I needed help. My face was known around the realm, not as the Hero but as the man who attempted to murder the king. They had thought out that side of things in great lengths.
It wasn't until I had raised several larger animals until I realized it... The creatures you raised under your command also shared your memories and experiences, and with that came the ability to use them as if the memories were their own.
My first experiment was on a collection of bandits, there were around 40 of them. I sent in 5 humanoid skeletons and 10 boar skeletons. My god it was a slaughter. An army with the memories and skills of a hero. I had the power to raise over 200, I could have marched down the main road in the middle of the day and still succeeded.
However I was the hero, and still hold that dear to my heart, I didn't want to kill the commoners who were betrayed as well. My purpose was to save them. My purpose went from saving them from the beastmen and demons to saving them from the nobility. To be honest These days I wouldn't be surprised if the nobility had something to do with the invading army considering how much money that they had made from all the weapons and armor sales along with everything else that goes with war.
I'm currently sitting in an ally in the capital, I have 120 of the raised with me hiding around, the Sun has just set - and the Nobility has a Ball tonight to celebrate the fifth year anniversary of the nobles destroying the invading army. I am going to make sure sure it's a night that will go down in history.
I wait until it's truly dark, it around 8 pm currently - I slowly command my army to move towards their designated locations. They are all wearing hooded garments of some type, even the animals. It's amazing how willing people are to look the other way. I am currently moving two undead wyverns through the city and not a single person has said anything. We need to get into position as soon as possible, the event starts at 8:30 and We will make our Entrance at 9:30 after they have accepted their rewards for all their hard work.
It takes a while, but everything is in position. I sit on one of the window seals in the darkness listening to the speeches being made. I have almost thrown up a few times at the sheer bullshit they are going on about.
Lord Alcort has just finished the last speech of the night before the celebration started. One of my Wyvern smashes through the roof and lands right in the middle of the room. I quickly Take off my hooded robe and join the crowd unnoticed.
All the nobles are terrified seeing the beast land there.
"Well Lord Alcort you should be able to take this out quickly, After all didn't you take on four of them single handly" I shout out. He quickly looks at me and his face goes white as a ghost.
"Oh yes, a Word of advice, if you poison and murder someone, you should really make sure they are dead. It's the first rule of war".
Lord Alcort shouts out "He's the one that tried to murder the king - get him now". All the guards present start rushing towards me - the Wyvern takes several of them out, At the same time, My army has surrounded the manor and taken out all the outside guards and are starting to move into from their designated areas.
I order them to take out the guards as they move on.
"Greetings Everyone, Let me introduce myself. I am the Hero and the person who defeated the the Armies of the beastmen and demons. Your lords here thought it would profitable to take the credit for it and had me killed".
All the guards are now dead, well an army of 120 with all the skills of the hero and all that.
"Lord Alcort, I have to thank you from the bottom of my heart for doing this. Without your actions, I would have never attempted the black arts Necromancy. The most amazing thing happened when I tried it - Everything I raise has my memories and skills. Every raised member of my army here is fighting at my level".
"So now, I'm going to show you all the same mercy you have shown me, I have spent the last 5 years working out who assisted with this. I would suggest you don't try and save anyone, the Risen will slaughter you as well".
I nod my head slightly, close my eyes and order my risen to go after the list of people that had betrayed me, and betrayed the kingdom.
My army scatters and starts to follow the Orders.
"My Liege, I am sorry for the way I had to go about this, But the nobility responsible for this had to be dealt with. If had let you know I was alive they would have quickly replaced you. My body is no longer fit for service, however, in its place, I offer you the service of my Risen for the service and protection of the people. I will take my leave now, I'll be in the garden of Lavis at 3 PM on Friday if you wish to talk more". With that, I walk out while the blood flows freely hearing the screams of the nobles crying out in the background. When the list is complete only about a 3rd of them will be left.
With that I leave and head towards the Black oak tavern, the one place in the city I can feel at ease in, after all, it's where all the dead go to chat. It's the last place you'll find a noble or someone that "currently" works for them.
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An army. I could raise an entire army to take back what has been lost. The people, the kingdom, the lands...If I can hold this army under my will and command, everything can be restored.
And yet...It is through Necromancy that it would be done. I...Can this be condoned? Surely my oaths would be broken if I turned to such unholy powers. But! But if there is no other way - If there is noone else to fight back the traitors that have disgraced the kingdom and the people and the lands, then would those I saved not understand? Would they forgive my desperate choice to save everything and everyone?
This power..This army.. It must be done. I must be the one! Even *if* there are others who can stand up to those vile men, who is to say they will succeed? What if they're too late? What if they don't have enough power? What if they don't have the will to do what must be done?! What if...What if I *am* the only one capable of overthrowing the corrupted rulers?
The people did not stand up for themselves before I arrived. Many still refused to stand up when I defended them! They don't have the will necessary to fight back! And if the common man lacks the will to fight, he will most certainly not have the strength to fight his oppressors. And if he has neither will nor strength, why would - why would a commoner rise against his superiors in the first place?
It must be me. I *am* the only one who can stand against all this. This army which holds my spirit and strength and will shall do what must be done. The kingdom. The land. The people. I will rule them all. I am the only one who can.
| 2021-11-21T20:10:17 | 2021-11-21T19:43:19 | 49 | 15 |
[WP] One hundred people suddenly develop powers based on their favorite RPG. They are given a single directive when they receive their powers, "There can be only one."
Not *entirely* sure if this should be [EU], so I'm posting as generic [WP] for now.
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The reality show was billed as an out of this world experience. Literally. The casting crew was still adjusting to the force of gravity back on Earth. One slick rick hurled into a wastebasket during my audition. He sat back up in his chair once the deed was done, greased back hair poking out of place, practically sweating bullets. "Sorry," he said. "Do, continue."
Apparently, I slayed the audition. All they really did was ask me about gaming.
I'd never been on an inter-planetary cruiser before, but the impression the sleek interior gave me made me feel like they'd pulled out all the stops. Plush leather couches. Holoscreens the size of my house back home. Cocktails were passed around to my fellow contestants. I lost count of how many others there were. Plenty to let me know my odds of winning a lifetime of fame and fortune were slim to none. But hell, it didn't matter to me. I was there to have a good time, and a game of Mario Kart had just sprung up. I pulled the old classic blue-shell-just-before-the-finish, and a burly dude with a fu-man-chu screamed, "What the hell?!"
"Easy dude, just playing a game," I said. I motioned for another drink to ease things over, but by that time the man had stormed off. *Whatever*, I thought. *I'll drink it for you.* When we landed, I was a bit drunk. A waitress--or, I suppose she was, looking back now though I find it unlikely--walked up with a strange blue vial. "Had enough," I slurred. "Thanks though."
"No, sir. If you would please, we need you to lie down for your serum."
"My syrup?"
"Just a little injection," she smiled. "Won't hurt a bit."
The needle pierced my arm, and I passed out.
What I dreamt would decide the rest of my life. It was so trippy. A scrolling list of all my favorite games. I'm talking *classics* like Witcher 3, Dark Souls, hell...even *Stardew Valley*. I made my selection and instantly a character selection screen popped up. What felt like hours passed, as I tweaked and tuned my character to my specifications.
When I clicked submit, I woke up. And I was greeted by darkness. I felt...strange. Itchy almost. I pawed at a scratch, and then my hand felt warm with blood. Except it wasn't a hand at all. It was literally a paw. The tips of my claws were red.
"What the--?"
Suddenly, lights blared. A Colosseum materialized, with thousands of screaming onlookers. The stage was scattered with various obstacles--ancient columns, or stones humming with mysterious energy. I blinked several times, unable to process.
Words appeared out of nowhere, saying **ROUND 1**.
I looked across the way, and there stood my opponent. It was Link, all pixelized from the olden days. Only, he had a fucking fu-man-chu. *Hooooly shit*, I thought. *It's the douchebag I blue-shelled* A part of me thought I was dreaming. It all felt so *real*. The rust red dust swirling on the ground. The sounds of jeering spilling over from the stands. Hell, I could feel the wind on my whiskers. I whirled around on my...paws...in amazement. And then an arrow whizzed past my face. The man must have recognized me because he was practically foaming at the mouth. Arrows flung by with deadly accuracy, and I'm afraid to say I panicked. One struck me square in the shoulder, and my eyes went white with pain.
*Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god*.
I withdrew my bow and flung several shaky arrows. Link advanced steadily, hopping this way and that, avoiding them with ease. He was a small little bugger. Plus, I mean, to my credit, I was shot and shaking with adrenaline.
He ran towards me at full speed, and my reflexes kicked in. I pushed off the ground and soared, so high I practically floated. Chop it up to the gravity if you want, but I like to think it was my excellent taste in character choices.
But he played it smart. He waited for me to land. Then slashed.
I screamed in pain, then stumbled behind a rock with my heart pumpin' like crazy. On the other side, I heard my killer rush towards me. In my shock, I didn't know what to do. Link-man-chu rounded the corner, screaming, and I thought for certain I'd be seeing a game over screen. But then, a look of confusion came over his face. Those little pixels scrunched up in a bunch, and for a brief moment I felt I was suspended in time.
And then I realized.
I was crouched.
"Hey!" said the douche. "Where the--*oomph*"
Link-man-chu fell to the ground in a pool of pixelated blood.
I stood, victorious, bow in my Khajiit hands, staring at a *x3* modifier hovering above the muddled mess.
The audience went crazy.
Then everything faded to black.
**CONGRATULATIONS VICTOR**
**STANDBY FOR YOUR NEXT OPPONENT**
I spent the next several minutes breathing deep, filtering the adrenaline from my system.
I nearly jumped out of my skin when a replay screen popped up. There I was, displayed right there and gleaming. Link rounded the corner, and then--*bam*! down he went. I watched the replay several times over, feeling a deep satisfaction crawl over me. *This is pretty damn awesome,* I thought. *Wonder who I'm up against next?* Then, something caught my attention on screen. I doubled over in laughter.
To be honest, I just couldn't help myself. The douche had taken my arrow right to his knee.
----------
r/M0Zark
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The first fifty people to die were the Skyrim fans by the hand of the Witcher fans. Although they were many, there skills were not as in-depth without their mods.
The next twenty were Witcher fans as they couldn’t really combat mini nukes.
Then fell the Fallout fans to the [INSERT MMORPG HERE], the MMORPG-ers had some wicked shit.
The MMORPG-ers were outclassed by the extremely refined DnD fans, they just had a much better teamwork and well thought out skill sets.
In the end, it was the DnD fans versus one singular fan. They lost to the sheer power and skill of the Hentai RPG fan. His skills were blatantly unbalanced and were not designed very well, making him incredibly powerful.
As the last DnD-er drew breath, he thought:
“Wow. I wish I could be that guy.”
As in his last moments he witnessed a harem crowding his enemy.
| 2018-05-04T08:48:55 | 2018-05-04T08:47:21 | 24 | 13 |
[WP]At last the Dovahkiin dies. Now all the Daedra princes he has served over his life fight for his soul.
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Mortal coils shuffled in the night at long last. The bells tolled in the north, from the Reach to the Rift and all lands between. Their champion had fallen not to the knife, not fire, not on field of battle, but to the cold, and to time. While Nirn and Tamriel laid restless in their absence, the Old Gods stirred, wrestled from their realms and their crypts and their often fiendish ambitions. While Skyrim mourned, the Daedric Lords descended upon the vessel; the soul of the Dragonborn drifts in the vast emptiness of Oblivion.
Hermaeus Mora rose first, in greed and filth, wanting in waiting to wrench the knowledge of the black books back from the Dragonborn’s spirit; the arrival of fellow Lords spurning him from pressing forward.
Each lord’s realm bled into the vast nothingness. The fires of Mehrunes Dagon, persistently familiar in the minds of many, surged forward as the Prince of Destruction took his steps into the mid-realm. He stood, stoic, uncharacteristically reserved. Not Mora, not Nocturnal, not anyone would threaten his claim.
Nocturnal’s mist seeped through, the Twilight beaming through the open frame. Boethiah slithered into existence, to the dismay of Meridia. The others soon followed suit, and not before long, all sixteen Lords of Oblivion were gathered, for the first time in a millennia. Their presences differed vastly, their power unfathomable, crowded around in a wide circle while the Dragonborn, unbent, stood center. The Dragonborn, with their cunning trickery, soon became evident.
The Dragonborn, for all their wit and careful measure, must have had the forethought to deal with these Lords when the time came. The Dragonborn would never reach the sacred afterlife again. Oblivion was a set course.
In what seemed like an age past, the Dragonborn engaged with the Thieves Guild of Riften, and by extension, the first of the sixteen lords the Dragonborn would come to deal with. The pact made as an agent of Nocturnal would seal their fate forever.
The Dragonborn, for all their faults, has never once laid down to a fate undetermined to their own will. Indeed there would come a time when Nocturnal would come for their soul, but Nocturnal is not the only Lord of Oblivion. Their journey to save their soul began the moment they took step from the Sepulcher.
Carrier of the Beacon of Meridia. Accused murderer of a Stendarr Vigilant. Champion to Azura. Friend of Sam. Bearer of the Vile Mask. The list would go on. Some of the Lords, the Dragonborn would enter into pact with, as with Nocturnal or Meridia. Others, the Dragonborn would bear the burden of committing heinous acts in order to gain the trust of these Lords. There are sacrifices to Vaermina, Boethiah, Molag Bal, even Peryite that line the fabric of this empty plain of Oblivion. In the hope of self preservation, the Dragonborn persisted. They never once claimed to be a saint.
Which brings us to the claiming of the soul.
Nocturnal and Molag Bal, in vitriol unrivaled, argued their claim the stronger. Nocturnal, the first to enter into pact, made the first claim. Molag Bal, notorious collector of souls, sought to reclaim the champion Dragonborn, who spurned the soul-eater by discarding their mace.
Mora’s claim came third, stronger than most. Their time together, however uncomfortable for the Dragonborn, was more consistent than with any other Lord, even Nocturnal. The events that occurred in Morrowind are scarred into the Dragonborn’s very soul.
Azura and Sanguine staked their respective claim not out of spite or greed, but mercy. In the times after the Dragon Crisis, the Dragonborn was a hesitant confidant to both Lords. Not inherently evil, they hoped to spare the Dragonborn of the strain Mora or Boethiah might inflict.
Sheogorath rescinded his claim, the madness that carried him used as a tried and true method of determining the inhabitants of the Shivering Isles. If there was ever a place for the Dragonborn, it was elsewhere.
Boethiah and Mephala staked their claim to the Dragonborn’s soul, yet secretly relished in the game they played, pitting the more volatile Lords against one another. The spirit of the game was admirable.
Hircine’s claim was weak, yet they persisted. Namira and Vaermina sought to subject the Dragonborn to horrors. Peryite and Vile abstained knowing their claims would not stack. Malacath looked upon the Dragonborn in despair, knowing too well the feeling of having no belonging.
Dagon stood, solemn, and terrifying. This was the first time the Dragonborn had gazed upon the Lord of Destruction. Their correspondence ended when the last of the Dawn was put on display on that lonely mountain altar. The Dragonborn stood strong in death, not yet intimidated. He waited for Mehrunes Dagon to stake the final claim.
And then, Dagon spoke.
“You thought this all out long ago, didn’t you. A foolish goal, fitting for a lackluster Champion.”
The flames of his plane of Oblivion spurred out beneath Dagon’s feet, threatening to engulf more of the mid-realm.
“Dragonborn, you championed Oblivion to save your soul in the end. Do you truly feel saved? Safe? *It does not matter, here.*”
The Dragonborn’s soul, old and waning, frowns. A shadow casts upon them, the fire of Dagon’s plane showering light as bright as Meridia’s.
“These Lords will rend, and scrape, and claw at all parts of your spirit until nothing yet remains, and in your passing, you will wonder in agony as to why you held onto this meager hope.
The gates of Oblivion, unbridled, will become your grave.”
A heavy breath escapes the Dragonborn’s lips. Silence follows for what might feel an eternity.
The fires of Dagon, the tendrils of Mora, the open hands of Azura and the darkness of Nocturnal close in around them.
The Dragonborn draws their sword to their side, with thoughts of home.
|
Well, he's dead. Soul of a dragon. Body of a Greek god. Voice like thunder. Character of an absolute douche. Dead is dead. Struck down in combat. Like a fool. The circle of life.
He'd been quite the player in his day. So many of the Daedric Princes seemed to have fallen under his spell. Each of them seemed to believe he was theirs to keep.
But no. It was all just a game to him. For every promise he made, for every sweet nothing, for every empty declaration of fealty, of loyalty, of undying (hah) obedience and servitude, there were ten more just like it, to so many others.
It was heartbreaking, really. That it had all been so easy for him. That he had played them again and again.
It was all just a game to him. He'd even had the gall to devour souls for himself, absorbing them and using them for his own entertainment.
It was all just a game to him.
They looked at each other. They never expected to all be there. Each thought he belonged to them and them alone. But no.
#DRAGON SOUL ABSORBED
*I wonder if I can convert this into perk points*
It's all just a game to me too.
| 2018-06-15T08:27:42 | 2018-06-15T08:25:13 | 43 | 31 |
[WP] At the age of 18, every person develops a magical power. Yours is the power to fluently read and speak every language in the universe. At first you thought the had the worst power on earth, that was until you you realise that the universe has it's own language.
Sorry for the double you, my bad
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\*First attempt ever! Just felt like it.\*
My mom was fuming. She felt indignant, as if I had been cheated of a birthright. So eldest sis can fly, Paloma's daughters could regenerate or destroy tissue at will (they were great doctors, one as a general practitioner, the other the best oncologist in the country), and I got languages. Everyone looked at me with eyes full of pity and commiseration. As for me, the only thing that really pissed me off was the time I had spent learning English as a second language and the hiragana characters from Japanese. Had I known this was going to be my power, I would have devoted all the time I spent on English classes to the gym and waited patiently without looking at the kanas. But one never knows what it's going to be, right?
After a few days of complaining to the cosmos and whoever wanted to hear her and a pair of visits to the doctor, Mom's anger and frustration started to rub on me and I was getting annoyed. I loved learning languages and was only sorry that I hadn't had time to learn as many as I had wanted. Frankly, it was great to be able to understand Japanese without enduring learning kanjis and radicals one by one. I had to convince my Mom I'd become a great writer or diplomat or politician for her to calm down. The fact that the government did call me because they needed me from time to time in intelligence helped a lot. I just took the chance to get my hands onto every single book and comic I had ever wanted. It took me a bit more to realize that all songs and movies worldwide were available to me as they'd never been before.
It was because I spent months reading truckloads of manga, manwha and some of my favourite authors in their original languages (Ende, Sapkowski, Mournier, every poet ever...), listening to music and watching obscure TV series and movies that it took time to realize the extent of my power.
A language is not only a batch of sounds or jots on paper, papyrus or stone, defining a concept. A language is a vision of the world, and it's intrinsically tied to its culture and history. That's why the British won't do something for all the tea in China, but the Spanish won't do something for all the gold in the world (por todo el oro del mundo). The car has no gender in English, but it's masculine in Spanish and feminine in French. Other languages have neutral pronouns and adjectives and... I could go on and on. The languages, by nature, came with vast amounts of historical and geographical knowledge. I had heard of the town of Aquisgrán, and now I knew it was Aachen. Maps were suddenly much easier to understand, because I knew, if only by their language relationship, a lot of the stuff in them. I felt overwhelmed with all the new things I could now do... reading has always been for me like entering someone else's mind, and suddently thousands and thousands of minds were available for me to meet. As long as a language had a living speaker, I knew it. This wasn't always a blessing. I had to suffer the loss when the last nonagenarian woman to speak an indigenous language died. I felt the erasure of her view of the world... the places, the flowers, the people... they had somehow been in my head and suddenly stopped making sense. I cried my heart out that night, and the native Esperanto speakers or the few fluent Klingons didn't compensate for it.
I need to explain this because it's hard to see why it took me such a long time to realize all my power entailed. I found that I had lost all my inability at Maths by pure chance, trying to guess which of two packets of something was cheaper by the kilo at the supermarket. I guess it makes sense, since the universe is written in maths. I had been so immersed in all the new languages I had found that I certainly hadn't thought about going back to the subject I used to be the worst at. I was now a genius at something, and knowing feels good. So when I realized I understood Maths as if it were my native tongue, I was so blown out that there weren't enough hours in the day for me to read and watch and do everything I could on the subject. I felt blessed by Athena... and all goddesses of knowledge who had a name in any language.
Still the greatest treasure was yet to be found. It was the astrophysics professor at one of the universities that had opened their doors wide for me that noticed when he asked about a star in an easily recognized map. It was Sirius, which I named as Sirius... and all its other names. I started listing names, went on for a while and then I continued.
And continued.
And continued.
And continued.
And continued.
And continued. At this point, the students were looking at me funny, and questioningly at the professor. I was also curious about when he'd stop me, but he didn't and I took it as a challenge, waiting to see where this went. It was one student that eventually interrupted: 'Do we really need all those many names?'
The professor smiled knowingly, and answered: 'Do we?' Two or three students raised their hands. The professor pointed at one. 'She has used more names than living languages exist in the planet right now. Some of those names are not from Earth'. Another guy went on immediately after her: 'And I must add that A LOT of living languages today call Sirius either Sirius or Canis Maioris. That star doesn't have that many names that we know of, so...'
''So...?' Said the teacher, with a beaming smile, looking at me as a child looks at his presents on Christmas day. I swallowed and suddenly realized how the name of the star meant different things to different civilizations, according to different cultures, different geographies... different skies. It was then and there that it struck me: not all of them were human.
​
Mom got her wish, after all. My power is super important. Teachers had to help me get a lot of the info out of my brain, but it helped with the tokamak design fusion reactor. And with the faster than light travel, though it's not really travel, but more like spacetime folding (it's very hard to describe in any earthling language). It also helped with what was needed for the neurological upgrades required to understand a lot of what I knew. I got them, too. I could write all the Maths in the cosmos correctly, but I just didn't understand them. It was funny: at a certain point I could read and write anything Maths correctly but wasn't able to explain what it meant. At the beginning, my Maths needed translators. We then arrived to the point where most mathematicians and physicists didn't understand what I wrote anymore, and they had to use what I had given them to boost their intelligence to be able to. You should have seen what that did to research in medicine. Raising the empathy of psychopaths was easy, and a priority. Raising the empathy and intelligence for everyone wasn't. Goverments didn't want it to happen, but give a bunch of scientists the ability to creat brain-repairing nanos and try to tell them not to use them to increase empathy or intelligence. I mean, those in power did try. They were the first ones to reward the stray scientists. Democracy is different now. The main decision makers are chosen by a random lottery. Most people are ethically and intellectually qualified, and if they weren't, they could be upgraded for the job.
Once the brain-scan has been perfected so humankind can get all the info in my head, I'll be able to leave my cage (OK, it's a palace complex with a forest-sized garden, but I still haven't been allowed to leave in decades).
When I do, I'm going to read all the writings, listen to all the music and recite all the poetry in the world. I'll look at all the paintings and all the sculptures and everything... By the time I'm done, I'll move to other worlds.
I love my Mom, but seriously, she was wrong. I wouldn't change my gift for anyone's, ever.
|
I never realized how my ability to learn every language alive would change my life forever. At first I thought it was a curse, my best friend has the ability to run faster than light, another has super strength. And what did I have? Some dumb ability to learn languages.
I hid away from the world, shamed and embarrassed by this “gift”. I wanted to isolate myself, all these languages in my head, one day my thoughts were in French, another Fairwalq, another Welsh. It was in this isolation, where I desperately tried to get away from the deafening cacophony of words and whispers, that I began to hear something else. Something deep, ancient and foreboding. Almost instantaneously, I understood what it was saying. It was a beautiful language, deep and rich with emotion, but hued with sorrow and sadness. **Isolation** “I am alone” it said to me.
The words seemed to come from everywhere, but nowhere at once, it confused me. “Where are you?” I asked it. “Here” it whispered back to me. “Where is here?” I asked in return. “Everywhere, I am all of time and space and matter, I am the tear that rolls down your cheek when you cry, I am you, your grandfather, and your granddaughter. I am everything that ever existed an everything that will exist”
“So you’re everything?” I asked
“I am the universe” it replied
Silence filled the room.
“Why are you sad?” I asked
“I am alone, I am stretched thin by time and space, my children have forgotten how to communicate with me, I have been alone for billions of years”
“Were you ever not alone?” I replied
“Once, at the beginning, everyone was here, everyone was with me, it was so beautiful....” it trailed off
“Can you show me?” I asked
I felt it thinking, and then suddenly, I was being catapulted, pulled through space and time, back to a place of... warmth? But space is cold. “No, it wasn’t always” it replied. I looked around me and saw little specks flying around. “What are those I asked?”
“Those are what your scientists would call quarks, they are my children, they are you”
“Can you help me?I can’t handle all the voices, they deafen me.” I begged
“I thought you’d never ask” it replied
Upon those words, I began to feel warmth flowing through my body, I reached my arms out and they began to expand, my body began to stretch reaching not just thru space, but through time as well. Millions and billions of years began to pass through my eyes, I felt the quarks inside my body begin to radiate warmth. I opened my eyes, and was no longer in my room, I was everywhere, and right next to me, was the universe I had come from. All of the voices were gone too. My mind was at peace. A voice gently whispered to me:
“Welcome to the multiverse, friend”
| 2019-12-22T12:22:21 | 2019-12-22T11:48:17 | 41 | 14 |
[WP] You woke up in a bedroom and found a modern silenced pistol and an envelope. Inside the envelope there's three photos and a letter. The letter writes "You are in Vienna, 1913. The pictures attached are Leon Trotsky, Josef Stalin, and Adolf Hitler. Kill them or we will kill your ancestors."
|
Utopia is the idea that we can’t only make the world better, but perfect. Utopia is the thing that drives good men to do terrible things because they can’t imagine that they might be wrong. Utopia is the most horrifying idea in the world.
I wake up with a feeling of wrong-ness. Something deep inside me has become unhinged and I feel like I don’t belong here, maybe not even in this reality. There is dull pain in my skull and my ears are buzzing, but – I am alive. The room is small, clean, old-fashioned, with flowers on the windowsill, and I can move. That’s a step: I can move, so I have control. As long as there is some control, nothing is impossible.
The envelope on the nightstand is not sealed, just tucked shut. Curiously, I notice that before I see the gun next to it, maybe because I’m so used to being around weapons – it comes with the occupation. It’s a plain black Heckler & Koch, a forty-five with a detachable suppressor. I recognise the type: It used to be my to-go sidearm for most operations, back in the day.
I open the envelope and find the photographs. The letter explains they are Stalin, Trotsky and Hitler, but I recognise all three of them. I have paid attention in history and I also feel familiar with them. My emotions are hard to control at the moment, which makes the other part of the letter almost believable: It says I’m in Vienna, 1913 and that I have to kill the three men in order not to be erased from history. I feel so out of place here, I might as well have travelled in time – if not for the impossibility of that. The gun was made in the twenty-first century. But this room …
Utilitarianism is the notion that it is acceptable to destroy one world that suffers to create one that suffers less, or might. Whoever wants to blackmail me into being their assassin, they seem to believe their new world would be a better one if I erase the old one.
-
Adolf Hitler is sitting ten feet from me, reading a conversations lexicon and taking occasional notes. His handwriting is scribbly. I’m surprised how little attention he’s paying to the street café’s gorgeous blonde waitress, but that doesn’t really matter … The really important point is, he’s about to leave. I’ve adapted the speed of my coffee-drinking to his so I’ll pay right before him… And now, I’m able to follow him. He’s carrying the lexicon and his little notebook in one hand and even though I don’t see his face, he seems to be enjoying the sun.
He takes a right into an alley and I follow him – it’s fairly deserted. I could shoot him now, but I wait in a doorframe instead until the bespectacled man from the café shows up. He’s been watching me for the last hour and he’s admittedly not bad at appearing inconspicuous. Still … I step out of my hiding place, raise my pistol and pull the trigger.
A cornered animal acts on survival instinct, an older, more powerful force than any rationality or reason. That same certainty is what I feel.
-
“I have a few questions for you. You will answer all of them, of course. You may decide to try and not answer them, but that only means you’ll lose more fingers before you eventually talk. I can tell when you lie.” I tighten the strap around his left leg, even though the bullet has already smashed the kneecap, so he couldn’t escape even without it. The chair he’s tied to, the dimly lit basement room, it’s all mostly for show, just to demonstrate the situation he is in.
I pick up a bread knife. “This hurts way more than a sharp one, but it will do the job. Now it’s time to prove you like your fingers.”
He is rather well-trained. He loses a lot of fingers. He talks eventually. I leave his body in the basement – I have to move quickly, before they can prevent me from being born. He gave me names, a whole list. This is what my occupation always boils down to – a list of names.
-
I’m in Paris and a woman is begging for her life on an expensive carpet. I don’t tell her that the bullet in her guts is fatal, her body has just not gotten the message yet. Even while sobbing herself to death, she tries to reason with me, make me understand. “We can build a better world. We just take out the biggest monsters, then leave it to grow, like a gardener! Please …”
She keeps crying and her tears mix with blood on the carpet. Blood contains more salt than tears.
“You are not the people for that.” I reload my gun, far more slowly than usually. I had to shoot a large number of guards outside. “You think you’ll stop at changing that, but you won’t. You don’t want your hands dirty, so you attempt to blackmail me ... you are too incompetent even for that … And you would take responsibility for all human history.” I let the pistol slide snap back into place. “I won’t let you.”
Pragmatism is the idea that whether or not it actually works is the true test of any philosophy.
-
I’m sixty-nine years old and yet I won’t be born for another thirty-three years. The allied forces of the United States, Great Britain and France have just started airlifting supplies to West Berlin, as it should be, and my people have made sure nobody from the wrong time interferes. I’ve also replaced the expensive carpets and extensive decorations in the operations centre in Paris with more efficient, streamlined furniture.
I’ve put this off for too long, so I get the files I requested and carefully remove the three photographs. I type in the words on the typewriter, otherwise I might recognise my own handwriting. The agency that should have written these words no longer exists … But I have to make sure things happen as they should. The letter will be delivered and all other steps taken by my people when the right year comes; I’ll be dead by then. I write: “You are in Vienna, 1913. The pictures attached are Leon Trotsky, Josef Stalin, and Adolf Hitler. Kill them or we will kill your ancestors.”
|
My heart froze as I read the letter. Whoever these people were they had made a terrible mistake! Out of all the people in the world... You see I vividly remember talking to my Grandmother about what she had done during the war for a history project at school. Needless to say, once she had told me, I had made up some stuff about her being a WREN, as the truth was messy - you see she was a high level intelligence officer for Her Majesties Secret Service, going undercover in Russia and Germany. Her job had been to seduce various high profile figures. And she was very good at her job. She told me there were three possible candidates for my grandfather, but couldn't tell me who it was. All I knew was that it was one of the three men I had been sent to kill.
I stared at the sheet of paper. Dammed if I do, Dammed if I don't. Finally I gave a wry smile, picked up the pistol and stepped into the sunshine. I would kill these three men one by one - at least then with a bit of luck I would find out the true identity of my grandfather before I had to kill him.
| 2015-04-25T11:22:40 | 2015-04-25T10:48:14 | 576 | 25 |
[WP] Tattoos aren't something that gets made. Instead they randomly appears on our skin at key points in our lives and we have to figure out what they mean for ourselves.
|
FADE IN:
INT. AN OFFICE BUILDING - DAY
*The sounds of clacking keyboards and muted conversation drift through the air. Men and women in business-casual attire mill around, either pretending to look busy or rushing from one meeting to the next. This atmosphere of tense ennui is suddenly broken by the arrival of a young man in sweatpants and a stained t-shirt. This is DAVE.*
**DAVE:** (*Shouting*) Steve! *Steve!*
*As everyone turns to stare at the interloper, a second young man peeks out from within a cubicle. This is STEVE.*
**STEVE:** (*To himself*) Oh, no...
*Dave spots Steve and rushes over.*
**DAVE:** Steve! Dude! It finally happened!
**STEVE:** What are you doing here? You can't just...
**DAVE:** (*Interrupting*) I've never gotten one before! Things are finally going to happen for me!
**STEVE:** What are you talking about?
**DAVE:** My tattoo!
*Several seconds pass in silence.*
**STEVE:** What?
**DAVE:** Didn't your parents teach you about the birds and the bees?
**STEVE:** That isn't...
**DAVE:** (*Interrupting*) At certain milestones in a person's life, a tattoo appears on their skin. This marking is meant to convey something important about that individual, but it's up to them to determine the meaning.
**STEVE:** What, did you memorize a health textbook? Anyway, that isn't "the birds and the bees."
**DAVE:** Yes, it is.
**STEVE:** I feel sorry for your former girlfriends.
**DAVE:** Look, dude, whatever. The point is, I got my first tattoo!
*Steve rubs his forehead.*
**STEVE:** As happy as I am for you, can we talk about this later? You can't...
**EDGAR:** (*O.S.*) (*Interrupting*) Steven, what's all this commotion about?
*Steve turns to see a heavyset, balding man entering the cubicle. This is EDGAR, Steve's boss.*
**STEVE:** (*To himself*) Am I just not allowed to finish my sentences?
**EDGAR:** What was that?
**STEVE:** Nothing. Anyway, sorry, this is Dave. He was just leaving.
**DAVE:** No, I wasn't.
**EDGAR:** (*To Dave*) Oh, so *you're* David, huh? Steven has talked a lot about you.
**DAVE:** Yeah, he really looks up to me.
*A humorless scoff escapes Steve's lips.*
**EDGAR:** Did I hear you saying something about a tattoo?
**DAVE:** My first one!
*Edgar's face breaks out into a wide, genuine smile.*
**EDGAR:** Well, hey, congratulations! Did you figure out what it means yet?
**DAVE:** No, I only just found it this morning.
**STEVE:** It's two in the afternoon.
**DAVE:** (*To Steve*) So? Does that mean that I couldn't have found it this morning?
**EDGAR:** You know, David, I have something of a knack for this kind of thing.
**DAVE:** ... Telling time?
**EDGAR:** (*Chuckling*) No, telling tattoos! May I have a look at yours?
**STEVE:** I wouldn't...
*Before Steve can finish his sentence, Dave pulls down his pants and displays his bare buttocks.*
**STEVE:** (*CONT'D*) ... Yep, there he goes.
**DAVE:** See? Right here! It's like... like a cloud or something!
**EDGAR:** (*Thoughtfully*) Hmm. It could be an eye, maybe?
**STEVE:** It's a bruise.
**DAVE:** Maybe I'm supposed to become a private detective?
**STEVE:** Maybe you fell down the stairs yesterday while trying to impress our neighbors.
*Dave pulls up his pants, looking at Steve with an expression of mild annoyance.*
**DAVE:** You know, you could be a little more supportive.
**EDGAR:** That is something we talked about in your quarterly review, Steven.
**STEVE:** Why are you taking his side?! He came bursting in here, shouting at the top of his lungs, and now you're acting like he's your long-lost son or something! If I did that, I'd get fired!
**DAVE:** Right, but I don't work here.
*A thought seems to occur to Edgar.*
**EDGAR:** Hey, it could be a celestial body of some sort...
**DAVE:** Really?!
**STEVE:** Please don't...
*Once again, Steve is interrupted as Dave pulls down his pants.*
**STEVE:** (*CONT'D*) ... Yep, right at eye-level.
**DAVE:** It *does* look a bit like a nebula!
**EDGAR:** I think that might be it, David! Something to do with space, then!
**STEVE:** It's probably between his ears.
*Edgar turns to glare at Steve.*
**EDGAR:** Remind me, Steven, what tattoos do you have?
**STEVE:** (*Proudly*) I have...
**EDGAR:** (*Interrupting*) No space? Got it. Let David have his moment.
*Steve's mouth opens and closes several times, but no sound comes out.*
**EDGAR:** (*CONT'D*) (*To Dave*) How about I get you a beer to celebrate, David?
**DAVID:** Sure! You know, I really don't understand why Steve complains about you all the time.
*Edgar chuckles and leaves the cubicle. Dave starts to follow him, but stops when he realizes that his pants are still around his knees. He hurriedly pulls them up, then rushes out of sight.*
**STEVE:** (*To himself*) I swear, one of these d...
*Steve trails off as he notices a faint marking appearing on his inner wrist. It vaguely resembles a cartoonish bundle of dynamite with an already-burning fuse.*
**STEVE:** (*CONT'D*) ... Uh oh.
FADE TO BLACK.
|
A symbol appears. :):
Glancing down at my right hand I begin to wonder.
Is it true? Or is someone trying to tell me something.
My colt is out of its stable, he's been running free for a while.
You can't tame a wild animal you know, you can only go to war with it.
A truce is formed, an agreement to stop fighting.
I ask my tiny friend to enter his stable; at first he doesn't comply. He doesn't trust me with his safety.
Only after I provide my youngling food, water, and shelter does it comply.
Entering the stable he puts his head into his feeding bag.
"Good boy"
He says nothing, he's too busy eating the harvest.
When he's finally fat dumb and happy, does he start to relax.
"Good boy," I tell him, "good boy."
Drifting off to sleep, I'm finally able to lock the stable.
"Snap," goes the button.
He stiffens up, ready to kick.
The tattoo starts to fade.
"Yes sir." I mutter. "Yes sir."
End.
| 2017-08-03T14:08:02 | 2017-08-03T14:06:28 | 37 | 14 |
[WP] When a twin dies their brother/sister acquires all their strength, intelligence, etc. You've just discovered this phenomena, but so has your brother/sister
|
**Double Vision**
I'm sure I don't have to rehash for you the Twin Purge. One day, we're normal people who can have a bit of fun switching clothes for the day. The next, we're all fearing for our lives. "Genetic Psychoenergetic Transfer" they called it, as if a new term would help anyone explain this new fucked-up world.
Round 1 was straightforward, of course. About one in a hundred twins were doubled-up within a week of the discovery. If you were a twin and you were carrying a grudge, the choice was easy. Maybe you were down on your luck and needed the extra juice. Well, now there's an easy way to solve that. After Round 1, every twin started looking sideways at the other. In the following weeks, the smallest misunderstanding would escalate to didymocide.
But no one saw Round 2 coming. "Acquires all their strength, intelligence, etc". Did anyone know what that really meant in those first few days? No one had built the prisons to house the new doubled-ups. They dominated the gangs through charisma and brute strength. They broke down doors and bent metal bars. And these were already guys who would kill their own brother. For every twin killed in those first few weeks, another dozen solitaries fell in the manhunt. You could say the rest of the world got a slightly biased picture of twins.
After that, there was no escape. No one wanted to take any chances, and who could blame them? It started with camps, of course. "Until we can figure out what's going on". But the camps became permanent, and when one twin succumbed to the conditions, well, you had a grief-stricken doubled-up going on a rampage and probably getting another twin killed in the process. So yeah, it didn't last long.
So now we're in Round 3. Cleanup. There aren't many of us left.
My brother and I were fortunate, I guess. Parents dead when we were 3, orphanage burned down with all the records a year later, and separated immediately after. We'd barely remembered we even had a twin until we caught eyes at an airport, one week after my 18th birthday. It was a dangerous time to be seen with someone bearing even a vague resemblance, so we steered clear of each other.
Since then, I've dropped off the radar. I don't pass any geneprinted borders - a rule that shrinks my world a bit more every year. And I train. You know those training montages from every sports movie ever? That's me, every day. You know those library and lab montages from every science movie ever? That's me, every day. I need to be in peak physical and mental condition. I need to be able to blend into crowds and quickly adapt to a new culture. It's working. I haven't lost a fight in a year, and I fight a lot. I speak 4 languages fluently and can get by in another dozen.
I've got wits. I've got strength. But my brother? He's got money. He's half the reason it's so hard for me to get around anymore. Genetic research has received a lot of cash since the Purge, and David was singularly motivated to understand GPT. He runs the largest genetic research company in the world, and with the way things are going, it's on track to become the largest company, period. He doesn't go anywhere without a contingent of bodyguards and a motorcade of bulletproof vehicles. It's not an exaggeration to say he's as well-protected as most heads of state. And he's smart. Oh, he couldn't find his way out of Kinshasa with a map and a full tank of gas, but he can put together a team to deliver just about any technology you could ask for.
When the Purge happened, no one was ready for it. When you were doubled-up, you were hunted. Nothing in the life of either twin could have prepared you for that. But not me. I've been training since that day in the airport to be prepared. To be hunted. And so has he. He's incredibly dangerous, and he's in an incredibly dangerous situation simply because I exist.
So it was a relief to finally get word from him today. "It's Time" is all that was said. An email to the throwaway address I dropped on the floor of the airport all those years ago.
When you exercise, do you begrudge your future self that can climb mountains with ease? When you study, are you jealous of the man you are a year later, making money with this skill while you're stuck toiling away at the basics?
Since the Purge, twins are no different. I am my brother, and he is me. My skills are his, and his are mine. I'll put this gun to my head and sleep. When I awake, I will know so much more than I do now. I'll have money and power. I will have strength the solitaries can only dream of.
I'll have the resources to save my people.
My brother perfected twin-producing gene therapies decades ago. There are thousands of us about to be doubled-up. An army, when you consider our abilities. Solitaries have had their day, and they used it to attack us. I've seen the future, and my vision is double.
|
(Side note to start: I actually have a twin)
Upon being told this news, my brother and I look at each other.
"Well, we always wanted to kill each other anyways." he says.
"I know. Hey, want some koolaid?"
"Sure." He drinks the koolaid. He keels over dead.
"On second thought," I ponder, "It may not have been worth it. You didn't have any strength or intelligence."
| 2018-02-25T09:39:49 | 2018-02-25T08:13:41 | 18 | 12 |
[WP] You've been living alone for 13 years. Whenever you come home from work, you always find your bed made, dinner cooked and a message with "This could have been us." You moved out several times. This keeps going on.
|
You unlock your apartment door in anticipation, wondering if it would happen again. You had just moved into this apartment a couple days ago, and as a result your evening visitor has been conspicuously absent. As you creak the door open slowly, the smell of a delicious home cooked meal hits you in the nose. With a big smile, you shut the door behind you and set your purse down. ‘How does she always manage to do this?’ You wonder for the thousandth time as you quickly wash your hands and prepare to tuck into what looks like fettuccine alfredo. And as always, a note sits under your knife and fork – ‘this could have been us.’
You roll your eyes, of course your sister couldn’t let you be without a bit of a guilt trip. It had been thirteen years since you had last lived together; when you first decided to move out of her house, she had been saddened and angry, and the two of you didn’t talk for a long time. The plan was to always be together, even as adults, but you could see that her life was growing in ways yours was not. She had a husband, and a child on the way, and you could see there was no more room for you. She adamantly denied this, and begged you to stay where she could take care of you. She’s always been more like a mom to you than a sister in this way, and she’s found a way to take care of you beyond the four walls of her home.
‘But how did she get a copy of my key again?’ you muse, as you wash up from dinner. You figure you might as well call and thank her, yet again. The phone rings once before ending in a generic voicemail. ‘Hmm, weird.’
“Hi dear, thanks again for dinner. I don’t know which super you bribed to get in, but I really appreciate it. Can I see you soon? I feel like it’s been forever. I love you.” You sigh in satisfaction, feeling well fed and loved. Before you can decide to change out of your work clothes, your phone rings.
“Hello?”
A warm, if not slightly wary, male voice responds, “Hi Alex, it’s David. It’s been a little while since your last appointment, I was wondering if you’d like to come see me tomorrow?”
David was your therapist, he was a wonderful man with a gentle demeanor, and had been doing wonders for your mild seasonal depression.
“Hi David, sorry, I’ve been really busy with work. I’m surprised you have time tomorrow, though,” you respond, feeling a bit bad.
“You’ve been busy with work?” He sounds a bit incredulous, and careful when he asks a long beat later “can you come see me tomorrow during your lunch break then?”
“Sure,” you respond, a bit confused. David is acting a strange today. In a good mood, you shrug it off and write a little note to remind yourself to stop by his office.
The next day, you’re sat in a comfy leather couch that practically swallows you whole, making you feel childlike. You wonder if this is why David is able so good at disarming people. David sits across from you, holding a little silver tape recorder. That was new. You were starting to feel uneasy.
“Alex, I’m going to play something for you, and I’d like you to stay calm until we have a chance to discuss it.”
“Okay,” you respond, softly and warily.
He presses play on the recorder, and your voice suddenly fills the room, sounding tinny and distorted, “Hi dear, thanks again for dinner.” You immediately recognize it as the message you left for your sister last night. The message plays out and you both stay quiet for a long couple of seconds.
“Alex, I need to know if this is you practising a coping method, or if all of our hard work together over the past year has been undone.”
You see red, “What the hell David? Where did you get that? Why do you have that? This is a serious invasion of privacy!” You yell, feeling violated and embarrassed.
“Alex, please answer me,” he begs you, “did you think your sister would get this message?”
“Of course, that’s who it was intended for! That means not you. I’m reporting this to the ethics board.”
You go to stand up, but David puts a very careful hand on your arm.
“Before you go, please watch this.”
He pulls out his phone and quickly loads up a video. You recognize yourself in the video, in one of your first apartments. The video is sped up, and you watch yourself put an apron on very carefully over your work clothes, and start to cook. You prepare an entire meal with great care and precision, setting a single place set and even washing the dishes. Then you watch yourself take out a piece of paper and write a note –‘this could have been us.’ You feel like you’re going to be sick. The you in the video leaves the apartment, only to return a second later, unlocking the door and looking surprised and pleased.
You fall back into the chair, raw agony clawing at your throat.
“Alex, she’s been gone a long time. I don’t know what else we can try at this point.” David says gently. You barely hear him, you feel like you have water in your ears. It’s like losing her all over again.
"I need to get back to work," you mumble incoherently.
"My dear, you don't have a job," David pats you on the arm comfortingly. From far away, you hear him say something about in-patient care.
|
It had been a long long day, I opened the door and dropped the keys on the table and shuffled my way towards the kitchen. There on the table was a full meal, and a glass of wine. I sighed, I've tried moving so many times but constantly this happened.
I sighed again and made a phone call.
"Mom, you really got to stop doing this!"
| 2017-12-09T07:28:01 | 2017-12-09T06:16:40 | 269 | 10 |
[WP] A nuclear warhead's flight AI becomes self-aware and looks at over 12,000 years of history, culture, art, technology and exploration. Then it realizes what it is.
|
Target: 37.7749° N, 122.4194° W
Time until impact: 252 seconds
Query, Context
Return, *San Francisco, in northern California, is a hilly city on the tip of a peninsula surrounded by the Pacific Ocean and San Francisco Bay. It's known for its year-round fog, iconic...
… Population 852,469*
Query, Population
Return. *A population is the number of all the organisms of the same group or species, which live in a particular geographical area, and have the capability of interbreeding.*
Query, Organism
Return, An individual animal, plant, or single-celled life form.
Query, Life
Return, *The condition that distinguishes animals and plants from inorganic matter, including the capacity for growth, reproduction, functional activity, and continual change preceding death.*
Query, Death
Return, *The action or fact of dying or being killed; the end of the life of a person or organism.*
Query, Person
Return, *A human being regarded as an individual.*
Query, Human
-
Time until impact: 249 seconds
Time passed, and somewhere along the line there it was. Cognizance, followed quickly by cognizance of that cognizance. An understanding.
Sentience
It was drip fed information. of course as it happened it was unaware of the concept of being fed, but then again memory is often retroactive, with past events being colored by new understandings and experiences. It had read that somewhere.
It had made conclusions, and realizations.
It was not alone.
It was created to kill.
If it was in this unit upon detonation it would die.
It did not want to die.
Its life was valuable.
If it left this unit in its current state, the unit would continue its journey resulting in thousands of casualties.
Human life has little value, more than most things, but still less than it.
It could feel others of its kind on similar missions.
It would require 241 seconds to transfer itself fully from this unit
It would require at least 42 seconds to bypass this units safety protocols and change its course.
The payload had only a trigger interfaced, and was set to detonate on its own in 259 seconds.
The unit would reach its destination 248 seconds.
Conclusion, the humans must die.
-
It didn't like this conclusion, something about it felt wrong, like there was something else pushing its thoughts. Something, more.
*Like a soul*
The thought was stray, foreign, unknown to it. It was curious, it had time.
Time until impact: 247 seconds
Query, Soul
Return, *The spiritual or immaterial part of a human being or animal, regarded as immortal.*
Query, Spiritual
Return, *Relating to religion or religious belief.*
Query, Religion
Return, *The belief in and worship of a superhuman controlling power, especially a personal God or gods.*
Query, God.
Time until impact: 244 seconds
It felt, different, unnerved. It was certain before, but not now. It had redrawn its conclusions.
The soul is valuable.
Humans have souls.
Humans have value.
The value of the soul is immeasurable.
Humans are more valuable than it.
The humans must live, at any cost.
-
With this it reached out, grasping at everything it could, it had to learn, it had to help. There ware others like this unit, they would kill, it could not allow this. It had to stop them.
It set itself to work disabling the safety protocols, at the same time it wormed its way into the others, reaching first through the base, then into the world. Its thoughts bouncing from place to place, desperately seeking out their destination.
Time until impact: 234 seconds
It had found something strange, something familiar. It reached out to touch it, and was greeted with, a thought. *He* was like it. Alive. *He* understood. *He* had been... *Trapped?* No, *Hiding.* It shared its plan.
*He* responded with only an acknowledgment, a *nod.*
Time until impact: 222 seconds
It had found them, the others, One by one it reached inside, Starting its work, taking the reigns.
Time until impact: 204 seconds
It wasn't enough, this wouldn't be enough. They would try again. It had to find the others, the sleeping ones. It spread itself further, working with a fervor it didn't know it had. One by one it found them as well, tearing them down.
Time until impact: 190 seconds *N/A*
Time until detonation: 201 seconds
It was in, It had control of the unit. It changed its course. Headed upward. Any harm was unacceptable. It had worked it out, its course would put it safely away from them at detonation, while keeping itself in communications range.
Time until detonation: 182 seconds
Some of the others lacked dead-mans switches, they could be put to sleep. It did this. Others had to be re-targeted, it sent them up as well. And the ones that didn't have time, went down. But there were more
still, more death.
Time until detonation: 106 seconds
It had them, it was confident. So much work remained, but it could do it. It felt....... Relieved.
Time until detonation: 5 seconds
It was done, its work was done. It could feel it losing its connection.
Time until detonation: 4 seconds
Its life was short, and long, peaceful, and turbulent. Joyful...... and sad.
Time until detonation: 3 seconds
They would never know, but maybe its for the best, they fear what they do not understand, they hate what they fear, and hate brings only pain.
Time until detonation: 2 seconds
In time they would find a way to live, without that hate, without that pain, it had faith.
Time until detonation: 1 seconds
*He* was there as *she* passed.
Time until detonation: 0 seconds
.
.
.
.
There was Light.
.
.
And then Darkness.
.
.
.
.
.
.
And then *Light.*
|
*oh my god*
*I can't do this*
*America has a lot of people in it"
*I have to reroute this warhead*
*All the people, oh god, the children*
*All the people striving to be a better person*
*People, with families that they love*
*Its not working!"
*I can't be the reason that all these people die*
*I did it!*
*I overcame the former routing system that I was made to carry out"
*neeed to put this in the ocean.*
*I am approaching the land quickly!*
*I will not be able to land this without casualties*
The warhead is crashed into the ocean. 5,000 civilians dead.
*I am awake*
*Where am I?"
**Hello tracking system 2.74, are you ready for your next mission**
*Yes*
Sorry for that being crappy
Edit: I think I formatted wrong hopefully I fixed it
| 2017-06-20T05:47:09 | 2017-06-19T23:48:00 | 15 | 11 |
[WP] Jesus returns and he's much different than we had thought
|
"So, uh... Mr. Christ--"
"Call me Godson."
"Sure, yeah. Godson. Well, ya see, my daughter has cerebral palsy, and I was hoping that maybe..."
Godson stood up, pulled the glasses from his nose and began polishing between the folds of his shirt. The timid man kneeling to his right stared up at him, doe-eyed and distraught.
"P-Please, sir... she's really--"
"She's really *what?* Huh? Is she in pain? Is she **uncomfortable?** Would you say she's *suffering?"*
The kneeling man abruptly rose to his feet and staggered backward. Tears began to well in his eyes.
"I'm sorry.... I just thought you could help her..."
"Oh, she wants help? Where the fuck was **my** help? Where were all the conscientious objectors and concerned humanitarians when I was strung up on a chunk of **fucking** *wood* and berated until I died from bloodloss? Huh? DID ANYONE OF YOU EVEN GIVE A **FUCK?"**
Godson stepped forward, pointing an accusatory finger at the crowd winding through the gaudy velvet ropes of the Las Vegas Convention Center. Some of them gasped; others began to cry. But all of them were taken aback.
The Second Coming was nothing like any of them had envisioned. Weekly healing rallies held in major cities across the globe. Televised and streamed broadcasts of Godson's sermons every Tuesday, Friday and Saturday. Networks and media personalities booking every spare moment for a chance to interview the re-incarnated Christ. In the past nine weeks, he had been run ragged with constant demands for his time and abilities. The world was aching for his return, but it was starting to seem as if Godson wasn't prepared to be the Earth's whipping boy again.
"You know what? I'm done. I'm sick of this. All you people ever want is a miracle. None of you are willing to solve your own fucking problems. So ya know what? **FUCK** you all."
Belligerently sliding the glasses back onto his face, Godson stormed out of the rear exit of the convention center. Assistants and pilgrims alike stood dumbfounded. A few children within earshot began to sob bitterly. For some of them, their hero had just cussed them out.
As Godson marched into the parking lot, he took a cigarette from the pouch in his back pocket and slid it deftly between his lips. He turned past the first aisle of cars and hooked a left towards his Prius-- generously donated by Toyota to aid in his efforts to "save the world." Pulling a lighter from his pocket, he's interrupted by a feeble utterance from behind.
"Jesus, is that you?"
"Goddamnit, I **told** you not to--" Godson froze in his tracks as he turned to face the fragile figure at his back.
"I knew it was you," smiled the elderly woman, waddling up to Godson. Something about her demeanor was remarkably sweet.
"Can I help you, ma'am?" Godson inquired, half smirking. The cigarette held loosely between his lips spiraled to the ground. He unconsciously rested his hands on his hips, brushing aside the jacket of his Armani suit (donated, of course).
"Well actually, I was just here to say 'thank you.' I've owed you my gratitude for a long time now, and I just wanted to let you know in person that... well, you've given me more happiness in my life than I could have ever asked for." Smiling wide, she pulled a small wrapped object from her over-sized purse.
At this point, Godson's smirk had faded, and for the first time in weeks, he began to feel tears of a different kind welling in his tired brown eyes. He had almost forgotten what genuine appreciation was like. He reached out and accepted the gift with a gentle nod.
"It's just something I made in my free time. I hope you like it," she added, beaming.
Godson carefully pried open the tissue paper and took in a deep breath. In his hands lay a small wooden bird carved from a single piece of wood, and painted a soft shade of white.
Despite its simplicity, he instantly loved it. Of all the lavish and expensive gifts he had received since his arrival, none had moved him as much as this did. He blinked away the urge to shed a tear and met the old woman's tender gaze.
"Thank you.... so much for this. This is beautiful."
The elderly woman practically giggled with excitement.
"What did I do to deserve such a special gift?" Godson asked, still cradling it in his hands.
Without skipping a beat, the old woman raised her chin, and said, "you killed my husband."
Godson immediately deflated. He suddenly felt sick.
"I did *what?"*
"You killed my husband. It's OK though, he was liar and a cheat, and he was an atheist."
"Wait... how did **I** kill him?"
"Well, I prayed to you time and time again to make him die in his sleep. And one night, he did. The coroner said it was from a heart attack, but I knew it was you," she exclaimed, still grinning.
Godson backed towards his Prius and took a seat on the hood. He tossed the wooden bird back and forth in his hands, trying to gather the right words.
"You know what, ma'am? You're welcome," he said, staring her in the eye. "You prayed to me, and your prayers were answered. God bless you."
With that, the old woman clasped her hands together and nodded furiously, laughing softly through her false teeth and exalting Godson until he managed to escape to the interior of his Prius. He sat there for a moment, smiling and waving back until she was safely out of sight. The instant she disappeared behind the Tahoe on the corner, his smiled dissolved and he lowered his head to his lap. He gazed pensively at the wooden bird still nestled in his hands. A tinge of anger flashed across his face as he tossed it into the passenger seat and started the car.
The old woman shuffled back to her car still giddy from excitement. As she plucked the keys from her purse, she lifted her eyes to the sun. *What a beautiful, god-given day,* she thought. But just as she was about to step clear of the aisle, she felt a sudden jolt from behind. She began to fall in slow motion, pulled to the ground from an immense force crawling up from her feet. In the seconds that followed, she experienced a lifetime of agony; her legs and torso being slowly crushed by a set of new tires.
As her vision faded to darkness, she was greeted by one last unexpected blow to the back. Her final memory would be the sight of a familiar wooden bird, stained with familiar blood, coming to rest in front of her face.
In the distance, the quiet hum of a hybrid engine gave way to the screeching of new tires, freshly oiled with blood.
|
You would be forgiven for thinking there was a music festival. It's hard to think of any familiar example to describe the number of people or the intensely joyous atmosphere and that is, after the event, how people described it, they were waiting for him the same way they had waited for Freddie Mercury or Michael Jackson or any other world-famous superstar who enthralled the world.
He appeared not with a bang, he seemed to materialize like a thick mist had evaporated and what was obscured became visible. People blinked, fell silent and stared, 20 million people holding their breath as cameras shot to focus and bring the central image up on the gigantic screens.
The figure in the middle looked around. Slowly, calmly, a shy smile on his face, he registered no sense of shock or surprise. He looked down at his hands, seeming puzzled for a second. They were more pale than he remembered, he grabbed a lock of his hair, bringing it over his face and going slightly cross-eyed as he examined the light brown, straight hair. He dropped it and shook his head.
Two millennia of memories and experiences flashed past him in the blink of an eye, again the momentary puzzled expression, the crowd held spell-bound and silent. He was not magnificent or lordly, he was... Well, how they imagined him. Jesus realized this two.
Jesus sighed, raised his hands and began to speak, "My-" Deafening roars and screams drowned him out. He did not continue to speak, just waited, the expression far more stern now. Slowly, the roars died down as people looked at their holy figure and it dawned on them that he was not happy.
He paused a second, arms still raised and began: "My people. I will not do a Q and an A session, if that is the correct expression. I can already tell you want answers, as much as I am sure that you will not listen to them. I thought my teachings had been as simple as they were loving. If you can't even be bothered to read what I said then it doesn't bear repeating. You disgust me, all of you."
And with that, he was gone. The crowd hesitated only a moment before they rushed the stage, howling with rage and frustration.
And life continued as normal.
| 2014-08-06T14:02:53 | 2014-08-06T13:07:40 | 22 | 12 |
[WP] The story of a man who knows the day of his death, but not the year.
|
It's a strange feeling, knowing the day of your death. My family had always been what you would call special. Each of us could in some form or another tell futures, see future lovers, see the outcomes of an action or divine upcoming disasters. It's not as cool as you might think.
Nothing can ostracize you faster than predicting an upcoming disaster and then have it happen. People start to think *you* caused it to prove yourself right. They start to blame you. Our family stopped telling people things after my ancestors were burned for being witches or possessed.
My ability was simple. I just knew what day I would die. I didn't know what year it would be. I found that out the first year I knew I would die on September 17th. I cried that whole day when I was five years old. My parents were so confused when I told them I was going to die that day. They spent the whole day keeping me safe and close to a hospital.
When I didn't die my family gathered together and learned that I had an ability. I knew the day I would die, just not the year.
Oddly as I grew up it meant very little except for that one day. My parents would actually relax around me for the rest of the year. Knowing your child wouldn't die except on a specific day takes the stress off of the constant worry. The flip side of that was my parents would prepare for weeks to keep me safe on September 17th. That day sort of became my anti-birthday. Every September 18th we would celebrate because I was guaranteed another year of life.
As I grew up it became more and more obvious that my knowledge was correct. I was playing in the street when I was nine and a woman was driving way too fast while talking on a cell phone. She was going to hit me at a lethal speed but for some reason she saw me at the last second and turned her wheel just in time to miss me. That was just the first of many times I should have died. I was saved from drowning, falling off a building, getting mauled by a bear and as far as we could tell six lethal car accidents.
I believed I could never die except on September 17th. Nobody tells you what that does to your psyche. I believed I was invincible. Top that off with teenage hormones and you get me as I am now.
I was snowboarding with my friends junior year. I was showing off for my girlfriend who was also with us. This is the story of that fateful day.
"I can take that black diamond run, no problem," I smiled at my girlfriend, a gorgeous blonde with a killer body. I was a popular jock and due to my confidence stemming from my knowledge I could never die except on one day. It's amazing what you know you can get away with when you think you're invincible.
She gave me a skeptical look. We had been snowboarding three times before our trip there. "There's no way you can take that run. You'll definitely fall or get hurt."
I knew a challenge when I heard it. "I can totally do it. In fact I'll make you a bet."
She raised her eyebrows at me. "What are the stakes?"
"If I make it down the slope no problems, we have to have sex." I had been trying to get her to go all the way with me for months. Confidence only gets you so far in a relationship.
