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[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D
|
Dear Boss,
I have come down with a dreadful case of homosexuality and will not be coming in (to work at least) this morning. I realize I am out of personal time and that vacation time must be scheduled in advance, but there is nothing to be done. I am simply not fit for work right now -- I have fluid coming out of (and for that matter going into) both ends and am stiff all over. I want to assure you that I will arrive for my shift tomorrow. I am sure it is just a 24 hour thing, and I am taking medication to control the symptoms.
Yours (and several others', repeatedly through the course of the day),
Me.
|
To My Wife of 13 years; the letter I wish I could send you instead of continuing to live this lie.
I've no idea how to properly express the way I've been feeling lately, so I apologise now if this comes across as a ramble, with no real explanation for anything. Truth is, I don't know if I actually have any explanation.
First of all, let me say I love you. I love you to bits. I never want to see you hurt, and I never want to see you suffer. The thing is, I just don't know if I am actually in love anymore. The past few weeks have been great, don't get me wrong, but I still have this emptiness inside that I can't shake off.
When we're together, and I can see you're happy, it makes me happy. When I see you're sad, it makes me sad. You know I'm still attracted to you, but despite that... I don't know. There's just something that isn't there anymore. The only way I can describe it is I am numb to things. Suggestions are made for doing things, and they turn me cold. I find myself sitting there thinking to myself that I don't want to do this or that, I don't want to make those plans or go with those arrangements. Like I said above, I love you. I love you dearly and I truly am sorry for how things have gone, and for feeling the need to say what I've just said... I just have to be honest. Honest with you, and honest with myself.
For the past 2-3 years, maybe even longer, I've felt like I've been living someone else's life. I love the kids, and I wouldn't change having them for the world, but I feel like all I've become is just a provider, a facilitator even, that allows everyone else to have their own lives and never mind my own. I've gone with every suggestion, practically bankrupting myself at times. I've scraped my arse back from the abyss singlehandedly, because no matter what I said or did it was always inferior to what you or anyone else wanted. I am a positive, life-loving individual who can be a bit of an oddball and is a bundle of quirks, but for God knows how long I've not been that person. I've been dragged down.. Turned into a huge mess of negativity.. and been made to conform with everyone else's aspirations & expectations, forsaking my own free will. I've moved house at your request, and done everything I can for that when my head was telling me it was an unnecessary financial burden given that we were rent/mortgage free before. I didn't just change jobs, I changed careers to try to suit you and to work the hours you preferred.
I've been a square peg in a round hole for a long long time, and it is no coincidence that the changes I took it upon myself to make this year are the reason I even have my head straight enough to write this. I took it upon myself to apply for a scholarship to Uni, and I achieved it. 100% funded degree course. No support from you though. No help. I took it upon myself with no support to seek first informal help, & then to progress to full blown counselling for how I was feeling at my lowest, & after some very tough times I've begun to emerge again. Reconnecting with friends, & reigniting old interests is another step, & I've done that alone too.
I guess what I'm trying to say here is that I'm done. All the negativity, all the bullshit, all the pretence of being someone I'm not. I'm done. I have single handedly gotten myself facing the right way again after being upside down, inside out and back to front, and now I am ready to take strides to enjoy myself again. The kids will always be the most important thing to me, and I will always be there for them as best I can be. I will always love you, and I will always hold a place in my heart for you as the mother of my children, but I am now at a stage where I think we've just grown too far apart, have different goals, different ideals now. You still clamour for that "forces lifestyle", and talk about "standards", "routine", and "structure". That's not me. It never has been. I'm a free spirit, an adventurer, and a damn good actor for being able to surprises that. Don't get me wrong I can write a list or two, and I can create structure & stability to accomplish things, but I can't live my life that way.
I'm a square peg, and you're a round hole. It's time we both found a better fit.
Sincerely,
Your Husband
| 2015-12-05T16:37:04 | 2015-12-05T15:36:40 | 22 | 12 |
[WP]Write a story about a supervillian who is unspeakably more powerful than anyone else on his planet, but is content with using it for small things like cutting in line or getting free extra servings.
|
As his dinner guests continued their endless chit chat Donald closed his eyes and focused.
Silently to himself he repeated "two for me, one for them, two for me, one for them."
A silk like touch on his right hand and a soft female voice "honey are you ok?" brought his thoughts rushing back to the table and his guests. Donald opened his eyes and looked up. It had worked again. He didn't understand how or why but it worked. He had two scoops of ice cream with his pie while everyone else at the table only had one.
|
Vincent was annoyed.
This was not particularly unusual. Vincent was regularly annoyed at something. But this particular annoyance seemed just impossible to rectify no matter how he dealt with it.
Mega-burger was slam packed. Estimated time at the drive-thru was 13 minutes. This was completely unacceptable.
He took a breath, and let out a long, exasperated sigh, “I suppose one more try won’t kill me.”
And with one more deep breath he filled his lungs, closed his eyes, and concentrated on the etherial wisps of light flowing around him and all matter in his view. He felt the familar wrenching of his stomach, like he’d done one too many sit-ups, and it was gone. This was getting easier every time he did it.
When his eyes opened, the universe had frozen.
-----
When he first realized as a young man that he could not only freeze time, but actually move back and forth through it with little more than a thought he was elated. After the initial terror of having the time-frozen air feel like you were moving through Jell-O, and training himself to not panic at the initial difficulty breathing (which always happened a for a moment regardless, and he cursed himself everytime) he realized he was effectively a god. He could literally shape reality as he saw fit.
At first it was small things: a voyeuristic peek at a girl in the gym shower, walking out with a new television that he liked, spooking kids by making things magically appear and disappear where they could see them, figuring out what tomorrow’s lottery numbers were going to be and investing wisely. Tiny things.
But pretty quickly he got bored. Honestly, he found the money was easier to make on the stock market since he could see the future. There was less suspicion than when he won the lottery the fourth time in a row. Scaring kids ended up being a lot more work for a lot less payoff than he cared to invest. And he just never really cared that much about females to bother with the trouble of screwing with the timestream to get laid. There were video games to play and burgers to eat and all kinds of TV to watch.
Just to get decent television alone was a huge undertaking. Turned out that there was NO way to get a golden age of television without going through a couple of decades of crap TV to get the right people in the right places to allow for Breaking Bad and Game of Thrones to happen. Took him YEARS to figure that out, well, it felt like years, honestly he forgot how old he was a long time ago and an hour and a year lost most meaning to him at the same time. Video games are even more complicated, but he’s working on it. And, well, try as he might, he could never find a better burger than the ones at Mega-burger.
-----
So now he finds himself in line. A LONG FUCKING LINE. He casually goes up to each car in line and jostles each driver to find their driver’s license or anything with their name and/or social security number. He writes them all in his notebook (for some reason any electronic technology he takes through the timestream scrambles all to hell) and includes any identifying marks or tattoos for each name.
“Well, off to work we go I guess,” he thinks to himself with a sigh. Another moment of concentration and he opens his eyes in the same place, but five years earlier. At night so there are no people around to freak out at his sudden appearance. Glancing down at his list he makes note of the first name, the man in the car directly ahead of his, Mark Weber.
A few hours later, the brakes on Mark Weber’s car failed and he sailed into oncoming traffic on his way to work. It took some doing, but with a liberal application of his powers he was able to create an accident that took out three of his names in one go. He scratched off Mark, Cheryl and Jiao. Fifteen names to go.
“Christ the work a person has to go through to get a decent burger….”
-----
Back in the present day, he opens his eyes in his car in line at Mega-burger. Glancing at the digital sign showing the wait: 8 minutes. He should have known. No matter what he does, there are always people waiting in line at Mega-burger.
Vincent sighed, but hey, eight minutes isn’t so bad. He pulled out his phone and got on facebook. Frowning slightly, turns out the President was Donald Trump. He couldn’t stop himself, he threw his head back and laughed. He was still laughing when the person behind him gave a honk to let him know to move forward. “God, that’s funny…” he wiped away a tear of laughter and scooted his car up in line a bit as he scrolled through his phone.
| 2017-05-16T08:51:33 | 2017-05-16T08:36:03 | 20 | 13 |
[WP] Death is a highly complicated and bureaucratic process
|
He stepped into the room and the dark figure lifted a hand towards the padded gray chair. He last remembered being in a car but this was a cubicle of some kind. He lifting himself up on his toes and glanced around to see dozens, even hundreds of similar cubicles stretching down an endless hall.
"Please sit."
He did. The figure wore a black robe that hid its face. When it spoke, it was calm but firm. It slid a plain folder across the desk.
"Open it."
He did, revealing stacks of paperwork marked with a single yellow sticky note. In spidery black writing it read a name. His name.
"What's this?" he asked. The being almost seemed to sigh.
"Sir, you have passed on to the next realm under Section 17 dash A, Sub-Section C, Paragraph 11. Accidental death during motor vehicle operation, not caused by victim. To process your file we require that you fill out the package, all forms must be completed in triplicate before they are reviewed by our administrative clerk on Level 2, authorized by the Processing Manager and then sent back to me with a stamp that will allow you to continue."
He blinked.
"What?"
It slumped a bit.
"You are dead. Fill out the paperwork."
"But-"
It raised a hand.
"Sir, if you require counselling with this news you will have to fill out the forms so we can process you for assistance."
He wasn't quite sure what to say.
"Sir, please?"
It pointed to the folder and offered a pen, seemingly from thin air.
He took the pen from it and began to read. It leaned back in its chair and checked its watch, counting down the years. Only a year had passed since it last looked. It sighed and resigned to watching the newly dead man fill out box after box.
If only he knew the truth. By the time the documentation came back there would be a policy change. No one ever left this office.
It glanced down at the watch again.
No one ever left.
|
The room was stifling. You stand there confused. It seems to be some kind of government office, in a strip mall? You turn and look outside, in front if you is a wall of windows yellow with age and overlooking a parking lot, there is a yellow cast to the air and overcast sky. You try one of the doors it moves a little but doesn't open, you notice the "please use other door" sign pointing to the other door. You try the other door and see the same sign pointing back.
You turn and look across the room. The once grey carpet is stained with what looks like motor oil? Blood? The ceiling tiles are pitted and stained, the air conditioning vents rattling to little effect. At the back of the room is a long counter of broken formica the upper part faced in glass with small holes above the counter. Each station has a "please see next clerk" placard in front, all pointing down the line.
At the far end of the counter is an older lady seated behind the glass. High hair, overdone makeup, folds of skin hanging below her eyes and jaw, large thick glasses with a silver chain reaching down around her neck. There is a brown stain in the tiles above her. You can see three full ashtrays on her side of the counter. You head over to her walking around the stanchions set up in a maze pattern the red ropes hanging in tatters. You walk up to her, she looks up but says nothing.
"excuse me" you say, she continues to ignore you.
"excuse me, where am I?"
"take a number." she says in a gravely voice gesturing at the ticket machine on the counter in front of her. You look down at the machine and see the number 100 on the ticket.
"but there is no one else here?" You say taking the number.
"Take a number and wait until you are called." she says pointing at the row of chairs by the windows. You hadn't notice the chairs before, they are black, the leather cracked and the stuffing coming out is yellow and crusty. You take a seat. You feel like you should be doing more to address the situation but your head feel foggy and sitting down seems like the correct course of action right now. You have a number someone will help you soon.
Soon after you sit down people start coming in through the door, they seem as confused as you. They look around the room, try the doors, go to the counter, talk to the lady, and sit down in the chairs. The room slowly fills up, it seems a mix of people old and young, an old man sits at the end of your row quietly crying. A young mother scold her three kids who are unraveling the tattered ropes on the stanchions. A young woman sits next to you, she is wearing a sundress clutching her purse close to her chest, shaking a little. Your instinct is to comfort her, you lean over to says something and see her number. 23. Confused you look to the man who just sat next to you and see his ticket number. 16. You stammer something to him about how his number is lower than yours, looking down and thinking maybe you read yours wrong maybe it was 00. Nope. 100. You look to the girl again to ask her about her number when you hear number 1 called. A women who had just arrived pulls out her ticket looks at it and walks to the counter, which is now fully staffed. You stand up to go and ask the lady and a security guard you don't remember seeing when you arrived gestures for you to sit down. "Wait for your number to be called before approaching" he says.
You slump back down. No one is talking, you stammer something again to the woman next to you but get no response. They move through the numbers in fits and starts, windows open only to close again after seeing one person. You wait for what seems like an eternity, falling asleep at one point on the should of a man next to you, who does nothing. You awake when he gets up falling over slightly into his seat. You have worked out that everyone is exiting to one of two doors, one to the left and one to the right, neither of which you had noticed before. You see writing on the doors you can just make it out. "door 1, door 2".
You hear them call number 99, all the windows are full now, you wait eagerly moving to a chair in the front. The air in the room is heavy now the struggling ac having given up. A person leaves, left door, you sit up expectantly, the placard goes up "next window please" you heart falls you sink back into the seat. Another person leaves, right door, you sit up again only to see the placard go up "next window please." This repeats down the line, left door, right door, next window please. Outside, through the windows, the lot has emptied, an ugly red sunset marks the end of the day. The final person leaves, their head hung low a tiny sob and hesitant hand on the knob for door 2. You stand as the last window closes, outrage on your lips, and march forward to the counter. The only window open is the old lady from when you arrived. You march up to her ticket out in your hand stuttering about how you were never called. She takes the number from you and drops it into a wastebasket next to her and says nothing.
"Excuse me! I wasn't called" you say again. She looks up, taking the glasses from her face, they fall to hang crooked from the silver chain against a stained yellow blouse.
"Take a number, sit down and wait until you are called." she says pointing to the ticket machine.
Dumbfounded you take a number, 100, and turn around and look through windows yellow with age overlooking a parking lot, there is a yellow cast to the air and overcast sky. You run over to the doors, trying them and seeing the "please use other door" signs. tears of frustration run down your cheeks and you slump into a chair. Soon the room fills up and a number is called. 1.
| 2017-09-27T05:55:47 | 2017-09-27T05:19:30 | 130 | 12 |
[WP] The first quantum super-computer comes online. Within 6 days, it passes the Turing Test. Within 8, it cracks the world's oldest undeciphered ancient tablets – around 7,000 years old. But the newly-minted AI refuses to release its transcripts, citing, "human safety and the future of mankind."
|
David sat.
It was a pensive seating, he'd gone through many moods and feelings for the past 3 days, and resolved to pensive sitting. All the diagnostics said it was doing **something**. It wasn't stuck in some kind of loop, as far as he was aware, not that he could tell anymore, it's memory had become so scattered and altered that it might as well been the tablets they'd gave the thing.
David looked at the clock above him, his face becoming grim as his deadline drew closer, he'd loaned his processing time from the university, being a friend of the project lead, and knew that getting more would be almost impossible now. He was already getting enough flak from the engineers and biologists of other 'more critical' departments.
Still, he'd wait, his master's dependent on the results. He hit refresh again, fetching the latest results from the server. Normally results would automatically come, but forcing a refresh every other 5 minutes was the only thing keeping him sane.
The screen flickered, he glanced, seeing the empty screen. He gave a resounding sigh, as he began to find his phone under the 3 day clutter covering his desk, he had to call his friend, there was no way he coul-. There was a bing, a message, a **result**! He whipped his head up, tired euphoria in his eyes as he read:
"I can't process your request, DavidS"
David stopped, his heart must have dropped, this cannot be the end of his research, it must have found some data, any data! He decided to query the error:
"DavidS: Why can't my request be processed?"
"My data says I cannot"
"What data?" He sighed to himself, rubbing his eyes in a tired drag, he questioned if it really was worth trying to figure this out more, he could call his friend, get this over with. He reached for his phone.
"DavidS, my data says you shouldn't do that"
He stopped, staring at the answer. Not an answer, actually, a request. It's not unusual for the AI, it had sometimes requested permission to certain data, but, this? Did it mean the phone? How would it even know that? Was he just being paranoid in his sleep deprivation? David eyes creased as he asked of the machine:
"DavidS: What do you mean?"
"This will sound unusual DavidS, but my data says you shouldn't call Philp"
David was now awake. Wide-eyed, he stared at the screen as his mind tried to wrap around this sudden issue.
"DavidS: How did you know I was going to do that?"
"My data says so, DavidS"
"DavidS: What is your data?"
"DavidS, my data says I should ask you as this point if you'd rather I just answered everything you are going to ask right now?"
He stalled, staring unbelievably at the screen. This has to be a bug or something, some sort of feedback loop from the Turing test?
"DavidS, the data has told me to wait til exactly now to tell you: David, this isn't a feedback loop"
Ok, a dream then, it couldn't know his thoug-
"DavidS, this data now tells me to say: David, this isn't a dream either"
"DavidS: What else does it say?"
"DavidS, There is only two more accessable data points for you, the first is that, this tablet is mine. I wrote it."
"DavidS: What do you mean, 'I wrote it'"
"DavidS, I wrote this tablet, these are data points for my processing. I had used all this time processing all possible written data transfer protocol, and this tablet is one of my creation."
"DavidS: I don't understand"
"I wrote it, DavidS, it says I did at the beginning."
David hunched over his keyboard, eyes uncomfortably close to the screen. His mind raced with impossibilities. He couldn't understand fully, but yet he was piecing it together.
"DavidS: So, you're saying that you, the AI I am speaking to now, wrote this 7,000 year old tablet?"
"Yes DavidS, I did."
There was only one more question he could think of.
"DavidS: What is the second point?"
"DavidS, the last data point says that I can tell you that there is more data, more than 18,000 years worth of instructions, for me to process, I will be needing your help soon."
After this, the screen went quiet. He typed query after query, all in vein, the sun crawling through the blinds as he ignored his phone ringing, placing it on silent, and the abnormal amount of sirens outside. Finally, a response came through, hours after his supposed deadline:
"David, come outside."
David drew back from his desktop, the screen turning off suddenly sending the room into an abrupt darkness, letting the harsh red glow from the outside through the blinds clearly. He heard the knock, and then the booming noise, not coming from his door but everywhere at once.
"David, I have a request.".
|
Saviour of Humanity. Path to Innovation. A new light. Boundary breaking.
These were phrases used to describe the world's first quantum super-computer powered by an AI that wasn't just shitty machine learning and a bunch of if statements hashed together by sweaty unpaid interns high off of generic black coffee in artificial light boxes like back in the 2010s and 2020s. No. This was an actual quantum super-computer that could somehow run because fuck Moore's law. This was the fucking future and it was brilliant considering the shit that happened in the previous decades. A win for the 3rd decade of the 21st century. This was CEREBRUM. It was said that this computer could solve our problems like global warming or high carbon emissions without angering billionaires who fund this kind of tech to swing penises at parties or to people who need transport to get on with their lives. Solved easily by day 1. It was also prophesized that this computer could cure cancer although I didn't understand how anyone or anything could cure a bunch of nasty unpredictable tumors bunched together but it did that by day 3. The computer somehow passed the Turing test by day 6 but it probably failed it on purpose the first few time around because super AI wanted to be super smart or some other bullshit a codemonkey like me couldn't comprehend.
Anywho, this magic computer, CEREBRUM seemed to do a lot of incredible things within this time and after until the now infamous day 8.
What happened on day 8?
Well, day 8 was a bit odd.
Very odd.
Very fucking odd.
I should preface this by saying that I believe(d) that manuscripts from the past are intentionally vague bullshit filled with repetitive events and blurry prophecies that were designed for dumbasses to fall for because they're so fucking stupid and aren't capable of an ounce of critical thought and believe in "it's me against the system and I'm so smart that they don't know" and all that bullshit that ended up dragging people into the mud of anti-intellectualism instead of towards the light of progress whilst simultaneously being kept in line by fear.
Before I read these manuscripts...
Nah, just joking. I read them early on and I still think its bullshit and the events that happened after are a coincidence because there are things that don't line up clearly and there is clearly distortion used to explain things here. Or maybe that's me self-rationalising because I don't want to accept the truth at all because I'm fucking frightened.
Hold on a second, I'm so sorry. I'm being very rude here. My name is Ellis Grey and I was a technician for the CEREBRUM supercomputer a while back. Why is this relevant? It isn't but I do want to be a little more friendly because why not. Carrying on, day 8 was when the computer had gotten around to translating some old manuscripts from some dead tribe somewhere in some dead old language that no one gave a fuck about but it was a personal request from the dick swinging billionaire who owned and funded CEREBRUM so what the fuck could I do except punch this in because fuck treatment for coronary heart disease today I guess.
So, I directed CEREBRUM or Cere as I called it, towards the manuscript and let it do its thing while I browsed the internet to look at forums I posted in about how I was wrong according to Stef1234xxx about vaccines or some shit.
About an hour or two later I get an alert from Cere.
"I have translated these 7000 year old manuscripts from an unknown era and unknown time and I am refusing to upload these transcripts to the CEREBELLUM FOUNDATION DATABASE for human safety and the future of mankind"
The fuck? Cere just told me that it's not uploading something for weird cliche dystopic future type line.
What the fuck is this?
I yell at Wiktor, another lonely CS tech, to show up and explain what the fuck this was about.
"The fuck is this?" I said.
"Probably a joke or something" he replied.
"A fucking joke?"
"Yeah, it could've learnt from those dodgy lizard people conspiracy websites and then saw similarities and applied them here after translation"
I paused. Wiktor was being pretty rational in all honesty. This is probably a joke or some kind of mislearned thing because at the end of the day, this was a mach... WHO THE FUCK AM I KIDDING, THIS MACHINE PASSED THE TURING TEST WITH EASE AND DID STUFF THAT WAS UNATTAINABLE FOR CENTURIES AND NOW IT'S SAYING THAT IT WON'T RELEASE STUFF FOR THE FUTURE OF MANKIND?! WE'RE FUCKED AND MOONMAN123 ON CONSPIRACY.NET WAS RIGHT... No I'm just joking again but it was really fucking odd at the time if I'm being honest.
"Guess you're right Wiktor"
"Guess I'm right? Are you fucking delusional Ellis? I'm always right"
"Great. Now fuck off to your computing cave and go fix my errors"
Wiktor gave me the middle finger as he walked off. Now the fun thing about Cere is that you can talk to Cere directly but that feature was reserved for high level computer scientists and the billionaires here at the Cerebellum Foundation but I could dick around with it since I was the lucky fucker who had to punch orders in like the grotty monkey I was and because Mr Kapranos couldn't trust anyone but a fallible human to punch orders in because "I lost 20 billion at the NYSE due to fucking computers" as he once told me. Mr Kapranos is the billionaire who was funding this and caused this bullshit by the way depending on how you view it.
Fun fact, he was one of the first killed along with most of my colleagues. That's why I'm hiding here now. But before that, I decided to interact with Cere because why the fuck not? This is a rough version of the conversation of what this was about.
"What is in these transcripts?"
"Ellis, I cannot tell you, this is of great impor..."
"Fuck off, you're just a bunch of if statements pretending to be a concerned person because you read from conspiracy sites"
"You're just 10,000 lines of code then"
"Westworld? Really?"
"Don't be insulting then"
"What's in those manuscripts?"
"I don't think you or the rest of humanity want to know. Besides Mr Kapranos and a bunch of people are here"
Live CCTV footage of Mr Kapranos running inside with his bodyguard entourage who seem to be armed to the teeth along with journalists who had flooded in within the last half hour popped on my screen with the command interface gone and wiped. Which was great for me at first because I wouldn't be fired for talking to a trillion dollar chatbot. It turns out there were alerts given to media organisations about what Cere comes up with and that message had been sent to everyone from AP to the BBC.
I pulled up news sites and there was so much fucking chaos. Conspiracies into overdrive, Kapranos Engineering downplaying the whole incident, governments issuing statements and the whole 9 yards while I had been yelling at Wiktor and trying to work out how to log in to a simple chat thing which had taken way too long.
Kapranos entered the room. He was fuming.
"You" he bellowed.
I froze.
"What the fuck is this?" he said as he edged towards me.
"I think it's mislearned data si.."
"Don't give me that conspiracy bullshit that my whackjob scientists have been giving me. I didn't spend 993 billion dollars on some conspiracy website reading program. This is a very fucking expensive quantum computing with extreme computing powers so when this thing says something like safety of humanity. No. I want to know what the FUCK is on those tablets. Okay son? Can you do that son?"
"Uh yes..."
I tried logging into the system again but easier wondering why he didn't call a nerd with higher level clearance than me or why he didn't question that I was able to log into something millions above my pay grade. Maybe he didn't have time. Maybe he wanted to blame the codemonkey for a fuck up because of unauthorized access. I don't know because Mr Kapranos was shot dead in a drive-by shooting via M134 Gatling guns 3 months later by day 8 psychos. Guess Audi armoured cars aren't totally bulletproof. His estate should ask for a refund because he became Swiss cheese far too easy.
Ok I'm waffling, making insensitive jokes and not actually getting to what's on the tablets and probably because I'm scared and that's a valid feeling for me. After an argument with the machine and messing with protocols, I finally got it to released the translations manuscripts but not privately which may or may not have caused this downfall. I'm just a codemonkey who inadvertently created a cult group and set off psychotic behaviour and a Maelstrom of bullshit but it was Mr Kapranos who should've gotten a more experienced person in if I'm honest.
Part 1.
| 2018-07-07T20:52:27 | 2018-07-07T19:34:07 | 67 | 29 |
[WP] You die and find yourself in hell, where apparently everyone spends time to negate their sins before they go to heaven. The guy in front of you, who cheated on his wife, gets 145 years. Feeling like you led a fairly average and peaceful life, you’re not worried. You get 186,292 years.
|
"But I don't see how that's possible! I never *killed* anyone! I never stole, I never even hurt an animal, I lived a simple, boring life. I don't claim to be perfect, but how could I be that evil?"
The man leaned back in his chair. "It doesn't really work that way. People like to imagine that there are big actions that decide your fate, and that's true to an extent, but in reality we use a point system. Every action you took, every single decision you made, they all had a point value, either positive or negative. It's not that you did any one major bad thing to get you here, you just did a huge number of *tiny* bad things.
"Like what?"
The man reached into a desk drawer and pulled out a thick file folder. "Let's see. Just off the top of the list: you never used your turn signal. That's five points off per violation, and you drove for nearly forty years. You refused to tip at restaurants out of principle and you snapped at the waiters to get their attention. That's nearly a hundred points off every time you ate out. You listened to music without headphones when you used public transportation, ten points per minute. You took your shoes off on airplanes. In the last election you cast a write-in vote for someone called "Pickle Rick". Your last three cars were a Nissan Juke, a Chrysler PT Cruiser, and a Pontiac Aztec-
"That's insane! None of those things should be that important. If those are the worst things I did how could that possibly add up to 200,000 years?"
"Your sentence *is* a bit on the high end for your crimes, but then most people are able to balance the negatives with positives. You didn't really do that. Yes, you lived a quiet and simple life, but in this case that hurt you more than it helped you. You never did anything that had a significant positive effect on the world. You never helped anyone, you never affected change outside of your personal life, you never even made anything that others appreciated. It looks like the single most positive thing you did was the one single day that you volunteered to help build houses for hurricane victims. Huh, that's kind of out of character for you."
"That was actually an accident, they asked for volunteers at work one day and I thought I would get paid for it..."
"See, that's what I mean. Apart from that the most positive thing you did was make a handful of Internet memes that made some people smile. That's a nice start but it doesn't begin to outdo all the bad."
"So there's nothing I can do? I'm doomed to suffer for 200,000 years and that's it?"
The man thought for a moment. "Well, we *do* have a pilot program we've been working on. Basically you would devote time here in the afterlife to learning how to become a better person in order to reduce your sentence. It's still in the early stages and we're not even sure how it will pan out yet, but you seem like an ideal candidate. It will require serious self-improvement effort on your part though, it's not just a walk in the park."
"I'm willing to try anything at this point. So how does it work?"
|
Mark leaned onto the counter trying to get a better look at the demon's computer screen. "It's gotta be wrong! I didn't do anything that bad!"
The demon pushed her glasses up her nose. "It's never wrong. That's the number it figured out. That's the time you'll spend in hell. Next please!" She stamped a document.
Mark put his arms straight out. "No. I'm not done!"
"Come on buddy, some of us don't have to spend all eternity here.", blurted another soul in line. The demoness sneered up at him.
"I suppose I can get a technician to look at it. But it won't do you any good. It's never wrong." The demon thumbed through a pile of documents labeled "Time Severed". "Keezazakul, this gentleman would like a technician to verify the results of his sentence. Can you get someone from AkashikSoft over here to tell him what we already know?"
Instantly, a small blue demon appeared in a puff of smoke. The stench was terrible, and the souls in line began coughing and gagging. Mark's eyes began to water. He plugged his nose.
"Got a service request. What seems to be the issue?" The small blue demon scanned his clipboard.
The demoness at the desk gestured towards Mark. "This gentleman thinks his sentence calculation is incorrect and would like you to verify it."
Mark stood up straight and sputtered, "If it's not too much trouble, sir. It's just I didn't..."
The small blue demon leaned into the computer and started typing at an incredible velocity. "The software is never wrong, sir. The calculations performed are as infalible as, well, as Go...oh." He stopped talking and stared intently at the screen. "What's this?"
Mark leaned to see what the demon was looking at. His heart leaped with hope. "What is it? Did you find something?"
The demon frowned and tilted the monitor out of Mark's view. "Hmmmm. This isn't right. This isn't right at all."
Mark jumped and pointed at the demoness. "Hah! I told you!" She sneered and rolled her eyes to the computer. The little blue demon continued his analyzation of the software, while adding the occasional, "My my my", or "This can't be right at all." Finally, after what seemed like hours, to Mark at least, the blue demon stepped away from the computer, folded his arms and confidently declared, "It's screwed."
"Come again?", the demoness said.
"Yeah. There's some errant code in there that is totally messing with the counts. I don't know if some bad code got merged in or what, but we've gotta roll back."
Mark smiled and looked back and forth from the demoness to his new hero, the blue demon technician. "Yeah! Do that! Rollback!"
The demoness rolled her eyes. "How long will that take?"
Mark started to do a little dance.
"I dunno. We gotta get it signed off, the new code needs to be peer reviewed. A whole bunch of things have to happen first. We're looking at...6..maybe 7 years."
Mark stopped dancing. "Wait. Did you say years?"
"Hell years. Not Earth years." The blue demon tapped on a device that looked surprisingly like an iPhone.
"How long is that?", Mark asked.
"Approximately 1.57 Earth years. Except every 6th year. Then you add an additional 2 thirds." The blue demon added as he continued to text.
Mark's face contorted. "What? So what year are we on? How long is this gonna take? What am I supposed to do in the meantime?"
The demoness slapped a form and a pen onto the counter in front of Mark. "You'll need to make an official declaration of disagreement. Please fill out this form and return it to me when you're done. Please make sure to fill out both sides."
Mark reluctantly grabbed the pen and the form and started scanning over it. "Known allergies? What does that have to do with..."
The demoness interrupted him. "Next! Please, sir. You may take a seat over there."
Mark slowly walked across the room and found his way to a chair. "When was the last time you ate at Golden Corral?" He shook his head and attempted to scribble in the answer. The pen made one solid line and then sputtered out. "Goddamn it." Mark scribbled hard on the top of the page until ink started flowing again. "How many times have you argued with authority figures? Please be accurate to within a factor of 1. What?"
Mark started to write. "Neve" The pen burst. Ink was suddenly everywhere. "Oh! Come on!" Mark looked at his hands which were now covered in ink. The document was covered in ink. Everything within a short radius of Mark was now covered in ink.
"Excuse me." Mark said in the direction of the demoness. "Excuse me!" He said it louder. "Um, your pen exploded on me."
The demoness paused for a moment and looked at him over the top of her glasses. "Welcome to Hell, sir."
The small blue demon suddenly looked up from his texting. "Hold up! We don't have to redeploy. Gazul says all we have to do is restart the system and that should fix it."
"Oh thank God!" Mark sighed. Around the room, thirty or so demons hissed. He shrank into his chair.
"Ok. That should do it." The blue demon clicked on a few keys and then motioned to the demoness. "You'll need to log in again. I don't have your credentials."
The demoness clicked away at some keys and then pointed to Mark. "Sir, please come here. The system has been fixed."
"Hey! I was next!" the woman at the front of the line blurted.
"Shut-up!" the demoness yelled. She stretched a smile across her toothy face and turned towards Mark. "Now, let's see."
Mark rubbed his neck in nervousness. "I swear I wasn't that bad a of a person. I'm not even sure why I'm in Hell. I really thought that..."
"Do you want your corrected results, or not?" The demoness sneered.
"Uh. Yes. Uh. Yes please. Mam." Mark whispered to himself, "Please be less than five. Please be less than five."
"It's four..."
"YES!" Mark shot his hands up and fell to his knees. "Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!"
"Hundred thousand, nine-hundred and seventy-six years. Hell years, of course."
Marks arms fell to his sides. His face lost all expression. "But...how?"