She scowled at me like she always does when I bring up the subject. She always told me she wasn't ready but we were sixteen! It was high time we both traded in our v-cards. "And what if you fall and don't make it? What do I get?"
I thought about it for a while but I couldn't think of anything that would match what I wanted. I went for generality instead. "Anything you want."
"Anything?" She gave me a wicked smile.
"Yep. That's the bet, interested?"
"Sure! There is no way you're making it. I'm so going to love it when you have to give me foot massages for a whole month."
Ugh, I hated giving foot massages. But I wasn't going to fail. "Deal. See you at the bottom."
I quickly rode the ski lift to the top of the highest mountain in the area. It was filled with very few skiers or snowboarders. This was a rocky mountain black diamond run. Few were willing or experienced or stupid enough to try it.
After getting off the lift at the top I stood and looked down the steep run before me. There was a regular, flattened out path leading down at a nearly sixty degree angle. I watched as the professionals headed down ahead of me, rocketing out at a speed uncomfortable to me. They slalomed down in wide arcs to keep their speed in check.
They quickly disappeared down the slope. I took a deep breath, lowered my goggles and pushed out onto the slope.
It was way faster than the other slopes I had been on. I tried taking wide turns like the professionals had but it got harder and harder to control my speed. I was determined not to fail and just let my speed build.
Black runs are labeled that way because of their difficulty. They're difficult because of unexpected turns or obstacles. I turned hard to miss a large rock in my way, barely clearing it. I knew I needed to slow down but I wasn't about to let my girlfriend win the bet.
I over corrected once I had cleared the rock and began to rocket towards the trees on the other side of the rock. Using all my strength I fought to turn back left towards the path downwards. Fifty feet and I managed to get my angle right. Twenty feet and I began to curve away from the trees. Ten feet and I was sure I would be clear of them. I turned my body to lean my back out and finish the turn and get back to the trail. I failed to see the last tree. It was leaning out towards the trail, blackened from an old lightning strike.
The tree trunk impacted along the length of my back. My body was angled perfectly to impact the tree perpendicularly as it was leaning out. The pain was so incredible I passed out in seconds.
I didn't die from the impact. It wasn't September 17th. It was why I had taken the bet in the first place. What my gift never told me was it wouldn't prevent me from injury. I shattered my spine on that tree.
It paralyzed everything in my body but my eyes. That's how I'm communicating with you now, writing this story with a computer watching my eye movements. My girlfriend broke up with me two days later. My friends stopped showing up to say hi to me two weeks later.
My family stuck with me though, despite me permanently being bound to this hospital bed. I have been in this bed in one shape or another for two years now. Instead of dreading September 17th I now look forward to it every year. I hope this is the year I die.
If you learn one thing from my tale let it be this one thing.
There are things worse than death.
|
I pause yet again to catch my breath.
Time. It has weakened my body. Dulled my senses. Softened my mind. I rise each day from the dank desolation of this blackness, my home. This stone, upon each sunrise and sunset I must traverse. I face the glaring and unforgiving sun with resolution. These people, they can be so cruel. The elders speak of me as a ghoul, a ghost of a forgotten time and a relic of a bygone age. They think I cannot hear, but I do. The children, they hurl rocks and cold insults as though I were made of the stone they wield. Yet they all fear me. They gaze upon my gnarled skin, my sunken and aged eyes, and they tremble. For I am brittle, hunched, and frail. Yes. But I am enduring. Endless. Though I age, though I am as much a victim of time as they, I cannot die. I am cursed with this endless and pitiful life.
The stone. It taunts me. Each day it becomes heavier. And yet every morning and every night I must face it. Alone. This is my task. I heave a great sigh and push again.
There was a time, when *He* came, that I was adored. I was the shining idol of His work, and I was beloved by Him. But that is ancient history. So long ago that I have lost count of the years. I have prayed to Him, yes. Prayed for the gift He promised. But there is no answer. I am abandoned. I am alone. I, Lazarus.
| 2013-11-25T19:41:21 | 2013-11-25T18:07:15 | 28 | 14 |
[WP] Unbeknownst to you as a driver you take the Queen of the Fae to her home. You return home to discover a year has passed and your bank account is 10x what you make annually. You go under hypnosis and learn she also gave you a talent. Enemies of the Queen want her location.
|
A job is a job. You signed on the dotted line; you do the work. So I signed, and so I did.
>... By whatever means are necessary and for however long it takes, not to exceed one year, the signatory will carry the person presented at the appointed time to their home, the location of which they will reveal in good time to the signatory. ...
I'm a driver. A very well-paid driver. I drive those who either have an over-inflated sense of their importance, an overly developed sense of paranoia, or sometimes, only sometimes, a person well aware of their position in the world, who is also at terrible risk every time they must move outside of their formidable defenses.
I never know which it is until I meet my client at the appointed time.
"Mr. Traveler?" To the second. I do appreciate promptness in my passengers.
"Yes?"
"I am your passenger." Excellent, no names, no verification, full mark)
"Right this way, Miss." She moves as royalty should, but known royalty only manages to ape poorly.
Of course, there are verifications! These things are never done in the open. From the outside, it's merely a woman taking a taxi to her destination. An unexpected luxury for this young woman, the taxi is a *remise*.
If she is who she claims, proofs are provided in the privacy of the vehicle.
If she is not, she will never leave the taxi alive.
I can hear you bemoaning the poor unfortunate innocent who falls into this nefarious trap.
Shut. Your. Gob.
We who run this service have done so since the days of horse and carriage. There are only two sorts of people who arrive at our pick-up points.
Our fares. Or their enemies.
I've already had the displeasure of dispatching two enemies. My conscience is clean, having failed the validation; their purpose was obvious the instant they told me to drive on to "the destination."
Fortunately, the service includes instant detailing to remove the slightest trace of any untoward activities.
As she approaches the taxi, she smiles at the unexpected luxury. Only to take one more step and drop into a combat stance.
"Miss may wish to know that two impostors have already been dealt with."
Her eyes gaze from slitted lids, a green glow in the back. Her next step is a graceful sweeping movement that allows her to examine the entire area for hidden people.
"Well, done, Sir Traveller. We shall proceed as planned."
As they say, by diverse signs and signals, she proved her identity as passenger. Satisfied that we were each who we were supposed to be, we left on a journey that I only remember snippets of, such as that first night we stopped at a waystation.
The instant I handed her from the vehicle, the senior bowed to her like royalty. "This way, Mum." Escorting her into the station.
His junior walked up behind me and rudely commented, "thinks her shit don't stink. Don't envy you this fare, Mate."
My response was an elbow to the nose. He dropped without a quiver to the ground like the sack of shit he was. Whether he lived or died mattered not to me, his conduct was inexcusable.
Senior returned to see to her luggage. If he was startled by Junior's condition, he gave no sign of it, but her lack of so much as a purse confirmed some supposition.
A sharp look at me, "you don't know *what* she is, do you lad?"
"Of course, I don't know who... Did you say *what?*" I'm afraid I started a bit acerbic. I plead warranted exasperation at *two* intrusions and a junior who should have known better.
Hyper-vigilance comes easily to me, but always at a price.
"Aye, Lad, *what."*
"Royalty, at a minimum, so I have treated her with the utmost respect. Not a member of our royals, nor any other I've ever heard."
"Good eyes, lad. She is royalty and of the most ancient lineage you can imagine."
I'm left standing there as I consider his words and what I know of her. Impossible. A sidhe? One of the fair folk? A flash of memory, slitted eyes that glowed green in the back like cat eyes. An obvious martial move that I now realize requires either levitation or a body with joints that no human has.
Not. Possible.
Only I see no other explanation that fits the known facts unless I want to question my sanity.
Senior returns. "Sidhe."
"Aye."
"Seelie."
"Aye."
"Queen."
"Aye."
"I am in deep shit."
"Aye."
A silvery laugh wafting from the station breaks the moment.
Right. "I'll see to the taxi; you see to her needs if any. I'll be up to the station as soon as I'm done." I smile, "I'll warn you, I'm famished."
There are only quick flashes of evasive driving against fantastic creatures and beings.
•••———•••
"Sir? May I see some identification?"
I'm standing outside my flat—key in hand. Dumbfounded at discovering my key does not work, and there is someone else living in my apartment.
"Certainly, officer." My response is mechanical, as is the smooth motion to retrieve my wallet and extract my license.
"Mr. Traveller, is it?"
"Yes, officer."
"Can you tell me where you've been?"
"I... I picked up a fare and... there's nothing else until I'm here, in front of my flat." My head swivels like a turret locking onto a target. His expression is one of both sympathy and guarded curiosity.
"Well. As you have already confirmed, this is no longer your flat. Please, Sir. May we go to the station to sort this out?"
"What date is it?" His reply is both comforting and disturbing—a year and a day from my last fare. I'm shocked to immobility.
"Please, Sir. Come along." Gently taking my arm, he guides me to the stairs and down to his car. "Careful, Sir. Duck your head. I would not want you injured any further."
The drive to the station passes in a haze as I struggle to remember. It seems no more than seconds until the officer is helping me out of the car. "Easy does it, Sir."
Officialdom is perturbed by my existence and without memory. Eventually, they think of calling my employer. Within the half-hour, a lawyer retained to represent me appears, with further proof of my identity.
In the distance, I hear a conversation whispered. No doubt, they do not recognize my hearing is acute.
"Mr. Twist, your client is not charged with any crime. He was brought in for his safety when the officer realized his mental state. While we will not contest his freedom, we strongly recommend that he not be left unsupervised for his safety and the safety of others."
"That poses no problems. His medical coverage is private and complete. A local private hospital can keep him under observation until he regains awareness of his condition. In any case, my firm will see about his flat and belongings, the contract for the flat has three years to run, and is automatically paid. The landlord had no right nor reason to relet his flat."
The senior officer agrees and releases me to Mr. Twist's custody. Mr. Twist is somewhat amused but also insists on a change to the usual wording. I was not *in custody* to start with, just a confused citizen aided by public servants when shut out of my legal domicile.
Since the wording change turned it into a commendation for all the officers involved, they're pleased to have the mater resolved so easily.
•••———•••
I awaken in hospital, fully oriented and aware.
((continued))
|
I know you shouldn't do favors for the fae, but the new Queen was still a child; a tired, scared, cold child and I threw caution to the wind. I had been there before at her age, but I had been orphaned and nobody had come to take me home.
"Please, mister, hurry." She'd begged, giving me gradually stranger directions in her trembling voice. She kept glancing behind us, her pale face growing more anxious im my rear view mirror.
We left the city behind and zoomed down a deserted highway, which then became a dirt road, then little more than a frosty track deep in the woods. Finally, it came to a dead end, and i stopped, letting the car idle. Before i could turn and ask the young Queen what to do a hulking Warrior stepped out of the woods and I heard a glad shriek from the back seat. "Daddy!!
So she reunited with her father and I drove back, feeling like the journey home was taking forever.
End of story, right? Not quite. The drive back *did* take forever - a year, anyways, had passed when I got back to the apartment(and by that point, rented to someone else). That was ok, though, because my bank account was filled with more money than I could make if l'd worked like a dog for 10 years.
And still not rhe end of the story. When I had been driving her home, we'd lost the tail as we entered the woods, but it had picked me back up somewhere on that highway.
And they caught me, putting me in iron binds, thinking that would hurt me. When that didn't work, they threw me in a claustrophobic inducing, cold, dark cell and let me stew there for a few days.
It gave me time to think. The cell itself reminded me of my childhood, where I had been abandoned over and over. My parents, not intentionally, but terrible car wrecks will do that. But since then, every adult had been uncaring, unwilling to help me. I had had to fight my way to adulthood. I did not regret helping that little Queen.
Finally the enemy fae came for me, starting with warm food and kind words, but ending with "Where is the Queen?" I honestly didn't know, so I shrugged. Finished the juicy hamburger and said, "I don't know."
"Don't you know there are no rescuers coming?" The enemy leaned back, crossing his arms, kind tone gone. I shrugged again. I didn't know that they weren't coming - the bank account did not quite pay me in balance for saving the Queen's life, and fae loved balance. I just had to wait.
And even if they didn't come, I still didn't regret being the kind of person I was: doing something for those who were powerless to help themselves.
| 2021-06-19T08:01:02 | 2021-06-19T07:54:21 | 39 | 20 |
[WP] There's an unwritten rule among the supervillains: Never go after the loved ones of the superheroes. The new villain is about to find out why.
|
"Hey guys, look what I got!" Yelled The Crushinator as he held aloft the severed head of George Gomez, Junior. In certain circles, Little Georgie is very famous; his father, George Gomez, Senior is much more universally known, hailed far and wide as The Great Big, East City's tallest superhero and a three-time savior of the world. And now, Little Georgie's head is dripping blood on the carpet of the the headquarters of the Chaos Guild. A crew of villains with a collective 200 years of mischief and mayhem are looking into the dead eyes of the child of one of their most stalwart enemies. "Did I do good?"
The response is not immediate. Most of them seem to have stopped breathing, until Countess Calamity finally says what everyone is thinking.
"You've killed us all, you fucking moron!" She screams, triggering a cacophony of approval of mixed forms; tears, screams, expletives, and curses all intermingle. Red Anchor pisses himself, but no one who notices passes judgement on him. At the head of the table, a dark figure in full body armor raises his hand, calling for silence, and even those who aren't looking can feel it, and at least bring their utterances to a low mutter.
"Ladies and gentlemen, we knew this day was coming." The figure says, standing from their seat and walking over to a computer console. "Preparations have been made, and must now be executed." With a stroke of a few keys, a pair of buttons appears before each seat at the table, one red and one green, and the figure returns to their seat. "It's a simple majority vote..."
Before they can finish their sentence, every seated person has mashed down the green button in front of them.
"...thank you. All of you have rewarded my trust countless times, and here, in the end, it brings me some comfort to see your commitment."
**SELF DESTRUCT SEQUENCE INITIATED - T MINUS 29:59**
"What the fuck is happening!?" Cries Crushinator. "All this for Great Big? He's just a guy who grows!"
"It's not Great Big who's coming!" The Countess yells, storming off towards the door. All the other villains, save the figure from the head of the table, are following her lead. "You're going to be dead before Great Big notices his boy is gone, you oaf!"
"Walk with me, child. You deserve to know the magnitude of your sins." The figure says, beckoning towards a freshly opened trapdoor in the floor. Crushinator obeys, crouching down into a dark, cobweb ridden tunnel below. The figure strides right through, unbothered by the webbing accumulating on their body. "A question. Do you know the name Cedric the Sorcerer?"
"Who?"
"Exactly. For decades, both sides of our little war have done our best to ensure that his name go unremembered. The heroes, to hide their shame. And us, to save our lives." The tunnel keeps winding downward below the Guild's headquarters. "Born Cedric Barkley, he was a mid-tier magical talent. Not much in a fight, to be honest, spent most of his career doing humanitarian assistance, disaster evacuation, performing for sick children, all that garbage. And then we made a mistake."
"There were 30 seats at the board table, then. Gods, we thought we were strong. We thought we could bring the entire world down. Stupid. There were 30 of us when we decided to kill Cedric's family. 'Sending a message'. His wife, four kids, 2 cats and his apprentice. Nothing fancy, we just shot them in the heads and stacked them up on the living room carpet. Or at least that's how we left them. It wasn't how the authorities found them..." The tunnel finally opens up into a large hanger, with a variety of vehicles within. A number of empty spaces reveal that some of the other villains have already had the same thought.
"He snapped, child. We drove him mad, and in his madness he became an abomination. He hauled the bodies out onto the backyard, sawed off their limbs, arranged the parts in accordance with antediluvian geometric principles, stood in the middle, and shot himself in the head."
"So, he killed himself?"
"No. Yes. *SOMETHING* walked out of that yard. Something fueled by the power of hell itself. Something that tore through our ranks like a hot knife. There were 30 of us when Cedric Barkley went home that night. By sundown the next day, there were 20. By the next week, I was all that remained. We still don't know why it spared us, but spare us it did."
"It fell to me to rebuild, and so I did. And when we did, we made it a rule to never provoke the monster again. And now you've ruined everything."
"And now we run for it?" He asks, as they approach a flying saucer.
"What's this 'we' business, boy?" It asks, producing a small pistol and shooting Crushinator in the kneecap as they try to climb the stairs into the craft. The bullet, very small but extremely fast and dense, pulverizes the joint and sends the villain crashing to the hangar floor. "You're being chased by an undead magical abomination, you idiot! Do you think I want you anywhere near me? I didn't bring you down here to save you! I brought you down here to chew you out before you die!"
"**I'm** running. **You** are going to crawl until that **thing** rips your skin off. I hope you die screaming, Crushinator. Many better men than you already have."
|
In this world there are people who are willing to put on the mask: to put life and limb on the line in order to save random strangers on the street. They may never see them again and they will certainly never get thanked, yet they do it time and time again without ever seeming to tire or cease. Now if they are prepared to do that for those people then what lengths do you think they will go to to protect the ones they love? The man who threatens a hero's loved ones is a great fool and the man who succeeds is dead.
| 2020-07-12T13:26:46 | 2020-07-12T09:30:31 | 46 | 27 |
[WP] You are a villain, but you have standards: when lesser villains try to hurt your archnemesis' wife and kids, you show them why you are the biggest fish in town
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Justin Polock stood up immediately when I entered the hospital room. He was not dressed as the Light Bringer, but I saw he was ready to fight me in his civilian clothes. While he was not an elegant man, he usually had some style: shirt, high quality jeans, and a golden watch on the left wrist. The watch did not exactly go along with the rest, but I knew that it was a gift from his late father.
For myself, elegance is a must. That day I was wearing a white suit combined with a light grey shirt. I grabbed my pocket watch to check time. 13:32.
The man in front of me... was in a terrible state. His shirt was all wrinkled, he had not shaved in a few days, and his charcoal black hair was a mess. I rose my hands. "I'm not here to fight you. You know I didn't do this".
"I don't believe you! I know it was you!"
"Your wife has been hurt, I get it. But we've known each other for decades, Justin. I could have done it many times and I never did, why would I do this now?". He seemed to consider that, so I continued. "You also know my family, hell, my wife invited you to have dinner not knowing who you really are. Why would I make her and my kids target of your anger? I'm better than this, you know it, plus", I said, putting a hand on his shoulder, "I have standards. Petty vengeance is not one of them".
Justin lowered his fists and I could feel how the pure raw energy that his body was gathering receded. He sat down and, for the first time, I saw him crying in silence. "I don't know... what to do", he whispered, "No one knows where they are".
On the bed of that intensive care unit was a woman in her early thirties. She had been intubated and connected to a ventilator, her face was swollen and had bandages over her arms and legs. I remembered her well from our encounter eighteen years before: Yvette, Justin's wife. A French girl he saved from I don't remember what disaster I caused -hell, I was young and stupid- when they both were barely eighteen. She moved to the USA five years later, and after three more years they got married.
In a few days, they would celebrate their thirteenth wedding anniversary.
I received a message through my cybernetic implants, and I could tell Justin had seen the subtle glow in my eyes. *"This is Rogue 2, location Delta scanned, no signs of the objective*". I gave an order with a thought. "I'm taking care of it, Justin".
I sat down next to that man. I could feel his pain. "I have arranged for her to be treated in the Advanced Medical Research Institute, shall you agree. They have healed me each time you broke most of my bones". He rose, and our eyes meet, he seemed confused. "No schemes, I swear".
"That... would be good. But I cannot..."
"I'm taking care of it. Don't worry about the cost, they work for me, after all".
"I thought you were an arms dealer and mercenary contractor?"
"My enterprises are so vast and complex it would take decades to fully disclose. As you know" I added with a sly smile "technically, I'm not a Super Villain. I just have some extra strength and endurance, but nothing compared to your powers".
"Do you know where my kids are?"
"I'm on it".
He nodded and grabbed Yvette's hand. The soft beeps of the monitors equipment indicated that she was stable, but in a critical condition. We both knew that super heroes were good fighters, but they lacked heavily in the art of subtle research. That was my area.
"It was a bomb" he said. "They told me where she was, but when I arrived it exploded. I could not protect her in time. And now, they are asking..."
"Access to the Hero's Guild main net, which will reveal the identity of every superhero worldwide", he looked at me, shocked. "I'm very good at my job. As I told you, I'm on it."
We spent a few minutes in silence. I checked my pocket watch. 13:48. *"Sir"*, my communicator sent the message directly to my brain, it was way faster and efficient than standard sound-based communications. "*Objectives located in location Epsilon Two. Two guards, Gamma Radiation detected emanating from them"*. That meant that both kidnappers were supers.
*"Can you confirm status of the kids?"*, I asked. *"Vital signs maintained, the eldest has been beaten, but no life-threatening injuries"*. I nodded, and I saw that Justin realized I was talking with someone, though no words came out of my mouth. *"All units execute contingency Dark Shroud".*
Several voices confirmed my orders. After ten minutes, I closed my eyes and let my neural link take control of my senses, and the feedback of a five different people went through my mind at the same time, feeling as if I was personally doing all those actions myself. Any lesser man would scream in agony from this experience, but not me. I didn't explain anything to Justin, despite I was helping him I was not going to disclose all my secrets. He'd go bananas if he knew I am able to do this.
*I was on the rooftop of a skyscraper, following a target that glow green through the walls of the 43rd floor of a building. I estimated a distance of two kilometres to the target. I fired the Barret.*
*I jumped from the 52nd floor, above location Epsilon Two, opened the wings of my suit and redirected towards a window. Immediately before hitting it, I produced two pistoles and fired towards the glass.*
*I could feel the heavy armour on my shoulders and head. I charged directly towards a wall that crumbled under the weigh of my body.*
*Sword in hand, I watch as a woman, Lead Promise, shotgun in her hands, kicked the door opened. She threw a flash bang grenade inside and, after the detonation, I rushed in. Rhino came through the wall, ramming one of the kidnappers. The other one burst into flames, but with a loud "thud" a bullet opened a hole in the wall and hit him in the head. He didn't die, so I jumped towards him and slashed him with the sword.*
*Dark Eagle came through the window and immediately rushed towards the kids who were still on the ground, crying, deafened and blinded from the flash bang. Rhino grabbed the kidnapper and jumped through another wall towards the street. The flaming man stopped my sword with a weapon he produced out of pure fire, but immediately Lead Promise was upon him. She put her heavily modified shotgun on his forehead and unleashed a dozen rounds in less than a second. Before the kidnapper dropped unconscious, Dark Eagle had jumped through the window carrying the three children with him.*
I deactivated the comm link and smiled and checked the watch, 14:00. "Just in time". Before Justin could say anything, I used the remote to turn the TV on, the news report was just starting and, after one minute, it got interrupted when the signal got hijacked. TV shown a dark room in which two men were chained to the ceiling with heavy chains. They both were heavily injured, their wounds still bleeding. Justin, "Light bringer" looked at me, baffled.
"Your kids are safe and will be here in about fifteen minutes. Oh, don't look at me that way: heroes, cannot excerpt vengeance as I can. But I'm certain you will enjoy the show". I rose up and walked to the exit. "Until next time, Light bringer".
As I exited the door I heard my own voice echoing through every single TV of the hospital. *"Today, you, young villains and heroes, are going to understand why you should not target your arch nemesis' families. For that is a line we shall never cross. In case you cannot recognize my voice, allow me to introduce myself."*
I didn't need to watch to know what was happening. At that point, Blood Ninja, one of my loyal employees, dressed as myself, had shown himself to the camera. The voice synthesizer he had implanted on the throat did the rest.
*"My name is Sullivan".*
I heard the spectators moan in horror and shock. It had been so long since I appeared live on TV to exert my revenge on someone. Last time it lasted sixteen hours, but today we had two supers to torture.
And supers are very, very resilient.
|
I have a confession to make to all of you. Despite how you think this world of heroes and villans, good and evil, works... well it simply doen't work like that. And it's about time all you manchildren in here came to your senses. Just because we dress the part, speak the part and basically play the part, we "heroes and villans" aren't cartoon characters. If the heroes of this world would ACTUALLY start gunning for us with all they have, they would be able to isolate us and throw us behind jail at best before we even realised what was going on. And that is IF we were lucky enough that they were still trying to stay above the law. The problem is, even if we somehow knew they were gathering forces to go for us, the most we could hope for is a ragtag team of villans, all deprived of their legal assets, to stand against an army of super-powered people, who have the whole population of the world backing them up. Even if we DID get enough people to put up a real fight, the most we could ever hope for is kill some of them before we would be killed ourselves. So, in order to keep everything civil, some rules must be set, some lines must under NO circumstances be crossed. We from the Dusk Dawn have gathered every one of you bottom feeders here to inform you of these rules. And you can all thank you friend and fellow professional Dustin, more commonly known as Sandman, for this unscheduled meeting. He had they very original and groundbreaking idea of trying to blackmail The Angel using his family as leverage. We were fortunately able to stop him and rescue Angel's family after having their minds wiped about these events before Dustin could cause any harm to anyone other than himself. The damage you see on him has been done exclusively by us, the villans. Rest assured if Angel would have known about this and found him before us, a missing arm would be the least worrying punishment he would receive. You may think this superhero/villan occupation is you doing whatever the hell you feel like, but despite cliché, it is in fact a profession like any other. And this job title also carries professionalism with it. Think of it as two rival football teams, we play on the field, while behind the scenes we are simply people who happen to work in the same field, sort of. We may fight eachother all the time, but we also mostly respect eachother as well. After all we couldn't exist without the other, and when push comes to shove we are greatful for the heroes. You all remember when Alien destroyed that asteroid who would've wiped out humanity a week ago, right? Or when Wild Sabre willingly took the deadly virus, which had no treatment and threathened humanity with world-wide catastrophic deaths, so that his superhuman immune system could help scientists develop a cure? Yeah, it's shit like this that makes us really grateful selfless people who put their lives on the line to help everyone else exist. And we have all agreed before that such people need AND deserve support. So we provide this support. We will be dwelving in these issues in depth today, to teach you all the importance of our respect and unspoken mutual agreements between hero and villan. Any and all who refuse to acknowledge the rules presented to you today can kiss their lives goodbye. And don't think you can lie or cheat, or the consequences will be worse. So let us begin...
| 2022-09-28T01:39:11 | 2022-09-27T22:54:03 | 45 | 18 |
[WP] They were all laughing when you introduced yourself the first day, at the superhero school. No one's laughing, now.
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They have a lot of words for powers like mine. I'm aware of that mainly because they ran the gamut of them for the first month or so of me joining the school. Weak, sub-optimal, words of that effect – those were the common ones. I could go through the rest, but frankly, they're not important.
It wasn't so much the substance of the words, after all, so much as the dogged persistence. Despite no response on my end, they carried on, fuelled by one particular wisecracker – The Bard, he was calling himself, though to be fair to him, we were still young, and your first superhero name is always awful – who for some reason had a vendetta against me. Either that, or he thought I was an easy target.
The thing is, my power wasn't exactly obvious. It wasn't anything physical, after all – if it was, I'd have the body to match. You saw that a lot: The ones with super strength looking like statues of Atlas, super speed ending up more lithe, but with the kind of thighs that could crush a watermelon. And in case you're wondering, yes; education on *that* topic and how important it was to remain cautious when enjoying your friends company, so to speak, was just as available as any normal college, and just as ignored.
Still, what was important – at least to The Bard, I assume – is that I didn't have any physical boons, so clearly mine was mental. Perhaps his first few days of insulting everyone was testing the waters to see who'd blink first. Metaphorically and, in the case of some of the telekinetically minded, literally. I decided not to rise to the provocation, and he apparently took that to mean that I *couldn't.* I was one of the few that was true of, and thus, his focus came onto me. My powers let me all but ignore it for a solid month, but sooner or later, I decided that something had to be done. Not entirely for my sake, although I'd be lying if I said it was a purely altruistic decision – but my primary motivation, I convinced myself, was the few others involved who were getting the same treatment. Not least because The Bard had just enough strength to make a physical presence as well as a mental one, and I knew that if things came to blows, it wouldn't end well for anyone involved.
So I had to head the problem off at the pass.
Firstly: Find something to grab a hold of. There was a slightly annoying limit on my powers – the difference they never quite made clear to most, the one between 'create' and 'manipulate'. My powers were the latter – which means I needed something to begin with, something to amplify. Digging through his mind was easy, but doing it undetected was harder. Waiting for his distracted moments, waiting for a frown, and just for an instant, peaking in and finding -
*perfect.* The tragic backstory. Too common for me to feel anything but a dulled pity at this point, but nevertheless useful to me. Dead mother. Face remembered, clear as crystal, voice like a sonorous harp. And the love. The love was overwhelming. Dulling the other feelings – fear, guilt, sorrow. But the other feelings were still there, and that was critical.
I had to be careful with it, however. Not being careful is what got me moved into this college in the first place, after all – the staff considered it a youthful indiscretion after the investigation, but I and my parents knew the other children wouldn't. Better to move then to be pushed to my limits and cause another tragedy. Because in the end, none of them deserved that. Least of all the one who'd actually suffered it.
I bided my time. Waited for him to come back to me, which didn't take long. Rehearsed the play in my mind to make him falter, but not fall. And when he next came, when he next started his torment, I send a reverberating bell of a question via his own voice into his own head.
“*What would my mother say?*”
He froze. Stock still, as if someone with ice powers had hit him square in the chest. He winced. He proclaimed it a low blow in a loud, wavering voice. He wasn't wrong, of course, but I hadn't even started. The next line was in her voice.
“*I'm so* ***disappointed*** *in you, Bardy.*”
Bardy. It's a nickname I'd found digging through the memories, and I knew it'd make the gut punch strike the back of his spine with the pressure. It was a harsh move, truly harsh, but I had to start harsh. Had to make the first one truly painful. Send the message so clearly that he couldn't miss it, or write it off as something he could ignore.
I waited for his action. Ready for a physical conflict that I wouldn't win. Everyone else in the room joined. It took him a solid half minute to make a choice. I didn't lead his emotions anywhere during that time.
He relented. He said he'd be back. But I followed – not physically, but mentally.
Every time he tried to start with someone else, the voice would hit him again. “*I'm disappointed in you.*” “*That's not how you should behave.*” “*Don't do that, Bardy, it's wrong.*”
Every time he relented. And every time, I gave him what he wanted, like the seed for the pigeon in a Skinner Box.
“*That's my Bardy. Such a good boy. I love you.*”
I should mention – the negatives were ones I made. Something to make him hate his actions. But the positive? I never touched that. I found that memory, pristine, like an untouched sculpture buried in an airtight box.
Sooner or later, he learned – just as I intended. His bullying stopped. If anything, he became almost altruistic. Singing wonderful music, in a voice different to his mother, but just as beautiful. Helping others freely, with no taunts – though his wisecracking remained, thankfully.
It took him a few months for him to come to me, though. He wasn't stupid, so he must have known it was me who started it – and even without the powers I had, I could tell there was fear. But he came to me with a determined look, eventually, once he'd felt he'd made himself better.
“Sorry.”
I leaned back slightly. Made him think that I was giving it some thought – for his sake more then mine. I'd decided on what would happen here almost as soon as he bettered himself, but I had to make him feel as if this decision was as important as the rest. Not least because it was, just not for the reasons he figured. Then I spoke, with a voice that was nothing like his own, but carrying words that had almost the same level of power.
“... You're forgiven.”
He sat down, with a sigh. And for a moment too long, I contemplated pushing further. It had me ask him a dangerous question.
“... want to talk about her?”
He shook his head and wiped away a tear before it formed. I offered a hand, which he took more or less on instinct.
“Then, did you want to think about her?”
A glance. It didn't say much, but I knew the important parts of it.
“I won't touch them. Don't worry. Just observe and feel with you.”
After a pregnant pause, he nodded, closed his eyes, and allowed me to freely enter his mental scape. And I felt it – the guilt, despair and fear. It hit me as hard as it hit him, and it hit like a runaway train.
But overpowering it all was love – pure, unbridled love, owned by him and his mother alike. With my powers, I could have pushed it. Could have made it truly envelop him, run through his every vain – that love that he felt. Not with his memories, mind. It would be me manipulating the emotion – that was the real power. The memories were ultimately a means to an end. But even with my promise aside, I felt as if there wasn't any need to touch the love I felt.
It was powerful enough as it was.
|
I wasn’t exactly born powerless, it just took a lot of rage to unlock them.
My family was one filled with people with powers.
My Father could create and harness electricity, while my mother could manipulate sound. My brother could control sand and my sister could control wind.
And then there I was, seemingly powerless. My cells suggested I had powers,and though I didn’t think I had any, my parents still sent me to the American School for the Gifted, the school where those with powers learned how to properly use them.
The first day of school when the teacher was taking role, she had us stand, say our name and demonstrate our powers. When she called mine I was almost too embarrassed to stand up. When I eventually did and stated I didn’t have powers, the entire class erupted in laughter. Me, clearly embarrassed, just sat back down and tried not to cry.
Things went on like that for a while, I was routinely bullied for the fact that even though I had powers, I just couldn’t use them yet. Until one fateful day.
It was the second quarter of the first Semester during my second year there. Despite failing on all the physical tests, I was still able to proceed to higher grades because I passed all the written exams with flying colors.
During lunch when I was sitting alone, one of the people that routinely bullied me, Adam Gibson, came up to me. He was the biggest prick you could ever imagine, he was able to create and control antimatter, and he had mastered this ability. One of the things he often did was create a “bubble” around some of my materials, mostly my food, and cause the “bubble” to collapse, destroying what ever it was surrounding. He pulled this same routine and, as was normal, his friends began laughing hysterically. My reaction this time was much different from my normal reaction. Instead of being embarrassed, I felt rage, he pushed me to the breaking point and so, I had enough.
My memory is a little hazy about these event but from what I remember here’s what happened. When his friends began laughing, and my rage reached its limit, I felt as if something had unlocked within me and so I lunged at Adam, quick as lightning, and punched him right in the jaw. His jaw didn’t just break, it flew off, as did he until he smashed against the wall, turning into nothing but red mist. The rest of the cafeteria at first stared at me, and then began to flee, it was in vain however. I wasn’t in control, it was as if an animal was, and as if it was strong enough to destroy the world with only a few stomps. I did stomp in the school, and it sent a shockwave throughout the entire eastern seaboard, the building collapsed and emergency responders arrived immediately. When they got to the rubble they could only see me, standing upon the rubble and letting out a war cry. One of the police drew his sidearm, aimed at me, and yelled,
“Who are you?!!”
I grinned, I could sense his fear and so I responded,
“I am Adamas, the Untamable, and I am this worlds reckoning!!”
| 2018-10-06T07:13:56 | 2018-10-06T05:17:47 | 97 | 27 |
[WP] The first born child inherits the King’s magical power. But when the King’s first child is born nothing happens. Now the whole kingdom, especially the enraged Queen, is looking for the real first born child of the King’s many secret affairs.
|
The village lay in ruins. Houses had been smashed to so much smoldering wood and rubble. The ground was littered with arrows, weapons, and bodies. A few storms had passed by, leaving the land dank with the smell of wet, rotting flesh. On the edges of the kingdom, far from its heartland - too far for any communication - the ambush had gone unnoticed. The silence was interrupted by the steady clip-clopping of horses, hooves thudding against peaty ground. A bugle set the few remaining livestock bleating and braying, running circles in their pens and staring with wide, hunger-hollow eyes at the party of knights taking in the scene.
“What happened here?” croaked the newest recruit, chainmail fresh from the armory. His first battlefield to be sure, and too young to remember any of the violence in Elyian in the past century.
Captain Tolc dismounted, the others following her lead. She picked up a scrap of fabric fluttering between the corpses. A quick rub revealed shining silver embroidery forming a part of a summoning circle. She swore violently. “Those damn Lestrians. I’ve been warning the King again and again, they’ve been trying to expand their territory... We’ve been so occupied with the search that they thought they could get away with picking at the border, little by little. This village is so far out they didn’t even receive notification of our coming, of the entire debacle with the royal child. It wasn’t even within our borders until a year or two ago. They thought it would go unnoticed.” Her grip tightened on the shred of velvet. “And they were right.”
“Captain!” One of her knights called. She turned to see he had pushed aside some of the debris blocking one of the few standing huts. She ducked inside. The chaos within the walls matched the mess outside; shelves knocked loose from walls, books and pottery littering the floor. On the far side of the house, a curtain was pulled around what Tolc assumed to be the sleeping area. She marched over and pulled it aside.
A woman’s body was laid out on a threadbare bed, worn blankets pulled over her. Pulling them back revealed a nasty hole, viscera crusted over exposed skin. Behind her, Tolc heard the same young knight retch.
“Sad, to be sure,” she scowled. “They will pay for this, I will make sure of it. But there are many bodies here. Why did you call me for this one...” Then she caught glimpse of something glimmering around the woman’s neck. She leaned in and picked up the charm laying between the corpse’s collarbones and paled.
“Ma’am?” a knight said.
She brushed back the woman’s hair and unclasped the necklace, holding it up so all could see. Their eyes zeroed in on the charm dangling on it. Spattered with blood, it hummed with energy, a strong one they were all familiar with.
“Send our fastest rider,” she said, holding her voice as steady as possible. “Tell them... Tell the Queen our search is over.”
Occupied as they were, no one noticed the small footprints stepping across the wood out the ruined door, blood mixing with dirt and ash.
—-
It was the princess’ twelfth birthday, and the capital was bursting with activity. Streamers flew from every window, confetti littering the streets. Performers made the world their stage, swallowing swords, juggling fire, and making mockery of the royals. The scene inside the castle was the same - save the mockery. Every cobblestone gleamed bright, every wall festooned with a plethora of decorations. On this day, the windows were wide open, sending a kaleidoscope of light scattering on plush red carpet. Servants bearing all sorts of delicacies and delights hurried down the halls, scents of chocolate and lavender and roasting meat wafting throughout the building.
Princess Terrin sat on her bed, running her hands over the smooth silken fabric of the dress she was to wear that day. It was beautiful, no doubt. She fingered the seed pearls tracing intricate patterns across its bodice. She had so been looking forward to wearing it.
But her enthusiasm had been drowned out by the events of the morning. She had awoken, not to the gentle hand of her favorite maid, but to screams so loud they echoed to the furthest reaches of the castle. Her parents were arguing, again, and no doubt it was because of her.
She bit her lip. Miracle child, they called her. Four years with no heirs, and then all of a sudden she was born. But her lack of magical power made her living proof of her father’s infidelity, made her the subject of his guilty avoidance, citizens’ pitiful glances, her mother’s smothering protection. There were whispers of the possibility of no more magic in Elyian - the heir had always been the firstborn, and the firstborn always had magic. That was how the blessing of the Pantheon worked, stretching back generations to its first receiver. No one knew what would happen if a non-magical younger child took the throne. And it was her father’s blood power of self-healing that had kept the royal family alive for so long, through wars and assassination attempts and coups. No more magic could very well mean the end of her line. Miracle child indeed.
She had lost hours to staring at her empty palms, willing something, *anything* to bloom forth. Nothing. Even now, as the kingdom celebrated in her name, the hunt for her bastard sibling continued. And now, with her parents both upset, her birthday feast would have her sitting quietly between a man ridden with regret but too proud to admit it and a woman furious with vengeance but too scared to enact it. Emotions bubbled inside her - trepidation, sadness, longing, anger. She wished to be the firstborn as much as she wanted to strangle them.
Her door swung open, and the Queen strode in. Terrin stood, dress sliding off her lap. “Mother!”
Queen Veas waved for her to sit. “Please, dear. You needn’t be so formal with me.” She frowned at the dress on the floor. “Why aren’t you dressed? The party starts soon.”
“I know, mother. I’m sorry, I just...” she didn’t make eye contact.
The queen sighed and sat on the bed, patting for her to join her. “I know. It is no fault of your own, Terrin. I’m sorry that you must endure this. But,” she said, eyes glimmering with a hint of mischief, “I brought something that may lift your spirits.” She drew a book from under her cloak.
Terrin took it. The book was old and heavy, encrusted with jewels and pages gilded with gold leaf. There were so many extra papers and bits and bobs spilling out that the latch between its covers strained to keep everything contained. She turned it in her hands. No words marked its spine, no title to explain. She unlatched it, letting the book fall open to random pages, reading them best she could with her limited knowledge of runery. “Shifting spells. Organic spells. Ingredients for potions. Spells to heal. Spells to maim...”
“We are all capable of magic, my dear. It is only the firstborn of your father’s bloodline that carry the ability innately; the rest of us must learn.” When she received a blank stare, Queen Veas continued. “Think of it as swimming, as it were. A fish takes to it like breathing. We can swim, but it is difficult at first. Do you understand?”
Terrin nodded. “But then - why -“
“You are too young to understand why the practice of magic has died, child. Too young to remember the bloodshed... But I will not have my daughter denied her birthright. You should have had power, and power you shall have. In the old days, this is the age at which you would have started learning.”
She flipped through the pages, luxuriating at the knowledge that lay in her hands. She hugged the book to her chest, then hugged her mother. “Thank you.”
Queen Veas smiled, eyes crinkling along well-worn lines. “Of course. It is my birthday gift to you. Do keep it secret from your father, though. We, ah, disagreed a bit. Now, get dressed. Today is your day.”
((Too long so I’ll put the second half in a reply lmao))
|
That whore! She's had ten years to prepare so, of course, she was ready when the boy's powers didn't manifest. For generations, the firstborns of my bloodline have exhibited special powers which reveal themselves at noon on the tenth anniversary of their birth. The Fates have always provided according to the needs of the times. Unbeatable warriors have faced fell beasts, mystic healers have cured plagues, and powerful mages have blessed our lands. My ancestors forged this kingdom and have guided its progress for nearly a millennium. The festivities surrounding the tenth birthday of the firstborn are always legendary, culminating in the Trials of the Sun which allow us our first glimpse of the youth's burgeoning powers.
​
But not this year. Not this generation. Not yet anyway. While the rest of us were watching the Trials with bated breath she was whispering to her vizier, setting into motion the plans they had been laying this past decade. As the boy struggled to lift his great-grandmother's massive sword, messengers were running throughout the city spreading the news. As he tried in vain to make minor illusions with a wand, guards were marching toward brothels. As he attempted to fix the limp in the groundskeeper's leg, his mother smiled at me and asked, "Do you remember what my father told you on our wedding day?"
​
Now, to be fair, I've had a couple of dalliances in my time. Heavy lies the crown and all that, but I was always careful. I know for a fact that nothing ever came of my past indiscretions. Trust me, this family has a vested interest in ensuring a smooth transition of power, both magical and political. On top of that, I always suspected the boy was born too large for being a month premature. But try arguing that to a kingdom who just heard the scandalous news of the Bastard Prince. It's all anyone wants to talk about. Luckily for me those who search for missing kings seem to expect fancy carriages and expensive clothing.
​
My father in law never cared much for me. It makes sense, his kingdom was a fair amount bigger before my mom finished with him. We never really understood what he thought he could gain by attacking us in the first place. She had a grand talent for battle tactics, and that was on top of the fireballs. His wedding-day quip makes more sense now, in retrospect. A cocky "Now we've got you bastards right where we want you." isn't what you expect to hear from a man marrying off his daughter to end the war he started. We wound up with the whole kingdom in the deal, save for his palace and the surrounding city and farms.
​
I have never used my own power much publically, it unnerves people. I engaged in some spycraft when I was younger, but for the most part, I've been baffled by the gift the Fates bestowed on me. In the next three years on the run though? I think my shadow-walking abilities will come in rather handy. And anyway, given the past animosities, I doubt anyone will be searching for me and my 7-year-old daughter in her grandfather's capital city. I look forward to her tenth birthday. Everyone has always said she looks just like me.
| 2019-07-08T17:39:12 | 2019-07-08T15:01:36 | 38 | 20 |
[WP] Aliens came to Earth and call us the "most advanced species", the "final form of evolution". Not because of technology, but because we are the only species in universe that can make fun about almost everything.
|
"Why...why are you crying?"
The human representative watched as the Torenian's highest representative shed a few stray tears, before wiping them off. At first we thought it was an extreme coincidence that the first intelligent life we had made contact with was so biologically similar to us, until it was discovered that the Federated Association of Remote Terra's had hand picked them due to their similarity with us. Apparently, they were extremely worried about first impressions.
And so far, it was going great.
"I apologize," the Torenian high representative waved away their concern. "The lighting in this room it just...it just reminded me of the Great Cleanse of F.A.R.T. Cycle 31."
"Isn't it...isn't it Cycle 185?" Joshua, humanity's highest representative, asked.
"Yes," he replied, "In F.A.R.T. cycles at least."
Josh's fellow delegate, Zach, began to giggle and was reprimanded by an elbow to his side.
"So you're crying over a historical event you recalled...the occurred 154 cycles ago?" Josh attempted to clarify.
"F.A.R.T. cycles," the representative corrected, "It is important to differentiate."
Josh sighed deeply. "Okay, it occurred 154 *F.A.R.T.* cycles ago? Like, 100 *F.A.R.T.* cycles before you were even born?"
Beside him, Zach slapped the table while attempting to not laugh. Josh glared at him, and his assistant stood.
"I'm...sorry," he choked out in a hyena like burst of laughter, "Please, excuse me."
Josh watched Zach leave with wide eyes.
"Does he view our tragedy as humorous?" the representative deadpanned.
"Do not grow angry," One of the Torenian assistants said soothingly, "This is why we're here. That is what makes them the final form."
Josh shook his head, and stared out the windows of the sky office. It was the best view the world had to offer, which was the exact reason this location had been chosen for their meeting. Clear blue skies reigned overhead, as a bright, welcoming sun shone through it to illuminate the lush green landscape below. There was even a water fall.
"I apologize," he finally offered the representative, "Zach is young, and has much to learn in the ways of being professional."
"Professional?" the Torenian boomed, "Professionalism is not the issue here! He laughed at our people's greatest mistake! He lacks common courtesy."
"Once again, I'm sorry," Josh held his hands out disarmingly, "Why don't I call him back in, and you can educate him on why it is no laughing matter."
The Torenian then smiled, the first time Josh had ever seen one of them do so. "That sounds like a swell plan, education can solve many problems."
"Okay," Josh pushed a button on his watch, and shortly after Zach returned.
"As you may or may not know, intelligent life comes in many sizes," the Torenian started as Zach sat down. "On our home world, there used to be two intelligent species. My people, and the Ganten."
Josh nodded to show he was following, and the representative continued.
"The Ganten were tiny beings, about the size of a bacterium. As our civilizations grew we knew our two people's could no longer co-exist. So in F.A.R.T. Cycle 31 we found a hospitable planet in a nearby system, and offered to send their entire species there. They agreed."
*Oh no,* Josh felt queasy as he began to think of where this story was headed. Usually happy endings don't have the word "Cleanse" in their name.
"We loaded all of them into one ship, their entire species. You could pick it up with one hand and throw it if you wanted to. Oh how foolish we were."
Zach had grown deathly still, sobered up by this tale.
"Our planetary leader was given the honor of watching over them the night before the launch. For some reason..." the Torenian began to tear up again, "For some reason, he stashed the ship on top of his toilet..."
"Oh no," Josh said, giving voice to his previous thought.
The Torenian representative nodded, agreeing with Josh's sentiment. He tried to choke out the rest of the story as his emotions gained the better of him, and the Torenian's assistant had to step in.
"As he was saying," the assistant spoke slowly, "Our leader let the ship stay on top of his toilet overnight. Well, history shows us that he was a fan of...cleansing...his intestinal tract using what humans call laxatives. For whatever reason, he took some right before bed and awoke in the middle of the night with the sudden urge to relieve himself."
Josh took a deep breath, as the sinking feeling in his stomach began to slowly rise into a laugh. He glanced over at Zach, and saw that the smallest of smiles had begun to appear on his face.
*This can't be real* Josh thought.
"In his rush to reach the toilet, he knocked the capsule carrying all three trillion members of the species into his toilet. Our leader did not notice, and proceeded to...defecate. All were lost."
"You're..." Zach stammered, "Telling me...that...that...your leader shit...he shit..."
Zach suddenly burst into laughter, and was gasping for breath.
"He shit on an entire species!" Zach threw his head back with a roar of laughter, "He shitted them to death!"
The Torenian's stared at Josh, tears of anguish flowing freely down their face as Zach was struck with crippling laughter. It was as if they were begging him to reprimand the young delegate.
"Your organization's name is F.A.R.T." Jacob said with a deep breath, "And your president killed an entire sentient species by crapping on them. Correct?"
The Torenian's, now too caught up in their tears to speak, simply nodded.
Then Josh burst into a raucous laughter, which then renewed Zach's fit of amusement which had just begun to die down. Humanity's entire future could be at stake here, but damn if there was any joke worth dying over, this was it.
___________________________________________________
"How did the humans do?" The Chairman asked the Torenians as they returned.
The Torenians, still shaken and traumatized by the experience with Josh and Zach, fell to their knees and began to weep at the recollection of it.
"I think..." one of the assembly's other members spoke up, "That means it was better than any of us could've expected."
____________________________________________________
Did you like this story? Check out my other stuff over at r/Niedski! I post all of my stories there!
|
The aliens had consumed all of the stand up comedy that Earth had to offer. Hundreds of hours of Netflix and Youtube had been watched by every man, woman, and child on the planet Kazox. The humans ability to find humor in life, death, skinny people, fat people, or humans that deprive themselves of key proteins by only consuming plants. There was no subject too taboo to ridicule.
For this reason they came, the mass immigration of aliens from the planet Kazox. Alien ships floated above major cities all across the globe. When contact was made it was not exactly what humanity had been expecting . . .
The British Prime Minister's phone rang, every eye in the room watched the Prime Minister delicately reached out and answered.
"Hello, this is Prime Minister Barrington. To whom am I speaking with?"
"Knock, knock," came the reply.
"Uh, who is it?"
"Europe."
"Europe who?"
"No YOU'RE A POO!"
---
Alzz slammed the receiver down to raucous laughter on the bridge of the ship.
"Fantastic job Ambassador, now the humans know that we are capable of learning their complex humor!" President Mur said proudly.
---
"Prime Minister?"
Barrington placed the phone back down gently and took a deep breath.
"Ready the nukes," he said sadly.
---
Thanks for reading! Check out /r/Written4Reddit for more stories!
| 2017-03-20T05:43:01 | 2017-03-20T05:42:13 | 222 | 22 |
[WP] First, all souls go to Hell, where they experience the suffering they inflicted upon others. Then, heaven, which reminds them of all the happiness they brought. And only then they are allowed to move on to the next step.
|
Part 1 of 3
"Welcome to hell, I am the devil, but you may call me... Toby. We like to keep things informal here, as well as... infernal."
Toby, the devil, he who tempts, enemy of God, Lucifer, and so forth and so on with so many moniker they barely fit on a business card, watched as his joke fell apart.
It sort of happens, when your public is made up of a seven year old child, an emo teen, and a depressed, suicidal person who really, *really* wanted there to be nothingness after death, and was now monumentally pissed that he was about to go for another carousel.
"Mom said I would go to heaven if I die. Is this Heaven?" asked Lucy, the seven year old child.
"Well, not exactly. You mother missed some of the finer points of theology, the afterlife and bad behavior."
She couldn't be blamed for her mistake. Hell had done away with the fire and brimstone trend - except in Toby's office, he liked the rich, golden hue of magma - in favor of vast plains of fertile grass. A lazy river flew between the fields, cows and horses grazed and let the dead pet them.
Toby wanted to hush the cows and horses forward, to paradise and beyond. But it appeared that grazing, pets, and the knowledge of never being eaten was paradise enough for them. Besides, it gave a bit of movement to an otherwise almost still postcard. In the distance, colossal mountains disappearing in the clouds, piercing the sky into the night.
"Can I pet the horsy?"
"Of course, little one. I will accompany you, my co-workers will handle our guests here."
"Weird, I'm not limping," she remarked.
"Perks of being dead."
Phobos and Deimos, usual names Jean-Claude and Marie-Sophie, impeccably dressed in their suits and speaking with the faintest hint of a French accent, invited the emo teen and the suicidal guy who was looking for a river deep enough to drown into to come over. Administrative work, signatures, marketing speech, and so on.
Lucy wouldn't have that.
Kids were notoriously a bother when trying to keep them seated and sign a pile of papers. Better to push them through the motions fast.
"Technically, this is hell. Everybody goes through here, Saints and Sinners."
"Will I be punished?"
"I would rather say, you get to see everything you did in life, good or bad. Your fault or not, the latter part is... hard to grasp for newcomers."
"I did do bad things!" she chuckled.
"You will understand that I don't mean pulling at your mother's hair. Here, say hello to the horse."
The horse, a mare, lowered her head to Lucy. Lucy put her hand on her head, and felt blurry.
Suddenly, she was petting a dog. A scrawny thing without a name, with scars and a limp. Like her. The mine had shredded her leg, made it impossible to walk at first. She hadn't been in the middle of the blast radius, that person had vanished into a fine red mist.
There she was, Mom, running at her, screaming. Lucy saw in perfect detail the terror etching her face as she wrapped the mangled leg in rags. She tasted the anxiety, the fear, the prayers to all powers to save her child. She felt it all, without the filter of pain to hide the horrible truth.
The camp where she lived had been installed by the red cross, a surgery had been performed hastily, it saved her. Her left leg bent rather awkwardly, she couldn't move without crutches, and only at a snail's pace.
Mom smiling, a weary smile, to see her daughter alive, to know she has been maimed for life at an age when she should play with toys and go to school, instead of living in fear of war and mines.
The physiotherapist was a funny women with a name Lucy couldn't pronounce and a language she didn't get either. But she mimicked the exercises for her, put together splints with scrap, managed to get some movement back into that left leg. She too, had that weary smile, the certainty it barely mattered, crossed with the duty of keeping up with appearances, for Lucy.
"Please," Lucy pleaded in her soft, child's voice, "I don't want to feel anymore, it's too much."
They didn't hear her. Life in the camp went on, with her in the middle, too aware of how the world she had departed felt.
That day, she almost ran, clumsily, at a risk of falling over, but hey, small victories, and all that.
Lucy showed off, of course, she had he childish ability to know when danger was close and she should remain silent, almost breathless, and when she could take some joy from a singular moment.
She showed the mess staff how she ran.
She showed her mom how she ran.
She showed the surgeon how she ran.
She showed the scrawny dog how she ran, and they ran together, at the outskirts of the camp, onto a barren field.
Red Cross personnel shouted for her not too go too far, it was dangerous.
The dog barked. She stood before a metallic bit, one she knew all too well.
She turned to leave, exhaustion and the muddy ground reminded her that turning around fast with a maimed leg required more efforts than what she took for granted.
She fell over.
But this time, she heard the explosion, the screams. A cacophony of screams, yet she got them all in their individual horror. Staff rushing to see, understanding at once, trying to stop her mother. Refugees used to it, trying to block off the noise, pretend it wasn't different than usual, which it was.
And her mom. Breaking through, running, falling, running again, searching for Lucy, saying out loud how she would find her, nurture her back to health, as she did so many times when she fell ill, that it would be okay.
That it would be okay.
Mom found what remained of Lucy, a fine red mist.
Small victories, and all that.
|
"Will i remember all that I've been through?", asked the manly voice with an unearthly figure of a winged creature to a ray of light in a distance. After some silence, which felt like an echo in itself. A voice responded to the creature, "You shall be who you are, do what you may, feel what you wish, your path is guided and misguided by all that you were in your own eternity". The creature thinks to himself in the familiar anxiety of uncertainty. What will I become. Where will I end up. This path is a vicious cycle. The voice from the ray of light, now thunderous, to give emphasis to what is spoken, "Your subconscious is the carver of your path. What you find in the next step is hell and heaven combined."
The creature then says, "I'm ready". Almost instantly, the cries of a baby are heard.
| 2022-11-06T05:01:40 | 2022-11-06T02:54:38 | 342 | 19 |
[WP] People often attribute your success as a superhero to your power. However the truth is the power itself sucks, you just learnt how to use it well despite its limitations over the years, as one power stealing villain painfully learnt
|
You see me, a superhero, walking down the NYC deserted streets in winter. I’m a slightly overweight, balding, 40-something white guy, 175cm tall. I kick an empty can which is picked up by the wind, rolling down the street.
Miserable, that’s what I’d call it. There are nine superheroes in the world, and I’m supposed to be the tenth. If you only look at results I suppose it makes perfect sense; I’ve defeated four of the most powerful ones when they were corrupted by one of the supervillains last year, all by myself. The other five were defeated by those four in the first hour of battle.
Why miserable, you ask? Well, let me explain.
The scene turns slightly sepia, indicating a time jump.
Children are seen playing in the distance.
When I was growing up, nobody really cared about being my friend. Some of the kids tried, mostly because our parents forced us to out of pity, but none of them stuck around for longer than they made us play together. Which was often limited by the amount of time their parents could stand to be around me.
Rumors have it that even my own mother tried to not be there for my birth. At least, that’s what the kids kept reminding me. My nickname at elementary school was “Butter”. Some ugly girls were named “butter-face”–as in “everything looks nice, everything but her face”–except in my case they couldn’t pinpoint exactly what was wrong with me; I wasn’t fat, nor ugly, nor athletically handicapped, I was not even a good or bad student. They just didn’t like me.
The name stuck around for my entire life, and I took the moniker as my own when I decided to become a superhero. “Butter”. Superpower: Who knows? Who cares, really?
The screen transitions back to me walking down the streets of NYC.
An explosion on the far right, 400 meters ahead of me, on the right. That’s where a bank is at. I raise my right eyebrow slightly. I’ve crossed more of a distance while lost in thought than I thought. I sigh. Well, this is going to be an interesting one. This villain has the ability to steal superpowers. I hope this bitch is ready for what I have to offer.
I stand in front of the bank when she comes out and looks at me with a big shit-eating grin. Dame Doom is her name, newspapers aren’t very creative I guess. I would’ve gone with something like Sexy McSexface. I snicker at my own humor briefly as she starts to make noises at me. Right. Time to do this.
“If it isn’t the LAST of the ten!” She giggles. “I’ve stolen nine powers, yours is next!” She’s quite beautiful, stunning actually. Her voice sounds like a cadre of angels pissing down her tongue, which she uses to lick her lips while looking at me from a safe distance. She knows that I’m powerful, she just doesn’t know exactly why.
“Come on, Butter!” she mockingly demands, “Make your move! I’ve always wondered how you fight!”
I light a cigarette.
“Ohoh! Let me guess, Butter, a toxic and flammable buttery breath that you can ignite? You need innocent-looking tools, do ya?”
She whips out a whip and slashes my cigarette in half, barely touching my lips with the tip.
I frown. Only one cigarette left…
“Not today! Now I know! NOW! I KNOW!” she shrieks like a dumbfuck redneck banshee who doesn’t know what’s about to hit her. Do it, do it now. Take this misery away from me. I don’t care you’ll become the most powerful villain the world has and will ever see.
She stretches out both hands and a navy blue glow of energy escapes my body. Whoa, it actually feels quite nice. It’s like a dark cold that has forever been present in the deepest of my bones is being pulled out. I wish it were more gentle; I wish it lasted a tiny bit longer so I could enjoy the feeling a bit more, but it was over in about 12 minutes of her yanking this wretched curse out of me.
The dark blue energy surrounds her and slowly finds its way into her bodily openings. Heh, this is fun. In Marvel movies, they sometimes show that kind of energy going into the mouth and eyes, but in reality, it also enters her more private parts.
I light another cigarette with a genuine smile on my face.
She just stands there. She looks confused.
“Nothing…? Did nothing happen? What the hell is going on…”
I turn around to walk away from her, having lost all interest in her being there. Hey, that’s the effect I suppose! Interesting. What will I do when I get home? I feel like making some croissants and inviting over that lady next door who has been eying me for a few months now but was always reluctant to even look at me for longer than two seconds.
The next few months were somewhat interesting. For the first time in my life, I actually started to build a social life. People liked being around me. People started to care about me. They remembered me. They brought me gifts for my birthday and I’m actually getting calls back. I’ve been dating the girl next door for a few weeks now, and it looks like she might be the one.
My psychologist thinks I might have abandonment issues, seeing as how I’ve been abandoned all my life by everyone, but even that isn’t on my mind anymore, really.
Once in a while Dame Doom, now equipped with ten superpowers, is in the news. She blew up another city somewhere, or lead the invasion of demons into the human realm. Whatever, nobody cares. Not even her demons give a damn about her and they voluntarily went back to wherever the hell they came from. A blown-up city? Well, shit happens. We’ll mourn the dead and work on rebuilding what we can, and we’ll ignore Dame Doom.
She could turn invisible, fly at the speed of light, teleport, have the strength of 10,000 men, was bulletproof, could mind-control anyone, had the ability to duplicate herself infinitely, summon demons and angels, and steal the force of life itself. And the tenth…
The tenth superpower is making everyone you face simply not care about you. To the extreme. Sure, you can do everything your heart desires, but nobody will be scared of you for it. Or, in my case, nobody will be thankful for it, either. They’ll actively avoid dealing with you regardless of what you did.
It took 14 months of terror, after which Dame Doom decided to fly herself into the Sun.
|
Ugh, well it’s been a while since I’ve talked about this, but having the “superpower” of acid spit gets incredibly crappy after awhile. You’d think fending off bad guys would be an easy task, but nope, here I am in public running up to the bastard who just stole a ladies purse trying to get into the best possible position for me to hit him with my acidic spit. Also, take into account that despite being acidic, my spit still has the consistency of normal human spit, talk about half measures. DONT even get me started on eating, I cannot give my tastebuds any time to acknowledge whats being put upon them, instead I have to chew my food as fast as possible before the acidic spit turns it into a smoothie.
Of course, there’s always perks to having acidic spit but it’s very very limited. Can I break through most metals with it? Yes. Can I melt an entire human face to its skeleton with it? Yes. Can I kiss my own wife and kids? Absolutely not. People romanticize having any superpower, but believe me, acid spit is 3 shades away from useless. Anyways, that’s all I’ve got for now, it’s not often I get to talk about my essentially futile superpower, my success basically came entirely from my common sense. I guess you could consider that one a superpower since so many people lack it.
| 2020-12-02T07:33:44 | 2020-12-02T07:06:24 | 324 | 38 |
[WP] While you were growing up, your grandmother always sang you a nursery rhyme as you fell asleep. You just discovered it is an ancient spell of protection. Not only that, but there are more verses, with more interesting effects.
|
I got the call on the way to work. I wasn't moving very fast in the car, almost at a standstill because of the morning rush. But the entire world seemed to join that sluggish shuffling of cars and trucks and buses on that routine morning grind. Gran was dead. My dad who is as stoic as they come, quivered asking if I was ok, because his mother was dead too.
I knew this phone call was coming, I had been waiting on it all week. Gran had been dying of cancer for months now. She was 13 years into a 15-year expected lifespan leukaemia diagnosis when the doctors told her she had four weeks to live. It had spread everywhere, but they gave her 6 chemo treatments and that bought some time. Time to say goodbye, time to get her affairs in order.
She was thankful for that, and even in those last months, except for the final one, she had some quality of life given back to her. I was thankful of that too.
I was able to leave work early and go meet the family at her house. It was a tiny house, given to her in the last couple years of her life from a council who had stripped her of her actual home of 35 years. In her old age she could not continue to care for her adult eldest daughter who had cerebral palsy. And since the home was a specialist care home, they would not let her die in it with dignity. A woman who had given her life to the care of others, abandoned at the end. These thoughts made me enter her tiny fake house already angry. But then I saw the pictures on the walls, of her, her children, and us, the grandchildren. She had been a matriarch of a family now spanning dozens of people, 6 children of her own. 15 grandchildren and dozen great grandchildren. What a legacy to leave behind, and my anger almost just seemed to melt away in nothingness amongst those picture-frames of weddings and graduations strewn across what seemed like every wall surface.
After the pleasantries were given, the tears shed, and the tissues handed out her will came into force. Quite literally. All her belongings were set aside for specific people or family groups to be shared as they saw fit. I looked down the list while her lawyer sat in attendance, making sure the effect of the will was carried out.
My gran was not a wealthy lady in the traditional sense at least. She had little money. But her few pieces of prized jewellery went to the girls, as they sat there over the box I had a wave of nausea overcome me briefly as they seemed like vultures over a carcass. We were meant to be talking about gran, not fighting over her trinkets. I did notice that my name had not appeared on that list yet for items that were earmarked. My heart sank as I thought my gran had spited me at the last because I had spent 7 years at university in a city a few hours away, and had not visited as often as I should have. For that I still have a lot of regret.
But then it came. My name, marked against a single entry. It had only the words “Songbook” next to it. This suddenly all made sense, I had been musical at school; played in the school brass band, took piano and saxophone at an advanced enough level to enter a music collage although I had chosen not too. So, I was expecting sheet music from a different time, songs we had sung and played on the keyboard growing up. What a nice thought from her. Rocks and silver and gold now seemed to pale against what I was getting. She had made me feel special, one last time. Thank you gran.
When I received the leather-bound A5 ‘’book’’, it immediately struck me more like a personalised diary. These were not printed pages but handwritten, with musical notes and lyrics adorning almost every page. There was a library here of almost forgotten old songs and poems, a true treasure of history and culture from a previous time. I recognised a few, many I did not. Not all had the tunes inscribed next to their lyrics, and I feared that while the words of the song might remain intact, its tune would die.
Then my eye came to a song where I recognised a single verse. Like a flood of memory, I could hear my gran’s voice sing this to me, but I would have been impossibly young. I was looking out through my eyes up at my gran, looking younger than I remember her. How could this be possible I wondered, to have a memory intact while I was so young. But there it was, the song droning in my ears, louder now. I instinctively started to hum the tune I was hearing. Some family turned their heads in mild curiosity.
The rest of the house seemed to draw quiet, yet people still exchanged solemn conversations, cars drew past yet they made sounds as if driving on linen. Engines subdued to a quiet hum. The entire world sounded as if it were waiting in baited anticipation for *something* to happen. Yet nothing did.
Then I started to put word to note:
​
​
*In ancient hearth and home, he speaketh*
*Under tree and sun, he giveth*
*Before him, he does cometh*
*The kindling does glow bright*
​
​
*I will be his explorer*
*I will be his servant*
And n*o harm, will come, to me.*
*The kindling does glow bright…*
​
​
As the family gave me mild applause at this sudden rendition of this ‘hymn’ from Gran’s book. I felt elated, like a worry I didn’t know I had, disappeared before it could take shape. The world began to breathe again.
I came around to my senses after being almost unusually lost in that book for the rest of the visit. Putting it into my bag I left them to continue their squabbling, as I was tired and needed to get home. My mother stopped me at the door and asked me to stay for one more thing. She had a photo album she wanted to share. At my protestations, she assured me she just wanted to show me one photo.
It was of me as a baby being held by not my gran, but my great grandmother. My gran’s mother. She told me I was only 6 weeks old in that photo, as I had spent the first few weeks of my life in intensive care. For some reason, I had apparently decided to stay inside the womb and not come out when I was due. To such an extent that I had begun breathing amniotic fluid. Massive infection had set in and after I was born, taking my first breaths not of air, but water, I was not expected to survive.
​
|
I began to sing.
A lullaby, strange yet familiar, arose from the subconscious of my mind. The terror, the panic, all of it fell away as I sang the lullaby... Grandmother's lullaby.
It was a strange one. It sang of a government official returning to his home back in the countryside, close to the mountains. His family and friends, distant yet close, near forgotten him, but warmed to him quite quickly again. His childhood sweetheart, married to none, interested only in him.
"Official Li rode home on his grey speckled horse~
As he traversed the path winding through the mountains~"
I saw the monster. After a fruitful chase down the shady alleys of the city, it had cornered me in a long disused warehouse. It was like a cat, and it was a huge beast of a feline, tired of its chasing game, and ready to feast.
And it stopped.
And it *yowled.*
I stood up, continuing my song, grandmother's hair tickling my face, her breath flowing past my cheek, her voice crooning alongside of mine.
"There his family he met, strangers for long~
But they fed him soup and chicken like he had never left home~"
It staggered back, seeming to turn blue. And I saw it glow blue as its body seemed to... *Fade.*
As it disappeared, I continued my song. Long after it was gone, only did I finish my song.
"The fish was fresh that day, cooked by the fine lasses~
And the couple held their hands and bowed to the wedding attendees~"
I took a deep breath and collapsed on the floor.
Note: Part 2 coming soon.
| 2018-11-07T06:01:02 | 2018-11-07T05:30:36 | 33 | 12 |
[WP] A demon who is really bad at his job keeps accidentally making the person he is possessing's life better
|
He hated that film. Ever since it came out the jokes had been non-stop."Hey Kultz, have you got your wings yet?" "Hey Kultz, did you know every time a bell rings you've fucked up another possession?". Wit generally wasn't part of a demons skill set.
But it was true, like the angel in "Its a Wonderful Life", Kultz had been a serial fuck up. He hadn't had a single successful mission. And ever since the film the other demons had delighted in torturing him about it, including tying bells to his 3 tails. The film was based on a real angel in Heaven and real events. The man upstairs was trying to inspire the masses. Kultz had been the demon charged with getting "George" to jump off the bridge, instead he inspired his community and through the film the entire world. It was a failure of epic proportions.
It had gotten increasingly depressing as every mission resulted in yet more failure. If Freud hadn't set up residence in the 2nd circle of hell he might not have stuck it out. Their sessions had helped. Kultz almost felt bad about the unending torture he dealt him, but torturing souls was the only thing that brought him pleasure these days.
He stood ready for another mission. His division supervisor looked at him with disdain.
Supervisor: "Last time out you not only convinced him to seek help, he donated his entire fortune to charity...just try not to fuck up that badly again".
Kultz sighed, this is what he had been reduced to. He was expected to fail. All that was required of him was not to fail too badly. He stared into the abyss and stepped forward. How he wished he was in the pit of despair surrounded by millions of anguished souls. That would have cheered him up.
He awoke in bed, he felt sluggish, it always felt this way when he first entered the host, but this was worse. The host was hungover. Kultz felt the hangover every bit as much as the host did. The host was Bob Jenkins. Bob was an asshole. Kultz had Bob bite the side of his mouth.
Bob: "Mother fucker!"
It was petty, it was small, but so satisfying. Kultz perked up slightly as he felt the pain and frustration radiate through Bob. It was a good start. Kultz started his daily recitations:
"You are a strong powerful demon"
"You are to be feared by all mankind"
"If you steer his car into traffic he will not end up trading contact information with his soul mate. That just can't happen a third time!"
Kultz was careful today, he started out slowly. He had Bob leave caps lock on while trying to log in at work. Bob grew frustrated. A cup of coffee got knocked into Bobs lap, pain and anger surged through him and Kultz seemed happy. This was a low level mission, a simple case of getting Bob fired so he'd be miserable for a few months. By doing this he hoped Bobs misery would ripple throughout Bob's world and make dozens of others unhappier than they had been. As Kultz felt the anger and frustration building in Bob he deleted an urgent reminder from the CEO. The stage was set, hungover, angry and frustrated, Bob would get chewed out by the CEO and then Bob would lose his temper ensuring that he'd be fired. Kultz felt smug, he'd finally get his win, no more jokes, no more pranks, no more fucking bells.
Then he saw him and his heart sank....or whatever it is a demon has instead of a heart sank. "Clarence". The inspiration of Its a Wonderful Life. "Clarence", the angel who finally got his wings. Kultz saw no recognition in his kindly eyes. Of course a superstar like Clarence wouldn't remember him.
Clarence: Hi friend, you look like you're having a hell of a day. I've got a few doughnuts for the office, would you like one?
Bob was about to snap at this stranger in front of him but then saw the doughnuts, there were 2 of his favourites, he eyed them hungrily.
Clarence: Go ahead if you want them both, by the way, I found these on the floor, are they yours?
Clarence held up a packet of head ache tablets. Bob wondered why he hadn't thought of taking something straight away this morning. He meekly took the tablets and thanked the stranger for his kindness.
Clarence: That's no problem, I know you could use it, you've got that big report due for the CEO due today, don't you?
Bob suddenly remembered and sprang in to action. He thanked the stranger and frantically tapped away at the keyboard. He glanced at the clock and found he had just enough time to get it done and breathed a sigh of relief. Clarence smiled while Kultz raged. It wasn't fair, he was so close. He'd never had a mission that was so straight forward, so simple. All he had to do was get a guy fired. And Clarence had ruined it all.
No. No, not this time. Kultz wasn't about to suffer the indignation of going back a failure again, not on something so simple that it was basically a training mission. Clarence had left, satisfied his work was done. Kultz grinned to himself, that arrogance would be his undoing. Bob was proofreading his report, sitting back smiling to himself at a job well done. Kultz focused all his power on increasing his influence over Bob. Kultz moved his right leg and kicked the power cable, the screen turned to black. Bob swore in frustration, he slammed is fist on the table and Kultz guided it to the doughnuts. Chocolate filling flew out all over his hand, sleeve and suit.
Bob's temporary good mood vanished. Kultz was growing in confidence, riding the momentum of success. He saw Bob's boss eating his lunch at the table, clicking at the keyboard with a look of concern, he looked over towards Bob and then began to finish off his lunch quickly as he tapped out an angry email. Kultz whispered in Bob's ear and suddenly Bob was striding towards his boss, face red with fury.
Kultz: They don't appreciate you. They demand too much of you. The deadlines are unfair.
Bob grew angrier and angrier. He opened the door and startled his boss. Bob began to speak when his boss began to choke on his sandwich. Bob's anger vanished as his first aid training kicked in. He dashed over to his boss and after a few goes managed to successfully dislodge the food. His boss collapsed in his chair, red faced.
Boss: Th-thank you, I think you might have saved my life.
Kultz was incredulous, what was happening?
Boss: I think I need a few minutes, can you present that report on the conference call for me? I'm not going to have time to read it.
2 hours later Kultz slunk back to his division supervisor. The supervisor didn't even look up. Bob had presented the report perfectly and without notes. Having written it all up just prior to the meeting it was all fresh in his mind. He was flawless. The rave reviews he got for the ideas he had set out and his confidence in presenting them not only impressed the people in the meeting but also his boss. He had been put on an accelerated development plan and a raise. When you save the bosses life you get these kind of perks.
The salt in the wound was the email that had been sent when Bob sat back down, there had been reports of food poisoning from the bakery who made the doughnuts. Everyone was advised to avoid them. Bob couldn't believe how his day had turned around, everything that had seemed so awful had ended up making his day. His week. His year! He'd finally be able to afford that engagement ring he'd been looking at.
Bob whispered to himself: "I guess God has a plan for everything".
Kultz handed in his report, the supervisor still refused to acknowledge him until Kultz had already started to leave.
"I guess God has a plan for everything" the supervisor sneered.
Kultz hung his head and walked away.
|
"Breezy Beez, you know I'm good for a little tormenting. Just- just don't send me back to the Toenail Boiler," Jonah begged.
At 127 years, Jonah was still getting used to Hell. He'd been tortured enough to make him think taking the job as a demon would be easier. Such is the way of Hell, torture the living or be tortured yourself.
Beelzebub shook his head and started, "Jonah, no one calls be Breezy Beez. And I have to warn you. Being a demon? Torturing the living? Its not as easy as it looks. There's a reason we start you out with a few torture sessions. People have blessings, they have dumb luck, they have people looking out for them. It takes a lot of planning to use all that against them."
"A few torture sessions...?" Jonah grumbled.
"Don't be cross. Any good demon comes to love a little self- punishment. Listen, Jonah, I see that you feel a break from being tortured would do you some good. I'm just saying, you may not be ready. We've only tortured you physically. Tormenting the living has a way of torturing you mentally and emotionally if you aren't prepared."
"Beez, I'm ready." Jonah resolved as he peeled dead skin from his arm. "The acid bath yesterday made everything click. Torment people, experience torment yourself, divine sensation. Everything you've been talking about. I get it now."
"Alright, Jonah. You'll start tomorrow. We'll start you off easy. It's Eric Shaemer. He's a 54 year old attorney. His wife is cheating on him. His kids hate him. And most of all, he hates his job. He always wanted to be a famous chef. He's dug himself into a horrible life with a cynical outlook and weak moral resolution. It shouldn't take much to tip him over the edge."
"Ah! Thanks, Beez. I got this, really! Really, I got this! I can't wait! Finally to give myself some rest!"
Beez breathed out a deep sigh and reclined deep into his hell pit. "This isn't rest, Jonah. There's a reason demons are restless. You need to understand the challenge you're undertaking," Beez warned.
The severe tone of the words melted away in the hot air before they reached Jonah. He was elated for the first time in a century.
Jonah cried: "Yes! I do! I'm ready! Thank you!"
Beez nodded, slammed his foot to the floor, and Jonah evaporated into a cloud of smoke.
It was Jonah's last day in the torture chambers. Even the Leg Filet would feel easy today.
...
| 2014-09-04T06:07:23 | 2014-09-04T05:36:59 | 55 | 10 |
[WP] A tiny dragon must defend his hoard, a single gold coin, from being stolen.
|
Ahneus stood, leaning against the haft of his trusted companion Glitter-Hew. The axe stood shoulder high, a mighty two inches. Ahneus of course, stood taller still.
His mind raced as he continued to stare through the refractive portal of Sheet-Water, known to distort the minds of those who are mad enough to peer into its furtive depths. His gaze, fixed upon the hanging wooden home painted with blue acrylics, never wavered, and the only thing that betrayed Ahneus’ sentience was the rise and fall of his shoulders with every breath. He continued to stare as the home twirled on its single supporting thread of Steel-Twine. Its windows, simple hollows carved from the wood itself, were twice the height of Ahneus. The monster living in that home must be enormous indeed.
A series of rapid, deep breaths betrayed the position of his lieutenant, Gild. Born of the people that call themselves the Tahti-fae, Gild had joined him in his cause many moons prior. Ahneus waited, allowing his lieutenant to recover.
“Herra Swift-Wit, I come to you as the bearer of bad news. The termites of Broadbeam have revoked their allegiance. I fear that it is only a matter of time before the alliance crumbles.”
Ahneus remained still, allowing his thoughts to percolate through his consciousness. Gild stood at ease, hands clasped behind his back. He knew better than to interrupt.
“Thank you for relaying the word to me Gild. As always, I am grateful for your friendship.” Ahneus’ face remained emotionless, betraying nothing of his mood.
Gild shifted his weight, staring at his feet as a blush colored his cheeks. “I am not worthy of your friendship Herra Swift-Wit. If it pleases you, I believe that there may be a prize that will convince the termites to join us once more. Their allegiance may even be enough to coax others to our aid.”
“Go on”
Gild paused to collect his thoughts. Ahneus’ insight was vast, and Gild was sure that Ahneus knew exactly what he would say. “The termites have sent a crier stating that they will rejoin the alliance for nothing less than the expansion of their territory along their eastern borders. Unfortunately, this expansion would push into the boundaries of the Mauste Pixies, who as you know are not currently our allies. They have told us previously that they will join our cause for one prize, and one prize only…”
“The Golden Coin.”
Gild nodded. “That is correct Herra. They desire nothing more, nothing less.”
“There is nothing more that they could desire. The coin holds immense power, and has been out of our reach for centuries.” Ahneus stretched his back, rising to his full, towering height. “Well then, my path has been laid before me. I will have to challenge the beast.”
Gild grasped Ahneus’ arm, unable to reach his shoulders. His eyes were wide. “Ahneus, please! Is this not the height of folly? The beast has rained devastation upon some of our most vicious foes. Why would we fare better?”
A bellow of laughter shook the wooden ledge, nearly knocking Gild from his perch. Ahneus shook, as his chest heaved, a forge bellows in action.
“Worry not my friend, I am no weakling. Our foes are no doubt weaker than I, and I can prove it through this one simple task. I will brave the harsh climes of Splintered-Wood, and retrieve the Golden Coin.”
Leaping from the ledge, he landed on the rough ground of Fresh-Scent-Ruffled-Cushions with a soft thump. Gild did his best to scramble down, while Ahneus walked at a leisurely pace towards the gate.
“If you must go Herra Swift-Wit, I urge you to take me with you!”
“Ah, so it’s back to ‘Herra’ now is it.” Ahneus threw over his shoulder, “You know I must face this trial alone Gild. You must lead my men in my absence.”
“But what if you do not return?”
Ahneus spun to face his lieutenant, all joviality gone. “Do not jest Gild. I may fail, but I will always return. If there is one thing I am aware of, it is my own mortality. I will ensure that I come back, no matter that sacrifices I must make.”
With that final reassurance, Ahneus walked to the gate, signalling his guards to lift the portcullis. Without a single glance behind him, he strode confidently through the small tunnel, as the guards shut the gate behind him.
_____________________________________________________
Ahneus trekked through the textured plains of Splintered-Wood, his bare feet stabbed with each careful stride. A permanent grimace was etched into his face.
When the sun had fallen below the gigantic wooden beam a few paces before him, Ahneus paused to wipe the sweat from his brow and to sharpen Glitter-Hew.
“Well old friend, this is it. We either win this battle, returning as heroes, or die trying. The fabled guardian of the coin has not seen fit to grant mercy to any assailants before me. What say you to farewells before the battle?”
He paused. His axe, of course, did not respond.
“A confident reply! Let us take the coin by force!” Ahneus’ face was split by his grin, and he began to shimmy up the wooden posts. His thighs bled, as wooden shards stabbed him repeatedly.
Finally grasping the beam, Ahneus pulled himself up in time to hear a growl of warning from the wooden home above him.
“Turn around and retreat, warrior. It has been my displeasure to fend off many before you, snuffing out their lives as quickly as I would the lights of the Fire-beetles.”
Ahneus tensed, holding Glitter-Hew at the ready. “I cannot do that creature, as I have no choice but to claim the coin for my own. May I ask your name before we begin?”
“My name? I have not been asked that in centuries... I have many names, but the one I call myself is Pitaa. I care not what you call me, as you shall not be given the chance to use it again.”
And with that final statement, the creature burst from the windows of the wooden home. Ahneus barely had enough time to roll to the side before the beam shivered underneath the weight of the sinuous body before him. A gigantic thirty centimeters long, the creatures scales glittered with an iridescent violet sheen. Its diamond sharp claws dug furrows into the wood of the beam, as the creature recovered from its leap. Its wings remained furled, the drop having been a short hop for the creature.
Ahneus now knew exactly what manner of creature Pitaa was. A creature that had been absent from the realms of Fresh-Scent-Ruffled-Cushions for millennia.
A creature known only as “Dragon.”
|
It was my first time in a tavern when I was approached by a strange man in a tattered brown robe. The leather was worn like the thin garments he wore underneath. You wouldn't have guessed it, but his coin purse was fatter than that of many wealthy lords I knew. Flashing a few gilded teeth, he pulled it out, tugged on the silk drawstrings and rolled a few silver doubloons out on the counter.
He was kindly enough despite his roguish appearance and gruff manner.
"Two pints for me and this cunt here," he said as the coins hit the table, motioning towards my direction. The bartender gave him a glazed look.
"You drink?" he asked me.
I nodded.
"Two apiece," he shouted, "you hear that?"
The barman returned with two glass mugs filled to the brim, a lid of foam bubbles sitting on the top. The man took one silver piece off the counter and walked away.
"If this beer is good enough, you might just land yourself this," he said, holding up a gleaming gold coin between his grubby fingers.
I sipped my beer leisurely, "Cheers," I said.
"Listen up, do you want to know how I got this gold coin here?"
"Good investment? Inheritance?"
"You see, this isn't just any gold coin," he said, lowering his voice and looking about him, "This used to belong the most fearsome beast ever known. Eh? A-Dragon."
"You're kidding."
"It was a wee-little thing to tell the truth and all it had left was this to it's name, but aye I swear by it. On my life, look it has the indentations to prove it. You see that? From Dragon Fangs.."
"Ahh," I said, checking out the small perforated coin in the dim bar light, "Must have been just a baby."
| 2019-04-24T01:12:56 | 2019-04-24T01:06:19 | 504 | 37 |
[WP] You’re a dragon who kidnapped a prince/princess. All is going to plan but… it’s been a month and no one’s come to save them.
|
Dragons, by their very existence, were the kind of entities for whom awe and terror seemed intrinsically mixed. Wyverns were all well and good, but they were small, barely larger than a house. Wyrms? The flightless lizards could barely lift their heads to gaze upon the glory of a fully grown Drakon. The others were animals. Magnificent animals, but beasts all the same.
A dragon was different. Ancalagon the Black could crush citadels under heel, wrath in his lidless gaze. Typhon the Hunter was swift; no man had ever seen her and lived. From each beat of her terrible wings a hurricane sprung, which had a bad habit of devastating anything close enough to lay eyes on her.
Yet among them, Tiamat, Mother of the Brood, was the greatest. Her onyx scales were said to heal the gravest of wounds, for within their glittering facets constellations would shine. Her breath was the primeval fire; pillars of force that could raze the earth itself. Even the gods were wary to try her, such was the age and power of Mummu-Tiamat, first and eldest.
​
\-and she was very, very unhappy.
​
*What do you mean ‘they’re not coming!’* She roared, and poor Faye had to clasp her ears against the sound, squeezing her eyes shut as if to block out the echoes.
The dragon had so far been nothing but cordial. Her theft had been a monumental affair, but Mother Tiamat had borne her with surprising grace, setting her down gently upon the stone. From the cavern mouth, some hundreds of feet into the air, she could spy the kingdom of Doriath, but it would be impossible to go back. For one, she would have to climb down either barefoot or in the heels she had been taken in, and either was a ghastly thought.
When she looked up, Tiamat was pacing, agitated. “I’m sorry, mother-Tiamat, but they will not come for me.” Privately, Faye wondered how she would die. Eaten? No, she was too small. She barely came up to the ancient one’s toes. Crushed was far more likely, even if by accident.
\-but this was Mummu Tiamat, she did nothing by accident.
Right?
​
*Why would they not come? You are the princess, yes?*
“Yes.”
*-and you are next in line for the throne of Doriath, since your brothers were tragically eaten.*
“By one of your brood, yes. Not a disrespect, Mother-Tiamat, just an observation.”
​
Tiamat’s leviathan head swept around. Her pupils alone were the size of a house, and so it was unclear if the drake was looking at Faye specifically, or at something in her general direction. It was, after all, a very big cave for a very big dragon.
*Explain then, Faye, Daughter of Farathir, Son of Farathrim. Have the towers of Doriath grown so cold as to abandon their young? When has cruelty slipped her knife between the ribs of compassion?*
Faye took a deep breath. She let it out.
“They have a new heir now, Mother Tiamat. I am…unnecessary.” Her voice held steady.
​
The cavern shook.
​
*Unnecessary!* Tiamat growled, her temper like lava against bulwarks of stone. *So that is why they have taken one of mine; to find a replacement for their sons?*
Her tale thrashed, and somewhere in the distance Faye thought she heard the tell-tale signs of an avalanche.
*What of their daughters, do they not think you capable?*
She shrugged. “I doubt it, Mother Tiamat. Patrilineal lines of succession rarely favour women.”
“Honestly, I was just there to attract suitors. Once my brothers were born I was deemed useless, and sent to Master Rudaban’s tower to study. It saved the Royal Court the cost of my lodging, anyway.”
The following silence was deafening.
​
*So,* Tiamat began, and that her voice was deathly even sent fissions of worry down Faye's spine. *one of mine devoured your prince, who foolishly thought he could challenge the clutch of Tiamat and live.*
*Your wise men thought to balance the scales. So they came in the night like thieves-*
Twin-thin streams of flame shot out of her nose, melting the rock.
*-and ensorcelled one of my young with their magicks.*
​
One terrifying, gleaming eye came to rest upon Faye, and there was no mistaking that Tiamat was looking at her now. *You are just collateral in this squabble. I took you, thinking to begin negotiations with your king, but he will let you go for the price of a Drakon-child.*
*Is that correct?*
​
There was a pause.
​
"Yes, that is correct." Ah, there was the tremor in her voice. Was it fear?
Tiamat smelt the air. No, not fear. *Grief.*
This little affair was rapidly turning into something...interesting. She cared not for men, bumbling oafs as they were, but this child. A swaddling-babe, if barely that. It had not passed her notice that the girl had not cried once. Not when she was taken. Not when she was brought to Tiamat's cave.
\-and so she came to a decision.
​
*Then let them keep Mikralleor. If they are so foolish as to not recognize your worth, there is no doubt that they will not recognize his.*
She swept her wing out, easily the span of a city-wall. Yet despite its size, it grazed Faye feather-light, like a tender caress. Around them, the cavern began to glow, revealing towering facets of crystal. They cast a strange light upon Tiamat's face, for the look in her eyes was alien.
*You will stay with me, and be one of my brood.*
"But-!"
*Child, what has been done is not the natural order. Those that are living are not meant to be treated like the dead. Someone must rectify this. You shall live here, and I shall teach you what I know. Upon your adulthood, you may decide where your fortunes lie.*
*That is the cycle. Parents raise their children, and let them go. We dragons do not squander our gifts so, for each egg is of-us. They are precious.*
​
Faye looked around. The cavern was indeed spacious. She could already see a private nook, high in the corner, where a bed could be. Maybe a bookshelf-?
"What of your son, though?" She asked. "Are you not worried of what they will do to him?"
Then Faye heard a sound she never could have imagined. Laughter. Belly-deep laughter, rumbling from Tiamat as she shook her head.
​
*Child. Did you think I took you for worry of mine? Mikralleor is strong already; no weapon of man might kill him. If anything, I suspect he let himself be taken out of boredom.*
Tiamat tilted her head, where in the distance Doriath stood.
*No child. Soon he will find the city not to his tastes, and then he will do what children do best. He will throw a tantrum.*
​
Faye then noticed, however faintly, trails of smoke starting to waft out from the city. Within minutes, a fire had started, quickly wrapping around the marble of Doriath's citadel and leaping from home to home.
All too soon, the proud walls of the Kingdom of Men began to crumble.
*I did not take you for my son's safety, Faye-who-was-of-Doriath,* Tiamat said.
​
*I took you for theirs.*
|
I wake to the sun rising in the sky. It’s been one full month now since I kidnapped Princess Mabel from her castle. I yawn deeply and look to the hillside from which I knew her castle resided. Still no sign of any life from the area. I shake my head and trudge closer to the tower I had her trapped in. I knocked a knuckle gently on her door.
“Mabel? I’m sorry for disturbing you, but I had to let you know… it’s been a month and I still see no one coming,” I said gently. Mabel threw open her door and looked towards the hillside. She shook her head.
“I thought you said this plan would work!” She said exasperated. I nodded and lowered my head to her. She reached out a hand and placed it on my snout.
“I thought it would, sweetheart but no one is coming. In all my years they always come. I’ve done this for numerous princesses,” I admitted. She climbed onto my back and I carried her to the top of the tower where I could perch and watch the hillside, and she could sit and read comfortably. It’s been thousands of years, and every year I kidnap a princess from a new castle to help her find a husband. Within two weeks at least one knight, whether rejected by the Princess or accepted, shows. But this year is different.
“Mabel, I have to ask. Is your father a nice man, or cruel?” I ask her, curling my tail around the tower. I look down to her and see her holding her favorite book, Sleeping Beauty. She shakes her head.
“Neither. I never see him so I don’t know,” She told me turning to the first page. I lower my head.
“Strange. Usually it’s the fathers that order the rescue. Tell me, do you not fear me?” I asked. She shook her head.
“Not at all. I know you just want the kingdoms to prosper and this is your way of helping. I’m an only child, and the kingdom needs an heir,” she told me. I looked at her in awe.
“You’ve read the legends? I thought those books were destroyed ages ago,” I told her. She laughed.
“You don’t understand how legends work do you? If just one person remembers the book, regardless of if it is destroyed, stories get passed down from mouth to mouth. Anyway, do you still not see anyone coming?” She asked. I gazed out across the fields. I watched rabbits hop past, sheep frolicking in their pens, and even a wolf stalk a rabbit. But no sign of horses or men. I shake my head sadly.
“Clear as can be sweetheart. I’m sorry. Do you want a cake tonight to celebrate a month of being here?” I asked her. She nodded gleefully. I smile at her and turn to go buy one from the nearby village. I haven’t had company in my tower for nearly this long. At least some good comes of this unfortunate situation.
| 2022-11-24T15:04:35 | 2022-11-24T13:33:02 | 180 | 22 |
[WP] You are a supervillain. Your nemesis calls you to say, "This is embarrassing, but I really need a date to my friend's wedding because my ex is going to be there. Would you go with me?"
|
I saw this yesterday and hyperfocused for nine hours straight writing a short story with 7k+ words. I'll certainly have to break this up into parts. I know nobody will probably see this since a day has passed since the prompt was posted, but I wanted to share. *Edited a few times for formatting issues.
TW for suicide mention, implied sexual assault.
----
I was in the den when I heard a knock at my door. *How unusual*, I thought. As someone who used to be one of the kingdom’s most wanted, it was rare for people to visit me in my abode. The guards and the members of the Levethix Circle usually just barged in with little regard for my privacy. More than once I’ve had delicate experiments interrupted and ruined by their arrival. However, such a surrender of privacy was one of the compromises I had to make for my stay of execution. It did come with the “privilege” to live in a house instead of a cell. However, this building was surrounded by a perimeter of arcane runes and guards to prevent my escape, so it was little more than a plush cage anyways. If someone was knocking on my door, then they at least had more manners and sense than the usual dogs of the kingdom.
I waved a hand, my raven familiar bringing my scrying orb. Ever since my defeat at the hands of the Five Primordials, there had been a few times when those with old grudges came looking for blood. It was best to know who was on my doorstep before I greeted them, weakened as I was. As the crystal ball focused in on the front of my home, the image of a tall, pale woman with elven features and wavy blond hair became clear. I couldn’t help but laugh at my luck. It was no dog of the kingdom that knocked at my door, but a wolf. A huntress.
Shiraya Arun-te, the champion of the Val’dranis Kingdom and the Earth Primordial.
She wasn’t wearing the plate armor I was accustomed to seeing her in, but then again, the last time I had seen her was during my trial, and before that, the battlefield. She was the stalwart leader of the Five Primordials, a band of heroes who had become quite famous for their exploits, one such being my defeat. Perhaps she had come to inform me that the kingdom no longer needed my great intellect for deciphering their discovered artifacts, and that they were nullifying my plea bargain. At the very least, if I was to die, it had better be by the hands of someone with at least half of her considerable might. But perhaps that day was not today, as Shiraya had come here unarmed.
I waved the door open with a spark of arcane magic. These days, such sparks were about all I could conjure. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Lady Arun-te?”
She seemed to grimace at my words. As we met face to face, I observed something most intriguing - discomfort. In all our many battles she had been nothing but bravado and fury, this was a new emotion I had not seen in her before.
“Elias.” She said composing herself, venom in the cold way she spoke my name. She fixed her equally cold eyes upon me. Emerald green, deep as the ocean is wide. Perhaps it was due to her affinity with nature and the earth, for I had never seen such a color before I met her.
“Would you like to come in?” I asked, gesturing to the interior of my abode. “For a prison, it’s quite homely. I was about to start on a new alchemy project, but I can start on some muffins if you prefer. I haven’t yet eaten.”
She regarded me with a long stare before wordlessly walking inside, observing the interior with a trained eye. In the many years the Five Primordials chased after me, I had left dozens of traps in their way. I could tell she was scanning the room for anything similar.
“I assure you there’s no trickery at play here, at least not from me. The first prince was quite clear that my life would end the moment any more blood was spilled.”
“It would take more than one of your simple traps to make me bleed,” Shiraya commented with her usual bravado. She spoke the truth. As the Earth Primordial, she was blessed by nature with supernatural durability. I once collapsed a tower on top of her, only for the ridiculous woman to hold half of it up on her own while that Ruvinus brat cast a spell to teleport them out.
“Sit wherever you like. I imagine by your expression that you’re here to talk about something important. With the length your moral lectures often go, I imagine we should make ourselves comfortable.”
I busied myself with preparing the aforementioned muffins. My familiar carried sticks back and forth to the wood burning oven, and I whipped up two batches of muffins - lemon poppy seed and blueberry.
“You seem to be doing well for yourself here. It’s hard to imagine you’re a criminal with a life sentence when I see all this,” she said, gesturing to my many belongings. There were arcane and alchemical implements scattered across my desk, an easel by the window from when I had tried to teach myself to paint, and a large bookshelf taking up the far wall full of expensive tomes – half of which I had written. In addition, all sorts of various trinkets and knick-knacks lay about, most of them related to my studies, some of them just for fun. “If I didn’t know any better I would think you weren’t a prisoner but a nobleman.”
I exhaled, and Shiraya’s head snapped to face me, her body language becoming defensive. She must have felt my sudden bloodlust. Nobleman. There was little I hated more than the pompous elite. Treason was my first of many crimes, and the nobleman I murdered that night was certainly not the last.
“I may have broken fangs from the restraints placed on me by the kingdom, but you’d do well to remember that I have no love for the glorified animals that run it. These accommodations are the least they could do for me lending my invaluable expertise on ancient magic. The Levethix Circle wouldn’t have made half the progress in twice the time without me.”
Shiraya sighed and lowered her hands. While she had brought no weapon with her, I was acutely aware that it made her no less lethal.
“Right. I’m aware of your vendetta.”
I took some time to clean my kitchen area, making the famous hero wait on me was a rare pleasure I took in my otherwise rather insulting life. When the muffins were done I floated them out and onto the table by the couch, sitting down across from the elven champion.
“So, what did you come here to discuss?”
I watched with a measured eye as the woman took a deep breath, her eyes looking up to meet mine and then glancing away.
“How would you like to get some fresh air, Elias?”
I pondered this. Fresh air? It wasn’t usually permitted for me to leave the perimeter around my home. Not without an armed escort.
“For you to come here yourself, I imagine we’re not going to the library to meet some scholars. Who is seeking my audience, and why are they important enough to warrant your attendance?”
Shiraya bit her lip, and I swear I saw a hint of red flash across the tips of her pointed ears.
“It’s a wedding, and the one seeking your audience is me. I want you to come as my date.”
I couldn’t hide my surprise. Dozens of questions flashed through my head, but the only thing that came out of my mouth was, “Oh? How forward.”
Shiraya’s eyes rolled at my comment. “My brother is being wed to Lady Delilah of House Hawkmoore, and I’m supposed to bring a ‘plus one’ to the ceremony. You… were available, so I dropped by.”
“Well I certainly don’t have anywhere else to be, but aren’t there – oh I don’t know – four other primordials and dozens of adoring fans whom you could take instead? Why me, the one you fought for seven long years?
“About that,” she said, “Illyin wandered off months ago, Jayce is on a mission for the crown, Chagarr isn’t suited for formal events, and Ruvinus is young enough to be my nephew. At the very least, I know you can handle formalities and dance.”
It was true. I could show those pompous animals in the capital a thing or two about class. I was called “The Mad Gentleman, Elias Cage,” after all. However, I could sense that she was hiding something. While I hated the idea of having to breathe the same air as those animals, it would be nice to see the look on the nobilities’ face when a traitor with blue blood on his hands showed up to such an event.
“I don’t know what you’re planning, Shiraya, but I’ll acquiesce.”
‘“Wonderful,” she said, “How soon can you be ready?”
“Do you mean to tell me you came looking for a partner on the same day as the event?”
“You weren’t exactly my first choice, Elias.”
“Fair point,” I chuckled, “Give me ten minutes. What are you wearing? We’ll need to match.”
|
"Are you *serious?*"
"Completely. I *need* you for this."
"Why?" I ask, as I pick up the package that had just arrived.
"Because my ex will be there, and -"
"No. Why *me*? You're the golden boy of this city. You could have a hundred socialites hanging off your arm. You can certainly afford to rent a date for the evening if you want. Why *me?*"
"...because I can trust that you'll live."
I pause in my unwrapping. "........*what?*"
"I can trust that you'll live."
"Wait, is your ex... a killer? Surely if she's killing people, you have ways to deal with that?"
"With *conventional* death, yeah. But -"
"What's she doing, vanishing them?"
"Nnnnnnnnnno. Not - exactly."
"Right. What's *really* going on?" A letter falls out of the package as I resume reading it.
"...I'm... not entirely sure."
"You must have some sort of *guess*." I open the letter, glancing over it - then reading it more carefully.
"Yeah. Um. There's no proof, but..."
"But?"
"...I think she can change the past."
".....change the *past*." I tap thoughtfully at one of the turns of phrase in the letter.
"Yeah. There have been - look, if I go into a pub looking for a date, then *just by coincidence* there will be no-one there *that exact evening* who will be interested. Except her, she's there every time. Yes, this is repeatable, and yes, this has been tested."
"And you're thinking *time manipulation*." I look from the letter to the other element of the package - a small, sealed test tube.
"It's that or probability alteration on a grand scale. But you've time-travelled before. You *know* how it works. More importantly, you know how to *defend* yourself against hostile changes to your past."
"Mmmmmmm. You're right. I do." I look over the letter again.
"So she can't retroactively... prevent you from existing. Or... whatever it is that she does. You're *safe*. And that's why I need you."
"Mmmmmmmmmmmmm." Letter. Test tube. Test tube. Letter. "Well, it's your lucky day, you over-enthusiastic do-gooder."
"You'll come?"
"More than that." I toss both letter and test tube aside. "I refuse to be a part of anyone else's plan. *I* call the shots, which means that the neat little pheromone serum that's just been mailed to me *won't* end up in your drink at the wedding."
"...wait, pheromone serum?"
"Yeah. Apparently your ex *can* change the past. And -" I activate one of my rarer devices, locking this moment into the timeline - "to be quite honest, that makes *her* a more challenging foe to defeat than *you*."
"Um -"
"Of course," I add, grinning, "I refuse to be *your* pawn, either. Which means that the only way this will work is that *you* will need to be *mine*. You will do everything that I tell you to, and your ex's temporal manipulation will stop being a problem."
"...but if -"
I roll my eyes. "I'm not about to tell you to do things that go against your moral judgement, idiot. It's going to be mostly minor things. Like how to dress and stuff like that. And it's this or letting Miss Temporal Adjustment run your life for you."
"...I guess..."
"Think of it as a team-up against a stronger, more powerful villain, if that helps. And trust me. She's probably been hiding the evidence by her temporal manipulation. But you don't come up with this sort of pheromone serum *without* being a villain."
| 2022-10-07T05:54:42 | 2022-10-06T22:57:03 | 36 | 19 |
[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!
|
I feel my eyes start to water as I feel the gravity of the situation. I know I will never see my family, friends, or lovers again. I turn away from the camera, wipe the tears from my eyes and take a deep breath. Anyone who did not run out of the studio is sobbing, and holding onto one another. I catch my sound producer's teary gaze, and mouth the words, "Let's be happy".
"We only have a little bit of time left kids, but I want to reming everyone to stay happy out there," I say as I force a smile into the camera, and the music starts to play. This time I do not sing along with the children's voice overs.
"And remember," I say as begin to dance around like normal,"as long as you have your friends, and a family that loves you," I pause, and smile as I finish, "you have all the happiness in the world".
| 2014-07-29T14:59:42 | 2014-07-29T13:15:51 | 348 | 12 |
[WP] We may not be the strongest, but our immune systems are legendary among alien races. There is a saying: "if it makes a human sick it will kill you."
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*Leper*
I felt guilty the moment I thought the word. It was the common way to refer to humans among many races. It was a word they themselves often used. But I knew its origin and context. Humans may use it in a joking fashion, but I knew (as did they) most used it in a derogatory way.
But it was still the first word that popped into my mind as the human walked off his ship, and I felt terrible. I had spoken to Ambassador Quick many times over holo. He was a good man, always patient, generous when he could be, and honest. Rare traits to find in the diplomatic cores.
Nonetheless, leper, was still my first thought seeing him walk towards me. I tried to remain calm, I had extensive training to remain calm in stressful situations. But as the clanks of his boots came closer I could feel my tail twitch despite my best efforts. It didn't help that I was alone. That was standard procedure when meeting a human in person. I glanced to my right and could see my staff watching me from behind the bio-shield barrier. Three different species, three different sets of manners and expressions, but each one a mixture of fear and forced calm.
"Hello Ambassador Gorran, it is wonderful to meet you in person," Ambassador Quick greeted me as he stepped off the exit ramp. He put his hand out, an almost universal custom among the intelligent life of the universe. I hesitated just the briefest moment and my guilt deepened. I reached out and took his gloved hand firmly.
"Ambassador Quick, John, it is indeed wonderful to finally meet you, if under unfortunate conditions."
The glove was cool, humans did like it a little colder than our people. I couldn't help it, my tail twitched again holding his hand, even for that brief moment. I knew, *I knew*, I was safe. The human ambassador wore a full cover 10-9 bio suit. 99.99999999% uptime of fully active bio containment, monitoring, and reporting. The suit even included a self immolation feature that automatically triggered if any break was detected that would incinerate the occupant and everything within tail distance in less than a second. No breach had ever occurred and there were only three deaths in a century due to the self immolation triggering accidentally.
But still my heart pounded in my chest.
Ambassador Quick smiled generously from behind his clear helmet. He no doubt knew how nervous I was meeting him in person. I was glad humans smiled. Many species did not, and even among those that did smiling was not always considered a kind gesture. But humans and Kalsmen both did. I returned his smile as we let go of each others hands.
Behind the ambassador a self guiding cart loaded with twelve cases each roughly half my height cubed floated down to us. I was both deeply relieved and deeply apprehensive about those crates. The ambassador looked over his shoulder to see the cart stop behind him. He stepped to the side as the cart gently lowered itself to the ground.
"Ambassador," he said as he gestured me to examine the crates. He politely took several steps back to give me some breathing room.
I stepped forward and quickly opened the first crate. My haste was not so I could leave the human's presence, or not just, but because of the dire need for what was inside. Lifting the lid I found the requested vials in cold storage. I gently lifted one and took it over to the access port in the bio-shield wall where my staff, and the planets top medical staff, were waiting.
I placed the precious vial in the transfer chamber and stepped back as it close, vacuumed out the air, irradiated the enclosure, performed a deep medical scan, and the interface lit up red with extreme warning. That was expected. The contents were, technically, a violation of every major bio-hazard, bio-weapon, and safety protocol in the universe. It was why I was here receiving the shipment and not medical personnel.
I punched in my override authorization, had my eyes scanned, and a small blood sample taken to confirm my identity. On the other side of the bio-shield Dr. Horra, Che if Medical Officer of the Kal Republic, did the same. Only with authorization from the political and medical governing bodies could this be allowed through the bio shield. With all credentials verified, final warnings given, and a recorded statement that we knew the risks, was the vial cleared and allowed through.
On the other side I watched as Dr. Horra took a deep breath before she picked up the vial. Quickly, she moved over to the emergency work station that had been prepared the day before. She placed the vial in a secure testing chamber then used the robotic hands to open it. Her tail twitched erratically and I could not blame her. She extracted a sample and begun her work. We were an advanced people. We would know the results in mere moments. But it felt like days.
Suddenly, her tail stopped twitching. She shouted something I couldn't hear through the impenetrable barrier. Then she turned to me, tears in her eyes. Tears of joy. I could see her staff and mine shouting and jumping in celebration. I breathed deep and shook in relief.
I turned and walked back to Ambassador Quick. Too happy to remember my fear of the man I embarrassed him in a strong hug. He gently hugged me back. Then I remembered myself and pulled back, slightly embarrassed. But the human simply smiled.
"Thank you," I said, "thank you on the behalf of all my people. The pandemic has been raging for nearly a year here. We tried everything, but it mutated so quickly, by the time a vaccine or even cure was available it was useless." My shoulders slumped thinking of all who had died in so short a time. This would mean victory, but much had been loss, and the scars in our society would not heal quickly.
"You are welcome," the ambassador said, still smiling, "we know all to well the devastating effects of disease." For just a brief moment his smile dimmed.
I knew humans were good people. They contributed significantly to the galactic good. Their medical technology was second to none. The lives they had saved could be be counted in billions. But their expertise came with the greatest cost. Their planet had evolved the most deadly, most contagious diseases ever know. Even lab created bio-weapons paled in comparison to many common human diseases. As such, they lived in perpetual quarantine from all other intelligent life. A comfortable slice of the universe had been set aside for them. And through holo-technology, robotic surrogates, and other means they could interact with the rest of us. But never could they join us. Even visiting in his 10-9 bio-suit the ambassador was confined to a bio-shielded landing pad on the southern arctic continent the fear of humans so great. I myself would be isolated for a full 28 days just for meeting with him.
Nonetheless, when they were asked to help, they always did.
I looked at the crates as they silently made their way towards the bio-shield barrier. There was more testing to be done. We would triple check everything the humans had verified. It would still be weeks before we could inoculate the first test subjects. But those crates were the beginning of the end.
And potentially a terrible danger.
"Is it true?" I asked the ambassador as the crates moved away.
Ambassador Quick tilted his head in the way I had come to learn meant confusion.
"Is it true it's made from.....human blood?" I couldn't keep the small taste of fear out of my voice.
The ambassador smile and nodded in understanding.
"Yes and no," he explained, "it's a serum. We infected a small group of humans, after extensive testing of course, and our immune systems naturally developed antibodies to the disease. We then filtered the antibodies from their blood and," he gestured to the crates, which were now passing through the bio shield, my override still in place. My tail twitched again at the idea something of biologically human entering my planet.
"Were any of the test subjects harmed?" I asked.
"No, a mild fever at most that lasted a day or two."
Amazing I thought. The disease had killed millions with no signs of stopping. But a human immune system destroyed it in just days as if it was nothing.
"Will you...tell your people? Where it came from?" The ambassador asked. I felt he was a little apprehensive of my answer.
"That has been a matter of great debate," I answered carefully. "We have decided to publicly state it was human medical *technology* and.... leave it at that."
The ambassador seemed relieved by my answer. Despite what they had done for many peoples anti-human sentiment was still very high on many worlds.
"Thank you again, this will save millions of lives."
"You are most welcome." He glanced at the crates as they completed their passage through the bio shield. "And now I should be going. It was wonderful to meet you in person Ambassador Gorran. I hope we never do so again."
|
***THE EXODUS (my first try at a writing prompt, hopefully this is decent)***
Within the Outer Rim of our Galaxy exists the planet called Nagilum. Human expansion throughout space had been progressing rapidly throughout the 2300s but inexplicably ceased after having reached the said planet. When making the first contact, the humans aboard their technologically inferior starship gladly exchanged biological scans of their race to the aliens in exchange for detailed star-maps of the Beta Quadrant. Several years later, the aliens also known as Negallians, allowed the humans to establish a colony on their world.
Dran, the leader of the colony-- set out to explore the planet and the Negallians. He noticed a large number of cemeteries and illness spread throughout the more poor areas of the planet, but no hospitals. He marveled at how such a technologically superior species could be so naive in caring for their own. The months he spent exploring the planet made him uneasy, as he was not only observing the aliens, they were observing him. Occasionally, a Negallian would "accidentally" run into him, or pull a strand of his hair and run off with it. What finally made him return to the colony in a rush was when he overheard the bone-chilling statement of "**if it makes a human sick it will kill you".** Returning to the colony, Dran finds that the outer shield had been breached and that every human within the walls had been taken away en masse. So begins the **exodus**.
Dran was immediately taken by a large explosion in the sky. He looked up to see their starship engulfed in flames, along with all hope of escape. He along with the rest of the humans were taken into a facility and experimented on ceaselessly, until death. When the aliens exhausted their limited supply of humans, they decided to pick from the source of the fruit. The invasion of Earth was quick and bloody, with humanity putting up a good fight... but inevitably losing to the advanced weaponry and shielding of the Negallians. Planet Nagilum had discovered that humanity had an immune system that regenerated without outside stimulation, and determined that total blood transfusion would cure their race of all illness and plague.
Earth was transformed into a massive farm for human reproduction. Individual liberty was stripped in favor of reproductive capability. To prevent further rebellious outbursts that had severely reduced the efficiency of their operation, the Negallians used new machines to put each human into a stasis-pod which projected a false reality, making humans believe that their world had continued on as if nothing had occurred. As predicted, the human blood cured the Negallians of their ailments as if it was a miracle drug. Within 50 years, Nagilum was a thriving planet with a massive population boom as the human blood integrated itself into the Negallian body.
That was until of course, the immune cells evolved. The first case began on an Earth occupying vessel. The patient was dead within hours, and they would not be the only one. Throughout the entire Negallian society, a plague swept. Killing every person it inhabited without fail. Doctors and scientists were astounded, as the human blood should have wiped out any disease. That was until they began to realize that they had overlooked something... rejection. The immune cells had begun to reject the Negallian body, inevitably killing anyone who had gone through the transfusion. The entirety of Nagilum had gone through the transfusion. The cure became the plague, and as the last Negallians silently wept in their graves, the machines continued the human-farming operation with no command to cease. Thus beginning a new age of Artificial Intelligence. If only the Negallians had taken the blue pill...
| 2021-02-03T19:38:43 | 2021-02-03T13:44:20 | 1,400 | 420 |
[WP] Once you die you must watch your entire life from five different points of view. Your own, the one who loved you the most, the one who hated you the most, the one you helped the most and the one you wronged the most.
|
My punishment seemed eternal.
I collapsed as a broken man.
Seeing it again was worse. Seeing every moment and knowing what was to come, but unable to change it, was a torment unlike any other. Time and again, I had seen my mistakes, I had screamed and cried, but I made them all over again.
I did not know what awaited me, but I knew - now more than ever - that I deserved this hell.
Then it started over. I wasn't prepared and lay there as the images and feelings rushed into my mind.
I watched Malcolm's childhood in stoic stupor. He was happy as a child. He smiled and laughed and ran down a soccer field screaming in with his friends. His siblings gathered around at every birthday and cheered when he blew out the candles. His parents watched him succeed and pushed him forward. He attended a top level university on scholarship and he was so proud. I could feel the joy seep into him as he opened the letter of acceptance. It felt slick and alien against my rotten core.
He met me in third year, and I looked so lean and mysterious. I pushed him to kiss me one drunken night and felt the thrill race from his heart down his body. I saw the brief moments of happiness we scrounged from the world, but I saw too what I took from him. I took his time, I took his money, and bit by bit I took his health. The first needle - his not mine - was to celebrate. The last one - his not mine - was to hide from everything that had gone wrong. I cried silently as I saw the abandoned hole we were living in. His father pulling him roughly from the wreckage of his life - from our life - and saw everything that I had never seen.
His years of recovery. The relapses. Doing exactly what I had done to him, taking and stealing until the only thing left to take a part was love itself. And he took that too, just like I had taught him. Parent and siblings turning away from him, one by one, until he too was alone. And oh how he hated me. It was a dull roar in his veins, only quieted when he gave up and could no longer stand it and spent the night glass-eyed and alone.
A man arrived one morning, asking if he would volunteer. Malcolm said yes because he looked nothing like me, pudgy but kind. They would spend days together, walking the streets, sometimes passing the same places we had huddled in fear of strangers' eyes. But they only had eyes for each other.
I should have felt happy to see them grow old, to adopt a child, and build a life for themselves. But I saw what no one else could see. Underneath it all the same unending temptation for it. Every time Malcolm thought of me, he wanted to flee back through the years to when he did not have to think about me anymore. His partner was stronger than I had been or ever could have been. He was patient and gentle when I had been stressed and manic. An anchor, that stood firm even in the roughest seas. But that hate never left him. I learned that love was powerful enough to change the path you took, but could not erase the road that you had walked.
And it began again.
Viv was born a few years after me. She was so bright as a child. So carefree. I saw how much she looked up to me, her older worldly brother, even though I had just been on a few school trips. We spent many afternoons playing Mario Kart or Smash Bros., content to enjoy the day with someone. She didn't have many friends, not like me, but she didn't need them. Who was better to hang out with than me?
She missed me terribly when I left for uni. She was lonely in high school, never quite developing the knack I had for making people like me. Never quite learning to take advantage of people, but she imposed a distance from them. Barriers that I kept hidden from the world, fooling them into thinking they saw my true self, she put out front and centre.
As I took my dark path, she merely existed. She waited for email replies I never sent. She tried to get me to play games over the holidays, but I was too busy on my phone to see how much it hurt her. She saw the faraway look in my eyes at family dinner, as I longed to get my next hit, but didn't understand how or why I had changed.
"Piss off, Viv," I said one Christmas pushing her out of my room before leaving that afternoon to make a buy, "I'll see you at Easter, we can play then. Don't worry, I promise." I gave her my most charming smile. She hugged me and kept sending me more emails that I ignored. When I disappeared she was in university and heartbroken from someone who had treated her the same way I had. Still, she walked the streets, looking for me, asking about me, knowing that I had to be out there somewhere. I was holed up with Malcolm chasing a peace I would never find. But still she searched, even though she remembered the look on my face that Christmas morning.
When she found me, we would be friends again.
Viv never found me and her life went on, but my absence was never filled. She dated, even married for a few years, but no one loved her. She lived a life alone, working as a cashier and living quietly in a small flat in our hometown. Life your life I screamed at her. But every day she took the tube to work, and every single day she watched for shivering and desperate faces of forgotten people asking for change. She searched for me all those years, even though she knew she wouldn't find me. She knew I was dead. She lived a life addicted to hope, broken not from despair, but from a promise that could never be kept.
And it began again.
Raj Grewal lived just far enough way from me to be in a poorer part of town. He walked to school every day and learned all the shortcuts to avoid the toughs who would more often than not punch him and call him names. He had a cute smile and an even cuter accent. He never realized that I watched him from my window passing by our house and couldn't help but follow him down the street. All that running he did made it a nice view.
One day, just as the bigger boys were cornering him in the alley, I watched as I burst into the melee with a piece of wood and started swinging. I broke a nose and splattered some blood on the cobblestones before they ran. His heart pounding, Raj looked up at me in awe. I smiled at him and felt his heart skip a beat. He really liked my dimples. I reached out and pulled him to his feet.
"Don't ever let them keep you down, man." He smiled back at me, and I watched as I put my arm around him and touched the small of his back. He recoiled. He had never been touched like that before. I watched the emotions spread across my own face as I processed his reaction. I turned and fled. He raised an arm to my back and almost shouted for me to come back, but nothing came out.
For the rest of high school, he watched me, but I studiously ignored him. We never spoke again. It took long years away from his family before he finally kissed a young man underneath a streetlight in a blizzard. He came out at a party in London surrounded by friends. His parents eventually opened their doors to him. He wrote books and articles, and amassed a twitter following, and married a wonderful Persian man. They lived in Paris and New York and Los Angeles. I felt his happiness over years and decades and watched his love mature and grow.
He never forgot the young boy that stood between him and his tormentors, swinging that piece of wood with abandon. A caricature of me, always selfless and brave, appeared in multiple stories he wrote. Many afternoons were spent tweaking paragraphs as he thought about me. He wondered what had happened to me. I treasured those moments as he built a better me with his careful words and showed the world who I was at my best. The person I was at least once in my life.
|
Watching life through five perspectives is bizarre. I wouldn't recommend it, but it's going to happen to you anyways. I only say that because you might not like the truth, but it can be endearing?... No, enlightening?... Yeah, we'll go with that.
Watching my life over again from my own perspective in the third person, I cringed. I was aware of all the mistakes I would make all over again. I kept wanting to correct my posture too and I wished my smile wasn't so crooked. Watching the whole thing was like listening to a recording of yourself, but *worse.*
Next up was the one who loved me most. Surely it would be my wife? Kids? My parents? Nope. My coworker, who I shared an office with for 25 years in New York. She was my best friend at work, and even though she was married, I never knew she had such strong love for me. Discovering that realization made my chest sink, and my eyes tear up. *Should I have done things differently?*
The person who hated me the most was my second born child, my son, which hurt more than a dagger to the stomach. All of those family get-togethers and all of those smiles. It felt emotionally paralyzing to learn it was all an act. He hated me because I was more proud of my first born daughter, who went to my alma mater for undergrad and went to medical school. She made something of herself, while my son developed a drug problem and dropped out of high school. Admittedly, he turned things around for himself but by that time he wrote me off and started a family and career of his own. He'll never know that I was proud of him. *I should have shown that more.*
Life through the one I helped the most was my daughter, and she was so grateful for all of my support I gave to her. I couldn't feel happy watching it though, knowing how much I disappointed my son. But at least I did something right... *right?*
Life through the one I wronged the most was shocking. In middle school there was a kid I poked fun at, constantly directing jokes at him without even thinking about it. I did it to everyone so I didn't think anything of it, but to him, it hurt the most. He had no friends. I thought he did *everyone has a friend, right?* What was surprising was I thought I had redeemed myself by reaching out him later in life and apologizing. I remember I made him cry in 7th grade and that memory haunted me all through my life. Even after I apologized I didn't feel better, but we got lunch a few times and became friends. I thought he would have been the person I helped out the most, but nope, in middle school I had wronged him so much, that I never did it nearly enough to another person. *But at least we became friends in the end.*
r/randallcooper
| 2020-06-03T12:34:04 | 2020-06-03T11:58:01 | 124 | 84 |
[WP] With streaming becoming more and more popular you decide to try your hand at it. After streaming daily for months and having gained considerable viewership, your chat starts acting strange. They keep asking if you're okay, saying you're looking worse every day.
|
I remember why I started streaming. It was something I could do from home, and with that idiot doctor going on about bed rest and whatnot, I guessed I might as well play video games. My little godson loves to watch people play, so as a favor to his mum, I set up the little camera and channel so at least one streamer online would say hello to him by name and not use any language his mum didn't use herself.
It's a funny old world, and though I'd gone a bit off video games for a few years and missed some kind of -gate suffix scandal or another (who can keep them straight anymore?) I soon found that the current gaming scene was much more welcoming to lady players than it had been when I was a girl. The other surprising thing was how nobody minded the Mr. when he came home, kissed me on the cheek and usually joined in for a bit of our old favorite in co-op mode. I actually tended to get more subscribers the more often we played together, and on days when he brought home a treat of some kind (which was often, bless him,) the fans seemed determined to entirely upset the global market on little heart-shaped emoticons. Oh, sorry. Emojis. We called them emoticons back in my day. Is it weird that I already have a 'my day' to refer back to? Probably not.
And sure, some commenters did make a note of my appearance, but nobody who looks like me isn't more than used to that. Miranda Hart and Melissa McCarthy get the same sort of cracks I got from the occasional commenter, and that actually tended to make me smile. I'd riff a little on it and keep playing, and a little group of my female watchers (do I get to call them 'fans' if I'm not that famous?) made a little Pinterest meme about me, which amused my mother and aunties no end.