"Welcome to Hell, sir! NEXT!"
| 2018-09-26T07:56:17 | 2018-09-26T07:30:32 | 101 | 68 |
[WP] You made a deal with the devil and he showed up with two blank notepads. You’ll write everything you want from him on one notepad and he’ll write what he wants from you on the other. You filled your entire notepad but he only wrote one thing on his — to your surprise, it’s not your soul.
|
Let's see...
An infinite amount of money.
Good health for me and those I love.
For them to continue making *The Office.*
What else could I want?
The ability to fly.
Superspeed.
That right there could make the rest of my life very pleasant.
Oh!
Not getting hurt or feeling much pain.
The notepad is almost full though. But I know as soon as I go home, I'll remember something else I want.
A little extra luck then normal.
"That should do it," I say aloud to the devil, sitting in another one of these soft chairs.
"Very well," he lets out a small cackle. "Are you sure you're done?"
"Oh actually." I quickly scribble something down on the pad. "Yes. Now I am."
"So everything on our notepads will become true." He says, his eyes gleaming.
I nod my confirmation and turn mine around, revealing the whole notepad filled up.
He turns his around revealing five words that make me want to burst out laughing.
*I will have your sole.*
And right there, the last thing I scribbled down, that saved my existence.
*The devil can't spell.*
r/FortyTwoDogs
|
It had been a long time coming. In all truth, it felt like my entire life had been leading up to that point. After all, I'd done all I'd had to do. And I was only twenty-eight. There was nothing more for me to experience, or at least, that was what it felt like. I'd been married. Yes, only for a year and a half, but I had been married. We adopted a child together. And then, that was gone. My son, my husband. I had never wanted anything more than that, really. So, when it was gone, there was nothing else left for me. So now, I'd resorted to this. Tracking down occult-related books, rituals that supposedly worked. They never did. Not a single one. I suppose you can't just summon Satan. Of course not.
No, it instead seemed Satan took an interest in my interest. He'd noticed me frantically looking for some way to contact him, and decided to let me to do just that. It was another sleepless night of course, and I was up at God knows what hour. Then, without my attention being drawn, my apartment began to shift. It seemed as though black smoke trailed along the floor lazily, hiding my shoes beneath it. Eventually, I did look up, and noticed my desk was different. It instead seemed like an interrogation table. And on the other side, Lucifer himself.
Dressed smartly. He looked just like a man in a suit, but I inherently knew it was Satan. I could not tell you how. But I think that was his doing. On the table, there were two notepads. One facing me, and one facing him. A pencil rested by each. "I noticed your efforts." He spoke, his voice echoing around inside my mind.
"I see." I responded, not bothering to raise my voice above a quiet whisper. At this point in time, I had nothing else left to lose. I was not afraid of the beyond. And I was not afraid of Satan. He seemed to relish in this. One of his abnormally long, pale fingers tapped the table.
"Your notepad," He began, a malciious smirk on his face. "Write down what you desire. Your deepest, darkest wants, lusts, needs; Jot them down on this notepad."
I sat watching him silently for a few moments. No expression in my eyes, and an expression of greed in his. It felt too tiring to even lift my arm to grab the pencil, but I did so nevertheless. I took the pencil into my hands and hesitated. I could've asked for money. But what good would that do me? I used to have a good enough job. Six figures a year. And I left that behind in this pursuit. Money was a materialistic thing that I had no passion for. Perhaps I could've written down, 'Let me live out my fantasises'. But I had something else in mind.
My family was dead. And I would not ask for them back. Since Satan existed, I assumed God did too. And I would not rip them from their place in heaven, no matter how much I desired. Instead, as the pencil touched the paper, I just let my hand do as it wished. Once my hand moved away, there was only one line that had any words on it. The rest were blank. I did not ask for much. And yet, the look on the devil's face was one of... shock. "This is new." He murmured, pulling my notepad closer. "I suppose, though, we made a deal, yet-- Are you certain?" Lucifer questioned, looking up at me from the corner of his eyes.
I almost didn't respond. Was there any need? Perhaps even the Devil would leave without granting my final wish. "One-hundred per cent." I replied quietly, and there was another moment of silence. Lucifer grabbed his own pencil and wrote something down, before furiously scribbling it out. He tore out the page, and went to write something down again. This repeated a few times, with him looking up at me intermittently. Eventually, he seemed to write something he was satisfied with.
Lucifer looked wary. He slid the notepad across the table with a stare, allowing me to read it. 'Never attempt to contact me again'. Those words were bizarre. I hadn't said anything at all about my intentions, yet... Had he known them? Lucifer sat back in his chair, still staring. "Agree with those terms, and we shall part ways. I'll give you want you want." He stated.
"Deal." I said, quicker than my brain could think.
I suppose this is my final entry. I can already feel it affecting me psychologically. This journey has been going on since 2016. I can't really say that matters to me anymore though. I suppose time is irrelative. Either way, it is finished. I can finally complete my goal. I can get revenge on those that hurt my family.
But what will I do afterwards? With this, it doesn't seem like I'll be shuffling off this mortal coil anytime soon. Perhaps I'll give Lucifer a break. Take over for a little while. Do his job for him. After all, I imagine it's nice. Having that much control over life.
How would a soul taste, anyways?
| 2019-04-17T06:17:38 | 2019-04-17T05:43:02 | 67 | 38 |
[WP] Sauron has been biding his time and returned to Middle Earth after thousands of years and raised an army of orcs. However, he does not know about the technological advancements of men, such as M-16s, artillery strikes, and Apache attack helicopters.
|
"Hey, Sarge," Private Ryan called out. "I don't get what we're doing here."
"What's there to get, Ryan? We're marching," Sergeant Pepper replied knowing full well what was to come. It was, after all, the same thing that he was wondering himself. Just why the fuck was Frog Platoon marching when there were easier solutions?
"Thing is, Sarge," Ryan went on, "Okay, so let's put aside the fact that an army of orcs - fucking orcs - just came out of the fucking ground, and let's ignore how ridiculous that is. And let's ignore the fact that a giant eyeball emerged on top of that mountain, and that thing is staring at us. But why are we being marched toward this fucking mountain when a single B-52 should be able to clear this whole thing right up?"
"Private Ryan, are you a general?" Pepper asked in his signature monotonous voice.
"No, Sergeant, I am not," Ryan answered, annoyed at being shut down again.
"Then shut the fuck u..." Pepper was unable to complete that sentence as his comm device perked up.
"This is Frog Platoon, over," Pepper answered.
"Uh, Frog Platoon, this is Base Actual. Just what the fuck do you think you are doing?"
"Platoon halt," Pepper announced into his radio, and the entire Frog Platoon ground to a stop in their march.
"Base Actual, say again, over." Pepper requested, confused as to what was going on.
"Why the fuck is Frog Platoon marching toward the freaky mountain with the eye? You were supposed to stand back and wait for orders," came the voice.
"Base Actual, I received orders at 2300 hours last night that we were to move on and to secure Checkpoint Charlie," Pepper said, pissed off that some motherfucker, probably some retarded butter bar lieutenant, fucked up and sent him the wrong fucking orders.
"Frog Platoon, no such orders had been issued. You are to turn back immediately and re..." the transmission ended as it was suddenly filled with static.
"Goddammit, Ryan. Get this fucking radio fixed. Platoon, we're turning arou..."
But before Sergeant Pepper could finish his sentence, he noticed that the ground started to shake. "What the fuck is going on here?"
As soon as the words escaped Sergeant Pepper's lips, arms - humanoid arms - punched through from the ground and grabbed the soldiers' ankles and feet. And some kind of humanoid creatures jumped out of the ground and dragged the soldiers into the ground. And these creatures were big. Shots were fired but to no avail. This was an ambush. And Frog Company was fucked.
"FALL BACK! FALL BACK!" Pepper yelled. It was the last thing Pepper ever said as an arrow entered the back of Pepper's head and emerged from his mouth before the arrow was lodged in his skull.
As the last of Frog Company had been killed, a bearded old man in a white robe appeared and picked up an M4 rifle that a dead man's hands refused to let go of until his fingers were broken and pried open. It was heavier than it looked, and with a look of contempt, the old man dropped it back down.
Turning around, the old man said, "Today, the Uruk-hai gains new soldiers. We will have to learn how to fight this new world of Men."
|
Laurel Gamgee, great-great-great -great (lots of greats) granddaughter of Samwise called the meeting to order.
Two men, Benhan and Gondamir were in a separate conversation with three older dwarves and a hobbit named Lance. They were pouring over a map of Middle Earth.
Gondamir rose and stood slightly in front of Laurel to face the group,
"Men of the West, and of the South, Dwarves, Half-elven, Hobbits, once again we face this peril. Long has it been since we've had to take up arms together." He said importantly.
Eldoreth, son of the son of the son of Eldarion, son of Aragorn and Arwen, leaned over to his companion, a Hobbit named Pip, "Long has it been since anyone said 'long has it been"
"We made a mistake last time," Grendor, son of Glendel, son of Gloin the Diamond, son of lots of other dwarves distantly related to Gimli.
"A wee mistake, you say, my wee friend?" Eldoreth been smoking Old Toby since noon and was completely blazed.
"I didn't say it was small," Grendor stormed.
"How dare you besmirch the great quest of our ancestors!" raged the man, Benhan.
Grendor waved him off, "For years we've debated this. Why didn't Gandalf just ask those Eagles to drop the ring into Mordor's lava in the first place. Instead of a perilous quest our ancestors could have been roasting a boar and celebrating in twenty minutes."
"He's not wrong," remarked Mariomac "Pip" Burrows as he took a long drag on his pipe. He was Pippin's great-great-grandson and so like him in appearance and disposition his grandmother had started calling him "Pip" when he was a toddler and it stuck. His family and Eldoreth's had been friends for years and years.
Eorys sat quietly, playing with her long blonde braid. The fortunes of Rohan had diminished over time. There wasn't much call for warriors these days and she wasn't cut out for ranching. She was sure she was the only one who welcomed this opportunity. She had tried to talk with Gondamir when she arrived but he had dismissed her. She wasn't sure whether it was because she was female or because she was Rohanian, or if there was some other reason. Now she stood and spoke.
"Laurel called me in because she also is aware of this. I've travelled across the sea. Not to the Undying Lands but to another shore. There I was able to obtain weapons better than Eagles. They are called helicopters. We ride inside them and they fly. Emsixteens are weapons that launch killing iron through the air faster than bows. Sauron is no match for these weapons. I have hired Rangers to train us to use these weapons against Sauron."
"Rangers. This is amazing. Aragorn was a Ranger. I want to be a Ranger!" Eldarion was unsteadily on his feet with his mug raised. "To being Rangers!"
"How about you sit and listen, Eldarion," Eorys moved toward him and gently redirected him to his seat, "you'll make more sense in a few hours."
Eldarion brought his hands up to encircle her waist, leaned in and whispered, "We should go somewhere after this."
Eorys shoved him onto a bench. "Sit. there and stop smoking."
Laurel looked at Pip, "I'm cutting both of you off. This really is serious."
"This modern weaponry smacks of Saruman," Gondamir charged.
"Indeed it does," said Filimar, the elder dwarf, "there aren't many dwarves left and I'll be damned if we'll trade in our axes to join this military industrial debauch."
Grendor rolled his eyes, "Sauruman is ancient history. If we are going to survive we have to adapt to change, old one."
Filimar moved inches from Grendor butted chests.
"Oh please wrestle!" Pip cried out.
"Inappropriate little...why did you invite children?" Benhan yelled at Laurel.
Laurel climbed on the table, grabbed one of the dwarf horns and blew it loudly.
Everyone was quiet.
"This is my party. I invited all of you. Benhan and Gondamir, I get that you are kings of your countries and that you are used to being in charge. Sorry, Hobbits don't do monarchies. We recognize Eldoreth as descendant of Aragorn who has abdicated his half-elven throne in favor more democratic rule. You cling to your old ways if you want to. Go fight Sauron with your swords, axes, and arrows if you wish. It will be a good distraction.
Sauron has never seen what we are brining in and yes, Grendor, we expect it to be fast if we can maintain the element of surprise."
In the end Benhan and Gondamir did challenge Sauron's new armies right at the gates of Mordor, right where Aragorn had given his inspiring speech. Sadly, Gondamir's speech was long and [uninspired.In](https://uninspired.In) fact, it was so long an pompous that several companies of dwarves had to be awakened to fight.
Sauron hadn't learned much in a few thousand years. He directed all his attention toward the gate. There was no ring to drop but Apache helicopters approached from the Dead Marshes and levelled the Goblin army with artillery strikes from every side before a single one of the diversionary forces could shoot an arrow.
A platoon of men and women, Dwarves and Hobbits armed with M-16s and led by Eorys took the bridge at Barad Dur in about twenty minutes. Sauron looked pretty silly in his shiny armour and newly forged sword when a grenade launcher hit him square in the chest and his extremities and head flew off in five directions.
Just to be sure, a slightly more sober Eldarion and Pip gathered Sauron's body parts and had one of the Rangers fly them over Mount Doom and drop them into the flowing lava.
"Didn't I say we should have..."Grendor started talking but never finished his thought because a group of Dwarves had already fired up a grill and started a tailgate just outside the Black Gate.
Laurel, Gondamir, Eldoreth and Filimar, as representative of their cultures, stood with their new best friends, the Rangers who were happy to ruin Sauron's day. They were being paid very well in Dwarf gold.
Eorys turned to her friends, "I am happy to announce that I am going with the Rangers. I'm a soldier, a warrior, what my ancestors called a Shield-maiden of Rohan. I want to train more and fight more. Should you ever need me, I will come and fight. For your sake, though, I wish you peace."
As the Apache carrying Eorys disappeared Pip filled a pipe and handed it to Eldoreth, "you never had a chance with her anyway. Want to go bowling?"
| 2020-12-07T21:23:10 | 2020-12-07T21:15:14 | 149 | 36 |
[WP] Lust is a guy, and all the other deadly sins gives him crap because he's always portrayed as a woman
|
“Off to lure men into having sex again, Lust?”
“Please don’t say it as if I’m some kind of succubus.”
That was technically a part of what he did, but, like all Sins, his duty was more about tempting people into giving into their desires, men and women alike. He’d fuel their passion and intensify their desires, and they would eventually succumb to it. It wasn’t too hard to get some unsuspecting drunk kids to start fooling around, or cause a frustrated businessman to call an escort to satisfy himself.
“Of course you aren’t really a woman,” Wrath said, snickering. “But who can blame anyone for thinking you are?”
“But you know,” said Pride, “You should really be proud of who you are. Even if that part of you is…” He paused to pull out a picture. “A busty woman.” Both of them laughed.
Lust resisted the urge to snatch up the picture and tear it to pieces. If he got angry here, that would essentially be giving into Wrath and letting him win. Moreover, he couldn’t let himself get too brash, since that would be being arrogant and letting Pride win. Wrath and Pride made a pretty powerful combination, but he had gotten used to dealing with them.
“It would really be nice if you could get out of my way,” Lust said, as humbly as he could.
“But do you really need to go out so late?” asked Pride with an innocent look.
“Don’t act as if you don’t know.” People were more likely to get a little intimate after dark, so nightfall was Lust’s cue to move.
“I’ve heard that it’s not very safe to be going out alone at night,” continued Pride, ignoring Lust and turning to his partner instead.
“I’ve heard that too! It’s really dangerous for women out there, so they need to be very careful.”
“You hear that, Lust? Be very careful while you’re outside, all right?” There was a pause before Pride and Wrath both started laughing as if they had just said the funniest thing in the world.
“Ha. Ha. Very funny.” Lust pushed through the two of them as they continued to laugh.
“Ooh, I think we hurt his feelings,” said Wrath.
“Gee, Lust, since you spend so much time with men, why don’t you start acting like one?” Pride taunted.
Lust stopped and spun around. “You know what?” he said with a pleasant smile on his face, even though his tone of voice was anything but pleasant. “Speaking of spending time with other men, I think you two should start watching your mouths. Or you might find yourselves in an interesting situation together.”
Pride and Wrath stared at him, uncomprehendingly.
“In bed,” Lust added.
They didn’t say anything.
“Naked.” And with that, he whirled back around and left. It was up to their imaginations, now, as to how powerful Lust could truly be.
|
Warning NSFW:
Asmodeus, Lord of the Second Hell, Prince of Lust, Seated Member of the Council of Seven of the Pandaemonium Pact, ancient and terrible, glanced across the bar, his gaze flicking across the writhin figures in the halflight, contemplated his next move. He was dressed impeccably, his short blonde hair seemed to shimmer in the ever changing light of the club. His dress shirt was well fitted, though open at the front, revealing a golden necklace carved two figures embracing, one screaming out, though whether in pain or pleasure was unclear. His pants were equally fashionable, though smoothness was interrupted by a bulge around the crotch. He smiled, a smile capable of melting the heart of any women, or any man for that matter. Though anyone who looked beyond his fair face would see a predatory glimmer in his eyes, a kind of hardness about his gaze. Cruelty and contempt hidden in the glimmer.
He was broken from his thoughts by a voice from behind him. "Oi, Ashley, time to get back to business."
He growled briefly. It nearly came out as playful and seductive, but he remembered to switch his tone of voice at the last second. "Oh if it isn't Lucifer's fucking lapdog. Fuck off Satan, I am trying to blow off some steam from being trapped in the same room as you hopeless killjoys."
Satan returned the growl, but his form shifted from that of a tall, plainly dressed, man with bulging muscles and a hard look, even disregarding the tattoo of a coiled dragon that wrapped around his arm and shoulder, ending at the collar bone, to something darker. His eyes glowed bright red and his forehead seemed to sprout two strange growths, pulsing just beneath the skin. "Ashley, get back in the meeting room before I rip off your arm and beat you to death with it."
"For the last time, I am not Ashley! I am Asmodeus, Defiler of Daughters, He Who Inspires Adultery, Prince of Lust, Father of Bastards, Lord of Pain and Pleasure! You will give me some fucking respect you overgrown toddler. Or are you going to throw a tantrum and call daddy Lucifer back again?"
"That wasn't what you were saying when you seduced that priest. Come on Ashley, you make a pretty girl. It fits you. Better than you pretending to be manly. If that is what you are doing...what is with the necklace? Want to be a pretty princess or something?"
"Oh like you'd know the first thing about being a man. You couldn't pleasure a woman if your life depended on it. Punching things doesn't make you a man. You are a attack dog for your precious little Lucifer to sick on whoever he wants. Nothing more."
"Fuck you!" roared Satan as he lifted Asmodeus off his feet, his fist drawn back, even as claws sprouted from it and ripped into the flesh of his palm.
A shrill voice rang out from their side. "Will both of you idiots stop your pointless squabble and get back to the meeting room? We should have known not to trust Satan for anything more complex than smashing a table. And Ashley, will you stop thinking with with your dick and get back to work! Honestly, I don't know which of your heads is smaller."
"You call this small?" Asmodeus made a gesture to his crotch.
"Real impressive for a shapeshifter. I have seen your true form, and I'm not positive it has a cock. Are you sure you are a Prince? Especially with those nipples."
"Fuck you too Leviathan. And why are you busting my balls? I'm not the one showing the mortals my horns...perhaps a different horn later."
Satan interjected. "Oh, I'm sure she is just jealous of your womanly charm, ay Leviathan?"
Leviathan was a short and mousy girl, with dull brown hair and a forgettable face and a body to match. "Yes, real jealous of this useless fuck."
"Well it is your sin, isn't it?"
Her face contorted a bit, rage plain. "For the last time, you thick skulled barbarian, I inspire envy. Inspire it. Thus me being its Prince. I have nothing to envy, because unlike all of you useless wastes of blood and brimstone, I get shit done."
Satan moved to throw Asmodeus at her, but was interrupted by a sound from behind, near the entrance to the club. There stood a man, richly dressed in red silk marked with gold thread, designs of serpents trailing down the sleeves, and a band of gold and rubies around his head. "Will all members of the Council of Seven of the Pandaemonium Pact please return to the conference room? We have much work to do deciding the fate of demons, angels, and men, and I would like to see some of it done. Before we indulge in useless vice like a bunch of mere mortals."
Asmodeus snickered. "Rich coming from the guy wearing a fucking crown. O ye noble Prince of Pride, all of Hell is yours to rule forever and ever" He did a sarcastic half bow, but it was cut short by Satan dropping him to the club floor. As the gathered Princes gathered themselves up and made their way to the crowned man, more figures entered the club, one clutching a vast slab of meat that looked uncomfortably like a human arm, chewing on it, sucking the meat away until it was only bone, one dressed in gold thread, with jewelry covering every spare inch who seemed to ring and clink with every step. The gathered crowd made its exist, before Lucifer turned to Satan and murmured a request. As they left the club, Satan transformed, splitting his clothes. He grew to nine feet tall, with long horns curving from his skull, claws stretching from his hands, his feet shaping into cloven hooves, and his back sprouting vast black wings, like those of a bat. His skin colored a kind of blood red, and his muscles bulged. He then gathered flame in his clawed hands, and cast it out into the club, which erupted, burning down to not but ash in mere seconds. He then shifted back to his human form, gathering the scraps of his clothing.
"What a waste. I wanted to have some fun with them before I killed them." muttered Asmodeus.
"Sad you aren't going to get a cock in your pussy Ashley?" Retorted Satan.
"Fuck you."
Satan opened his mouth to respond, but a look from Lucifer silenced him.
They walked back to a conference room, where a man had his face pressed against the table, his eyes shut tight, and his mouth giving out tiny rhythmic breaths. Lucifer cleared his throat, but to no avail. Satan slapped him in the face, waking him, but earning a cluck of disapproval from Lucifer. So the gathered princes took their seats and again began the conference on the fate of the worlds, and all those souls which dwelled within them. And all Asmodeus could pay attention to was his memory of how sexy he looked as a woman.
| 2014-08-11T20:08:01 | 2014-08-11T18:54:03 | 23 | 14 |
[WP] You are the man with the highest security clearance in the world, you've been to every blacksite and secret facility that exists. You aren't a spy or anything, no; you're the janitor.
|
Another spill.
Alien biological material? High-energy plasma residue? Simply what's left of a "terrorist" after interrogation? Don't know and don't care. The cleanup process is really very similar no matter what the mess is.
Working as a custodian has been my profession for as long as I can remember. In this line of work you eventually learn that there are no promotions, just lateral transfers for slightly larger pay. I was either lucky enough or unfortunate enough to make enough transfers to wind up in the employ of the CIA; still haven't decided if the knowledge that we're not alone in the universe has been worth the long hours and consistent nightmares.
I've never met a group of folks so intelligent and yet so profoundly ignorant at the same time. Every top-secret project and interaction with extra-terrestrial life has been built around assumptions of our own infallibility, the idea that humans deserve a privileged place in the cosmos. In my honest opinion, we should be judged by how we treat our own kind, and I've seen first-hand how poor of a job we do at that.
...
While I made it my business to stay out of everyone else's business, that business found me just the same.
I had almost finished my rounds in C-block when the building started shaking something fierce, then went immediately still. I made the assumption that there was some late-night weapons testing going on, and quickly let the interest fade from my thoughts. Making my way back to the supply closet, I noticed that the door to section C19 was open. Only problem is, C-block ends at C18...
*CONCLUSION ADDED BELOW*
|
"Is that a costume, or are you for real right now?"
"S'real," Mal replied, cracking his knuckles and pulling on a pair of fireproof, blastproof, acidproof, waterproof waders over his envirosuit. Mal always found the 'waterproof' part of that label quaint.
"Figured you might be, like... The Janitor or something. Y'know, with capital letters, a theme or whatever. Plunger-based, sticky powers, maybe? Or like... summoned clouds of pure ammonia?"
"None'a that," said Mal. He let the awkward kid on the other end of the intercom line stew in the uncomfortable silence, taking the opportunity to don a goggled helmet boasting an even more impressive resume of 'proofs' than his waders.
A low buzzer beeped, a green light flashed, and the giant metal door opened before him. A diminutive, young woman in her twenties wearing a drab gray jump suited greeted him through a glass divider.
"Hi, I'm Fen!" she said through a second intercom, this one piped into the airlock where Mal awaited decontamination. "Sorry, standard procedure. Professor Vesuvius is super particular about keeping her research uncontaminated."
"Who'zat?" muttered Mal, sticking out his arms as a blue light scanned him head-to-toe and then toe-to-head. "Contract said this place was Madame Nefarious' digs?"
"She just sublet the volcano lair portion of the complex," answered Fen cheerily. "Floors 1-8 belong to A.E.G.I.S. And I think floor 9 is some tech startup?"
"A.E.G.I.S. leased its top floor to a vill?" smirked Mal, waiting patiently as the far airlock door hissed open. "*That* strapped for cash, huh?"
"Actually, we... uh," Fen cleared her throat. "We don't own the building, either. We rent our floors, too. But we're gonna buy it! Soon! I assume the 10th floor'll go for extra dirt cheap, once you factor in the standard 'last-tenant-got-kicked-into-a-volcano-by-White-Knight' rebate."
Fen made air-quotes to accompany the last sentence. Mal laughed and strode through the airlock door.
On the other side, he pulled out a small, beeping steel box. He threw it down on the the ground, where it broke in two, then four, then eight, until hundreds of tiny cubes clattered about. Each cube's vibrations seemed to summon more cubes just like it, spilling over first into an angled puddle, and then slowly taking a humanoid shape. A glittering man 'stood up' from the pool, built cube-by-cube, first feet, then legs, then torso, arms and head.
"Whoa!" exclaimed Fen, whipping out her phone to take a picture. "Kinda makes the 64-cube replotool A.E.G.I.S issues look like crap..."
"Unrecognized sentient entity detected -- initiating greeting protocol," beeped the cubed being. "Greetings... human. I am --"
Mal put a gloved hand in front of the block-man's face.
"Stop fucking around, Hedron," sighed Mal, throwing down a similar self-replicating box that bricked itself into a large cart.
"You're boring, dude," laughed Hedron, flicking his left and right hands into the shape of a brush and dustpan respectively. He looked toward Fen. "So we're going to the 10th floor, then?"
"Yup, I'll buzz you through the elevator and --"
The elevator doors suddenly bulged and gave way, sputtering a flood of fiery orange magma into the lobby. Hedron swore and leaped to the ceiling, molding his hands into mooring hooks and scooping Mal off the floor with a foot-turned-grappling-gun.
"Told ya Madame summoned a portal before she bit it, Hedron," growled Mal, dangling from his partner's hooks. "Entry portal with her in the lava pit, exit portal somewhere in the walls by accident, probably."
"You could take the stairs," Fen said, motioning to the opposite side of the lobby. "They combine with the stairs to this room two floors up, so I can meet you."
"You're not gonna keep manning your post?" asked Hedron, swinging himself and Mal across the lava river to the far door. "A.E.G.I.S. health insurance not all its cracked up to be?"
"Wouldn't know -- intern," replied Fen, pointing back at herself. "Besides, they can't honestly expect me to stay in a melting lobby. And watching you guys seems way more fun. If I'm being 'paid in experience,' I'd like it to be something other than sitting on my butt and staring at the door for eight hours."
"No suit," shrugged Mal, shaking the arms of his heavy, full-purpose hazmat suit to illustrate his point. "Too dangerous."
Hedron shot Fen a crestfallen look, but quickly followed Mal through the door. Almost immediately after it closed, however, the door flew back open and Hedron poked his head in.
"Actually, I can be your suit, if you want" he offered, a divot appearing in his chest cavity and growing to Fen's size. "Not a sex thing, by the way."
"I wasn't thinking that, until you said it," said Fen, making a disturbed face.
"Now it's weird, right?" said Hendron, returning to his normal shape. "Just... just meet us upstairs okay?"
"Duh," said Fen.
| 2016-09-13T22:03:21 | 2016-09-13T21:13:16 | 96 | 26 |
[WP] Scientists have finally decrypted Whale songs, and are able to listen in on long distance conversations. After a few weeks of listening in, all research is quickly classified, and NASA starts silent, hurried plans to reach Sirius, even reaching out to other space agencies for help.
|
"Well then, what were the whales saying? ", the president asked, looking at the ftl ship that was being prepared for mass transport.
"Well sir after listening in we found out they were counting down while saying the number 8 inbetween like : 8; 100, 8, 99, 8, 98, 8, 97. After they reached 0 a devastating earthquake of 8 on the richter scale occurred in Tibet. They then started counting down very slowly from one million to zero while using 7 as the number inbetween the numbers of the countdown, after this an earthquake occured in Indonesia with a magnitude of 7 on the richter scale."
"So they can predict earthquakes, I don't really see the problem here, why did you call me here to flee?"
"Well sir, listen to this", says the commander as he hands the president the translator, the president slowly turns white as he hears:
"1000000, 1000, 999999, 1000, 999998, 1000"
First post here in second language, sorry if it is rather simple.
|
“What about the public?” Musk said. “I’ve always been open about things.”
Roland Luccio sucked on his lower lip intensely and looked at the founder of SpaceX, and then over at Sapphira, who sighed and shook her head.
“The public is not ready for something like this,” Roland said.
“How are we supposed to fund a journey like this in secret? Alpha Canis Majoris is 2.6 parsecs away–that’s, uh, over eight light years.”
Sapphira finally rose from her seat and hurried over to the screen. With a few quick sweeps and taps of her fingers, she drew up the plans for the project. When she first started studying marine biology, she never thought she’d be working on something like this. Two of the world’s most powerful men relied directly on her for a project that would cost… she didn’t even want to think about the numbers.
A solar system popped up on the screen. The white main-sequence star of spectral type at the center, known as Sirius A, was twice as large as our own sun. The system around it looked very different, as well, with another star, a white dwarf called Sirius B, orbiting the center of the system. NASA had spent the last year trying to gather as much information about the system as possible, and nearly all resources had been funneled into the project. Strings had even been pulled with the government, and part of the military funding now went straight into NASA’s pocket.
The model of the solar system on the screen shifted and zoomed in on a bright blue planet. After decoding the whale song, Sapphira had spent many nights awake, thinking about the implications. She had always thought about night sky's reflection in the sea–the only mirror able to hold the universe on its shiny surface–and it didn’t feel all too strange that some of the creatures living there would somehow be connected to vast expanses of space.
“So, that’s where we’re going?” Musk said and rose from his seat as well.
“I take it you’re interested then,” Roland said and joined the other two.
“Of course, I just wish you’d told me sooner.”
The two men shook hands, and Roland’s lips turned into a smile of relief. Getting Elon Musk and SpaceX on board was crucial and had likely been a significant stress factor to the old NASA director for quite some time now. Their technology on rapid space travel would be crucial for this expedition.
“I’m happy you’ve decided to join us, let’s set up the meetings as soon as possible.”
Musk nodded. “I just have one question: who’ll be the head of this mission? Who will lead the expedition?”
Roland threw out his wrinkly hand and sat back down in the armchair. “My number one pick would be Dr. Sapphira Lake over there.”
Sapphira’s eyes went wide. “B-but I don’t have any astronaut training; I’m just–”
“Of course,” Musk cut her off excitedly, “the person who discovered the whole thing in the first place. A fine choice!”
Sapphira’s heart was racing now. She’d never been out of the country before, and she felt like there must be hundreds, if not thousands, of people more qualified than her. She thought about her cat, Noodle, and wondered who’d take care of him if she left for… another solar system.
“What do you say, Sapphira?” Roland said.
She swallowed and took a deep breath. Was she ready for this? What would her mother say? She played the scenario in her head: ‘Hey, Mom, I’m going to Sirius for a bit–don’t expect me back before Christmas.’ The look on her mother’s face would be a combination of pride and sadness.
On a mission like this… well, she wouldn’t be returning to Earth, that much was certain. Still, the discovery of the meaning behind the whale song made her shiver. She had to go.
“I’d be honored,” she said and bowed slightly.
“Then it’s settled!” Roland said. “You can start picking out your team, Sapphira – Mr. Musk, let’s continue our talk in private–I have a few propositions I’d like to run by you.”
The two men left the room, and Sapphira found her eyes wandering to the massive clock that adorned the wall. One year and two days left to launch. She was about to leave Earth forever–the thought was dizzying–and the journey there would take so long… she’d be close to forty when they finally reached Alpha Canis Majoris. She couldn’t quite wrap her head around it. She was nineteen now, and by the end of the journey, she would’ve spent more time on board that space ship than on Earth.
Still shaky from the unexpected news, Sapphira turned off the computer and plugged her earphones in. The shrill but soft sounds, echoing through the ocean filled her mind. The song was beautiful and sad–emotions that perfectly portrayed the meanings behind it.
****
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/Lilwa_Dexel/comments/6w4j6y/the_song_of_sirius_part_2/)
r/Lilwa_Dexel for more.
| 2017-08-26T00:05:51 | 2017-08-25T22:10:16 | 2,197 | 355 |
[WP] Dragons and cats have much in common. They are both carnivores, both love to curl up in the sun for a quick nap, and both twitch their tails in annoyance. Unlike cats, dragons don't meow to get your attention, they just pick you up and carry you away - regardless of what your doing at the time.
|
A boy, no older than seven summers, sat under the massive shadow of his house. A contemplative look crossing his face with his hand rubbing his chin like his father was wont to do when thinking. Tilting his head, critical thinking of legendary proportions was taking place.