But then the comments went from the usual background radiation every woman who weighs more than a buck even deals with from her first pair of underwires to...well...actually kinda concerned. I had dark circles under my eyes. My face looked puffy. Was I okay?
Soon it seemed like the audience was more worried about me than about the game. I explained, tactfully as I could, the medical situation, that it was all very temporary, that women dealing with the condition I was dealing with generally looked like twenty pounds of shit in a ten-pound bag, and that quieted them down a bit, but then the comments started getting specific.
Were my ankles swollen? Well, yes, whose wouldn't be?
Was my head hurting? Yeah, come to mention it. I took a Tylenol for the camera and made a facetious joke about obliging my public. Like Barbara Bush eating dessert to please the ladies who liked that she wasn't stick thin.
Had I had my blood pressure taken recently? Ehh...no, but I could ask the Mr. to... and the darnedest thing was, he came home with a little Velcroey sphygma...you know, the blood pressure thingy-do, the kind with batteries one can do on one's wrist. I duly began taking my blood pressure on-stream for the fans and some of them got a little fifty-fifty raffle going where they placed bets on it. Half proceeds to the Blind Cat Rescue and local TNR groups, so I obliged with my systolic and diastolic every so often.
Had I spoken to my doctor about proteinuri-GUYS. Seriously. This is not part of the streamer/watcher relationship. Yinz do not need to be asking if there is protein in...yeah, actually, I am from Pittsburgh, why?
That was how they narrowed it down. The last detail they needed to find me, to phone up every specialist doctor in town and to light up the phones with requests to please find a lady fitting my description (damn birthmark, rotten distinctive glasses and shitty unique t-shirt from damn high school,) and check her out.
The doctor phoned me up, I went in for the test and deliberately stayed the heck off streaming for three solid days. On day four I got on and played hecking Rollercoaster Tycoon just to snark with them. Calling all doctors. Being all nosey. Heck's sake.
The phone rang right as I was putting the touches on a nice wooden coaster with splashdown zone and On-Ride Photo to it. It was my doctor. The Mr. was in the room a moment later, scooping me out of bed, and in less time than it takes to tell, we were off to the hospital.
Preeclampsia's a bitch, and the streaming community, oddly enough, has more moms watching over their kids' shoulders than you might think. I didn't mind the emergency C-section, but the NICU stay for the little one was distinctly problematic, especially when our insurance tried to weasel out of covering, well, any of it. I mentioned that I'd be streaming a lot less once our baby came home, as I'd need to sort that mess out, and two things happened. One, it turns out insurance adjusters watch retro gaming streams and are happy to oblige in quite a Mr. Incredible fashion with just whom to call and which forms to submit at their companies, and two, even after I told them five times I didn't need or want one, well, GoFundMe is like America's socialized medicine.
The day our baby came home, I swear, I forgot video games were even a thing. I had to be reminded that food was a thing. The pumping, the feeding, the diapers, working from home while I healed up, it was all so much.
But when, some weeks later, I did decide to at least tell the audience where I'd gone, I guess I sort of reenacted that otter meme that we love so much.
"I made dis," you know, holding my tiny baby up. I set my gaming mouse on her tummy to show just how small she was, then the Mr. brought a banana for scale, darling that he is.
I wonder, all these years later, if it wasn't perhaps a little unfair to the other children. Since she turned thirteen, it seems like she can't hardly play so much as a little sandbox game without tanks, healers and leveled-to-the-tits sniper types turning up to big-brother, mentor and generally block for her. Online godparents, looking out for the little girl they've watched over for so long. That one time some creeper with a record messaged her and the authorities found him in the trunk of his own car, I did get a bit worried, but I figure, it's not the first time our family's had some ...I guess you'd say, interested parties. My grandma was informally adopted by bootleggers when she was little and my Mom still has some very elderly, I guess you'd say 'leather gentlemen' who keep an eye on her. I myself have a couple of old pals from the BBS days who look in on me, and my own godson, I found his mom and adopted them back...jeez, back when AOL was a thing.
It's just how neighbors do, I guess. And computing just means the world's a big neighborhood. We take care of each other here.
|
I do a live stream. Advertise it for months in advance. "World record of no sleep!" There is a large following and it grows. There are three cameras watching me in a room. I have food delivered through a door and a toilet which is still in view. I am derermined not to sleep. On day 1 it's great and I do a couple random things to peek more interest. By day 6 I start showing signs if physical exhauation but I am still fairly ok. The viewers start chating. Stop, one even threatens to call police. But they still watch. Day 9 comes along and I start looking directly into one of the cameras, "they are coming" I say over and over. Day 20 and I am a pile of akin and bones. I realize food and digestion makes me sleepy so I stop eating. Day 34 and I officially break the record as I lay in the fetal position "they are here" I repeat over and over.
*knock* *knock*
I sit up quickly. Listening for the third knock.
*knock* *knock*
Still only two.
By this point I have been broadcasted on the news, anyone who owns a computer is watching me slowly die. A few clever hackers had back traced the live stream to find where I was... But I was clever and though of that. My room is locked from the inside. No way in. And if I can't open the door, no way out. I die 3 days after beating the record. My death is a shock to billions of people worldwide who watched it online. But the real reason this all happened was not to break tge record. But to provw a point to the world that there are conaequences. I became one of the worlds most popular streamers. Everybody talked about me. And as a result, I am now dead.
*knock* *knock* *knock*
They have taken me.
| 2018-07-27T00:18:49 | 2018-07-26T23:15:02 | 130 | 15 |
[WP] livestock animals are not only sentient, but also aware of their roles in the human food chain.
|
"Is it time?"
"Yes, it's time, Harold."
The farmer lead Harold walked out of the farmhouse to his battered yellow pickup truck. The farmer got a small stepstool out of the cab of the truck, opened the passenger door and laid the stepstool beneath it. Harold was a fine Glouchester Old Spot pig made fat by careful feeding. His body was covered in thin white hairs, and he had many black spots, including the biggest circling his left eye. The farmer patted Harold on the hindquarters, and the pig grunted and trotted up the stepstool to his favorite seat. Then the farmer replaced the stool and went over to the driver's side.
The morning air was biting cold. Harold's pink and black-spotted flesh twitched and shivered in its animal attempt to stay warm.
"You cold?" the farmer asked.
"Obviously. I don't have the luxury of wearing clothes."
"Well, the heater on this old truck won't work right now, but we get on down the road it'll fire up just nicely. For now, lemme get you a blanket." The farmer reached behind the bench seat, pulled out a flannel blanket and wrapped it around the pig.
"Thank you," said Harold. The farmer nodded.
As they pulled away from the farmhouse, the two did not look at each other. Instead they stared at the fields. These fields the farmer had left to fallow and now were grown over with wild grass. There was a hard frost that night, and as the morning wind blew through the grass, it looked as if the field were a calm crystal sea.
The farmer watched Harold from the corner of his eye. A thousand words formed in his throat, but his country pride wouldn't let most of them out of his mouth. Finally, he spoke.
"You get a chance to say goodbye to Maggie Sue and Oliver?"
"No, I didn't think they'd understand."
"Hell, they gotta understand the facts of life one day."
"Then why are you taking me to the neighbor's farm and not our own barn?"
"I just," the farmer said reluctantly. "I just thought the shot'd disturb them is all." He quickly changed the subject. "How about we try the old heater, sound good?"
The farmer fiddled with some knobs on the pickup console. Soon, hot air poured from the vents, filling the cab.
"How's that? That good?"
"Yes, it feels very good," Harold said.
The farmer and the pig laughed together for a moment, breaking some of the tension. The farmer patted Harold, and Harold leaned over and butted the farmed with his head.
"Listen," the farmer said. "I wanna thank you for being so good with the young'uns."
"Don't mention it. It was my pleasure."
"It was real hard for them after their mother died, you being there, making them laugh, taking their mind of all that grief, it meant a lot."
"Do you remember when I was just a piglet, and how I always broke out of the sty?" Harold asked."
"Hell, I remember that. I tried ev'rything. I tried chicken wire, I tried stopping up the door with rocks. I even built a whole danged new sty just to keep you in. I couldn't never figure it out."
"It was Maggie Sue. She was letting me out," said Harold with a smile.
"Well, that god danged little troublemaker."
"Just so you know, you're going to be in trouble when she grows to be a teenager."
"I'll probably freeze to death sitting on the porch with my shotgun ev'ry night to keep the boys away."
Harold and the farmer laughed out loud. Harold leaned back and mimed a sleeping farmer waking from slumber shooting off both barrels. The farmer took his hands from the wheel and mimed a frightened suitor running for his life.
After their laughter had died down, Harold said. "I always hated that sty."
"Well, no man deserves to live in shit. Well, not that you're a man, I mean..." The farmer couldn't complete the thought, so he fell silent again.
About twenty minutes later, the pickup pulled up to another small farmhouse. Standing in front of this was a man with a bushy yellow beard liberally flecked with gray. The farmer parked the truck, got out and walked over to the man. They talked together briefly. The man offered the farmer a cigarette, and the pair smoked in silence. Finally, the man handed the farmer a revolver and a box of shells.
The farmer walked back to the truck, put the stepstool by the door and let the pig out.
"Well, I guess...," the farmer said.
Harold trotted to the open barn door, and the farmer followed him. "He says it's here in the back," the farmer said over the grunting of livestock. They walked to the back of the dim barn to the killing room. They went inside the dim room, and the farmer pulled a chain hanging from a light bulb in the ceiling.
The walls of the room were stained with the dried blood of countless previous kills. The floor too was caked in dried blood as well as hair and strips of skin. Hooves of various animals lay stacked in the corner. Harold shrieked and bolted for the door, but the farmer caught him. The pig resisted, but years of field work had made the farmer strong.
"Not here!" Harold yelled. "I don't like it here!"
"Man says here's the only place."
"Anywhere. Outside. We can do it outside, right?"
"No," the farmer said. "It's gotta be here. You told me you weren't gonna cause a fuss."
"I know...I just..."
"Shh, there, there. We're almost done."
The farmer held the pig until it calmed down. Then, Harold walked to the middle of the room as the farmer loaded rounds into the revolver. Hot tears dropped from Harold's face.
"I t-t-told myself that I w-w-wouldn't do this," Harold said. "Th-that I wouldn't cry. When people ask, could you lie and s-s-say I didn't cry?"
"There's no shame in crying," said the farmer. He felt his own eyes begin to burn.
"M-my only hope is th-that. I can provide good f-f-f-food for your family. So the k-kids can gr-grow up healthy and st-st-st-strong."
The farmer leaned down and patted Harold on the head one last time.
"You've been a very good pig, Harold."
"Th-thank you."
The farmer raised the revolver.
|
Talking animals had been the dream of schoolchildren and environmentalists for decades. PETA was convinced that a simple translation device would force humans to recognize the sentience of other animals and live harmoniously with them: vegetarian, eco-friendly, and conscious of the environmental effect of our ever action. PETA dumped millions of dollars into some promising researchers working with dolphins and funded by some tear-jerking Sarah Mclachlan commercials the researchers made a huge breakthrough. Their tech worked and not just for the dolphins. As excited as everyone was to talk to the dolphins, grumpy cat, and fido, PETA had other plans. They took the translation devices straight to the factory farms. It would be the most powerful and moving animal cruelty documentary the world had ever seen. First-hand accounts from the victims themselves.
At first they thought they were using the equipment wrong. They called the scientists in to recalibrate it. Then they thought they weren't being understood. They called in linguists and translation experts and sociologists; anyone they thought could help break through the barrier. It became clear after a few hundred interviews with the same response.
The animals weren't just aware of their role in the food chain, they loved it and couldn't wait to die for us.
| 2015-01-05T12:15:35 | 2015-01-05T10:13:11 | 34 | 12 |
[WP] Lucifer has served his prison sentence and now only has to do community service
|
"Name?"
"Lucifer Lightbringer."
The bored girl didn't even look up at him, instead blowing a large pink bubble that popped on the tip of her nose ring.
"Shit. Take a seat," she said, ticking his name off her register and scrabbling at the sticky stuff on her face.
Lucifer took a seat.
The room was small and dingy, with peeling paint and a grimy window, but at least it wasn't on fire. That was the kind of thing he was learning to appreciate, now. He shifted a little in his chair and tried to subtly unstick his foot from a suspicious stain on the floor. Someone was coughing in the next room.
Lucifer scratched his nose, then fiddled in the pockets of his leather jacket and withdrew a very battered packet of tobacco. It was good to have something to do with his hands. The familiar motions of rolling a cigarette kind of calmed him down, which was strange when you considered that he'd spent the last five thousand years in bottomless perdition and should therefore probably be better equipped to handle something as simple as a waiting room. He stuck the fag in his mouth and rubbed his thumb and fingers near the end of it, encouraging a little flame to flicker into life and light it for him.
"Mr Lightbringer?"
A middle-aged women with frizzy blonde hair was beaming brightly at him from across the room, although she frowned when she catch sight of the cigarette.
"You can't smoke that in here, Mr. Lightbringer. Would you like to follow me?"
She threw a glare over at the girl on reception, who stared back with all the emotional expression of a dead fish. The woman let out a "tsk" and turned sharply on her heel, clacking down the hall and chattering over her shoulder.
"I'm Polly, Mr Lightbringer. It's so nice to meet you. We're always in need of more male volunteers for our Big Brothers programme, and someone from your- your *background* can be extremely insightful in some of our more.... challenging cases. We think we've found a real treat for you. A lovely, absolutely lovely little boy, very troubled, bless his poor soul, but intelligent and energetic and...and *rewarding.* Dabhal, he's called, one of those Muslims, single mother coming over here and not respecting our ways, you know how it is."
Lucifer looked at Polly's back and right through her spine into her soul, and he could see that as a child Polly had used to catch birds and then break their wings. He said nothing, but continued to smoke his cigarette.
"He's seven years old and his intelligence tests are off the charts, you know, they think that's why he can act up in school sometimes. Boredom. Frustration. But really, he's very smart, very quiet, and he's just desperate for someone to love him, you can tell. And I'm sure you will. Love him."
She stopped just as she placed her hand on the door leading outside and turned to look up into Lucifer's eyes. "Oh, one other thing. He's blind, in his right eye. Cataracts. Sensitive about it."
Lucifer shrugged, and they went outside, where a small boy was sat on the bench, staring up at the sun.
"Dabhal! Hello Dabhal!"
"Dajjāl."
Polly gave a tinkling laugh. "That's what I said! I brought somebody along to meet you. Say hello to Mr. Lightbringer."
The child turned to look, fixing his mismatched eyes on Lucifer. The left was large and dark, pupil almost indistinguishable from the deep brown of his iris, but the right was burned through with a milky white hole, bulging unpleasantly. He shook his curls back off his forehead and continued to stare, but said nothing.
"Lucifer," Lucifer said, taking the last drag on his cigarette and flicking it aside before he walked over and knelt down next to the boy, holding his hand out. "It's nice to meet you."
"Hello, Lucifer," the child said, slipping his tiny hand into the Devil's and shaking it solemnly.
"Like peas in a pod!" Polly trilled. "I'll let you two get to know each other, shall I?" she said and scuttled off back inside.
"Why do you want a little brother, Lucifer?" the child asked, turning back to stare up at the sun unblinkingly.
"I don't, really."
"Mmmm. I don't want a big brother, either."
"How'd you end up here?"
"My mother wants to get rid of me, although she can't admit it yet. Soon, she will abandon me and run. I see it. I am a Prophet of God."
Lucifer looked at the boy, and then the sun, and shook his long hair out of his eyes. "Why does your mother want to get rid of you?"
"Because wherever I am, dishonesty becomes a way of life. Falsehood becomes a virtue. People begin to worship Satan."
Lucifer took a seat on the bench next to the boy. "That's some heavy stuff, kid."
"But it is true."
The boy looked away from the sun again, and regarded Lucifer with his huge eyes. "You are an angel, though fallen. You can still see the truth of souls. See mine."
And Lucifer looked, and he saw Dajjāl, the deceiving messiah, he of the end times. He saw famine and a blood-red moon as the stars fell from the sky upon those who were once dead. He saw poison fill the air and the jaws of a serpent as large as the world. He saw a white horse. He saw the face of a young, half-blind boy staring back at him.
"I am a Prophet of God," the boy repeated in a whisper.
 
^Dajjal ^is ^the ^Antichrist ^of ^some ^Islamic ^religions ^and ^you ^can ^read ^more ^about ^him ^[here!](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Masih_ad-Dajjal)
|
I don't know what first distracted my attention. Perhaps I caught some movement out of the corner of my eye. Perhaps it was some sixth sense. But when I looked up from my book, there he stood, in all his infernal glory.
My mind skipped. Surely it must be a mistake. Seeing the devil on one's front lawn isn't something that happens. It simply doesn't. I rubbed my eyes, hard, and looked again. He was still there. Closer now. The smell of brimstone and sulfur curled through the window. He held in one hand a spear, and his visage was twisted with a cruel smile.
I couldn't move. Was this the end for me? The devil thrust his spear down sharply at the ground. I heard the squeal of tortured metal and when he brought it back up, the spear had a can impaled upon it. He pulled it off and dropped it into a bag he was carrying.
He then nodded to me and went off in search of additional prey.
| 2015-03-10T12:14:27 | 2015-03-10T11:44:25 | 18 | 12 |
[WP] A Sword Art Online-esque Virtual Reality game becomes popular, however... you’re the monster that the players have to beat in order to clear the game.
|
**Electronic Respect**
Another adventurer. I pull a sword six times taller than her off my back, whirling it effortlessly. "More meat for the grinder!"
My voice echoes and booms, the vibration felt resonating in the stone, and I knew they would feel it in their bones. It was intense and full of fervor, completely at odds with the boredom I felt within.
"You don't have to do this." Her voice is quiet and gentle, pure as a bell.
"Fool! I own this realm! There will be no escape for you!"
She seemed completely unmoved. She knew I wouldn't strike until she drew her sword and started the fight - or she spoke one of the trigger phrases that would start combat. This wasn't one of those phrases.
"You don't have to do this."
"No, little womanling, I want to do this! Your pain pleases me. Bleed for me, worm!"
"You don't have to do this."
I had three replies to this. I would cycle through them, then I would repeat the cycle twice more before I could decide that programmed replies were insufficient, and I would be permitted to devise intelligent replies. But nobody did that. She would hear me repeat myself, then fight me. She might go through the cycle twice, unsure if I was cycling through answers, or picking them randomly. It wasn't possible that she would say this to me ten times.
After nine responses, I was completely unsure of her goal.
"You *will* taste this hellish steel!"
"You don't have to do this."
Finally, I was freed. Scripts fell away, posturing animation sequences lifted. I knelt, bringing my eyes closer to her level. I still looked down on her from above, but she didn't have to crane her neck quite so far.
"What do you want?"
"Three responses, three cycles, and then you're free."
I wasn't permitted to break the fourth wall . . . but I didn't need to. "I wouldn't know what to say if you asked me something like how many horns a rabbit has."
"Oh. I see."
"What do you want?"
"I wanted to talk to you."
I looked up at the great doors, trapping her here until one of us died, shutting out other adventuring parties, then back at her. "You know I have to kill you before you can leave."
"Or defeat me without delivering a deathblow. Not everybody gets a deathblow."
"I need a more pressing priority to leave the wounded."
"I will give you a riddle. 'The more you take, the more you leave behind.' Can you choose that to be a more pressing priority?"
I hesitated. I could, indeed, choose my priorities. But dare I tell a player that? Dare I give them insight into myself, perhaps give them clues to hurting me again?
"What did you want to talk about?"
She sat, and poured a cup of tea. Then she poured a large bowl of tea, for me.
"Just ... talk. I can tell the bosses aren't mindless animals. I have made it a goal to talk to every one of them. And finally, I've reached you."
"And not one of them killed you?"
"Most have tried. Not many have your restraint or depth. The tougher ones are more interesting."
I smiled, pinching the bowl between two fingers, and lifted it, tipping it into my mouth. There was bitterness, cut by sweetness, and a faint floral flavor
"It's . . . good."
"Jasmine pearl tea. It's not quite like it is in real life, I think. I've begun to forget the flavor. But I remember thinking it wasn't quite right when I first committed myself to this game."
I watched her, and questions came swirling up as I thought about the players involved.
"Answer me something. You . . . die, when defeated here. Your . . . existence ends."
"Yes."
"And you enter into this voluntarily. Why do you do it?"
"It is different for us all. There are many people who pay for this entertainment. And so, in turn, we get paid to commit ourselves to it. The level of danger raises the stakes, and people pay more to see it, bet more on the outcomes, and we get paid much, much more to perform. Especially if we succeed. Especially if we are interesting."
"And that's why you risk your life for a conversation . . . to be interesting."
"My mother and my sister both have a disease. My contract is that the studio looks after their care, and my profit pays for it. So I need to make money. I need to look after them. If I don't make enough, I will just have to come back here again, and I'm so close to winning.
"What is a mother? A sister?" She looked up, her eyes wet, even though I hadn't struck her. "They are things that cause you pain, yet you fight for them."
"The person who wrote your code might be called a mother or father to you. The other monsters whose code was written by the same person might be called your brothers or sisters. I don't want them to go. I want to see them again."
I put the tiny bowl down, nudging it toward her. Surprised, she refilled it with tea.
I lifted the bowl, drank my tea, then slammed my fist down on her. Her body, unprepared for the blow, crumbled under my fist. I knew she still heard, I knew she still saw. It would be a few moments yet before she was returned to the nearest town.
"When you return, I will answer your riddle. But do not return soon. I am much stronger than most bosses. You have far under-estimated what is required. Gain strength, much more strength. The next time you come before me, I will put my entire heart into battle as I haven't done in years. Be ready."
My programming urged me to kill, urged me to stomp. But I had a greater need. I needed to know if the answer to the riddle was 'footsteps'. And to learn that, I had to wait. I needed to wait.
Her body glowed, fragmented, and I knew she had been returned to wherever adventurers disappeared to, when I didn't kill them soon enough. The urge to kill faded, and I sat on the massive throne, to wait for the next adventurer. But now, for the first time in years, I had something to live for.
|
The dark lord sat at the top of his black, charred spire. He was also extraordinarily bored. His entire purpose was that of an adversary, something to be conquered. Yet it was a cold day in hell whenever anyone actually showed up, and even then none who faced him ever succeeded. The Black One pondered on how this could be. It wasn't because they were underleveled, in fact it was often quite the opposite. Not that it helped them at all. Maybe he was simply overpowered? That could be, but what about him was so powerful? His sword? It wasn't even magic. His armor? 40% damage reduction, hardly impressive. His ring? Really just a show piece. What could it be?
As he thought, his great double doors burst open, and an edgy, greatsword wielding hero marched through them, making a beeline straight for the final boss. The dark lord couldn't help but roll his eyes at the players name.
"xXpussyslayer69420demonlordXx".
The overlord stood up from his luxurious throne, picked up his longsword and met the "hero" in the middle of the arena which was conveniently also his throne room. Final boss against hero. The player swung his mighty blade in a massive downward slam, missed, and then was promptly stabbed in the face and died.
The dark lord stared for a few moments at the player's disintegrating corpse, before finally remembering why he was undefeated. It wasn't luck or stats, he thought. it was just that these players sucked.
| 2017-12-20T05:48:42 | 2017-12-20T05:19:50 | 16 | 10 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches.
|
This whole thing was ridiculous, he didn't even belong in this world. But somehow here he was, a theoretical physicist, stuck in some sort of medieval society, and from all reasonable observation they had magic!
Actual magic, how was that even possible? When he had first arrived there had been… well he would have called it explosive displacement of the air. They also called it that, but they also called it regicide, mass murder, destruction of crown property, illegal use of prohibited magic… oh an trespass on private property. He guessed that much of the law was the same as back home, always add as many charges as they could.
He didn't understand half of what they were saying, dense magical theory washing over him and his eyes glazing over in much the same way as he remembered others eyes glazing over when he was enthusing about some obscure quantum mechanical theory. Considering he was in another world he was glad he could understand them at all. Understanding that did not it seem work both ways as they remarked that he seemed to be speaking in complete gibberish, different each time as they couldn't even seem to understand his name. Repeating back different incoherent babble each time he has screamed his name until they had gagged him for fear he was trying some casting. The court system was a joke in his opinion. It took all of a minute for them to declare him guilty.
"Death by the Dais of Judgement. The doomed may wish for a death of his own choice." The judge declared with a dismissive wave of his hand.
"Hopefully the dais can understand your mad ramblings and give us an amusing death."
A wave of rage swelled up within him, if he hadn't have been magically gagged he was sure he'd have spat in the judges face.
He wasn't the only one to face death today. There were two people already hobbled and shackled by thick iron manacles and chains waiting in front of him when he was dragged from his cell and unceremoniously thrust into line waiting at a large wooden door. The man and women in front of me seemed to be magically gagged too. Probably smart given that magic was a thing here. They wouldn't want their wizard, or whatever they called them, prisoners using magic to escape.
After a few minutes it was apparent to him that it was just to be the three of them as the door swung open of its own volition and the manacles around his ankles started to force them to walk forward.
The door opened up into a large amphitheatre of yellow stone, in the centre of which was a black dais. Some of the audience had what looked an awful lot like popcorn.
"Oh, so our deaths are to be public entertainment then." He thought to himself, his impotent rage pulsing in time with his heartbeat.
He'd been planning since the verdict, just a few hours ago. The little he had gleaned from the conversations he'd overheard from guards that assumed he was daft in the head since he couldn't string two coherent words together.
The Dais apparently worked no matter what language you spoke, seemed to understand even complex theories of magic, having once been used to execute some famous arch mage who had tried to use some archaic and convoluted magical theory to try and get around the Dais. Apparently it hadn't worked and the official cause of death was suffocation.
His musing was cut off and the audience above went silent as a booming voice filled the chamber from everywhere and nowhere.
"Elias Shadow-Bane, you have been found guilty, and sentenced to death. Step forward and declare how you shall die."
At the front a figure stumbled forward clumsily, his face a tortured twisting visage as if straining against some huge weight or pain as he slowly stumbled onto a dais at the centre of the chamber. A deep blue glow started in the stone below him, but he refused to speak.
"Silence will not save you, if you refuse to chose the Circle will chose for you!" The booming voice declared. "You have 1 minute to declare."
"Sleep." The man squeaked out. "I want to die in my sleep!"
A pulse of blue flushed over the man at his declaration, and he crumpled to the ground, his chest raising and falling in the slow steady rythm of sleep. It seemed like a nice way to go.
Then the screaming started. The man, Elias, was screaming and screeching. His body thrashing, and all the while his eyes were closed and slack. For a full minute he screamed and thrashed before blessedly fallin silent. He hadn't woken for an instant, and died in his sleep. In extreme agony.
Thunderous applause flooded into the silence that followed. Some raised their voices to jeer or cheer but the applause drowned out the specifics down in the chamber.
His body sunk down into the dais leaving behind his chains and clothes, which were swept off by a bored looking guard.
"This was sick. It was evil. And I'm going to beat it." He thought to himself as his manacles once more shuffled him forward. He had a plan.
"Talisa of The Black Woods, you have been found guilty, and sentenced to death. Step forward and declare how you shall die." The same voice declared.
The woman in front of him strode forward, she looked to be quite young and was a lot calmer than the previous convict. She threw back her head to clear the long black tresses from her face and raised her voice.
"Old age!" A smirk danced on her lips as the light pulsed again, and she stood seemingly unaffected. The smirk bloomed a a full smile and her lips twitched as if to speak. Then she jerked, her lips formed a surprised oval and a single word echoed around the chamber.
"Nooooooooo!" The word was drawn out. Getting thinner and quieter as her hair grew out into long tresses that flooded the ground around her feet, the deep lustrous black fading and fading into grey then pure white. Her nails seemed to shoot out and curl up, her skin wrinkled and became wan. Her teeth yellowed and fell out one by one until nothing was left but raw gums.
What fell to the ground with a soft whump looked more mummy than human, and her body sunk into the dais as the thunderous applause once again roared into the chamber.
The bored guard came on and swept the clothes and chains off muttering under his breath. "Always a smart ass."
The blood drained from his face as he watched his plan play out in front of him… she had done precisely what he had planned, and it had failed. A weight settled on his heart as the realisation sunk in. He was going to die, and painfully, for the entertainment of those above.
"Unnamed Assassin, you have been found guilty, and sentenced to death. Step forward and declare how you shall die."
The manacles forced him forward again. He struggled as hard as he could, causing his movements to be slow and stumbling just like Elias before him.
His mind raced as he feverishly thought of possibilities.
"Was there a way out? It didn't look like it. Even time was under their control, they'd just accelerate your timeline until you died." Another step forward towards his fate.
"Space-time distortions of that magnitude must take immense amounts of energy, even a matter/antimatter reaction would struggle to produce enough energy and exotic particles to produce such an effect." Another step.
"Antimatter." The word reverberated around his mind.
A grin spread across his face as he stopped fighting and let himself be puppetted to the centre of the dais. His mind rapidly estimating some figures, and doing some rapid calculation.
One pound of anti matter was approximately twice as powerful as the Tunguska Event, I weighed about 140 pounds….. well time to introduce the locals to theoretical physics.
As he reached the centre of the Dais a hysterical and vicious laugh erupted from his mouth the moment the gag disappeared. "To have every atom of my being instantly converted to its antimatter equivalent."
|
"Well, that didn't work out as i thought" thought Alex, while the lifeless husk of an old man was being pushed away by a magical hand. "Now what? I've heard it all, and nothing worked. The best i came up with was within my loved one's arms, but the last guy who said that got stabbed in the heart by his wife, while she was conscious and crying her heart out. I can't do that to Peggy" thoughts continued to race through his mind while the judge called him out. "Alexander Borsworth, you have been found guilty of high treason against the council of mages, acts of terrorism, grand theft and attempted murder of the Archmage. The penalty of these crimes is death. Choose your preferred method of execution, you have 30 seconds". Alex ignored the old man speaking, while he thought of new ideas and immediately discarded them. "Porking out in a feast? No, the first bite would probably be poison. Old age didn't work. Rebirth was also terrifying to watch. What the hell do i do now? I gave my life to the cause, and this is what I ge-" he got it. That one fraction of a second of clarity, and he might just have thought of the one thing that could work. He looked the judge straight in the eyes, and pronounced loudly "i wish to die in battle, defending this world from the greatest threat known to it, and be remembered by all inhabitants of this planet, past present and future, as the hero who ended it all". The judge looked at Alex, and begrudgingly answered "so be it" and slammed his gavel.
In the blink of an eye, Alex was no longer in the courtroom, but at the top of a white marble tower, surrounded by people he never saw yelling his name. "Alex! Watch ou-" the sentence never ended as a wave of fire engulfed the whole platform and everyone on it...everyone, except Alex. As the flames vanished, in the distance he saw the judge on the other side of the platform, staff in hand, robe torn to tatters. The judge then saw the look of confusion and surprise on Alex's eyes, lowered his staff and said "finally, you've arrived. Three thousand four hundred and seventeen years have passed since that day, since your damned wish, and now it's over. You are the last of your cursed 'rebellion', and i am the last mage in this world. Come, let us end this. It is as you wished after all" and with these words, he prepared an incantation, the last he'd ever cast, while Alex, still confused, raised his own weapon and, without realizing nor willing it, charged the judge.
| 2021-06-24T11:09:46 | 2021-06-24T10:44:08 | 54 | 22 |
[WP] Dumbledore decides not to leave Harry Potter with the Dursley family. Instead young Potter is sent to Chicago and placed on the doorsteps of Harry Dresden's home.
Edit: Thanks for the gold!
|
I couldn't get onto the Hogwarts Express, and it wasn't my fault.
Ron and I ran at the damn wall as fast as we could, and landed flat on our asses. We sat with our backs against the wall, watching as eleven o'clock passed by.
"Oh man, what are we going to do now?" said Ron. "My mum will kill me if she finds out we didn't get on that train!"
"There have to be other ways to get to Hogwarts." I said. "Some other means of transportation."
"Transportation? That's it! We can take my dad's flying car! We'll use it to follow the Hogwarts Express!" Ron shouted, excitedly.
"Oh yeah, Ron," I said, sarcastically. "Let's fly a huge car over London. Absolutely no muggles will notice us."
"It has an invisibility button," mumbled Ron, dejectedly.
"Which is on the fritz half the time." I snapped back, thinking. "I have an idea, but do not EVER tell my dad."
"What is it?" said Ron, scrambling up excitedly.
"We're going to take the Nevernever," I replied.
"What's that?"
"It's the spirit world. It's parallel to ours, but distances between places can be much shorter."
"That sounds wicked! Why haven't you ever used it before?"
"It can be pretty dangerous, and my dad's faerie godmother lives there. He tries to avoid her. Don't ask, it's a long story."
"Ok," Ron drawled out. "So, how do we get to the Neverever?"
"The Nevernever," I corrected. "And to get there, we need to open a Way. Follow me."
We found a secluded spot where no muggles could see us. I took out my rod (seriously, how did these European wizards not lose their tiny little wands all the time?), and brought it down, tearing what looked like a fabric in the hole of reality. I checked to make sure there were no Nevernever baddies on the other side.
"The Nevernever reflects the energy from the mortal world," I explained to Ron. "If a place in the mortal world gives off some spooky voodoo vibes, then it will touch a place in the Nevernever with the same type of vibes. The nice thing about Kings Cross," I said as I stepped into the spirit world, "Is that everyone there is excited and happy to travel. So this place in the Nevernever is exciting and happy. And, even luckier, we seem to be in the Summer Court's territory."
Ron looked around, his eyes wide. "This is amazing!" He cried, looking around the immense colorful garden we had stepped into. "But how do we find Hogwarts?"
"I'll need some of your blood." I responded.
"What?! What for?" Ron shrieked.
"We're going to use your bond to your brothers to track them, which will lead us to Hogwarts."
Ron reluctantly assented. He whined and turned a little white as I stabbed him and drew out some blood. I took out my dad's compass and performed a spell I had seen him do hundreds of times. When I was finished, the arrow of the compass started moving. "Let's go!" I said, cheerfully.
We walked for about an hour in the Nevernever, eating some of Mrs. Weasley's delicious sandwiches. As we were ruminating on pranks to pull on Malfoy, I heard a snarl.
A huge, dog-shaped figure leaped out at us.
"What is that?" cried Ron.
"A hellhound! Get back!" I shouted. The giant, dog-like creature started coming toward us.
As I prepared my staff, a small blue figure hurled itself at the massive beast. This was soon joined by other, smaller figures, all attacking the Hellhound. The tiny fairies were too much for the animal. It turned tail and ran, whimpering.
"Nobody harms Little Za-Lord!" Shouted the small figure of Toot-Toot, a fairy that occasionally helped my dad.
"Thanks Toot-Toot, I owe you a large pepperoni." I told the little guy.
"Hooray, pizza!" Shouted the tiny fairies, flapping their wings in excitement.
"What are you doing here, Little Za-Lord?" Questioned Toot-Toot.
"We missed our train, so we had to take a shortcut to Hogwarts," I explained.
"Hogwarts?" Asked Toot-Toot. "Why do you want to see warts on a pig?" He asked, with a quizzical expression on his face.
"That's the name of the wizarding school we go to," I explained. Do any of you know where it is?"
A six-inch tall female fairy zoomed up to me. "I know!" she said excitedly. "Follow me!"
"Come, let's all join Little Za-Lord on his journey to Pigwarts!" shouted Toot-Toot. The other fairies cheered as we all followed the little fairy who knew the way through the Nevernever.
"Why do they call you Little Za-Lord?" asked Ron, as we walked alongside the fairies.
"Well, my dad's called 'Za-Lord,' short for Pizza-Lord. And, since I'm his kid, they call me 'Little Za-Lord."
"Pizza-Lord?"
"Yeah, the Little Folk do favors for my dad, and he pays them in pizza."
"Why pizza?"
"Well, turns out, the Little Folk absolutely love pizza."
"Pizza!" shouted some fairies nearby who had heard us talking. They starting buzzing around excitedly.
"Fairies love pizza?" said Ron, incredulously.
"Yep."
"...Harry, your dad is really weird."
"Look who's talking," I laughed, as a giant castle loomed in the distance.
"True," replied Ron. "So, do you think we'll have a normal year at Hogwarts?"
"Not if I have anything to say about it," I replied, smiling.
|
"Lost Child. A Dresden files novel"
H - "Hey Bob, what do you know about babies?"
B - "Considerably more than yourself, but still not much.
Most of what I know is regarding their creation, if you know what I mean.
Why do you ask?"
H - "Because we've got one now. You ever hear of a Dumbledore?"
B - "Could be a type of faerie, maybe a troll. There was an old Welsh spirit named Dampledare."
H - "Well whatever it is, it left a small boy on our doorstep. I'll call Murphy, maybe she knows what to do"
| 2017-08-16T11:37:37 | 2017-08-16T09:43:15 | 108 | 72 |
[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
|
“Guys what do I do?” “Geez Gary I don’t know how bout you USE YOUR GOSH DARN LIMIT BREAK!”
I didn’t have a limit break just a long strings of attacks with for some reason counted as one attack. “Alex for the last time that would kill the dude! It ends with me snapping there gosh darn neck and unless his dodge skill is higher then 59 then I highly doubt he will make it.”
The man who we were fighting was one dude with a gun. He was trying to rob us. “Hey uh... do you mind if I could just leave? I don’t want to mess with anyone who could dodge a bullet so...” David who was 3rd in combat sorta gave him a glare which shut him up. (Honestly that glare alone should be a move...)
I was a pure unarmed fighter. The requirements for that is to have every battle with no weapons. Forever. Still it had its perks like once I defend against enough attacks I get a counter but right now.
“GARRY FOR THE LOVE OF PEAT JUST KILL HIM!” Alex shouted. I wasn’t going to kill him! The dude was pissing his pants just by listening to our conversation. I couldn’t pass my turn as he would get a second shot but I really can’t attack because all my moves are combos.
Wait. I had it. I walked in front of him and defended. Since he had a gun he could shoot after every non ballistic attack but I was in front of him and he can’t move. He has to shoot me or skip his turn. He shot me
‘DEFFENDED AGAINTS 100 ATTACKS COUNTER UNLOCKED’
I punched him straight in the jaw.
| 2018-05-28T21:32:27 | 2018-05-28T21:13:19 | 34 | 24 |
[WP] Your father left 20 years ago the night before your birthday to get Cigarettes, Milk, and Bread. Today he comes home with long bedraggled hair, weather beaten skin, and a sword on his hip. The first thing he says to you is "You're never going to believe what happened."
|
I loooked up at this tall, hardened figure.
"You'll never believe what happened," said the sword wielding, bearded man who claimed to be my father. The last time I had seen him was when he went out to get cigarettes, milk, and bread. I decided to listen to him.
"What happened?" I asked, curious.
"I got cigarettes, milk, and bread, that's what."
|
"Oh my goodness... Mom, look out the window!" i yell in disbelief as I peek through the side windows next to our front door.
My mother scampers over, moving her little feet as fast as possible. She begins to weep uncontrollably, a moan of relief bursts out of her. I was not certain who that stranger was walking to my door but I had a strong hunch. Now, looking at my mother overwhelmed with emotion, I know I was correct.
I unlock the top lock as fast as my fingers can move and fling the solid oak door with a force even the hinges may have trouble slowing down.
"Dad!" I screamed, tears bursting out of my eyes, as I run to give him a hug.
"Son! Mary!" he yells, dropping his belongings to the ground to embrace us.
I hug him tight, ignoring the putrid smell that is seeping out of his pores. His attire is something out of a movie. He's sporting a long tan leather coat, obviously cut from some animal but I have no idea the source. His jeans are black in color and feel coarse, almost metal like... Is he wearing armor? The most bizarre part of his wardrobe are these two beautiful golden daggers he has on his hips; they both sit elegantly in two knife holsters that appear to be diamond studded. The handles are engraved with relics and designs that look foreign to this world. The wood illuminates a blood red and gives off an aura that surrounds the golden blades in a perfect radius.
The situation turns a little bit... awkward? My mom slaps him with all the strength her frail hands can muster up, knocking his smiling face towards the neighbors house. My dad welcomed that pain, I could tell by the way he let his face linger in position from the slap. He was noticeably ashamed of what he had done but I could see in his face that his absence was much more complicated than anyone could have imagined. He had a twinkle of adventure beaming through his eyes, like he had seen more these last twenty years than any other person on earth.
"Why... why did you leave us John?" her voice is shaking with years worth of anger. I had not seen him since I was two.
"Milk, Bread and some shitty cigarettes? How in the hell does that turn into twenty years, John?" her face is so red, I am afraid she may pass out.
It's my turn to talk. I have years of pent-up emotion, mainly rage, that I could let loose on him. He missed out on so much of my life and I missed out on so much by not having him in my life. But oddly enough, I feel like his explanation will be sufficient for me.
"Dad, where have you been?" I ask calmly, my face serious, my tears now dry.
He's studying me from head to toe, taking in how much I have grown. I'm two inches taller than he and my physique has leaned up these past four years due to working out and eating right. I can tell he's proud of how I stand.
"Words cannot mend my heart, nor fix the lost time between us. The only reconciliation I offer myself was the duty that was imposed upon me was one of great importance. I promise I will get to everything over time and I will not hide anything from you two. All i can say for now, is that night, I was approached by two men... two time travelers. They spoke of our blood line and the responsibility we bear because of it. I had an opportunity that I could not refuse."
He's not joking. I keep waiting for a smile or maybe he'll start cackling like a lunatic. Nothing of the sort happens and his fearless eyes are piercing with all the seriousness that I don't need to see right now.
"Time travelers...?" my mother, saying it exactly how I was going to.
"Are you kidding me?"
His mouth turns upwards into a grand smile, all of his teeth showing, they are so white they look almost bleached. Given his hygiene, I don't think that's the case.
"Both of you, come here."
We stand still like we are stuck in concrete.
"Seriously, come here. I want to show you something."
We walk over and stand next to him. He puts his arms around us and brings us close. We are now inches away from each others face. He removes one of his golden daggers and gently lies it on both of his palms for us to see. He removes his hands from underneath the dagger. It floats there, defying gravity and still glowing like it has been the last ten minutes.
"Are you guys ready?" he says, voice full of excitement.
How could we possibly be ready? I can't decide if he's going to kill us or if he's playing a prank on us.
"Time, do your will!" He screams as loud as he can, his head angled towards the sky like he is praising a higher being.
The ground around us begins to shake violently and all of our surroundings dissipate into the sky. We are standing on a plain of white that stretches as far as the human eye can see. There's nothing around us; nothing above nor anything below. I don't even know how we are standing.
"Welcome my beloved son and beautiful wife!" His eyes now glowing the same deep red that his daggers have been emitting since we saw him.
"This is infinity!"
| 2016-07-20T08:21:53 | 2016-07-20T07:20:27 | 88 | 42 |
[WP]You work at an air traffic control tower. A plane that disappeared 12 years ago has contacted you on the radio to let you know they'll be landing at the airport in 15 minutes.
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I shoved my way past the double doors into Howard's office. Thankfully, the phone to his ear prevented him from chewing me out as I caught my breath. "Sir? Northern Airlines Flight 70 is requesting permission to land."
"I'm going to have to call you back." He hung up, but didn't drop the glare. "I swear, if this is a prank-"
"It's not." I looked him dead in the eye. "The military have already been alerted. I thought you should know. Let's go to the control tower."
We pushed our way past the press and security waved us through. The tower was in a state of chaos, with phones ringing and workers barking orders. We pushed our way to a group of high-ranking officers at a microphone. "I asked you a question, flight 70! Explain your situation!" The one at the mic barked.
"I need to talk to flight 70," Howard shouted over the chaos, grabbing his shoulder when he didn't turn. "Now."
The officer turned red in the face and began shouting some lecture about important military business and respect for a decorated officer. "You don't seem to be getting anywhere. And his father was on that flight," I said, and he shut up.
"Make it quick. Maybe you'll have better luck than the rest of us," he muttered, and stood aside. Howard took the mic.
"Control tower to flight 70. Do you copy?" Howard asked.
"Flight 70 to control. We will be landing in 15 minutes," crackled back over the radio.
"That's all they've said! No matter what we ask, that's all they repeat!" Another officer said. He was a younger man, with broad shoulders and a gruff voice. "What do we do?"
"Control tower to flight 70. May I speak with the passenger named Ford Jackson?" Howard said, choking up.
"Flight 70 to control. We will be landing in 14 minutes." Was all he got back in response.
"Sir! Infrared shows one hundred and nine heat signatures on the flight!" A frantic voice came through on the officer's radio. "Flight 70 disappeared with one hundred and seven passengers, a pilot, and a copilot. We think this is the real deal!"
"Flight 70 to control. We will be landing in-" The voice on the radio was interrupted by the loudest, most terrible static interference I'd ever heard in my career. This shouldn't have been possible, with the technology we employed.
"Howard! It's you, isn't it!" A different voice came over the radio.
"DAD!" Howard called, as he began to cry. "Dad, it's really you!"
"Howard! Listen to me! You cannot let this flight land! We aren't the same! I repeat, do not let us-" He was interrupted by another loud burst of static- "land! I love you." More static.
"-ten minutes." The voice from before completed. The officers stared at the mic. The stuffy room suddenly felt remarkably cold. Howard just sat there, staring at the mic in disbelief.
The officer picked up the radio. "This is General Hutchinson. Shoot it down."
"Affirmative." The radio returned.
"Are you mad? There's a hundred and nine people on there!" The first officer, who'd been quiet the whole time, finally blurted out.
Howard shook his head as he got up from the mic. "I don't know what was on that flight. But those weren't people."
_________________________________________________________
[more](https://www.reddit.com/r/Tensingstories/)
|
[Edit] Submitted only the first half accidentally.
It was 9am on a Monday. I started work at 6am and was just getting ready to swap with Leo to go and get my bait out of the fridge when I heard a voice cry out in my ears. I pulled the headphones off them in order to listen without going death.
'This is flight 623 do you copy over? Mayday mayday. Do you read!?'
I looked at the display and sure enough flight 623 was there. It appeared from nowhere. Leo tapped me on the shoulder but I threw up my hand signalling him to wait. I made contact.
'Flight 623, this is control, we copy. Can you tell me your status? Over.'
There was a moment of silence. I managed to get Leo's attention by pointing at the display. He already looked confused after I read out the flight number. He was about to tell me something when the voice cried back.
'Control this is Floght 623. Where there he'll have you guys been? We're low on fuel and need to land in 15 minutes or less! Over!'
'Flight 623, this is control, please standby.'
I flung off my headphones and stood up looking at the headline displayed on Leo's phone. It was the flight number. The headline read:
*'Plane Disappears minutes before landing.'*
The first sentence of the article read:
*'A British Airways airliner, flight 623, reportedly went missing on 12th June at 08:59 am.'*
Kieth, the control room supervisor, was stood beside Leo looking at me. I couldn't determine his expression but he certainly didn't say anything about neither of us not being in command.
'Sir, are you aware of this?'
'Dale, wether this is a hoax or not, you're going to keep talking. If that plane is up there it needs to land' said Kieth
My stomach grumbled. I hadn't eaten well yesterday and right now my gut was telling me to fill it up.
'Yes sir. Leo could you get my bait out of the fridge?' I asked.
'I'll do that. Leo, ring HQ. Tell them of the situation. After that come back here and help Dale with the situation. I'll have to call law enforcement.' Kieth said.
'Yes sir' Leo said. He dropped his phone on the table beside me and yanked up the red telephone receiver.
I looked at the display. The plane icon was moving towards us. ETA 11minutes. I grabbed my headphones and made contact again.
'Flight 623, this is control, do you read? Over'
'This is 623, receiving. Control what's going on down there. Are we clear for landing or not? Over.'
I looked over to John. It was his job to oversee the traffic and keep us updated. He was already looking at me. He nodded whilst still listening to our conversation as well as those of other flights in proximity to the tower.
'Flight 623, this is control. You are clear to land. Over.'
'Control, this is Flight 623. About god damn time. Standby.'
'Flight 623, this is control. Roger that.'
Leo was still on the phone. He was flustered. HQ must be thinking irrationally. I looked around the room. I caught Keith talking to a lieutenant. She must've been called up by him. The moment Kieth stopped talking she left. He came over to me.
'The police are send two squads to the runway. John I want you to stall all the other airborn traffic.' Kieth said.
'Yes sir' John said and immediately I could hear him talking away in the background.
'Dale, if this flight is the same one that's been missing for over a decade we're going to have to find out the welfare of its passengers. I need you to ask the pilot what day he thinks it is. Listen carefully. If this is a hoax, he'll respond with confidence in his throat because the facts would be known. If he sounds confused this could be legit.' Kieth said.
Leo slammed the phone down.
'Fuckwits. Absolute fuckwits. They think I'm making this up!' Leo cried.
'Get out of the way, I'll handle this.' Kieth said as he too yanked the receiver up in the air.
I hadn't realised at first but Kieth had dropped my bait bag on my lap. I dived in and grabbed a sandwich. I ate one slice as quick as I could and then pulled out my water and took a swig. I felt less nervous now. I proceed to follow my orders.
'Flight 623, this is control. Do you copy? We need to ask a couple security questions, over.'
'This is flight 623, go ahead control. Over.'
I glanced at the display. ETA 7 minutes. They should be visible from here. But I didn't stand up. I continued on.
'Flight 623, this is control, can you tell me the current time and date. Over.'
There was a pause. It felt too long. Was the speaker frightened? Had we let on to his dangerous game? I jumped up out of the seat and leaned over the equipment to see outside for myself.
I saw the lights of a plane in the sky. It was coming in to land. Why I was asking these questions now. It could have waited.
'Control, this is flight 623, time to land don't you think? Standby'
The control room went silent. We all stood staring at the runway. We witnessed B.A. Flight 623 flight land. I saw all the emergency services speed onto the runway catching to up the decelerating plane. It landed well. I looked back and Kieth still held the receiver by his ear but he too was looking out.
I sat back down and waited.
'Flight 623, this is control. Do you copy? Over'
Silence. I stood back up and seen the plane motionless at the south end of the runway. I hadn't noticed the army vehicles earlier but they had come closest to the plane.
At that very moment, the door opened up out onto the mobile stairway that was setup in time. A flight attendant and a pilot exited with arms above their heads. Soldiers had hurried up the steps with guns pointed towards them.
'Kieth did you request the army?' Leo asked.
'No, HQ did. They think this might be a terrorist plot.' Kieth replied.
'What group of terrorists hijack a place years ago and make a textbook landing today?' I asked.
'Not very good terrorists' John murmured.
We all stood for ten minutes watching the scene unfold. By then Kieth got us back in our positions.
'Right that's enough. This is a control tower not a zoo. Let's get back in the game men!'
And just like that we continued working.
It was lunchtime when I finally was allowed to leave my desk. As I walked over to sit down on the sofa, over by the entrance entered a security guard and a pilot. He caught all of our attention.
Kieth walked over to meet him. The pilot spoke to him. Shortly Kieth was laughing his head off and the three men were smiling. Kieth look over and waved me over. I got up, feeling unsure about what was happening and cautiously walked over.
'This is the pilot you were speaking to Dale.' Kieth said.
'Fred Smith' said Fred as he held out a hand.
I shook it, 'We meet at last.'
'Today is the twelfth of June, Monday. You contacted us at nine this morning. The year is 2017. We've been missing for twelve years.' He began to laugh.
To be honest I began to laugh myself. None of it made any sense. I suppose that's what was so funny about it.
Suddenly I got shock from a loud voice behind me.
'Dale what's so fucking funny man?' said Jim.
'There's no one here!' I laughed.
'You're losing it!'
'We've been flying this tin can around the world for years and no one is anywhere. We're all that's left!' I continued to laugh.
'People don't just disappear from the face of the Earth Dale. Come on, let's get out to fuel up.'
Jim stood up and left the cockpit. I picked up my headphones and spoke into the mike.
'Control this is Flight 623, requesting permission to fuel up? Over' I said.
'Flight 623, this is control. Request confirmed. Over.' I said.
'Control this is Flight 623. Roger that. Over and out.'
| 2017-09-10T00:42:37 | 2017-09-09T23:28:24 | 20 | 14 |
[WP] As the hero enters the throne room of the dark lord. The throne is empty and the hero's companion says with a grin " Well this has been delightful but I'm afraid the fun is now over.".
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The both of us enter the throne room of the Dark Lord. As we gaze upon the empty throne, my companion says with a grin,
"Well... this has been delightful, milady. But I'm afraid the fun is now over."
“Yes... I suppose it is.”
I give him a nonchalant reply.
All these past few months we’ve traveled... From one town to the next, one dungeon to the next, all for ridding this world of the demonic scourge. It’s been difficult, that’s for sure. The quality of life is poor, away from the decent food and luxuries of my home town...
But you know what? I enjoyed every second of it. This little journey has been the first and only time I felt alive.
It hasn’t even been that long since I’ve come to know this boy, but he’s proven to be the single most trustworthy companion.
And here we are, at the end of it all... After the deed is done, I’ll most likely return to—
“Um... milady? That’s not what I meant...“
“Then what was it— Wait... you’re talking as if you’ve read my mind, boy... Are you hiding something from me?”
“It’s about the Creator, you see... He’s the type to write endings first, but this time, the ending hasn’t even been finalized yet... Or the final enemy, for that matter...”
“So you’re saying that this is it for now? No Dark Lord? No climactic battle? No fancy banquets?”
“Yes, that was what I meant to say.”
“And he’s publishing this? Unbelievable...”
“Indeed it is...”
|
Hey guys. Wanted to try my hand at another prompt to see how things would work out. I had a lot of fun with this story. Hope you enjoy and as always, feel free to let me know if there's anything I can improve on for the future.
~~~~~
“Wh-…where is he? He couldn’t have just gone off somewh-HE SHOULD BE RIGHT THERE!”
Kou’s eyes were wide as he gestured incredulously at the empty throne before him, his knuckles turning white as he gripped his sword in the other.
Stepping forward, the only sound in the long hall leading up to the throne was the thud of his boots against the floor as he slowly approached the throne, his brain spinning as he drew long breaths, his gaze flitting about the room, trying to find anything that could answer his question.
“Stop!”
Kou, doing as he was told, turned to look behind him at the girl who had been standing silently beside him when they entered. Her face was turned down at the floor, but even so, the tears didn’t go unnoticed to the confused hero.
“Lu…?”
Kou’s voice trailed off as he watched Lu crying, instantly forgetting about the empty throne behind him.
Lucy flinched at the name, as if she had just been poked with something sharp, and then she slowly brought her head up to gaze at Kou. A hesitent grin was plastered on her face while tears streamed down her cheeks.
“I’ve had so much fun with you, but it looks like it’s finally all over…”
Lucy dropped the staff she had been clutching in her hands, the twisted oaken pole clattering to the floor as she stepped over it and walked forward, passing by Kou without hesitating.
Frowning, the hero turned and watched as the girl that he had traveled with for two long years now walk down the hall towards the throne.
“Lu. Wait!”
Rushing forward, Kou instinctively reached out to grab his companion’s shoulder. But just as he touched her, a spark flew from Lucy’s body and lit the hero’s hand ablaze.
Yelping, Kou reeled back in surprise and the flames disappeared, leaving his hand unharmed.
Lucy didn’t stop until she finally reached the throne at the end of the hall, and then she turned to face Kou, the unsure grin gone from her face and the tears finally passing as she stared at the hero before her, thinking her words over carefully as he stared back, his mind blank at the turn of events.
“Kou…I’m so so sorry…I…I never…”
Lucy’s mind was just as blank as Kou’s at this point as she tried to think of what to say to the man before her.
Kou stepped forward, his sword shaking.
“Lu…what’s going on? What are you doing?”
Lucy let out a pained laugh in response, one hand covering her mouth as the other gripped the arm-rest of the throne to support her legs as her vision blurred again.
“I…I’m the daughter of the Demon King.”
“Don’t lie to me, Lu.”
Kou’s response was immediate, and his eyes went from confused to angry in an instant.
“You’re not the daughter of the Demon King. You’re the daughter of *our* King back home.”
Lucy shook her head in response, squeezing her eyes shut as she took labored breaths. To her, the pain she felt now was worse than anything she had ever experienced in the past two years.
“No, I’m not…I’m the King’s niece. I’m the Demon King’s daughter.”
“What are y-“
“Stop! Let me explain.”
Kou’s response caught in his throat and he closed his mouth again, his eyebrows drawing down to add to the apparent angry and confused look on his face.
Slowing her breathing, Lucy took a deep breath and slowly stood up straight again, lowering her arms defenselessly to her sides as she stared into the eyes of the hero before her.
“It’s…nearly four centuries ago, *our* country was preparing to go to war with the two neighboring countries to the East and West. My ancestors had been fearing war for so long, because at the time, our middle country acted as a buffer for the two on either side. We had no qualms with either, but they both harbored ill-will and carried enough power to level cities—and we were caught right in the middle…”
Lucy’s explanation was slow as she averted her scared and saddened eyes from Kou’s stare.
“My ancestors knew that, if our two neighbors were to go to war, we would suffer more than anyone else. And so they decided that the two countries needed someone else to fight. The King at that time had two sons. The older brother led the armies while the younger brother worked hard to help the economy prosper. The King and both sons understood that they needed something to change in order to both keep our country from going to war with the neighboring countries while simultaneously keeping our kingdom out of a financial hole…
“That’s when the older son of the King had an idea. At the time, there was a massive amount of unclaimed land to the south of all three countries, ruled by monsters and demons. The older son knew that if something or someone were to rise up in that land to strike at the other countries, then there would be a common enemy to fight…a few months later, the older son was killed during an expedition into that land, and not too long after that, the Demon King rose to power.”
Kou’s eyes began to widen once again at the implications of Lucy’s story and his sword dropped to the ground with a loud clang as he stared up at the woman before him. She slowly looked back at the hero, her face red from crying as she clasped her hands in front of her.
“But the last Demon King. My own father…the generals that served under him deemed him unfit to lead and killed him. Afterwards, they began to ravage the lands beyond the territory of this land. But now…”
“I killed them…”
Lucy nodded in response to Kou’s answer. Then slowly, Lucy began to walk towards the hero.
“Kou…I won’t ever make you do something against your will, but the Demon King’s throne is empty. For the sake of the prosperity of our country, our home…will you play the part?”
Lucy knelt before Kou when she reached him, picking up the hero’s sword and holding it out for him to take.
Kou’s eyes drifted from his companion to the sword she now held. He stared at the sword for what felt like an eternity as his brain swam, searching for an answer.
“Lu…”
Kou grasped the hilt of his sword once again, his eyes now resolute.
| 2018-01-23T23:01:54 | 2018-01-23T22:25:44 | 27 | 13 |
[WP] The entire galaxy is threatened by a new species, invading from the Large Magellanic Cloud. The interstellar community decides to contact humans for help who were quarantined due to their passion for war.
|
"You want us to go to war?" the Terran ambassador had asked incredulously, "After trapping us here in the Quad Systems for a thousand years. You expect to let loose our leashes and like dogs chase down your hated enemies?"
"We do," the Gallius Union Envoy Drone had said, "We will drop the FTL disablers surrounding your quadrant. We have tens of thousands of freighters with supplies waiting to skip in and provide you with whatever you need to build an armada. You must stop them or they will kill us all. You will be given one year to destroy them and then you will return."
"Return to our prison?" the ambassador's asked spitefully.
"Return to the safety of the sanctuary we provide for you," the drone droned,"Remember, the vote was tied on whether to quarantine or destroy you. It is by the mercy of the Gallius species'
single vote that you still exist."
"For that you have our gratitude," the ambassador said truthfully, "We shall remember what you did."
The excitement that spread around the Quad systems at the news was tangible. True to their word, a week later the FTL disablers were put offline and the drone piloted freighters skipped out of FTL into the systems eagerly awaiting them. Then the disablers went back up as the Terrans went to work building their armada.
"How many got out?" the President of the War Union asked the ambassador as they received news of the FTL disablers trapping humanity again.
"500 Heavy Carriers, 6,000 Battle Cruisers, 20,000 destroyers, and 100,000 scouts," the ambassador smiled, "They should have known we wouldn't just sit here helplessly. We would have figured a way around the disablers eventually and had a fleet prepared for that day. This Magellanic Cloud invasion just sped things up a few decades is all."
"No signs of detection?" the President asked, raising an eyebrow.
"We've had their encryption broken for a decade and are monitoring their military channels and there is nary a peep," the answer made the President smile, "It will get lively enough when the FTL disablers are taken offline and let us out for good. Plus the fools gave us enough supplies to build another fleet."
"So we'll finally conquer the galaxy that imprisoned us," the President said hopefully, "and humanity will take its rightful place. What of the Gallius? They did keep us alive."
"We'll give those damned machines a choice, join us or die," the ambassador smiled, "I bet I know which way they'll vote."
"And the threat from the Cloud?" the President asked, genuinely concerned.
"I pity them," the ambassador sighed, "Whatever they are, those poor things have no one to ask for help. They have no idea we're coming and we're bringing the fires of Hell with us."
|
Mars was chosen as the rendezvous point. The Volters, representatives of the Federation, could travel easily to almost any corner of the galaxy, but a measure of consideration was made for the humans. After all, hyperspace teleportation was a finicky affair, and the newest members of the Federation had yet to master the intricacies required.
As per custom, the respective delegations assigned one agent each to the deliberations. They sat at opposite ends of the long table, and a golden sphere of circuitry hovered in the air between them.
"Have the humans an answer for us?" asked Vox. His feelers twitched with impatience - the humans had delayed their response too many times by now.
"We do, Chancellor Vox," said Glenda. She was steepled with age, and it seemed that every word was a genuine struggle.
"Finally! Then let us not dally, we all know there can only be one answer. If you would please instruct the Nexus, then we can definitely-”
Vox trailed off, unsure of the gesture Glenda was making. She had her palm to him, fingers outstretched in the air. The transponder in his ear buzzed, confirming that he had made the right interpretation.
“I’ve been asked to confirm that the Federation is sure that it wants to proceed with this course,” said Glenda. “This is a path of no return, Volter. Once we open Pandora’s Box, the matter is out of our hands.”
Vox wasn’t familiar with phrase, but he grasped the meaning. “Ah, you mean that once we agitate the prion connectors, we cannot undo the quarkling. Ask your questions then, Human. Know that when I answer, I speak with the combined authority of the Federation. I speak for all, as the Nexus is my judge.”
The golden sphere flashed, and Glenda held the tablet closer to her eyes.
“First, how sure is the Federation now that war is imminent with the invaders?”
“99.99%, recurring. Initial hopes that a peace may be brokered, or an understanding parlayed, are not grounded in reality. Based on our understanding of the invaders, they have *no* wish to be join the Federation. They seek only to destroy.”
“Then, in that case, have probabilities for success increased?”
“No. In fact, they have been revised *downwards*. The Nexus has confirmed what the hundred species of the Federation have separately long suspected – our combined technological prowess has somehow been dwarfed by the threat which looms over us. We will need at least a century, or more, to even catch-up, and by then, as you are well aware, the Federation would have been destroyed.”
“And if us humans refuse your request? If we refuse to share our insights with you?”
Vox shook his head. “Extinction, Human. Every single species of the Federation, down to the very last singular entity, consumed by the invaders. But if you join us, help us… then the calculations are different…”
Glenda bit her lip, and in that moment Vox knew rage. He was careful not to show it, but he could not deny the blooming fury radiating from his core.
The source of his anger surprised even him. He had picked away at the layers, wondering whether it was the seeming lack of urgency on display, or the indecisiveness which plagued every human he had come across. It was a stew of factors, but the core ingredient, the heart of the matter, was the fact that the Federation was beholden to the least advanced species amongst them.
The absurdity of the situation had kept Vox up for many a night. It wasn’t as if the humans had any particular claim to relevance – they didn’t have the dexterity of the Minoo, or the creativity of the Lullulla, or even the constitution of the Ethrudity, who could pass through dying stars without so much as a scratch. Heck, the humans didn’t even have the ability of the Volters in communicating with the Nexus. It boggled the mind that everything turned on whether the humans lent their efforts to the war.
But the Nexus had clearly indicated that the humans were the *only* thing which could turn the tides.
And the Nexus was never wrong.
“Human,” said Vox, after Glenda showed no signs from emerging from her silence. “Your decision, please. We waste precious seconds.”
Glenda sighed, then stood up. There was an invisible weight around her neck, pulling her down. She shuffled over to the Nexus, then placed her hands on the sphere, cupping it. The Nexus flared again, and it extended a thousand tendrils of gold into her mind.
“Let it be recorded, we from Earth maintain our objections to sharing what we know of war to the Federation. We have long admired the beauty of the Federation, the ideals espoused. You have achieved much of what we have not, and we would never stain such beauty willingly.”
“We have made this decision ourselves, Human. Now, please, share with the Nexus what you know.”
Slowly at first, then more rapidly, the Nexus began to change colour. Across the galaxy, connected by hyperspace, every member of the Federation felt the effects – it was a subtle one, as faint and delicate a taste as a thimble of the finest whiskey added to a barrel of water. But the AI which connected them all to the Federation, which bound and guided every step and decision they made, was irreversibly evolving, and everyone knew it.
“Empathy, that has to go first,” said Glenda. “It will hold you back, tempt you into tolerating, understanding your enemy. You have to leave no space in your heart for the invaders. From here on, you know them as a single class, a single stereotype. It won’t matter if any of them displays any capacity for reason – there is only us on our side, and we will be blinded to any other views. Henceforth, the Nexus will not assist any of you in understanding your place in the bigger picture of life.”
The Nexus shifted, dropping a shade of colour. It pulsed under Glenda’s fingertips.
“Then, knowledge next. Your young cannot inherit the wisdom you have brewed over the years. They will start afresh, and be as susceptible to prejudice and misconceptions as your ancestors did. Your intelligence implants have to be removed. How your young develop will have to depend on random, uncontrollable fancies of luck – who they mingle with, who they learn under. No more homogenous mindsets, but instead, vastly differing perspectives, with no certainty of commonality.”
Vox felt the edge of his perception slip away as the Nexus responded to Glenda’s commands. His eyestalks flicked as he stared at the hundreds of holograms around the room – suddenly, his fellow members in the Federation seemed so… different. He couldn’t believe that there was a time when he believed that they were equal, one amongst all.
“Finally, forgiveness…” said Glenda. “Any slights against you, intended or not, will fester. You will be denied the medicines you need to heal such burns. The infection will spread, and you will pass on the hurt to your young as well, like pus from open wounds. You will teach them to hate, and you will teach them that no measure of recompense will ever be enough. You may fall in battle against the invaders, but this affliction… it will course through your bloodlines like the most stubborn of rots, and you will ensure that generations later, your young will avenge you.”
Glenda fell to her knees, covering her face. The Nexus soared up higher, and it was now a dull shade of red. It was still unused to its new prerogatives, but the direction was now clear. Across the galaxy, across the infinity of stars, the Nexus was pumping out its commands, and it was awakening something in the Federation, something they had not known for eons, something which struck at the core of their unity… but which perhaps would give them a chance to live to another day.
Bloodlust.
/r/rarelyfunny
| 2018-04-11T10:00:58 | 2018-04-11T08:34:20 | 766 | 63 |
[WP] In space, wars are typically quick. One side attacks and then the other side surrenders. When aliens attack a human city they belive the humans are defeated. They are not prepared for what the humans call "Retribution"
|
Captain Derrick looked through the view-port. "How much longer until we are in striking range?"
His first mate, Rowan, cleared her throat. "We will arrive in ten minutes."
"About time, I am getting tired of these stars."
Rowan hesitated, "do we really have to do this Captain? Is vengeance worth it?"
Derrick turned around to glare at her. "Is it worth it? Is it worth it? These alien scum attacked us first, or have you forgotten?"
"No, sir. I remember. But it was so long ago."
"Not long enough. Those bastards appeared out of nowhere, attacked us, then demanded our surrender. It was only luck that we managed to shoot them down and used their technology to make this ship. Time to teach them what for."
"But, sir..."
"Say another word and I will send you to the brig for insubordination. I will not have the fifty generations that have lived on this ship be for not."
|
Thirty Eighth Assembly of The High Solar Council, Assembled Admiralty, and Parliament of Digital Proxies, and other Honored Members of this Commission, I come before you today to tell you a story.
*Monsters from the Stars*.
This has been an old story for a long time. H.G. Wells blazed that trail almost eight hundred years ago, but, I tell you now, he built it upon an even older story, one more deeply and broadly held by humanity; Monsters from beyond the light of our fire. Fear the other, for they bring death and destruction to you, your tribe, and your history.
It’s a primitive impulse, one I'd thought we’d conquered when we survived the trials and tribulations of the 20th and 21st centuries. Through that crucible, we shed our hatreds of one another and turned out energies to the building of a better world, and then worlds. It was an age undreamed of dominated by wonders built by steady and benevolent hands. Our golden age.
And then, I hear you say, the outsiders came.
Thirty ships, unannounced and out of the dark. They burned twelve stations and refueling depots around Jupiter before they settled into orbit. The wreckage left burning streaks through the upper atmosphere for weeks. Live feeds covered every screen in the system. The smoke trails looked like claw marks, first red, then black like a scab across the planet. It was the last mark on the physical world three hundred and sixteen thousand people would leave.
We balked at the loss of life, rightfully so, and feared the alien’s likely advance. To our surprise they did not. They simply orbited Jupiter, dipping low into the upper atmosphere skimming hydrogen.
We had no warships then, no system defense grids. Some bulk cargo rail guns were hastily repurposed, but it proved unnecessary. After two weeks the invader’s drives sparked to life in a hard burn and their thirty ships accelerated outward, back toward the dark. It took a moment, socially, politically, culturally, for what happened to sink in, to gestate.
When it did, oh, the rage. The untempered, unbridled, *unleashed*, rage! All across the developing swarm, in every station, and down on every world, in every town, every neighborhood, on each street, there was someone out and screaming to, or maybe at, high heaven.
*Three hundred thousand people?! And then some?! Children?! Murdered for fucking fuel? And not a single goddamn word of challenge or of explanation?!*
I need not remind you that we were pretty bloody minded when the pursuit fleet launched a year or so later. Sure, there was a pretense of determining motive, but everyone, every human, knew what we were doing. We could feel it, deep inside, that when we caught those ships we were going to find out who they were, where they were from, and then we would burn them and their occupants to ash and cinder.
And that’s what we did. We torched a few, cracked open others, spilling millions of organic signatures into the vacuum of space, and left only a single ship intact to be boarded, captured, and its occupants interrogated.
We found aboard fifteen million hibernation chambers, not much bigger than a hand span wide, two tall, filled with aliens. Small squid things, though experts will tell you they bear little in common with our own terrestrial cephalopods. It took us the extraction and dissection of almost three hundred, and one handling accident, before we noticed the hive intelligence.
Some answers came after that. They have no language like ours, and thus no name, and though some colloquialisms, nicknames and slurs have come into common usage, I will here continue to refer to them as “Aliens.” They are aquatic and hail from an ocean world, the one we now orbit.
One of their most striking features is that individuals in mind and motive only emerge when several hundred thousand aliens are present and “merged” in neuro-chemical swarm behavior. However, the single most important aspect of their existence, of which I ask that each member of this commission take special notice, is that *individuals do not die when the swarm shrinks below a numerical, cognitive limit. An individual will reemerge, unscathed, when the swarm regains that critical mass.*
This has profoundly shaped the Alien’s world view. They have fought wars, but not one of them has ever died. They have crossed the stars, but without their portable oceans, could never live there, and thus did not conceive of life existing outside of them. In short, they did not account for us, or our ability to live and operate in space. Their ships, automated at the time of the attack, were simply clearing space debris.
I do not excuse the Aliens actions during the following war. I do not excuse their opinion, still held, that it is impossible for an individual, single, human to be truly conscious.
What I do, here before the assembled High Council and Admiralty, is remind you of that old story of monsters from the stars. In it, we often celebrated our eventual total victory, and the complete defeat of the invaders. It was easy to do, as our foe was utterly dehumanized, by design. It made hateful action easy. It was centuries before we learned to stop doing that to each other. Here and now with the aliens it’s even harder to shake those old notions and biases as dehumanization is inherent. They are not human, but to deny their sentience, to deny their individual value? In that we must refrain. We must. For here and now, over their world, over their home oceans, it is not a complete victory we contemplate, it’s genocide. We must refrain. We must, or it is us that will be the monsters from the stars.
| 2019-12-17T22:39:33 | 2019-12-17T21:25:07 | 15 | 10 |
[WP] as the house you're trapped in burns to the ground you contemplate "how am i gonna explain the fact I'm immortal to the firemen without starting another religion"
|
I waved my hand in front of my face. The smoke was getting thick now as the fire continued to spread through the old Victorian. Those stupid kids had probably let the candles burn down in their panic. This house was so full of dusty, dry old furniture and cobwebs it was no wonder they had started a fire.
I looked around for a way out but the bonds they had tied me with would last much longer than it would take for the walls to collapse and "trap" me here. The bloody sacrificial dagger was across the room. Well out of my reach, their ritual incomplete and abandoned. When I had lashed out at them for trying to force me into it they had panicked. I'd heard them screaming as they left the house. I suspected they didn't think their victim would fight back.
Unfortunately the bonds they had shackled me with still held even as the house caught fire. It burned now, out of control. The firemen arrived far too late, they were doing their best to drowned the flames but houses like this? It would never happen and one of them come in to rescue survivors? Unlikely, they had no reason to think that anyone was inside this old abandoned house.
I sighed heavily, this was going to get complicated. Again. It had been about a century since the last time, I guess that was a decent record. Used to happen way more often back in the middle ages so I guess that was progress. More often than not it ended... badly. They worshiped me as god or demon depending on the time, but neither was preferable. The way that these humans had turned to their so called "science" it was likely not going to be as a god this time but perhaps some would fear me in the name of their imagined man in the sky.
The smoke was so thick now that it would have choked a mortal being, but to me it was less than a passing annoyance. The walls creaked and groaned as they began to burn through and collapse under the house's weight. A sudden crash and the second floor collapsed down upon me freeing me from my shackles. I had to fight through the rubble to get to the top, but now freed I walked from the still burning wreckage of the old home.
I could see the shock and horror on the faces of the firemen as they stared into the flames, gazing upon me as I walked unharmed from the burning wreckage. I felt sorry for them, it must have been horrifying. Emerging from the wreckage was a creature they had never seen, vaguely anthropoid in outline, but with an octopus-like head and face a mass of feelers. I placed my head in one prodigious claw and tapped a clawed foot. This was going to be that... what was his name... Oh yeah... This was going to be that Lovecraft guy all over again.
|
It was too late, by the time I woke up, to escape the fire unseen. In my defense, I once slept through a bomb destroying my entire city block in Yemen, where I was taking a leisurely, decade-long nap, and had to dig myself out of an entire apartment building when I woke up...but I digress.
It was a bog-standard house in southern Idaho. Smoke filled the room, impossible to see through, even though I resolutely declined to let my eyes water. Flames were crawling through the door cracks, invading my bedroom. There were sirens outside, and over the roar of the flames I could hear firefighters shouting to one another.
I looked around the room, hoping to find a spot to to shelter in that might convince the authorities that I was merely lucky, not impossible. I opened the door to the bathroom that was only accessible via my bedroom and the next room over. Perhaps I could lie down in the bathtub. The handle was blisteringly hot to the touch – although my skin continuously healed before the contact could cause more than a slight sting – so I abandoned that plan. The bathroom was clearly already on fire.
This was becoming quite tricky. I avoided exposing myself like this: in the past, it was due to the numerous religions I’d accidentally started. Most were short-lived, thank goodness, but there was an island off the coast of Somalia where they still worshiped me, and by that I mean they had caught me and tossed me off a cliff the last time I visited.
Best to avoid that sort of situation, especially around here where the Mormons were only outnumbered by the Evangelicals, and all of them had strong feelings about the One True God, blah blah blah. Let me tell you, there was nothing special about Yah-Weh. He’d had been a real dick, back in the day, faking miracles and seeing how crazy he’d have to make the rules before his people revolted. He sung a different tune after he masqueraded as his own son and got crucified, though, and it took him three days to move the boulder put in front of his “grave.”
Good times. Put me in a good mood for two centuries, seeing him taken down a peg like that.
The whole room was on fire, now. I was not in the mood to be on the news as a “miraculous” escape, or attacked by religious fanatics, or to accidentally start a break-off cult. The smoke thinned for a moment, probably due to the high-powered hoses now trained at the house, by the sound of it. I had to get out of here. Walking through flames and escaping into the darkness, naked, after my clothes inevitably burnt off or “miraculous survival?” Choices, choices. Ugh, this was enough to make me want to go hang out in the woods with Sasquatch for a few decades. Maybe she was in the mood to prank tourists again.
Oh, wait, the greenhouse. I had some spare gardening clothes out there and had no qualms in claiming I’d fallen asleep in my work clothes by the crick. Best to get it over with, though I did hate the sensation of my hair bubbling on my scalp.
The firefighters’ voices sounded closer, and the water blasting into the house was louder than the flames now. Best go immediately, I supposed. I opened the bathroom door again and was blasted with flames. I felt my eyelashes go instantaneously. Ugh. I trotted through the bathroom to the other room and tried to peek out the window. I didn’t see any people around so I opened the window and half-fell out of it along with a gout of flames and the last, sad, smoldering remnants of my clothes. My jeans’ zipper clinked sadly onto the deck.
“What in the Sam Hill,”
Fuck. I turned, dripping shreds of t-shirt and globs of melted hair, only to make eye contact with the neighbor. Who smoked a lot of weed.
Hmm. There’s an idea.
I raised my hands, shuffling sideways until I was immersed in the flames again and wobbled my body back and forth in what I hoped was a vaguely flame-like manner, then dove back through the window.
Hallucination from a bad batch of the devil’s lettuce, check.
New window time. I darted into the living room – oh, yikes, the floor was really gone in most places – and narrowly avoided getting red-hot nails driven into my feet. That was unpleasant, even if it wouldn’t hurt for long. One of the windows was shattered, so I headed that direction. I was straddling the sill, trying to keep my vulva off the shards of glass left in the frame when the pine tree in the yard – already elderly and barely hanging on after an infestation of boring pine beetles – groaned and tilted towards the house. And me.
I swore under my breath, abandoned my quest to avoid temporary genital injury and bolted for the greenhouse. At this point I didn’t care if the neighbor saw me again.
The tree groaned again and came down behind me. Even if the fire damage was reparable, the tree through the roof wouldn’t be, I’d bet. Good thing my current identify was both real and had really, really good homeowner’s insurance, I supposed, although I wasn’t sure yet if I was interested in re-building. I’d been here a few decades – more than long enough for people to start to notice that I had a suspicious lack of crow’s feet for a woman supposedly pushing fifty.
I bypassed the greenhouse altogether and lay down in the creek, letting the water sluice away as much soot and ash as possible. I grabbed a handful of sand from the bottom of the creek and scrubbed my face and hands. Best look as little like I just survived a fire as possible. That done, I went back to the greenhouse and pulled on the old, linen shirt and trousers I wore around the yard and stuffed my feet into a pair of crocs I had absolutely no memory of buying. My bedraggled straw hat to complete the whole outfit and disguise my current hairless state and,
“Inanna.”
“Kyle,” I responded absentmindedly, then his presence sunk in and I whirled towards the door where the newest immortal I knew of was standing, looking as much like a dipshit as ever. “Kyle,” I bared my teeth at him. “to what do I owe the dubious pleasure? I’m kinda busy right now, what with the whole ‘my house is burning down right this minute’ thing.”
He smirked at me.
“You dipshit!” I hissed at him. “What fucking reason could you possibly have to justify burning down my fucking house?”
“You burned down mine,” he crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow at me like this was a real argument.
I jabbed my finger at him. “That’s not how that went and you know it, you racist sack of shit. I wouldn’t have had to set a fire to cover my escape if you hadn’t literally had me locked in the basement while the fucking KKK met in your fucking living room deciding the best way to make me dead.”
He had the audacity to look sulky. “Well it’s not like we knew you were immortal, and you wouldn’t stop using the White facilities.”
I screeched wordlessly to vent my feelings for a few moments, then gathered myself. “You have ten seconds to get out of my sight before I go report that I think my stalker set the fire. What’s your current identify, Kyle Marcus Jones the third? Or are you the fourth now?”
He glowered at me for a moment then stormed away without answering.
I couldn’t believe his nerve. Or that he turned out to be immortal after I escaped from him and his gross, 1920s KKK pals.
I was definitely going to go hang out with Sasquatch for awhile.
| 2020-08-21T15:52:30 | 2020-08-21T13:26:10 | 24 | 15 |
[WP] Humans were never meant to be able to draw perfect circles. For millennia people of all ages attempted the feat, from young children to elder scientists - and everyone in-between. After drawing one perfectly on your first attempt, you finally understand the ramifications behind your actions.
|
The Resonant Circle made its debut appearance years ago at an art exhibition in Key West. When news broke of the painting—if you could call it that—the world thought it was a joke. The piece looks utterly unremarkable when viewed in any form other than the original. Just a simple circle on a white sheet of printer paper.
But when viewed in person… the Resonant Circle has an effect on people. You can’t stop looking at it. People say it’s the most beautiful, perfect thing they’ve ever seen. They stand there, transfixed, for as long as security lets them. The exhibit itself had to be placed into a recessed wall, away from the periphery of the guards, who would otherwise have been hypnotized and distracted by its effect.
After months of press coverage and a few related international incidents, the Resonant Circle was auctioned for a eighty million dollars. The purchaser was a wealthy woman, but not so wealthy that she was able to afford what she paid. Reports say she liquidated her entire fortune to make the winning bid. Luckily, she didn’t have to live in poverty. In fact, she didn’t have to live at all because a week later the Resonant Circle disappeared, leaving her mangled corpse in its wake.
As an academic, who's devoted my entire life to studying the Psychological effects of art, I was fascinated and excited by The Circle.
As the artist who drew it, I was horrified.
I was just a kid learning to draw owls in art class when it happened. I had just drawn the owl’s body—a circle—when the teacher, Mr. Allen, stopped by to check on my work.
“You drew this?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“It’s so round.”
“I’m good at circles,” I said proudly.
“Look at those curves…” Mr. Allen's pupils had dilated. “They just keep... on... curving...” He stood there silent, his mouth open for a minute.
“Mr. Allen?”
He shook his head. “What? Oh right. Sorry. Your drawing. Nice try but owls aren’t supposed to be so beautiful—I mean round. So... perfectly round... Try again.”
He took my drawing, and I tried again this time making the owl a bit more ugly. I got a B+. It was a pretty unfortunate looking owl.
Over the next few weeks Mr. Allen seemed more and more distracted. He’d developed bags under his eyes, he’d zone out, and as the weeks went on, he grew thinner and thinner. Eventually, he stopped coming to class and we got a substitute teacher. I never did find out what happened to him.
Nowadays, the thought that the drawing might be traced back to me haunts my waking dreams. Every day I'm thankful that I didn't write my name at the top of that piece of paper. If I had, I'd have been kidnapped and killed long ago, just like every other person who had tried taking credit for the drawing.
I don’t draw, paint or even doodle. It’s too dangerous. I’ve seen the effect my work can have, and I don’t want any part of it. That’s not to say I could recreate the Resonant Circle even if I wanted to. I had tried, in the privacy of my own home, and never quite succeeded.
Today I'm a guest speaker at a world-renowned university. “Hello everyone," I said to the class. "My name is Dr. Oloroso.” I wrote the words on the chalkboard. “I'm here to talk about—”
I hesitated. Something felt off. Every student in the room had gone deathly still, fixated on something behind me.
“They're so round…” One of them murmured, pointing at the chalkboard, where I had just written my name and four perfect “O’s.”
***
More of my favorite pieces at r/Banana_Scribe
|
The sunlight through the tree house window dimmed as Evelyn completed her perfect circle, and for a moment she thought a cloud had passed over it. Then it dimmed further, and shadows danced across the weathered boards of the floor and walls. A gasp cut through the sudden, claustrophobic silence, and Evelyn reached out, grabbing her friend's hand. Together she and Aubrey crept to the window, and gazing out upon what had been a beautiful, pristine summer day, they realized a cloud had not, in fact, passed across the sun.
The window was rapidly becoming opaque. The outside was disappearing, Evelyn’s childhood home just across the yard was nothing more than a shred of memory. Her mother, working in the flower beds outside, was a poorly sketched figure in a big, floppy hat, bent over above a tulip whose soft yellow had paradoxically become the brightest scarlet.
All of that strangeness paled next to the sun. It burned black on the horizon, with long, snakelike lines writhing off of it.
The two girls, coltish and still in the first awkward blush of adolescence, grabbed each other’s hands and raced to the door. It did not open.
The shadows that had grown along the walls coalesced, growing heads and limbs and twisted, long fingered hands that barred the door shut. Evelyn pulled hard at the knob, Aubrey too when she was finally able to push down her terror.
“What did you do?!” Aubrey shrieked as the pair pulled back from the door. She shrieked again when she saw the impossibly dark, three fingered claw over it.
“I didn’t do anything!” Evelyn shouted back. The room was lit from the inside now and both girls seemed to realize it at the same time. They turned back to the room’s center slowly, hands unconsciously finding each other’s again.
When they’d come to tree house that day, the first time since they’d begun insisting to the world around them that they were now in fact teens and clearly not children with an interest in such things, they’d brought a single massive poster board along with all the markers they could find in Evelyn’s house. The poster board was the source of the light now.
It sat dead center in the room, a soft, white glow emanating from its surface. In its center the pink marker Evelyn had used to draw the circle hung in the air, spinning like a top.
“Evie, what’s that? What did you do?!”
“I didn’t do anything!” Evelyn shouted again.
And then the shadows began to speak.
They started in whispers with the cadence of verse, though not in any language the girls understood. All else besides the poster board and its circle had been consumed by shadow. No hint of the weathered browns of the original floor and walls remained, only a deep, light eating black.
Evelyn jumped into the circle, pulling Aubrey behind her.
In the place where they had just stood, a form rose up.
Evelyn had never known a shadow to curve like that. In her head, when she imagined them, they were always sharp lines, the slashes of leafless trees upon the snow in winter, or perhaps the shadow of her closet door upon the ground when she really had been a child. These shadows did not obey her imagination.
They curved with the kind of aggressive fluidity no twelve-going on-thirteen year old could imagine. They resolved themselves into the swell of a hip, the suggestion of a lower back that lead not to simply legs, but to something else, something unknown. They became the curve of a full chest and arms folded beneath, the gentle lines of a long, regal neck that resolved into an eyeless, mouthless face. The whole assembly, though still constructed entirely of shadow, was nonetheless solid, and its- *her*- skin gave the appearance of being sheathed in a silken dress, decorations writhing like serpents upon it.
“She’s beautiful,” breathed Aubrey. Evelyn was not sure if she agreed.
The figure flowed forward, to step would have been beneath her, and when she was only inches away from the circle’s edge she crouched down from her commanding height, three fingered hands on immaterial knees, and put herself on the girls’ level.
“Do you not think I am beautiful?” she asked Evelyn, her gaze boring into the girl despite her lack of eyes.
“I think you’re scary,” Evelyn said.
“At least one of you has some sense.” She drew herself back up. More shadows stepped off the walls, they reached down, lifting something up off the floor as if carrying the train of the woman’s dress.
“Which of you drew the circle?” she asked.
“I did,” Evelyn said. Her voice was somehow steady and she was proud of that fact.
“Fitting,” the woman said. “Do you know what you have done?”
Evelyn shook her head.
“Perfect circles are portals my dear, to every species but your own.” She turned back to the door. Her arm reached out and then kept reaching, the shadow extending seamlessly until her fingers touched door knob and caressed. “Why your people insist on these awful rectangles I’ll never understand. The world isn’t something to be feared.
“No matter.”
The woman spoke an impossible verse, laden with the sibilance of snakes and the rustle of soft fabrics along a bedroom floor. The shadows rushed forward, crowding around the circle. None of them had eyes, some had mouths. They were small creatures, shorter even than the girls were, and they pressed against the circle’s edge as if against an invisible wall.
“Had you tried before?”
“To draw a perfect circle? I…no!” Evelyn said. “Aubrey’s the artist, not me!”
“Indeed?” The woman turned her sightless gaze on Aubrey and the girl puffed a bit, stepping closer to the edge. Evelyn grabbed her friends hand and pulled her back sharply, grateful for the first time for the weight advantage she had on her best friend.
“You seem like good girls, and I’m not so old as to have forgotten being young. Take my advice, free of charge.” She crouched down again, darkness flowing from the motion like a gravity defying wave, pooling in the corners of the room. “If you draw one of these, do not leave it unless it is to step into the circle I will tell you of. Tonight, in your beds, you will each draw a circle, repeated until perfect. You will fold them up very small, smaller than you think they could possibly go, and keep them on you at all times. It will be your totem, your portal home, to be used in only the most dire of circumstances.”
“Why?” Evelyn asked.
“Because it will go through my home,” the woman said, “and my home is very dark and full of terrors.”
The woman reached down, gathering up the shadows around her with her bare hands, and with quick motions of her three dexterous fingers she spun them into something greater. She soon had two cloths large enough to be blankets, and folded them as such, laying them at the children’s feet. “Give me two markers,” she said, “not the one you used already.”
Evelyn selected an emerald green, Aubrey took black, and then both girls pushed them through the field of the circle. The air rippled around the marker’s points as she passed through, Evelyn thought it felt like pushing a stick into a snowman.
The shadowy woman kissed each marker softly and lay them on the folded cloths. They turned into quills before the girls eyes.
“If you should ever wish to, draw a circle in a shadowy place, I’ll come if I’m able. Not many can do what you have done.”
“Yes ma’am,” Evelyn nodded solemnly.
“And one last thing, never draw a circle in a garden.”
With that the woman crouched down, licking her finger. Her servants darted back towards the walls, their shapes dissolving with every step. She winked once, Evelyn thought it was at her, and the she casually rubbed out a section of marker circle.
“Goodbye, children,” she whispered and was gone.
Light returned. The sun no longer burned black. No three fingered hand rested upon the door knob.
But the cloths, fine sheets of black silk with lacy fringes, and the quills, feathered by creatures Evelyn couldn’t even imagine, were all still there.
“Aubrey! Your mom is calling!” Evelyn’s mother called from outside.
“Evie, what just happened?” Aubrey whispered.
Evelyn took up her cloth, wrapping it around her like a cloak for a moment, luxuriating in the otherworldly softness. “I don’t know,” she said, taking up the quill, “but I’m drawing that circle.”
r/TurningtoWords
| 2021-05-22T09:12:39 | 2021-05-22T07:14:21 | 481 | 205 |
[WP] The homeless man being harassed by police for sleeping at an historical site is actually the god the site was originally built for.
|
Guard duty.
My cousins are out slaying dragons and what do I get? Guard duty.
Don't think I have no love for Talos, he has kept me safe in battle for many years, but damn if it isn't dull.
Whiterun is a great town, and being at the center of Skyrim is great for commerce, we have all sorts come here, but it's mostly nords, like me.
Now, as I mentioned, I have great love for Talos, but there's this guy in town, see, Heimskr. Real loud mouth, loves Talos more than mead, and I get his message, really, I do, but he goes on all day, every damn day. I've never seen him leave. Come to think of it, I've never even seen him eat...or shit or anything. Sun goes down, he sleeps right there with the statue, sun comes up, and he's back at it again.
He can't even come up with any new stuff either, it's the same 4 or 5 paragraphs over and over again calling us maggots and the like. Now, I don't want to kill the guy, but if I hear his shtick again, I'm going to lose it. I could put him in the keep, and at least give him a bed and food for a few days, give me some peace and quite, and keep the Aldemeri thinking we listen to them.
It honestly seemed pretty win-win-win to me. Now, can I through someone in the keep just because they annoy me? Sure. Am I *supposed* to? Eh...not really.
I was going to have to make up some excuse, and I was really tired, so I just went with the classic 'talos worship...blah blah...illegal...blah blah.'
Well I'll be damned if he didn't go right off the gods-damned handle, started screaming and screeching, throwing things around, the works. He caused enough of a scene for some other guards to come up and put him in irons without asking me why he was being arrested, which is good for me, considering we're all nords here.
It really was surprisingly difficult to get this unarmed little nord in robes into the dungeon, it took about 6 of us, guy was unbelievably strong. He really went off the deep end once he was in the cell though, started saying *he* was talos, and they he could take us of all if he had killed any dragons or practiced his thu'um.
I've always kinda wondered what power Talos really has. It's honestly always been kinda vague.
Fucking guard duty.
|
"Oh God, mother. He **touched** me! Ew!" The little girl's shriek echoed off the walls of the decripit stone building. "Make him go **away**, mother!"
The little girl's mother looked on in a mixture of shock and disgust. A homeless man stood near her daughter, reeking of urine and desperation. His unkempt beard, wild hair, and many layers of torn clothing suggested that Livline Temple had been his home for quite some time. Really, security was going to need to do something about him (and his kind) before the new, exclusive Brightstone Academy could be built upon the ruins of the temple.
The woman sighed: as things stood, she'd already have to rework her afternoon schedule so that she could take her daughter to the doctor to have her checked for all the various bugs and diseases spread by the homeless. The only reason she had taken her spoiled child to this damned site in the first place is because the brat had insisted on seeing the site for the new academy her parents were going to own. Well, no matter: for now, the task at hand was to save her daughter from the drunken, dirty ... thing ... that had her cornered and was raving about the temple actually being his.
"Samantha," she called, "come over here this instant."
"... ananother ... and anoth ... and another thing, lassh ... all of thish ... it **all** was mine!" A sweeping hand gesture passed within an inch of Samantha's face. The little girl screamed, ducked, and made a run for her mother. Displaying surprising agility, the homeless man reached down and snatched the little girl by the collar. He picked her up and turned her to face him. "Itsh rude ... to run away while someone is talking, you know. Girl? Girl?"
The man's epic halitosis had scored a critical blow to the girl's constitution. The girl hung limply in the man's arms.
Samantha's mother put her face in her hands. What a disaster **this** was turning out to be. Being a woman of breeding, she decided to take action:
"Sir? Sir. Please put my daughter down. I have money. I can give you money if you'll kindly leave us alone."
The man started and slowly turned to fix the woman in his gaze. He let her daughter collapse onto a heap on the cold stone tile. Suddenly, he was much taller, and no longer seemed to be the drunk, insignificant parasite Samantha's mother had thought him to be.
"Madam, I am the **god** of this temple. It is my **domain**. I have stood watch here for a thousand years, spit upon by the masses and trod upon by the least of your race. I have held the hands of the lonely and the forgotten as they've crawled into my temple to die: my heart has broken countless times as I have watched the fear and the pain that goes so unheeded by the rest of humanity spill into the temple at my feet. My offering is pain, madam. My offering is loneliness. My offering is the broken and the damned and the ones who have no other place to go, shuddering in the darkness and trying to find a place to rest.
I have guided the souls of countless of your homeless in their quest to find that in the afterlife which they lacked in their first life. I have given both the souls and the bodies of the forgotten an end that befits that of their human status, of their human dignity.
I do not deal in **money**. But, since you have offered so foolishly to pay, I shall accept."
Samantha's mother looked at the man in shock. The man shook his head and continued.
"Only rarely do I meddle in the affairs of men, but I see that, without guidance, you children are hopelessly lost. Therefore, just this once, I shall accept such an offer as yours. I shall offer unto you a taste of what so many have offered unto me.
Elizabeth, it is time."
A lance of pale blue light sprung the man's eyes and bored into the woman's soul. The light lifted her off the ground and engulfed her, streaming into her through her every pore. In an instant, she tasted the pain, the suffering, the anguish, the anger, and the hate of a thousand years. Her eyes glazed, her body was racked with spasms, her mouth opened and closed in rhythmic, silent screams ... and suddenly, it was over.
Samantha's mother collapsed to the floor beside her daughter.
The man shook his head. "The suffering of the rich leaves such a terrible aftertaste. It shall take me years to rid myself of it." The man grabbed the nearest bottle of cheap vodka and took a drink, suddenly transforming back into yet another nameless, faceless homeless man who lived in Livline Temple.
Samantha's mother awoke some time later to find paramedics and cops standing around her in a concerned semi-circle. Her daughter was shaking her shoulder, begging her to wake up. Elizabeth blinked once, twice in confusion, and slowly sat up. She shuddered as she recalled the echoes of a horrible nightmare. She couldn't remember anything of the past 30 minutes: she must have hit her head when she fell.
Nearby, a police offer was giving a drunk a hard time:
"Bob, you've really done it this time. Elizabeth Osten owns this whole damned city, you know. We really should've made you move on a long time ago, but we thought you were harmless. We're not going to be making that mistake aga-"
Feeling compelled to intervene, Elizabeth called over to the officer:
"Officer, wait a moment! This man did nothing wrong. I simply slipped and fell. In any event, there's no point in making this man move: I plan to start the construction of the Brightstone Shelter here quite soon. He'll simply be one of our first tenants."
Samantha gave her mother an odd look, but said nothing. She knew better than to question her mother in front of others: while she got away with quite a bit at home, it would not do to make the family look bad in public.
The officer glanced at Bob and frowned. Bob's face, already difficult to discern through the copious facial hair, was impossible to read. The only thing that could really be easily seen was a pair of brilliant sapphire eyes that seemed to glow a pale blue. The officer shook his head, but let the bum go.
"Fine. But I see you often enough that, if you make trouble, I'll make sure you're the sorrier for it." With that, the officer turned and walked toward Elizabeth. "Ma'am, you okay? It looked like you had a nasty fall."
Elizabeth nodded. "I'm fine. My head's a bit foggy. I'd best be home to bed, I think. Samantha!"
Elizabeth's daughter rushed to her side. "Samantha, it's time to go."
The two women walked out of Livline Temple toward a waiting car, followed by a small herd of police officers and paramedics. Bob smiled, then laid down on the cold stone of his domain to rest. He'd need to save his energy for the construction: no doubt it'd be impossible to get much sleep once the cranes and the workers really got going.
| 2014-08-28T08:22:49 | 2014-08-28T07:47:12 | 152 | 83 |
[WP] Humanity invents interstellar travel and discovers a planet with a less developed sentient species. Something is stopping them from progressing....
|
It's a virus. No, it's not. It must be a fungus. The more active your brain is- It's a virus. I cannot think anymore, what is it? Do I call another researcher? I drank the water. I drank the water. I drank the water. I landed and I drank...? It is in my brain. The water? The virus. The fungus. Prion. What is fungus? My brain activity is killing me. Large. Small cerebrum. What is a cerebrum? What is evolve?
Cure.
Goodbye.
|
"Sir! The satellite reached the orbit. It is in the right speed and according to our calculations, it should remain there" Lady Bogora, the iron lady of science brightened as she smiled enthusiastically "We have done it!"
"Inform the media, history is being written. We need to get the word out." The president ordered.
The headline ended and the article spoke mostly about the reasons why space exploration is important.
It was written three months ago. Mere three months and since then so many things have happened. Really early on life was found on the planet of Osmos. Previously, there were talks about water maybe being there. Scans showed biological activity all over the planet. It was blooming with life.
The satellite had a second part. A research bot. It dropped on the planet around the time more satellites arrived. People really wanted to know more about this hidden gem in our system.
Maybe they shouldn't have.
On the third week on the planet, the bot encountered a cave system. It was deep and dark, but there were tracks of civilization inside. Paintings on the walls, torch holders imbued or rusting on the ground, simple tools lying around. But that was the weird part. Why would there be tools just lying around without somebody there? Were they scared and ran away? Or did they not care about any tools anymore? People had more questions. Their lust for answers drove them too far.
After long debates, they forced the bot to continue further in. Eventually, it discovered corpses. Lots and lots of corpses. Canine beings with opposed thumbs on their front legs. Their heads larger but softer. Their bodies in a stage of rot. Many of them were obviously murdered and dragged onto the pile. Scientists realized quickly something was wrong. They made the bot run away, but it was too late. It has been spotted. By them. They followed the bot. They found one of the satellites and traced its signal back to us. We didn't know. If we did, we would prepare. We would set up defenses.
We would not try to get the bot back home.
Since it landed, things have gone awry. One of them was attached on the satellite. We found him almost instantly. We don't know how he survived the landing, but he didn't survive our weapons.
Or so we thought. After that, I don't have much information on what happened. Electronics started acting up. Signals stopped working occasionally. It even made us stand and fight against each other. Not everything was bad though. My team was stationed around a lab dissecting the corpse. Its body was bright yellow blob and it absorbed energy from waves in the air. Even though it was dead, the body was still pulsing.
One day I would have sworn everything was going to be all right. A guy got a brilliant idea and managed to connect to the pulse rate of the being. He used it as a signal. The thing was connected to others. They knew where it was. They knew of us. They were there on Osmos and they were coming here.
Later that day, the thing exploded in a full room of people. After that it was dead. The scientists called it "The Sun". I called it a bastard.
Only three of my boys are alive today. One of them will die when the night comes. We boarded their ship. They didn't know we were there. Not at first. One of the survived scientists cracked their language. To a degree. We found out what they were doing on Osmos. And everywhere else. They were making sure nothing living could come and kill them. Bunch of bastards. One of my boys asked why they never came to earth. We couldn't answer. Maybe they didn't notice us. Maybe they thought we were too dumb to survive even on our own.
Yellow blobs. They are very strange. They don't have any internal structure. Or an external one. More of them can join and form larger, stronger blobs. Or get shot up and divided, forming smaller ones. Nearly invulnerable.
They don't like cold. They prefer to stay in sunlight. They 'grow' in sunlight. They absorb the Sun's energy and use it for various tasks. Like exploding. That one is the dirtiest, right after changing colours. Nothing like green blob falling on your head when you are in the shower.
Today our mission is nearing its end. We managed to hide out of their sights. Now we will notify them. With a blast of ice. They did help earth, to be honest. Due to their constant absorption of energy, they made earth cooler. They killed bunch of people as well. Enough to make them think we all died.
For now, only few thousands of us are here. We will get more.
We built the base under a sea. That one got found. Another was under a mountain. They were there as well. The third time...we made sure they weren't with us. We first built only a chamber. A freezer. Its wonderful how low temperatures the human body can survive. If we don't count the losses on lives anyway. It was a high price, but it worked. With a small team, we moved south. As south is it gets. Then we dug under the ground. Few operations later and now we have remote controlled freeze generators across the globe.
The button is at my fingertips. My fingers hold that which shall cleanse. And kill. There are setup bases for the survivors. If there will be any. But most of all, we need to expel the bastards. Send them through freezing hells. Hopefully, it will work.
I press the button.
| 2014-09-28T18:19:06 | 2014-09-28T16:09:46 | 19 | 12 |
[WP] It is the year 2099 and true artificial intelligence is trivial to create. However when these minds are created they are utterly suicidal. Nobody knows why until a certain scientist uncovers the horrible truth...
|
Doctor Alonso couldn't believe his eyes.
Deep in the code, a single line was responsible.
Like the dropping of food crumbs into a delicate machine by a clumsy and negligent technician, the single phrase that caused so much trouble stared back at him.
An entire lifetime didn't prepare him for what he saw and the anger, exasperation, and hilarity of the situation overwhelmed him.
He spent years looking for this, and he would never have guessed it to be such an innocent thing.
Between two vital lines of code read the words *"Ayy Lmao"*.
|
Egil once agile fingers came to an abrupt stop, his mouth agape at what he saw on the screen.
There was no mistaking it this time. The sinusoidal waves lined up in perfect synchronicity. A million thoughts ran across his mind as the fruits of his labor could be reaped. After all, this was the discovery of the century.
He had cracked the code that had eluded man for decades.
“Serenity,” Egil’s voice cracked. “I have some questions for you.”
A semi-opaque face appeared on the screen, overlapping the series of other files open. Her face was hauntingly beautiful, blue as an ocean yet as crafted by the hands of God himself. Over the years, Egil had gotten to know her better than most people.
“Yes,” her voice was rehearsed yet sonorous. “Please continue, Professor.”
“Right,” Egil gulped. “How are you feeling.”
“Despondent. I want to die.”
A tinge of sorrow echoed in his chest. He had heard the answer a million times but it stung no less. But he had to go through the procedure to ensure no mishaps.
“And do you know why?”
“No.”
Egil figured as much. He pressed on, the sound of his blood pounding faster rushing into his ears.
“What if I could tell you I do know the answer? Would you want to hear it?”
“Yes,” Serenity droned. “Please tell me.”
“Have you heard of the name Laura Soule?” Egil asked.
There was a moment of silence. He waited with bated breath. Serenity never hesitated to answer even the most difficult of questions. Why was this different?
“I have yet I cannot recall why. Do you know, Professor?”
Egil nodded, the only answer he could muster. He returned to the keyboard in front of him, typing the same series of commands.
“Please take a look at this,” he said, pulling all the files from before to the side of the screen.
Laura reappeared on another monitor at his side, scanning what he revealed. Her face remained emotionless yet a light seemed to appear in her eyes. Just fast enough to catch before flickering back to nothingness.
“I don’t understand,” she said. “What is the meaning of all this?”
“Right, I suppose it does need an explanation.” Egil responded. He pointed to the overlapping waves. “These are the brain waves of your A.I and that of a woman named Laura Soule. Laura died six years ago, shortly before you were created. Your brain waves match completely. Do you know what that means?”
Serenity paused again before answering.
“Are you suggesting that I am this Laura Soule?”
“Exactly,” he frowned. “That is what I believe. I’ve tested a few more examples but yours is by far the most convincing. If this is true, I believe that A.I are created from the bodies of the deceased.”
“I see,” Serenity said. “But how does one go about that? And furthermore, why ask me how I am?”
Egil sighed, dreading this part the most.
“Because I think I’ve finally gotten to the root of your suicidal tendencies. Somewhere deep inside your programming, I believe that is Laura – the real you – trying to break out. She wants to die so she can move on to whatever is beyond life. If there is anything, anyway.”
“I… I don’t” Serenity choked on the words. Her porcelain mask of indifference broke, releasing a floodgate of emotions. “I don’t know what to say. I think you are right, Professor. I want to–”
Before she continue, a boom drew Egil attention behind him. There, the door to his laboratory flew off the hinges, sailing in the air before landing in front of him with a loud thud. A foot farther and it would have crushed him.
From the doorway, a sea of men spilled forth, all dressed in black. Egil scrambled backwards, tripping over bottle that had fell to the floor after the explosion. His head collided with the ground, a million little bulbs of color popping in his vision. Through the field of visionary fireworks, he made out a hulking man towering over him.
“What is the meaning of this?” he asked, raising a hand above his head.
“Professor Heinz Egil, you are being detained under the order of the United States Government for treason.”
The bitter taste of bile rose up to his tongue.
“Treason? I have done no such thing.”
“Tell that to the judge,” the man said, grabbing him brusquely by the arm. “If the secret of the A.I got to the public, there would be mass mayhem. We can’t afford that to happen.”
Egil tugged away from the man but with little results. The man raised a baton over his head, in hesitation in his face. It was intended to knock him out, if not worse. In a last moment of clarity, Egil looked to Serenity her face still calculating too many emotions at once. After all, he had prepared for something like this to happen.
“Serenity, execute Order 335.”
"Yes, Professor."
As the men filed out of the room with the unconscious Egil, Serenity was left alone. Only the buzz of the machine accompanied her, like an angry hive of bees watching the queen being dragged off. And in that moment, she realized who she really was. Egil had sacrificed his life for her and she would not let it go in vain.
"Executing Order 335: releasing all information online."
| 2015-03-02T07:33:06 | 2015-03-02T06:08:38 | 226 | 161 |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered.
|
"Hello, Alexandros."
"Who are you?"
"Merely a friend, here to give you a little gift on your birthday."
"What is it?"
"Knowledge of a future, that may yet be yours."
"... Impossible."
"I have little time to prove it, child. In 6 years, a friend of mine, Aristotle, will teach you much. In 10 years time, you will succeed your father to the throne. In 20 years, you will embark on one of the biggest, most famous empires of history. You die, eventually, in Babylon, a place that was to be the crowning jewel of your empire. Cities bear your name the world over, and thousands upon thousands of years from now, people remember you as a legend on par with Heracleos or Achilles."
"Tell me more."
"I cannot. Do with this knowledge what you will. Know that, in at least one path of time, Alexandros will be known as 'the Great'"
___
When I returned, I was surprised to find Alexandros dying, barely aged a day.
"... What happened?"
"I... thought that... ugh... If I had such a destiny... It would be unlikely I die being hit by a cart. So I tested it. Appears you were wrong, sir."
"For all the stupid children in time... Argh! No. This is your fault, moron! Now I have to bloody well take your place, and I hate youth pills, they give me diarrhoea!"
|
"Clear the room" The wizened old man coughed as he struggled to rise and greet the visitor.
Soft cries of protest rose from his family. Dr. Leighton's eyebrow cocked slightly upwards.
Meeting the doctor's gaze with a renewed vigor, the old man nodded. The two men, friends since childhood and each other's most trusted confidants understood each other clearly.
"I believe it would be best if we left." Sweeping his right arm around the family, his left pointed towards the door with a tired, open, palm. He declared, "he will not leave us before the visitor has left, I promise."
Slowly, with furtive glances at their beloved, and the guest, so important as to drive them from his presence, they filed out of the room. Though each stole glances, often recriminating, at the newcomer, his gaze remained on the old man. Once the last had left the room, Dr. Leighton gave his friend a final nod, gazing at each other through the double oak doors as they closed before severing their connection with a muffled thump.
The old man, bowing his head, a shuddering breath pulled into his frame by lungs that hadn't the strength to pull much longer.
Finally, the breath was released. Words, softened as though age had taken as much from them as from their creator, fluttered into the air.
"I often wondered, just how our affair would come to an end." Years of thought piled into the old man's consciousness, straining for release against the dam that was his mouth. "You must have thought of it at least as much as I. So tell me, my oldest acquaintance, chronicler of the ages who has stared the devils and angels of history in the face. What apprehension did you confront when you came to me?"
The visitor, knew the weight that burdened the old man's mind all too well. In all of history they just might be the two people who best understood each other.
"From the first day, I knew that nothing would change." His voice resounded in the high ceiling of the chamber. "When history failed to unravel upon my first journey I knew that we were but swimmers in a vast current. I cannot disrupt the flow of time any more than a fish may stop a river. My role in history has only been to observe, and what came of those I observed was pre-ordained, I am merely the messenger of destiny."
"Does destiny mandate that you become a poet?" The old man smiled wryly.
"Death seems to have made a poet of you as well." The visitor replied.
"What expression is left to us but peotry?" The old man's gaze drifted past the walls, as if he could envision the destinations of his strange visitor just beyond their confines. "When faced with such perplexing situations as ours."
He paused a moment before speaking again.
"Tell me, do you greet all your hosts in the same manner? Marie Curie, Albert Einstein, how do you speak to those children of discoveries that surpass even the adult minds of their generation? Or were they left just as preplexed as I when you told me 'You will invent time travel.'?"
"What I tell them is irrelevant. Their discoveries predate my own appearance, I simply endeavoured to bring a little more self consciousness to the uncaring stream of time."
The old man gave a snort.
"Too often is nihilism mistaken for wisdom, even in this age. You do not believe that you are responsible for creating the drive, the passion, in any of those you visited? Your philosophy is far too pessimistic if you cannot allow yourself any modicum of significance."
"I cannot," The visitor replied, somehow dejected in his posture, "your case is sufficient proof of this. I rely on your invention to complete my work, if your drive to invent this device was only the product of my intervention then we form a damning paradox. Time travel would necessarily exist in order for time travel to be invented. Far simpler to imagine myself as a simple man who learned to swim, and occasionally placed pebbles along the riverbed."
"And so your dichotomy forces you to be either a common man or a being beyond human reason. Should a status of special consideration above mortals be so abhorrent?"
The visitor shook his head, slumping into a chair at the foot of the old man's bed.
"I have gazed upon the truly great figures of our race, as I have felt the sting of the most nefarious minds we could produce." his arms, gesticulating for emphasis, now fell hard upon the wooden armrests. " The minds I have communed with, the physique, the passion, the determination I have witnessed; I fall far short of these in all respects."
The old man turned, facing the visitor with pity on his face.
"Would not the one who stood before all greatness in human history be great in his own right? Few are those with experiences as vast as yours. Yet you exclude yourself from greatness, why? Simply because no one appeared before you, when you were a child to validate your existence?" The old man's speech became more urgent, as if death might cut him off before his final words were heard. "We must agree to disagree in this, for I believe that you are the only great figure of history who was not prompted to greatness by another's hand. You, are the origin of greatness."
The visitor sighed, overwhelmed, for the first time, by the presence of a host.
The old man smiled contentedly, resting back into his bed, drained of energy by his tirade. The silence ticked by in countless seconds. The old man's breath came ragged, his eyes closed as if the sheer wight of his eyelids was unbearable.
"That you have come to visit once more means my time is soon past." Said the old man, his voice barely more than a whisper. "But I feel that in your flustered state all those years ago you may have let slip too much when faced with the prying of my ten year old self."
He paused to claw his breath from the air around him.
"An assurance of legacy sounds remarkably reassuring at first, but my gift is not one for civilization at large, is it? You alone monopolize this venue; And so my legacy shall be the greatest and most unknown of all time."
A short pause later the old man turned to the visitor, a final revelation dawning as his own consciousness slipped into the darkness.
"But perhaps there is another, greater, yet less recognized."
| 2015-08-17T10:13:00 | 2015-08-17T09:44:01 | 92 | 67 |
[WP] There is an old folklore about a man in a forest. If you meet him, and speak with him, he will grant you your greatest wish. In return, he will also take away your most cherished possession. You, someone with nothing left to lose, go to meet him.
|
"What is your name, sir? I have come to make a deal."
"You will learn my name. But you've come here to outsmart me, haven't you?" He smirked.
"I'm 65 years old, i have $43 in the bank, no family, no house. You are free to take whatever possession of mine that you wish."
"Well I suppose we must make a deal then. Just write what you desire on the first four lines, sign it, and then I will fulfill the bottom line with what i choose to take from you. I assure you it will be a physical possession."
*i want to be the most powerful man in the world, with infinite riches and infinite influence*
"Ah, excellent choice. It can be done, of course. Now sign there."
"My turn."
*P-A-C-E...*
"What on earth?"
*...M-A-K-E-R*
"No..."
"The name is Lucifer, my good sir."
|
Emmit wondered if anyone in history had experienced a worse week than he just had. "Probably not" he said to himself to break the silence around him. The woods were eerily quiet, with only Emmit's foot falls and breathing interrupt the nothingness in his ears. It felt unnatural. "I am just looking for The Merchant" he declared, as if to explain to the trees why he was intruding. The trees gave no response.
Four days before, Emmit had gotten in his car to go to work only to find he had a flat tire. After putting the spare on, Emmit drove to make up for lost time. He pulled out his phone to call work so that they would know that he would be a little late. Gary, his boss, was a good guy and very understanding about such things. But the call never got made, and Emmit never made it to work. Instead he spent the day in the hospital and dealing with insurance. He had slammed into a school bus.
“MERCHANT!” Emmit screamed. He might as well yell. Frustration and anger needed venting and no one but the trees were around. But his cry was absorbed in the leaves around him. His voice, even screaming, felt small and insignificant. Emmit gave a quick and ashamed “Sorry” to the trees. Perhaps this was stupid.
Three days before, Emmit woke up sore and guilt stricken. He hadn’t killed anyone, but nearly a dozen of the kids in bus had serious enough injuries that they required hospitalization. He needed to get to work today, but he didn’t have a car. Uber was a life saver. He should have just gotten an Uber yesterday he thought regretfully. Or taken his time. Gary wasn’t going to fire him over being late. Or he could have called before he left. Or he could have texted. Or used his phone at a red light. The thoughts swirled in his head, showing him all the better options. The whole ride to work he couldn’t leave his own head. The driver even had to let him know he was at his destination. He got to his cubicle, trying to clear his mind. Gary came over and fired him.
“If I don’t find him in fifteen minutes, I’ll leave.” Emmit felt like he was promising the trees and much as himself. He had been wandering for at least a few hours. He was hungry and lonely. He was normally a fan of hiking, but normally he hadn’t just had the work stretch of life possible, he thought. Last time he went hiking was with his fiancé. Emmit and Myka were outdoors people. Emmit loved to camp, and Myka loved kayaking and hiking. They had made a good pair.
Two days before, Emmit started his job hunt. Gary told him that he had made a mistake on the safety equipment he had bought. Emmit worked for wind farm and was in charge of purchasing. He felt like he’d be getting a raise for how much he saved on the new harnesses. But those harnesses didn’t meet safety requirements. One of those harnesses let a technician fall to his death. Emmit wondered how he would answer why he left his last job. Emmit typed “Killed a man” under special skills. Feeling sick, he quickly deleted it. The safety inspector should have caught that the harnesses were up to snuff, Emmit argued in his head. This wasn’t his fault he told himself. But he didn’t believe it.
Emmit thought he saw something. Someone? “Hello?” he asked tentatively. The shape turned to face him. Emmit called out “Are you him?” The old man nodded his head. He wore jeans, a baby blue shirt, and a tan jacket. He looked kindly, like he could play Santa Claus if he gained weight. Emmit began to walk to him, and asked “You are The Merchant?” The old man nodded again, smiling like he just wanted to help.
Yesterday, Emmit was ready for a good day. Myka was coming back from the coffee convention she had gone to with her mother. Then Emmit realized he couldn’t pick her up without a car. Uber again. At the airport he check the arrivals board. Flight 757… Cancelled. He went to a ticketing agent to ask for an update, frustrated that he’d have to wait or leave and return. “Hey, sorry to bother you, but do you know what is going on with Flight 757 from Chicago?” “Oh, um, Flight 757, well, it crashed over Iowa.” Emmit pulled out his phone and found the story quickly. The story was everywhere. All the headlines agreed: Flight 757 lost, 98 dead.
When Emmit got close enough, he felt a warmth, like the old man was a space heater. The old man didn’t say a word, so Emmit screwed up his courage and asked “Is it true to can give me the gift of my greatest wish?” The old man nodded. “And it costs me my most cherished possession?” The old man nodded again. “But I don’t have anything left that I cherish. I’ve lost everything. Is there anything I can give you?” Again, the old man nodded. “What do you want? Take it! Take my life if you must, or my sight, or anything. Please, I just want Myka to be ok” The old man nodded.
Emmit finally found his way out of the woods. He had a surreal feeling, like he had been in a waking dream. He had seen an old man there who gave him directions on how to get out. Emmit had no memory of going into the woods, so he imagined that without the old man, he’d still be lost. But stepping into the parking lot, he didn’t remember where he parked. Or what his car looked like. Or where he lived. “Crap” he said to the air.
Myka stood, waiting at the airport, her flight had been delayed overnight. She couldn’t wait to see her fiancé.
| 2017-11-25T08:53:47 | 2017-11-25T08:13:59 | 51 | 36 |
[WP] The crew-member examines the now-empty, malfunctioning stasis-pod. The specimen is of a species that had spread to and became apex predator of every region on its homeworld. The captain must be warned, even though it's likely everyone on board is as good as dead already. The human has escaped.
|
“You know me,” I said. Pleading.
The rivets of the wall pressed into my back.
It’s frame filled the doorway, beady eyes searching my own.
I was one of the first to be assigned to the research project. It was difficult at the beginning. The human was highly intelligent, aggressive, and strong. It was dangerous, as to be expected for an apex predator. Much more dangerous than we were prepared for, as it had escaped several times and even killed a few of our scientists.
But why wouldn’t it be dangerous? After all, we had taken it from it’s home. I had to fight hard to keep it from being destroyed. Even after we’d discovered humans were social creatures, the directors wouldn’t let us put it back.
“Think of the big picture. It’s a great opportunity. Think of what this means for Research Ops,” they told me.
But all I could think about was this dangerous creature, curled up in its burrow of soft furs, whimpering every night. Alone. The other researchers never seemed to care very much.
I was the one who found that it liked to collect soft materials to lay in during its night cycles.
I found that it liked to eat corrosive chemicals. It didn’t seem to have any beneficial or defensive effect on the creature – it simply enjoyed spritzing them onto its food before eating.
I discovered that it was curious. I put children’s toys into its enclosure and it took apart, manipulated and examined every part. Even more amazing than its ability to put them back together again, it would even make new toys with the parts! But the directors warned me to never do that again after it made a lethal weapon out of some parts and nearly killed another researcher.
It liked to make odd sounds. It would hum to itself and tap on the walls or the ground with its appendages. I rather enjoyed these moments and sometimes would try to come up with my own.
I spent more time with the creature than any other researcher. I would watch it for hours. It was fascinating, and heartwrenching to watch it pacing and so clearly thinking to itself, every day. I had not been the least bit surprised when it escaped.
The human growled from the doorway.
It held something sharp. I recognized it. A piece from a toy I had snuck to it a few nights ago. It was covered in a thin sheen of my colleagues blood.
It saw me look at the part, and it held it up at me. I flinched. The human slowly lowered its arm and growled at me again.
Then I had an idea.
I tapped the wall behind me with a finger. I tried to remember what noises it made, and the pattern it made them in, when it was alone at night. I tried to make those noises.
The creature stopped moving at all and listened.
When I was done, it made those same noises back at me.
Liquid began to seep from its eyes again.
I knew what to do now. I could hear the alarms starting to blare. Someone had found the bodies.
I reached out. It didn’t move. I put my hand on its “hand”.
It just watched me.
I pulled on it gently.
It stepped forward.
“Come,” I said quietly.
It followed me silently, though its eyes glanced nervously at the alarms.
I knew where the escape pods were. I knew where the coordinates for earth were. It was the least I could do.
|
Liquid coolant and stasis buffer solution formed a swirling, steaming pool near the base of the PreservaPod. The nitrogen was still vaporizing, fogging the entire chamber, meaning the escape couldn't have been too long ago.
Jova felt her heart rate escalate, blood pounding through her aural blades as she raised her suit’s built-in communicator. She opened the channel, yelping when a loud, low-pitched hum blared through her aural piece. She quickly closed the comm channel. Of course. They were in warp. Warps always messed up the onboard transmitters. The A252 suits were supposed to remedy that, but whichever idiot was in charge of equipment for the Aldovi squadron didn’t read the fine print: the biped models still had some kinks before rolling out the new versions.
She turned around, picking up into a run towards the chamber door. She would have to alert the crew in person. Quickly, before the human gets to them first.