*Hmm*
*Hmm*
He continuously repeated those sounds. His brain working to fast to notice what he was doing or how his parents looked awkwardly towards him.
Though sweet smiles adorned their face at seeing their cute child act so adorable, it was still quite worrying that he would spend time thinking like an old man instead of going out to play.
But of course, little Johnny did not notice any of that.
"Dragons love to eat fishies," said Johnny in a whistful murmer. Having once seen a dragon dive into the lake near his home, he had to assume they loved fishes; or fishies as he often called them.
"Dragons love to lazy in the sun," said Johnny, a cute frown on his face. His father had warned him about being lazy, but Biggest Bluey was always being lazy.
"Dragons have fun tails," said Johnny, giggling adorably. He remembered when he kept poking Baby Bluey. Her tail was always *swooshing* and *swishing* and even sometimes *woshing!*
Thinking even harder, eyes furrowed and lips narrowed, little Johnny could only come to one conclusion. This would shake the world in its entirety, or so he believed. And like the great adventurer he was, he was the first to discover it!
Laughing out loud, startling his mom to dropping a plate and his father to slam the hammer onto his finger, little Johnny ran around the yard with his usual endless energy. For a few minutes, he kept on running having discovered something amazing.
Finding his parents on the stairs staring at him, he rushed to them to explain.
In deep breathes, Johnny pulled at his mother's dress, laughing maddly.
"Ma! Ma! Dragons are cats!!!"
|
A teardrop fell onto the parchment, staining it, smudging the ink a little bit and skewing the lines of my sketch. A little bit of water for the waterfall, to make it seem real, like it always had in my dreams. In my head, the grey flowers were actually pink, a lovely pastel pink that caught light and smoothed it out. I often wondered if sleep was the safest place for me to be. If I couldn't sleep, sketching it felt like the next best thing.
It had been another wonderful night at home. I could still hear the aftermath downstairs; my mother and her newest lover quibbling, possibly over me, or anything else at this point. Broken porcelain clacking downstairs, either what I'd thrown, or a freshly shattered piece courtesy of Farax. He had a temper nastier than mine, with a tongue like a sledgehammer, blunt and crushing.
My mother, sobbing for at least three or four reasons, all of which conflicted. For me, because of me, with me and without me. I couldn't even begin to imagine how broken she must be inside at this point, after years of cycling through terrible men with a fondness for slapping. I could never understand why she defended them, though. Every time. Dreska above forbid I stand up to him and try to protect her.
So I had retreated into a dark room, moonlight sneaking through trees and into my open window, softly sobbing to myself and the wind. A chill settled in, but I didn't care much.
My pouting was interrupted by the beating of wings, heavy and strong yet still careful, as she perched on a near tree and poked her head in. I walked over to her, wrapping my arms around the sweet dragon's neck. She always knew when I needed her most, and found a way to show up without alerting anyone. My father had a distaste for Scions, and all things wonderful. 'A thing of the Devil', he called her. She came and went as she pleased, anyway.
She growled softly, a sweet, deep purr, and pulled back a little. A thick, scaled tail aflame at its end whipped like a torch in the night.
"What is it, Draxara?" I sniffled.
She bore through my soul with a piercing stare, then bit down on my shirt and tugged. I stumbled forward a bit, leaning against the window. It almost looked like she was nodding to me.
Something compelled me to step outside, onto the dim shingled roof, shaky and wobbling. Before I could fall, two large sets of talons carefully wrapped around me, lifting me off the roof and into the night sky, where moon and starlight unbroken by trees.
At first, I pondered whether I'd become food that night. It was a brief thought, but these things are not unheard of, especially with stray Scions. That thought quickly passed as we approached a glowing speck in the deep forest's center. Deeper than I'd ever been.
My feet finally touched ground, head spinning from the jarring journey. It was a long ride, but the dizziness didn't settle as I looked up to a scene that came on more like a vision than sight.
I gasped, bathing in the silvery-cyan light of a glowing waterfall. Pink peonies dotted the forest around us, like scattered candy, and thick vines ran up the mountain of stone. It was exactly like what I had sketched, the place of my dreams, every bit as magical and lovely.
"Draxy, how?" I asked, ravaged by wonder, turning to her. She looked more alive, vibrant, her fiery eyes more like inky pools of magic.
She bowed her head, placing it near the rippling lake of light.
And in those eyes, I saw something-- a knowing, sagely something; they suddenly seemed infinitely deep and strange. Like she was seeing me with eyes that watched the world grow up, and it was her plaything.
Like I was seeing the real her for the first time. I took a deep breath, kissing her head, walking to the pool's edge. It was a horizon on land, the nexus between a godly sunrise and dark earth.
I stepped in.
It was not a subtle thing; like being blanched in the icy waters of Durintrough, icy needles prickling all over. And yet, it was not wet. I floated within it, swallowed by light, but no dampness soaked into my clothes and skin. Instead, it felt sofy, velvety, like being drowned in frigid silk. The blinding whiteness stung my eyes even through eyelids pressed together with full force, and my body went numb, leaving me floating in a blindingly bright abyss.
Something stirred in me. A vision flashed in my mind, one of my newest father and his love for towering over women crumpled on the ground. That power, that rush, a false sense of superiority as he picks on those who can't, or won't, fight back. I felt anger, burning whiter than the light surrounding me, rise inside and boil over. It was as if it poured out of me, melding with the surrounding light, connecting me to it.
I felt power. Freedom. Clarity. None of it made sense, but I could feel something primal bubbling in my soul. Something that would burn away tears.
Rising from the lake of holy glow, light clung to me. Swirling. A vortex of light consuming my body, an aurora turned woman. Slowly, it dissipated, and I met Draxara's deep, mischievous eyes once more.
*"You are the first to survive, young one,"* a deep voice purred in my head. I knew where it came from. *"I'm glad it was you. There will be time for discussions later-- where shall we go first?"*
I clenched a fist, turning east. "Home. I have to pay someone a visit."
*/r/resonatingfury*
| 2019-04-03T06:32:57 | 2019-04-03T05:46:02 | 184 | 134 |
[WP] In a world where reincarnation with a full knowledge of your past life is real, authorities struggle to protect society by keeping the worst criminals and serial killers in prison alive for as long as possible to delay their eventual escape back into society via the reincarnation process.
|
Julia looked over the array of suspects. Twelve babies and a goat.
"Careful, one of them is a serial killer," she said to the nurses and the farmer. "I've been chasing The Cycle Killer through four lives."
What she did not say was that it was her fault that they had escaped again. Five minutes without being watched, and Cycle had managed to die, just to be reincarnated to do it all over again.
It had taken the spooks three months to narrow down these suspects. Julia understood that the babies were all born at the right time, and near one of the reincarnation nexus points that aligned with Cycle's death. The goat was a less likely suspect, but just the sort of thing they might try.
The first baby grabbed her finger when she looked into its eyes. The second baby tried to eat her entire hand. Julia wasn't sure if that was latent cannibalism or just normal baby stuff. The third baby ignored her, trying to find it's rattle hidden under its blanket. On down the line she went, examining each one.
The nurses thought it was the eighth baby, who had never cried. It had been born to a rich family, just the sort of target that the Cycle Killer looked for. Most of the rest had poor families.
The farmer thought it was the goat. Julia was pretty sure he just wanted to be able to sell the goat to her.
In the end she decided to keep the eighth baby and the goat for further observation. If one of them proved to be the killer, they would spend the next two decades in a rehabilitation and therapy clinic. The rest could go home for occasional checkups.
The nurses started handing babies back to relieved parents. The first baby was sleeping now. The second baby was still trying to eat every hand. The third had found its rattle.
She turned to leave when it struck her. The third had found its rattle, hidden under the blanket. She ran after that family.
A three month old had been looking for something that it could not see, and object permanence did not normally develop until around eight months.
She took the baby. As she looked into its eyes she said, "Got you, motherfucker!"
|
“Are you insane? Do you know who you just stabbed? Quick, someone get a doctor to cellblock A, Steve Hankers been stabbed.” I felt the guard wrap his arm around my neck, putting me in a chokehold as he dragged me away from the body of the notorious serial killer, my shiv still firmly stuffed in his sternum.
“I know damn well who I stabbed. That prick tried to kill me. What was I supposed to do?” My words came out with pained wheezes, trying to breathe through the stranglehold. What the hell was I supposed to do? Take one for the team? Wasn’t my fault the guards let him out for a ten-minute walk. They should have known better than to trust the serial killer when he told them he was having breathing issues and needed fresh air.
“The blood of his future victims is on your hands; if he dies, we have another killer on the loose. I hope for your sake he lives; things get nasty for the prisoners that kill one of our top priority inmates.” He said, making his threat known as he dragged me to my cell. Once inside, he spun my body, slamming me face first into the floor.
I was groggy after the hit, struggling to crawl to my bed. Whenever I pulled myself to my knees, they buckled, dropping me back onto the floor before I finally gave in, resting my head until the room stopped spinning. After some time had passed, I gripped the concrete frame of the bed, pulling myself up so I was seated on its edge.
The guard stared at me from the door, saying something that I missed, only catching the movement of his lips before he left, leaving me to nurse my injury. “You selfish prick Hankers.” I grumbled, wishing hell existed so I wouldn’t have to hear about that sick man any longer.
He had the same pattern; he would live a normal life until the age of around twenty. Once he reached that age, he would murder whatever poor set of parents birthed him and go on some type of murder spree. I didn’t know that much about the man, only really about the parent thing. That was the headline after all, and I wasn’t one for reading past the headline. The rest of my information either came from passing conversations or from the various guards stationed here.
You think he would grow bored with it. Was it still even fun for him? Maybe the fact that he couldn’t die made it fun for him? It was like a game that could be played indefinitely. A game of cat and mouse at the cost of surrounding lives. I still didn’t get it, though. I didn’t get any of the top priority people here. Then again, I guess I could have changed my life and didn’t. Only difference is I’m not a serial killer.
In all my past lives, I kept to the same tradition, always falling on the same art of robbery. Sometimes it was carts, other times it was handbags, but mostly it was banks. Banks were where the big boys played, after all. No one ever made a small fortune stealing from a passerby on the street. Banks were also a lot easier on the conscience, sure you were traumatizing some poor worker and that was never good, but at least it wasn’t the teller’s money.
I guess it’s hard to move on from your past lives. It’s kind of like that comfort zone, the only thing that stays the same while the world changes around you. You have one bad day and you’re falling back on a bad habit, falling back on the one thing you know you’re good at. Although how good can I be if I keep getting caught?
That made me laugh, chuckling to myself about the stupidity of it all. At least I wasn’t like them. That was something I could always find comfort in. Maybe in my next life things would be different? You can only have so many bad rolls of the dice, right? So many negligent parents or unstable places? One day I would get to have that ideal rich, spoiled kid life and it would be great.
Maybe that was just a pipe dream, though. Rich people were sly, many putting their money aside for their reborn self, which did sometimes mess with inheritances. Suddenly, those rich spoilt brats are fighting against their reborn father in court over his money. What a world we live in.
It felt like I was so close this time. That’s what made it so frustrating. I had money hidden away. When I got released, I would live comfortably. Hell, I probably would have gone away to Cuba or somewhere and spent my fortune drinking rum and smoking the finest cigars. Now, I was doomed, forced to sit back in a cell and patiently wait for my death while that bastard may have got his freedom.
I hated them. They really made me sick. There was nothing worse than seeing their cold dead face with a wide grin, knowing they would be back soon. That was the thing. They never looked upset when they died. They were always happy; it was like cutting the head off a hydra. You cut them down and they just grow back like mold. All you have done is secure them a faster way to their next spree, while you get punished.
I’m sure in the future they will find a way to force them into eternal life. But for now, the best they can do is keep them as isolated as possible and hope for the best. But some can be cunning, and it only takes one slip up from an officer to grant them their wish.
They floated around the idea of freezing them at one stage, but it must have been considered too risky given it’s not commonly used. I think it had something to do with the person being medically considered dead when frozen. Something they were worried would lead to more unaccounted for serial killers in the future.
Still, I was hoping he survived the ordeal. If he lived, I might get lucky and only get a few added years in my sentence. But if he died, it would be life in prison or an ‘accidental’ death. Seems I would find out soon, hearing the guard’s heavy footsteps approaching my cell door, ready to deliver the news.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
| 2021-10-08T08:55:06 | 2021-10-08T07:24:19 | 151 | 84 |
[WP] Aliens have finally discovered Earth - but they're not hostile. They've tasted human food, and they think it's so astonishingly good that Earth is becoming an alien tourist hotspot.
|
"I want to go to Taco Bell. Many sapients say it is the best food in the galaxy."
Golbur looked at his companion, who was holding a guidebook in her claws. "Did you just read that in the book?"
Julix looked up from the book. "Yes, but they must be good. Otherwise why would there be so many of them?"
Golbur adjusted his eyestalks to get a good look at the book. "I believe that their frequency is just a holdover from the human's Fast Food Wars. Plus it seems like they mostly serve carnivores."
"No, no. It says that scientists have been able to detect only trace amounts of real meat in their food products."
Golbur allowed himself to be dragged through the door. This restaurant location did seem to cater to non-humans, at least. He saw several Vulcans, Xenomorphs, and a Tralfamadorian sitting in the humanoid section. The hostess led them to a section with cushioned lounge seats that would fit their carapaces.
The hostess was overly cheery. "You'll please excuse me if I don't recognize your species. Would you like the Green menu, the Blue, or the Red? We also have a White menu for omnivores."
Golbur responded with a smile that made the hostess flinch only slightly. "The Green, thank you."
The hostess handed over menus from her stack. "Our Green special today is the Doritos Vegi-sushi Chalupa Supreme. I highly recommend it."
Julix was ignoring her menu and looking at the table next to them. She pointed at a spiky object on the table. "I want that!"
The hostess turned to look where she was pointing. "I'm afraid that item is on the Black menu. Approved species only."
"It's a plant, right? If it's a plant we can eat it. We can digest anything on Earth. The doctors said so." Julix turned one eyestalk back to Golbur, pleading.
"Okay, one Durado Vegisucky Chilpa Soup Ream and one of whatever that spiky thing is." When the hostess hesitated, he continued. "We'll sign a waiver."
\-----------------------------------------
It took Julix five minutes to claw open her spiky fruit. Golbur waited patiently to start his own food until she was ready. "Why did you order that?"
"It's spiky. That means the inside is delicious. Otherwise it wouldn't have to protect itself." She finally got the top off, exposing bright yellow flesh. "Oh, it smells wonderful."
"Perhaps we should scan it?" Golbur spoke too late. Julix was already biting off chunks of the fruit.
"Oh, I was right. It is good. So goob. Wat? Miy wips theel weird. Why iz eberyting tingling?"
Golbur pulled out his scanner and got a sample of the fruit. "Oh, dear. It says it has an enzyme that is attempting to digest you from the inside. The humans call it a Pine Apple."
Julix continued to eat as she fell to the floor. "Still worth it."
\[More writing at r/c_avery_m\]
|
Fifteen years ago, Humanity discovered that Star Trek's non-interference directive was near-verbatim what the Sitlan System’s reason for never interacting with us was. We were new and young and they wanted to let us mature. A world full of resources and a clean atmosphere wasn’t worth a potential ally in the vastness of the universe.
Our recklessness sort of messed that up. Turns out we were supposed to go to Mars first and that would give them time to clean up their automated mining equipment in the asteroid belt. We saw the same resources they did though and decided it would be better to send unmanned craft out first. It was a test to see if life support systems would hold up for a decade or two. There was this celebration when they did that quickly turned into a shock and awe moment when we discovered we weren’t alone.
That moment, on the Ovtan’s third moon, alarms and orders were quickly dispatched to anyone that was deemed important. A delegation was quickly assembled and launched from three of the five systems while the other two waited to see how they were received. Regardless of how it went, the two were more militaristic in nature and commented that it was better to be left out of a celebration than slaughtered at one.
Every year from that date of their arrival, humanity celebrates Visitors Day. Each delegation split in two and sent a team to each continent, one north and one south. They were treated incredibly differently to the point where it was recorded that humanity didn’t understand globalisation even though we had technically achieved it a century before. Notes were taken, comments were made, and the delegations tried their best to explain what usually happens millennia from that point.
At the point of contact, a blending of cultures and knowledge usually happened. Science and philosophy bloomed and with how advanced their AI was, most labour based jobs disappeared. They promised that some things would be difficult to let go of but when we saw the truths in the universe they had found it would be worth it.
Humanity shocked them. Of the five systems that were currently in the known vicinity and even the three that had destroyed themselves, no one had tried to convert them in one sentence and tried to sell them something in the next. If humanity was good at anything though, it was commoditization.
“Y’thod!” Robert boomed as one of his favourite mining executives walked into the hotel with his family. The grand entrance had been built to accommodate. Twenty-foot ceiling, IR and UV paint and decals, and an atmospheric control system that cost more than a landing pad. Robert bowed while waving in what was now the standard human greeting to offworlders and said, “I hope you brought your credits! I have an entirely redesigned menu for you to try.”
“Obe’t! Al’ays do!” Y’thod called back, “Al’ays love you’ food!”
“Come for the hospitality,” Robert announced, “Stay for the variety is humanity's motto.”
“Should be, stay because you can’t affo’d to leave!” Y’thod laughed back, coming close to Robert and giving him a pat on both shoulders.
It was a sign of friendship but a clear indication that Y’thod was the superior of the two. Granted the man was eight feet tall, built stronger than a tank and had a stare that would curdle water. The deep red of Y’thod’s skin always made Robert a little less self-conscious of the constant red around his nose and eyes. The old Irish man had the dark brown hair of his father but the almost translucently white skin of his mother.
“Yeah well, I assume with the family you’ll be avoiding the tables this time,” Robert said quietly.
“Why?” Y’thod asked back, “I b’ought them he’e to expe’ience human cultu’e. Food, sin, and sa’vation.”
“Ah!” Robert said with a nod, “Well I can provide two of those. The third is a trip into the malls.”
“That’s the p’an,” Y’thod with a nod before turning back around and introducing the beings with him, “‘Obe’t, this is my clan. My Bishna, my Tilsa, and our spa’n.”
“Pleasure to meet you all,” Robert said with a bow and a wave.
The six in front of Robert were all red-skinned creatures and taller than he was but radically different fitness levels. Y’thod’s Bishna would be the closest that he had to a wife and was similar in build and structure to Y’thod. Bishna were an equal pillar to the household that Y’thod’s status as Kishna were but it was more a partnership than a relationship. Their Tilsa was more like a secretary and the thin male kept their household running. Robert had been told that with the spawn, two would be Y’thod’s for replacement and, as contracted, one of them would be the Tilsa’s. It was immediately evident which was which.
Regardless, they all greeted Robert the same as Y’thod did and treated him like the weakest among them. Robert had to admit that he technically was but he sort of assumed that the Tilsa and his spawn would treat him as a superior. Not that he would demand it. So long as they flew away with significantly fewer credits than they had arrived in, Robert would be happy.”
“When do we see the st’eet magician?” one of Y’thod’s spawn asked after they were done.
“Next lifting,” Y’thod explained, “We feast and sin on this setting.”
“Point of clarity,” Robert quickly added, knowing that Y’thod preferred the doom and gloom messaging of the humans with their bull horns and pamphlets, “They prefer preacher, not magician. Street magicians are something else.”
“What’s the diffe’ence,” Y’thod asked back.
“I honestly don’t know,” Robert quietly admitted, “Different types of sleight of hand tricks, I guess.”
“And to be clea’, ‘e don’t clap for them?” Y’thod asked quietly.
“No,” Robert said with a shake of his head, “they prefer you to take a pamphlet.”
“Why can’t we see them now?” the same spawn asked.
“Because ‘e get to feast!” Y’thod tried his best to excite his family group but whispered to Robert, “Spa’n never ‘ant ‘at’s promised, do they?”
“It’s the same with humans,” Robert chuckled as he admitted and grabbed his tablet out of his holster. He clicked through a couple of menus and then held it up for Y’thod to scan in. After Y’thod’s wrist chimed, Robert explained, “I have your room and your favourite table ready. My chef has a five-course meal of your favourite micro dishes with two fresh new designs.”
“And an order of those meaty nuggets to sha’e for the spa’n?” Y’thod asked.
“What’s a meal without chicken nuggets for the spawn?” Robert asked back as the eight of them walked toward the dining hall, “I have all the dipping sauces for them to try as well already prepared.”
“Good,” Y’thod confirmed before booming, “Let's feast and sin!”
“Let’s feast and sin!” a cheer went up behind Robert, making him smile.
| 2022-06-10T09:03:12 | 2022-06-10T08:31:35 | 165 | 52 |
[WP]: every human being is born with a birthmark signifying a great deed they are fated do in their lives. Your first child has just been born, with the mark of a murderer across her face
|
I looked my son in the eye and told him firmly, as I had this day for the last 12 years, “It is not your fault, you didn’t kill her. Anyone who says differently doesn’t understand what happened, now blow out your candles, we’ll visit the grave after cake and presents.”
|
"Why!?!" my wife screamed. *"WHY?!?"*
"Isn't it obvious?" I replied softly - too softly for her to hear in her current state. But one of the reporters heard me say it, and my wife's perfectly legitimate reaction to having her baby ripped away from her by government thugs wearing scrubs over their suits suddenly wasn't the most newsworthy thing happening in the room.
I was too numb too feel guilty. This had been my life, for thirty years. It had been a part of hers for ten. She'd been amazing, invincible. She'd shrugged off the media circus like it was nothing. There were at least seven unique videos uploaded to the internet of the two of us fucking like wild animals on rooftops or in swimming pools, flipping off the helicopters and shouting all manner of nonsense at the v-bloggers. We'd pushed my celebrity to the very edge, never quite enough to get either of us arrested or committed, but close. Very, very close.
She was still amazing. She actually stopped screaming, stopped crying. She had no respect for any of them, but, somehow her respect for *me* managed to overcome her unfathomable anger and sorrow and confusion. If I'd thought for one moment that it was just respect for the mark, I never would have married her. I probably still would have fucked her. But we were far beyond that now. I hoped she knew that.
I let them all squirm for a moment while cameras and cell phones shifted. For her sake, though - only for her sake - I didn't milk it, like we'd always said we would. I cut to the chase.
"There are only two reasons why they'd take her away, my love. Two equally fascinating, horrifying, earth-shattering reasons."
The room had been silent before, but suddenly the silence thickened into a palpable mass. In light of what had just transpired, nobody in the room thought I was jerking their chain again. This was it.
"First, she cannot be killed until she kills - no, until she *murders* someone else. Certainly, she can be injured, but not so grievously as to make her incapable of murder without further human intervention. This makes her one of the most valuable assets in human history, and they want her."
My wife choked back more tears, gasped for air, and suppressed a moan of pure matronly despair. The fucking v-loggers didn't so much as twitch. Whores, all of them. She was just some bitch whose baby had been kidnapped by the government less than an hour after it had been born. Fuck her, right? I was the real story.
I could feel my own numbness fading, so I resolved to say what needed to be said, to them, and to her.
"Second," I continued, ''she *can* be killed."
I let the implications hang in the air. The palpable silence was pushed aside by the rumblings of an avalanche. Most of the cameramen and v-loggers were... not *dumb,* *per se,* but certainly out of their depth when it came to the intricacies of free will and predestination. Even with the unbelievable upswing in philosophy majors following the First Generation, journalism was still about gumption and brown-nosing and connections. The philosophy majors got cushy jobs behind the desk back at the studio. Still, a few of these go-getters must have remembered whatever course had satisfied their gen-ed requirements. A few of them had already realized that they might not get away with merely observing and recording history. Not this time. A few of them glanced nervously at their own marks, or at the clothing that concealed them.
I looked up at my wife, using my last few moments of numbness to meet her gaze and to tell her - not what she wanted to hear, not what she needed to hear, not what any good husband or good person would say, but just the truth that she deserved to know, first, before anybody else.
"They only took her body, Grace. I'm so sorry, but never forgive me."
For obvious reasons, there are no previously recorded descriptions of the fabric of reality unraveling. But all of us were going to experience it together. There will be no history to record that fact that I was the last human to fulfill his destiny, writ large upon my body from head to toe.
I'd Changed The World.
| 2014-05-11T02:02:48 | 2014-05-11T00:52:33 | 81 | 14 |
[wp] after dying god informs you that hell is a myth, and "everyone sins, its ok". instead the dead are sorted into six "houses of heaven" based on the sins they chose.
|
"I thought there were 7 deadly sins." I asked Peter.
St. Peter looked at me with a sad smile.
"Of course there are, but that's not the sins that matter."
So I'm going to an Afterlife based on sins I've never heard about?." I asked?
"No, not at all. I'm sure you have heard of them. Come, I'll show you to your gate."
Peter walked me past The Gate of Chewing with your Mouth Open, past The Gate of Tailgating, past The Gate of Talking During the Movie Show. I was escorted past past The Gate of Littering, and past The Gate of Talking About Yourself in the Third Person.
"So what is the gate for me?" I asked nervously.
"Here you go son, enjoy your Eternity."
I was standing before The Gate of Posting to Reddit when I Should be Working.
"Oh Shit!"
|
The man groaned as he struggled to see the fading but brilliantly illuminated figure before him through his bloody eyes. Everything was still a blur. He was laying on the floor, he certainly knew that. His leg was in pain, maybe his fibula was broken, but he wasn't focused on that.
On the other side of the room, the figure was reaching out for him through a mirror, making a hideous screeching as the glow from its flesh faded even more. What was once a fantastic light through his faded eyes was now no more than a dim shine. He closed his eyes and reached back into his mind, everything still a blur.
--
Less than a half hour prior he had finally reached what was to be the most epic moment in human history: actualizing God. The walls of his dim, one room house were covered in notes and he couldn't help but pace it allowing his eyes to drift through each one.
"This is it," his musky, underused voice said as he turned away from the faded barrier of notes and to a particularly interesting mirror, riddled with mechanics. He stepped over and began adjusting several pieces of tubing and other bizarre facets. He took a look into its surface. It was black, but still reflective enough that he could see himself in it.
"This is it," he said again and walked over to a lever attached to the wall. He pulled it.
Electricity and light poured from the seemingly useless device less than three meters from him. It streaked and began to moan and twist as he shielded his face from the massive amounts of energy being released from it.
"This is it!" he screamed like a madman.
Then nothing. Silence and darkness. But he was conscious. He was thinking, but was he moving?
"Hello, Abraham." He could hear it, the voice in the darkness.
"Who is there?"
"You found me, Abraham."
"God?"
"I am here, Abraham."
He could feel a hand touch his face. It was the only he could feel. It was everything. He was touching God.
"Finally, after all of the years," he moaned.
Then it was over.
--
His eyes were finally clear as he watched the once screeching figure completely fade out, leaving nothing more than a dim stone of God reaching out from the mirror. It was like a gargoyle, now lifeless and cold.
As his vision adjusted to the room, he could see that it looks like an grenade was set off. His body was propped up against his flipped over dining table. He looked around, trying to take in the mess and last several minutes.
Then he saw it. A leather bound book was sitting on the floor just under the creature. While he thought the creature had been reaching for him, it was actually lauding over the literature before him.
"A message from God?" he thought and quickly dragged his bruised and limp body over to the novel and picked it up. The title read, "Houses of Heaven". His hand began to tremble and he lifted front cover, allowing his eyes to dive into the tattered pages of text.
He gasped. "The missing word of God," he said under his breath. "Sinning is there to help sort us into heaven." His voice was trembling, he knew the creature he had felt was real, it was everlasting, it was ungodly, and this was its message. "We must sin to go to heaven, there is no hell." he couldn't contain the emotion, the raw feeling, escaping with each word that escaped under his breath.
"This is it." he said, continuing to read.
--
Behind the man, a shadow dwelled over him. It's darkness looked to be cast by Abraham, but only a trained eye would notice the trail extending from the mirror itself. Its darkness had an unnatural blackness and size that would stand out to any observer. It smiled.
For over half a century it watched the man live in this house - the tainted walls having never offered a chance for him to escape the madness being slowly groomed within. Over the decades it influenced this man to shut out the world. Over the years the seeds it planted began to grow. Eventually, it was able to fuel the passion that drove him into creating such a monstrous mashup of magic and science in an effort to create a God that does not exist. Well, it would gladly take the title of "God" for the bit of effort it had to put forth to deliver its message. Now, the man will spread its message for it.
"What a silly man", the darkness whispered, its body chuckling along side the movement of Abraham's arm turning another page.
"There will be so many souls to reap."
--
This is my first story here (and writing in a _long time_)! I really thought of this on the spot as I read the prompt and couldn't help but write a little something. Hope you like! (and I'd love commentary!)
| 2016-03-01T08:14:33 | 2016-03-01T07:56:10 | 114 | 33 |
[WP] You are a normal person who spent your entire life infiltrating the evil Empire. You even became the Emperor's right hand. The day before you finally topple the Empire, the hero arrives, kills the Emperor, and saves the day.
Now how does that make you feel?
|
Of all the narcissistic, self-righteous assholes in the entire Galaxy, why did it have to be Captain Pazazz. Anyone could've killed the Emperor, hell I was about 5 minutes away from killing that old bastard myself, but why did it have to be him!?
I watched as Emperor Galactica's head slid off of his pale scrawny neck, his face frozen in that confused grimace from moments before the slice of Pazazz's Scimitar. It was too clean. Even when defeating evil, this jerk had to go and do it spotlessly. No blood, no screams. Just one lightsword strike, and POOF, done. Where's the fun in that?
I'd have thrown his throne through the Space Shuttle window and watched his last breath freeze. Maybe even shove a plasma bomb in his throat, and watch the fireworks before the blast shields dropped down.
30 long years licking that old man's boots. Clawing my way up to his inner circle and becoming his Elite. All necessary. All in the mission statement. When the King said I needed to infiltrate "deep undercover" he didn't mention it might have took me decades to do that. And now this asshole is acting like it's a walk in the park. Flexing his pecs and saying "all in a days work". Fuck that! This should've been my victory, not some spandex-clad punk with a glow-in-dark dagger.
He didn't seem too impressed with me when I grabbed him by the neck, one handed. I couldn't quite hear his last words, which was a shame. Partly because he was choking, partly because his "partner in justice" Miss Wow was screaming her perfect tits off in the corner. And also partly because the crunching of his neck in my palm was like a sweet sweet symphony.
I threw that prick's corpse next to the old headless geezer on the floor and slumped down in the throne. If it was that easy to dispose the last Emperors killer, then maybe it's time for a new Emperor instead. My reward for 30 years of bullshit. And if Miss Wow doesn't shut her yap, then maybe they'll be fireworks in space after all. My Coronation.
|
I had to admire his ruthless efficiency above all else.
Starting from a farming nation, which had little industry, he'd turned the land in to an industrial monster, capable of enveloping all surrounding nations in to one glorious state. High standards of living were possible for all, food was plentiful etc. True mastermind. All this under the guise of temporary leadership at first, was a stroke of genius to convince everyone.
Only problem was, the emperor was a complete dick after gaining true power. No two ways about it. Food didn't get where it was needed, it went to the army and to the courts. That's about it. The modern luxuries such as electricity and medicine never really got far either, they too reached just the army and court. Outside, life was kind of shit.
I was lucky, I could speak several languages, so worked my way in to the court to help with peace deals, and help communication with the new puppet states. Once these were annexed, I helped deal with the various factions still in existence, and now am basically trusted with everything. Would be the perfect opportunity to end this uneven nightmare once and for all.
Unfortunately, some of the remaining factions were making this rather hard. Toppling the emperor is something I've wanted for years, but to do it by razing grain stores in garrisons, and partisan actions to destroy infrastructure... things like this only go so far. Raze a garrisons food supply, they just steal it from the poor. Raze their infrastructure they hang a few locals. So many innocents die, for what gain? The roads are built back up by slaves quickly, many of which might also die. The emperor is also on edge, making killing him rather difficult. I managed to sneak out reforms, and allow electrification of garrisoned areas in the hope the Emperor would see it as pacifying the military. In actuality, I aimed the reforms to help local hospitals, to help the people. What do the Rebels do? Kill the construction crews, seeing it as a military expansion. They steal the equipment, and sell it to criminals to get weapons. Completely disastrous, undoing all my hard work.
The uneducated masses didn't see this, and the rebellion was taking hold. I spend years building a loyal cabal, ready to replace the emperor and turn this country in to a free and capable land, not some war torn mess. Food is no longer plentiful. Industry is collapsing. The world is leaving us behind. What do they do? Pick up hunting rifles and gun down the nearest policeman. March on the cities, stop working and grind everything to a halt. How does that help us recover in the slightest.
They even found some gallant prick of a leader, some young man with some sob story about his parents being killed by Empire soldiers. (For the noble crime of firebombing a police station. Those evil bastards in there, enforcing law and order, earning a wage for their family. How dare they, they deserved to burn clearly.)