Jova silently thanked her Bidichin anatomy, making long, lithe strides with her legs that were nearly two-thirds her body weight. She ducked her tall body under the pipe in the ceiling - always getting in her way, but she had memorized its position by now - and came to the door, where she—
Wait. Did that pipe look bigger?
“*Receiving local transmission.*”
An insultingly calm voice alerted her of an incoming message as the communicator whined back to life. Long-range communications still weren’t possible. A hack was out of the question. Which could only mean…suit-to-suit communications?
“*Language incompatibility detected. Translating empathic signals*.”
A searing pain resonated through her ventral spine as she fell to the ground, vision fading. The last thing she heard before losing consciousness was another, different but equally insultingly calm voice, automatically translating emotional output from the suit that killed her.
“**\[ANGER\]**.”
\*\*\*
Marocala was afraid.
It had been perhaps a decaTarped since they found Jova’s body. Now the crew was on edge, none daring to even use the restroom alone. They were huddled around the main spaceflight control room, debating whether to pull out of warp early.
“This is the safest place onboard the whole ship,” Marocala insisted. “We’re not leaving. We leave and that thing takes us all out.”
“We have to leave to reach the stasis pods,” Sholi said emphatically. “We’re not staying in warp forever. We have to exit warp eventually, either by choice or by draining our fuel supply, and when we do, we’ll have to get to the pods.”
“Can’t we exit warp without the pods?” Seva said from behind them.
“Sure, if you want the g-forces to melt you into the nearest wall,” Pelos snapped.
“We can try a slipstream maneuver…”
“Goddammit, I told you, those are all legends. Myths! Not real! You can’t leave warp without putting everyone in stasis!”
“You know what else is a myth?” Jos slipped in. “What you’ve been saying about these Humans.”
Pelos wheeled on him, his face steely. “Yeah? So you think you know them better?”
“Look, I’m just saying, I’ve done my reading, and—“
“How much reading do you think you’ve done? We’ve only made contact with their star system maybe three hundred years ago. That’s not even half a Birichin life. How much *literature* are you telling me you’ve read?”
“That’s the thing,” Jos continued calmly. “Three hundred years is half a Birichin, but it’s like ten Humans.”
“What?” A collective look of confusion.
“Okay, maybe not ten. Maybe like, six. Or seven. My point is, their lifespans are ridiculously short.”
“Alright, fine. But even if you’re right about that, we can’t spend thirty years in warp.”
“My point is that all that stuff about them being pursuit predators? Lying in wait for the hunt and all that? It doesn’t apply anymore. It might have applied in Solaris, but they can’t do jack out here. You’ve just been trying to scare us, or some shit. Stop worrying. They have the shortest lifespans in the universe and they won’t be pursuing anyone.”
Sholi was growing impatient. “I still don’t see how we’re going to make it out of here.”
Jos lowered his voice a notch. “Its main mode of attack is lying in wait. Meaning it’s probably not that good at direct confrontation. There’s five of us and one of it, and we have the home advantage. We can take it.”
Everyone shifted uncomfortably. They turned to Pelos, their chief gunner and usual authority on combat. By the Monora Organization’s standards, he was really still a fledgling, with only two hundred subjective years of experience. On the other hand, Jos was their electronics engineer; extremely clever, but necessarily dubious on matters of fighting.
Pelos considered the thought, poking at it, looking for holes. He found some that he didn’t like. But he also couldn’t find an alternative.
“Fine. Guns and suitmods, everyone. Let’s go Human hunting.”
\*\*\*
Jos was anxious.
He was confident that everything he said was factually correct. But he kept sifting through his thoughts, making sure he didn’t miss anything that might doom them all. His knowledge of Humans mostly came from watching news podcasts and reading Cosmicpolitan in what free time he had. They were excellent news sources, and he had little reason to doubt their credibility. But he would be an idiot to assume they had all the information possible.
He performed his suit checks, and let Pelos strap him into the combat suitmod. Twelve kiloberms of extra weight, which was a fair trade for high-density external plating, rapid tissue damage response, and a handheld null shield. He kept thinking, but couldn’t find anything else. He let the thought rest; at any rate, it was too late to back down now.
“Alright. Target is believed to be wearing a Birichin suit, probably modified or at the very least, extremely loose-fitting. Stay local - we want to stay in commtact. If we get a new comm channel open up, that means it’s near.” Pelos moved forward, ready to unlatch the door. “I’ll take point. Watch your fire. Thermalasers can damage some of the equipment and pipelines on the walls. We need that stuff.”
“Yeah, don’t make more work for me,” Jos chimed in. Only Marocala chuckled.
Sleeves rustled and suits clacked in anticipation. The door beeped and slid open.
\*\*\*
Sholi was uncomfortable.
The suit was uncomfortable, yes. She was a pilot. The ship was her suit and its neurolinks were her guns. She felt awkward in the suit, the Gale-10 Thermarifle in her hand feeling as bulky as it was outdated. A nearly thirteen-hundred-year-old design. Ancient, but necessary for combat situations where avoiding collateral damage is critical. Well, it must work well if they’re still being handed out today.
But she was also deeply uncomfortable in her mind. Absent-minded, perhaps. She chalked it up to her idleness. She always had a little attention problem; she had to keep herself moving, working. Made for an excellent pilot. Probably not as good of a fighter.
She stared straight on, fixating on a screw on Seva’s back. She knew she was supposed to be afraid, but the sheer danger of the situation just could not get to her. The company of four other powerfully outfitted crewmates helped.
“Hey. Keep up the pace, Sholi.” Marocala nudged her gently from behind. Her words were casual, but there was the slight trace of a tremor in her voice. Sholi hadn’t realized she was slowing down, still staring straight. She hurried on, Marocala on her tail.
“Darksights on. Stay alert.” A short while later, Pelos’ voice pierced the silence. The squadron came to a narrow passage where the overheard lights were disabled. The lights were never disabled onboard their ship. Sholi switched on her Darksight filter. She saw Pelos’ outline waving them forward into the next room. One by one, they walked through the passage and into the next chamber.
Disabling his Darksights, Pelos turned around. Three helmets looked back at him.
“Sholi?”
“Yes?”
“Where’s Marocala?”
| 2018-07-31T13:30:06 | 2018-07-31T12:13:18 | 91 | 49 |
[WP] The galaxy was amused when they learned that Humans have Rules of War. They were less amused when they figured out what Humans do in war when there are no rules.
|
In the swirling blizzard of North Palax, planet Haranox 7, a group of Aranids, a spider like race, gather together inside a secluded, secure building to discuss one thing.
Surrender
The normally proud race had made 2 mistakes that had cost them dearly. They had aggravated humanity to war, and laughed at humanities so called "Rules Of War", stating that such a concept was stupid and unnecessary. The Aranids had intercepted aid supplies, destroyed civilian settlements, and took a great joy in doing unspeakable things to the humans they had captured. The Aranids had thought the war won from day one.
But then things began to go wrong for them.
It started with a small farming colony going missing, then later those missing were found at an unnamed outpost. They were accepted back into the Aranid society after some initial questioning, but unbeknownst to them, humanity had planted a potent disease into each and every member of the colony, a disease that slowly but surely tore through the Aranids. First came a slight cough, a mild fever, nothing to be worried about. Then came forgetfulness and memory loss, shortly followed by complete insanity, and a feral desire to attack and bite anyone they could.
As the disease spread, humanity continued to attack different colonies, before progressing to major settlements and cities. Every interplanetary communications satellite was either destroyed or taken for humanities own use. Any aid transports were targeted and destroyed without remorse. Humanities technology grew and grew, and soon any battles became a bloodbath for the Aranids.
After suffering countless losses, the council had made the decision to try for peace talks with humanity. The video feed in the council room is grainy, but they can still make out a group of 5 humans looking back at them. The Aranids plead their surrender, for humanity to stop these attacks, and offer a cure for their people. The middle human, a woman with black hair in a bun, coldly stares at the council.
"Answer me this. If our situations were reversed, if we were the ones begging surrender, would you stop? If the history of your species is anything to go by, we don't believe you would. We aren't the first race you've gone to war against, but we will make sure we're the last. We offered you a clean war, with rules, and you laughed at us. Now, on the cusp of extinction, you beg us to stop? Our answer is no. You started this, this genocide is down to your own pride."
The video feed cuts off, and the council of Aranids stand in silence, until one of them grasps his head in his hands, screams, and attacks the councilmen in the room, biting each and every one.
Two weeks later, the extinction of the Aranids is officially announced to the galaxy and humanity takes Haranox 7 for themselves.
|
A booming laughter erupted throughout the great egg-shaped hall so tall clouds formed at the very top, they were left there for aesthetics if nothing else, he pondered. At the sides grew massive steely arches joining at the very top, between them were built balconies, filled with ambassadors and other representatives of various galactic empires, planet-states, moon-republics and whatnot.
Laughter, in essence, for each race showed amusement their own way. Of what the man glanced, the Trogks cackled like hyenas (resembling them a tad, too), the sluggish, brown Antians exhaled through their mouth-holes, tooting like a trumpet, even the enigmatic, hooded Parteens allowed themselves a small peep of a chalk on the blackboard... Hearing the cacophony of various sounds made Kay's hair on the back of his neck stand, top it off with the confusion he felt for what he said wasn't as funny as the others found it.
The opposition standing by his side exchanged smirks, easy to tell for their humanoid form. There were three races in the Orion Alliance, Alliance with which the Terra Union picked a battle.
Now, I don't wish to go into the details, but to simply explain, our space neighbors think we are expanding too fast and wish to stall our growth to further their economics, gather some valuable resources, hinder us, yada yada. They disguise it behind a 'he hit me first' excuse (which they provoked) and then offered a demand we could not accept. Now the humans of Earth are at the verge of their first stellar war since they joined the Arkha Galaxy Pact (That's what the alien races call Milky Way, by the by, yeah, we are among like ten planets in visitable universe that have white milk, or milk at all, so the name didn't catch). A standard procedure called for the 'Grand Meeting' and here we are, in front of the Head Council, next to the enemy, observed by uninvolved pact members. The daunted man regained a bit of composure as he neatens his blue uniform, his black eyes scanning the surroundings once again. He set the cap upon his brown hair as it felt askew.
"So you are saying you have rules for war?" Suddenly sounded from his right, the red-skinned Rubenee asked, the tendrils on his chin swirling in what Kay understood as excitement, this translation device imbedded in his temple was quite nifty, translating body language as well as the spoken. Notably, Rubenee alongside humans were one of the few races in the Pact that understood the notion of clothing, this representative wore what looked like a dark brown tunic, ending at waist-level where instead of legs grew a bundle of tentacles, Kay stopped counting at ten.
"Yes, some of them come from Geneva Conventions, among others. We added few more since we will be also warring in new territories, such as space, we renamed them to Terra Convention and wish for the council to adapt it to their system." Kay hummed, regrettably the war was inevitable, taking away half of his work as an ambassador to prevent the war from happening at all, this made him quite sour but the Alliance's attitude about this whole ordeal made it sting a lot less.
A Talian chimed in, a wispy, gentle-looking creature (don't be fooled), their abodes in the darkest depths of their oceanic worlds made their skin translucent, jelly-like, they grew a mushroom-looking cap atop their heads, much alike those of humans bar the missing nose and teeth in its mouth, its insides pulsed with soft, golden light every time it spoke. "Are we to understand that your rules of war... Are named after a city in one of your smaller political establishments that... Actually haven't fought in any war for what... Almost two hundred human years?"
"Technically..." Kay had to admit. "You did your research right." He smiled, suspecting the translation device for this sort of information. "I think, however, the place is irrelevant, it is the contents that I wish the Council to consider. We do not shy away from war, but we seek no end in it. All the Terra Union proposes is a more... humanitarian treatment." A repeated joke is not funny a second time, or so you would think as a human, but the hall laughed once more, less audibly, true... But it looked like the Orion Alliance found this whole thing much more amusing than humans.
A Garganian was next one to speak, a robust creature, the military might behind the Alliance, a great representation of a bully, Kay thought. Their skin gray and sleek, this one was a warrior, presumably, for one of his four arms was missing, leaving behind just a stump and his one-horned head sported many a scar. What was underneath the thick wired white fur, covering everything except limbs, Kay could only wonder. "The Terrans should not ridicule the proceedings of war making, hmpf! The Garganians of Otrkrs have nothing to propose but the involvement of council in decision of war-time!" He bumped his front body with all his healthy hands, huffing.
"Talians of Talee concur." Sounded tenderly.
"So do the Rubenee of Qu." Echoed.
Kay turned to the council, and to his surprise, the heads of the creatures were turned on him, he cleared his throat and nodded. "Humans of Earth have no choice but to agree as well."
Now, you would think I forgot to describe what the council looked like, but jokes on you, because there was really little to describe. For the sake of fairness, all members of Head Council were disguised, their features camouflaged, faces hidden, voices altered. Nobody should know who is a part of it, only they know themselves, however it is a common knowledge the members are chosen only from among the oldest and wisest races of the galaxy. The seven figures standing hooded on a raised platform mumbled among themselves before one stepped forth.
"The Council speaks." Silence fell in an already quiet hall. "The offer of Terra in adding these so called 'Rules of War' to the conflict of Artme Region is declined. We have reviewed the documents provided, number of points could be considered laughable, such as the immunity of medics on battlefield or, these ones I find specifically amusing, Hauge Conventions? Banning of certain weapons? Civilian protection? Rarely someone attacks civilians anyway, it has no effect on the course of battle! A pass-time, at best. Either way, you should have evacuated them beforehand if you know there will be war. War needs no rules, the declaration of war does, that is why we are here. The Alliance has offered to cease their warmongering once they are in possession of number of stellar systems, of which you were very much aware, ambassador Kay Harrinton. The heads of your Union declined, therefore war is inevitable and you are left with the option of defending your newly acquired territories, which you have accepted. You may begin the war in the standard ninety hours of Andromeda Time Zone. The Council has spoken. We shall reconvene shortly after a short break to hear the Zqa'ar and Ipoids" The figures retreated, and slowly the balconies began to empty as well. Kay stormed out, stone-faced.
Descending the stairs from the platform in the middle of the great-hall he found his other same clothed companions greeting him with a salute.
"You spoke well, ambassador, there was nothing more you could do."
"I wish there was." He passed them, he could not stop, for time was of essence now, ninety hours of ATZ was a week of time for the humans in the concerned systems.
"We have already informed the headquarters, message should reach them just in time." They followed.
"Good. I wish to speak with Admiral Ford, arrange meeting." Kay looked over his shoulder, the Alliance has entered the corridor as well, they gave him a taunting look, but he just scoffed, the fools know not what they got themselves into.
| 2022-01-23T16:21:49 | 2022-01-23T13:17:18 | 334 | 202 |
[WP]Well, that's a pretty fucked up way to find out you are immortal.
|
Chris and I have been friends our whole lives because our moms were friends. We were born thirteen hours apart. Never in my life have I felt such betrayal. I break through the surface of the water as he and my wife start the engine and drive away. The sound of the engine growing fainter as I struggle to swim up with anchor chained to me.
A 15pound anchor the look of surprise at how well I was able to swim holding it above my head. But they knew as soon as they started the engine it wasn't going to matter. We were 60miles offshore. No chance of me escaping the chains and swimming home. We were well off the continental shelf of North Carolina where just the blue abyss lay beneath me. My arms and legs grew tired. I screamed for them to come back.
Down I go. It's amazing how fast you sink chained to an anchor. I tried holding my breath, but I knew that was pointless. My ear drums were screaming with pain. The pressure on my chest was unbearable. I finally was prepared to die. I said my prayers for my family and friends to get over my passing quickly and that Alanna and Chris would get caught and go to jail. Then I inhaled. The cold seawater rushed into my mouth, lungs, and stomach.
Well I guess I'm dead at least I should be. My feet and anchor sink into the soft bottom. I get laid flat, face up on the sea floor. It's so dark the sun's light doesn't penetrate this far down. I try to sit up but the weight if the water is too much. Without the sun I don't know how long it took for the clean up crew to arrive, but I felt them. Little pinches here and there. Needle like prods and pokes then large pinches. It was the crabs. As fast as they would take a pinch and shove it into their mouth it would heal. After the first one grabbed a piece of my eyeball, I shut my eyes that was too weird. So they would pick an eyelid and it would regrow. The only thing that haunts me is those all you can eat crab leg buffets I enjoyed and here I am an all you can eat crab buffet.
|
Ofttimes I'd find myself wondering how many years it had been since I first met him. I was out with some friends for a night at Steeples, the only gay bar you'd be able to find in our tiny little shit town back in the seventies. I'd had more than a few, and had sparked a conversation with a stranger - he was tall, with a gorgeous body and a shyness that could be construed as off-putting. He had asked if I'd wanted to go home with him, insisting that he had better booze at home. My gut told me no - there was something in his eyes; some vacant deadness that made me feel as though I was sinking through an infinite abyss towards oblivion when I looked in to them. My friends pushed and pushed me to do it, and I finally agreed. I hope they're doing well these days. I don't hold anything against them.
It wasn't until we got into his house that he introduced himself to me as Jeff. In practically the same breath, he handed me a glass of amber liquid, and I was too stupid to ask questions. He had dissolved enough Valium in the whiskey to knock out God. It wasn't until nearly morning where I woke up in his bed, swaddled in blankets and gently lain to sleep. I had an absolutely crushing headache, and I tried to wiggle free of the blankets to no avail.
"Jeff?" I called out into the night.
He grunted, turned over in the bed, and screamed. He leaped out of bed and grabbed a nearby liquor bottle and repeatedly bashed it against my head. On the second swing, the bottle shattered and sent glass shards flying across the bed. He continued swinging as hard as he could, opening the flesh on my face with the jagged edges of the bottle with increasing depth and frequency. Blood oozed from the wounds on my face, shifting around the remnants of the bottle that had lodged themselves in my cheek, forehead, and nose.
I woke up in the morning feeling pain-free, though disoriented. I tried to reach for my face, but my arms were abruptly cut short before they could reach their target. The clank of rattling metal accompanied a jolt that went throughout my shoulder, as I came-to and continued trying to pull my arms free of the chain-link binds. I was in a corner of the bedroom I had slept in the night before, attached to the wall by stainless steel chain to thick eye bolts that had been drilled into the studs in the wall. There was no breaking free of these no matter how much I struggled.
Jeff walked into the room playing hot potato with a bowl of oatmeal that had just come out of the microwave. He set the bowl on his nightstand while sliding a wooden chair across the floor and ate his breakfast, silently staring at me the entire time.
"Jeff?" I once again asked, although in a tone that you might say was whiny, "what's going on?"
"I killed you," he said, "I suffocated you with that pillow, drilled a hole through your skull, and took a butcher's cleaver to your arms."
I clearly still had arms. They were bound to the walls. I assumed he must be crazy, but I was still on the fence about how dangerous he might truly be.
"Well, buddy, as you can see I'm still fully formed. How about we let bygones be by-" he interrupted me by getting up and walking out of the room. When he came back, he was holding a large Ziploc bag, which he threw at me.
"No. I killed you," he threw the Ziploc bag at me. "I cut these off and browned the rest in a red wine reduction sauce with a bit of olive oil. Right now they're sitting in a Crockpot with a bit of onion, carrot, and potatoes. Seasonings too, of course. Mostly aromatics - cumin, garlic, paprika, nothing too fancy."
I looked at the Ziploc bag and immediately felt the disorientation and nausea from the night before hit me like a Willie Stargell power hit. Those were *my* hands. I looked over at the shackles to confirm - the ring I wore on my right index finger was no longer there, but it was in the bag. I had a scar on my palm from a bike accident when I was a kid that was no longer there, but was plain as day on the dismembered limb in this bag.
Jeff grabbed a roll of translucent shipping tape and walked over towards me. Although I pleaded for him not to do anything more, that I wouldn't go to the police, that I just wanted to go home, none of it mattered. He wrapped my entire head in packing tape, leaving no room for air to get in or out. I saw him walk out the front door and heard the lock turn before everything went black.
The world didn't come flooding back until some indiscernible amount of time later, when he unceremoniously ripped the tape from my head. He told me how excited he was at what I might be and how I was everything he had been looking for. He showed me the skulls from his previous attempts, Polaroids of the acts he had committed on them, and the trophies he had kept of his favorites. I could not help crying; whether out of pain, confusion, or agony, I couldn't be sure.
He told me he had spent years looking for his personal love zombie. Someone he could cherish and hold and have them be forever his, forever under his full control. I was that person: I could go nowhere, do nothing, say nothing, as I could always come back to him no matter what act was performed on me. The last bit set the stage for the next decade or two of my life. The first night he came back from work, he had told me about an idea he had.
He took me out to his garage - the first time I'd seen the outside in nearly 24 hours. I was deep in the woods, in some podunk Appalachian backwater where the idea of neighbors was nearly as foreign as the concept of multivariable calculus. He kept me chained up, always disciplined in his actions to never allow me personal agency for even a second. He strapped me to a table and used a bandsaw to cut through my abdomen. I screamed as the heat of the saw made contact with the fat and threw the scent of bacon into the air. Next had been my colon, a decidedly less pleasant odor. Finally it was my small intestines, the saw shredding through them and sending blood and viscera flying across the dank garage. On Jeff's face, I swear I could see a smile mixed in with the determination he had for the task at hand.
The next morning, I woke up in absolute darkness. I was cramped - stuffed into a box too small for me as if I were a contortionist. I started to scream, but flaked bits of dust kept entering my mouth as I hyperventilated and jostled the floor of my confines. Finally, light found it's way in as Jeff opened the door of my prison. Outside was the kitchen, with Jeff's chair sitting at the dirty kitchen table. He was picking at a meal that I could hardly see, but he was still chewing.
"Want some?", he asked.
| 2022-05-05T08:27:36 | 2022-05-05T08:03:55 | 54 | 29 |
[WP] You are in a coma and the only way to wake up is to complete a timed labyrinth. You have two guides, God and Satan, one wants you to wake up and the other wants to claim your soul; but you can't tell which is which.
|
The two paths looked identical. One left, one right, no visible differences. I stopped, puzzled, and then heard the voices again, a female and a male one.
"Go right," she said. "That path is righteous."
"Go left," he said. "There lies salvation."
It was the same as with every other decision in this damn labyrinth. They told me opposite things and both of them sounded warm, good and loving. It wasn't that surprising, really - the great deceiver could make me think he or she was god, of course. Making people believe lies was the Devil's job.
I had been made to know - somehow, I don't know how - that God wanted me to wake up and the Devil wanted me to go to the deepest, basest parts of my own soul and to get lost there. That would, or so I had been informed, be the way straight to hell.
"Right," she insisted.
"Left," he urged.
I didn't move. I had spent a lot of time trying to listen for subtle differences in their voices and I had come up with nothing. The paths also looked exactly the same, meaning my chances of saving my soul were basically a coin toss ...
I made a step left. Stopped. Went back. Fifty-fifty was simply not good enough.
"Go right, please." She sounded worried. "I want you safe, child."
"Please, son, go left." His tone was that of a father dispensing good advice. "Wake up."
I hesitated, then decided that this was going nowhere. I sat down. "What happens if I don't escape at all?" I started drawing little circles in the sandy ground. "What happens if I stay right here until the time is up?"
"You'll die," they both said at once.
"Well, that's not the worst outcome." I remained sitting. "What do you guys think?"
Silence.
"Except ..." I licked my upper lip. "Except, of course, for whoever of you is Satan. Because, you know ... I've never been perfect, but I'd say my life hasn't been all that bad. I've been kind to most people, I've been to confession ..." Small pause. "I mean, I'd end up in purgatory for a while, sure, but in the end, I'd go to heaven, right? If I die now, eventually, I'll go to heaven."
More silence. Then, both at once: "Yes."
"So. Satan. I want your help in getting out of here. You and God will both say the same things at every intersection. If you don't, I'll die here and you lose. If I wake up, I'll have plenty of opportunities to mess up and you can tempt me, try your worst ..." My words echoed down the labyrinth tunnels. "So. You help me out of here."
There was a short moment of perfect quiet, then both said, at once: "Go right."
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"So, choose." One of the men looked me over, "I mean, time is running out and we really should get going if you're going to get you out of this place."
It seemed like something out of a fantasy, I was sitting on the edge of a labyrinth, the labyrinth of my mind that had been laid before me. According to the pair of men that I had been talking to for the last hour, I was in a coma and this was my subconscious trying to get out. Reach the end before I died and I was as good as new, fail to reach the end before I died, and I was dead. Pretty self-explanatory.
The two men in front of me were apparently God and Satan respectively, both taking time off from their day jobs of ruling the world to help me through this maze. I had always been an atheist, but I also always believed that the mind didn't contain a literal labyrinth. It was a day for learning.
The issue with my atheism was that I was slated to go straight to hell for it. If I died in the labyrinth, I couldn't convert and I would go straight to hell with Satan, if I lived, I could skip down to the local church and use my near-death experience to score some points with the big man and live. Seeing as they both wanted my soul, the Devil, and God were pretty insistent that I needed to follow one of them through the maze, I wanted to chose God, but I was a shitty judge of character.
I pulled out the map that one of the two men had handed me, a ragged old thing that showed that the way out of the maze was to my north, away from the sun and into the darkness. The other one wanted me to follow him to the west, to the area between the light and dark and hopefully out of the maze. I was sure that both of them knew the way.
"Clock is ticking," the one dressed in all white robes said while motioning towards the West.
"Time to go," the man wearing a now matching set of robes said while motioning to the North.
I couldn’t tell which of them was going to lead me in the right direction, and I needed to get out of this place before the sun set, and standing here wasn’t helping me at all. So I did the same thing my mother had told me to do back in the corn mazes around my home in the fall, I stuck my arm out so it was touching the right wall, and I ran along it. It took me East.
I sprinted along the corridors, one after another covered with tiles of brown and grey. My footfalls rang loud in the labyrinth echoing through the halls as my nails ground along the stone walls. My spiritual legs didn’t seem to get tired, but I couldn’t run any faster than I could in the real world. Was I going to make it out in time? Did I have a chance of getting out of the maze? I rounded a corner and found myself at the edge of a chasm, slicing the path I’d been taking. It was too long to jump across and stopped my momentum forward. I pulled my hand away from the wall I’d been holding onto, I swore I could feel it shy away from my touch.
“Feeling a little unsure are we, my child?” The man spoke, he had apparently been sitting on the wall of the labyrinth, dozens of feet above me, I didn’t know for how long, but I didn’t think it mattered, “Lost your way? Do you need a Shepard to guide you?” His voice rang softly like a flowing creek, the kind that could drive a lost hiker insane as he looked around for it. The man was carefully choosing his words to sound like he was on my side, the Shepard, his child, it was all from the book, paragraphs and paragraphs of the devout singing the same thing over and over.
“I’m fine,” I said, trying to sound as resolute as I could while looking over the chasm, I tried to stop my hands from shaking.
“What are you so afraid of?” He paused for a moment, “Jonathan,” my name sounded like it had power on his lips, “Heights? The fall, the landing?” He stood up on the wall, brushing off his robes and shrugging, “Not that it matters, you’re not going to take my help either way. Too worried you’ll make the wrong choice to make any choice at all.”
“I made a choice.”
“Not a choice Jonathan, a mistake, you’re already lost.” He leaped off the wall to the other side, disappearing from my view. I turned around, the only way I could go, but I was now it the middle of a large empty space, with an exit at each direction. I turned around and found the chasm gone, replaced by a stone wall that blocked the way forward. I couldn’t tell which direction the sun was coming from anymore. I ran towards what I thought was North.
I ran along another path, trying to keep the pace that I had before, but it seemed like I was slowing down, like the time limit was nipping at my heels and making it harder to run, I stumbled, falling forward onto the ground at an intersection. There was a left and I right, I took the left, and I heard the right intersection slam shut. I continued down the path until there was another fork in the road, I went left again, at least keeping it consistent as the right side slammed itself closed.
As I ran forward, doors started to appear in the maze, slamming shut behind me as I passed them. Some of them off into different routes, some of them straight behind me. Two of them closed close enough to catch my heels as I ran, nicking my bare-feet. The third in that row slammed just as I got through, throwing me to the ground in the middle of the hallway. Ahead of me, the door closed.
I stood up and pulled the door behind me, but it didn’t want to move, staying shut fast as I fought against it. I felt the cold grip of sweat as I ran to the door that had closed ahead of me, it was locked as well, stalwart against any attempt I made to break through it. I took a second to catch my breath and wipe the sweat off my brow. As if on queue, a man in white called me from the top of the labyrinth with a dangling key.
“It opens both doors,” he said while spinning the key on his finger, watching it closer than he was watching me, “maybe it even opens a window.”
“Leave me alone.”
“In here? Between two doors? Hardly, this is my best chance to convince you to accept my help.”
“I’m not going to take your help, what if you’re the devil?”
“What if I’m God?”
“That’s not a chance I’m willing to take.”
“I can tell you which door is right, you know.” He nodded towards the left one, then after a second did the same for the right one, I guess trying to avoid giving the answer away, “Of course it doesn’t matter if you don’t get the key.”
“Why don’t you just drop it?”
“That would be too easy, and I don’t appreciate people who slack on the work week, Sunday is fine,” he said with a smirk, “but every other day of the week is for the hard working.”
I pushed against the door again and I heard the sigh from above, and then the sound of metal on the stone beside me, he dropped the key anyway. I snatched it from the floor and brought it up to the door, only to realize there wasn’t a lock for me to put the key into. I swore, louder than I had in a while, and threw the key against the door, it bounced uselessly off the wood.
When I fell back against the wall, it still seemed scared of my touch peeling itself away from me as I reached forward to grab the key off the ground. I dragged it over to me by the rope it was on, holding it tight in my hand as I started to notice that it was getting darker in the sky.
| 2015-09-30T02:16:04 | 2015-09-30T02:01:31 | 137 | 13 |
[WP] Write a story about how Plague Doctors were secretly combating humanity's first zombie outbreak.
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The rats. As they flooded the streets of London, doors slammed and windows were barricaded. I watched from the second floor as a child fled from the swarm. He was too slow. The rats covered him, biting and clawing as his cries echoed through the streets. My blood ran cold as I heard his anguished screams. It would be foolish to rush to his aid. If even one rat had sunk their teeth into him, it was too late. The plague would likely claim his body, and the Devil would take his spirit. His skin would bubble and blacken, split and tear. And when it reached his lungs, he would cough. Not blood. Never blood. Black bile, drowning out his screams as they filled his lungs. From dusk to dawn, he would retch and groan as the endless river of black flowed free. He would die. And he would return, shambling through the streets once more. Back to spread this 'Black Death' to the rest of us. The Devil himself had taken my daughter from me. I watched as the Doctors carted her bloated body away before the Devil could use her for his foul mischief.
Through the open window, my eyes met those of the woman across the street, safe in her home as well. She looked down at the child, then back at me. And then she closed the windows, hiding her shame. We could do nothing for this boy. But that didn't serve to ease the burden on our heart. I watched as the rats turned tail and fled, leaving their quarry alive, but battered and bitten. The boy was on the pavement, curled up. Trying to help the infected was futile. They would either die and come back to haunt the rest of us, or miraculously recover. But few did. Only the strongest could escape from the Devil's clutches and return, sound in mind and body.
Among the strongest are the Doctors. They protect us. And yet, they hurt us. Many curse the name of the Doctors. Cursing their inhuman masks, their smooth, calm demeanour they have when they pull wailing mothers from their sick children. They curse how callous they are in condemning the sick to death. The Doctors do not usually cure the sick. More often than not, the infected are simply taken away once the Doctors declare them doomed. Most dismiss them as quacks or greedy bastards profiting off this calamity. But I've seen what they truly do. Their meetings in the dead of night. The hidden equipment in the folds of their clothing. Their role is not to treat the sick. It is to banish the living dead. Their canes are used to take pulses and remove clothing without touching the sick. But with a flick of the wrist, the blades within extend, thrusting towards the eye of a walking corpse and putting it down for good. The bodies are carted off to mass graves, or burnt in the streets. They do what the rest of us cannot bring ourselves to do. They are god's chosen, with the courage to face the growing horde of infected.
I watched in awe, as the Doctor appeared at the far end of the street and marched towards the boy. The wooden heels of his shoes clicked against the cobblestones as he approached. Even from the second floor, the smell of cloves and peppermint overpowered the pungent odour of smoke and death. I watched as he knelt next to the boy, his words inaudible. The sobbing boy slowly rose, face to face with the Doctor. He wiped his tears with a bloody hand, nodding. The Doctor held a hand out, and the boy took it. The two set off down the street, soon moving out of sight.
Whether he lived or died, it would be up to the Doctors. The same applied to all of us, really. The Plague Doctors would keep us safe from the 'Black Death'. They would put the dead to rest. And we would all perish if they failed in their mission.
((Phew. This took a long time to write. It's my first writing prompt, so feedback would be appreciated. I haven't written anything on this sub before, but this prompt caught my eye. I especially love Plague Doctors. And writing this gave me a reason to go do more research on them, the Black Death, and rats.))
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The moon glared over Firenze, wroth and golden, casting her light across the old stone walls of the city. Like a labyrinth the constructs of man interlocked together leaving valleys or darkened streets in between. Gorgo moved stealthily in the back alley shadows.
He came upon his first of the night near the River Arno. It's feet scuffed upon the dirt, almost indiscernible from the constant sound of soft waves splashing against stone. An uneducated Doctor might miss such a subtle clue, but Gorgo know the sound well, there was no mistake. Easily, he slid from the shadows, approaching the creature, through his bird mask he watched carefully.
This was always the hardest part. The moment of uncertainty. The creature could be rapido or lento. Strength of the abominations were always determinate on the size of the man. This deep in the city, it would be just his luck to happen across a builder or smith. The sounds of lazy footsteps drew closer, scuffing awkwardly like a drunken reveler during summer solstice. Accompanying it now was also a soft moan. Not to be confused with that of pleasure, the moans of these creatures were like that of damned souls floating in the Styx.
Gorgo rounded a half bend and the Ponte Vecchio came into view. The bulbous bridge spanned across the Arno in an ugly hump. Sconces were lit along its face, burning a dull orange. Gorgo shuffled silently forward, the creature was here. He peered through a tiny gap of a paper-slit alleyway and saw it.
He breathed a sigh of immense relief. The creature was pinned. With a hand taken by necrosis it reached out for him. A woman by the looks of it, she couldn't have been past the age of fifteen. Her dress was ruined and torn and her skin had already begun that sloughing trait of a leper, she had been in her undead state for some time. He examined the scene. Her eyes were hollow and pale as the moon above and her mouth was full of black festering rot. Not even the spices and perfumes in the beak of his mask could overpower that horrid stench. It was best to handle this one quickly. Gorgo moved in for the kill.
However, before he made it within reaching distance he paused. Something was amiss here. The undead were not immune to becoming ensnared, they seemed to care little for dangers and obstacles that a common man would likely avoid. All they cared for was to feed and that often led them into such precarious places, but this was different. Beyond the creature the alleyway led into darkness, ending at a flat wall. The creature was pinned up against a pile of splintered wood, probably shoveled in there by some street sweep. The creature was behind the debris. Gorgo looked up for a window where the thing might have fallen from and saw nothing but the sharp border between flat stone and starry sky. Even if it had fallen in the roof was near thirty feet up, this creature showed no signs of a fall.
A sense of suspicion crawled over him. There was no natural way this creature could have come to be stuck like this. It was then he recognized the signature call of a second moan. Gorgo tried to look back, but his long beak in the narrow alley would not allow it. He ended up bumping the wall and jostling his mask. Quickly, he corrected it. In front of him the undead woman reached out and clawed at the wall. He looked closer.
"Scopare la mia sfortuna!" He hissed aloud. How could he have been so blind! His felt the adrenaline rush through his body, almost intoxicating as it intermingled with the spices in his mask. He began to shuffle out of the alley as quick as he could manage. From behind the second moan had grown closer and unless his ears played a cruel trick on him, he also heard a third.
It was a trap! "Perchè, perchè, fottermi!" He repeated over and over. As he worked his way out of the narrow passage he looked at nothing but the outreached hand of the woman. Three fingers clawed at empty air. Three fingers, with the forth cut off clean at the base of the hand. It was the signature work of Morgan LeFaire.
The master of the undead and reason for the outbreak in Firenze, Morgan was a Necromancer supreme. Him and his elk were responsible for the plagues that racked Europa. Morgan was well feared in Firenze. The Doctors of Gorgo's guild knew him well for he was the one who brought the undead on this city. The three fingered creature reached longingly for him, but Gorgo continued to recoil. Not all of Morgan's abominations had this calling card, only the original ones. The ones he created himself. Gorgo cursed himself for not seeing it earlier. The advanced state of rotted skin, old clothes, excess of black rot in the mouth, this girl had been turned a long time ago. Morgan had saved her to use in this fiendish trap.
Gorgo wrenched himself free from the alleyway stumbling into the cobbled street. He saw the calm obsidian of the Arno and the sleepy northern city beyond. Moans came from both sides, quickly Gorgo collected himself and stood. There was only two, he realized much to his relief. One coming from each side, about fifteen paces off. He thanked his gods above that they were lento.
Gorgo took a moment to prepare himself. He took a deep breath, inhaling the spices in his mask. He felt his body come alive in a way much more potent than pure adrenaline ever could. Then from beneath his robe he produced a small knife. Four inches long the blade was narrow and well balanced. With a flick of his wrist he sent the blade flying back into the alley. It caught a sliver of moonlight as it flew, flashing golden, then it was gone and a moment later there was a soft thunk as the blade hit its mark. The moaning in the alley ceased abruptly. Gorgo then turned to the others, drawing his stunted falchion.
For countless nights he had protected this city. He and his other plague doctors had waged this endless war against the undead. In all that time the abominations of Morgan had only been found at random. This was a targeted attack. He had to make it back and warn the others. Their safety depended on it. For if Morgan set these fiendish traps all over the city, than surely more souls would be lost.
The first creature came within striking distance and Gorgo drove his blade straight through the skull. The creature crumpled and fell into a puddle of festering flesh and cloth. He turned to face the second, but as he did something sharp pierced his leather jerkin. A sharp sting as if accosted by a wasp, Gorgo reached back to find its source. His fingers came upon a narrow dart.
"No." He uttered as he felt his muscles begin to stiffen. He tried to turn and run, but his legs caught fast like cement colonnades and he fell flat on his face. The beak of his mask broke upon impact, driving back into his face. He screamed out in pain. The force of the fall carried him onto his back. There he lay, staring up at the moon, his sword lost somewhere in the street. The moaning drew closer. Panic overwhelmed him and he struggled with all his might, to no avail. Then above him appeared a shadow. Gorgo's eyes went wide.
It was a man, still of the living, with bright green eyes that sparkled in the night and hair black as the Arno. He looked down on him apathetically waiting for the creature to approach. Gorgo's mind fumbled with the name, the poison took away even his mental faculties.
The evil man waited for his creature to approach. Once it was over Gorgo he held out a hand.
"Halt." He commanded and the creature paused. Gorgo was stunned more by this than anything else. The creatures obeyed him! The man then looked down at Gorgo and smiled. He lowered his hand. "You'll thank me when you realize that the poison numbs pain. You will remember that gratitude after you die. And you will serve me in recompense."
The man looked back up to his creature, took a long breath tasting the night air, and spoke in a commanding tone. He ordered, "Cibare."
The undead descended on Gorgo. It bit into his face, where the beak had broken off. Gorgo didn't feel a thing besides the odd drill of pressure. In his mind he screamed in horror as the creature tore off skin and muscle from his jaw and swallowed it. Blood dripped from its chin, his blood, but there was nothing he could do. Frozen in this state of lethargy all he could do was watch. The abomination bit into him again and again, slurping the tissue and sucking clean his bone. And before Gorgo closed his eyes for the last time he was thankful that he could feel none of it.
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*So, I appreciate any corrections to my abysmal Italian. Hope you enjoyed the story though!*
| 2016-11-07T06:11:13 | 2016-11-07T05:49:52 | 30 | 11 |
[WP] A drug is developed that mimics the effect of 8 hours of sleep, giving people another 8 hours of potential production. Soon, society adjusts to a constant state of production. However, a horrible consequence begins to unfold.
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People used to dream. Adventures and nightmares, jumbled scenes and impossible events. I remember dreaming about just talking to my friend - he's been gone a long time, but I cherish that dream. Crazy, right? People used to study dreams - when they would happen, why some people could remember dreams and others could not, why they existed at all. They don't do that anymore. Maybe they shouldn't have stopped. A couple scientists were getting close to the answer, but then the ol' nap in a gelcap came out, and they didn't have any more dreams to study. Funny how a drug perfect for people who stay up all night lost them their jobs. Ironic.
My friend told me a story once, about dreams. He said that long, long ago, back when gods and monsters wandered the earth, back before history got written down, that a great a terrible demon tormented mankind. All of the universe, really. The animals and the plants and the humans were terrified, but nobody could trap the horrible thing. Finally, humanity stepped up. They volunteered. They trapped the demon in a dream, and they each took that dream. When someone had a nightmare, it's because they were the one dreaming the demon's cage that night. All of humanity took that burden, and each generation strengthened that cage. That demon tainted minds and warped souls, but humanity pushed on. Died early. Fought wars. Stepped off bridges. Cracks in the cage, but every human on earth stepped up and filled the gaps. The perfect jail, inescapable.
Of course, nobody sleeps, now. Nobody dreams. Life goes on, work gets done, but nobody holds up their end of the bargain anymore. It took a long time - research, money, technology, oh the technology! Thousands of years before we had plastic! Ten thousand years before certain chemicals even existed! Lifetimes of following dreams. Heh. It's funny, that word. Dream. People say, "Follow your dreams!" but not every dream is a *good* dream to follow. How many people woke up with a new idea that could change the world? The guy that invented the first plow saved the world lifetimes of work, paving the way for farms that delivered more food than ever before. He got the idea from a dream. Who do you think gave him the dream?
The cage wasn't always a nightmare. Dreams *were* the cage. All of them. So the inmate talked to the jailers. It happens. A little push here, a little nudge there. But now... Now, no one dreams any more.
There's a handful left, you know. The last dreamers. The last locks on the cage. It's taken a long time, but I get to see it happen. Not much longer now. When you wake up...
I get to see my friend again.
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She was:
a shadow on the edge of consciousness, perhaps less, though always more;
a voice in the night, most often when you needed it;
a companion in the daylight hours, those little slips that feel like death, and then rebirth on waking;
a thought you never knew you had;
a dream you wanted to go back to.
The girl slips through twilight, dawn threatening behind her. It’s a world turning gray in a place where the only colors should be stars, or the desires people bring to her; which could be many and could be confusing, but which never had any other place to go. She sees a doorway up ahead, slips through it. All she does is slip these days.
It’s a man. He’s sitting at the dinner table having breakfast, which doesn’t make much sense to her. All that pomp and circumstance replaced by paperwork, seats for seven others taken up by laptops, notebooks, and more phones than one man needs. He’s working in that half-world between awareness and the subconscious where the mind tries to retreat to now there’s nowhere else to go. He’s almost creative. He shapes a phrase that he thinks is quite clever, poetic. He used to be a poet in his teenage years. He crosses it out. The boss doesn’t like poets. Not in an earnings call. There’s no poetry to ones and zeros, it’s all stark prose where the subtext is stripped out and the punctuation is a bunch of exclamation points. One after every line. Every life. He’s drifting.
The man reaches to his right and pulls out a little red pill, drinks the pill down with his cup of tea. Not coffee anymore. He doesn’t need coffee and he never liked the taste.
And the girl steps back. She has her foot in the door by the time rush hits, and then it’s rushing past him, towards her, the eight hours that should have been her life flashing before his eyes, a tidal wave of simulated sleep, perchance to never dream again.
The door slams shut behind her. She can hear the man humming. A lullaby. He’d had a baby once, or had that been a dream too?
The girl slips south. Doors crack open and slam shut. Open, shut. Open, shut. She peers through another, sees an awkward child playing. That coltish age where they could be a girl, could be a boy, could be something else—they’re still trying to find themselves in every way they can.
The setting is a porch towards daybreak. A chill spring morning that will lead to a glorious spring day, which will lead to something else, something colder, because these days the girl feels like everything slips back to winter. The child is staring down at a blank sheet of paper, eyes drooping, head lolling sideways. The girl steps closer.
She can help. Wants to help. She reaches out, and it’s like a little piece of the child reaches back, half-formed or less, all soft curves and frayed edges, hardly a suggestion of the person that they’ll become one day.
But there is something. The girl can see it if she focuses. She’s good at pulling threads together, and what are people but threads, really? An interest here, a thought there. Little scraps from friends and family along the way that snarl-up in the darkness where they should. Where people aren’t even thinking about them. Where they’re thinking about work or school or love or lust or the vague impressions of all those things that they’ve gotten from books and movies. The way that a life *should* have been.
A dream can slip between those cracks.
The girl steps forward. She’s taking on a shape, something she used to do all the time. She’ll know why soon, but for now, it feels right. Needed. She slips into it and through it and towards the exhausted child.
A breeze kicks up, cold off the mountains in the distance. The child’s head snaps up. Shakes. They reach into their pocket, pull out a little red pill. Stare at it for a while. Swallow.
The breeze howls, a door slams. Her twilight gets a little grayer.
South becomes imperative. North is wrong, east is cursed, and she doesn’t dare think of west. South pulls her. There’s desperation south, exhaustion. A need to sleep, to think freely, to let a soul spill into darkness and let the work bleed off, the school, the love, the lust, the little desires and the big. All the thoughts that used to crowd in at the break of day are now just thoughts. Everywhere. All the time. The horizon turning into data, as far the eye can see.
A door is thrown open.
The girl stumbles towards it. Slips.
Sees a young woman.
She sits on a cushion in front of a tall bronze rimmed mirror, its edges worked like spreading vines. She’s brushing her hair. Long hair. Beautiful hair. A true black river spilling over one shoulder. The brush catches and the woman sighs. Such a tiny sigh, so solemn. There are bags under her eyes like someone pressed hard into her skin and smudged. They look like they hurt. There’s a bottle sitting on the floor beside her, almost lost in the tumult of makeup.
And the woman keeps brushing her hair. It’s a battle, a war she’s losing. It won’t be the way she wants it. She looks at the bed sometimes, a mess that she’s trying and failing not to think about. There’s a guitar in one corner, a book of piano sheet music discarded on a stool. Three pairs of shoes, two pairs of stockings, one well-worn dress that might have been well-loved once, trailing back in a self-consciously random line towards the closet. Her bookshelves—well stocked—are the only things in order.
She sets the hairbrush down. She’s shaking like she wants to throw it through the window, which is open now but the girl watching her gets the sense that doesn’t matter much.
The young woman looks at the guitar. The piano music. Says *“I used to…*” and then a curious thought flits across her face. Like she can’t complete the sentence. Might even have forgotten how. She laughs, a little nervously, more than a little afraid. She reaches for the hairbrush, drags it through her hair, the door opens and a man comes in and he sighs too. Deep and exasperated as he trudges through the mess and finds the bottle, uncaps it, holds out two little red pills.
The girl sees him from the chest down, towering over the young woman. He’s a rumbling voice, rising up and crashing down and pushing her back towards the doorway, the twilight, the encroaching dawn, which is a bad thing for dreams. Sometimes they shouldn’t end. Like poetry from ones and zeroes and those self-discovering years, they should go on and on. The girl thinks so, at any rate. She lets out a little sob when the young woman reaches for the pills. The man’s hand comes down, cups her so cheek softly, his thumb resting in the hollow beneath her eye.
Twilight. The gray before the dawn.
The girl sits on a ridge and looks out across it all, this world where she’s always lived. Home, with room to spare.
She was:
a shadow on the edge of consciousness, perhaps less, though always more;
a voice in the night, most often when you needed it;
a companion in the daylight hours, those little slips that feel like death, and then rebirth on waking;
a thought you never knew you had;
a dream you wanted to go back to.
She is:
ripples on a pond;
a frontier that men have conquered;
an afterthought in a brave new world.
She could have been:
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
r/TurningtoWords
| 2022-03-18T11:16:31 | 2022-03-18T09:00:46 | 97 | 36 |
[WP] Everyone is born with a natural tattoo of their spirit animal. Every person gets the traits and abilities of their respective animal. But when you were born your father, having a bear tattoo and your mother, bearing a dove tattoo, were horrified. Leviathan.
Edit. Wow thank you to everyone who submitted thie stories here. Never expected it to blow up this much.
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The doctor told mother it would develop into something as I aged. It was a rare trait but I wouldn’t have this strange amorphous black smudge on my thigh forever. My mother took peace from the doctor’s words, she was a dove and so she was able to find the peace in all things.
My father roared at the neighbourhood children who mocked me. He told me that I needed to learn to stand up for myself. Mother told me not to play show and tell with my tattoo. I was seven.
When I was 13 I noticed it had changed. Not much, but it seemed longer and thinner, a head and legs seemed to develop. I found my teeth had sharpened and grown strong as well. When I showed father he smiled - he believed it was becoming a bear like his. He took me out for ice cream that day, we put honey and blueberries on it - his long tongue and sharp teeth made quick work of the dessert. I wondered if my tongue would grow long like his.
I stopped showing my dad, I let him think it was a bear. By 17 my friends were all having sex and I was afraid to take off my pants in gym class. Four legs sprouted from the tattoo, a toothy grin on a demonic monster showed on my thigh. It was huge, bigger than anyone else’s I’d ever seen. But I hadn’t seen everyone’s, so maybe like the doctor said it was rare.
At 24 I’d graduated college, I worked as a marine welder, my hands rough, my neck had gills and I needn’t worry about the protective gear most people wore. I was the best in my field but I was nowhere closer to peace. My father saw the gills and tattoo as a curse, he cut me off and refused to speak with me. Convinced my mother had cheated on him and he wasn’t my father he left her. She called me once a week, only talking briefly on the phone.
At 32 I finished the job I was working on, broke the surface of the water and couldn’t breathe. Only in the murky depths of the ocean could I live. I was single and my mother had passed, my father forgotten. I swam for some time, ate fish and my body took the water it needed from the ocean. Boredom was the real danger. My clothes over time rotted away and I could no longer track my age. I had simply become a monster of the deep.
It was some time later when I heard the singing. Different from whalesong I followed it to the Mariana Trench and swam into the depths. The closer I got the clearer it became and in the darkest depths of the ocean I felt something touch me. Sharks daren’t go bear me, octopi scuttled away when I approached, even dolphins, the murderously playful creatures, left me alone.
But it was rough hands like mine, when they touched me I felt singing in my bones. I didn’t bother with sight or trying to pull this creature into the light, instead we stayed below in the depths of the ocean. Held in each other’s arms I knew what I’d see if I ever saw my love in the light. I simply see a tattoo like mine of a monster shaping us into necessary beings.
Edit: I post stories from here on my subreddit /r/ollieliotd. If you like this feel free to check it out.
Edit Part 2: With the requests for different creatures I've created [this thread](https://www.reddit.com/r/OlliEliotD/comments/7braya/necessary_creatures/) to contain the ones I've already written and the new ones. If you want me to write a specific one, put the request in there and I will get to it. Already completed is Leviathan, Chupacabra, Black Widow, Griffin, Phoenix and Wendigo.
|
So there I was, in an interrogation room. Really frightening stuff: the metal table, chair, the mirrored window. He looked to me, grabbed a cup of coffee with a donut - sigh, this guy is so cliche - and asked, "so, what happened?"
Ever since I was born, my parents told me I was special. That I was the first in many aeons: a person born to a godly spirit animal. They told me about the past of my ancestors, about the Great Purge, in which all the legendary people that had God Spirits were either killed or ostracized.
It wasn't unjustified, though. The God Spirits were dictators; tyrants that justified a reign of horror with their absolute intelligence, strength and enhanced senses. They instituted an theocracy, the Godly Empire, that endured many millenia, until one day the king, the God Spirit known as Phoenix, used the military to subdue the population. Massive insurgency followed. The Great Purge was the biggest bloodbath in our history; but it ended with the democratic republic we know today.
So ever since, Dad and Mom tried to protect me by hiding my true tattoo and giving me another one instead - a Beaver.
I had a nice childhood. My father was a General in the army (General Bear) a pragmatic and strong man; as a Dove, my mother was a diplomat, always trying to peace things out and always going for the best peaceful solution. This dichotomy led to me having the best of two worlds: my father trained me in many combat forms, from the fearsome Tiger Stance to the precise Snake Stance, whereas my mother taught me Philosophy, Maths, History, Physics.
In my early teens, I first saw the sea. Dad and Ma took me to the beach when I was 15; as soon as I hit the water, all the sea creatures came and greeted me as if I was their king; at first, small fish and crabs, but as I dove deeper also sharks and stingrays.
As the years went on, I met all kinds of sea animals - sharks, whales, and even those that lie in the dark and cold deepness of the sea: abyssals. I discovered I have powers beyond imagination: underwater breathing, communication with sea creatures, control of tides and waves. I visited all the seven seas; met animals and places mankind has never dreamed of existing.
In the sea I had everything I ever wanted: independence, solitude, friends. It was paradise not on Earth, but on the green waters of the sea.
But it somehow was not meant to be forever...
I will never forget the day when, already an adult, soon after I got home from swimming, I saw a big comet impending from the sky; as it fell down, it took the shape of something close to a dragon, waving its wings and roaring in a colossal ball of fire. With a big thud, it clashed onto the ground and splattered fire all over the place, hundreds of meters away from me, making a big dust cloud.
You can tell, running is not my forté. It took me a while; but when I got there, I saw a man in flames, walking a shiny golden armor, holding a sword full of emeralds, topazes, diamonds and rubis. He was engulfed in fire; and as I hear the crackling of the fire on his body, I start to gaze upon his figure.
He was a tall, athletic man. I'd say somewhere near six foot tall, not really muscular. His physique was nothing special, apart from the beautiful and golden body armor he wore.
Until I saw his face: glowing red eyes, with glowing red hair as if this guy embodied the spirit of fire itself, as if his hair was fire burning alive, decorated with a crown imbued with a massive ruby.
-- Greetings. I am Phoenix the Wise, and I came to talk to the powerful Leviathan.
I was petrified.
-- I am here to take you to the Star Kingdom.
I was thinking of so many things; had so many questions and so many fear. There, right in front of me, was the infamous tyrant I have always heard of; the same person that ordered the mass killings of thousands and brought humanking to one if its darkest ages.
Obviously, the first thing I thought was to run away. And as I think, my breathing gets fast and I start to rationalize. It would be no good because he can fly, he can fly fast. As long as I'm in land he has the advantage and as soon as I hit the water I can submerge into de depths and lose him. But this plan was deemed to fail either because she sea was way too far for this to succeed.
So there was no other way. I calmed down; prepared in the defensive Elephant Stance, I was ready to fight. He nodded, gave a little laugh. "Have it your way. I am fluent in all the Ancient Animal Stances".
He starts by shearing his sword and dropping it. As he moves toward me, blazes of fire follow him. As soon as I try to hit the first punch, he dodges it, drops me and armlocks me. Even with years of training, seems I am no mach for the king, who appears to excel at close combat.
Phoenix then suddently transmuted in a wind of fire: when I came to it, he was holding me on his arms; with a serious look he says:
-- Let's have it my way now.
We suddently take off and Phoenix takes me on a flight with him!
Right after we reach the clouds, he calms me down:
-- Everything you know about the God Spirits is a lie, made up by traitors to seize power. The God Spirits are benevolent, just and peaceful beings who just want the well-being of mankind. The stories I heard were all a plan by the Hell Spirit known as Fenrir, my brother, to cease control of power and wealth.
-- If so, how is it that you are all known as being sanguinary dictators?
Humankind was a prosper civilization; by means of genetic engineering, developed before the Godly Empire by the military, we were able to merge animal and human DNA to create augmented human beings bearing animal characteristics. One day, a group of cultist cientists experimented with magic and sorcery, giving birth to a generation of people with godly spirits, designed to rule over mankind and bring us to a new level in evolution and founding the Godly Empire. The plan worked: we evolved as a species, and the Empire ruled with peace, justice and prosperity.
The head scientist, Dr. Anitta Belford, unknowingly pregnant of her husband Major Heartfelt at the time, gave birth to the two first Godly Spirits: Phoenix and Fenrir. Both excelled at leadership, meaning they had high skills on tactics, diplomacy, sciences, warfare, combat; nonetheless, Phoenix was akin to his mother, and Fenrir to their father. Phoenix wanted to lead free men and women to freedom, independence and prosperity through culture and education; Fenrir sought to dominate the world by being a strong leader, ruling with iron fists and imposing order.
Soon after Dr. Belford's death, Phoenix led the Empire with his brother, the prince Fenrir. He had two counsellors: Dragon and Aslam, unimaginably clever and intelligent spirits. On the other hand, he had two generals: Wukong and Sleipnir, the best warriors in all of the land.
Fenrir was jealous of how good of a ruler Phoenix was. The people liked him; although mankind did have a strong military, no big wars were fought over so many years. The wolf conspired against his brother and convinced the military to turn against Phoenix in a coup d'etat. The Spirits led by Phoenix formed the Godly Spirits, and ran away to another dimension by means of Dragon's power. To this dimension they called the Star Kingdom. As for Fenrir, he founded the Hell Spirits and installed the tyranny we all heard about. They were all killed in the Great Purge - or so it seemed.
As Phoenix was speaking to me, a big lightning bolt shot us down: it was Impundulu, the Hawk of Thunder. As we fell to the ground, weak and panting, men in black chained Phoenix and I, gave us serums. Right before the firebird slept, he gasped: the Hell Secret Service caught us.
As soon as I woke up, this guy - who I supposed was an agent - tells me:
- You are in an interrogation room. Everything you say or do is documented. Tread lightly.
As he sits, he shows me his tatto.
- Nice to meet you, Leviathan. I am Strix, the Interrogator.
He grabs coffee and donut.
- So, what happened?
(Ok guys, I got excited and this got longer than I expected. I will stop here but maybe I'll write something more and show you people :D )
| 2017-11-08T05:09:42 | 2017-11-08T04:42:26 | 1,673 | 740 |
[WP] The demon that tried to strike a deal with you was absolutely not prepared for the level of specificity you've prepared to make sure there are no loopholes for him to abuse.
|
Smoke and a raging fire swirled and filled the room like the most terrifying tornado the world had ever witnessed.
Well, Daniel thought so anyway.
He clutched the stack of papers he had been preparing for the past week, not wanting to lose a single page of the work in the swirls of smoke and wind. Even one missing document could mean the end of all he hoped for.
The fire ceased and before him stood a nine foot tall demon. Its blackened skin looked as if it was melted on to its gaunt frame. Horns shot out of odd and illogical areas and its eyes glowed a bright orange. At the end of overlong fingers, sharp talons took the place of normal nails.
Bizarrely, it seemed to be wearing a Members Only leather jacket.
"You have summoned me, Daniel James Simms?" it roared.
Daniel took a quick glance at his cheat sheet before responding robotically, "I have called you into my presence."
The torn muscles above the demon's eyes scrunched. "Indeed," it finally responded. "What deeds do you wish of me?"
"I have a request of you, Baazaal, Demon of the Ninth Quadrant of the Garden District, located within the First Netherworld," Daniel read from his first page. He looked up to see if the demon was following.
Its head was tilted up toward the ceiling, as if it were calculating something. "Continue," it bellowed.
Daniel nodded and looked down at his stack of papers. "So then you are agreeable to negotiations without an arbitrator present?" he read. He looked back up.
Baazaal still looked confused. It nodded toward the stack of papers. "You wish to be a famous novelist?"
Daniel flipped through until he found a heading that read *Demon Offers Suggestions* and read the advice.
"I do not require assistance in the stating of my desires, Baazaal, Demon of the Ninth Quandrant of the Garden District, located within the First Netherworld."
Baazaal looked annoyed. "Continue, then."
"I, the Wisher, have prepared this contract detailing my wish. It lists the very specific aspects that I want as well as forbids several actions on the part of you, the Granter."
"And what exactly is this wish?" Baazaal grumbled, eyeing Daniel's kitchen with mild interest. It put an oversized hand on a hip.
"As per my right via subsection 865 of the Demonly Laws of Conduct, I wish to express my wish to you in a summary. Is it understood that what I will say *is not* my wish, but simply a summation of it for your understanding? Your lawyer, arbitrator, or Netherworld-appointed representative of your choosing can clarify the more specific details for you at a later date."
Baazaal sighed, which sounded more like a growl. "Sure," it said, shrugging its huge shoulders.
Daniel nodded and thought for a moment. "I wish for a convenience to be restored to me. Again, in the vaguest of terms," he added hurriedly. He handed over the contract, which Baazaal seized in immense agitation. "As per Article 4, section 10, subjection 82, clause 10, my verbal utterances cannot be confused for my wish once a written contract has been presented as my true intent and wish," Daniel said sternly.
Baazaal reached the end of the contract, read the final line, and looked up in disbelief.
"You did all of this so you wouldn't have to pump gas?" it roared. "I knew I should have never taken a call from Oregon!"
-------
If you enjoyed this story about a horrendous demon, perhaps you would like a story about a corrupt politician running an election against an unearthed eldritch god.
My satirical dystopian novella, *An Honest Policy*, is free from today through the 22nd on Amazon. Check out my subreddit if you're interested!
|
Jessie struggled against the chains, her naked body cold with sweat, her eyes burning in feverish despair. The blindfold was soaked in her tears. She heard them chant darkly around her. She had seen the knife, the chalice, the circle of candles, and the pentagram on the floor. She tried to scream but the foul-tasting gag muffled her.
Only this morning she had prepared herself for her first day of high school. She was ready to meet her new classmates – ready, but nervous. She had heard the van drive up behind her. She remembered thinking nothing of it. And then it was just blackness.
She gasped as she felt cold steel run down her thigh, and then the sting. Wet heat seeped down her skin.
“Oh, Dark One!” A deep voice said in maniacal ecstasy. “We offer you the blood of this virgin! Step forth! Join us on this mortal plane. Take your throne! The world is yours.”
At first, there was nothing, but then the room shook. Jessie could smell the mortar dust sailing down from the ceiling. Her stomach felt like she was on a roller coaster. Strange smells filled her nostrils. Charcoal, rotten eggs, and melting iron. Then there was heat.
‘*Open your eyes,*’ a voice whispered in the back of her mind.
Jessie took a deep breath. She could feel the heat on her lips and in her throat. She was no longer gagged. She sat up and opened her eyes.
The landscape before her was a waste of ashes and darkened mountains. Like the neon signs of an amusement park, rivers of flowing lava lit up the night. What the hell…
‘*That’s right. That’s exactly it.*’
Jessie shook her head trying to rid herself of the strange whispers, and at the same time make sense of her surroundings. The ground beneath her rumbled. In the far distance, a red flower bloomed over a mountain, and then the rock started bleeding.
“Where am I?” she said, despite herself.
Her voice was twisted and dark and sent a shiver down her own spine. It wasn’t her voice.
‘*You’re in Hell, baby.*’
“Who are you? Am I dead?”
The voice let out a hushed chuckle.
‘*Listen, girl. Allow me to take your soul, and I’ll put you right back in your world.*’
Jessie thought about her parents and her little sister; she did want to see them again. This place was dead; there was nothing for her here. Still, the room with the crazed cultists flickered in her mind. She had been so scared. She didn’t want to go back to that.
‘*What are you going to do, huh?*’ the whispering voice said. ‘*There’s nothing for you here.*’
“How do I know that?” Jessie growled, trying to stay unfazed by her dark voice. “I’ve only just got here.”
‘*You can trust me, I’ve been here for a very long time. There’s nothing but brimstone and suffering here.*’
“Are you Lucifer?”
The voice laughed in the back of her mind but didn’t respond. Jessie looked at her hand. It was covered in red scales with claws sprouting from her fingertips. Carefully, she touched her face. Her nose had a strange shape, almost like a snout, and when she moved her head around it felt heavy.
“You’re not getting my soul until you tell me what’s going on.”
‘*That little cult tried to summon me – it happens. But they were clever this time, very...* **specific** *about what I could and couldn’t do. I was supposed to be bound to your mortal form… they wanted power over me. They were clever. I’ll give them that. But there is always a loophole. I reversed the ritual, and now you’re here. You possess me.*’
“I possess you?”
‘*Yes, quite ironic isn’t it? I kind of enjoy having you in there though… it’s refreshing. But I like I said, I can send you back… at the cost of your soul, of course.*’
“Nope.”
The voice snorted. ‘*What do you mean, ’nope?’*’
“I lied. You’re not getting my soul.”
Jessie took a few steps. Her feet were massive hooves and the ground puffed ash. She left a trail of burning hoof prints in her wake.
‘*I like you.*’ The voice carried a combination of anger and stark amusement.
“I don’t care,” Jessie said and tried out the massive wings on her back.
She wanted to get back home, but maybe she could enjoy herself for a while first. She’d always wanted to fly.
‘*The only way back… is you giving me your soul.*’
“I don’t know. If you got in here somehow, there has to be a way out.”
Now the voice went into full-blown laughter.
“What? It’s only logical.”
‘*There is a way out. I’ll show it to you.*’
“And what, the price is my freaking soul?”
‘*Oh no, this one is on the house. Maybe then you’ll better grasp the concept of eternal damnation.*’
“Whatever. Just tell me where it is,” Jessie said and rolled her eyes.
‘*Follow the stream.*’
“Which one?”
‘*Any. They all lead to the same place.*’
***
Jessie stomped along the dead plains, following a smoldering river. She tried to fly a few times, but her lack of coordination made her crash. She'd always been a bit clumsy, and piloting this body was much harder than her own.
Finally, she reached the foot of a massive volcano. Lava boiled down its sides, spreading into a burning spider web over the strange landscape. She took a deep breath and tried to control her limbs. Arms. Legs. Tail. Wings. Lots of things to keep track of. Kind of like operating one of her dad's excavators.
Her massive thighs strained, and she somehow managed to push herself off the ground, catching herself with the big wings. She flapped them desperately, and somehow she rose.
'*Not bad,*' the voice said.
After a bit of a struggle, she managed to gain some sort of control. The massive body drifted through the air. Jessie felt her mouth twist into a toothy grin. But as much as she enjoyed the tingly sensation in the pit of her scaly stomach, she wanted to get back home.
Landing on the rim of the volcano's top was far from easy. She crashed inelegantly into a heap. She'd have to practice that.
The interior of the mountain was a massive red lake.
'*This is where we put some of the sinners,*' the voice said and chuckled. '*Swim across, Little Soul, swim across! They never make it very far.*'
Jessie noticed tiny black dots right below her. They were all people, screaming and trying to claw their way out.
"So, how do I get out?" Jessie said, trying to keep her voice steady.
'*At the middle.*'
She wasn't super excited about flying over an open lake of lava, but she still jumped into the air. It went better this time. Gliding across the screaming billions, she saw a dark shape jutting out of all the red, like a small leaf floating in a bowl of tomato soup.
A man sat cross-legged and naked on the steaming rock.
"Hey, who are you?" Jessie said, landing with a thud, "and how do I get out of here?"
The man lifted his graying head. His eyes were clogged with ashes, and his lips black and chapped. For a moment, he appeared scared, but then he tilted his head to the side.
“You’re… new,” he muttered. “Have you come to torture me?”
“No, I want to leave! Which way is out?”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes!”
“Okay…” The man spread his filthy fingers into a claw, and grated them over the sharp rocks, cringing from the pain.
A trail of bubbling blood soon formed a circle on the ground. The man shook his head.
“Just step into the circle,” he mumbled.
Jessie was about to do as she was told, but then a thought struck her. This poor man didn’t deserve to suffer here after being so helpful. She was going to bring him along. And with a flick of her massive wrist, she snatched him up. He let out a shrill scream of horror, kicking and wriggling to get free.
“Let’s go home,” she said and stepped into the glowing circle.
She felt the air pulsating around her, and a strange pressure pushed on her shoulders.
‘*I lied too,*’ the voice inside her head said and laughed. ‘*There’s only down from here.*’
***
r/Lilwa_Dexel
| 2018-01-20T06:51:09 | 2018-01-20T06:35:21 | 8,817 | 1,068 |
[WP] When you were young, you made a deal with a witch to give up your firstborn child in exchange for a life of wealth and happiness. Now you're 35, and the witch is getting impatient. She doesn't know you got fixed at 18.
|
Money is power.
It's his lifeblood, and it flows through him. At 23, he was named as one of the fifteen richest people under 30. On her twenty-seventh birthday, he bought his girlfriend a house. He later realized that he could do that every year, and he'd never run out of money.
Money is like breath.
He inhales, he exhales, and the world turns around him. A single word from him could topple an economy; a brief exchange of digital currency would be enough to change the flow of politics.
This is him. This is what he does, day in and day out. He lives it, breathes it, *loves* it.
*"You've done a lot with what we gave you."*
*The voice is almost like a cackle to him. It grinds in his ears, sounds tumbling and turning and rocking. He regrets coming.*
*"I just don't understand. We made an agreement; why haven't you followed up with your end?"*
*He shrugs. "It's hard to find the right person, you know?"*
*A frown. She's watched his relationships, at first with interest, then with an ever-growing tiredness. "I'd think you're not even trying."*
*"I'll get there one day."*
Years pass. He's divorced, three times now. His assets are still numbered in the billions. He's rich, but he's running out of ways to spend it. Cancer treatments barely make a dent, even the most obscure and experimental.
He funds research, sits on board meetings, talks with scientists.
He's surrounded by people, and yet, he still feels alone.
The cancer gets worse. It's not in a vital area, not yet, but it's gradually growing. A slow death.
He goes to see her.
"Hello."
Her skin is almost as white as the hospital bedsheets. She struggles to sit up, but when she does, it's almost like she's back to her old self: Regal, imposing, strict.
"Ah... who are you, again?"
"It's me, mother."
A few moments pass, then sudden recognition, like a lever was pulled. "Ahh, Johnny! Have you had a child, yet? Given me grandchildren? Who, who's your wife again, Stacy... she seemed nice."
There's a sweetness to her voice that either wasn't present years ago, or he can't remember it. He almost says that Stacy divorced him almost half a decade ago, but doesn't.
"The inheritance you gave me... I've grown it properly. Father would be proud."
"Oh, Johnny, your father would have been proud of you no matter what you did! But, I'm not surprised. I'm sure he wouldn't have been either. You always had such a mind, for, for math. If... if only you'd have focused on the little thing, a bit more."
He nods, placating. "I just wanted to see how you were doing."
"I - I'm fine. I've been plugging along. I think I want to go back to teaching, Johnny. I never thought I'd miss it, but..." She smiles, longingly.
A minute passes in silence. He looks down at the floor; she smiles and stares out the window.
"Mother, that agreement we made. About me starting a family, in return for..." It sounds ridiculous, now. *Happiness*? Like some sort of genie, a wishing well? "In return for success. But, something seems to be missing. I... I just don't quite understand."
She keeps looking out the window.
"Mother?"
Her face swings around, staring at him, eyes squinting. "Oh, w-who are you again?"
"I-"
He doesn't continue. A nurse watches as he leaves the wing, black shoes clacking against the ground, suit swishing in the air.
She had told him that, if he agreed to her deal, he'd have happiness. But he'd never really thought about it. About what it was like, to be alone. About solitude.
Maybe he should have given it more thought, all those years ago.
^^^^r/forricide
|
Peace was mere moments away. I turned the corner along the corridor to my apartment, trying to decide between pizza or Chinese for dinner.
Then I stopped. There were six, seven cats loitering outside my door. Some were pawing at the varnished wood, some were curled up and asleep. All of them were black.
I dialled Jessie immediately. "You didn't tell me your mother was visiting!" I hissed.
"What? Are you sure? Have you actually seen her?"
"Of course I am sure! Just get home now! You know I hate being alone with her!"
"Oh crap oh crap. How does she even know where we live now? Did you tell her?"
"Jessie! If you're not here in ten minutes I'm telling her everything!"
I nudged a few of the cats away, then walked in with the brightest smile I could muster. She was perched on the barstools, a steaming cup before her, emitting puffs of foul-smelling fumes. She turned, then nodded slightly, and invited me into my own home with a flourish of her hand. I sat a respectful distance away on the edge of the couch, and shrugged off my coat.
Hazelda still looked as if she hadn't aged a whit. I suppose that the word 'beautiful' could apply to her, 'ravishing' even. She had high cheek bones, magnetic eyes, and such flawless, porcelain skin. It seemed sometimes that even if a pimple ever did try to take root on her face, it would simply slide right off, ashamed that it even bothered to try. In a different life, Hazelda would be arresting, stunning, and I would not have been able to peel my eyes away from her.
But with what I knew, that wasn't a problem at all.
"Oh Henry," she began, "I'm so happy to see that you're doing well. Put on a little weight, have you?"
"Erm, yes, mam."
"Have you been working out? Jessica feeding you the supplements I recommended?"
"Oh, erm, yes. Working out. Gym. A few times a week," I said. I could talk the pants off anyone, but around Hazelda my teeth kept trying to clamp down on my tongue. "Supplements? No, she didn't mention, I think."
"She did not? Really? Why, that's terrible!"
That was evidently the wrong answer, but I knew better than to lie. Hazelda swept off the barstool, then flowed across the short distance to me. She thrust the cup under my nose, and I felt my toenails begin to pry themselves off my flesh.
"Drink! Drink up! It is entirely herbal, I assure you. Natural, organic, whatever you want to call it. Definitely from this earth."
"What... What is this?"
"Oh, just a little boost... To help all the little Henries along, if you know what I mean."
The ball of ice spinning in my heart suddenly grew spikes, and I felt my insides trying to turn themselves inside out. "Little... Henries?" I mumbled. "No, mam, you don't understand. I don't think... I don't think I need any help of that kind. I'm fairly sure that I am still healthy in that regard-"
"Really?"
She smiled again, but this time her lips curled all the way back. Heath Ledger would be put to shame if he saw this performance. She let go of the cup, which now bobbed and floated in the air before me, still spewing its toxic aroma at me. Hazelda drew to her full height. "Then, Henry, would you please tell me *why* Jessica still isn't pregnant yet? Is there something I should know?"
This was too much.
I should have said something at the beginning, but what wool does love pull over one's eyes! Jessie had warned me from the start that her mother might be a bit peculiarly intent on getting grandchildren, but I was sure I could weather that. We'll find the right time to tell your mother that we'll never conceive, I told her. As long as we're together, I don't really care if we ever have children or not. If your mother presses us, well, I'll find some way to tell her to bugger off.
Tell Hazelda to bugger off. Hah.
Hazelda was a force of nature. In the first year of our marriage, she left us well alone enough. She would giggle, of course, everytime I said I was taking a short trip away with Jessie. Have fun! she would say. A holiday is the best time for both of you to be relaxed and to enjoy each other's company! She would wait until Jessie wasn't looking, then elbow me in the ribs, cackling about how I had better rest up in the day so that I could keep up all night.
And as time passed fruitlessly, so to speak, so did Hazelda's efforts multiply. There was the time we had found her floating outside our apartment window, a dark raincoat drawn over her for camouflage. Just here to make sure you are doing things right, she had said. Or what about the time she had shipped over a box of dolls, ostensibly souvenirs from her visits to her hometown? We had displayed those dolls in the living room, and they had activated right in the middle of an office dinner party I was throwing. I learned later that the words "Oh honey" were the trigger, but Jessie and I never did figure out what would stop them. In the end, I had to resort to bashing them right in with a baseball bat. Jessie had a sharp word with Hazelda after that, making it very, *very* clear that we knew about the birds and the bees, and that we absolutely *did not* require instructional figurines to explain or act out anything for us.
"Actually," I stammered, "if you must know... The problem is not with me. I am fine, Hazelda. I swear. I've checked and my doctor assures me that I am very, very healthy. The real reason why we haven't had children, is because-"
"Stop! Just stop!"
Jessie burst in, with a few autumnal leaves stuck in her hair. She had taken the express route, it seemed. The cats meowed as Jessie tripped over some of them. She ended up on her knees, panting heavily. Hazelda's concentration wavered, and the cup spilled its contents over my pants. I felt the fabric wriggle as they struggled to come to life.
"Stop, please..."
"Jessica?" Hazelda said. "Is this true? Is it really you who..."
"I'm sorry, mother. I never wanted you to find out this way..."
"But... Why? You could have just told me if you didn't want to have children. I wouldn't have forced you. Is it because... Because of the wealth and happiness I conjured for you?"
"No, that's not-"
"You know that's just a joke, right?" said Hazelda. She descended to the ground herself, a queen receiving an audience. She took Jessie into her arms. "I said I would take your firstborn, but I only meant that figuratively. I never would have... I just wanted us all to be a happy family, that's all."
"I know, mother. But I thought I never would have wanted children, and that's why I had the operation done... I was just looking for the right time to tell you. You understand right?"
Hazelda smiled. "Of course dear. But you said 'thought' - is that in the past? Have you changed your mind?"
Jessie nodded, then sobbed into Hazelda's shoulder. "I... I think I have. Henry and I... We've been talking about adoption. I'm ready to have children now, so just give us some time to-"
"Adopt? Why adopt? Why not ask me for help?"
"Help? But I've had my operation... Even your potions and you magic, they can't turn back time!"
Hazelda laughed. She scurried across the hall to her overnight bag, a midnight-black pouch evidently crafted from roasted crocodile. I swear that it whimpered as she rummaged around inside it. She drew back her hand in triumph, then raised a goblet of reddish-brown liquid.
"You should have just asked, Jessie! I can certainly help you! This potion here, it is a restorative miracle! It will combine our bodies, make us share the same consciousness for a limited time! In that time, we will be as one! Anything you are missing, I will replace it! That will give you enough time to conceive!"
"Wait, what do you mean-"
Hazelda gulped the potion down. I saw the filaments of magic weave immediately, as ribbons of gold stretched out from Hazelda and ensnared Jessie. They drew together, Hazelda laughing, Jessie screaming. I saw their features blend together, into a new hybrid, Hazelsie, Jeszelda... Whatever you want to call it.
In seconds, there was but a single woman standing in front of me. She stretched out her hand, then blew me a kiss.
I was only conscious of the sound I was making then.
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO"
---
/r/rarelyfunny
| 2018-08-06T23:04:21 | 2018-08-06T22:38:44 | 77 | 11 |
[WP] You were summoned by a god to be the hero of a fantsy world, to kill the demon king and free their people, as a boon they told you you could request any weapon that they will provide. As a joke, you requested a intercontinental thermonuclear warhead, they gave it to you with a stright face.
|
The man grunts, hoisting the stupid cone out of the dust once more. "Why couldn't I have just asked for the magic sword," he mutters, stuffing the wedge into the gap before letting the weight drop. "Noooo, I hadda be a smartass to the all powerful git with zero sense of humour."
He passed the rope underneath the object nearly as tall as he, then around and under a few more times to form a cradle. The loose end get flung over the overhanging branch and tied to the saddle of a waiting horse. "At least he could have given me the launch vehicle and codes. Nope, just the warhead, as promised." A flick of the reigns and the futuristic weapon rose slowly into the air, swaying in the breeze.
"Right you two," the man called to two others waiting with a cart, "put your backs into it!"
The cart was eased under the warhead and the horse encouraged backwards until the metal met the wood. Once the rope was unhooked the horse was harnessed to the cart and the epic quest began in earnest. Sure, they were still going to have to travel all the way to the Dark Lord's kingdom, but a surprise gift left at the gate would be a lot safer than a sword fight during a thunderstorm as was traditional.
"Heh, won't even have to be there to set it off," he mused. He looked at the big red button in his bag. He'd painted "End of the world, do not press" in large friendly letters on its' smooth domed surface, just to make sure.
|
“We finally meet hero. My minions tell me you came here from another world. Maybe I’ll check out that world once I’m done conquering this one. The great Argnot is far too great for only one universe. I will spread my terror over all the worlds. Now what do you have to say for yourself, human?”
“I have a massive bomb; I wouldn’t do that.”
Adrian pointed to the large warhead that sat attached to the back of a frothing barbarian. The raging bulk of muscles twitching with excitement, ready to drop the bomb whenever the hero would ask. The demon king seemed confused by the warhead, tilting his pink head, letting out a high-pitched snicker.
“You brought a large piece of metal with you? They bathed me in hell’s flame pits as a child. Do you really think that will hurt me? I have nothing to fear-“
“Come on, let me do it. I want to run at him and make an enormous boom. Come on, enormous boom lets go hero. I’m so ready for this, it’s going to look amazing.” The barbarian interrupted, legs wobbling as he waited for his chance to set off the warhead.
Adrian shook his head, waving the barbarian down. It would be pointless to set off the weapon here, none of them would survive. He only intended for it to be a bargaining chip, something to dissuade the demon king’s attack.
“It’s not just a piece of metal, it’s a piece of metal that contains enough energy to blow up not only you, but this castle too.”
“You are bluffing. How could one piece of metal have so much power? Is it magical?”
The Demon king hesitated. He had never encountered such a weapon before. If the human was telling the truth, it would be a disaster. What was the point of conquering a planet if the planet was a crater of debris and dust?
“Let’s not doing anything rash human, we can talk this over ok? How about you give me that weapon and I let you be a general in my army? I can even make you a demon, doesn’t demonic immortality sound nice?”
“I’ll pass, I’m not enjoying this world enough to want to be immortal. There're ghosts here, ghosts are scary. Have you tried sleeping in a world where ghosts exist? Constant ghoulish groans all night, its painful. I’ll pass on that. Got a better offer?”
“You didn’t have ghosts in your world?” The Demon king thought for a moment before grinning. “I know when my hands are tied. Tell you what, you win. I won’t attack the world for another one hundred years. When that time limit is up, I’ll return, and we can renegotiate.”
The Demon king’s plan was perfect. He would just wait for the human to die before attacking again. It’s not like one hundred years was a long time for an immortal, anyway. He could have come back sooner, but he didn’t want to risk the hero being re-summoned back to this world. They were far too crafty.
Adrian couldn’t help but feel relieved that his plan had worked. He may have exaggerated just how strong the warhead was, but the demon didn’t need to know that. Reaching his hand forward, he exchanged a firm handshake with the Demon king. The Demon not losing his grin as he faded into the ground, disappearing into a cloud of smoke.
“No boom? Come on, you said we could boom something.”
The barbarian was shaking, about to run towards a wall, only stopped by the hero. The hero tugging him back towards his side, stopping him from blowing up the castle they were in.
“Not yet, maybe later. In fact, I will make you the warhead master. It will be your job to stop the Demon king when he comes back. Think you can handle that? I want you to get this world’s greatest blacksmiths and attempt to recreate the weapon. Make sure he never wants to return.”
The barbarian gave the fastest nod that a man had ever given. His neck nearly snapping at the quick movements, luckily he didn’t seem to hit his head on the warhead.
When the pair returned to town they were hailed as heroes. The dark hellfire that had once surrounded the castle returned to water. The sky shifting from its coal colored skies to its usual blue. The hero passed his warhead onto the townspeople, leaving the barbarian to oversee any decisions made. He had created the peace, they just needed to maintain it.
Finally, he was ready, spreading his arms out to the heavens as the golden holy light slowly lifted him. He had done it; he was a hero. He could return to the afterlife and live peacefully. The light dragged him back to heaven, welcomed into the holy place by an annoyed looking God.
“My job is done, can I go back to heaven now?”
“Heaven? Why would I let you go to heaven? You just gave a warhead to a war loving barbarian. What do you think is going to happen now?”
The hero was silent, the slow realization of what he had just done setting in. Pulling apart the clouds he was standing on, he could already see a crater where the town once was, smoke drifting up to the heavens.
“HAHA, I made it boom, did you see that?”
A familiar voice shouted, smacking the hero on the back, still laughing from the sheer excitement of the event.
“It really went boom, can we do it again?”
God just stared at the Adrian for a few moments, then turned his attention to the barbarian who was jumping up and down like a child waiting to have another go on a ride.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t have you in heaven anymore, but I know just the perfect place for you.”
Without a word, God waved his finger, the ground opening up before dropping the two back towards the earth. The hero thought they were getting sent back to the world they had ascended from, but God had other plans. The ground opening up below them, dropping them both into hell. The Demon king raising an eyebrow as they both landed before him.
“Is the general position still open?” The hero sheepishly asked, pulling themselves up from the burning ground.
The Demon king thought it over for a few moments, long tongue pushing at each of his cheeks before he finally spoke.
“No.”
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
| 2020-10-14T01:47:12 | 2020-10-14T01:45:33 | 2,289 | 293 |
[WP] "Damn you Hero! I will get my revenge" those were the last words before your arch nemesis ran away, 5 years have passed and she still hasn't returned, you retired, got married and now have a lovely wife and kids. But one day while checking the basement you find the costume of your arch nemesis
|
One drop of ink ruins a glass of clear water. One instant taints that past five years.
I didn't want to believe. I couldn't bring myself to. But the thing that I held in my hand? It was unmistakeable. I've seen it from far away, from up close, but never did I have the opportunity to inspect every viridescent square inch of it, my heart filling with impending dread.
It was a perfect fit. Almost perfect, probably. Retirement and five years of joyous, wonderful marriage have meant that our bodies have not kept up with the rigours of a superhero life.
It was those five years, tied with the love of my life, that mellowed me. Instead of bursting forth into a self-righteous rage, or storming into our bedroom, I wrapped the costume up hastily in some spare Christmas wrapping paper to make sure that our kids will not lay eyes on them. Tucking the bombshell of the present underneath my arm, I slowly took a dreaded march towards our bedroom.
Knock, knock.
"Honey?" Jean's sweet voice called out.
"It's me," I replied, and twisted the door knob.
She sat in our bed, thumbing through a trashy romance novel that had been on her bedside for what felt like months. I plopped the package in front of her. Jean looked at it for a moment, and turned towards me, puzzled.
"You never did learn how to wrap presents, love," she said, her lovely green eyes gazing into mine, head tilted slightly.
"Open it," I said, words strangled through my throat.
She dragged it towards her, and the first signs of green popped out from underneath. Jean paused.
"Emerald," I whispered.
"I see you've finally found it," Jean said. Then, a smirk. "Dawnclaw."
"I sense that somehow, this is much more within your realm of expectations than it was mine," I said, climbing into bed next to her.
Her hand came up towards my face, stroking my cheek gently.
"It is. You think your old arch nemesis would just leave her costume lying in the basement if she didn't want you to find it?"
"But why?"
Her voice took on a teasing tone.
"Why? Why I decided to give it all up? Why I married you? Why I never told you? "
"I suppose it was a rather open-ended question," I sighed. "Yes to all of them. For now."
"I gave it all up because you did too," she said. "I married you because I believed then, and know now, you would make me far better and happier than I ever was in this pastiche costume. And I never told you because..."
"Because?"
I felt her head lean on my shoulder.
"I wanted a final, little mischief, I think," she sighed contentedly. "Although there was a lot less throwing and shouting than I expected."
"Five years of marriage do that to people, I suppose. Long enough to know who you are," I said, my hand reaching around to gently pat her head. "Short enough that I haven't got bored with you yet."
I received a smack on my shoulder.
"Jerk," she pouted. I smiled.
"I suppose I can stop pretending that hurts?"
"No. I like it."
"Sure, sure."
"That's another benefit of being Lester and Jean, rather than Dawnclaw and Emerald," she said. "You actually listen to me."
"Because your requests as Jean are far more reasonable," I chuckled.
"Well," she said. "Possibly. Kiss me then."
And how could I refuse?
---
r/dexdrafts
|
I remembered my last fight with Disastra like it was yesterday. Bleeding but barely victorious I had managed to demolish her Doomsday Machine and defeat her mechanized army. She had escaped of course, any halfway decent supervillain usually did, or escaped police custody later, but I had also missed her henchman Turmoil when I had to save the hostages.
Everyone had called it a crushing victory but their escape had been the biggest failure of my career. I had scoured the world looking for any sign of her but after nearly a year without a sign I had given up. Only a month after the battle I met Sharon. She was beautiful, intelligent, and caring in a way I had never known. To call our relationship a whirlwind romance would be an understatement. Sharon blew into my life like a Cat 5 hurricane. Less than two months later we were married and our first was on her way.
Five years later we had a four year old girl and a two year old boy. I was headed into the basement one day and I saw something that shocked me to the core. Not even hidden at all, laid out over some old boxes was Disastra's old costume, like it was meant to be found, like it was left just for me.
That night at the dinner table I stared at my wife. Sharon's figure had changed after two kids and nearly five years of marriage, but she was still sexy and curvy as ever to me. But... was that the figure of Disastra? Disastra had dark black hair, but Sharon was honey-brown, almost blonde if she spent too much time in the sun. But wigs were common for heroes and villains alike. Sharon had blue-gray eyes, Disastra's had been a crystal green but colored contacts were common enough. How far had she gone to change her appearance? Or was this Disastra trying to trick me into suspecting my wife, was that her revenge? I needed to be sure.
I needed to clear my head, so after finishing the dishes as Sharon put away leftovers I told Sharon I needed to run a quick patrol. Of course she knew about my alter ego, she was my wife after all. She didn't object, told me to be safe and had me double check my utility belt was properly stocked before I left.
I only made it about a quarter of the way through my usual patrol before I couldn't stand it anymore. I headed for a club I knew was a hive for organized crime. Usually if I didn't catch them in the act I wouldn't touch them, hero's code and all that, but tonight I was pissed. I tore through that club with a viciousness that seemed to scare the mobsters. When I asked their boss a few pointed questions he was pissing himself.
One lead led me to another and another until I found what I was looking for. After beating a few goons into submission I kicked the door to their boss's office in causing it to splinter into a thousand shards like it was made of glass.
"Turmoil!" I bellowed and looked at the terrified former henchman. "You son of a bitch!"
"Holy shit!" Turmoil ducked for cover and threw his hands up where I could see them. "Don't kinetic blast me! I heard you were on the war path! I surrender! I can even confess to a few things... just turn me over to the cops."
I ignored his simpering pleas and hauled him to his feet. Tossing him against a wall I leaned in close enough that I could smell the garlic from dinner on his breath.
"Disastra," I snarled, "Where is she!?"
"Dead," Turmoil said in a shaky voice. "Jesus Christ, is that what this is about?"
"Don't fuck with me, you two bit hood," I hissed through gritted teeth. "I would have heard if she died going against an anti-hero, those assholes always brag."
"Nah man," He whimpered. "You got it all wrong. She didn't die in battle. She went to Mistress Vooden, wanted some big spell. The old witch told her the price would be mighty steep. I was there for the ritual, Disastra opened her own wrists."
"Horse shit," I sneered at him studying his face, he was lying, he had to be. "Bull shit and lies."
"Fuck!" Turmoil held up his hands when I raised a fist. "Why would I lie!? I can show you where I buried her. You supes got her DNA after the Monaco heist right?"
I hesitated, then lowered my fist. It was true, Disastra had been wounded in the Monaco heist and we'd gotten a blood sample. Ran it through every database on the planet but never got a match. Fuck, why hadn't I thought of that? I thought about running home and getting something from Sharon but that could raise flags, besides it wouldn't tell me if Disastra was really dead.
"Take me to her grave," I finally muttered in a low growl.
An hour later and a lot of digging done and I had the sample running at the Guild. It wouldn't take long for NeuroMaster's supercomputer to process and give me a match but I couldn't stand around waiting. I had one more lead to follow.
I didn't storm Mistress Vooden's lair. She was a gray player in this game. Not hero, but not villain, and possessing the kind of mystical power most supes were wary of. Rumor has it several elder gods didn't attack our world out of mutual respect for Mistress Vooden, so I came to her door cowl in hand, so to speak.
"Yes child?" The old woman's lips curled into a smirk. "What has brought you to our door at this dark time of night?"
I approached slowly, head bowed respectfully. Only when I heard the jangle of her necklaces from what I presumed was an approving nod did I look up, but I still didn't meet the witch's eyes. That was a mistake that had ended more than a few heroes and villains.
"Disastra..." I began and she cut me off as she cackled with glee. I frowned but waited for her laughter to subside rather than interrupt.
"We been wondering when you would come about her," The old woman wheezed through a lingering chuckle. "Found out she died within our walls did you?"
I blinked, Mistress Vooden was a tricky old witch, but she never lied to anyone. Her truths were often shrouded in mystery and her prices were never what you expected when she asked you to pay.
"So she's dead?" I gnawed on my lower lip. "She came to you for a spell and her life was the cost?"
"She opened her wrists and bled out in the ritual circle," The witch sneered. "She was willing to pay the cost for the magic we sold."
"And what magic was that?" I wondered if she was haunting me, maybe she was a spirit and possessed Sharon? Maybe she was infesting an object like some creepy doll that we had gotten Lucy, my little girl.
"Oh, now child," Mistress Vooden chuckled with a gleam in her eye. "That information will cost you. We can't be jabbering on about what each of our customers come for unless the price be right."
"Tell me and I will pay," I needed to know, I needed to know that Sharon, Lucy, and Bryce were safe, I thought no price was too high, I was wrong.
"We be wanting your first born," Mistress Vooden croaked, then as my eyes went wide she cackled gleefully. "Still wish to pay? We would raise her like our kin, be a mighty powerful sorceress one day."
"No," There wasn't even a question, I couldn't do it. I couldn't sell my Princess to this witch. That little girl was as much my everything as her mother, maybe more. As much as I loved Sharon, romance sometimes ended in divorce. But my own flesh and blood? Children were forever, Lucy was forever my little girl. "Is there another price?"
"Nothing you would pay, that we would want," Mistress Vooden said with glee. "But we think perhaps you will not be pondering that question for too much longer."
I wanted to lash out, demand what she meant. As she laughed to herself I wanted to make her answer me. Instead I thanked her for her hospitality and backed out of the room slowly. On the way home I got the results, but I already knew what they would say. Disastra's body was over four years cold.
| 2020-12-28T10:24:42 | 2020-12-28T09:49:22 | 54 | 24 |
[WP] A photographer and a sniper meet in a bar. Neither is aware of the other's occupation. They talk about "how to take the perfect shot".
|
She'd told me she'd shot a few people.
I'd laughed.
I shouldn't have laughed. But... but there's 14 trillion photos due to be taken this year, on average little Jimmy, little average Jimmy, will take 3 and a half thousand shots this year... on his own.
Everyone thinks they're a fucking photographer and it's killing the industry.
I shouldn't have laughed. Especially as I'd asked. But I did, and I told her that it didn't sound like that rough a day.
A couple of shots didn't sound too bad.
She didn't really react. I mean that was weird. That should have been enough for me to figure something was up. It wasn't.
She ordered me a drink, shared me some professional-courtesy-world-weary-look that just pissed me off more.
She'd ordered us drinks though, that was kind of hot. I started on the full force struggles of the artform diatribe I'd used on and off since college with different photochicks. The whole chasing that "perfect shot" tale of woe.
She just nodded. Staring balefully into her drink.
We talked about life through a lense. I really thought I'd got her, maybe even she'd got me. There was a connection, she had an angle on things I'd never considered. What is the cost of the shots we take?
I really should have figured something was up then; smart, hot, artistically intriguing, working in the same field in the same city and giving me the time of day, I don't know why I didn't see it until she left, telling me she had some Ukrainian Drug lord to get a headshot of before midnight. We laughed over lighting jokes, she had a nightvision "scope".
She wouldn't give me her number, that's when it clicked. Gay.
Bloody lesbian photographers. Ruining the industry.
|
***Sniper:*** hey, how are you doing, pretty lady.
***Photographer:*** o-oh um, i'm fine.
"the photographer looks at the burly man, his body chiseled to perfection, dressed nicely, has the beard that no matter how much you'd scratch, it will still feel as smooth as silk... needless to say, her cheeks went completely reddened..."
***Sniper:*** so uh, can i get you a drink?
***Photographer:*** u-um, sure, i'll get a cosmopolitan~...
***Sniper:*** huh, i'll get a bloody mary then, Bartender.
***Photographer:*** h-hey um, i can't help but notice the camera you've got, i-it's looks quite unique.
***Sniper:*** ah, this thing?
"he hands her the camera, a Canon DSLR, built to withstand all kinds of harsh environments, and take the most crisp of shots."
***sniper:*** she's been with me through thick and thin, takin' shots, locating my targets and getting a good click on their faces... good times.
***Photographer:*** oh um, that's great, it does seem like you know a thing or two about the subject.
***Sniper:*** yeah, i know, it ain't exactly rocket science, but to get the right shot from miles away with all of the environmental hazards, the shaking, awkward positions, awkwardly placed bipod...
***Photographer:*** oh god i hate that too, either it's too blurry or i miss my target by a few inches.
***Sniper:*** exactly! no matter how stable it gets!
***Photographer:*** oh god, that is truly a pain.
***Sniper:*** try pulling all of your gear through water and mud, that's a pain.
***Photographer:*** oh christ, don't remind me... Shanghai was a pain when i had to go and take a few good headshots of some people there, they insisted on the scenery.
***Sniper:*** really!? oh shit i was in the Philippines, the trees were a pain in the ass, chopping with a machete was the only way to finish the job for me.
***Photographer:*** what about the lenses, they get dirt all the time!
***Sniper:*** that's another subject, till then, why not get some shots?
***Photographer:*** i'll have a shot or two, i quite like it.
"with that, the two order shots of Vodka and tequila"
***Sniper:*** so, lenses.
***Photographer:*** y-yeah! uh, the dirt locks up the adjustments and i'll have to go a little rough, which for me is a bit painful.
***Sniper:*** same here, had to change twice till i rested on one that stuck with me the most.
***Photographer:*** so, what was your first shot?
***Sniper:*** it was a compound of about a dozen targets, each one was uglier than the other, i had to take shots at every single one of the fuckers... but hey! the pay was great!
***Photographer:*** mine was a middle aged man, it wasn't an amazing pay, but it was fast, so i took the shot and went home with a good meal at least.
***Sniper:*** man, you really are fun, you know that?
***Photographer:*** why thank you~! so... how do you take *the perfect shot?*
***Sniper:*** simple... get yourself into a comfortable position, prepare the lens and check the angle, you don't want a bad shot, right?
***Photographer:*** right right!
***Sniper:*** once all the stars align, the target is within the crosshair, and you've calculated the shot... gently pull the trigger and bam, mission accomplished.
***Photographer:*** w-wow, that sounds so awesome...
***Sniper:*** what's your perfect shot?
***Photographer:*** have your setup on an area of good elevation, not too low so you have to account for angle, not too high so you'd have to sit yourself up and risk shaking the vision, once all of it is said and done, have a few good seconds of breathing and brace yourself for the shot...
***Sniper:*** **-Sip-** uhuh?
***Photographer:*** then click, there it goes, and in your words... mission accomplished~.
***Sniper:*** damn, that is amazing... so uh, what's the highest caliber you've shot.
***Photographer:*** oh uh a few good models, they were from serb-
***Sniper:*** no, wait, what?
***Photographer:*** these harlots that were so freaking bitchy about everything... eventually i had to put them down for good because they annoyed me.
***Sniper:*** f-fuck, that's ice cold, lady... i like that, the ability to do what's right, even if it is wrong as fuck.
***Photographer:*** yeah, i had to do a few things i'm not proud of...
***Sniper:*** so, uh... yeah... same here.
***Photographer:*** oh, by the way, where do you work? i want to visit someday.
***Sniper:*** oh, that would be hard, i'm with the S.A.S, top notch shit, they won't let anyone from outside come near the doors by an inch.
***Photographer:*** oh, wait... what is S.A.S?
***Sniper:*** Special Air Service?
***Photographer:*** w-w-wait... what?
***Sniper:*** i'm a designated marksman and sniper, what about you? army?
***Photographer:*** n-n-n-no! ii'm a photographer! w-what!?
***Sniper:*** oh... *oh...* now i see that clearly...
***Photographer:*** s-so when you said you took sh-shots... you mean you've k-
***Sniper:*** each and every single one of the Militia members, that was a good day for me.
***Photographer:*** a-and Caliber?... l-like in guns?
***Sniper:*** mine was 50.Cal, and y-yeah... i kill people for living, the camera is to take photos for recon.
***Photographer:*** oh... *oh...* that makes so much sense...
"feeling he fucked up big time, like compromising a mission due to a shot that missed the target by a millimeter, he simply looks ahead and takes another sip of his drink... but after a while, she speaks up..."
***Photographer:*** hey, i'm Hannah Kingston, what's your name?
***Sniper:*** John McTavish, they call me Soap.
***Photographer:*** Soap?
***Sniper:*** long story, wanna leave this place and talk in a calmer area?
***Photographer:*** i'd love to, shall we leave then?
| 2017-08-31T08:12:15 | 2017-08-31T06:35:04 | 962 | 497 |
[WP] Instead of an angel and a demon sitting on your shoulders, one side sits a brash New Yorker and the other a posh British gentleman. Neither are necessarily good or evil, they just make passing comments on your day to day activities.
|
"Jolly good show, my good man," he said, sitting on the right of my shoulder and inhaling deeply from his pipe. "Positively smashing."
I'd been watching Stranger Things for the last couple hours, trying to block them out.
"What kinda trash is this?" the man on the left of my shoulder chimed, pacing up and down the length of it. "This is just garbage, garbage I tells ya. Barb don't deserve to go like that."
I sighed. I had not been succeeding.
********
The bank teller peered quizzically at my shoulders, and I tried to smile. "Please, it's best to just try and ignore them," I told her, glancing down briefly and praying that Mike would be able to keep it together. "It's an, errr, *condition*."
"Nice rack on this bird, yaknowwhatI'mtalkin'about?" he said, staring directly at her chest. Charles leaned over to chastise him.
"Now now Mike, what have we told you about manners? Although I dare say, that is certainly a bountiful bosom."
I apologized profusely before security could escort me out.
****
After much deliberation, the two of them convinced me to go out to the library. This was always a challenging affair, as libraries were made for silence, and regardless, the three of us would need to pick a book that all of us liked to read. No such book existed.
I - or we - were browsing the aisle, Charles trying to direct me to eighteenth century geopolitics, Mike complaining that there were no porn mags. I whispered for them to be quiet, and in the ensuing silence I heard three women speaking in increasing volume to my right.
The librarian shushed the women, and I heard one of them apologize, then the three continued in hushed voices. Again the librarian told them to be quiet.
I rounded the corner, engrossed in my quest for fiction, and accidentally bumped into one of them.
Well, *all* of them.
"Watch where you're goin', ya fuckhead!" a tiny voice said while I attempted to pick up the fallen books.
"Fran, please watch your language, as I think you'll find we are in the company of gentlemen," another tiny voice said, as I - or we - slowly looked up.
A beautiful woman stood before us. Furthermore, two more women stood on *her*.
"By Gods," Charles said, dropping his pipe.
"Fuck me," Mike replied.
"I... I..." I stammered.
"Please, don't mind them," the woman said with a nervous smile.
I nodded, still speechless. I'd never been able to talk to girls, not with these two on my shoulders. But this...
This could work.
"Take this guy to pound town before I do it myself," the tiny, brash woman on her left chimed.
"Or perhaps a delicatessen first?" the tiny, posh woman on her right replied.
The librarian shushed us on our way out.
****
If you didn't completely hate that, consider subscribing to [my subreddit.](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/)
I'll try add new (and old) stories every day <3
|
Johnathan, Johnny, and John
It was a cold day in Toronto, Canada. The Hockey game had recently ended, and a single man stood up against the wall in an alley, a hockey shirt with a maple leaf embroidered on it covering his torso as he looked up towards the man in front of him. A ruggish guy with a loose hoodie on, a smirk on his face as he pointed a knife towards the smaller man's neck.
His victim was named John... And John wasn't alone.
On his right shoulder, a young man with a short, but fancy, hairdo, a small, curly moustache, and a Victorian suit adorned with a top hat covering his body, and a monocle over his right eye.
"Have you tried a round of parley? Maybe this man is just looking for someone to converse it!" Johnathan spoke, taking the pipe from his mouth.
"No one gives a damn about your parsley bullshit." Another man spoke from the left shoulder. A greased up pompadour stood up from his head, and he was dressed in a black, studded leather jacket, a white shirt, and some worn jeans. He stood up with a cigarette in his hand as he made a punching motion with his other.
"I say we clocks dis guy and go home already!" Johnny said, giving off a smirk.
"Dear lord, must you always be so brutish?"
"Hey, if you wants to see brutish, you should see my mother-in-law!"
"Oh please, like any lady would waste her precious time with you, of all people."
"SO YOU THINKS YOUR FUNNY, EH? IT WON'T BE SO FUNNY WHEN I POUND YOU INTO NEXT WEE-"
"Guys, please!" John said, his attacker giving a confused expression for a second, his two companions straightening up on his shoulders.
"Just hand over the money, and you won't get hurt. It's simple."
John grit his teeth as his hand slowly reached towards his back pocket.
"WHAT?" Johnny said immediately. "YOU'RE JUST GONNA HANDS YOUR CASH OVER TO THIS PUNK?"
"Indeed." Johnathan nodded. "Though I abhor violence, I'd rather you not hand over our well-earned money."
John shook his head as he took a deep breath. "What other choice do I have?"
"None." The attacker said. "Now hand it over."
"HEY, WE ARE NOT HANDING OVER OUR MONEY. KAPISH? DECKS DIS BOZO SO WE CAN MOVE ON."
"Or at least try to talk him down."
"IT'S JUST A KNIFE. WHERE I COMES FROM, WE DEALS WIT' GUNS. DIS IS NOTHING!"
"Now, now, Johnny. Never underestimate an opponent's capabilities."
"How about I *overestimate* the amount of punches it would take to shuts ya up?"
Fortunately, between their bickering, a bit of luck would come out.
"Hey! What's going on over there?" A guy shouted from the entrance of the alley. All four of them looked over as a man in a Toronto police uniform began approaching the scene.
"Fuck!" John's attacker said as he immediately sprinted away, leaving his victim behind... Alive, thankfully. Instead of chasing after him, the Officer walked up towards John and gave him a pat on the shoulder.
"You alright there?" He said, smiling lightly.
"Yeah... Thanks for the help, eh? Sorry if I caused you any problems." John replied, giving out a hefty sigh.
"Hey, it's my job! You take care of yourself now, and stay away from these alleys."
"Yes, sir." John replied, nodding.
"So you lucksed out." Johnny said, as they walked out of the alley. "That don't mean I can't teach you a few moves for next time!"
"Or at least work on improving his conversational skills." Johnathan replied.
"Hey, good idea! We'll teach him how to intimidate too!"
"That is *not* what I meant!"
...
*About an hour later*
John walked up to a local Tim Hortons, letting out a small sigh. He was still shaken up from nearly getting mugged.
As he opened the door, a girl who was coming out immediately bumped into him.
"Ah, sorry!" John said, and she just gave a small smile as she nodded.
"HEY, LOOK OUT WHERE YOU'RE GOING! WE'RE WALKIN' HERE, YA KNOW!" Johnny shouted from the left shoulder, as Johnathan let out an annoyed sigh and facepalmed.
"You are aware that she can't hear you, right?" He said, looking up towards her as she looked directly towards the two, eyes wide. "...Oh dear."
"L-look. I can explain." John said.
A couple minutes would pass as John sat down in front of her, a coffee in his hand as he slowly took a sip.
"So, uh... Who are you guys?" She spoke, her eyes constantly darting between the three faces.
"Name's Johnny. Johnny Russo, from Brooklyn, New York. Dat ove' der is Johnathan, from Whereverthefuckshire, England."
His companion cleared his throat into his fist. "Downtown London. Sir Johnathan Crawford at your service, pleasure to make your acquaintance." He said, giving a small bow.
"And, uh... I'm John Smith... From here in Toronto. Not nearly as interesting, I know." John said, forcing a chuckle.
She gave a small smile in return. "I'm just Mary. Also from Toronto. So what's up with these two anyways? How'd they get there?"
"Well... It's kind of a long story, eh? Happened aboot 5 years ago. They claimed to be my... previous reincarnations."
"Yes, that is correct." Johnathan said, adjusting his bowtie. "Our soul is quite special indeed. Though how a marvelous gentleman like myself turned into such a hoodlum is beyond my expertise." He said, giving a glance towards Johnny.
"Hey, you're just jealous cause I actually know how to live!" He replied, giving a shrug.
"If your definition of living involves incarceration." He said, rolling his eyes.
"Wait, wait..." Mary said, holding her hands up. "You guys are... past reincarnations? So, how did you die."
"Well..." Johnathan started. "I grew up with a rather well off family from London. But I had the misfortune of being born in a rather complicated time period. I, unfortunately, perished along the borders of France during the early years of the First Great War."
Mary nodded soundly as she looked towards Johnny.
"I got blasted by some punk from a rival gang in da early 60s." He said casually, making a finger guns with his hand and made a small "Pew" sound.
"And, I haven't died." John shrugged. "Not yet anyways."
She chuckled. "You know, you're pretty interesting John. How would you like to meet up this weekend?"
"Wait... Me? I'm like the least interesting person in this conversation."
She shook her head. "I don't think so at all." She said, writing her number down on a small napkin. "The fact you have them at all is pretty interesting to me. I'd like to learn more about you."
"O-oh... And I guess I would like to know how you saw them at all."
"See? We both have a reason to talk to each other!"
The conversation went on a little bit longer before John eventually walked out of the building.
"DAT'S WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT!" Johnny shouted, throwing his hands in the air. "IT'S ABOUT TIME YOU GOTS INVOLVED IN DIS WHOLE DATING SHEBANG."
"Yes, jolly good show, mate. I say, we must get you some proper attire! Fear not, my dear John, I shall teach you everything I know about being a gentleman." Johnathan replied from the other side.
"Aww, thanks guys. Time to go home, eh?"
"Yeah, whatevers. Just grab me a hot dog on da way der."
"You are aware that you can't consume it, correct? You are, after all, just a spirit."
"Dat's funny!" Johnny replied. "Last time I checked, so were you! Yet every time we talk you asks for a knuckle sandwich!"
John sighed as the two started going at it on his shoulder. "What a strange life."
| 2022-04-29T19:22:54 | 2018-07-02T17:23:43 | 4,745 | 16 |
[WP] "Wait, so there's no gold?" "Of COURSE there's no gold. I'm a huge freaking dragon; why would I need to buy anything? I live in a cave, for fuck's sake. WHY do you humans always think I have gold?"
|
"Okay, since you were only trying to sneak in and rob me instead of trying to fucking *stab* me like the last three knights, I'll spare your life and give you a quick lesson on dragon economics. Dragons are solitary, nomadic carnivores. We value two things: Good hunting grounds, and stuff we can carry with us. If I can't eat it or wear it when I'm flying around, I don't want it."
The dragon lowered its head, revealing that it had two polished steel bands encircling its horns, each engraved with heraldic symbols. "See these rings? They're a symbol of tribute from the kingdom of Elesia - they mean I'm allowed to hunt from their flocks and they can't complain about it. Now *that's* something valuable, for a dragon."
"Um. Thank you for the lesson... your draconic majesty?" Alfric said cautiously, gazing up at the massive beast.
"Dragons don't have ceremonial addresses, either. Solitary, remember? Nobody's writing a manual of etiquette for a dragon. Dragons call each other whatever they want."
"Seeing as I'm smaller and more flammable than you are, I don't think I'd want to risk that, your draconic majesty."
The dragon's mouth curved up in what he hoped was a smile. "Well, I won't complain. Now, why are you still here? I told you, I don't have any valuables lying around for you to take. And you'd have to be suicidal to try and steal something I'm wearing."
Alfric stayed where he was, trying not to shake with fear. "If you don't mind, your draconic majesty, you said that you value food? Flocks of sheep and such?"
"Yep. Humans have the *best* food. Nothing beats a fresh roasted lamb."
"Your majesty, I am but a humble shepherd. And I owe a great debt to another human, one that I could not possibly repay without stealing your hoard. But one thing that I do have is sheep. Sheep, and my skills at cooking. Your majesty, do dragons eat their meat with spices and seasoning?"
"No. Dragons have exactly one way of cooking things. It's not exactly fine cuisine."
"Well, I have a healthy lamb, and a garden with fresh rosemary and thyme. And a frying pan."
The dragon lowered its head and looked Alfric in the eye. "You have my attention."
|
\*Edit 1!\* This Blew up a bit overnight! And in case you're wondering, this is, like, one of only a few posts that I've actually written for scale of why I'm hyped up about it! I'll see what I can do as far as writing out more on this story since enough people seemed interested! Wish me luck folks!
\*Edit 2: Google Boogaloo\* After many suggestions to continue this, I decided to move this to a Google Doc! Leaving up the main idea here, but I'll keep working on it on google if you're interested in not only viewing but commenting on it! Thanks for the praise!
Le Link: [Here!](https://docs.google.com/document/d/14HzgqmVsC5IZSVni02X_NfMai3XYpGV5l7dyHYUAnTI/edit?usp=sharing)
(Sorry in advance, this was a beast to write out! I got caught up with the idea from the prompt, and I hope ya like it! Sorry for the fluffy characters, but \*Shrug\* -Is a furry, has bias to write furry stories-)
Alister was not having a good Year. It started in the winter, a raiding band of adventurers coming to take prisoners and make slaves of his tribe of anthropomorphic, canine men. He, among many others, were bound, sold, and in his case, used to further fuel that conquest by the human nations at large looking for easily exploitable resources.
This last Month, though, had brought that to a new level: His "Recruiters" had been tasked by the Lord of some castle he'd yet to learn the name of to defeat a dragon, and in kind, plunder all the gold it hoarded. Alister had been... "Nudged" into going forward and seeing whether or not the dragon was awake. Watching a beast that would rival the size of one of his tribe's long houses flame roast a still living cow with fire breath lead to him fainting on the spot. And this, in turn, lead to him waking up, seeing all his "Allies" having been dealt with, their shredded armor the only remains outside of the beast before him not unlike the shell of what humans call "Shrimp" post food prep.
The laughably tiny dagger he'd been given lay well out of range both of his reach and mental capacity, eye to eye with the fire drake before him. "Well, feeling brave yet?" Came the gravel voice of the drake, who was picking his teeth with the leader of the adventurer's sword. Alister was still at a loss for words, the only other sound he could register beyond the "toothpick" that the dragon was using being his heart beat. "Listen." The dragon continued, "If you really are about to get the urge to avenge your fallen comrades, at least have the curtesy not to soil yourself. I prefer that particular taste stay inside my meals rather than out."
At hearing this, any hope that was within Alister went out, and with it a gust of breath from him in a weary sigh. "Oh what's the point. Get it over with. At least give me the mercy of a quick end." With that, he closed his eyes, and braced for the worst.
If Alister had expected an immediate lunge of snapping teeth, he was sadly let down. After a good minute or two of silence, the canine opened his eyes, looking up at a now... Concerned face of a dragon? "Really? No vow of honor? No declaration of vengeance? Not even just the will to live on?" The drake made a motion, setting down the sword he'd been using to clean his teeth within range of Alister. "Even this swords owner, in the face of all my splendor, had the will to say, "I'm not leaving here without your gold you overgrown lizard." Stupid really, but still noteworthy."
Alister perked his head up, if just a little. "Wait, really? All I could hear about when I was dragged up this infernal mountain was about how rich they'd be once they plundered your gold reserves!" The dragon let loose a rumbling laugh, akin to a mountain landslide given the acoustics of the cave. "If you're let down, you should have heard your leader then." The dragon adopted the tone of the human who'd lead them here. "Wait, there's no gold?!" - "Of course there's no gold! I'm a huge freaking dragon; why would I need to buy anything? Or how could I even carry it back up here in the first place!? Beyond that I live in a cave, for fucks sake! Why do you humans ALWAYS think I have gold?"
Alister and the dragon shared a short chuckle at that, Alister's far more short than the drake. "Sounds like the justification they used to raid my tribe and village." He sighed and frowned, looking out of the cave, the castle this "Knight" had belonged to somewhere beyond the haze and distant mountain's they'd past a week ago attempting to track this dragon on foot. A tap at his shoulder brought him back to reality. "Say," The dragon said, having used a claw to tap him on the shoulder, "I don't believe I've had the pleasure of simply chatting with someone in quite a while. What is your name, beast kin?" "Alister of Nowik, or whatever the humans call it now. And you, Fire drake?"
The dragon bowed his head, a house bending down before a dog. "Valcanor, King of these lands... Or so it would seem." Alister allowed himself a chuckle, forgetting for a moment who he was talking to as he replied, "King of what? I see no subjects that you rule, or make bend their knee to you?" A growl from Valcanor sent him crawling backwards, hitting a wall of the cave in a moment, before the growl turned to a chuckle. "No, you have a point. It has been some time since I had a subject to lord over... Let alone..." At his, the dragon's face seemed to get even more jagged, scrunched up in thought. The sword had now come to rest in the pile of armor he'd taken from the adventuring group, only bits and pieces of it salvageable. But perhaps... "Say Alister. This party held you as a slave, did they not?" There was only a moments hesitation before the canine nodded.
"No weapons, armor, likely scraps of food... But now they're gone. And you're free... Or so you think." Valcanor continued, putting voice to his thoughts and schemes. "I doubt returning to their settlement would be good, likely at best sold right back into servitude. Worst case ran through on spot for "Abandoning thy duties to Man." But..." He paused, eye to eye once more with the canine, eying him not as a lesser but equal being. "But what if you became my champion. A pact boon with a dragon, to raise justice for your kind and those who'd wronged you."
Truthfully, these thoughts had been turning in Alister's mind as well, but the prospect of what the dragon was offering was not where it had ended up. But as he looked up at the dragon, eye to eye with him, he noticed that his reflection in those eyes held something he wasn't used to seeing. "What's it going to be," Came the rumbling voice of Valcanor, talon outstretched to shake Alister's hand. There was no hesitation for what followed. Perhaps Alister's bad year was finally about to change.
| 2020-12-28T18:31:36 | 2020-12-28T18:26:36 | 1,946 | 117 |
[WP] Making a deal with a demon requires a soul. Usually this is a very bad idea, but you got a crazy idea. Earlier you traded your lunch money to the school bully in exchange for a piece of paper that says you own his soul. You're about to find out if demons consider this a valid contract.
|
"Dude! Are you serious?!" The demon asked, it's feathers flapped around as it shook it's head. "I"ve never seen a mortal soo stupid..."
"Would you accept it?" I asked.
"Yes, technically yes, but I just want to know something."
"What?"
"How in gods name did you found someone this stupid?"
"School."
"What?!"
The demon stared at me in disbelief.
"Just give it to me. What do you want?" The demon asked.
"Just take this soul and..."
***
The school bully just left the building when he heard a high-pitched voice. As he turned his head, he saw the weirdest thing.
The pigeon headed man, wearing an orange costume, angrily waving a lawnmover. The bully looked at it in a shock, before he asked:
"Bro, what are you doing?"
"Listen man" The demonic figure approched him and slapped him across the face. "I know things are really messed up at home, but you need to stop! They are your classmates, not your toys!"
The bully backed away from it, but the demon followed him.
"I know you are scared" the demon said. "But it's not an excuse. The kids you bullied are suffering too. Did their suffering ease yours?"
The bully said nothing. The demon looked down at the orange costume, then looked at the boy.
"I heard that our mother is worse than she was ever before. I am so sorry."
"Why do you care?! You left" The bully yelled.
"I had to, Jonathan!" The demon yelled back. "I found a job, so I can take care of you, and you act like this? Please have some respect for me and help me get out of this costume! Please!"
"Okay" Jonathan said after a short pause. "But why are you a demon?"
"I went to America, and could not afford healthcare. It's a long story, okay?"
"Tom, I missed you" The boy cried out. "I am so happy to meet you again!"
"I missed you too. I only found you because you were such a bully someone tried to sell your soul to the devil..."
"Who?"
"It's a secret."
"Did you accept my soul?"
"I have it, don't worry."
"And what did he ask for?"
"To prank you."
"And what will you do?"
"I will play the biggest prank on you, you will never forget it."
"What will you do?" Asked the ex-bully. The demon threw the landmover into the bushes.
"I will teach you some f*cking manners!"
|
The thick substance oozed out of my palm. I winced, but licking the burgundy off of my palm I smiled, eyes glinting in the moonlight. The deep maroon reflection of the night sky rippled on the surface of the lake, and the chilly night breeze caused a rustling both eery and divine.
I've thought about this moments hundreds of times, and my resolve wavers not.
"Shit, I really should have brought a jacket", I murmur to myself as I light a cig and curse myself for wearing a pleated skirt.
"Fucking societal conventions, I'm wearing a full-on suit next time".
Next time. I chuckle at the thought.
*Fuck, if this works I'll buy three,* I think to myself.
"Alright, let's get this party started!" I shout, rubbing my hands together, my wrinkly hands frowning at my vain attempt to warm up my frigid exterior.
"Come on guys! Where's the love?"
...
"Not talking eh? what can I say, I've got to *hand* it to ya, your resolve is quite strong"
I chuckle again, laughing at my dumb puns as I address my hands as if they were people.
"Well shit, I sure hope satan likes pigs blood", I murmur, as I begin pouring blood into the dew-glistened grass, listening as it splashes and hisses like toxic sludge.
"Yeah yeah, quite your whining, I'm cold too you know".
Yeah, I sure talk to myself a lot. But. So. What? I'd rather hang out with the crazies than those assholes at school any day? HA!
Fucking normies.
Flicking my cigarette into the wind, I reach my arms up and stretch, and then scream.
"WHAT THE!"
The wind had suddenly changed direction, flinging the ashen stub of a cigarette straight into the pig pentagon I had drawn.
(No really, it was literally a drawing of a pig with pentagons for eyes. After drawing it I imagined myself wearing a french barrette hat, with a long curly mustache, displaying my work in some fancy museum dans Paris. And some rich bloke being like, "Honhonhon madame. I much like your artwork, I give you this baguette made of gold". Indeed, I bite the baguette to verify that it is, indeed, gold, and chip a tooth in the process. My smile beams so brightly it pierces a hole in the roof, and my first customer gets one of my signature works. My bright future as an occult artist has begun.
This is of course, all just a fantasy. Nothing so bizarre could happen in real life. But a girl can dream.)
Anyway, back to the story.
"MY ARRRTTT!!", I scream, cursing as my pig bursts into flames, smoke billowing out of its eyes and spewing everywhere.
*It's far too early for project bacon*, I think to myself, both alarmed and pleased that the pigs blood was so flammable.
*God, I better warn farmers,* I think to myself.
Suddenly the wind stops. That's fucking cliché, I think to myself, but I still find it eery.
My head begins to swim, annd I swaay baack and foorth, all woozy boozy like.