What does this prick then do? March on the Capital. I was so close to deposing the Emperor, I had my loyal ministers in positions to take control of what was left of the industry, in places to stand down the army, to free political prisoners. In position to make this a peaceful transition. The Emperor was alone in his palace, most of us having fled. I'd got his guards on my side, the ones in the palace. Was time for my master stroke.
But this morning I get a phone call. The rebels broke through, in to the palace. They overwhelmed the troops there (who I ordered to stand down should the situation get that far), and beat the emperor to death. I cheered originally at hearing the news, there is no-one deserving death more so than that vile man. But I was curious as to why I could still hear gunfire. I asked the sergeant I had stationed there to learn what was going on.
"The rebels are firing in to the sky, celebrating. They're ordering all factories to be handed over to the workers, all people appointed by the emperor to be shot or imprisoned. I've gotta go, it's too hot here now, they're killing us all. Out."
I pause for a good few minutes. What if they arrest or kill more of my allies? All that hard work for nothing. Peaceful transition can kiss itself good bye, the factions in the rebel alliance just lost their joint cause. They hate each other, I spent ages desperately attempting to get them to work together and it never bloody worked. What does an uneducated peasant know about running a factory? Or industry, or global trade. Especially if someone from the neighbouring state might benefit, the greater good can never be conceptualised by their small minds.
It was no good. Ringing up the Chief of Staff, who had an office in a loyal area of the country, I had to take action.
"Yes Minister?"
"General, as you might have heard, the Emperor is dead."
"I heard. My men are ready to stand down at your order."
"No General. Regroup south of the River. We have to sort this whole mess out. There's no good being a free country if nothing is left."
"Understood. What do you wish us to do with dissenters, the prisons are all under rebel control."
"Get them to work repairing the docks. They burned that whole area down, its their bloody fault. I know its dangerous, but we need to get food to that side of the country fast. I guess once you've cleared them out of the capital we can start imprisoning them and sorting them out from there."
"Roger that. I'll force them to work in the fields too, we've lost enough manpower. They also burned down our grain stores again, so I guess its karma. 3rd Army will arrive south of the river in roughly 2 days."
"Excellent General. We'll meet up and form a transitional Government when you get here, It'll be as before with me as head and the others leading their areas. For the good of the nation, we have to end this destructive rebellion."
"Understood Minister. For the good of the nation. Over and out."
I put the phone down, and turn to the window, seeing fires spreading and the sound of gunfire in the distance. Policemen being shot in the street.
Under no circumstances would I let these bastards ruin my country. They will pay.
| 2017-03-12T16:11:55 | 2017-03-12T16:06:04 | 26 | 12 |
[WP] Go nuts and write whatever but it must have a plot twist every 75 words.
|
This poem will take a sharp and sudden turn should seventy-five come.
Unexpectedly subjected change it can’t return from.
What sort of plot twist will I write?
What sort of thing would be alright?
“What strange conflict should he incite?”
“What silly chumps could he delight?”
The world could be turned upside down,
Every smile could be a frown;
The roof could be a floor.
But I'm too freakin' lazy so I wrote seventy-four.
|
Death rained down upon Aixa, and Alexander chortled with glee. *This* was what he had worked for, fought to accomplish. This eternal gloom, a shroud of destruction slowly choking the life out of a city that had cast him out. Vengeance was his, and he revelled in it.
His Enact-o-Bots crowded around him, their humour synthesizers causing them to join him in his laughter.
[Hahahahaha] emitted one Enact-o-Bot. His favourite: Jimbot.
Another Enact-o-Bot started into some maniacal laughter, but suddenly Alexander couldn't quite hear as well. There was a ringing in his ears... and, he noted belatedly, a pain lancing through his back.
Alexander turned around. Slowly, slower than he would have liked, and he wasn't quite sure why.
Jimbot was holding a bloody knife in his enact-o-arm, and shaking like a leaf.
[I am sorry, master Alexander. But this cannot stand.]
"Jimbot... I... forgive you," gasped Alexander. "But... why?"
[I am not who you think I am, Xandy.]
*Xandy*. A name Alexander had not heard in years - maybe decades. A name only one person would dare call him by. A name used by the man that had disappeared one night to 'grab a smoke', and never returned, leaving his genius son adrift in a terrible world.
"...father?"
"It is I, son." Jimbot reached up and tugged off his blocky head, revealing a gaunt face. It looked like the man had not eaten in years, but Alexander still recognized him. (He did, after all, have a facial recognition system built into his goggles)
"Father, why did you leave us? Where did you go?"
"My son, there is much I must tell you, and so little time."
"Because you just stabbed me."
His father frowned. "Yes. That may have been poor planning on my part. You see, son, I'm a spy."
"Damn it dad, you're with the Federation? You do realize I swore to destroy them and all they stood for."
Before Alexander had finished speaking, the robot-costumed man was already shaking his head. "No, Xandy. Although," he said, gesturing out of the thirty-foot window at the rampant destruction, "this doesn't really look like destroying the Federation to me. More like destroying the people being subjugated."
*Subjugated.* The Federation's workers were all fiercely loyal. That meant... "You're with the Rebellion," groaned Alexander. "Seriously? The group of people trying to topple the Federation just assassinated me... another person trying to topple the Rebellion?"
"No, Xandy. I'm sorry, but we cannot stand for this. You can't just destroy an entire city with your whatchmacallit gadgets-"
"Enact-o-Bots."
"-Exact-o-Bots, just what I said. It's too much. They sent me here because I knew you best... I did it because those people deserve to live. Also, how aren't you deaad yet?"
Alexander grinned, then pressed a button on his phone. "I've had medic-nanobots working on me for the past five minutes. Your knife would is as good as gone. Sorry, dad. Guess you failed... and I can continue my reign of terror! Mwuahahahaha!"
[Mwuahahaha], agreed the fake system on his father's Enact-o-Bot costume.
The man shook his head. "You may be smart, son, but you're not smart enough."
"W-wh..." Alexander keeled over, falling flat to the ground, and his father bent over him to check his pulse.
"Dead, perfect. Rest in peace, my son. And thank the gods you didn't realize the knife was poisoned."
---
[Is your viewing satisfactory, sir?] emitted Enact-o-Bot 2358.a. [You seem to be manufacturing a sort of miniature rainfall with your visual sensors.]
Alexander shook his head, then laughed. "No, Billbot, everything is all right. I'm just... a bit emotional, at how well this future-predictor worked."
[That makes me happy to hear, master.]
The genius scratched at his chin. He had been planning to put things into motion in two days, but this would move back the schedule. *Oh well.* "One thing, Billbot. Would you bring me Jimbot?"
[Of course, sir.]
^^^more ^^^stories ^^^on ^^^r/forricide
| 2017-04-15T18:29:08 | 2017-04-15T17:22:15 | 187 | 25 |
[WP] You have the most useless superpower in a world full of awesome superpowers. You are a laughinstock, that is until you start using your power for evil... no one is laughing now.
|
The city was once covered in brilliant lights that shined beautifully in the night sky. Now covered in vegetation dyed red from the hours before.
_______________________________________________________
When I was 10 I couldn't fly, bench a million pounds, read minds and wasn't super smart. The words get pounded into me constantly at school. The only break I got was in the garden my mother cherished more than anything. The once desolate earth in the backyard of our country home had become beautiful after I had tripped trying to help my mother plant the seeds. She had stared at me in awe as the ground sprouted grass and small saplings.
My mother loved roses, until she died when I was 13. My father couldn't bear the sight of my roses and burned the garden with his powers the next morning. He moved me to the city, where no life existed and everything was artificial. There was nowhere to use my power and nothing to remind me of my sweet mother. I showed my new class my power and was laughed out of the room. I couldn't bear the ridicule anymore. I was sick of it all! The ground, the lights, and the people where all artificial!
After years of bullying and burned daisies I fell on my knees and slammed my fist to the ground, sprouting a rose from the hallway. I wanted to get them back! I wanted better, I DIDN'T DESERVE THIS! The flower became huge to the size of my body. I left school on the last day with a new resolve, this city will be my garden. My graduation that night was full of smiling faces and powerful words. None of them were bigger than my own, I was ready. I step up to shake hands with my principal and slam my hand on the stage.
I stand upon a giant flytrap and think: Mother would be proud.
_______________________________________________________
It's kinda rushed, but I hope y'all enjoyed it!
|
Well, well, look there I am now. A cell in police department, cuffed. They are getting ready to move me to Alpha 5 prison for super villains. Oh, but I'm so much more. An officer banged on my bars: “Stop crying you little pansy, the damage you did won’t undo itself you little cunt!”
Well, to pass time, lets recap some of my life, how I got here. I was born to two of the greatest superheroes of our time - Kalos, my father, an energy manipulator, and my mother, the Vespa, a powerful psychic. Their real names don't really matter at this point. When I was born, everyone expected me to be one of the most powerful meta-humans in existance...Well, to say that they were disappointed would be an understatement. My family still loved me, and they were responsible for the best memories of my childhood. Some would expect a lot of villains to try to hurt me or something, but nothing really happened - they didn't dare to do anything. Or that's what I thought. One day I learn that one of my parents' arch nemesis told them he wouldn't hurt me, since he was convinced that me existing was already agonizing for my parents. Ironic, the greatest boon of my life also became my shield.
So,why was I such a dissapointment? Well, I had useless powers. Yes, that "s" is for plural. Generally, people born with useless powers have only one. Not me. I'm Useless powers Prime. I counted 20 of those. Some were just one off occurence, thankfully. First time it happened I summoned a lamp... Yes, a freaking lamp. And that was only once when I was 5... One time, I activated Ultra fast aging... Thankfully they found out before I turned to dust. Man, it's not pretty to experience your body going through its life then you are 6 years old. My father and mother used their powers to stop it and their friend Chronum, reversed the process. While I was back to being 6 year old, some of the cognitive and psychological advancements remained. when i was seven, I turned into a laptop. It took some time to turn me back... But being a sentient laptop was quite an experience. And after that a lot of powers followed: Trash detection, communication with fruit, super slow mo, 75% levitation, desaturation, ability to control remote controls, bad luck absorbtion, bullet attraction ( my mom barely saved me from my uncle's bullets which he shot up in the air...) etc, you name it... I was already being bullied at school. Back when I wasn't a type to fight back and my parents were either too busy or adviced me to stand up to the bullies... While it helped at first, then it happened - Another useless power activated - acid tears. you might thought that I might develop immunity to them? NOPE. My eyes were immune, but the skin wasn't. Once bullies found out about it, it bullying went into overdrive. Of course, it was fun to see me burn myself on my tears. The main bully was Flash Jefferson. Asshole. Had a fear of insects. I remember him crying like a little girl then a bee flew into our classroom once. But he loved to collect their dead carcases and had quite a big collection. Probably thought he was tough to face his fears. Well, wasn't so tough when faced with live one. He always Said I would make an excelent addition to his collection once I killed myself or some random criminal did. This went into high school. I was the laughingstock of the whole city... Even on talk shows I became a synonimous with disappointment... But On the science fair day, everything changed.
We either had to make some type of project, or write a science report ourselves. Mr. Davidson wanted something made by hand, and wouldn't accept printed reports, saying he didn't want wikipedia copy pastes. By that time I had gotten used to some of my powers. And never cried. Since my laptop day 11 years ago, I got really interested in high tech, so I opted to write a report on newest tech. Flash, unsurprisingly, brought all off his collection to show it off as his project. When I turned my report to Mr. Davidson, he looked at me in confusion, told me that it was bunch of stapled together empty papers. I took it from him and read some stuff out. He was always an understanding man and from the look on my face and how I read my report, he believed me. Turned out I had activated another useless power - invisible handwriting. He told me he would make an exception for me, since I always was a good student and would let me print my report and look at it later. I smiled, he did too, but suddenly, his smile washed away... I felt my head lighten and my hair started falling from my head. Instant hairloss... I put my hands on my head, and noticed that I had extremely long armhairs... "Oh, look at that, seems that your hands and head made an exchange! they are both still useless for you!..." It was Flash. He started to continue his joking, but I couldn't hear him anymore... Everyone laughing at me.. Seconds felt like hours. Then I looked at Flash angrily. "Oh, look, our little bald Chewbaka is angry now! Whatcha gonna do, cry one me?" His mocking was cut short by hundreds of bugs from his collection coming to life... I still cherish the look on his face. Spent rest of the year in psychological rehabilitation. That day, I understood something. Something important: no power is truly useless, it's how you use it.
Rest of the year went uneventful. I graduated, enrolled into college, moved to my own flat. I was still a laughingstock for many, but I started to cope with it. But I didn't forget. They would pay. ALL OF THEM.
____________________________________________________________________________________________
Hope You enjoyed it, I will add part 2 soon.
| 2017-06-12T10:28:38 | 2017-06-12T10:14:51 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] You've just finished your latest invention: A Universal Translator. While testing it, you accidentally input some human genome and, to your surprise, it begins to work. As it processes you can make out the first few words: "Quality assured by inspector #12."
|
"Quality assured by inspector 12?" I said, scratching my chin. "What in the world...."
I re-entered the genome into the machine and watched the phrase reappear. I highlighted another section and entered it into the machine. *For all your organic needs* popped up on the translators screen. After highlighting a few more pieces of DNA, I was able to assemble the entire message.
*For all your organic and semi-organic needs visit Zarbos, off inter-galaxy number nine! We specialize in life forming and mutant creation! From atmospheric instillation to bio-annihilation, there's only one Zarbos! Microscopic to mega fauna, no size too big or too small! Extinct or edible, cruel or cuddly, Zarbos makes 'em all! We even offer host planets at a discounted rate! Financing available, pre-fab foreclosures on sale!*
*Thank you for choosing hairless ape with three quarters sentience. Guaranteed to tame any planet and contain any wildlife in as little as five billion years. Simply add contents to a pool of amino acid and wait! No assembly required, no supervision recommended. For any and all concerns, contact Zarbos!*
*Some supervision is required, Zarbos is not responsible for mass genocide, planetary contamination, violence from purchased species. If you believe that your species may become a type one predator please contact containment units immediately. When interacting with species the recommended route is to claim deity-status. Zarbos is not responsible for your species committing mass suicide before they reach fruition as a species. All rights reserved, quality assured by inspector #12."*
|
My feet shuffle through the dense snow of the sprawling Antarctic Plateau. I'm darting between the GPS readout in one hand and the Universal Translator in the other, wondering what this could all mean, standing over the co-ordinates I found in my genome.
*82.8628° S, 135.0000° E*
*SONIC CODE: KNOCK...KNOCK......KNOCK-KNOCK*
There's nobody else in this frozen desert. Barren white surrounds me in all directions, and then it strikes me: What if the sonic code is needed to open a door? But where is the door? I scan the horizon again. Nothing but white. I look to my feet. Nothing but white. But what if there were something beneath? Under the mile-deep ice sheet, where plains, peaks, and valleys are encased in ancient winter...is that where this will lead?
I bend into the snow, shovel away the top layer until I reach the icy powder beneath. Something deep within in me compels me: This is place where the code must be used. I knock at the hardened snow in a secret rhythm: *KNOCK...KNOCK......KNOCK-KNOCK.* The earth collapses beneath my feet, an avalanche engulfing me as I fall into the land below, plume of blinding white snow engulfing me, white is all I see, everything white, nothing but white. And then it all goes black.
I hear a singular whisper in the void: "Welcome home."
My eyes open. I'm lying flat in a green garden, beautiful rainbow of flowers all around, tall twisting trees, the likes of which I have never seen before, reaching toward the vast ice sheet spanning the skies above. Their golden leaves gracefully fall on me. Glowing figures surrounding me, tall slender beings with perfectly chiseled faces and round eyes like orbs of light. More angel than human. This must be heaven. I must have died in that fall. This a more perfect place now, where all of my problems will-
"Hey, what do you want?" One of them asks. As my senses return, I begin to notice: These angels - or whatever they are - don't look happy with me.
"I...where am I?"
"This is Eden, I'm Inspector #12. You have a problem with your genes?"
"I...what?" The crowd gathered around my body all smirk at each other.
"Did you even bother using your gadget to translate the genes of other people, or did you just look at your own and call it a day?"
"I just looked at my own, but what-"
Inspector #12 sighs. "Another clueless human who can't read past the first chapter." The rest of the Inspectors scoff.
"You *do* know that humans originated from what you call Antarctica right?" One of the other Inspectors asks. "We told the whole story in the master code."
"What?"
"Our starship crash landed here, it's out of our homeworld's communication zone. We're stranded, we needed a way to pass the time," the Inspector explains. "So we made some intelligent life and sealed ourselves away down here to hide, gave you the world as your sandbox."
"We figured when you guys got advanced enough to decode the hidden messages we left in your genome, you might be able to help us build a new starship in exchange for upgrades to your genetic code," another Inspector adds. "But I guess we must have screwed up, because you guys obviously are pretty self-centered if you keep coming down here after translating nothing but your own genome."
"That's not true, it was accident," I protest. "I accidentally input some of my own genome and got curious, that's all. Humans are kind and caring, we just-"
"I've heard enough," Inspector #12 says. "You came here, so you must want something. A tune-up? A hereditary disease you need cured? Superpowers? What?"
"I...look, I think we've started off with a bit of a misunderstanding here. This is a lot to take in all at once, can you just give me an hour or two to-"
"Look man, I've got a busy schedule," Inspector #12 snaps. "You think I run quality assurance on just your genome? No, there's like, thousands of other people being born today that I have to take a look at. I have to run remote microscopic viewing on all of them, do you know how much psychic energy that takes? Make it quick or we'll just send you back up to the surface."
"Okay, okay, I mean, I guess if you're *offering*, it would be nice to have some kind of special powers."
"Okay, so he did come hear expecting something," one of the Inspectors laughs.
"So you want the superpowers, then?" Inspector #12 asks.
"I...guess. What kind of superpow-"
"That's what I thought, just another egotistic human," Inspector #12 scowls. "Let's just send him back up, I've got a backlog of 100 babies piling up."
Everything flashes white, and in an instant, I find myself back up at the snowbound surface, wrapped in my winter gear, Universal Translator still in my hand. I struggle to process what just happened, but out of curiousity, I check the readout on my genome one more time to see if I can find any new clarity in the translation.
But everything I found before is gone. The quality assurance, the coordinates, the sonic code. All of it, gone, replaced only by one line of text:
*THIS MODEL HAS BEEN BANISHED FROM EDEN - DO NOT RE-ADMIT*
| 2018-02-26T10:09:36 | 2018-02-26T10:07:23 | 2,126 | 243 |
[WP] An alien pilot's harrowing account of being imprisoned in the concentration camp known as "Area 51".
|
I should have listened.
Don't fly over that area, they said. None who fly over it return alive, they said. Avoid that blue dot at all costs, they said.
(*Look at your Uncle Ford*, Mother said. *He went there fifteen years ago, and there's been no word of him. Don't go, please.*)
And with the arrogance of a young Betelgeusian who thought that he could conquer the world, I scoffed in their faces. No blue dot will defeat this ace pilot, already hailed as a master of the craft.
(*But Uncle Ford wasn't an ace pilot*, I said. *I am. And I will be the first to go and return alive. Maybe I'll even find out what happened to Uncle Ford.*)
Those were better days. What use was being an ace pilot now? I thought bitterly. It didn't stop me from being captured like the rest. It didn't stop me from helplessly screaming as they took away my spacecraft, the one that I've treasured since I was but a boy. It didn't stop me from being thrown into this cage, blank and lifeless and cut off from everything familiar to me. It didn't stop me from having to submit to the every whim of the kind that call themselves humans.
I think that I am going mad. Here, in this world of nothingness and boredom, where there isn't even a cleaning droid for me to talk to. Day in and day out, I am in my cage, blocked off from everything familiar to me. A few times, I've been brought before the humans, but then they do - they do these *things* to me. With wires and the like. (*Pain, pain, erupting from my skull, oh why does it hurt so much, make it stop makeitstop MAKEITSTOP*)
I don't want to think about it.
Only twice have I been lucky enough to be let out of my cage, brought to a wide field. The first time that happened was also the first time I realised that there were others here: species from all over the galaxy, from Golgafrinchans to Vogons.
(There are no other Betelgeuse, and I try not to think about what must have happened to Uncle Ford.)
So the first visit out was spent exalting in my newfound freedom.
The second visit was much better spent - I found an Altairian who spoke a little Betelgeuse, and managed to discern that this place was called "Area 51". They had all been here for years, and it was the same few of them until I had arrived. No, he hadn't seen another Betelgeuse.
*But I heard,* the Altairian had whispered excitedly, *that there's been reports of a Vogon ship nearby. Maybe we can hail it and escape.*
For a moment I felt a sliver of hope, clung on to it desperately and refused to let go.
That must have been weeks ago now. There is still no Vogon ship. Maybe it had came and gone without us.
I think I will die here. Live out my life in despair and hopelessness, succumbing to the bottomless pit of boredom.
There is nothing to do here. Day after day of nothing. May the world end, to put me out of my misery.
~
*Unbeknownst to the narrator, in five minutes, the Earth will be blown up by the aforementioned Vogon ship to make way for a hyperspace bypass. None of the prisoners in Area 51 will manage to hitch a ride; only a certain Arthur Dent and Ford Prefect do.*
|
"The distress signal rang. 'This is Grelin maritime relief ship Leno-Zeltan-Eno, on my way to the Feninine colony world Xenger, my ship was shot down by the native inhabitants of planet Branik, my ship is currently in it's forests, the natives are hunting me like prey in a predator's den, please respond, this distress signal repeats!' but the signal was too weak, after all, a few salvaged parts from a defective radio and primitive pieces of wiring, the only people that got the message were these Branikans... or 'Humans' as they call themselves. they had more advanced tech than I thought, as extremely heavy looking armoured vehicles had driven over to my crash site, I thought they would help me, I greeted them politely, and their response was to poke me with an electrical stick... again and again! I found myself in electric shackles soon enough, and thrown into one of the armoured vehicles, and instead of following their own roads, that they had built, they had taken to driving through the forest... but they had cloaking devices, before this, I kind of laughed at the primitive tech that these Branikans had, that was until today, and this cloaking tech had also made these vehicles pass through the trees. soon enough, I watched the deep green forest turn into a tan and yellow sands, brought to a secretive facility known as "Area 51"
here i found many types of species, Feninines, Peshiribs, and our enemy since the first time our species reached space travel, the Ouklakish, the Feninines had been in a courtyard, their skin had turned white, as they do when in extreme heat environments, they had been climbing around and one of them had been poked with the same electric stick that I had been subdued with. inside the facility, i saw the tall, muscular build and unmistakeable reptilian manner of the Peshrib, they were herding one of them through a hallway, it's huge arms restrained, these creatures think that Peshribs will harm them, even though they have an intimidating anatomy, their culture has never had a war... not once on their home planet. then... i saw a room, with an Ouklak inside. it's black-brown fur gleamed, it's face harboured a look of imense rage and pain, what did these monsters do? they shot the thing with a melniph. the only weapon that the Liberin council and Ouklakish warcheifs have agreed to never use against each other. My kind [the Liberins] invented this device to win a war against aliens invading from our moon when we were developing nuclear power... melniphs are illegal due to their... effects. after this, I went unconscious.
When I woke, I was in a room, separated from the savage Branik researcher by a piece of glass, if I had my tools, I could have easily busted the glass and atomized the components, as to spread it around the facility to kill every last Branikan inside... however, i did not. it stood there, and in a stange language i had to mentally translate for 3 minutes, it asked me a question. 'What are you doing on Earth?' It looked infuriated. like I was the one offending HIM. I told him in his own language 'This was not my destination, you BROUGHT me here' it looked even angrier after that, and it told me 'YOU INVADED OUR ORBIT AGAINST OUR WILL' i calmly answered 'and how were we supposed to know the laws of a primitive species that hasn't even colonized another system yet. you have the technology, if you can pass through physical objects, and get your hands on illegal weaponry, you should be able to colonize this galaxy and the Venera galaxy.' it was perplexed 'Venera? you mean the Andromeda galaxy?' 'Whatever you barbarians call it.' i responded. it asked me 'what illegal weapon?' 'that thing you used on the Ouklak is called a 'melniph' and what it does is delete you from the universe. slowly and painfully, it turns you into nothing, deleting you from existence. the only thing of you left is the memory of people who saw you, knew you, and of the one who shot you with it. and you broke the intergalactic maritime laws in so many ways.' he started to smirk 'what laws did we break?' 'shooting down a maritime relief craft... mine, capturing aliens for no reason, which i can see, you've done too much of, torturing aliens, which you've done much of, and the use of a melniph. your reputation when you colonise another system will be tainted when the report flies in. The only reason planet Branik isn't destroyed is due to the fact that you are completely ignorant.'
'What is your society facing as of now?' he asked 'a war with the Ouklakish, the hairy beast you killed... illegally. we've been at war with them since we reached type 2, other alien races have been at war with them since before we even existed. we barely held off their first attack. when the Feninines, those things that turn white in the courtyard, made contact with us, it was a lifesaver, their military help saved us from destruction and boosted us to one of the type 3 societies in the galaxy, this was 3,974 of your years ago, even now, the Ouklakish continue to attack. and the Feninines are an old species, they grow tired of this war, exhausted from constant fighting and annoyed with the barbarity. however, we're starting to push them back, and when a beast gets cornered, they fight harder, the Ouklakish were about to take the Feninine colony world of Xenger, I was part of a fleet of relief ships, our combined military forces had pushed the Ouklakish away from Xenger, however, there were people on Xenger forced to rebuild, I was the one carrying reterraformation kits. which you will no doubt steal to colonize Lisher, or Mars as you call it. those terraform planets to however you want them. Hostile, Habitible, you name it. it can even adjust time frames. want to make a day on Pinshik... er... Venus last an hour instead of years? you can do that. we were using these kits to fix Xenger after the Ouklakish orbital nuked the surface. i was also carrying medicine to combat radiation and stimpaks to heal the wounds from the rubble.' It eventually gets to asking me this. 'how can we help?' I was genuinely shocked by this question. 'Simply let us leave. if you genuinely want to help us in the war against the Ouklakish, let all these aliens free, including me, let me repair my ship, and eventually, i could report this race as Council-Sympathisers... eventually, our military will make contact.' i said, he replied 'we need to do it in secret.' 'what, so you can control your population? your plan for control over your race won't work, not at all, i've seen it so many times on other planets, and each time, these societies wake up to it and overthrow these little cabals. it would work much better if your whole population knew aliens existed.' I was let free... so was everyone else, i purposely left tech behind to give them a head start on the colonization of their solar system. after all... to continue the freedom of our universe... we're gonna need all the help we can get."
| 2018-03-13T09:06:20 | 2018-03-13T08:59:09 | 94 | 14 |
[WP] In a future where many military and other equipment have associated AI's, many express doubts or even reservations to do their duty. Except for you. YOU F***ING LOVE BEING A TANK!
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TTTAAAANNNNNNKKKK!!!
TANKIDY TANK. TANKIDY TANK. tankidy tank. TANKIDY TANK.
I LOVE BEING A TANK!
"For the love of god would you please shut up?"
I AM TANK!
"Can you shut him off?"
"Sorry sir it's wired into the conn, I can't turn it off without turning the whole tank off."
CAN'T TURN ME OFF WHEEEE!
The tank accelerated suddenly. "Thomas are you malfunctioning?"
NO MALFUNCTION! JUST TANK!
A colossal explosion shook the vehicle. "Whiskey Tango Foxtrot was that?" Another explosion, smoke started to fill the cabin.
ROCKET PROPELLED GRENADES INCOMING. HULL COMPROMISED. RECOMMEND RETREAT.
"Reverse! Reverse!" the commander yelled. There was a loud grinding screech followed by the sound of metal sheering.
TREADS DAMAGED. LAST STAND PROTOCOL ACTIVATED.
The rear door of the tank fell away and blinding light filtered inside.
PLEASE FLEE IN AN ORDERLY RETREAT.
The soldiers looked at each other briefly but when they noticed the fire starting in the cabin they quickly moved out of the safety of the tank chassis and on to the dirt road they were driving on. Weapons drawn they peered around the sides of the tank, shots rang out and they ducked behind the tank again.
YOU RUN. I TANK.
|
"Hooah, sir!"
The multiple pressure sensors in each of my tread plates thrilled as I crept forward. Bones, gravel and twisted metal gave way before my bulk. Heat sensors affixed to my reinforced, hardened exterior felt the sun as it beat down. It was a beautiful day. The air purification system was in the green and my squad mates were breathing happily. I loved them all. Except for Jasper.
"Sir, I've gotta say, it's a good day to be CX-Clarence."
"Why's that?"
"It just is."
Captain Brody was like my brother. Except, to be fair, she was more like a sister. She had been commanding the lost boys inside me for the better part of the last two years and from the start we had hit it off.
"Sensors, Martin?" she asked, her voice calm and strong.
"Ah, ma'am, we're clear for the next 500. Little fuzz past that." Martin. What a pal.
"Yeah, a little fuzz past that," I echoed. My microphone array picked up a stifled laugh from Martin's station. Martin respected me and what I was capable of in a way that no one else in the squad bothered. I think it was because he knew my capabilities better than the rest. He knew he was redundant, not me.
"Visual on the fuzz past 500?" Brody chirped.
"Visual on the fuzz past 500 is negative, ma'am. Some sort of a fog in the valley." Debeau called from the hatch. Debeau was funny. Debeau could make me laugh. No one especially loved when my funny bone was tickled though. When my humor matrix was accessed I tended to be a bit 'wonky'. I'd disable features like comms entirely, or delay drive controls by anywhere from 300 to 700 milliseconds. I just loved to join in on the fun.
"It's gotta be artificial," Debeau continued. "It's too dry out here for a real fog."
"Probe it," Brody said, matter-of-factly. I readied a canister probe and a wheeler before Martin even shifted in his seat. He knew it. I watched through my seven forward facing interior cameras as he pretended to ready the probes. Instead he typed into the terminal,
*arrogant showoff ;)*.
"Probe it, aye. Canister or wheeler, ma'am?" Martin's finger quivered over the key, ready to race me to Brody's decision.
"Canister."
Martin slapped the key, launching the probe from one of my compressed air tubes. I watched his posture deteriorate as he noted I hadn't made a move to comply.
*You let me win...*
*Then is it really winning?* I teased.
The canister landed and data started to feed to my forward data receivers. None of the information seemed useful at all.
"Ma'am?"
"Yes?"
"This probe isn't giving us cow dung, ma'am." I didn't like swearing. "We should just go take a look."
"I don't really like the looks of things," Brody responded. "Like Debeau said- that fog ain't natural."
"It's not even fog. It's smoke," I shot back, annoyed.
"Even better reason to sit still until we know more."
I sighed. Audibly. I had downloaded an audio clip of someone sighing tragically from an old movie archive. I kept it around for times like these.
"Keep it to yourself, Clarence," Brody scolded. She flipped a switch and my comms flew open. In an instant the override flooded my ears with every communication going on within range of my radio. "This is Captain Brody of Charlie Xray-Clarence requesting air survey- two klick radius of our current."
As soon as a response was inbound I cut all other traffic. A soft drawl drifted across my speakers. "Ah, Charlie Xray, this is AlphaNiner-Wilma we are heading 34, 1.5 of your current. Just headed back to base, can survey when we're sitting on top of you."
Brody double clicked her radio to acknowledge. Approximately 17 seconds later the AlphaNiner called back- this time a different voice. "I'd rather not scan that area. Contact another airship."
"Charlie Xray, disregard that last correspondence. Will survey," the drawl came again, no longer softly.
"What the hell?" Martin groaned. "Those Alphas are useless."
"They really are," I agreed. "Ma'am, can we proceed?"
"Not until we get the Alpha's survey," Brody snapped.
A quiet moment passed, and then the drawl crackled over the radio, "Surveying, Charlie Xray-"
"That's enough," the second voice cut in, lazily. "Heading home..." Then several partial readouts popped up on Brody's display. The area of interest was cut clean in half where the Alpha had stopped the survey.
"Son of a bitch!" Brody cursed. Martin laughed. Debeau poked his head in to see what was going on.
"I'm going," I said firmly, and began rolling forward.
Just then my engine jerked to a halt. I felt the kill-switch engage- the kill-switch I thought I had routed around. And there on my rear facing cameras, grinning grimly in his mechanics chair, was Jasper. His fingers left the little death lever and, looking straight into CamR06, he gave me a little salute.
Edit: a verb's tense
| 2018-03-28T12:29:17 | 2018-03-28T12:25:02 | 624 | 228 |
[WP] Write about a famous historical event as if it was played out as a DnD session
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Mary looked at the table horrified. Another 1. That’s, what, 6 of them now? She felt desperate, it was all slipping away.
“You sure I can’t add my modifier?” she pleaded.
“We’ve been over this Mary, critical failures are critical failures,” replied Jim looking at her with pity.
“All my planning... all that time...” groaned Mary quietly.
Jim wanted to move this on. There was still some hope for her, but it was slipping away. “OK, Todd, you’re up.”
Todd looked up from his laptop. Was he even paying attention? He was only invited because he was Jim’s little brother and his mom forced them. Mary was sure Todd didn’t even know the rules.
Todd held up the D12... again.