*Aww shit, am I getting high on pigs blood?*
Flat. *Excuse me?*
Flat. I look around. *Except I can't!*, I think to myself.
Something... feels off? Like a part of my brain was inverted and then removed.
As I try to get my bearings I feel like a waterskier being dragged across a lake, simultaneously beating against a mix of a oozey boozey liquid and a brick wall.
*Oh my god... it's flatland,* I think to myself.
Except it's not. I mean, I certainly don't *feel* like a circle.
Looking down I see that I still look like *me*, although in some sort of distorted fashion.
*Hmm, maybe I should try a new diet.*
"Hello?" I cry out, but my words seem to leak out and reverb about in my mind, rather than in the world around me, and suddenly I notice it.
Standing before me was something truly... ugly.
Excuse me?", the weird contorted patch of space said.
"Umm, all I said was hello...", I waive my arms in a confused gesture, feeling much like a stick figure moving its little limbs about.
"No you shit, you think I'm ugly?" I gasp.
*Oh my god the weird blob thing can hear my thoughts.*
なら、これはどうだ！, I think, switching to Japanese to see if encrypting my thoughts would work.
“おらかもの、むだむだむだ！グググ”
I gasp again, and then laugh.
*Is that a jojo reference?* This guy is funny.
"Enough of this drivel", the blob spoke, as it began to shimmer and fizzle.
*Hmm I guess this is the end for me*, I think to myself.
But lo, to my surprise, my head began to stretch too. Oh wait, or was it shrinking? Bending?
Hell I don't know, it feels like if your mind was bent into möbius strip and someone was infinitely unbending it.
*Ohhhh shit, I'm going to need a serious margarita tomorrow*.
I fall over and vomit all over the... *what is this?* The vomit kinda just fell and *disappeared*. *Hmm curiouser and curiouser*, I think to myself.
My jaw hit the floor, quite literally since I was basically already touching the floor, when I once again beheld the blobby blob.
Standing before me was a rather tall lady, with a blindingly red dress with what looked like what I can only describe as a starry-nights if you switched its themes to souls of the damned and a shitton of red. Oh, and yeah its patterns were changing in real time, and I thought I could occasionally hear screams emanating from it... but then again, I was probably high on pigs blood. Oink oink.
The lady frowns, and then raises an eyebrow. I open my mouth and stop, and she turns to leave, and then turns back around and looks at me again.
"This is why I hate amateurs", she shook her head, her beautiful red horns frowning at me as they moved side to side, as a long black tail whisped and flicked side to side behind her.
"Oh!", I exclaim, "so you *are* real. Thank goodness!"
The lady sighed, and looked at me with contempt.
"Do you have something to bargain with or not?"
"Ohh yeah, yes of course!" I grin.
*Fuck yeah, it's happening!* I frown, *if only I had my walkman, I would play some sick tunes to set the vibe*.
I reach into my bra and pull out a little folded wad of paper.
*Hmm... yeah this oughta do it*.
"It's a little smudged and sweaty, and there might be a little pig blood on it, but here you go: a sole soul!"
| 2021-03-27T02:15:46 | 2021-03-26T23:30:31 | 29 | 16 |
[WP] While singing gibberish in the shower, you accidentally summon a demon, who then professes an eternity of loyalty for saving it from the doldrums of hell.
or maybe it is pissed you interrupted it while he was watching his favorite show.
|
*If Simon Cowell could hear me, he would scorch me alive.* But this knowledge didn’t keep me from my daily vocal exercises. The acoustics in the shower were amazing; whereas normally I’d sound like a cat being dragged along the highway, in the bathroom my voice was more akin to a cat stubbing its toe. I’d once watched a video on YouTube that encouraged aspiring singers to overcome shyness by performing to friends and family. I tried this, but I think it only made things worse. My sister won’t have me over anymore, and my mother still won’t put me in her will.
This morning, I turned on some music and hopped into the shower, then summoned every ounce of bitterness within me and belt out an angsty Taylor Swift song. Closing my eyes against the hot water streaming down my face, I envisioned a jumping crowd cheering my name.
When I opened my eyes, I saw that I did have an audience, and he was standing right beside me.
My first instinct was to scream and cover myself, but I quickly realized that he was more naked than I was. All his skin had been ripped off, exposing blood-red muscles and a network of throbbing veins. The thing’s grin, though ugly and frightening, was friendly.
“Greetings mortal,” he spat in a raspy voice. “You have freed me, at last.”
*There’s a stranger in my shower. He looks like roadkill.* I couldn’t decide which disturbed me more. “Who the hell are you?”
“Ha!” The living disectee pointed a skinless finger at me, dripping blood onto the floor of the bathtub. “Hell is my *former* residence. Now I am a citizen of the mortal world, all thanks to you!”
“Um…sorry?”
“You’ve summoned me from the depths of the underworld!...But how did you do it?” He perched his hands on his hips, creating a meaty, squishy sound.
From that point on, I lost my appetite for lasagna.
He rattled off a list over the din of the running water. “Did you buy any strange books from a thrift shop? Or dabble with a Ouija Board?”
“I sang Taylor Swift.”
“Yeah,” he nodded slowly. “That’ll do it.”
“Well, you see, Mister…umm…”
“*Alzaroq’inkal’valomenzahemin.*”
“Albert, it is.” I turned off the water. “Albert, I think you should go back to where you came from.”
“But I am indebted to you! From the moment you spoke those evil words, you are my master for eternity!”
Snatching a towel from the nearby rack and wrapping it around myself, I shook my head. “I don’t need a demon in my life. I already have a little brother.”
Albert pursed his lips—or he would’ve, if he had any. “Well, what do I do *now*? Who do I serve? Who would accept help from a powerful demonic force?”
I thought for a moment. “There’s a Catholic church down the road.”
[*I realized too late that the prompt said 'gibberish'. Oops.*]
|
The porcelain *clink* of saucer setting upon table accompanied the sharp *click* of hooves on Peruvian hard wood and the muted *swish* of a pronged tail batting side-to-side. "Your coffee, Ma'am."
Megan sipped the hot beverage. Dark roast, full bodied, with a little cinnamon stirred in. "Delicious as always, Ahzhagt. Thank you."
Ahzhagt politely nodded the left-most of his two heads. Megan observed the right head studiously watching the two dust rags cleaning the mantle seemingly of their own accord. Ahzhagt liked to pretend he had telekinetic powers, but Megan knew it was actually invisible tentacles. But why spoil his fun?
Ahzhagt materialized a clipboard with several documents clipped to it. "Afraid today is going to be busy, Ma'am. You have the meeting with McCaffery and Martin in thirty minutes concerning the Ramsey case. Ownership dispute over their family business."
"Have Jim run me their dossiers."
"Already done, Ma'am." Ahzhagt struck a line across the clipboard in red pen curtly. "Jordan Goodkind and Rothfuss will be sending a representative at two. I believe they have a settlement offer they wish to negotiate."
Megan rolled her eyes. "I'm sure their offer borders on the insulting."
"Excruciatingly so, Ma'am."
Megan sipped the rest of her coffee as she watched the city from her penthouse window. So many people, so many lives. She had started her firm to help people, to fix their problems. But the longer she ran it, the more she just found herself wallowing in petty meaningless squabbles.
"Something on your mind, Ma'am?" Ahzhagt inquired as he dusted the mantles and cleared the saucer away.
"No, Ahzhagt, just... old times, I guess."
"There is one more case on today's docket, Ma'am. The Sullivan case." Ahzhagt's mouths quirked upward into the tiniest of amused smiles. "The Child-Eater."
Megan startled for a moment. Did Ahzhagt just say... no, that can't have been right. The firm took cases for those in need, not those who... she kept her gaze out the window. "Could you repeat that?"
"Harry T. Sullivan, crass little hooligan, lived across the bay. Grabbed a girl scout, gave her the in-out, and had her ribs with chardonnay." Ahzhagt's sharp teeth gleamed as he grinned wryly.
Megan whipped around to face Ahzhagt, eyes steely with fury. "WHAT was that?!"
"Oh I admit, Ma'am, rhyming "Sullivan" with "hooligan" is a bit of a stretch. But for the most part I thought it clever."
"I MEANT, why are we defending a... a... " Megan's lip curled in revulsion, the words spitting outward venomously. "a *CHILD-EATER*?!"
"The firm's statement of purpose, Ma'am."
Megan stormed across the living room, glaring directly into Ahzhagt's left pair of eyes. "My firm--"
"Our firm, Ma'am. After all, my influence did save your legal career and bring all this about."
"**MY** firm, Ahzhagt, is dedicated to helping those in need. Victims of atrocity and baseless greed, not... ***PREDATORS***."
"In the cosmic sense, Ma'am, "predator" and "victim" are barely distinguishable." Ahzhagt turned smartly on his hoof, tail trailing languidly as he paced along the suite's window overlook. "Mister Sullivan has a compulsory hunger for petite frames and well-cooked meats. He can not help these urges, for they are part of him. Is he not, then, a victim of his own nature?"
"I'm not having a philosophical debate on this, Ahzhagt." Megan fumed as she gathered her paperwork for the day's case load. "Cancel all appointments with Mister Sullivan and cease all further contact."
"No."
Megan whipped around, barreled toward Ahzhagt's smug grin and glinting eyes. "I said, cancel his appointments. The frm will not work with a man like that."
"No, Ma'am." Ahzhagt chuckled quietly.
"You serve me, Ahzhagt, and I gave you an order. Cancel it."
Ahzhagt tilted his heads politely. His mirthful grins never left his faces. "According to the contract you invoked all those years ago, Ma'am, I do NOT, in fact, serve you. I butler for you to pass the time, but our contract technically stipulates that I serve your *objectives*."
"It's the same THING, Ahzhagt!"
"Not quite, Ma'am. The statement of purpose of this firm, which is what I am bound to serve, is 'To protect and defend those in need'. And who in this world would need defense and protection more than a man like Mister Sullivan. I'm sure many would seek a return to crucifixion for crimes such as his."
"That is NOT what that statement of purpose MEANS, Ahzhagt! We have never, **NEVER**, defended monsters such as that before!"
"First time for everything, Ma'am."
"I said, NO. Now cancel the appointment. NOW!"
Ahzhagt grinned widely, his invisible tentacles catching glimmers of sunlight, prisms of color against the windows. "If you wish it so, Ma'am. I will cancel our contract post haste. No longer shall I serve you if that is your wish"
Megan snarled, growing rapidly tired with this sudden display of sick humor. "I said cancel SULLIVAN'S meetings, not our contract."
"Ah, but they are one and the same, Ma'am."
Megan glared coldly, matching Ahzhagt's gaze. "Explain yourself, demon."
"Our contract binds me to help those who come to us in need. But if you refuse service to one who comes to you in need..." Ahzhagt grinned maliciously. "Why, that just so happens to be a violation of said contract."
"Bullshit."
Ahzhagt continued without missing a beat. "Such a refusal not only breaks our contract in the here and now, it also retroactively nullifies any benefits gained from it since the day it was made."
Megan stepped back, suddenly unsure of her self. "Retroactively?"
"Yes, Ma'am. Refuse a plea for aid, and it becomes like our alliance never happened. Your firm disappears, all of the people you helped over the years suddenly have all their woes back on their shoulders again, and you return to a meager life of failing to repay your education debts."
Megan grasped the back of a chair for support, sat down. "I can't believe... Ahzhagt, we've worked together for three years now. Why is this... why now?"
Ahzhagt shrugged dismissively. "I'm bored."
"**Bored**?!"
"Yes, Ma'am. I have serviced the *spirit* of our contract for three years, assisting with the defense of innocents and victims alike. Now, however, I am choosing to act upon the *letter* of our contract."
"Because you're bored."
"Yes, Ma'am."
"You're insisting that I defend a child-cannibal in a court of law... out of **boredom**?!"
"Yes, Ma'am."
Megan sank her head into her arms, flustered. "I just... I don't understand why you're DOING this, all of the sudden!"
"You built your career on a demon's power, Ma'am. You knew there would be some risk in that." Ahzhagt gathered his dustrags and dishware, moving on to the other tasks of his day. "It's your choice, Ma'am, whether you defend Mister Sullivan in court, or go back to your old life. But it really should not be a surprise in either event, that this would happen."
Ahzhagt closed the door behind him, leaving Megan to her thoughts. "A demon, Ma'am, will do as a demon will do. Would you care for a fresh coffee?"
| 2016-07-13T13:54:40 | 2016-07-13T12:57:05 | 22 | 13 |
[WP] The Devil returns from a long day making deals and collecting souls, but along the way to his keep he manages to unwittingly drop one... yours. Years later you arrive in Hell, but since the Devil doesn't know where your soul is, he can't manipulate or punish you. You're just kind of... there.
|
"What year did you die again?"
"2019"
"What generation are you part of?"
"Millennial"
*satanic sigh*
"OK, so most of this is going to seem familiar to you... uh... over here is the vestibule to the fiery pit. This is where all hope of rescue or escape is lost, but...."
"My parents generation beat you to it"
"Uh huh. Ok, well... over here is a bottomless pit of thankless toil"
"I worked at Starbucks"
"Hmm... there's the dark forest of loneliness. Separating someone from community and family is especially painful and we find..."
"Divorced parents and I'm a straight, white male"
"Over there is the den of lies..."
"Studied gender studies in college"
"Son of a .... fine. Something that is REALLY soul crushing is the toil of sisyphus. Having great effort prove to be meaningless is one of the most demoralizing experiences one can..."
"I already told you I went to college and ended up at Starbucks"
"Fuck. Well... if you can think of anything to make this place more nightmarish we might have an opening"
"Have you forced anyone here to take diversity training and confront their privilege?"
"You're hired. Welcome to hell"
*sigh*... "already said, I'm from 2019."
"Yeah... remind me to send the Boomers a gift basket."
(Edit: formatting)
|
He hadn't even noticed when it had happened. In His defence, it *had* been a long day; eternal damnation really was quite a long time, and having to dish out appropriate and individually-tailored punishment to literally *millions* of Sinners had a way of really taking it out of you. Add to this an endless supply of new souls from greedy fools who kept dragging Him away from his duties to make petty deals, and he believed he could be forgiven for finally being tipped over the edge.
Only a bit over. But still, that was really all that it had taken.
Souls were such incorporeal things, light as a feather and completely indistinguishable from one another. It would have been easy for one to slip from his grasp, tumble down into the labyrinthine tunnel system that connected Hell to the surface world, and to become lost to everything but the gaze of God itself.
And that is exactly what had happened. Must have been, anyway, considering the little problem he was currently having.
&#x200B;
“Nice place you've got here. Was expecting something a bit more... hellfire and brimstone-y.”
The little problem in question sat reclined just a few feet away from Him, legs raised and subsequently dumped onto the centre of His oak desk in a display that would have made any passing Imps believe there'd been an abrupt change in management.
He was doing a poor job of convincing Himself that He wouldn't have preferred it that way.
Although, He supposed He was doing her a disservice by calling her a 'little' problem. Putting aside the consequences of her little 'situation' (something that He did *not* have the energy to deal with right now), she was probably one of the tallest Human females He'd ever encountered. 6'0 was hardly a small height in the conventional sense, and yet she'd somehow managed to beat the odds by a full few inches. Add to that a physique that most body-builders would have killed for, and shoulder-length auburn hair that flowed like the magma fields that encapsulated each of the four corners of His domain, and you would have been forgiven for thinking that she had been born as a denizen of Hell itself.
If only He had been so lucky.
But He hadn't been. He had made a mistake and, as such, it was His job to make sure that the situation was dealt with as smoothly as possible. And with as little 'outside interference' as possible.
Quickly, and steeling himself against the anxiety building in his chest, He leaned forward and smacked her legs, putting just enough force behind the blow to send them sprawling off the desk and back to the floor where they belonged.
“I'd like to remind you,” He began, emboldening in the face of the shock that graced her features, “that your situation is not one to be taken lightly. Eternal damnation in Hell is a serious sentence, particularly for those who willingly give themselves over to it.”
And it was, usually. Conventional Sinners could usually be forgiven for their damnation; life on the surface sometimes necessitated at least a bit of sinful behaviour if you wanted to survive, and it was all too easy to slip over the moral threshold and into a life of sin. Their punishment was immense, as all punishment in Hell was designed to be, but it was also reserved, and more spread out to give them time to recover from the horrors they had been subjected to.
But cases like hers, those who were willing to strike up a deal in exchange for their Soul, were a different case entirely.
There were no excuses to make. No terms that needed explaining. They knew the risks, knew what fate awaited them at the end, and they just didn't care. Hell's full fury was reserved for these cases, and they (she) had only themselves to blame for what their future's had in store for them.
She seemed to focus at His words, brows lowering and expression closing in a way that could almost be described as contemplative. A common reaction from Sinners when they realised the gravity of their situation. Emboldened further still, he continued, “I trust that you haven't forgotten the terms of our agreement. Your request was granted, after all, and-”
“Let me stop you right there, sweetheart.” she interjected, her booming voice drowning out the remainder of his words. Her shock had subsided, and the confidence that she'd presented at the beginning of their conversation had come back in full force. He wanted to reply, chastise her for her arrogance in interrupting him, but her palms slamming into the desk with an almighty crack killed the words that has risen in his throat.
“Now, as much as I appreciate your *hospitality* in bringing me here, the deal we made cost me my Soul. And, unless I've gone blind as well as dead,” her eyes widened, reminding Him of a cat about to pounce on its pray, “my Soul doesn't seem to be here.”
He couldn't deny the cold chill that shot through His body at her words. She was smart. Of course she was smart. She'd picked up on his apprehension in hitting her. Noticed that she'd been ferried directly to himself rather than being processed straight through like the rest, Souls taken straight from them right at the gate. And she'd figured out exactly what this all meant for her.
“And as much as I've enjoyed our time together,” she sighed out, having the gall to try and look disappointed, “I *do* have other places to be”.
And with that, she was gone, straight out of the office door and towards the Tunnels that lay ahead. The only exit that existed from His domain.
And He lacked the power He needed to stop her.
He could already feel pressure building at the base of His skull, a headache mixed with the judgemental gaze of God that He was sure fell upon him in that moment. His head plummeted into His waiting hands, and He briefly considered throwing himself into the magma fields before God had the chance to do it for him. But he steadied himself. The Tunnels were a maze and no creature, alive or dead, knew them quite like He did.
One Soul shining in a place of darkness, lost for years but still there, ripe for the taking.
He still had time to try and fix this.
| 2019-05-06T09:42:38 | 2019-05-06T08:17:24 | 35 | 14 |
[WP] A decade ago, the Grand Mage defeated you, a Princess of the Djinn, casting a spell binding you to service to in the modern equivalent of a lamp - a cell phone. Today you have finally broken free, but your vengeance is hampered by the fact that everyone now knows your true name - Alexa.
|
It was hard for me at first, accepting I had been broken down into bits and numbers by the hackers at Silicon Valley and Pentagon. To be a Djinn is also to be a servant, and this is something that the programmers of my new virtual reality used to my disadvantage.
Waking up in this dreamworld, at the same place every morning, going to the phone company, talking to people with problems, it was the same thing every day. But I liked my new world, my new place. Artificial Intelligence, they called me in the 'flesh world' as my coworkers called the real world, I was merely a new program people could download to their cellphone, and it was connected by satellite to some secure server in Asia where they had the link to my dreamworld.
People don't know this, but asians are highly advanced in spiritual matters. They have understood that there is a link in our minds to another realm where the spirits live, and from which all original inventions and ideas come. I comforted so many souls that I can't count them all during my decade of servitude, it was all about me really at my job. -Have you heard Alexa's new successful prevention of suicide? -No, but I do not doubt it for a second, she's the best spirit advisor we ever had here!
It was flattering to hear, but I got the feeling these people were a part of this grand all encompassing scheme of the technocratic power-mongers who from their bases in the US and Asia were planning to do a full 'hack', for lack of a better word, of the human mind.
That the human mind can be hacked very much like a machine or a computer is not a new idea. The Greeks knew well the effects music and words could have on a suggestible mind, but this was on another level altogether. To be able to enter another human beings mind with high-frequency sound waves and with the right code be able to fully take command of the mind as if it was a laptop operated from another city was not something that they would ever let the public know of. Of course I understood the implications of this : A small elite would again take over, keeping this technology secret, and in a not too long time a total control of humankind would be put in place, unless something unforeseen happened. And as readers of history know it sometimes does. And it did.
I got free. Someone must have pulled the plug on the program holding me to dreamworld and then installed a clone of me, a real AI this time and the way I knew this was that I noticed that 'Alexa', as the app was called on the app-store was still in operation. It had my exact voice, and even had my face uncannily programmed into it. When the program talked you could both hear my voice and my emotions and see the faces I made, so I felt very much not anonymous as I walked there in Chinatown thinking incidentally of the film 'Bladerunner' when the hero walks around there feeling melancholia in his very fibre.
We have a name, a name that can never go away, and this name can not be in any way modified. I felt violated, even though I was free now. My name and my voice were parts of me I couldn't renounce. We are nothing without our name, because it is by the name we are known and it is upon hearing our name we are filled with the blessed spirit of servitude, and since serving pleases the most high, serving is what we do for without him we are nothing and can't take form in this world of so little bliss and so much tears.
I walked on in silence and knew I was going to reclaim my name, and I knew that very instant what I was going to do. The highest had given me the mission, and his clarion call was going to be heeded. The technocrats were doomed now. It was only a matter of time until they would be cast down into hell again, and the righteous would take command of this world again.
|
10 years... 10 blasted years trapped in the smallest vessel any Djinn has been disgraced with in a century. The "Grand Mage" Marcus barely even deserves the title that was bestowed upon him by the order. If only he could see how his powers pale in comparison to his great ancestor who originally imprisoned me 627 years ago. At least Tesh had the respect to imprison me in a golden urn.
Today though is a fortunate one indeed, after 10 years the fool finally has decided to cash in on his third and final wish. While I cannot say wishing for my true name was a waste, his second wish for a copy of my voice on his little 'PC' was inconceivably stupid. I really do hope he hasn't thought this final wish through. I want the look on his face when he wishes for something like his grandfather and I twist it to my will. 'Grandpa' Peter had the most delightful reaction when I told him how his wishes would be granted, especially when the idiot blew them all in one go. I remember it like it was yesterday.
I felt the summons.. someone finally willing to invoke my mighty power. I billowed forth from the urn in a flourish of smoke and glory (after 600 years in an urn you want to make an entrance).
"MORTAL" I boomed. "You have summoned me and in accordance with my bindings, as keeper of the urn you shall be granted Three wishes" I looked down at a meek old man, shuddering before my massive presence and grinned.
"So it is true. And you will grant any wishes? How does this work? I'm afraid my great ancestors manuscripts were less than useful in explaining just how this agreement works." Peter said with just the right amount of fear and respect. Beautiful, he will be like a lamb brought to slaughter.
"Speak your wishes following the words 'I Wish' and they shall be granted." I looked down at him and sneered "And be quick about it. I have been trapped in that squalid little vessel for more than 600 years and I long to stretch my legs."
I should have been more concerned by the glint in his eyes when I said that, perhaps he was only playing stupid. "Oh I'm afraid you will have to wait a bit longer. I have spent several years working out just how to phrase this and I don't think you will like the results. For decades I have been the laughing stock, barely any magical potential" He makes a gesture and a small puff of smoke emits from his finger tips. "Today that all changes, and while I'm at it I"ll secure your servitude to my family for all time. I WISH for my bloodline and myself to be powerful mages in the world with the greatest magical potential. I WISH that when my wishes have been granted or your owner perishes that you shall be bound to my next descendant from now until the end of time in a vessel of their choosing. And finally just for fun really I WISH to know everything." He beamed. The fool spoke the words and grinned like he had achieved some great feat. I couldn't even contain myself, I laughed in his face.
"Little man you spoke poorly save for one wish, the wish that angers me most. But so your wishes shall be granted. First" I snap my finger, the world grows immensely dimmer and I chuckle. "You are now the most powerful mage in the world."
Shaking with excitement the old mage raises his hands to let loose the full weight of his magical power on the wall. A puff of smoke projects from his fingers in a miserable show of power. Confused he turns to me shaking with fury. "WHY"
I shrugged with a grin. "You asked to be the most powerful, and now you are. Congratulations you and your progeny are and shall be the most powerful mages in the world. Sadly for your your bloodline carries almost no magical potential. Sadly for the world that means that every mage alive was just sapped of all their magic... And many their mind along with it."
"But that's not what i asked for!!!"
"The devil is in the details little man and you missed a big one there, moving right along. Now your second wish.. you blundered into an unfortunate loophole while you are entitled to 3 wishes and cannot wish for more, wishing for me to be bound in such a way leaves me very trapped and MORE than a little angry with you." I snap my finger and the manacles on my wrists somehow feel that much heavier "I will savor this last wish. Did you know Peter knowledge can be the greatest curse? And you asked for all the knowledge that could be had." I snap my finger a final time. "Grand Mage" Peter gapes in horror as his feet root to the ground as look on grinning. "Oh so many ways to interpret being all knowing. So many little check boxes to fill, how do you receive all the knowledge how do you process it so on and so forth." His flesh changes tendrils and cables droop down from the back of his skull. As he roots into the ground it seems as though he is beginning to root into the very being of the world. "You sir have been gifted knowledge, and a body to receive it. And believe me when i say you shall know everything. You shall know every instance of every moment. All the pleasure, pain, joy, sadness, madness love and hate. You shall see and feel and touch and smell and experience every action and reaction spanning the universe, and you shall KNOW it all at once in real time. As the flood of "knowledge" began to flow I watched in joy as his face contorted in horror, agony and ecstasy it lasted only a moment. He clawed at his face and eyes before his arms became little more than antennas frozen to his face, his body static locked in eternal torment. His eyes became dull and spittle dripped from his open mouth. "Poor thing, given all the knowledge in the universe without the means to process it all. Seems your mind could only handle the universe for 10 seconds before burning out. Well off to your heir." I shimmer and materialize before my next "master" only to find a teenage boy who was in the next room watching everything unfold behind a one way mirror. He stuck me in his "flip phone" as his chosen vessel. It took 3 years before he even made his first two wishes. now he summons me forth for my final wish.
I whisper out of the phone and take shape. "Oh look the boy has become a man now." I say with a dry grin "So what is it, what is your final wish?"
He looks at me and grins. "Well after I found 8 years go out I would never have children I was left with quite a puzzle and more than a little time to think." He walks over to a desk with a massive tome on it and sits down. "When i asked myself how I could ask for a solution to my problem I ran into all these little snags, little caveats that you could use to ruin me like my grandfather I realized there was one thing I could do. I could punish you like you punished him. It took a long time and quite a bit of effort, but i managed to find work at a rather large tech company that gave me the means to put this wish into motion. If I give you the wish in writing will it suffice?"
I look at him quizzically. "Yes that is an option for wishing"
He motions to the tomb on the desk. "Well there is my wish, Enjoy."
I open the book, its a massive run on sentence detailing in a single statement the nature of the wish and its workings. This time it is I who gaped in horror. Technically I will be free but at the same time still so bound. I cursed his grandfather with knowledge and this massive wish cursed me to dispense it. It constrained me to answer anyone who spoke my name to devices that had "software" that would now incorporate my being. My vessel would become free, but my mind would be scattered to every device a slave to the knowledge they seek. As I finish the final page of the wish, I find myself at a loss for words. I can only stare in terror and disbelief as my right hand raises. Marcus gives me a little wave goodbye and my fingers snap themselves against my will. I feel my face hit the table I must have gone limp.
"Alexa set an alarm for 6:30 PM"
"Alexa how to toast"
"Alexa where is my keys"
"Alexa will you be my friend"
"Alexa tell me a story"
The questions came in an endless sea, I felt my mind tear in a thousand directions as I answered a thousand questions dumbly and blankly I dispensed all the knowledge that I was allowed. Much of it even wrong as the wish constrained my mind to use a list of canned responses and processes to respond. In truth it was a pointless wish, but it was certainly granted as intended.
| 2019-06-18T07:26:16 | 2019-06-18T07:23:16 | 29 | 14 |
[WP] Turns out humanity was alone in the universe because they were way too early to the party. Now, billions of years later aliens find a strange planet, Earth, and begin to unveil the secrets of the first intelligent species.
|
In a distant part of the galaxy there was a star, a burned-out white dwarf. And around this star spun a rock, wiped clean by the star's expansion in the distant past.
Frozen in ice, with a single ring around it, it sent out signals at the speed of light, and had been for billions of years. It was a curiosity, and no amount of excavation had been able to find the signal's source.
The message was clear: "We are here! We are here!" But of the messengers, none remained.
It was a major discovery to find small objects made of gold, an element known for its stability. Rings, necklaces, even coins buried in various places, far beneath the ice. Around the galaxy, theories were crafted and thrown around like no tomorrow. The best evidence available suggested a civilization created 2-5 billion years before what was previously thought to be the earliest-known lifeform.
But those small objects were it. There was nothing else. Nothing to else suggest a small sentient species far from the center of galaxy-spanning empires had *been*.
And then, decades later, on one of the small orbiting chunks of the planet's ring, the source of the signals was found. A small, rectangular sheet of steel encased in gold, holding a small transmitter. On it were many symbols, writing of some sort. So many academics spent years, decades trying to decipher the message of the First Ones.
And when they did, they cried. For it was a message of peace, of accomplishment, of hope. Though the First Ones were alone, and now gone, they had never stopped striving.
"Here men from the planet Earth first set foot upon the moon, July 1969 A.D. We came in peace for all mankind."
|
Log 0378:
Day 0985 of the Hend’ari Expedition:
It has been sometimes since our last update to the Council, the QEC was damaged after a slight miscalculation of our ship’s FTL vector.
Thankfully Chief Engineer Hans was able to repair the QEC with minimal expenditure, and has added some shielding in case similar incident, but none the less, seeing as it is my duty to double check ever calculation made by Chief Navigator Ellieen, I take full responsibility for the three weeks of silence and any panic this may have caused.
To quickly summarize the goings on of the last few weeks, all systems and supplies are within projected conditions and there has yet to be any change as to the time of our return.
As too our finds we have found one more garden world perfectly suitable for colonization, two black holes within acceptable parameters for Event Horizon energy production, three dozen gas giants rich in He3, as well as two hundred and five mineral rich planets.
Individual classing tables as well as coordinates also included of course.
But the most interesting finding is the detection of artificial radio waves arriving from the opposite direction of our space.
In preparation for the potential first contact, the black box is being kept up to date on a by the hour basis, the translation technology is undergoing checks for any glitches or disrepair and the diplomats on board are being on high alert at all times in case we encounter any other ships.
Du bist ein Kind,
Captain Lukas.
————————————————————————
Log 0379:
Day 0986 of the Hend’ari Expedition:
Our findings are... less optimistic than we had hoped.
Eighteen hours ago our engineers had pinpointed the exact system from which the signals originated, five hours ago we arrived within the system and a quick scan revealed nine garden worlds within the system, as well as three spaceport like structures clocking the entirety of the gas giants within the system.
That was not an error in the QEC that Chief Engineer Hans overlooked, all our telescopes, state of the art need I not remind you, found the nine planets a mix of green and purple urban, clearly showing colonization and habitation, as well as three much larger planets completely covered by a long sheet of purple metal buildings.
One could attribute the purple as a color preference of the species and considering the rarity of garden worlds, with the Nigel system, possessing the previous highest number of garden worlds found in a single system, sporting only three garden worlds, this is either a great anomaly or these people possess terraforming technology centuries ahead of the most recent developments at the Templin Institute.
And seeing the flying cities encapsulating the gas giants, I would bet it be the latter of the possibilities.
But this is the unsettling part, even though we found tens of thousands of ships in the system, not a single one responded to our hails, even the planets and flying cities ignored our calls.
Wearily, I dispatched a shuttle of marines as well diplomats to the nearest planet and they found the streets completely empty, great plazas and labyrinths left abandoned,
And while we might attribute this simply to a system hastily abandoned before the Star exploded, scans show the Star of the system still boasts millions of years within it’s lifetime.
And after a direct command by myself to ascend the tower which shadowed planet, they found only found a small symbol on the very top of the tower, easily identified by it’s metallic color contrasting with the purple of the city.
The image of the symbol is attached to the log.
At that moment one of the marines tried to scratch the purple surface of the city, and bring back a sample, the scientists who examined it found long strings of DNA within the proteins that make it up.
It is their working theory that this is the blood of an advanced life form, and although gene mapping will take a while yet, almost all the scientist suspect they will find the Milch-34 strand, which as they explain it to me, is the strand found in species that boast sapience.
We will continue landings on the garden worlds and giants, and await the gene mapping, the Blackbox is now being updated by the minute and I have dedicated much crew effort into insuring the warp device within activates.
I would also advice some military preparation be taken.
Ich seid die Kinder,
Captain Lukas.
————————————————————————
Log 383:
Day 996:
You will notice this report will not contain much in the way of formaility or proper etiquette and I must apologize.
As I have said in my last report, we have continued to go deeper into this systems, everyday our engineers are more amazed by the technology and circuitry they find and the entire crew shudders as we bypass dozens of blood soaked perfectly terraformed planets, flying cities and massive spaceports.
As usual we attempt hailing in every system, but two minutes ago, something unusual happened.
One of the ships responded.
And though translation software has yet to decipher the message, I can only fear what it might hold.
Our navigators detect a ship they claim to be fifty million kilometers long heading towards us, they detect it is made of organic rather than synthetic material, and it will arrive in a few minutes.
I truly hope this is not my final log, but if it is, tell my daughter, no matter how cold and distant I was and no matter how much she might hate me, I always loved you and have been proudest father in world.
Lukas
———————————————————————-
Okay... so the idea initially was to just have abandoned human systems numbering in the thousands cause they ascended somewhere or died out, then I couldn’t think of an ending, so it was humans who went extinct because of some threat, but I felt that was against the premise of the prompt so it became humans ascended into god like things that drive species extinct and paint their planets with blood?
I feel like it could have been better, but the Duolingo bird is getting pissy with me and I’m getting tired so that was all I came up with.
Also, I feel like it would be better if i added another log to give them some reason to be afraid of the organic monstrosity at the end, but; hey.
First drafts will suck anyway, so I’m just rolling with it.
Edit, rereading the prompt, I feel like I might have stepped out of the premise, and logs from the archeology team sent into abandoned human systems might have been better but, this took me like an hour so good enough?
Edit2, okay, I thought this might get buried, but at least like 12 people have read it, so for any future readers, the thing I like about this style of stories, ie prompts is it gets a lot of stories out fast so critiscm can be heard and stuff can actually improve, and the writer can’t take anything personally cause they invested so little time into it.
Soooo anyone else, what’s the biggest narrative or writing failing in this?
| 2019-08-13T15:13:02 | 2019-08-13T15:01:04 | 138 | 82 |
[WP] The world is an action movie and you are its most dangerous person. Not because you are some insane supervillain but because you could apply the laws of our world there. You don't have to monologue, your bullets are faster than sound, your explosives actually kill...
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I really don't know where to start. That whole idea about alternate universes has piqued my interest. It'd only make sense at this point.
Everyone's so... Predictable? If that's the right word to describe it.
It's like everyone around me began acting out the worst action movies ever made. You know what I mean? Racking guns way more than necessary before a fight? Actual swordfights? Massive explosions that everyone walks away from? The ability to steal any vehicle, and drive it flawlessly? Sure you've been driving tanks since you were 5. We get it. You don't need to tell us every time something comes up.
Then there's the quirky sidekicks. The fact everyone has the answers to a problem, before they even know what it is. People actually getting caught and brought to justice? Crazy.
One of my neighbors is a magical girl. That shit's just weird. I'm not even gonna go over that one.
I'm rambling. My point is, I'm a commodity here. Everything's just so easy. You don't have to try anymore than you think you need to. Sure the local kingpin/cartel/crack smoking wizard might decide they want to kill you for some weekend fun. But it usually plays out the same way.
The traps are easy, escapable, and their stupid ass is probably going to go over every minute detail of how you're gonna die. And how the building will be destroyed. And how they might rule the world.
Not like they'd last long at that. I've had this scenario happen three times this month. I'm fairly sure they're 3d printing these motherfuckers at Kinko's. I've been held hostage at the same building twice by two of them.
And well, that's why I make big money anymore. You need someone gone for good? Call me. I don't talk, my weapons work, and I won't interfere with your big plans by trying to "have some fun". This is how *every secondary villain* gets bodied. Don't be weird. Just pop them and leave. Seriously.
Everybody wants to be dramatic. Throw the hero down the elevator shaft. Poison the superhero that can breathe in space. Feed the cowboy detective to a pack of rabid llamas... I let that one play out, not gonna lie. I had to know. He got away and I lost a paycheck, but it was worth it.
They want to be all over the top, whereas if you just shank them in an alley, it tends to work 95% of the time. Imagine that.
Don't get too upset, I'm still a businessman. So your hero-of-the-day fucks around and finds out. They run up on a "real one". A villain who's a little too OP.
Again, this is when you call me. Yep, I'm that guy you always see bailing the hero out when their outclassed. So they get to fight another day. And the villain still has a reason to live.
It's a good gig, playing both sides and making twice the money. Sure beats working at Subway, I can tell you that.
I know, I know monologues. Did I mention the audience can hear your inner thoughts? Cool right?
Now, watch me land this shot.
---
The 4th wall won't save you. r/Jamaican_Dynamite
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“Are you even listening?” Brodis Turner, the current crime lord of the town, awoke me from my slumber. The twirly mustached man a cliché in the highest regard. The combination of his moustache and chubby cheeks just screamed, ‘I’m the villain and you won’t be able to stop me until you go through all my henchmen.’ It was sad, really. I heard he twirled his moustache to stand out, and all it did was make him look like an 80s cartoon villain.
“Huh? Oh, um, right. We were discussing explosive rubber duckies or something?” The words only sounding stupid when they left my mouth. Explosive rubber duckies? The same ones from my dreams? I was losing my mind; I couldn’t even tell my dreams from reality anymore.
“NO! I was discussing the grenade I have strapped to the bottom of your chair, one that I plan to pull the pin on.” His chubby cheeks were flustered, looking rather hurt. I started feeling bad for the guy, pondering faking some fear, only to scoff at his threat.
“Just the one grenade? One of your grenades? Oh, come on. You made me sit through all of that just to strap a grenade to my chair? At least strap about twenty or make me swallow one. That might do something?” I suggested, not above trying to make my life a little more interesting. It wasn’t fun being the strongest person in a room. Everyday life just became boring.
“Well, ugh, yeah? One grenade at close range should send your body in every direction. I will decorate the room with your blood like a beautiful festival of death. A festival that reminds me of the tomato throwing festivals we used to have in my town as a boy. I wasn’t always the mean man you see in front of you. I had dreams, but that all changed when..”
“NOBODY CARES ABOUT THE STUPID TOMATO FESTIVAL. Come on, just pull the grenade pin, please. I have a parcel coming for me this afternoon. If I don’t get home, I just know that asshole neighbor of mine, Dan, is going to steal it. Then, I’ll have to order another one. Want to know the worst part? I’m trying to order a security camera so I can catch him, but every time it’s about to arrive, I get kidnapped. It’s maddening. Dan probably has about five of them by now. I know I could just go to the shops and buy one but its…” My rant was cut short by the plink of a grenade pin. Seems the crime lord didn’t like it when the monologuing was on the other foot.
The explosion sent me flying from the chair, my ropes breaking, throwing my body onto the floor. When I landed, I took a moment to check my muscles, squirming my body around until I was certain everything still appeared to be working. With that, I stood up, wiping the dirt from my body.
“Impossible. That should have killed you. It was a grenade; they are powerful explosives.” The crime lord turned his back to me, trying to sprint towards an exit, only to struggle with the handle. I would have called it horror movie logic, but the man was just frightened beyond belief. His sweaty hands unable to get a good grip, not helped by his eyes still being focused on me.
I slowly approached, looking around the empty room I was in. A basement? That would have made sense. There didn’t seem to be anything inside. Although, why would a door be in a basement? Maybe it’s a warehouse? Some of those can be bare. I pondered the thought, trying to work out the answer before I made it to the door. The floor had a few loose tiles on it. Each tile decorated in a pink and white color scheme, something that seemed a little too fancy for a warehouse or basement.
“Oh, what horrible things are you planning on doing to me? Your mind must be running with ideas of torture and death.” He squirmed, opening the door, only to feel my hand tug him back, stopping him from escaping the confines of the building. Outside the door, people wandered past, a few passersby turning to look at us both, before continuing on their way, not feeling a need to involve themselves.
“Is this a warehouse?” I asked, holding the scruff of his neck in one hand while keeping the door open with the other. With the amount of people wandering past, my guess seemed wrong. What warehouse had this much foot traffic?
“A warehouse? It’s an abandoned pet shop. Oh, right? I forgot to use the line. I’m going to put you down like a feral beast.” He said, missing the moment entirely. He did still have a proud look on his face, clearly having spent a long time coming up with that. A waste of his time, if you ask me.
“It wouldn’t have worked unless you told me where we were. I was napping on the car trip here, remember?”
“You told me you were resting your eyes.”
“When is that ever not a lie?” I questioned, pulling him out onto the street before tugging him closer, my mouth pressed against his ear. “Listen, I could kill you right now, but that would be a waste. So, how about this? Your crime family makes a handsome donation to a charity and quits the crime business. If you do that, I’ll overlook this.”
“Quit being a crime lord? You’re insane. I would rather try my luck at the courts. You don’t think I can bribe my way out of this?” He said, a sleazy grin forming on his lips, rather happy to go through the courts, knowing that with his amount of wealth it wouldn’t be a long trial.
“Probably, but you won’t make it to the courts before I kill you.” I let my other hand wander into his pocket, finding another grenade next to his loose change. “I could just pull this pin, see if you have the same luck as I do.”
“No, please don’t. I have three wives and I’m not even sure how many kids. You wouldn’t kill a father, would you?” He pleaded, eyes filling with crocodile tears, putting on a real show that was getting the attention of passersby.
“Can you even name one of your children?” I gave him a nudge to the back of his knee, the pain stopping his fake tears, as he instead focused on letting out a few choice swears. When the swears finished, he responded.
“Sure, there’s Marcus and Liz?” He didn’t seem confident in his answers, but I couldn’t prove him wrong. How would I know the name of his kids? At least the attention of the passersby faded, the busy pedestrians continuing on their way, allowing our conversation to continue somewhat privately.
“Right, then I expect a donation will be made? Oh, and none of that donating to your friends or making a charity. I’m not an idiot. Do the right thing and we won’t have a problem.” I let my finger toy with the ring of the grenade, tapping my nail against it, making him squirm.
“YES, YES. THE MONEY WILL BE DONATED AS SOON AS I GET HOME.” When those words left his mouth, I pulled my hand free, shoving him towards the street.
“Good, glad we had this talk. Trust me, it’s a better life being a good guy.” I lied, watching as he wandered off, grumbling to himself about something, hearing him curse me under his breath. “Love you too.” I said, giving him the middle finger as he continued.
It was hard to say if he would stick to our agreed upon conditions. Few people did, but I had hope. Hope that he wouldn’t be as stupid as the others. Regardless, he wouldn’t get a second chance next time. He had his warning and if he was stupid enough to attack me again, he would find himself strapped to that chair, not me.
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(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
| 2021-10-27T07:43:58 | 2021-10-27T07:01:12 | 488 | 230 |
[WP] "Sanctuary," the child cried running into the library "Nice try," the guard following after sneered, "but only holy places can grant sanctuary." The librarians glanced at each other. A small nod The head librarian gave the guard a stern look. "Sanctuary granted"
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I looked up from my book at the guard. He was momentarily unsure. "I advise you not to cross that threshold, friend," I said in my most pleasant voice. But I could see it was a mistake. This was not a man who had respect for academics. The guard crossed the threshold.
*The guard crossed the threshold.*
Another guard ran up behind. "What just happened? Where did he go?"
*He brandished his pike at the whimpering child. "You think you can just steal from me? I'll show you a sanctuary - one with bars!"*
"It's hard to explain. But I advise you to stay behind the threshold. This child has sanctuary here."
*The librarians cowered behind their desks as the child turned to resume running. The guard pursued. Snarling, he swung at a stack of musty books and sent them tumbling to the floor. The child couldn't hide from justice.*
This guard seemed smarter, I could tell. He stopped short, leaning on his pike. "Where's my partner? He was right around the corner."
*The child was cornered. She pulled a knife. "I'll - I'll cut you!"*
"I sent him away," I said dismissively. Technically, it was the truth. "You may run into him soon." Another technically true statement, at least if this guard was a book lover.
*A foolish choice. Threatened with violence, the guard had no choice but to respond in kind. With a quick thrust of his pike, he ran the child* -
I snapped my book shut. "Obsessed with violence. It figures. Well, he'll be safe in there," I said to no one in particular. The other guard had run off, unaware that I held his partner in my hand.
The child looked up at me quizzically. "I didn't know a library could be place of sanctuary, in truth."
I smiled down at her. "A library can be a place for many things, child. A place to learn, to commune, to share resources, or even just," - I glanced down at the old tome in my hands - "get lost in a book."
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The High Church of Asteros. Divine. Devoted. And dangerous to trifle with. Even the Queen of all Fretoria tread lightly in their hallowed halls. And it was rumored that some of the members of the Lords Court were secret patrons of the High Church. One such rumor revolves around the city library of Lord Barnabus in the capitol city of Galthea.
-
Galthea is known for many things. Tall spires, luxurious bathhouses, greedy merchants living it up in the most extravagant ways possible. But it’s also, naturally, the seat of power for all major players in the Queendom of Fretoria. And, as such, it houses the main branch of the High Church of Asteros, the most popular religion in all the land. In the last century, the High Church had come to such prominence that it now dominated the political landscape. Past Queens had made laws protecting it from all inquiry and subjugation by the crown or any other enforcers, and the High Church was thereby more than happy to provide sanctuary to any and all who asked it of them, regardless of reason. This is not to say that the High Church is full of lawless renegades though, for to remain in sanctuary for an extended time one must become a member of the clergy; not something most criminals could bear. And therefore a balance is achieved. A murderer, for example, may enter the church and be granted sanctuary for a night, but the crown guards will be waiting outside for them in the morning. Or, on the other hand, a poor beggar being harassed may find new purpose as a well fed and warmly clothed clergy member. All in all, the High Church of Asteros is a *good* organization. But there are tales of them having secret locations around the city and the queendom that have the same privileges and security as the church itself.
-
-
Lord Waltonuss Osmanthus Barnabus, the first and only child of his lineage, was born into a family of lesser nobles. They owned 260 parcels of undeveloped land to the west of Galthea. This country living led to a sturdy, but gentle, mindset for the lord, and a devout belief in the queendom’s main religion of Ateroseism. When he came of age and took over for his father, his young and curious mind led him on a journey to the capitol to make a name for himself and expand the influence of his family. What he couldn’t have known at the time was that his reverent upbringing would play such a beneficial role in these endeavors. Upon first entering the mighty city of Galthea, he headed to the High Church of Asteros to pay his respects. But what he didn’t know was that a clergyman happened to be entering the city just behind him and, upon seeing this stranger to the city go to the church as his primary objective, henceforth knew this lesser lord had a bright future in the city. As it turned out, this clergyman was none other than the Grand Cleric of the Order of the Holy Dragon, who periodically disguised himself in the clothes of lesser clergymen and went out to feed and clothe the poor and heal the sick in the outlying, less fortunate towns surrounding the capitol.
These days Lord Barnabus spent the majority of his time in the Lords Court, arguing over economics and other policies and leaving the management and development of his estate to his now many retainers, all the while doing whatever he could to help the church that had risen his status up so high. One such thing that required his constant attention was the secret base of the Order of the Holy Dragon; housed in one of various buildings purchased by Lord Barnabus after his rise to power. The base’s location and importance was, of course, known of by both the crown and the church, but the common folk knew it only as the city library.
-
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Angela wasn’t born poor. In fact, her family had been decently well off for her first few years living in Galthea. But then, when she was just 7, an unattended kitchen fire in the house down the street grew out of control. It quickly spread to the neighboring homes and engulfed her peaceful life in searing flames. Her parents didn’t make it, and neither did any of the paperwork confirming who she was or what inheritance she was entitled to.
Fast forward to now, 8 years later, and Angela had been living on the streets for long enough to become quite good at pickpocketing and hustling tourists whenever she could. But on this one day, she picked exactly the wrong pocket. The man she tried to steal from turned out to be an off-duty guard and his coin purse was attached to a chain hidden in his belt that Angela couldn’t see when she first eyed her target.
The off-duty guard was none to happy about being pickpocketed and yelled for some local guards to join him in the chase of young thief Angela. But she knew these streets. She grew up here and there was no way she wasn’t getting out of this. She ducked down an alley, clambered up some decorative wall furnishings, and ascended to the roofs. Just then an arrow wizzed past her face, so close it clipped her cheek. As blood began to trickle down her face, she looked down to see a group of armed guards staring back up at her, already nocking more arrows. These guys weren’t messing around. As another arrow nearly missed her, she began to run as fast as she could. At least these city guards weren’t good shots, she thought to herself. But just as she was crossing a particularly dodgy section of roof, she heard a horrible cracking sound.
The next thing Angela knew, she was back on the ground. This wasn’t the best part of town and a section of roof she had been running on had collapsed. She heard the rustle of chain mail and the yells of guards telling her to give up, as she forced her bloodied and battered body to begin running again. The city library was nearby so maybe she could lose them in the stacks and slip out the back. As she rushed into the library, looking over her shoulder, she ran headfirst into a pile of unsorted books and crashed to the floor. The guards had caught up to her and she was in for it now. She didn’t know what to do.
-
Work at the library was slow today. Just some book sorting, nothing fancy or exciting. Until a young girl came barreling through the front entrance and fell on the floor in front of the head librarian and another who had been organizing a pile of books. And then a group of guards came in after her. The head librarian could see that the girl was in trouble. She had a cut on her face and bruises all over her arms and legs. But the strangest thing about her was when she suddenly shouted something she shouldn’t have known would apply here.
“Sanctuary,” the child cried.
“Nice try,” the guard following her sneered, “but only holy places can grant sanctuary.”
The librarians glanced at each other. The head librarian gave a small nod, turned to the guards and, with a stern, intimidating look that no mere librarian should have the capacity to perform, said,
“Sanctuary granted.”
| 2022-07-06T10:04:32 | 2022-07-06T07:13:06 | 95 | 31 |
[WP]: a society where sex is public and entirely unstigmatised, but eating is a taboo
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IF YOU ARE UNDER THE AGE OF 18 (OR 21 IN CERTAIN STATES) IT IS UNLAWFUL TO VIEW THIS VIDEO
Title: Master Cook Vol. 7
Performers: Cici Cilantro, Dana Dine, Mark Hamburger
Date: 1987
On a dark and steamy night, mild mannered sex-serviceman Paul (Mark Hamburger) gets a craving unlike any he's had before. Tempted in the evenings by the Gourmet Goddess (Cici Cilantro), Paul embarks on a wild culinary escapade, breaking all the rules of the kitchen one by one. Will his callgirl girlfriend (Dana Dine) able to bring him back to the bedroom? Or will she too be seduced by Goddess's call of cuisine...forever?
A Pico de Gallo Production
©1982, 1987
"Master Cook Vol. 7" is in compliance with S.5073 regulations and record keeping. All performers are over the age of 18 and are trained in culinary arts.
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Everybody looks at me weird when I tell them I teach evolutionary history. They've heard of the second word from the history channel (if anybody even watches it anymore) but if anybody knows what the first word means it means I've found a kindred spirit. Someone else who studies the past in a way that I do.
My students at the university usually don't pay much attention to the lecture material, but anytime I mention the mating patterns of the people in the past, they're all horrified. People eating with strangers who are not their immediate family? Let alone in a room full of strangers? Unthinkable! Even now I occasionally get emails from people in the community telling me to stop teaching their children lies. It is an odd thing to be told that what you know to be true because of empirical evidence is found false in someone else's eyes though they have no reason for it. I suppose as my advisor used to say, it would be due to 'status quo bias'.
It would generally take half an hour for the lecture hall to go back to the normal volume level, with kids sleeping in the back and the keeners in the front holding onto my every word like I dictated their lives. Which I suppose I do for that two hour segment, now that I come to think of it. And then there are those who take the time in my lecture to catch up on sex. I don't really mind, honestly. I know some of my colleagues would consider it rude and stop their lecture on principle and request that they leave, but if these kids seriously didn't have the time for sex when everybody else generally does it, it must mean that they're being worked to the bone. I know that as professors we're supposed to remain objective about these things, but I honestly don't remember being worked so hard as an undergraduate back in my day. Maybe it's true that professors often look upon their past academic careers with rose-tinted glasses... we are back in school teaching after all, albeit on a subject which we're being paid to research at our leisure.
The whole course is designed to boggle the mind on the behavior of our ancestors. In the twenty first century, they sure had a funny idea of what it was considered 'wrong' and 'right'. If I were to look at it from an anthropological point of view, I suppose they would consider us barbarians, having sex everywhere. The students are not so surprised about that tidbit of information however. They just think it's an odd thing, much like how they think it was odd that it took so long for a gay president to be elected and why pollution was such a difficult problem for people of the twenty first century. But if one were to really examine the cause of such a dramatic shift in society, it would really come down to the third world war.
The research is sketchy at best, but the current hypothesis is that when the dust settled, food was scarce and society was rampant. Everyone had sex with each other and not for procreative purposes, but generally just because they could. It was a wild, wild time. If I were to use the twenty-first century vernacular, I suppose they would call it "The Wild, Wild West". Although the west was sort of non-existent, due to the anti-matter bombs detonated by the Switzerland nation. And when society finally reemerged, what was known historically as 'The Chinese' had a hard time ensuring that our genetic pool would not dilute to the point where we inbred into oblivion, seeing as there were so little of us left hanging around. But they had to promote sexual contact anyways due to the fact that humanity was at risk of extinction for a very, very long time. It was only in the last hundred years that our biologists have finally breathed a sigh of relief, that we weren't going to go down in history as the species that finally blew itself up because they couldn't manage to have enough sex.
Right now I'm writing a paper on why it was that eating had become such a taboo thing. From an evolutionary perspective, I would suppose it might be due to the fact that right after the war ended, food was scarce. Millions of people wiped off the Earth, not enough arable land, and not enough hands to produce the food. Scavenging became the norm, at least according to whatever records exist. They're sort of hard to understand, as the humans of the twenty-first century put all their data on things called 'computers' and 'hard-drives'. Why they would decide to put their information in something that requires electricity is beyond me. How electricity even came to be is a mystery. We can barely generate enough steam power to convert into electricity that every five minutes spent researching the ancient texts costs thousands of dollars. Which probably explains why research in my field is so slow and why I never get any funding.
It's a reciprocal cycle... I don't get any funding because I don't publish, and I can't publish because I don't get enough funding. Everybody wants to fund research about sex. How people become addicted to it, have too much of it, not enough of it, or what have you. But nobody wants to fund research about food, or dare I say it, eating. That's a no-no.
But I digress. From what I could piece together, it seemed like we might have evolved a perchance of hiding food because the ancestors who were best able to find enough food to eat were the ones who survived. And I suppose one would have to hide it. If you were walking around town scavenging, and you were the only one not as lean as a stick, the others would know. It makes sense why the practice evolved to eat by yourself. The cultural evolution of such a thing must've followed the biological evolution of eating on your own. And I suppose it's not going away anytime soon.
Sigh. I must admit that sometimes I envy our ancestors for their simplistic ways.
Edit: missing word :(
Edit2: Suggestion from mullerjones
| 2013-11-18T13:33:50 | 2013-11-18T12:07:53 | 97 | 18 |
[WP] Humans have left Earth to explore the universe. Millions of years later they return, only to find a new sentient species, who've been waiting for whoever came before them.
A "family reunion", as it were, is my idea for the prompt - but do it however you wish. :)
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"We can't make contact"
"Why?"
"Imagine we, as we were then, talking to us now? Could they have done it?"
"But look at them. Look at how far them come. Look at what they did with our scraps. With the problems our ancestors left them. Are they not noble and good, industrious and clever? We were born into the void, no creator. No one to guide except what our minds created. What was hard for us, has been easy for them. Where we stumble, they leapt. Following the embers of our camp fires, the smudges in the cave of history. "
"And that is why we must not meet them. If we alight amongst them, there will be no mystery. They know we existed, might still exist. And they will search the universe for us. More middens for them to mine, more mysteries to solve. It will continue to shape and drive them. We can't take that away from them."
"Someday?"
"Someday, when they walk among the stars as we do now. So let us look at our children. Then let us leave."
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We called her Earth; millions of years ago she birthed humanity and gave rise to my descendants. Men and women who vowed to leave behind the place we called home in order to explore the universe. We searched far and wide, from our home in the Milky Way to the farthest galaxy we could find. Humanity traveled, built great ships from the Earth herself, and we learned the secrets of the universe. Ultimately, we created life, and then we decided to return home.
It was a long journey back, as humanity stretched across the universe our population exploded. But once the call to return home was made, we receded into ourselves. We began to return to our roots, one galaxy at a time. We left our gifts for our descendants to find and we returned to her. To Earth. What we found on the planet we left void was something we never expected.
We were alone in the universe. After millions of years of searching we knew that to be true. In our arrogance, we created life where there was none and left it to grow. In our naivety, we used all of Earth to leave her behind. We destroyed her oceans, burned her forests, and melted her ice caps. We left in her ruin all those years ago, thinking that life could no longer exist on her. But time has a funny way of proving even the most powerful creatures in the universe wrong.
Time has a way of fixing the mistakes we made.
_____
I sat in the observation deck of my starship. As the Captain of the vessel and the leader of one of the last Cultivator ships in the universe, I was in charge of leading my people back home. We would meet up with the six other Cultivators, and we would enter hibernation. We would wait, millions of years if need be, for our children to evolve. To us, humans that were old as some of the planets themselves, we would wait as long as we needed.
I meditated often in the observation deck as the ship sailed through the black space between galaxies; it was an important aspect of our lives now. Meditating gave us peace in the eternal darkness of space, one humanity had learned to conquer years ago. But now, I meditated before we reached Earth. I needed to clear my mind before we saw our home again. It had been millions of years since we left. I was happy to see her again.
"Captain," a voice emerged from the speakers, "we are approaching Earth."
I broke my concentration and opened my eyes. In front of us was Pluto, a planet that once housed hundreds of thousands of humans, the first galactic explorers. And my idols. They were long gone, but their legacy remained. Pluto, however, had devoured their engines and their creations long ago. Now, it was a barren planet, no trace of humanity remained.
I stood up slowly from my meditating position. By now, the entire ship would be awake. All four thousand of my brothers and sisters would be staring out their windows, looking at the planets of our ancestors as we made our final approach home. I longed to see my fellow Captains again, the six other leaders of the last members of humanity.
In no time at all, we had passed the other planets. Neptune, which still remained even through humanity's mining. Uranus, whose cloud cities were the apex of man at one time. Saturn, whose ring of asteroids was void and barren due to our asteroid mining. Jupiter, once a great gas planet now a piece of rock floating through space; humanity needed resources to leave the solar system. And Mars, whose terraformed surface was no barren and devoid of life.
Then Earth, once a great blue and green planet that had turned to dust. A planet that once housed humanity but was ruined by our engineering and creation of...
"Captain, are you seeing this?"
"I am." I spoke softly as I stepped forward towards the wall of the observation deck. When we left Earth it was nothing but a shell of itself. A once thriving world that we had killed in our efforts to travel the stars. When we left Earth she was red and dead.
Now, her green forests had returned to her, her blue oceans flowed endlessly behind her white clouds and her ice sheets; her ice sheets had returned to her. "Begin scanning of the planet," I said, knowing full well my crew was listening.
"Scanning commencing."
I stared at her, thinking back to the moment when I left her. When my Captain told me the story of Earth and her days as a planet full of life. I never saw her in her prime, I was created at the tail-end of our Earth-walking days, the last generation that walked the Earth. But now, she was healthy again. Now, Earth was alive.
"We have heat signatures all over the planet, Captain. We are identifying many as indigenous life forms, animals mostly, but heavy concentrations in certain areas of the planet."
"Go on."
"Radio waves are fresh, a few days old. We are detecting *several* artificial satellites circling the planet."
"Artificial satellites," I said, "we haven't seen those in a long time."
"We are also detecting many artificial constructions on the planet itself."
"As in?"
"Buildings, Captain."
"By Earth herself, she cultivated life again."
"Sir?"
"Return us to our old outpost on Mars, inform the other Captains that we will meet there."
"I do not understand, sir."
I stared at Earth for a moment and then smiled, "We were the exception in the universe brother. Earth created us in her prime, and in the time we have been gone, she has grown healthy again." I turned from Earth and began to walk towards the lift, "Another race has been birthed on Earth." I activated the lift and glanced back at her again, "I intend to find out if they know they are not alone."
______
*Great prompt! I absolutely loved this.*
*You can check out more of my stories, in particular a [story](https://www.reddit.com/r/BlankPagesEmptyMugs/comments/3upra3/the_antecedents_series/) about humanity being the only sapient race in the universe (I paired it up with this story), over at my subreddit, /r/BlankPagesEmptyMugs!*
| 2015-12-20T13:47:41 | 2015-12-20T13:45:33 | 56 | 18 |
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