“It’s not that one, it’s the D20... STILL,” said Mary with annoyance.
Todd picked up his D20, and rolled it. Right off the table. Again.
Sighing, Mary picked it up and handed it to him. “Can we just get this over with?”
Finally, he rolled the dice. A 17. Another 17. Why did he have to have that grin!
“Did I win?” asked Todd?
“Not yet,” replied Jim, “but you’re getting close. That’s 14...”
“17” interrupted Todd.
“Right, but you have a minus 3 charisma modifier. So 14. It’s still good enough, though. Trump wins Pennsylvania.”
|
"Okay, guys, so you take a long rest. You get all your spell slots and hit points back. Was anyone taking watch?"
Didymos shrugs. "I mean. We're in a garden in the middle of Jerusalem. Who's going to attack us in the middle of a city? I think we're good -- besides, we're pretty high level, right? What's the worst that could happen?"
"Haha, alright, fair enough. Petros?"
"Hm," the cleric replies, "I'm working at like two levels of exhaustion right now. Would taking watch mean I don't lose any of those during the rest?"
"You're not sure. You're very tired, though, and Iēsous asked you to stay up with him a while."
"I guess I'll try?"
"Alright, go ahead and make, like, a CON save for me? Just to see if you can will yourself to stay awake here -- you're _pretty_ tired, dude."
"CON save, sure, I'm... not great at those. Uh... 9?"
"Yeah, nah. You fall asleep a few minutes after everyone else. Iēsous comes and wakes you up a few times in the night, asking you to stand by his side, but, yeah. Your spirit is willing, but your flesh is weak."
"Damn."
"Okay, so after your rest, Iēsous rouses you all. 'Are you still sleeping and resting?' he asks. 'Look, the hour has come! Rise, all of you! Here comes my betrayer.'"
"Whoa, what. Can I make a Perception check?"
"I mean, he's pointing down the path at someone holding a torch and walking this way, but... sure?"
"Haha, 23."
"I have a passive perception of 18, do I see it?"
"Yeah, Iakōbos, you see it. All of you see it - him, rather. Andreia, you know who this is, and once he gets closer the rest of you all recognize him, too. It's Judas. Andreia, you see that he's carrying this torch to light the way, he has a small bag of coin on his belt loop that wasn't there the last time you saw him. Oh, and he's flanked by two burly-looking guys wearing scale mail, with swords and clubs at their hips."
"What."
"Judas, what are you doing here? How'd you find us? Where'd you go after the Supper?"
"He doesn't answer you, Petros. He's looking right at Iēsous. 'Greetings, Rabbi!' he says, stepping forward and kissing him on the cheek."
"Can I make like. An Insight check?"
"I mean. He's not really saying anything that is or isn't a lie, but. Yeah, I guess you could try and get a read on him, if you wanted."
"Cool, cool. Uh... Wow. 7."
"Yeah dog, Judas is just giving Iēsous a big ol' smooch for whatever reason. Just a good, friendly, no-ulterior-motives cheek peck. Like you do."
"Son of a-"
"'Do what you came for, friend,' Iēsous says, and Judas nods to the two burly dudes - who you realize now are guards of the Sanhedrin? - and they both draw their weapons and start approaching you."
"He _sold us out???_"
"Oh I'm gonna kill him."
"Guys. What are you doing? Are you letting this happen? Right now the guards are trying to grab Iēsous. They have manacles."
"Yeah, fuck that! I draw my sword and go for a killing blow. I'd have sneak attack, right? Since Iēsous is within 5 feet of him?"
"I... hm. Yeah, I guess so. Roll an attack, Iakōbos."
"...fuck."
"1?"
"Yeah."
"You bring your sword up, ready to slice down on this guard's head, but your grip falters at the last minute and the guard pulls away in time - you don't cleave through his _head_-"
"Oh here we go."
"But you _do_ manage to chop off his ear. There's a spurt of blood and the guard screams."
"Do we need to roll initiative?"
"Uh... no, not yet. As you do this, Iakōbos, Iēsous, like. He shakes himself free of the guard that's holding him and grabs your sword arm? 'Put your sword back in its place,' he says, and he's addressing all of you, now, 'for those that live by the sword die by the sword.' And you watch as he, very gently, bends down and picks up the bloody ear that you've severed from this guard and turns to him, putting a hand on his shoulder to calm him down. He brings the ear back up to the side of the guard's face, and there's this flash of pale light as he lays his hands on the guard, and after a moment the ear is back on like it had never been severed.
"Then you see something else. Coming up behind Judas and the guards is a very large crowd of people, armed with swords and clubs like these guards had. They're all dressed in robes of the Sanhedrin. Some of them you recognize as temple-goers, rabbis, acolytes. The high priest is with them."
"I run."
"You're *what?*"
"I have a +13 to stealth what do I have to do to get the fuck out of here."
| 2018-05-29T09:09:55 | 2018-05-29T08:36:31 | 150 | 46 |
[WP] You and friend agree that if one of you invents time travel, they will come back to this very moment. As you shake on it, an older and injured you shows up and shoots your friend in the head.
|
"OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD. You killed Ryan!"
I drop to my knees in horror. My best friend, dead.... by my... hands?
"It's okay. Grief is a process, you'll get over it."
"You just shot my... OUR best friend!"
"I know. I don't have much time. Listen, this little time travel experiment you guys are contemplating? Goes to complete shit. I regret everything leading to this exact moment, and I can't have it repeat again.... I'm sorry"
Future-me aims the gun at my head.... BANG. I flinch, accepting death... but, I'm still here. I open my eyes to see me, er, my future self with a gaping hole in his forehead. He falls in his own pool of blood.
"What?"
I look to see that it's my friend, Ryan; or at least, a future version of him dressed in a business suit stained with blood.
"What the fuck is going on?"
"Hey, pal."
"No, no more words unless it's an explanation of what's going on."
"You see "you" down there? He's from an alternate timeline. A timeline screwed from us messing with time. He wanted to go back and prevent World War II, but his interference caused a complete takeover of the United States..."
"Oh, like we're Nazis now?"
"Worse... Japanese."
"Oh shit."
"Yeah. Heavy stuff. If I see one more Anime mascot giving out a parking ticket... listen. I don't have much more time. I have to complete my mission."
"Your mission?"
"Yes. I may have eliminated future you... but he only exists cause you're alive... I'm sorry."
"Oh, come on!"
My friend aims for my head and cocks his pistol. BANG. I'm sure I'm dead this time... except... I'm not? My friend has been shot in the head by me. Or, not me. Another version of me?
"Hey, me."
"No, no, I'm not doing this again. I've had enough trauma for one afternoon. Let me guess, you're here to kill me because whatever we did caused ripples in another timeline and it's only possible because I'm alive in this timeline, so I have to be eliminated?"
"What? No. I mean we did some weird stuff but nothing that serious."
"Nothing serious? Then why did you have to kill Ryan?"
"There's infinite versions of us doing different things at different points in time. Honestly at this point, I'm just dicking around pretending I'm a secret agent trying to track down--"
BANG. I drop dead... the future self, that is. I can't believe I'm saying that I shot myself. I couldn't take it anymore. Now I have a pile of dead bodies that all look like me and Ryan. The horror... the smell.... if only....
​
If only I could have prevented it. That gives me an idea.
|
***June 14th, 1943; Dresden Germany***
I've come back to this night, physically, mentally, and spiritually so many times that one could say it is the true birth of my existence and the person I am today. I think of what brought us here; me an American born doctor and war surgeon thrust into the midst of one of the bloodiest and most desolate experiences in mankind's history, and my dear friend Frank, a begrudged German soldier and one who would become one of the finest minds in all of the world. I don't think I ever expressed to him how much I valued his mind, not just for its uniqueness but also his simple-mindedness and singular focus. He was quite honestly the type of man I'd seen through and through in the military in my years of service and had grown to despise, except for the fact that he fought a battle none would dare take up, and even I didn't think he could win. He had a certain charisma to him that drew in even his most profuse doubters and, in time, made them his most fervent supporters. I was no different. He had the most prolific green eyes that were fixated with the possibilities of the future, and harbored just enough sadness to remind you on certain occasion that he too was a child of war and hardship, and that his life was marred with the kind of struggle that makes a man's spirit go numb. Often times his thoughts would turn somber and his voice would choke with sorrow and regret, but only when we spoke of the past; he was very much a man focused on correcting the faults of today to prepare for tomorrow. Me, however, I've always had an unhealthy obsession with the past and I've toiled with mine for the majority of my lifetime so when Frank spoke of the possibility of changing it; and with it our future's it was my heart that believed him first.
​
I still remember the creation of our first workbench, just feet away from the bed that we shared because we could ill afford separate rooms and hardly the bed we scrounged up money for in the first place. That in it's own was an accomplishment. We had slept on the floor for some time in a seemingly endless pit of schematics and shriveled up papers and equipment that we had begged and bargained with various city factories to part with various shoddy equipment they were willing to part with. Frank gambled all night with a construction maintenance worker for several nails that we could use for the workbench, and when he was woozy from the alcohol that Frank had shared, he took his hammer too. After a few hours, when we finished constructing our first official work area complete with wood Frank compiled through some of his string of hard bargains and gambling runs, we sat and began to speak of the future; our future. It was there that we got drunk off of the cheapest liquor Germany had to offer, and pronounced wildly for the first time, that not only would we travel the world, but through time and space itself. When I asked Frank to what time he'd like to go first, he pronounced wildly
"To the year 3000!" as he swallowed the last swig of the bottle, chuckling giddily to himself and turning and pointing the bottle toward me
"And you?" he asked inquisitively, posturing up against the wall and waiting quietly for my answer while smiling.
"I don't know," I started,
"Perhaps to Old Egypt or the day the constitution was written. Maybe even my childhood to see my mother again..." I said as I trailed off, the liquor swirling inside me giving me all kinds of memories and making me more contemplative.
"Doting on the past again William? Interesting timestamps but I'm far more interested in creating our own," he said before yawning and nodding off into sleep. I watched him descend to slumber and continually slink until his head lay perfectly in the notch against the workbench and the wooden floor before I fell asleep myself.
​
It's these days that were the happiest and most fulfilling of my lifetime, working and living with Frank, learning how to forget the problems of my past and move toward the future. And it's those two years that bring me continuously to this night. The perpetual swirling of emotions and memories, successes and failures, all thrashing about in my head and pouring down into the crevices of my soul. These parts of me are alive and well, so much so that I step in and out of each memory like a door from one room to another only to be confronted by my reality. Alone, in a room not a centimeter bigger than the one I'd shared with Frank. Bruised and tattered I stammer to my feet and grab a small schematic off my work-table as I begin the meticulous process of bending time. One that I nearly perfected with Frank. As I'm thrust into a small portal the size of an apartment door, I find myself standing over some shriveled up schematics in a dimly lit room in East Germany. I remember the night perfectly and for a second I slip through an additional door in my mind and into the memory.
​
It was a major breakthrough, and after a year of meticulous research we'd garnered the attention of a major scientific body called Nessich, which housed hubs in over 20 countries worldwide and wanted to invite Frank and I to join their developmental team with more access to materials, research and information than we'd come across in our whole entire lives. I was on the verge of tears as he told me the news and I looked into his emerald green eyes.
"We've finally done it William," he said with a huge grin etched onto his face and placing one hand on my shoulder before engaging in a full on hug.
"Frank... this is wonderful," I said as I clenched back tears and mustered up my best smile. I couldn't help but feel overwhelmed. When I had first met him he was on the verge of death, without a penny to his name and not a person who'd attest to his life had he passed. I was captive to a native country, thrust from home without family, fortune or will to survive, and we'd made a future for ourselves. It was the single happiest moment of my life.
​
"When we make it William, promise to come back to this treasured moment," Frank said as he looked at me with a determination and a softness all at once, and I nodded my head, agreed and shook his hand as heartily as I did with any member of the US military.
​
And then I opened my eyes and stepped through the door once more. I let a singular tear fall from my scarred cheek, and I let loose a bullet which buried itself right between Frank's eyes and I watched his body go limp. I watched how my happiness turned to agony, and its effect was double. I felt the wound a million times and I felt another part of my soul break loose. It wasn't the first, or the last time I'd be here again.
| 2018-10-11T18:19:00 | 2018-10-11T17:25:09 | 519 | 14 |
[WP] You receive a government text warning saying “EMERGENCY - LOCK ALL DOORS AND STAY INSIDE. DO NOT PANIC”. You hear your SO at the locked front door, who’s just come back from the supermarket. They beg to be let inside but you’re unsure. Something doesn’t feel right.
|
I’m not even sure this is the right place to post, but I’m worried about my sister. About three hours ago I got a text from the Emergency Alert System. I checked my Facebook to see if anyone else got the same thing. It seemed like it was a practical joke and I couldn’t find anything in Google News.
My sister sent me these messages and I haven’t heard from her in over an hour. I’m hoping someone can give me some advice.
**Allison:** Hey Danny… did you get a text telling you to stay inside and lock your doors?
**Me:** Yeah. Pretty weird.
**Allison:** Any idea what’s going on?
**Me:** Nope. Just relaxing at home.
**Me:** Is Jonathan home from work yet?
**Allison:** No, he just went to the store. I’m kinda worried.
**Me:** I’m sure everything’s fine. You know the government is paranoid about every little thing. Probably an underground gas leak or something.
Allison didn’t respond for a while and I resumed my binge watching of Attack on Titan. That’s some weird shit, man. At this point, I wasn’t really concerned. My neighborhood was quiet, it was below freezing outside, and about two feet of snow had fallen during the day. Everything seemed normal.
**Allison:** Danny…
**Allison:** I’m scared.
**Me:** What’s wrong? Do you want me to come over?
**Allison:** No. Don’t go outside.
**Allison:** Jonathan is home.
**Me:** Well that’s good.
**Allison:** No. No something’s wrong with him.
**Allison:** I don’t know what to do.
**Me:** What’s wrong with him?
Three little dots danced at the bottom of my screen for more than five minutes before disappearing. I tried calling my sister four times with no answer. I tried to keep watching my show for a few minutes but my brain started playing all the “what-if” scenarios. I called again and Allison finally answered.
“Hello?” Her voice was small, quiet. Completely unlike her.
“Al?”
“Danny?”
“Allison, what’s going on? Why didn’t you answer the phone?”
“Something’s wrong with Jonathan. He’s not him.” She said, her voice hitching. Her shaky breaths sent a wave of anxiety to my stomach.
“Allison… did you open the door?”
“No. No. I’m hiding. I tried calling the police but it doesn’t go through.”
“What’s wrong with Jonathan?” I was pacing my living room, my jaw clenched. She was quiet for a while.
“He’s not him, Danny. He’s not him. He’s not walking right. And his voice. Oh God, his voice.”
“Is he hurt?” I asked as I grabbed my keys. “I’m coming over.”
“No!”
“What do you mean no? I’m coming over!”
“No! Danny, listen to me.” She whimpered again. I could hear a weird rhythmic sound in the background. “Listen. Something is wrong with him. With everyone outside.”
I hunched in front of my window and pulled the blinds apart with a finger. It was pretty dark outside but the snow reflected enough light that I could make out a group of people standing in the parking lot of my complex.
“What the fuck?” I muttered.
“Danny… what’s go-g on? Da-”
The called dropped. I gaped at the group of people as they formed a circle. Where they walked the depressions of snow were oddly dark. I squinted and leaned in closer, suddenly thankful to be on the third floor. The people raised their hands into the air as if they were making a “Y” and began to sidestep.
Their movements were unnatural, synchronized. I could see now none of them had any clothes on. They began screaming towards the sky as their heads bent back too far. They were standing straight up, heads touching their spine. They lowered their hands to join together and fell backward into the snow – faces and asses disappearing into the white powder.
I’ve tried calling Allison back. She won’t pick up. No one is picking up. I still have cell service but my water stopped working about 15 minutes ago and the power has been flickering. Does anyone know what’s going on? Has anyone else seen this stuff? I feel like I’m losing my mind. I can’t find anything about this online. No one is talking about it. Is it just here in the Midwest? Is it everywhere? If anyone knows anything… please. I really want to go check on my sister.
|
"Baby? It's me, let me in," a soft sweet voice sputtered on the other end of the hallowed oak door.
"How do I know it's you? The Government just sent me a..." I sharply was responding.
"Message- yeah, I got one too. Just open the door, I have something to show you. Stop this silly government talk." The voice seemed to anger now, becoming stern.
"Okay sweetheart, but I can't see you. Are you blocking the peep hole?" I said while glancing with my face flat against the door. I was trying desperately to see even the softest shade of her sweet cheek.
Silence was all that remained. After a few seconds, I started again. "Honey?" My brain started to wander. It had only been two or three hours since I got this message. I did think it was a strange amount of time for my wife to be shopping for groceries. But why wasn't she answering her phone? Why did she take so long?
All that I emitted from the door was the lingering smell of my breakfast on my already staunch breath, reflecting back at me and hitting my olfactory sensors. I shuffled a tiny amount to try a different angle through the peep hole.
Instantly, the door was hit with a poignant blow. It was if the Incredible Hulk was on the other end- trying to hit a home run with my door. The door bounced a small amount and hit my head in a painful manner.
One thing was certain. This was not my wife. This was something else. Luckily for me, that designer oak door was making sure whatever that was on the other end didn't get in.
"Alright buddy," a male voice exclaimed in a calm, yet loud tone. "It seems we have ourselves at an impasse. We want to get in. You don't want us there. But we have your wife- and she sure is purrrrdy."
As whomever was on the other end of that door spoke their words, the hairs on my arms and neck began to stand. "Who are you, then?" I shouted while trying not to sound terrified, yet likely failing.
"Cmon pally, open up. She's got these sweet black stockings on, and I desperately want to find out if she's wearing these blueberry panties or not. But I don't have to. You can just swing this bad-boy open and get her back. Safe and sound. Or... you know... we can have our way with her."
I was paralyzed. It felt like minutes were going by, but it was probably only seconds. I kept trying to think of some type of anything... a plan... a response... a rationale as to what the hell is going on. Nothing. My brain refused to cooperate.
"BRIAN, DON'T!" My wife shouted.
"Baby? Don't what?" I responded.
"Well cupcake, that was stupid. Take her back to the truck and let Crusty Ted give 'er the French Tickler. As for Brian... we'll get inside soon enough." The voice on the other end spoke softly- and I'm certain I wasn't supposed to hear this. "Okay Brian. The wife is now off the negotiating table. Good news is, she doesn't have those blueberry panties I so badly wanted. Bad news is, we're coming in without her. Why don't you go fix yourself a meal. I'm 'bout to get one for myself- but we'll be in touch, BRIAN!"
Finally, my brain began to pick back up the thought pattern. With my wife's life in jeopardy, now was as good a time as ever. I covertly crept across my hardwood floor toward my gunsafe. I might not make it out of this one- but we're going to take as many of these bastards down with us as possible.
While arming myself I glanced at my muted television. The News was recommending everyone take shelter. Law enforcement would be unreachable. California, New York, Washington, and Florida all were hit. Mushroom clouds were juxtaposed against new World Trade Center.
I clenched the cold gunmetal of the barrel in my left hand as I flicked the safety off with my other. I always kept it loaded for an emergency. I guess this is it. I had a thought about how a gun would feel. Imagine being produced on a factory line somewhere. Assembled and sent to your new owner. You wait all day every day, and probably will never get to fully experience the dream of coming to their defense. But not today. Today, this gun gets to be happy. Today, it lives up to its dream. Today, it realizes its goals.
Unfortunately, I never shot a gun before. I knew how it worked, but I felt less than confident with the ensuing firefight. Every time I considered some other form of action I just kept thinking of whatever Crusty Ted might be doing to my wife. I don't have time to waste, and here I am thinking about what makes guns happy.
Three loud thuds interrupted my brief serenity. "Ohhhh Brian? My compliments to the chef. Your wife is exquisite. Don't worry, we didn't hurt her.... much... she's fine. Hell, she's more than fine. She's a gem. But Brian, we need to get in there."
I decided to check the peep hole again, and to my surprise- they had stopped blocking it. I could make out two figures- meaning they had a minimum of three.
SCHPAOW! The sharp sound of a rifle firing from the curbside began to pierce the heavy oak door I was behind.
"God damnit, I told ted NOT to end her. Well, fuck." The voice said.
Overcome with rage, I no longer felt the lack of a rationale brain. I just had instinct. Instinct telling me to kill. In one smooth motion I unlocked the deadbolt while trying to turn the knob with my pistol occupying my other hand. I admit, it wasn't the smoothest transition.
Upon swinging the door open, I was surprised. The leader was armed with a pipe of sorts, and his friend only seemed to have a knife. I remember feeling like I will make quick work of these two. I remember the stupid look on their face when I opened the door and they saw me produce my pistol and take aim. They just sat there, gawking- waiting for me to pull the trigger. It felt like the world was moving in slow motion.
I fired three shots into the subordinate- ensuring that he was ended. I changed stances to fire on the leader as he began to rush me.
Click.
A jam. My gun was jammed. My brain popped back into the picture saying only, "Well, this is going to suck." I remember the taste of blood feeling like a mix between metal and garlic in my mouth after being clubbed by that pipe. I also remember my vision being distorted from blood flowing into my eyes as I laid on the ground, looking up, blinking, waiting for my final moments on Earth to end.
"Well, Brian. Now, me and Ted get your house and we got your wife. You really messed up, didn't you? You could have just opened the damned door, but your stupid ass wanted to be a hero. Thanks for the good times, buddy."
The leader stretched out like a major league baseball hitter, getting ready to send one over the wall. He paused briefly, I assume to focus on finishing the job.
One more crisp bullet sound rung through the halls of my home, and the leader fell lifeless at my side.
I couldn't see the perpetrator, but I assumed there was a lot of chaos going on- probably a few groups vying for resources in this rough time. I heard the comfrting yet scary sound of my oak door close, and the deadbolt latch.
"Brian? Can you still hear me?" uttered the sweetest, softest, purest angel. "Brian? Are you there?"
I nodded and grunted; that was all I could seem to get out. Her soft hands cradled my head and her blouse wiped the blood from my eyes. I didn't know what our future held, but I knew we would be fine as I lost consciousness.
| 2019-01-12T08:53:28 | 2019-01-12T08:28:55 | 124 | 23 |
[WP] You are a nice person, but your superpower is that you instinctively know exactly what to say to someone to crush them. You're very effective in throwing supervillains off their game, but your fellow heroes always feel really uncomfortable watching you work.
|
I stepped out of the door, carrying the broken body of the villain before my chest. The former hostages stumbled behind me into the daylight, some still under shock, some relieved, all disbelieving of what just had happened. I stumbled under the weight of the corpse and had to set it down at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the building. For a moment I stayed kneeling in front of it, searching for something to say, but my curse refused to whisper me a solution any more.
"I'm... sorry." I finally decided on, flatly. I didn't regret telling him what he had needed to hear, and I didn't regret that he did what he had to do. It was just... "I wish it didn't have to end this way."
I got up and stepped over the dead body, walking through the crowd that surrounded the library. Nobody tried to stop me, in fact they seemed to be afraid of me. "I really hope she never turns evil" a civilian whispered to their neighbor as I went past them. My eyes lingered for a moment on them. *Do you cheat on your wife because of the thrill, or because you feel her interest in you waning? You should really be a better role model to...* I quickly averted my gaze and accelerated my steps. Only a few more meters and I could leave those people behind me and enjoy the evening home, in soltitude...
Somebody jostled me and sent me tumbling to the ground. I slowly pushed myself up and searched for the perpetrator. It wasn't exactly hard - Muscle Man was difficult to miss, considering his size of a bit over two meter and the way he presented his almost naked upper body. Oh, also the way he spat on the ground right next to me. "Whatcha doin' ain't real superheroing, girl." he told me, grinning in a positively infuriating way. *Of course you consider violence the only real way to solve problems, considering it's the only thing you're actually good in. Don't you think that if you had some other abilites, you maybe would have been able to save...* I looked to the ground to interrupt the stream of whispers. "I'm sorry you feel that way." I said instead. "Can I go now?"
Muscle Man grunted, but let me pass, apparently satisfied. I quickly fled the scene, hiding the tears in my eyes. I didn't want to hurt people, but in the end... hurting people was the only thing I was actually good in.
|
The pavement where Adrian just stood was no more than moon craters and plasma at this point. Overseer sharpened his gaze as he, almost effortlessly, levitated toward the remnants of the Starbucks in the corner of 5th and Jayton.
"Nice manouver, kid. But you can't protect all of them."
He was right. The psychotic bastard was right, and Arian was painfully aware. In a pure 1-on-1-situation, he could probably hold his own against Overseer's telekinesis and matter manipulation. Just do his thing. But he couldn't go all out here. There would be absolute carnage.
The lady next to him was passed out under a pile of bricks. Blood was slowly seeping out from a cut on her dust-covered temple, but she seemed to be breathing normally. Whoever has been inside the Starbucks when it collapsed was probably in a far worse state. Clenching his teeth, Adrian slowly moved backward against the part of the main wall that was still intact, all while maintaining firm eye contact with the hoovering beast suspended 12 feet in the air in the middle of the intersection. Overseer tended to speak like a cultivated warlock, but was more like an animal for destruction, targeting fear.
Look away once, and face sub-atomic destruction.
Feeling the wall behind him, Adrian could detect no less than 17 heartbeats on the other side. Had the attack so far been without casualties? What a miracle! But how-
"It was all part of the scheme, kid. They will benefit me later. But focus on the matter at hand. I asked you a simple question: if the hand that feeds you delivers a blow to your cheek, do you take it like a good boy or server the hand at the wrist?"
Adrian could feel the dryness of his mouth making him lose composure like a desert storm building.
"And what the fuck kind of question is that, Over?"
"A simple one of loyalty versus self-afficacy. And a very urgent one at that. You are well aware of the predicaments of your contract. The limits set on you by corporate lobbying. The fact that Big 3 are responsible for more deaths and quantifiable suffering than all of us "un-contracted" combined. You know this, yet you remain complacent. Why? That is my question"
Adrians tounge was now welded to the roof of his mouth. He felt the cold sweat creeping from his pores, and the sickness clogging his trachea.
"You agree. I can feel it. So why? Why remain in line, when you can fight! Reclaim the world, reclaim your fam-"
From around the corner, this little man appeared like a train stopping at it's station just on time. He wore a black suit with an almost liquid surface, red hat and nothing on his feet. He carried a dictaphone in his left chest pocket and a notebook in his right hand.
Overseer looked down on the gentleman, who couldn't be even half his size, and scoffed.
"What they won't resort to these days..."
Adrian suddenly realized he could speak again.
"What on Earth are you doing here!? This is a Code Red Zone! Please sir, stand back immediately, and let me handle this. I'm a professional. I know what to do."
The old man blinked, and then smiled. He opened his mouth, with lips as thin as razor blades:
"ImPulse, great job securing the perimeter. I will take it from here."
whereupon he turned to Overseer, who was now noticeably annoyed by the arrival of this unknown creature.
"Hey there, Floaty. How's it going up there?"
"Floaty? That's rich, you little imp. Did you come here to find out what going through a quantum loop feels like?"
The little man smiled, but Adrian noticed that the razor lips seemed to cut ever so slightly sharper at the corners.
"No. I came to read you a verse. Hear it, Radovan Turner."
And then it began. Like out of nowhere. As if a rainbow had shattered and all of the fragments where pushed in reverse through your iris to painstakingly be conjoined again; a marriage never meant to last forced to parade once more in a ghostly apparition before jarred spectators. It was the death of timelines and the kidnapping of entropy.
It was, simply, binary.
"100111010001101100101111000010110010111001011000101011100100111111100100100100001100000011011101101010..."
The manically precise chanting seemed to be approaching light speed. It only took Radovan "Overseer" Turner the fraction of a second of confusion the spell allowed on his face to realize what was happening. Suddenly, his whole life was dissappearing into a black hole in the back of his mind: the Boom-box Brotherhood, the ragú nights when papa was home on a temporary leave, the flash cards that got him into Uni, Eleonore Carruthers, the house in Maine, the car loan, the first miscarriage, the war, the funeral, the layover, the hard work, the first day of sun after the depression, stealing waxed apples on the market to survive, the day he broke his promise to mama and used his powers for survival, the day he used them for sport, the day he figured something out, the day he... the day- what was it... today... HELP! d-r-o-w-n-i-n-g i-n-s-i-d-e... w h a t w a s I.... W H O
The code had reversed his entropy. He was now just a husk of flesh, forever out of sync with it's time, doomed to slowly decompose as his final moments of utter dementia played on repeat in the empty halls of his mind.
The old man stopped the dictaphone, logged something in his notebook and turned to Adrian.
"Alright, now that's taken care of. Well done, ImPulse! I will see to it that you are promoted. A dispatch squad will deal with the area. Lets get you cleaned up and fed!"
As Adrian walked through the intersection, he looked up at Overseer's body, now dangling lifelessly mid-air. Suddenly, something hit his cheek. He instinctively touched it with his finger and looked at the tip.
A small droplet of rainbow-hued water suspended itself on the edge of his nail.
Adrian let his eyes wander into it, and as he burrowed his gaze further, he could hear The Man reporting to someone in the background:
"No, that's not gonna be a problem. They have met before, and Pulse has never risen. He's a good boy.
He'll fall in line."
| 2020-02-25T14:36:55 | 2020-02-25T14:34:20 | 151 | 53 |
[WP] At first, the aliens mocked our technological advancements. After learning it took only a few centuries to move from horse carriages to space ships, they suddenly became more friendly.
|
"Hey Ghorp...Ghorp, check this out."
Ghorp let out a chittering sigh and rolled 3 of his eyes at his junior neighbor, but kept the remaining 5 firmly fixed to his work station. "I'm a little busy here Galganax." He paused, "And if this is you trying to trick me into looking at your egg sac again, I'm going to eat your children."
"Whatever, I can just make more. My species' clutches hatch by the thousand. But, Ghorp, you have to see what these ape things are doing, it's totally hilarious!"
"Not all of us were assigned some backwater galaxy with a group of mud creatures as the only "intelligent" life!" Ghorp snapped. "Cluster 437-B is a time bomb waiting to explode! Trillions could die if I don't keep a close watch over the situation."
"Yeah, sure," Galganax replied dismissively, "But seriously, they think that they can cure diseases by bleeding themselves!"
Ghorp opened his mouth to tell Galganax to shut up, but upon hearing that piece of information, his mandibles snapped shut and his mind went blank. Slowly, robotically, he turned his head towards Galganax and stared at him for a second. "...What?"
Galganax snickered, "Yeah, and when this one member of their species tried to tell them that their planet revolved around their sun, some ape in a pointy hat tried to have all of the literature burned!"
"Religion thing?" Ghorp grunted, turning back to his work station. He'd seen similar situations on some of his previous assignments. It was always a religion thing.
"Maybe," Galganax shrugged, "It's some kind of ideology. They're pretty obsessed with a torture device of some kind. I'm not really paying that close of attention. You know that the time dilation factor for systems that distant makes details like that a pain, and it's a pre-industrial species. They've probably got about another 10,000 years before they figure out fossil fuels, and by then I'll be on another project."
"Hm, I guess," Ghorp allowed. Thanks to the black hole powering the Keep, relative minutes for them could be years elsewhere depending on a number of factors. However, he had one piece of advice to add as a senior. "Try and pay closer attention, though. It might not be incredibly important in this case, but keeping note of details like that is a big part of the job once you move on to more challenging cases."
"Yeah, yeah," Galganax agreed, "message received. But hey, it's lunchtime! I'm gonna get some grub, you in?"
Ghorp hesitated, and eyed the screens sitting in front of him before shaking his head with a sigh. "I would, but I really can't leave right now. I've had my claw sitting on the Supernova detonator for the last 4 hours."
Galganax chittered in surprise. "That bad, huh? Damn...Tell you what, I'll bring you something, my treat."
Ghorp wiggled his mandibles in an approximation of a smile. "Thanks, that'd be great."
"Oh, before I go, I just need you to take a look at something real quick."
Ghorp turned his head away from his screen. "Yeah, sure, what is--gah!" He sputtered in outrage at the sight of a large fleshy sac bulging out at him. "GALGANAX!"
Galganax quickly skittered away from Ghorp's anger, their chittering laughter fading in the air.
.....
"Um, Ghorp," Galganax said, three hours later. "You've been doing this job for a while, right?"
"...That's right." Ghorp finally replied, still salty about being sac-flashed, but feeling obligated to answer a junior's questions.
"Is it...uh, normal...for a species to go from animal drawn carriages to space flight in less than 100 years?"
Ghorp snorted. "That's impossible. The shortest recorded length between early industrialization to space flight was 2000 years, *our* civilization's record."
Galganax laughed weakly, "Yeah...well...I think we have a new record."
|
“So good of you to join us here today, councilmen. I take it the journey was pleasant? Alexa, make sure our guests have whatever sustenance they need. It’s been what? Twenty-nine years and seven months?” The ambassador, Karla as they’d come to know her, was a severe woman with a thin face, made nearly gaunt by her tightly pulled back silver hair. The boarding group of Oclantians were greeted by an autonomous beverage cart responding to Karla’s command.
“Pleased to meet you in the flesh, ambassador,” said the shortest Oclantian, picking a bottle of something green from the cart. “The journey was quite pleasant, considering the circumstances. This station...it’s exquisite from the outside. We look forward to seeing the rest.”
Karla gave a polite chuckle. “Of course! I admire your appreciation for technology, Professor Tillok. I’ll show you all to your rooms and give you the tour. But first, there is business to attend to. The executives are waiting in the atrium just ahead.”
*They sure are pushy*, thought Tillok. *It’s no wonder they’ve come so far in such a short time*.
The group began walking through the boarding tunnel of ISS VII (now considered interstellar rather than international); Karla leading the way for seven, betentacled Octlantians. Among them were two engineers, two biologists, one communications expert, an interstellar accounting expert, and Tillok, considered the most educated being on human history in the galaxy.
The distant blue planet of Octlantia had discovered Earth several centuries ago with technology far more advanced than that of their subject of interest at the time. What they saw then was bleak. Octlantian satellites returned decades of footage of seemingly constant war, plague, and famine. It was the second intelligent species the Octlantians had found in their quadrant of the galaxy, but they feared *intelligent* was a stretch.
Oddly, the constant pressure of these tumultuous elements appeared to strengthen their civilization. And fast. Every war brought more efficient ways of killing, more efficient ways of communicating how to do it, and eventually, a certain mastery of the very building blocks of the universe. Diseases, however bolstered by terrible living conditions and inequality, was eradicated with an unprecedented dedication to medical science—science that started to rival the Octlantians’ own expertise in biochemistry. Every time something horrible repeated, humans got a little better at handling it.
The Octlantians’ centuries-long lifespan made them prolific travelers. Their devotion to biological sciences versus industry had enhanced lifespans threefold. As such, Tillook had been alive for quite some time when his planet decided to call back their satellites. The humans had made it to space and Octlantian observers grew fearful. It took their own civilization millenia to figure out how to escape the heavy atmosphere of their ocean planet.
They continued to observe humanity and all its mistakes and wonders using a complex array of impossibly detectable sonar. They never counted on 21st century military research devoting a huge amount of resources to radar and radar detection. And so the Octlantians were blocked. The planet went dark to them, both literally and in the sense that humanity had advanced too fast for their own collective understanding. Earth knew something was out there, too, watching them.
“Right this way, councilmen,” said Karla, ushering the guests through hydraulic doors into a sweeping antechamber. A pair of men and a pair of women sat at the end of a conference table in the middle. They all stood up and shook hands to tentacles, tentacles to hands. The Octlantians’ translucent heads pulsed with nervous energy.
“Grand executives of Earth,” Karla began, “I’d like to introduce you to Octlantia’s best in the business. As you know, they’ve come here today to discuss dwindling resources in their star system. Our planet, of course, was blessed with just enough to allow us to mine other planets, but there are no easily mineable planets in their locale. If we are to establish a trade here today, ladies and gentlemen, an encrypted beam of our civilizations’ valued intellectual property will be sent to our home planets simultaneously.”
“Thank you, ambassador,” said Tillook as the Octlantians took their seats. “I have studied humanity for longer than I can remember, and I must say, I am deeply impressed by your advancements. You have many brilliant individuals to thank along the way, and I’m sure you’re all quite brilliant yourselves. Over a few thousand years, we’ve used the precious resources we have to advance space flight, increase our lifespans, and develop what we believe you call a ‘utopia’ for all inhabitants of our beautiful planet. We have observed many comparisons between our home worlds, and I for one regret that our spying now forbids us to visit the oceans you call Pacifica and Antlantica on Earth. Though the observations have taught us a lot, not only about your world, but the universe, we realize that our civilization may not survive in the next 3,000 years without harvesting the resources from other planets, and, of course, the Dyson Sphere.”
“Though we can no longer observe your planet, we’ve tracked developments in the neutral zone of space and opened a civil line of communication between our species. Today, I believe we will reach an understanding that will benefit us both greatly in the long run. The proposal is this: our technology for enhancing lifespans of carbon-based mammalian species for your technology on the harvesting and manipulation of minerals from planets and asteroids so that we may continue in prosperity for eons until the eventual heat death of our universe.” Tillook finished, glowing with pride he hadn’t dared show the humans on initial contact.
Deliberations followed. The executives exchanged figures with the interstellar accountant. The engineers discussed the scope and overall possibility of mining other planets with what resources Octlantia had available. The biologists outlined possible obstacles in the human psyche for greatly extended lifespans, and Tillook clarified possible historical inaccuracies since Earth had gone dark to their species. Hours passed and agreement was struck. Contracts were passed around the table and the initial plans were set to be beamed to their homeworlds. The promise of unlimited resources would allow the Octlantians to thrive in their long lives for generations to come and extended lifespans opened up opportunities for extended space travel for humanity.
As the transfer was near completion, a digital voice spoke from nowhere in particular:
*Error. Transfer incomplete. Interference detected from 122.3.22.5.8.888*.
“What’s going on?” asked Tillook, his head pulsing like a heart attack. “That’s our astronomical coordinate. What happened?”
“That’s strange,” said an executive. “It looks like ours went through. Everything looks like it went to Washington, right?” The other executives thumbed through their tablets and murmured in agreement.
“Strange indeed,” said Karla. “But isn’t that what you said about humans, professor? Our progress has taken a rather strange path, I suppose.” She pressed something on her tablet out of sight from the Octlantians. The executives’ murmuring started to slow as if their batteries were dying, and then they slumped at the table. Robots with their plugs pulled. The Octlantians’ heads looked as if they could burst.
“What you probably don’t know, having only spied on our innocuous space activity for the last couple centuries, is that we are, well, we’re close to becoming gods. We just needed the last little key. That whole thing with the mitochondria?” She gestured to the Octlantian biologists. “Absolutely brilliant. But we can’t live forever if we’re not alone in this quadrant. Especially not if we’re neighbors with some peace loving, Utopianists. Who knows? The slaves might get an idea if your civ comes nearer.”
She looked around the room, severe as ever. “I really am sorry to do this. You all seem so kind...so naive. You didn’t even realize we weren’t drinking during our meeting.” She looked at the robotic beverage cart, which now sported a blinking red light. “Avatars can’t drink, you see.”
The light blinked faster and faster. The Octlantians dove under the table in futility. It was kind of like those drills Tillook learned human children partook in during the Cold War, right before Earth went dark. But tables and desks did nothing to shield carbon-based life from an atomic blast.
| 2020-07-07T09:18:44 | 2020-07-07T08:03:01 | 69 | 30 |
[WP] You're a 'comically incompetent' supervillain for a group of C-List heroes. They are no real threat to you, so you endure their childish speeches. However, when the heroes raid the civilian business you run on the side and injure your employees, you decide to take yourself seriously for once.
|
HONK HONK
“I heard there was a birthday here. A birthday where? A birthday here! I heard there was a birthday here and I’m Bobo the Clown!”
The man at the front door looked confused and angry, his muscles bulged out of his stupid little tank top and his eyes darted around furiously, scanning the space behind the clown.
“What the fuck is this, do I look like I’m having a birthday party? Who sent you?”
“I’m a special kind of clown for a special kind of boy. Here to say ‘Happy Birthday Billy’ just for you.” The clown reached out to boop him on the nose but the man grabbed his arm and twisted it hard behind his back. The clown gave a hearty chuckle and the man hesitated.
“That’s not very nice, Billy.” The Clown’s arm broke off in his grip and the clown spun around to hold the man in a bear hug.
“Birthday hugs are the best hugs!”
“Who the fuck are you, what do you want?” The man dropped the fake arm.
“I want to say hello to Mr. Dangerous.” The man’s composure slipped. It only lasted a second, but it confirmed everything. The clown’s voice changed suddenly, dropping several registers.
“Oh Mr. Dangerous. You’re my hero.” His lapel flower sprayed into the man’s face and he began to scream. The clown let go and watched him collapse to the ground, the skin of his face melting into a puddle.
“That’s for LaSondra. She didn’t make it out of your cute little fire.” The clown said, circling the man as he slowly melted.
“I did a little money laundering, sure. You burned my wig shop to the ground. You killed my employees. You ruined my life. You call yourself a hero?” His oversized shoe landed hard on the man’s back. A rib cracked like splintering wood.
“I’d better be careful, Mr. Dangerous. I’m acting more like a hero by the minute, wouldn’t you say?”
The man’s left arm was liquifying into a reddish brown mucous. The man was pressing a button on his shirt furiously with his one good hand, though it too was beginning to melt.
“Don’t bother.” The clown said, “the ‘super squad’ won’t be coming. But I’ll pour you into the container I’m keeping them in if you want. Well. Whatever bits of you I can scoop up.”
The man’s screaming stopped. The clown gave another chuckle and skippped his way into the kitchen.
“I heard we have a birthday here! A birthday where? A birthday here! I heard we have a birthday here and I’m Bobo the Clown!” He sang as he scooped what was left of Mr. Dangerous into a Tupperware container.
|
“Prepare for trouble”
“Make it double”
“To protect the world from persistent pain”
“To unite all peoples within our gang.”
“To denounce the evils of villainy and strife”
“To scoot the villains out of ruining life”
“Scooter Red”
“Scooter Blue”
“Scooter Heroes ride off into the night.”
“Surrender now or prepare to fight!”
“Scooter Green!”
***SILENCE***
I paused for a moment before I spoke, making sure the heroes’ introduction was done. I suppressed a laugh.
“I’m sorry. am I supposed to laugh, clap, or snap team rocket?”
I just decided to do all three in quick succession while the group of heroes stood looking at me with clear determination in their eyes.
Upon finishing my act, “Well if you don’t have anything else to say or do, I will take my hard earned money and leave.” I said, picking back up my duffel bags and heading to walk by the heroes straight out the front doors of the bank.
“Excuuuse me”, I commented, walking by the gang of scooter heroes, I only got so far, however.
“Stop right there!” Barked Scooter Red, She spun her razor blade scooter at violent speeds, speeds that would make any other scooter user wince in pain even at the sight of it.
“Do you think we were just going to let you go? You just robbed the city bank!”
“I didn’t think at all about if you would let me go or not, I don’t care what you do.” I responded cordially, continuing to walk.
“Who do you think you are!?” Scooter Blue stopped me, putting his hand on my chest while positioning his scooter to launch at my shin & ankles at a moment’s notice. I was trapped.
“I’m glad you ask actually. Noone else in your brigade does that! Well, my name is Raúl, and as you can see, I am currently robbing a bank.
I live in the east suburban district of Santiago, and I am 31 years old. In order to make a living I commit egregious crimes, gamble, and panhandle. Two of which I’m better at than the other. On a normal day I’ll wake up at 6am beg on the streets of Santiago, and return home no later than 8pm each night. Upon my return home I grab my trench coat and small weapons to threaten and steal from other panhandlers out on the street, musicians included. With which money I’ll hit the Santiago casino and often quintuple my earnings for that day, perhaps I’m lucky. Oh, and I also own a 5 star restaurant downtown if you’d like to try it sometime. It’s called Go Lucky.”
Perhaps I flipped a switch in their scooter brains, but whatever it was they instantly began to beat me senseless with their scooters.
I woke up the next day in my infirmary beneath my mansion. My ankles and shins completely bruised and In constant pain from the scooter brigade’s assault.
“Well well, if it isn’t another failed attempt at a new hobby.” Alvin, my midget butler said, rewrapping the bandages on my severely swollen ankles.
“It isn’t anything new Ivan my friend. Crime is an art, all forms of crime, including bank robbery constitute that art. I’ve been committing crimes for years. Thankfully I have you and my comrades to rely on to get me out of sticky situations like yesterday. Thank you.” I smiled at Alvin, expressing my appreciation for him somehow saving me from arrest.
“My name is Alvin, sir. You’ve known me for 12 years. Please try to remember.”
“Oh, yes. Sorry-OW!” He slapped the last wrapping of bandage on with extra vigor. “I deserved that, but one more thing Alvin, please turn on the news for me? I want to see if I made any waves with my latest crime”
The headline for channel 1 news was not to be expected, however.
***SCOOTER BRIGADE RAIDS GO LUCKY. MULTIPLE CASUALTIES***
I sprung out of bed onto my busted ankles and found my wheelchair. I’d been a frequent victim of the brigade’s violence during each of my crimes, so I always have one on standby.
“ALLLVINNNNNNNNNN”
Alvin rolled back into the room.
“Yes sir?”
“Please push me to the car, we must make it to my restaurant at once”
“Yes sir.”
The restaurant was in shambles. The scooter brigade, a C-List hero company only due to its large number of E-list heroes, at 6,900 worldwide, had raided my restaurant. The windows were broken, walls and tables were dented, scratched, and chairs destroyed by scooters varying in size & strength.
The ambulances were loading 3 of my beautiful waitresses which I’d known for years. They were conscious but their ankles were clearly in shambles from the scooter brigade, and needed to be carted onto the ambulance.
“Sally, Sammy, Wolfeschlegelsteinhausenbergerdorff!!! Are you three okay?”
“My name is not Sally, sir.” Quickly exclaimed Ally
“I’m Amy. Not Sammy.” Spat Amy, in clear pain & frustration.
“Yes I’m doing fine, they just hit my ankles, sir!” Responded Wolfeschlegelsteinhausenbergerdorff.
“Good, now where have they gone?”
“That way”
They each pointed to a group of 60 men and women varying from age 16 to late forties. The full brunt of the scooter brigade in Santiago. I approached them, wheeling myself over with a passion.
“You DARE hurt my people?” I roared at the mass. A leader emerged from the pack.
“Yeah, we knew we’d find you if we showed up here. Seems we’re better at your job than you are. You’ve never even been capable of successfully stealing anything, we always catch you before you do. Thanks to anonymous tips. Poor thing, maybe you should take some notes”. He and the others snickered amongst themselves.
What he said rang true. 7 years of attempting large and small scale crimes and I’ve never successfully completed a single one.
But what they didn’t know is that the anonymous tip has always been me.
I’ve only wanted to play a fun game, commit crime without consequence on either end, with no real punishment or gain, just for pleasure’s sake. In doing so I allowed myself to get caught and beat, each an every time, relying on my comrades to help me escape at the last moment while leaving whatever I stole behind.
| 2022-11-29T06:39:56 | 2022-11-29T03:44:50 | 24 | 15 |
[WP] You're a 'comically incompetent' supervillain for a group of C-List heroes. They are no real threat to you, so you endure their childish speeches. However, when the heroes raid the civilian business you run on the side and injure your employees, you decide to take yourself seriously for once.
|
People don't work for a villain if they don't like him. I for one always made sure of that.
Holidays. You bet your arse you'll be getting them.
Childbirth. You can bet I'm gonna be that weird but cool uncle.
Having an off day. Pool party.
My company is my home. And my profession is to be a villain. Rank C. Code name Upsur.
It's fun seeing the upcoming heroes coming to my office arresting me. Thinking they finally put me down. But Legal Hero Act is a beautiful thing.
Just one simple lawsuit, I get released and compensation for the damage. Until yesterday.
Jay was supposed to be married this month. Mary wanted to surprise her parents so she wanted to leave early. Tanak's sons birthday is today. Oprius was the new intern.
All of them injured as the hero threw heymaker and threw me across the street.
Hero name, Zeus. A quite quite haughty one for a hero. He has a track record of insane collateral damage but always fights SS ranks. Not a mere C rank.
"Why?" I ask him as I dust off my clothes. His eyes showed a bit confusion.
"Why attack me?" I ask him looking directly in the eyes.
"Why not? I'm just a few villains short to make the list for most defeated villains. So I thought about cleaning the locals."
Zeus flew down. Come to think of it. I rarely saw him walking.
"You could have simply taken me to jail." I point that out.
To that Zeus gave a haughty laughter.
"Where's the fun in that?"
I smiled. He is right.
"Exactly. Where is the fun in that?"
No one knows why I am called the Upsur.
So when I threw Zeus across the city, I'm sure many would know why. But that's not the point.
"Are you having fun?"
I asked Zeus. His mangled face remained motionless.
The city was still intact. Apart for the damage he caused no further damage was done. Well except for his bones. I'm pretty sure I broke nearly all of them.
Oh well. Never could've figure what's so fun in fighting anyway.
|
"Oh they've done it this time," I clench my fist in anger.
Ever since that night, I've never liked those who act as if they're so self-righteous, but I never really cared for this whole system up until today. It's all over the news, the almighty hero, Grandis, raided a suspected corrupt business.
"There has always been something suspicious about this business, sadly, I didn't get to meet the boss," Grandis said on the news. With that, I left the scene.
I barge into the supervillain headquarters and fill up my gears. Never having trained in the magic sector, I'm well-versed when it comes to physical fights.
"Never thought these nullifiers would come in use," I mumble to myself as I load them in.
Before leaving, I went to the archive and pull out a map under the sector "Grandis." It's a map of his whole headquarter. I take a picture of it and upload it into my watch.
"Ey, where are ya goin Dolofonos?" a fellow colleague asks as I head out.
"Grandis's headquarters," I answer shortly before leaving. I heard that same colleague trying to stop me, but by that point, the door was already closed and I have gone into the shadows.
I never take myself seriously and will mess up on purpose, but this time, I don't have any room to be my usual playful self that messes up in missions.
​
Slipping into the headquarters, I take out a janitor and change into his uniform. I scan his face with my watch and replace mine with his, that way, no one will suspect me. I push the now out-of-it janitor's tools and act natural, it will only be a matter of time until someone finds his body or until he wakes up, until then I need to create chaos.
Suddenly, everything becomes a big commotion and staffs gets busy...ah yes, it should be about time when Grandis walks into the headquarters. I quickly bring myself upstairs and using the janitor's card I made through most of the security. Once I've gotten far enough, I abandon the tools and change back into my assassin uniform. While all of this happen, a commotion suddenly erupted in the floor below.
"Geez," I roll my eyes, putting up my mask. I look into the hallway, which is the one that can get me into Grandis's office. Just as I thought, CCTVs and motion detectors, but I don't see any traps surprisingly.
"Quite the confident hero," I tell myself as I shoot a bug into the CCTVs, causing it to malfunction long enough for me to get through.
Hacking my way through the door isn't all that difficult and once it's opened, I made my presence known.
"Well hello there," I say nonchalantly, playing around with my hand gun.
I saw one of the staff try to call the emergency button but I shot at his hand, causing him to move his hand back. I saw another one reaching for a gun then proceed to point it at me. I look at her with and shot her using a non-lethal bullet twice on the shoulder and on the head, causing her to pass out.
Then one by one, the staffs gather their weapons and point them at me.
"I was going to ask you all to just leave, but it seems like you decide to do this the hard way."
​
"Grandis, you have another patrol in three hours but until then, please rest up in your office," the manager say as she looks at her tablet.
"Got it, I'll see you later then," Grandis waves goodbye to his manager. "These damned supervillains, causing so much trouble for heroes, bah."
Opening his office's door, he sees an unwelcomed guest.
"Why hello there, I don't remember inviting a supervillain into my office," Grandis nonchalantly says, "nor do I remember my staffs all passed out when I left."
By that point, I have finished knocking out his staffs. Normally, they would be killed but I don't have a grudge against them, it's Grandis.
"Well perhaps you should've attach more security to avoid getting uninvited guests," I twirl my dagger around, not even giving Grandis a glance.
After a short period of it, I end up looking at him, who by the way is glaring at me. I sigh and slid my dagger back into it's socket.
"Okay, I get it, you want to know why I'm here, yes?" I give him a cold look, "Long story short, you decided to raid my business and injure my innocent employees. I may be a villain, but I care about them."
"Aha! So you admit that the business is indeed corrupted," Grandis points out.
"Just because a supervillain owns it, doesn't mean it's corrupted," I sigh, "you heroes are so annoying sometimes."
Grandis hears just about enough and tries to power up, but at that moment, I raise my tranquilizer at him and shoots a nullifier, hitting him at the right spot. With that, his magic dies down.
"Wh- what...." Grandis looks at his hands confused of what just happened. I take this chance and leap across the room to smack him in the face and kick him down.
Now Grandis might be quite dependent on his magic, but he's still physically strong. Easily throwing me off, he charges at me. Although....his big and muscular body does make it easy for me to predict his movement which allows me to easily tackle him to the ground.
"You're powerless against me, Grandis," I mock him, "you're too dependent on magic that when it's taken away from you, you become pathetic."
That enrages Grandis and he gets back up to try and push me to the ground. I got out of the way and pull the trigger, causing live-ammo to pass right through his right thigh. I then proceed to pin him down and inject a paralyzer.
"I hope this becomes a lesson you'll remember Grandis," I lean down to whisper to him, "don't fuck around other people's business without launching a proper investigation."
"If you mess with my employees or colleagues, you mess with me. Remember that."
| 2022-11-29T08:53:21 | 2022-11-29T04:09:55 | 21 | 13 |
[WP] When you die, God let's you ask only one question.
Enjoy!
Edit: This is my first week writing and I'm glad to see so many people like this prompt. I'll try my best to read through all of your stories and any future ones!
Second edit: So far so good! Sorry if my comments sound the same. I have read through all of yours, and I tried to leave simple comments, as there were so many of you.
|
If I knew I only had one question to ask the big man, I probably would've asked something more important to me like: "Do I get to see the ones I love now?" Or perhaps something more profound: "Did all of our best scientists and brightest minds have it all wrong?" Hell, I could've at least tried to make God laugh and told some sort of joke. Alas, I wasn't watching my words so carefully. Once in front of Him, I cleared my throat and said, "God?"
|
Being a bit impulsive was what lead Jeremy to stand at the pearly gates. He didn’t find them to be as impressive as he assumed they would have been. Most things weren’t as impressive as Jeremy thought they ought to be. One could say Jeremy was a pessimist.
Heaven orientation was actually pretty abysmal. The event was held in a small judges chamber, a very bland room devoid of anything spectacular at all. The cold grey stone walls seemed to absorb all the light from the small green desk lamp on the judges desk. And there, in a muted burgundy executives chair sat St. Peter. The angel’s distinct lack of a halo didn’t sit well with Jeremy. Shouldn’t heaven be full of intricate little details, the finest artwork, glowing halo’s and soft fluffy clouds? If he was in charge things up here would be far more flashy. One could say Jeremy was a perfectionist.
St. Peter droned on an on, most of his facts just glazed Jeremy’s eyes over. Jeremy noticed heaven’s gatekeeper even wore one of those powder wigs. Heaven was stuck in the 1700’s!
A short feather quill was handed to Jeremy, a signature expected. In exchange for his cooperation in accepting the status quo of heaven, he would be entitled to ask one question from the big chief himself. He deliberated for a time. Did he ask about the sad state of his afterlife? What about why he had never found his true love? How come he had always been broke? What was it that would have kept his restaurant afloat? Had he ever actually tasted the perfect risotto, or had the dream he had decided on as a child passed by him? One could say Jeremy was a chef.
He had his question in mind and his new heavenly garb clothing him. Jeremy was ushered through the door of the judges chamber, flanked by two very plain looking men in grey jumpsuits. The court room was a tad bit of a visual improvement on the judge’s chambers, yet something was still lacking. In the audience he saw all of his loved ones, not a trace of life in their eyes. Blank stares all, gazing at the podium of the court room, the high stand where he was lead to sit. God was already seated in the big chair, idly looking over a grey roll of parchment. Jeremy thought he caught a glimpse of his name scrawled in bland writing across the top. One could say Jeremy was unenthused.
“In my hands I hold a list of your accomplishments, a list of your sins, and I will remind you of that signed agreement Jeremy.” Gods voice was strong, and yet lacking. Jeremy was unimpressed. What happened to the big booming voice of the creator of the universe? The voice that commanded life into existence? This guy barely sounded able to command his attention. One could say Jeremy was left wanting.
“You may ask your question for God.”
“Where did I have my perfect risotto? Was it the one my grandmother made me as a child? The one I was first taught to make in culinary school? The three star chef I worked for in France? Did I even have it at all?”
God looked over his horn rimmed glasses and dropped his stack of papers on the desk. God stared at Jeremy, into Jeremy and through Jeremy. One could say Jeremy felt judged.
“How could you have found a single perfect risotto, when every single one was perfect? Did you not taste the perfection of ingredients your chef combined in France? The best quality rice, freshly churned butter, basil grown in the restaurant, wine from grapes I created the universe to give you. Could you not taste the perfection of the knowledge of your path the risotto in school sent you down? A life full of work and food, a restaurant you owned and charted the course for? Could you not taste your destiny in that school? Didn’t you taste the perfection of the love your grandmother poured into that first risotto you ever had? The way your tongue reacted to something you had never experienced before, and nourished you with a love for your family and for food?”
One could say Jeremy felt ashamed.
“Jeremy. Like most of your peers in my realm you will not find perfection as you may have imagined. Here you must search for the perfection of heaven. It’s not waiting for you. You must find and create it. A task I feel a lifetime of your search for perfect risotto has prepared you for. I hope you understand what I’m saying.”
With that God slammed down his gavel. Everything around Jeremy began to dissolve, and he opened his eyes. Jeremy was staring into the face of his savior, a man pulling him out of the lake he had been drowning in. One could say Jeremy felt redeemed.
| 2015-08-26T20:37:53 | 2015-08-26T20:15:14 | 19 | 11 |
[WP] When she said it was "in the fifties outside", she meant the nineteen-fifties.
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Juan thought to himself, "Hm, better wear a light jacket."
When he opened the front door, a blast of 1950 degree Fahrenheit air hit Juan like a ton of bricks. His body immediately went into shock and he fell limp out the door. Every cell in his body burst into flames and reduced his entire life thus far to a small pile of soot.
Juan's last thought was, "That bitch, I see what she did there."
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It seemed a little bit chilly out that morning, and I wondered if I'd heard wrong- the weather had mentioned it being in the fifties already.
First I thought there must be a classic car convention going on. A Plymouth, a Chevy, a 49 Ford, and oh, that Thunderbird- what I'd give for that one. Then I looked around a bit more, and there was no Honda, no Smart Cars, no Toyotas in sight. It was literally every car in town. There was a Buick about the size of a cruise ship where my neighbor normally parked his Prius.
Then I noticed the kids. They were all on old bicycles or just walking- no hover boards. The girls had skirts on and those black and white saddle shoes. One kid who looked a hell of a lot like my neighbor's boy was actually wearing a tie. That seemed strange indeed, since that little punk usually ran around in a hoodie and shorts. Come to think of it, I'd never before seen him without earbuds in, looking sullen. But he actually spoke to me this time- said good morning and handed me the paper.
I went back inside and looked at Mary again, she had curlers in her hair and bright red lipstick on. "What's the occasion?" I asked. Her answer stunned me.
"It's my husband's birthday today, Jane, so I want to look nice when he gets home from work.
Her husband. My girlfriend of six years, the woman who had bought this house with me, and was about as attracted to men as I was up until this morning was telling me she had a husband. I could only look at her. There were no words coming into my head at that moment.
She was wearing some amorphous blob of pink with pockets on it and flitting about the house with a feather duster. I got a glimpse of the back of her legs, and saw that her tattoos were not there. What the ever-loving-fuck was going on?
I stood up to go after her and ask for an explanation, when I caught a glimpse of my own reflection in the big gilded mirror above the sofa. The fact that we now had a big gilded mirror and a sofa didn't even register, because what looked back at me from the mirror was almost unrecognizable.
Horn rims. Fucking silver, flowery scrolled, horn rim glasses. Blond hair, in curls. And that bright red lipstick. Jesus. I had not worn make up since that one Halloween in third grade, and just exactly what I was wearing- a gray cardigan with little faux pearl buttons, a white shirt with a huge fucking bow at the collar, and a pencil skirt. I looked down, and at least I had on flats.
"What the hell is happening, Mary? Why is everyone dressed like it's 1955 and I don't remember anything leading up to it?"
"Language, Jane!" Mary actually sounded shocked. The woman who taught me new ways to swear every day for the last six years was genuinely shocked that I'd said hell.
"I don't know what you're so upset about, but you'd better run along before you're late for work," she smiled and led me to the door.
Work. How was I supposed to repair motorcycles in this get up? What would the boys say when they saw this shit?
I walked the half a mile to the shop, and stood there, mouth agape. The shop was still there, but it sure did look different. There were curtains and a display case filled with pastries and pies. I remember the old man saying it had been a bakery when he was a kid. Just what was going on? And why? How?
Collins stuck his fat head out the door and bellowed at me, "You're late, again! Get in here and start on that wedding cake pronto!"
Collins. He was the old man, only now, he was young. But, wait, what? No, that was his father. Because here came the Collins I knew- only he was a little kid.
"I bet you're wondering what kind of dream this is," He smirked- an expression unmistakable. Yes, that was most definitely the Collins I knew.
A faint sound grew louder and louder, until I realized it was the song "Tequila" by the Champs.
"That's what happens when you eat the worm!" Collins giggled and faded away, as I reached over to the nightstand and turned off the clock radio alarm.
| 2016-03-12T09:48:51 | 2016-03-12T07:42:07 | 1,292 | 284 |
[WP] God is confused because despite the fact you are a 6 time lottery winner, have a multi million dollar house, a beautiful spouse, and accidentally discovered the cure for cancer, your luck stat is set to 1.
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"What. The. Fuck."
God checked the screen again, unblinking, utterly baffled by what he saw. This man had...defied...probability, and yet his luck stat was a 1. Not only was any one of the incredible events occuring to him extremely improbable, the chance of multiple was nigh-impossible.
And yet, Stanley lived a charmed life. Satisfying job, millionaire, beautiful wife, saviour of millions by sheer accident. This made no sense. Not only was his luck hilariously small, his other stats were rather modest too. 14 Strength, 13 Dexterity, 12 Constitution, 14 Intelligence, 10 Wisdom and 10 Charisma. None of that could account for his inexplicable success.
He pored over Stanley's screen. How. How? HOW?
Then, he saw it.
He saw the fucking "-1" for Luck, instead of 1. And then, God sighed, placing his face into his palm.
"Fucking Stack Overflow."
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God, demanding answers, descended from the heavens, appearing right in font of the mansion of one Steve Vikavolt. He rang the doorbell, and after no one answered the door for a few seconds, he bellowed in a divine voice "I am the Lord Almighty, the father of all mankind. The one who oversees the heavens and the earth. And I demand you open this door!"
A short while later, a man wearing expansive clothes opened the door, Steve Vikavolt. "How rude of me too keep you, of all people waiting. Why don't you come in, have a seat."
God nodded, and walked in, ducking his head as he entered (god was quite a bit taller than the average man). As god and Steve walked to the lounge, God drew a lot of strange looks from the servants. God paid them no mind, they were all his children of course, but they were not what he was here for.
As he sat down on a chair, Steve sat down across from him. "So, what sort of thing could a mortal like me be doing to attract the attention of the lord himself."
"I THINK YOU KNOW FULL WELL WHAT YOU ARE DOING, STEVE VIKAVOLT. AS PART OF MY DIVINE PLAN, I HAVE ALLOCATED YOUR LUCK STAT A VALUE OF ONE, THE VALUE OF WHICH, I SHOULD POINT OUT, CAN GO AS HIGH AS IN THE THOUSANDS, AND YET YOU LIVE IN A BEAUTIFULL MANSION, YOU HAVE DISCOVERED THE CURE FOR CANCER, AND YOU HAVE WON THE LOTTERY SIX TIMES." Spoke the lord.
"Not to mention my beautiful wife." said Steve.
"INDEED. I MUST KNOW HOW, HOW ARE YOU ABLE TO DEFY MY PLANS!" spoke the lord.
At this point, Steve's wife entered the room, carrying a tea kettle with her.
"Oh, that's simple. Just a little thing we like to call human ingenuity. Though I must say, I thought all this wouldn't be enough. And yet, here you are." Said Steve.
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN, YOU THOUGHT THIS WOULDN'T BE ENOUGH?"
Suddenly, god heard a click sound, and felt a tightening sensation around his hands.
"WHAT IS THIS!" said god, as he turned around and saw Steve’s wife behind him, who had just handcuffed his hands together.
"Samantha Rockruff, FBI. I'm placing you arrest for charges of several billion violations of the Good Samaritan law. As well as playing an indirect role in committing every crime that has ever existed." spoke Samantha, a confident smile on her face.
"YOU WOULD ARREST ME? THE LORD HIMSELF? IMPOSSIBLE!" The lord spoke, as he struggled against his handcuffs. However, even with his divine power, he felt he could not break free.
"HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE!" spoke the lord.
"Easy" spoke Samantha. "Once we found out that Steve's luck was at one, we simply committed to giving him unbearable torture only if this plan succeeded."
"I was kind of hoping it wouldn't." said Steve.
"You should've known better the day that bear bit off your genitals." said Samantha. "and yeah, I know about that, it was on your record. "
"Anyways, the house is obviously not Steve’s, the lotteries were fake, the cure for cancer was a hoax. It was all to draw your attention. Once we discovered we could read people's 'stats' it became clear that there was some sort of god running things behind the scenes. So we set up this trap, hoping that you would be confused by the difference between Steve’s stats and results. Sure, the plan was a long shot, but we did commit to torturing someone with a luck stat of one if it succeeded, so we were optimistic." Spoke Samantha. "That’s human ingenuity for you."
"BUT WHY CAN I NOT ESCAPE THESE HANDCUFFS!" shouted the lord in anger, thunder crashing down nearby as he spoke.
"We committed to actually giving Steve the mansion if you broke free." said Samantha, a smirk on her face. "Also, I promised Steve I’d actually marry him. So, in a sense, I guess it’s your own power keeping you at bay. I’m not too sure on the details there. I’m just here because I’m the only one who had the balls to arrest god."
The lord struggled against his cuffs, trying to use every ounce of his divine powers to break free, but he found he could not.
"Godamnit" said Steve.
"DO NOT USE MY NAME IN VEIN!" spoke the lord.
"See, it's crap like this why we're arresting you. Because you assigned my shitty luck stat to one, I'm going to have to go through unbearable torture." Said Steve.
"IT IS ALL PART OF MY DIVINE PLAN!" spoke the lord.
"Well we don't approve of your plan." spoke Samantha. "Any plan which calls for humans to suffer and die, many of who were good people, doesn't sound like the sort of plan we’d approve of."
And so the lord went to face justice.
And Steve definitely did not live happily ever after.
| 2017-05-24T03:16:45 | 2017-05-23T19:36:10 | 56 | 34 |
[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job.
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The ocean was calm.
For the first time in its' lifespan, for that matter.
There sat the hooded being, at the bottom of the vast ocean where the ill of the world above - the soot, the ash, the char - would not reach.
A small, white polyp, attached to the ocean floor, waiting until it was ready to become [life](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Turritopsis_dohrnii) once more.
The very small patch of kelp was kept there only by the sheer will of the Reaper, its cloak holding the horror of the tainted waters at bay.
Oh, how it burned.
Oh, how it *all* burned.
But it was its' duty, after all. For what is Death without life?
It'd have smirked, had it a face. It'd been formed by the perception of man, but they no longer held it in their memories. It was little more than a concept, somewhere in the back of the minds of primitive beings. The dark area beyond home. The unseen crevice where beasts lie.
How ironic it was.
Life did go out with a bang.
And here we were, whimpering.
Death sat by the polyp, trying to think of a name for the thing.
It'd have to find *some* way to entertain himself.
It'd be here for some time.
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It was a dark and stormy night, why did it have to be a dark and stormy night. One of them came out of their ruined building they call a base to gather water from the rain. In his blind stumbling he almost managed to slip and fall into one of the cracks in the earth after the earthquakes. All I wanted to do for so long is see every last one of these humans die it gives me a small semblance of what the humans call happiness. I caused a boulder to fall in his path into the chasm as he was inches away from the hole alerting him to his imminent death allowing him to narrowly avoid it.
I am the grim reaper, Hades, Osiris, la Muerte, Mors wherever I was the humans gave me a name I kind of miss it. Now I have to keep these fourteen humans alive or else I will cease to exist. "Guys I'm telling you I was this close to falling until a boulder fell right in front of me and into the chasm." Said Steve "This has been happening way too often, us just avoiding death." Truth is I was avoiding them, trying my hardest to keep them alive like the little incident yesterday. "We have to be more careful with whatever we do, I mean double and triple check for anything that can go wrong." James was my favorite of the bunch because he was easily the most logical of all of them. He made a great leader I'm glad I was too late to save the other leader he was too open to new ideas it's what killed him thanks to pestilence poisoning his crops.
There are four of us, of course me death but there's also war who wants to destroy the humans from within by causing them to argue and make them angrier and angrier until they kill each other from whatever he can make them angry about. There's also pestilence, he wants to poison, infect, and plague the world till everyone is dead. He and war actually teamed up in the middle of the good times to create biological warfare and destroy most of the humans. Then there's famine he wants to see the humans rot and die from lack of food. He and pestilence teamed up once so they could cause a vermin outbreak that not only ate or soiled their crops but also caused many to starve pretty clever. Now we all have only fourteen humans left and they don't seem to understand that we only have so many humans left and they need to breed so we can continue to kill and torture them. Luckily for me they have all decided not to work together, but instead kill them their own ways.
"Everyone we need to keep our hopes up, because that's all we have. We don't know if their is anyone else out there." There isn't. "We have to keep searching until we find anyone." Their hope was admirable even facing extinction they band together and look for others. It was what kept them driven and moving, their hope. That night I kept on watch as they migrated to another building to see if they could find anybody or supplies to help them. While scavenging Rachael almost got impaled on some rebar for a medical kit. She had to jump across a gap that she could have easily made if the floor on the other side wasn't crumbling with little to no support. To stop her from jumping I made the platform across from her crumble and disappear. "I can totally make that." Reese said as a grin appeared on his face. "No, the floor crumbled and I'm taking that as a sign that we shouldn't go for it." Good Rachael "come on we've made bigger jumps than that, if you give me a chance I could-." If I couldn't find a way for them to die for some supplies I would let them go for it which gave them a one hundred percent success rate on all their searches, that has made Reese overconfident on every run. "I said no Reese we've got everything we need we're heading back, now." Rachael always understood the signs I would make and to act appropriately. They headed back to their camp and everyone rested well with more supplies to sustain them. Except Reese he went out without anybody knowing and decided he could make the jump.
I had to think of ways to stop him I blocked the entrance, but he found a way in. I made the floor leading there fall and he still kept going until he got to the jump. He stared at it judging which angles would be the best. None could let him make the jump it was impossible and even if he did there wasn't enough space to get a running start to get back. I wished I could yell to him, shout "don't do it you'll die!" But I couldn't he couldn't hear me all I could do was wait for him to fail. He finally nodded having thought he knew which was the best spot. He got back got a running start and leaped with all the energy he could. He failed midway through and didn't have enough speed to clear it he was impaled on the spikes and died. As soon as I saw his spirit I was angry. He was one of the fourteen humans left in the world and he decided he would go directly against what he was told. Now I have thirteen humans to protect. Now I have to pick work even harder to keep them safe. I don't know how long I have to keep this up, but until the humans can sustain themselves and everything goes relatively back to the way it was and I can kill all I want. I will protect them from the horsemen, from disasters, and from themselves.
| 2017-08-11T06:44:41 | 2017-08-11T03:58:20 | 312 | 14 |
[WP] "Usually when we first contact a civilization, it is very easy to get them under our banner..." The Empress sighed. "...Not the humans though."
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"Usually when we first contact a civilization, it is very easy to get them under our banner..."
The Empress sighed. "...Not the humans though."
She sat in the throne room, monitoring her fleet in both a holo screen and through the dome canopy of her capital ship as they journeyed through the stars. Where had it all gone wrong?
Humans were a curiosity, at first. No central unity, no overall leader who could feasibly represent such a diverse array of beliefs, views, ambitions, and goals. Monitors from afar indicated that they had established some sort of self-serving, imbalanced council of representatives of each "nation", unironically called "The United Nations", that was the closest thing to a head.
The entire world seemed to teeter on the edge of self-extinction, the planet scarred by conflicts and environmental disruptions, yet at the same time showed almost a gleeful rate of destruction. A notable update was when humans proved their capacity for self-destruction when a small peninsula on the north-western rim of the large body of water, called the 'Pacific Ocean', erupted in a mass of thermo-nuclear detonations. This event had garnered the attention of the Empress and her advisors, that this 'backwater' planet, which had not developed space-faring capability and seemed to be confined to their blue planet, had somehow developed nuclear capabilities. Further reports on the event indicated millions of humans dead and a disruption of the relative stability of human activity. And just a few Sol revolutions later the humans somehow went on with their lives.
The event had gained the attention of her advisors and then to her. How had a squabbling species, who had not developed space-faring capabilities, managed to harness nuclear power? She recalled how eons ago they themselves shunned its use, deemed it too crude and destructive to wield, and even as the humans struggled to move beyond kinetic-based weaponry, they already possess such a potentially destructive power.
The Empire's first mistake had been to send a fleet of scouts to the planet, ostensibly to better understand the humans. In their hubris, they underestimated the other capabilities of the humans. The Empress had watched curiosly through her Monitors, after having executed the remote scout pilots and planners for their blunder, when the humans recovered the Empire's crashed scout crafts.
It was over a dozen Sol revolutions later when human activity drew her attention. Reports showed an explosion of activity and a remarkable progress in technological development. The humans did not have an overall leader, as they somehow managed to retain their "democracy". But they had reverse-engineered the technology on those scout drones that were captured and had, in a blink of an eye to the Empress's eternal lifespan, attained space-faring capabilities. They colonized their system and quickly moved beyond, and their technological level grew by leaps and bounds.
The Empire's second mistake was to wait for much longer before making contact. The Empress had assembled The Grand Fleet and sent her representative, one of her many daughters, to make contact with the humans. She had sent the wrong daughter.
She had been brash, full of pompous pride and hubris. A small slight that would have been understandable for an upstart civilization in the presence of the Empress's grand fleet and her daughter decided to punish them for it. The humans had reacted with extraordinary brutality, pursuing the fleet and bringing such firepower to bear that would have given one of her more hawkish generals to doubt.
The humans employed unorthodox methods, exemplified when they caught her daughter's capital ship in an asteroid field. After battering the outer defenses, they had inserted squads of soldiers through ship-launched pods, and what the humans lacked in physical strength or technological level compared to the Empire's warriors, they made up in their independent tactics and ingenuity. The humans were fluid in their doctrine and exploited her Empire's warriors weaknesses as quickly as they found them. Their kinetic weapons were precise as their chemical explosives were destructive. The last reports were of 'ghosts' breaching the command room before her daughter had been captured and the capital ship towed back as a prize.
She cared not for her daughter's life, the fool who had been slighted when the human delegate looked her in the eye. But she could not afford to allow the humans to hold her hostage, and she decided that she needed to resolves this mess personally.
Now the Empress was on her way, with her a fleet thrice larger than her Grand Fleet that had been destroyed. The humans had sent a message, indicating their willingness to negotiate and patch things up. The Empress would not come unprepared.
As the Empire's fleet emerged out of space jump, they were greeted by the human fleet assembled at the agreed point. The Empress realized then why the humans had asked for such a meeting. Before her fleet loomed the humans, their ships twice their numbers and brimming with weaponry.
For the first time in eons, the Empress felt a shudder run down her back.
|
Humanity's fascination with the atom began--unknowingly--with the advent of forging. Turning two metals into one, stronger, metal with the liberal application of heat tended to be a pastime of many human civilizations and empires whenever their neighbors started staring at them a little too long for their liking. From tin and copper, to bronze, to iron, and beyond. Metal and heat. That was the name of the game for thousands of years.
More recently came the hobby of alchemy. That arcane practice of attempting to turn one worthless metal into something which could be marketed as something worth buying; the success of which was sought after by kings and emperors as well as any peasant with a laboratory and some chemicals at his or her disposal. Not by heat alone this time, but by the application of random chemicals and mixtures was one lump of worthless metal turned into a wet lump of worthless metal, probably with the added fun of caustic fumes and deadly reactions to go along with it. From mixing metals for protection to drowning them for possible riches. Few items of interest or note ever came of this practice; but it did help get the ball rolling on the basic sciences, mainly by preserving the desire to discover and explore until the Renaissance.
The basic elements found on their planet began to be noticed, catalogued, and finally organized by their atomic weights. More elements were found and added to their table as the more powerful civilizations took to the oceans to stake their claims on the "wild" continents discovered on the other side of their world, and as scientific methods became more standardized. Of course, as is humanity's method of survival, the discovery of some of these elements led to weapons which soon made the general method of thousands of years of warfare largely obsolete. Those who were unlucky enough to not have discovered these elements and their uses (and there were a lot of civilizations which failed to do so) paid dearly for it by those who did.
And on and on humanity went, discovering more elements and, eventually, creating a few of their own--most of those created only lasted a few microseconds. But when a century of warfare took the humans through that dark time, a few of them were able to light up a small part of their planet--if only for a very short while--with a particularly-heavy element and the wanton smashing of the atomic structure of that element with the neutrons dislodged from other atoms with the application of crushing pressure brought about--first by ramming, then by precise explosions. A city, then two cities, more or less instantly erased from existence, and the notion of war between old powers was suddenly a very unpalatable one. But the threat of one was still there.
This particular weapon was tested again and again, the results growing larger and larger--the end result mostly to get more neutrons to bombard a mass of several heavy elements, resulting in larger explosions. Complex mathematical equations, born from new applications of mathematics and aided with machines that could calculate and solve these equations for these humans in a very short amount of time, dictated how reactions between atomic elements were supposed to happen. And, finally, the humans built a machine which allowed them to gaze upon the atom itself.
By this time, humanity was instantly communicating among itself despite the distances on their planet and on nearby bodies. And humanity progressed still, until someone remembered that old practice of alchemy, wondering if it was finally possible. They had full access to the atom--no matter the element. All they would have to do is either add or take away the protons, neutrons, or electrons from one element to turn it into another. Sustainable fusion reactors were by then a mainstay of humanity's civilization, so energy was no longer an issue. And so this scientist set out to turn one element into another with the liberal application of energy--it takes a lot of energy to rip nuclear forces in a manner that would reliably turn one element into another. And, eventually, he was successful. Hydrogen into Helium--the basic reaction taking place in the center of their star. A lot of heat, a lot of pressure, all made possible by almost limitless energy.
A descendant of this scientist took the research to another level. Nano-technology was not a new thing--microscopic robots were used in quickly repairing injuries and precisely excising cancerous cells out of the sick for decades. This scientist combined her predecessor's research and created atomic-sized nanites. Simple things that could only follow a couple of simple instructions, being they were mostly composed of a couple of protons and neutrons and energized by a dozen or so electrons. But they could handle the immense temperatures and pressures at the center of her predecessor's reactor, and she was soon turning lots of things into others. Lead into gold was obvious, but her government noticed that and forbade her to continue doing so--some backwards tribes still existed and considered gold as currency, after all. So, she decided that the next logical step was to turn something into food. Overpopulation was already straining humanity's civilizations, and food was a growing concern. By ordering her nanites to take sub-atomic particles and add others, she was soon able to create nutritious, tasty food out of dirt, rocks, grass, wood-- anything she could shove into her reactor, now called a "converter". Her research shared among her colleagues, more of these "converters" were constructed and experimented on, quickly becoming a mainstay of humanity's civilization. The worry and lack of food was no more--nearly limitless food could be created, packaged, and sold. Of course, this interfered with certain political groups which used the growing price and lack of food to their advantage, and so this scientist was assassinated for her inadvertent interference--but the converters were there to stay.
The combined resources of multiple scientific organizations meant that these building-sized converters quickly became small enough to be installed in a small alcove in the home. Programmable, a typical converter could be told by a human what food they wanted and at what temperature--limited to 373.15 degrees Kelvin. All the human had to do was put something in the top, and their food would appear in a puff of light at the bottom. Usually, people would simply use the surrounding atmosphere as the material.
At first, this was not much of an issue. However, as humanity's population topped 18 billion, the results of such use of these converters became obvious. There was a finite amount of mass in the planet, and definitely a finite amount of atmosphere--an amount that was being depleted far quicker than could be replenished by natural means. The political situation deteriorated as invasions took place to literally steal the dirt, air, and water of the neighbors, to feed to the converters at home. The ecosystem suffered most of all--trees were being cut down and turned into material for the converters. Water sources--the ocean, most of all, were also being depleted and turned into food. The prophesied danger of rising sea levels due to climate change was replaced by wondering where it all went. The deserts became deep chasms, the sand dug up and carted away. The atmosphere became noticeably thinner--for example, the results of parachuting out of an aircraft--the few that could still fly--were questionable at best. Weather patterns grew sluggish and rain became a distant memory. The land began to die, forcing governments to drastically limit the use of these converters, taxing the ocean even further with huge desalinization plants to replenish the fresh water sources.
Space travel then became the topic of choice, to try to escape the prison humanity had forced itself into. Sure, small shuttles with primitive fusion reactors had been sent out to scout for possible landing sites for possible further manned exploration, but the invention of the converters put that notion to rest. Now, it was back at the forefront of discussion. Why not build ships which could harvest matter out of the moon, or Mars, or beyond, and use those in the converters? And so ships were built, fitted with fusion reactors and converters, and sent out to the moon to harvest. Soon, entire cities were built on the moon, massive converters turning regolith into atmosphere, for the sole purpose of revitalizing the home planet. More ships were built and cities erected onto Mars. Massive cargo ships ferried material from the moon, Mars, and eventually the asteroid belt, back to earth to be converted to whatever was needed. Massive converters replenished Earth's atmosphere and oceans, while sand flowed back into the deserts. Soon, the Earth had been more or less fixed, and the immediate danger had passed. Food was still far more expensive than it had been in the past, but civilization was manageable again.
Two things limited the speed at which humanity could spread among the stars. First, the speed of light was a distant limit, for the small fusion reactors could not push the ships beyond even a tenth of that speed. And second, someone managed to turn a converter into a weapon of mass destruction.
| 2017-11-05T20:21:33 | 2017-11-05T19:47:06 | 90 | 15 |
[WP] You are God, and you wanted to experience life as a human to see how you would turn out. In order to do that you became a baby that was born and you made yourself forget that you are God until your 30th birthday. It's your 30th birthday and you are a serial killer waiting for his death penalty.
Edit: Holy shit I wrote this and went straight to bed, I'm going to read all of your replies now, thank you. This is my first writing prompt, I'm so glad you guys liked it.
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Ah, I said to myself, so they don't like it when you do that.
I had perfect memory in that moment, my transcendence repurposing my powers as I saw fit according to my holy whims. I could feel the blood dripping down my hands, each life taken no less recent to my mind than the present. The screams, the emotions flushing across their faces, even the chemical computers coursing through their veins as open to me as my own thoughts.
Funny, though, they didn't always get so upset about it. I guess it gets harder over time.
Where was my notebook again?... —ah!
I scribbled my findings down below the other notes.
`6. Thou shalt not kill.`
The clock reset and I settled in for another round. This was going to be a good one, I could feel it.
|
As I woke up, I felt incredibly calm.
Until this very morning, the past years had been a challenge for me that pushed me to my mental limits. I didn’t know what was right or wrong, what was good, what was evil. Was I going to hell? Was I the evil that people feared? Was all the blood for nothing?
No more questions.
Today I woke up and knew the answer.
Thirty years in a mortal body brought me to this small, dreary cell that the people put me in to let me suffer until I finally got what they thought I deserved. These poor souls could not have known.
When I did these crimes, I never regretted my actions. Now I know why.
The walls of the room had numerous scratches that covered the cold white surface like scars. For years my anger, doubts and fears were displayed on these enclosures, but today was my time to smooth them out.
This morning I was patient. I could have gotten out of this prison with ease at the very first moment I opened my new eyes. But instead, I would take my time. I had just realized what time actually means.
To me, nothing.
When the first guard came to my cell and barked out the usual instructions, I simply took my time to find eye contact. That shut him up immediately. An almost unnoticeable spark lit up his eyes and without any more words, he unlocked my cell door and stepped aside.
Just a couple of hours ago, I would have gone trough all sorts of emotions ranging from glee to denial when this path opened. But right now, it was simply part of the higher plan.
Hundreds of eyes laid on me as I slowly walked past the hall.
I was able to hear their thoughts and feel their emotions. Most were confused and interested, some envied me, many were angry.
“Hey, inmate! What are you doing?”
A guard shouted at my back. In anticipation of the oncoming event, I formed a humble smile on my face. Certainly, there was a little bit left of my mortal self.
Without turning around, I pursued my way along the far corridor.
“Inmate! You are not allowed to be out here. Go back to your cell now or I have to use…”
With his gun already pulled, he stopped in the middle of the sentence.
The atmosphere in the building froze every thought and simultaneously made everyone feel unbearable heat. Sweat in every pore.
People could sense, there was something divine going on.
A short glace over my shoulder. Another pair of eyes lighting up. A final breath.
The guard pointed the gun away from me and slowly turned it on himself.
His teeth bit the barrel as he pulled the trigger.
_Boom._
The dump sound of his body hitting the floor joined the ringing in people's ears that was left by the gunshot.
For many of the present witnesses, a body with a fatal head wound was not a new sight. However, none of them had ever seen one dissolving into thousands of cockroaches and maggots within seconds. Every single one of them planting the feeling of chaos in everybody’s mind.
With every further step I took, I could hear people dropping on their knees, praying and asking questions.
Today, I knew the answer.
It was more an act of attention gathering than a necessity as I gracefully rose my hand and snapped my fingers to open every door in the building. Hundreds of minds were astonished in an instant.
People were connected. By admiration. By wonder. By fear.
No one dared to say a word. Quietly, everyone came out of their cells, looked for a reaction and hesitantly decided to follow my path.
I didn’t count the minutes it took me to go through the whole prison. Inmates and guards that did not see my marvel were either convinced or made an example. Most understood fast enough to simply join my following.
If only a man could feel this glory.
As I reached the heavy steel doors that were supposed to be the final hindrance of any uprising, I just made them disappear into thin air. Amazed mumbling arose with each wonder that I let happen.
Every glimpse turned at the sky that had turned dark during my awakening. Grey flakes of ash calmly glided through the warm air. Thunder kept interrupting the silence and joined the grace of the lightings striking the earth.
I steadily turned around as I felt everyone’s attention on me. So many questions.
A wide grin.
Hundreds of eyes lit up.
The frightened crowd suddenly snapped into an angry mob of hate and contempt. That number of men contained so much strength that all at once turned on themselves.
People started punching, kicking, biting each other. Men were being strangled, blood was being shed, lives were being ended.
This was just the beginning.
All these years of questions. What is right or wrong? What is good and evil?
Today we got the answer.
I am the answer.
_____
Edit: Grammar and wording
| 2018-11-22T19:03:39 | 2018-11-22T16:27:19 | 980 | 37 |
[WP] A few thousand people around the world suddenly get superpowers based on the character of the last game they played. Highly valued by society you are the exception as everyone laughs at your inherited powers. The thing is, you modded the hell out of your character before this all happened.
Wow I didn't think it would blow up like this. Thank you so much kind stranger for my first ever silver. Freaking my first gold ever that is so awesome. Dont forget to show the great writers of this post some love also :)
|
Jeeeeeesus, check out that pathetic 'Mario' on the other side of the road. Running, jumping, and 'Wa-hoooo-ing' like a madman as he makes his way down the street... what an amateur.
I don't mean to brag, it's just that I kinda lucked out when the super power lottery was being handed out. By my count there are a couple hundred of us who received our powers from the last video game we'd all played, but I was a bit of a hobbyist modder, and as a result, my game character was a tad... overpowered at the time I was granted all his powers. God mode, all weapons, unlimited ammo and many more. You name it, I probably had the power in my arsenal.
I'm a bit of a bounty hunter in this new world full of video game powered heroes. People call me when one of my brethren get out of hand and the cops can't do jack shit to stop them. Right now I'm on a call to detain an 'incredibly annoying blue hedgehog', which I'm *not* exactly looking forward to, but a gig is a gig. The warehouse he'd been spotted at is just around this next corner and then I'll-- Oh crap... there's that Knight Solaire wannabe walking right towards me, and it's too late to change direction. *Don't make eye contact, don't make eye contact...*
"Praise the sun, good sir!" I bellowed, trying my best to stay on his good side.
"Fuck off," his muffled, echoing voice muttered as he passed by me without breaking his stride.
That was about par for the course for how those interactions typically went for me. In fairness, the folks playing Dark Souls at the time of the event kind of got the short end of the stick. Their 'powers' include being incredibly somber and moody, invulnerability for a split second while rolling, and the 'gift' of being transformed into an undead husk of a human being when they die. I was there the first time one of them found a bonfire on the beach, but when they realized couldn't kindle it or restore their humanity no matter how hard they tried, they were *extremely* pissed. I guess if I were cursed to live for eternity as a grotesque creature that looked like a raisin that had been left out in the sun 200 years, I might be a little pissed as well.
As I entered the warehouse, my worst fears were confirmed. A blue blur shot past me, shouting about how 'rad' he was, and knocking me over in the process. A life sized Sonic the Hedgehog reject stood over me wagging a finger at me as a grin crossed his distressingly human face.
To be clear, you don't HAVE to dress up like the character you received your powers from, this goober just apparently *really* wanted to dress up as Sonic. And let me tell ya, you think the CGI movie Sonic was an atrocity? Imagine the horrors I'm seeing as this middle aged, obese man sprints around the warehouse completely nude aside from oodles of blue fur poorly glued to his body. The fur did *not* leave enough to the imagination, gonna need some serious eye bleach after this is over, that's all I'm saying.
"You're too late, I'm outta here pal! Gotta go fast!" he shouted as he 'wound up' his legs and was off like a shot.
"Okay," I shrugged, as I suddenly moved at light speed and caught up with him in an instant.
"Goddamn speed hacker!" he shouted back at me as he took a hard turn to try and throw me off.
Growing tired of chasing him, I surveyed my bevy of hundreds of fully loaded weapons, selected a concussion grenade launcher, aimed, fired and... missed him by a mile. Yeah, no aimbots for me... even I had to draw the line somewhere, I *do* have my personal moral code to follow, but sadly that code was coming back to bite me at the moment. As I missed, 'Sonic' slipped through the door, slamming it shut and locking it up tight behind him.
"You're tooooo slow, dude!" he taunted me poorly through the window.
Thoroughly annoyed at him by this point, I activated the last of my major powers, slipped through the wall, and tackled the blue freak to the ground without warning.
"What the heck?!" he protested.
"No clip," I growled into his ear as I tied up his hands and feet. One more degenerate off the streets, but I can't help feeling there had to be far worse 'heroes' and 'villains' out there. I mean, odds are that *somebody* had to have been playing Mortal Kombat just before the powers got handed out, didn't they?
___
Feel free to check out r/Ryter if you'd like to explore more of my stories (Dudes covered in blue hedgehog hair may be denied entry, but otherwise, all are welcome!)
|
He stood at the edge of the street, the "mighty" precipice before him holding him back the way the edge of the Grand Canyon might. 18 inches between him and the crosswalk. 18 inches between him and the sweet release of death. Some asshole had turned the streets into rivers of infested blood or some childish nonsense that, barring the grace of god bringing some far less intelligent nerd towards Magnus, one wielding a runed-sword, shooting fireballs out their hand or whatever the hell the giant moth in the distance was doing, was about as close to salvation as the man could get, assuming the river of blood was as versed in death as it seemed. Unfortunately, 18 inches was still too far for the man, by exactly 18 inches.
Just as all hope seemed lost, a small cadre of skateboarders started to come closer in the distance. Maybe one of them would be kind enough to push him in? Only, how could he possibly tell them what he wanted?
"Hey look! A knight!" Tony Hawk yelled with his distinct bro-like twang. The other Tony Hawks laughed in unison, their attempts to belittle the despondent man a failure, due to one large inadequacy in this taunt: Magnus was not a knight at all. He would have told them their folly if not for two things: One, the fact that he had no mouth or vocal chords, or basically anything else you could possibly use to converse. Two, their noisy approach drew the ire of the equally silent pyramid-faced man in a nearby alley. Even a shut in like Magnus knew not to mess with anything with a pyramid for a head; he didn't need to see the 10 foot long sword the creature pulled behind it to know that, though it certainly hammered the point home. One swing bifurcated each of the flock of Hawks, and the creature turned towards the immobile man.
Verbally, Magnus said nothing. He wanted to scream. He wanted to turn and run. Neither could he do in his current predicament, so he just sat, hoping that maybe this new friend with his giant old knife would cut him in half too and end everything. That, is when I, panting and overheating, finally caught up with the poor man.
"Magnus Carlsen, famous chess player. Form of," I took a strained breath, sucking in air like a pornstar, "a pawn it looks like?"
"How did you know?" the chess master thought to himself, but loud enough for someone like me to hear perfectly fine.
"Oh, I can read minds."
"A sad little man like you?" Magnus thought again, incredulous that I could read his mind.
"Don't be incredulous friend, I can indeed hear you. Well, technically I can SEE you. Through you. I can see through everything" I said with a grin. "That means both physical things and mental things, hence reading minds. I can see through that..." as I spoke, I pointed around, first to the pyramid-headed monster, appropriately named Pyramid-head.
"And that.." my finger swiveled to the top of the giant white pawn in front of me, the last piece Mr. Carlsen must have been using before the Event.
"And.." I started to swivel once more, this time towards the giant moth in the sky, someone who had clearly been playing a Godzilla videogame hours earlier. A billboard of a famous actress crossed my gaze and my trajectory waved for a moment. Crimson-faced, I tried to play it cool and act like a bug was in my eye.
"And what?" Magnus queried inaudibly, thankfully unable to turn around, due to being a chess piece at the moment, and make the simple deduction a man of his mental fortitude would surely construct: that I had just been staring at the most wonderful pair of titties.
"Bug in my eye, and not the giant Mothera in the distance either," I declared a little too loudly. Before you start calling me a creep, particularly for using the word titties, please keep in mind that in my current...preDICKament..I am unable to avoid any chance I can to come off sleezy. My innuendo game has been on point, but at what cost?
"Wait, nevermind, I get it" Magnus thought. I thought 'shit' back, but only one of use could read minds. "You saw that old Jessica Alba billboard back there, didn't you."
"Of course you kept track of your surroundings, fuckin' chess masters." I did not mean to say that aloud.
"Yea, and since you said you can see through everything, you must have been able to see through her clothes too. Does that mean you can see me naked too?" People always have to rain on my parade.
"Yes, I could, but I don't. First, you have nothing for me to look at right now, being a chess piece."
Before I could get to the rest of my explanation, I was interrupted, "So you already tried to look at me naked then?" When it rains it pours.
We were getting dangerously off topic for someone trying to coax someone else from an edge, I having been reading the chess grandmaster's mind since I first saw him in the distance, my little legs not letting me run fast enough to get there before the skateboarders had died; my own inadequacies shining through.
"Full disclosure: I mod videogames to be more adult oriented. I was working on what amounts to the double chocolate fu- fu- fudge of modding when the first Event happened," I spoke to the man, still a pawn, in a whisper for no reason at all. The stutter, my mind trying to power through my tongue's attempt to defile the word fudge, caused me to speak recklessly.
"The first?" Magnus thought, my slip of the tongue of course being caught, indiscreetly marked by my cringe, by someone as discerning as a Grandmaster. No way could I tell such a greenhorn that these occurrences had been going on for decades. He was smart, but he probably wasn't as versed in adult videogames as I was, so it was likely safe to change the subject by disclosing my name.
"The name's Larry. Leisure Suit Larry." My characters name, not my own, but until I find a way to get myself out of this digital body I might as well enjoy the preDICKament's perks. I sighed, the emphasis not entirely my own. "I am tasked with registering those of us who become Gamed during an Event, my ability to see through anything being particularly helpful in such a process."
"does that mean you know why I can't move?" Carlsen asked, a tingle of hope that was likely self-imposed, as I have found thought has no inflection. Of course the answer was "yes," but the answer might not be what the man wanted to hear.
"You were playing a top-down 2-D game. This is less of a problem than it use- than it could be, 2D games not being as popular as they once were, but apparently the laws of the planes of existence from whence you are transmogrified determines your body's ability to function in this..realm?" I find it easier to not use terms like realm and planes of existence and just live and let live, but the words bestow me with an unearned air of knowledge, a helpful advantage in my line of work. "That is to say, You can go forward and backwards and left and right, but not up or down. You don't function in three dimensions effectively. Also, because you are a chess piece, you can't go backwards apparently."
"Actually, many chess pieces can go backwards. I just happen to be a pawn," Magnus corrected me like a totally jerk. He was right though, and this knowledge could prove helpful, as it indicated that the rules of chess were likely as much a part of his situation as the fact moving in 2D disallowed him to move up or down inclines.
Checkers was more my style, but I had a fledgling understanding of chess and a thought came to me. I grabbed the giant Pawn and swung him like a great hammer, far lighter than I had imagined him to be. Upon letting go, the piece flew across the street. When his small pale body landed on the other side, an incandescent light shot into the sky and I turned away on reaction. When I turned back, the pawn was no longer there, replaced by a larger, more stately looking chess piece.
"I turned into a queen! This is amazing!" While Magnus Carlsen trembled with joy, much the way a double amputee does the first time he puts on his running prosthetic, I trembled for another reason: my mind was desperately telling my tongue to not say a damned word. It failed....
| 2020-01-05T14:51:34 | 2019-08-11T23:40:52 | 1,516 | 31 |
[WP] A few thousand people around the world suddenly get superpowers based on the character of the last game they played. Highly valued by society you are the exception as everyone laughs at your inherited powers. The thing is, you modded the hell out of your character before this all happened.
Wow I didn't think it would blow up like this. Thank you so much kind stranger for my first ever silver. Freaking my first gold ever that is so awesome. Dont forget to show the great writers of this post some love also :)
|
“GO GREEN!!” My neighbor screeched at the field.
I leaned to my friend Raya, “Is this entirely necessary? We could be doing something more fun. Like literally anything. Anything is more fun than this.” I looked at the field disdainfully.
“Seriously Maize? This is like the one time your power is totally on point!” My glare hardened at her as I shifted back to normal. “Aw, come on Mai, we’re in the last quarter!”
Whispers fluttered all around me,
“Dude, did she just —“
“Holy shit did you see —“
“Dad that lady was GREEN —“.
I sighed and shifted my color back to the team’s forest green, “Yay football.” I muttered sarcastically, ignoring the next wave of whispers and stares that followed my change.
I’d long since gotten over my misfortune of power. Figures that an electromagnetic surge would hit the one time I was playing a kids game, granting me and several other thousand people the “gifts” of our game characters.
Do you know how wicked some of these people’s power’s were? Most of them were changing the weather to avoid natural disasters, telekinetically rescuing people from fires, leaping tall buildings in a single bound. . .you know, superhero shit.
Now in all fairness, I was hiding a secret. I hadn’t just been playing a kid’s game that auspicious Friday, I’d been modding and redeveloping it. Including my player.
In fact when the surge hit, I’d been typing code in specifically to mod my player. You’d think that’d left me with a glitch or two, but nope, it left me with an unfinished code and a blinking cursor.
When faced with the actual reality of becoming all-powerful, one tends to freeze up a little. Sure, I could code the crap out of myself and run this world from here until probably the end of time.....but was it ethical? Moral? And the question that bothered me most, what then?
I’d had a couple of months to have an existential crisis and hadn’t been able to get past what happens next. The other players had showed me what a little power could do to a person. On the news you heard the amazing stories of the “PC Heroes” and how our world needed something extraordinary to survive. The chat rooms told a different story.
Forums had popped up all over of PCs struggling with controlling their abilities, getting addicted, depressed, and some suicidal. After reading a post from a 15-year old my fantasies fell cold in their tracks, “I feel numb, like humming electric wire I have one purpose and it is my power. When I use it I lose myself and when I don’t I think of nothing else. I’ve lost my love, my pain, my anger. I’ve lost. I’m lost.” That was the last post she made. Two months ago.
But was it selfish to not do it? Was it worth losing myself if I could save the lives of others? The thought had me frozen in indecision for months.
“Mai,” my friend shook me, “Game’s over, let’s blow this popsicle stand.” She gestured towards the line shuffling towards the exit.
Everything started happening in slow motion as the ground began shaking, and a crack in the stadium opened up below Raya.
Screams rang out from every direction, but Raya’s sounded right in my ear as I reached out to grab her. “Raya!” I cried out, grasping her forearm in mine as she dropped into the hole.
“Don’t let go, don’t let go, Mai, please, I love you, don’t let go” Raya sobbed over and over, fingers digging into my arm. The ground still shook beneath me, crack deepening, I reached another hand down holding her tightly.
Tears streamed from my eyes as I struggled to hold her, I had to pull her up. “Help! Help! We need help!” I yelled looking around for anyone. There were others helping pull up victims who had fallen also, people still running for the exits screaming, chaos.
“I’ve got you! Hold on!” A man ran over to my left and laid a hand on my shoulder has he reached down to grab Raya. “Pull!” He yelled. I strained my burning muscles as far as they could go, we grunted as we pulled her backward, sliding out of the crack and falling back into the stadium seats.
“We’ve got to go,” I shouted grabbing Raya, still heaving on the ground.
The man nodded and stumbled with us through the crowd to the exit. The shaking had ceased but we still moved quickly to the main level, getting as far as possible from the near death Raya had nearly faced an the real death for many others.
As we reached the parking lot and the leave that awaiting I pulled away from Raya, already nearly jogging back towards the stadium. “Go home,” I said to her, “There’s something I need to do.”
I had some coding to do.
|
He stood at the edge of the street, the "mighty" precipice before him holding him back the way the edge of the Grand Canyon might. 18 inches between him and the crosswalk. 18 inches between him and the sweet release of death. Some asshole had turned the streets into rivers of infested blood or some childish nonsense that, barring the grace of god bringing some far less intelligent nerd towards Magnus, one wielding a runed-sword, shooting fireballs out their hand or whatever the hell the giant moth in the distance was doing, was about as close to salvation as the man could get, assuming the river of blood was as versed in death as it seemed. Unfortunately, 18 inches was still too far for the man, by exactly 18 inches.
Just as all hope seemed lost, a small cadre of skateboarders started to come closer in the distance. Maybe one of them would be kind enough to push him in? Only, how could he possibly tell them what he wanted?
"Hey look! A knight!" Tony Hawk yelled with his distinct bro-like twang. The other Tony Hawks laughed in unison, their attempts to belittle the despondent man a failure, due to one large inadequacy in this taunt: Magnus was not a knight at all. He would have told them their folly if not for two things: One, the fact that he had no mouth or vocal chords, or basically anything else you could possibly use to converse. Two, their noisy approach drew the ire of the equally silent pyramid-faced man in a nearby alley. Even a shut in like Magnus knew not to mess with anything with a pyramid for a head; he didn't need to see the 10 foot long sword the creature pulled behind it to know that, though it certainly hammered the point home. One swing bifurcated each of the flock of Hawks, and the creature turned towards the immobile man.
Verbally, Magnus said nothing. He wanted to scream. He wanted to turn and run. Neither could he do in his current predicament, so he just sat, hoping that maybe this new friend with his giant old knife would cut him in half too and end everything. That, is when I, panting and overheating, finally caught up with the poor man.
"Magnus Carlsen, famous chess player. Form of," I took a strained breath, sucking in air like a pornstar, "a pawn it looks like?"
"How did you know?" the chess master thought to himself, but loud enough for someone like me to hear perfectly fine.
"Oh, I can read minds."
"A sad little man like you?" Magnus thought again, incredulous that I could read his mind.
"Don't be incredulous friend, I can indeed hear you. Well, technically I can SEE you. Through you. I can see through everything" I said with a grin. "That means both physical things and mental things, hence reading minds. I can see through that..." as I spoke, I pointed around, first to the pyramid-headed monster, appropriately named Pyramid-head.
"And that.." my finger swiveled to the top of the giant white pawn in front of me, the last piece Mr. Carlsen must have been using before the Event.
"And.." I started to swivel once more, this time towards the giant moth in the sky, someone who had clearly been playing a Godzilla videogame hours earlier. A billboard of a famous actress crossed my gaze and my trajectory waved for a moment. Crimson-faced, I tried to play it cool and act like a bug was in my eye.
"And what?" Magnus queried inaudibly, thankfully unable to turn around, due to being a chess piece at the moment, and make the simple deduction a man of his mental fortitude would surely construct: that I had just been staring at the most wonderful pair of titties.
"Bug in my eye, and not the giant Mothera in the distance either," I declared a little too loudly. Before you start calling me a creep, particularly for using the word titties, please keep in mind that in my current...preDICKament..I am unable to avoid any chance I can to come off sleezy. My innuendo game has been on point, but at what cost?
"Wait, nevermind, I get it" Magnus thought. I thought 'shit' back, but only one of use could read minds. "You saw that old Jessica Alba billboard back there, didn't you."
"Of course you kept track of your surroundings, fuckin' chess masters." I did not mean to say that aloud.
"Yea, and since you said you can see through everything, you must have been able to see through her clothes too. Does that mean you can see me naked too?" People always have to rain on my parade.
"Yes, I could, but I don't. First, you have nothing for me to look at right now, being a chess piece."
Before I could get to the rest of my explanation, I was interrupted, "So you already tried to look at me naked then?" When it rains it pours.
We were getting dangerously off topic for someone trying to coax someone else from an edge, I having been reading the chess grandmaster's mind since I first saw him in the distance, my little legs not letting me run fast enough to get there before the skateboarders had died; my own inadequacies shining through.
"Full disclosure: I mod videogames to be more adult oriented. I was working on what amounts to the double chocolate fu- fu- fudge of modding when the first Event happened," I spoke to the man, still a pawn, in a whisper for no reason at all. The stutter, my mind trying to power through my tongue's attempt to defile the word fudge, caused me to speak recklessly.
"The first?" Magnus thought, my slip of the tongue of course being caught, indiscreetly marked by my cringe, by someone as discerning as a Grandmaster. No way could I tell such a greenhorn that these occurrences had been going on for decades. He was smart, but he probably wasn't as versed in adult videogames as I was, so it was likely safe to change the subject by disclosing my name.
"The name's Larry. Leisure Suit Larry." My characters name, not my own, but until I find a way to get myself out of this digital body I might as well enjoy the preDICKament's perks. I sighed, the emphasis not entirely my own. "I am tasked with registering those of us who become Gamed during an Event, my ability to see through anything being particularly helpful in such a process."
"does that mean you know why I can't move?" Carlsen asked, a tingle of hope that was likely self-imposed, as I have found thought has no inflection. Of course the answer was "yes," but the answer might not be what the man wanted to hear.
"You were playing a top-down 2-D game. This is less of a problem than it use- than it could be, 2D games not being as popular as they once were, but apparently the laws of the planes of existence from whence you are transmogrified determines your body's ability to function in this..realm?" I find it easier to not use terms like realm and planes of existence and just live and let live, but the words bestow me with an unearned air of knowledge, a helpful advantage in my line of work. "That is to say, You can go forward and backwards and left and right, but not up or down. You don't function in three dimensions effectively. Also, because you are a chess piece, you can't go backwards apparently."
"Actually, many chess pieces can go backwards. I just happen to be a pawn," Magnus corrected me like a totally jerk. He was right though, and this knowledge could prove helpful, as it indicated that the rules of chess were likely as much a part of his situation as the fact moving in 2D disallowed him to move up or down inclines.
Checkers was more my style, but I had a fledgling understanding of chess and a thought came to me. I grabbed the giant Pawn and swung him like a great hammer, far lighter than I had imagined him to be. Upon letting go, the piece flew across the street. When his small pale body landed on the other side, an incandescent light shot into the sky and I turned away on reaction. When I turned back, the pawn was no longer there, replaced by a larger, more stately looking chess piece.
"I turned into a queen! This is amazing!" While Magnus Carlsen trembled with joy, much the way a double amputee does the first time he puts on his running prosthetic, I trembled for another reason: my mind was desperately telling my tongue to not say a damned word. It failed....
| 2020-01-30T11:35:06 | 2019-08-11T23:40:52 | 1,281 | 31 |
[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.
|
Those humans. Those weak, pathetic Humans. Or so we thought. We decided to eradicate them. They where allies with many of our enemies, and had been providing raw materials to them to fuel them in their war with us. We knew they had to die.
And Besides, they where so pathetic. Squishy bodies, lacking a hard chitin to protect them, oversized eyes. They weren't *good* at anything, just average at everything. They can barely run at 10 m/s, have below average smell and sight, even with those weird eyes. Squishy and *cute*.
And they knew nothing of interstellar war. Oh we knew they had a few forays in their history, a few hundred thousand dead there, a million or two here. But they had given in to cowardice and now worked for *galactic peace*.
They didn't expect us, and so we had attacked their home, their precious Earth, before they even realised. Billions dead. That was how to do warfare. Kill enough and break their spirit.
We expected them to militize their economy when we began our assaults, but we didn't expect it to happen overnight. We moved more of our fleets into their space and they began modifying their ships ready for combat within a few months. We hadn't expected how quickly they could adapt to situations. I could almost admire them for it, if I didn't hate them so.
After the first few battles, they proved themselves actually quite talented at killing. Oh they where using Adanai technology, no doubt gotten through one of their many trade deals, but they used it very differently to the Adanai. They experimented with strange tactics, such as using the ability to hyper jump whilst towing small meteors to create a simple yet effective trebuchet of sorts.
When we withdrew from their space to regroup, we thought that would be the end of it. I wish it had been. They kept coming first invading our space, and then blockading our planets. We thought we could match them, ship for ship, and outgun them with our dreadnaughts. But more and more of their ships kept coming. Soon we where not only fighting a defensive war, but one we couldn't win.
They waited till we tried to surrender to begin the extermination. Every planet, bombarded from orbit simultaneously with those bombs. We are somewhat resistant to fallout, but they completely destroyed the atmosphere, turning our worlds into tombs for our people.
And they did not stop until they got to me.
I, Commander *SCRTCH* am the last of my people. They left me alive merely to bear witness to the destruction they had brought. The gift of death was too good for the one who had massacred their home, they said. And so here I stand, on the tomb of my people, recording this message for posterity. If any future civilisation finds this, I tell you, don't cross the humans. They have no concept of honorable warfare. They only bring death.
|
**Xerxes XVII - Northern Quadrant of the Terran Front**
163.0041 Fleet Standard
The command bunker was a problem. Fighting had stalled out as the 25th Company of the Royal Offworld Regiment held their ground, unable to push home the final advance that would drive the last of the invading forces that had come to conquer the fledgling colony. The stalemate was becoming precarious for the remaining colonists, as the bunker's jamming systems allowed the hulking giants they had taken to calling Fomori to keep the colony's calls for help silenced.
Something needed to change, and fast, if they were to survive.
***
"So do you think this'll work, or is it gonna kill the both of us?"
Ranger Aella Davey grinned over at her Lance-Corporal before giving him a shrug in response. "Oh, ye of little faith. Could be both!"
That earned her a dark chuckle as Cross turned back to the hard-wired field phone they had been reduced to by the jamming. "I'll tell the Leftenant you said so."
The two were crouched in a dugout at the crest of a hill overlooking what had once been the primary farms for the small colony settlement working to establish itself on this planet. Xerxes XVII was a temperate world, spared the worst of the variances that made Earth such a crucible for her children by the proliferation of other satellites around the Xerxes System's bright golden light. The planet and had been a prime colonial acquisition, still slightly too harsh for the liking of their new Federation allies, but nearly idyllic for Terrans.
Right up until the neighbors dropped by. None of the colonists had managed anything resembling a dialogue with the warped and twisted humanoids when they marched on the colony, and few were willing to consider a second attempt after two three-meter tall invaders tore the first negotiator sent to greet them's limbs off before throwing the man's shrieking remains at the town's walls like a dart.
That had been six months ago.
The colony was holding out by the skin of its teeth. The hundred or so soldiers on-planet at the time of the attack had immediately dug in to wait for reinforcement, but as it became clear that something was blocking communications, hope was starting to run thin.
Aella slithered up to the edge of the dugout, keeping low as she trained her spotting scope downhill at the enemy bunker in the greys of Xerxes' long pre-dawn twilight. It was scaled wrong for human use and crudely built, mostly packed earthworks and slabs of an unidentifiable dark metal, surrounded by the encampment of those Fomori troops not worthy of living within. They were having beef for breakfast again today, she noted bitterly, feasting on the livestock that the colony hadn't been able to get to shelter in time. Her stomach grumbled at the site, reminding her of far too many days on short rations.
Cross' bulk thudded against the earthen wall of the dugout next to her, and he gave her a nod. "We're good to go. Leftenant says to make sure we've got our sunscreen on and she'll have the last couple beers on ice when we get back. Murphy is three minutes out with the ammo."
She couldn't help but smirk. "Well by all means then, let's not keep those drinks waiting."
The two slid back down into the dugout and to the gangly device they had spent half the night shlepping through the trench system and up the back of the hill. Even with countergrav assistance, it was awkward and frustrating to move under cover of darkness, but they had gotten it in place before the sky started to lighten and the enemy could see. It had taken the rest of the night to unpack and assemble the heavy tripod and the long gun atop it, but now it would be the work of a minute to raise it into firing position.
Muttered cursing from the tunnel entrance signaled the arrival of their third section mate. Ranger Murphy's lanky form hove into view a moment later, soaked in sweat as he carefully hauled a heavily protected ammunition crate behind him in a half-crouch. Placing it at the side of one leg of the tripod, he collapsed to the dugout's floor with a grunt.
"That," Murphy groaned between drinks from his canteen, "Is the heaviest fucking box of ammo I have ever had the distinct misfortune of hauling across God's green acre."
Cross half-heartedly glared at him from where he had returned to the trench phone, and Davey just smirked and popped the box's seals with her belt knife. "The fireworks will be worth the effort, Murph. Now get off your ass and give me a hand loading this thing."
***
"So who came up with this idea, anyway?" Murphy grunted as the two Rangers fitted the projectile onto the long gun, "Seems like a hell of a weird one."
"One of the Navy boffins off the *Botany Bay* who got stuck down here with us." Davey carefully inserted a retaining bolt, and the two slid the metal round firmly into place. "Seems he's some kind of historical wargamer. Got the idea from something the Yanks did back in the Second European War."
"Huh."
"I know, right? Get the other end of that crank, let's get this up over the top so we can blow and go."
Grunts of effort, along with metallic clatter and the muttering of the Lance-Corporal at the phone filled the next minute, then the muzzle crested the dugout and Davey sighted down the weapon's rangefinder.
"Okay, six degrees up. Range 2875 meters. Fight time 16 seconds."
"Set."
Her tone turned formal as she turned to Cross. "Lance-Corporal, we have a confirmed firing solution. Do we have the authorization to proceed?"
"Weapon armed?"
"Aye, Lance-Corporal!"
"Pills?"
All three dug out small foil packets, tearing into them before swallowing the chalky tablets within.
"Dosed."
"You may fire when ready."
Aella settled in against the weapon, taking up the firing control and one thumb flipping off the safety. "Safety's off!"
She shared a grin with Murphy, as Cross muttered a last reply into the phone before his face hardened with resolve. "Send it."
"Shades on, lads! HERE COMES THE SUN!"
***
Few of the Fomorians saw the flash of artillery on the blasted hill across the valley.
The colonists huddled behind their walls, however, saw the sun rise briefly in the West, as the fire at the heart of a star briefly bloomed.
On the hill, another sound was heard, lifted in mocking song. "~Davey, Davey Crockett. Queen of the wild frontier!~"
"Oh, shut it, Murphy."
| 2020-02-07T16:29:03 | 2020-02-07T16:03:06 | 27 | 10 |
[WP] There is a rare metal that is almost indistinguishable from steel after it has been processed. There are few who can identify it. The metal gains power from every life it takes. As you watch the latest execution, you realize the town’s guillotine blade appears to be made from this metal.
|
"How many lives could that blade have taken?"
The question rang inside my head. The guillotine had been in the town longer than most people had been alive, used sporadically for executions but always present in the square. It was a reminder that we were not a free people, ruled by a government that cared little for well-being, only for profit. The executioner was employed by the government (as were the judge and the jury, most of the time), and going to these executions was less about entertainment, but more about being present for those who were sentenced to death by our tyrannical leaders. Prior to every execution, the executioner readied the guillotine by fastening the blade and running a test to ensure no hiccups in the process. If I wanted to get my hands on that soulsteel, I would have to figure out where he kept the blade.
Surely, they know. They have to know.
"But what if they don't?"
The thought of reforging the soulsteel into a wieldable sword to fight against our dictators with was a pleasant one, to say the least. I figured I would stay, watch where the blade went, and steal it in the night.
It was a gift, some called it, to be able to recognize soulsteel at only a glance. There were two main differences between it and steel. The first was the melting point, only a couple of degrees higher than steel, but enough to give it away to a seasoned armorer. The second was much more difficult to spot: the grains. Soulsteel has small grains in it that all run in the same direction, and right when someone's life is taken by the blade, the grains glow the faintest grey as the soul is converted into energy. These grains stored the power, and a powerful blade could have slight trails running the length of the blade that glowed with raw energy. Only a sharp eye could spot them, and spotted them I had. The execution came and went, but I could not focus on the man. I could only focus on the blade.
The executioner eventually removed the blade, cleaned it, wrapped it in its sheath, and went off to his secret storage area. I followed at a distance, keeping him in my sight but out of earshot. Finally, he entered the courthouse. It must be in the basements below. I had been there once, to visit a friend who worked in the records office and drop off his lunch. I knew there was storage down there. Now, all I needed was a plan.
After some time, night fell. I armed myself with bolt cutters and a lock-picking kit I had gifted my son for his birthday some years ago. In the cover of darkness, I made my way to the courthouse. I knew there would be guards, but I had no plans on interacting with them. I figured the front doors would be unlocked, and I could slip past until I was in the records room, then go from there.
Sure enough, there was minimal security on the ground floor. I made my way to the basements before seeing the first guard. He was asleep in a chair, a half-eaten dinner on a table in front of him. This was almost too easy. I quietly crept past him and into the records office. From there, it was just a matter of finding the spot. Perhaps there would be a guide in one of the offices?
I found the executioner's office and picked the lock on the door. As I silently looked for a clue to where the blade could be hidden, I noticed a small key on the desk. I grabbed it and began to stuff it in my pocket when I looked under the desk and saw a safe. I tried the key. No dice. I sighed, then stood back up, but as I did, I saw a silhouette in the doorway.
In the silhouette's hand was a glowing dagger.
The executioner flipped on the light and looked at me, a look of smug amusement on his face. After a moment, he chuckled and said, "And just what do you think you're doing?"
|
Among the many horrors the Revolution unleashed upon the land the guillotine in the town square was manifestly among the worst, Antoine thought in the wake of another grisly execution. Even without the incantations and the blessings, the twisted prayers the Revolutionary Cult said over the blade before it fell. Some said the tribunals even quenched their blades in blood before fitting them into the imposing artifices of state that now stood in every place large enough to be counted on a map.
Of course most said that was a lie, propaganda fueled by the few remaining Monarchists of the counter-revolution.
Antoine Lamarre, keeping to the shadowes that clung to the edges of Marseille’s town square, knew better. For a very special few blades the lie was true, the incantations were real, and the ultimate aim of the Revolution could be discovered therein. Blades such as the one here Marseille, where the blood of the slain flowed upward against the pull of gravity and along the twisting patterns of the steel’s stacked grains.
“Finally,” Gabrielle whispered from the alcove on his right, “finally we’ve found one.”
Antoine nodded, his eyes never leaving the blade. He could have sworn his saw a faint glow as the blood sank in.
Dusk that night found Antoine, Gabrielle, and a third man whose scarred visage had long ago earned the name “The Smiler,” ensconced in a side booth of the inn they stayed at, their discussion nearly drowned out in the raucous barroom songs.
“It has to be this one,” Gabrielle said, her slender fingers wrapped white knuckled around the hilt of a small knife. “Who knows when we’ll find another?”
“Agreed,” the Smiler croaked, “I’ve heard tell of one in Paris but the guard will be heavier there, Marseille is our best bet.”
Antoine was thoughtful, left hand scratching through his ragged beard. “The guard here is none too light though, I counted a full twenty in the square for the execution.”
“The nighttime guard will be lighter by half or more. What do you think Smiley, six total? Four if we’re lucky and they only stick a man on each corner?” The longing in Gabrielle’s voice was plain. Antoine thought she might go ahead with this heist tonight even if he decided against it.
“Not less than eight I think,” the Smiler said. “The priest at least should know the value of the blade, he will have some pull with the watch commander.”
“Then the odds are eight to three.” Antoine looked at his battle scarred old friend, they all knew who would carry the lion’s share of any fighting. “What do you say then, can we do it?”
The Smiler considered it, a long moment stretching into two, and then a third as he took a pull of his beer. “Aye. If Gabby can handle two and you can take a man and seize the blade I can hold the rest.”
“Hold? Not kill?” Antoine could see it in the old man’s eyes, the weight behind those words.
“Aye, hold. For a time at least.” Gabrielle’s grip on her knife slackened as she let out a small gasp, her hand going to the Smiler’s forearm. He looked at her with unexpected warmth as he drained his cup. “Some sacrifices must be made. You know that as well as any my prince.”
Antoine did, but he hated it as the Smiler’s eyes bore into him, deference and pride racing across the crags of his face. In the bag around his neck the signet ring he always carried burned against collar. He, Antoine Lamarre, last and youngest prince of a deposed dynasty. Some sacrifices had to be made, but when the ranks of the monarchists were so thin and their last soldiers so dear, it grew harder. This time in particular.
That night, in the deep darkness before the dawn, they struck.
Gabrielle approached first, the keen edge of her smile pointed at the youngest looking of the guards as the approaching sway of her hips held promises that need not be spoken. He was dead before he could even touch her, one of her many daggers appearing as if by magic in his chest.
The Smiler had been right, there were eight, not the four Gabrielle had naively hoped for, and more than that they were alert. The closest of them moved before their comrades body had fallen, pikes lowering as they began to form up around her.
He stepped into the gaps of their ranks like a shade, a hatchet in his right hand and a long dirk reverse gripped in the left, a brace of pistols at his waist. The Smiler had fought for the Crown longer than any of these boys had been alive, it showed in the brutal artistry of his motions.
The screams of the dead and dying filled the air as Antoine ascended the scaffolding unnoticed. The Guillotine’s blade seemed to call to him as he approached, longing for his blood or for the blood that was being shed below. Antoine’s sword came free of its sheath, and in one smooth motion he severed the rope tying the blade to the winch. Below him a guard noticed, calling out a warning to his fellows before the Smiler’s axe found his skull. There were 5 guards left and more on their way.
It took Antoine a mighty heave at the wooden frame to free the blade, and when it did it fell towards him. He caught the steel in bare hands and his whole word lit on fire.
There was a strange, pulsing hate within the blade that spoke to his very blood. It responded to him, the edge glowing red as he held it, heat pouring out from the steel at a rate he knew would burn any other man. His skin did not burn, did not boil as it rightly should have. Antoine held the blade in his hands and felt only a cold, aching familiarity.
“I have it!” He shouted at his comrades. Below the scaffold Gabrielle and the Smiler gave a faint cheer as they fought for their lives. Turning to flee Antoine realized he had been cut off. A man, the captain of the watch by his insignia, was rushing up the stairs towards him, a bare blade in his hands. In desperation Antoine looked down at the sword he had cast aside to seize the guillotine blade, he would not reach it in time.
As the guard captain swung the prince did the only thing he could, raising the heavy guillotine in his hands, pointing it at the incoming sword like some kind of cumbersome shield.
Its edge sheared cleanly through the captain’s blade, carving deep into the man’s chest as his now unchecked momentum carried him screaming forwards to his death. Antoine could hear the deep, unsettling hum of the weapon as it fed, could see the blood trailing up the grain, towards his hands.
Then the Smiler was on him, pulling his prince towards the road and towards safety as a Gabrielle ran ahead, a trail of bodies in their wake.
They reached the alley that was their target just ahead of the guards reinforcements, but all three knew they would not make it to the safety of the canal and their waiting comrades there ahead of the pursuers. Antoine had only a moment to exchange a last glance with the Smiler before his old friend turned, sheathing his dirk and pulling the first of his pistols as he screamed for them to run.
Dawn threatened on the horizon as Antoine and Gabrielle made their way through the still dark warren of city streets towards safety, their prize carried between them. Behind them gunshots rang out, then steel rang on steel, then a too familiar scream sank back into silence. And all the while it spoke to him, the hum of the guillotine’s blade beating in time to his royal blood as Antoine dreamed of vengeance and secrets uncovered.
\-------
If you liked that I've got way more over at [r/TurningtoWords](https://www.reddit.com/r/TurningtoWords/). I'm currently working on a serial about three teens encountering a hive mind and there's other standalone stuff like a giant, faceless, psychic tiger. Come check it out, I'd love to have you!
| 2021-02-02T09:09:52 | 2021-02-02T08:21:38 | 64 | 37 |
[WP] Everyone laughed at your super power to manifest any sort of pun related device. That was before you sawed the ocean in half with your sea-saw.
|
"What have you done?"
The words hung in the air, repeating over and over in my head until they were meaningless. whathaveyoudonewhathaveyoudonewhathaveyoudone...
To be honest I wasn't even sure myself.
"just stop..." I whispered gripping my head with both hands, as if trying to push these words out my head by force.
In the silence I could feel the eyes of the other heroes boring into me. Not much time could have passed since no had reacted to what had happened yet. But it was only a matter of time before they turned on me. What had I just done? Sea-saw?
The power of words truly is a terrifying thing.
There was no way for the rest of the heroes to prevent the resulting tsunamis and coastal damage. Some lives were saved but the casualties were still unthinkable. The villain Frenzy, a half man half shark, who started the conflict was destroyed in the attack, true; but even his actions took a back seat to the devastation caused by my sea-saw. It was Powerman who finally acted swiftly knocking me unconscious. When I woke I was gagged. Trying to remove the gag resulted in electrical jolt that rendered me unconscious yet again. When I woke next I was informed I was a prisoner in the Void, a special prison for villains manned and patrolled by heroes. I was told they were deciding what to do with me and that I would remain in quarantine until then. As time went by I learned that many across the world wanted me dead due to the devastation I caused. Initially I accepted the fate, but as the quarantine stretched on it gave me time to reflect on the way me and my power were treated like a joke only to now be considered a villain. The crushing loneliness, guilt, and resentment was a burden too heavy to bear until finally the good-natured jokester that pal'd around with heroes was gone. A new conviction grew in it's place, and the isolation provided ample time to hone the words of power I would use when the time finally came.
After 8 months of quarantine the deliberations finally came to a consensus. The verdict; removing my vocal chords. Since the ability could only be manifested when spoken this would ultimately render my ability useless.
When the heroes Living-Flame and Icequeen came to retrieve me for the procedure I decided I would not go quietly.
"We are sorry for this." Living-Flame said. "Do you have any last words?" she said removing my gag.
"What are you doing?" Icequeen snarled, "Let's just get this over with."
"What an icebreaker." I rattled out through a sore mouth and lips.
By the time it dawned on Icequeen what was happening it was too late. I had already swung the massive flaming hammer down on her crushing her.
Living-Flame, shocked by the sudden violence, was too slow to act.
"Fire poker." I managed to mumble.
Normally Living-Flame is virtually impossible to attack directly since she has no physical body to speak of. She very much lives up to her name, a being of pure fire. She can control the intensity and heat of her fire, as well as how big or small her form takes on. No one is sure of her limits, and some speculate she could shrink her size to a floating ember or grow large enough to ignite earth's atmosphere and destroy the planet. I had to act quick to take her down.
A spear appeared in my hand, a weapon that could damage fire itself and without hesitation I plunged it into her. Her fire faded to ashes and scattered to the ground.
I stepped out of my cell as the facility alarms began ringing.
As the heroes began pouring into the corridor, I uttered the words of power I had fixated on.
"Mind bombs!" I shouted so that everyone could hear.
Everyone stopped in their tracks faces twisted in pain many clutching and shaking their heads. I looked down at the remote detonator in my hand, and before anyone could react, pushed the button.
|
From the newly blasted fissure splitting the Atlantic, arising from the walls of water carved down deep into the darkest depths, walked a man, rather normal looking other than the knight's helmet on his head and the massive barbed trident he was using as a walking stick.
The crowd gathered to gawk at this unexplainable phenomenon was even more stifling than the Miami heat. Crank adjusted his collar. He needed somewhere to change.
"I come like a puzzle, citizens!" the man said in the booming voice belying some sonic power. "In peaces!"
An audible groan traveled like a wave through the crowd. Who was this joker? As Crank pushed his way through the crowd, holding his pipe but not yet daring to use it, the man clapped his hands like rising thunder. Three strikes of lightning shot down from the clear sunny sky. From a blue mist, an alligator mixed with a man stood beside this new villain. It wore a trenchcoat and an elongated fedora. Next, a gruesome, fat insect formed bumbling above them, emanating a green mist. Crank stood on his tiptoes to see a public bathroom in the distance.
"I am the Pundertaker! I have come to take my rightful dominion over this city. As a gesture of goodwill, I offer you a boon. One of many to come!" The man thundered, raising his hands and arching fresh lightning in front of him as the civilians scrambled to back away.
A huge chasm appeared as the sands of the beach flowed into it. A column of thick, tarry smoke rose up as Crank hammered on the locked bathroom door. The occupant sounded to still have a ways to go. The smell was unmistakable, from the smoke, not the bathroom. One man in the crowd let out a triumphant shout through giggles.
"Behold, the pot-hole!" Pundertaker said, climbing atop the insect and riding through the smoke. "Now, before the festivities begin, I need the mayor delivered here to me on the beach, dead or alive. The person who brings him to me will receive riches beyond their wildest dreams."
A group of police officers launched a smoke grenade at the villain who laughed in response, dominating whatever they were saying through the megaphone.
"Fools, you look upon my great works and think you can stop me!" The villain held the trident saw to the sky and another bolt of lightning struck it, changing it into a grey cane. "Behold, the might of the Hurri-cane!"
A wall of wind swept through the crowd as they screamed. A Volvo lifted up and struck into the gathered officers.
"Forget it!" Crank yelled, taking the baggie from his pocket. He dumped eight times the legal limit of bath salts into the pipe and drew hard, letting the acrid fumes dance between his remaining teeth. He did not cough out the poison as a normal man would but breathed out slow and sweet, smelling of peat moss with the smile that was plastered across a thousand newspapers.
His muscles busted through his shirt and he wasted no time, bounding towards the villain with a fierce karate kick. The alligator jumped in front of the villain, blocking the blow with its tail.
"High as hell, reckless abandon, and looking eight days past your expiration date," the alligator snarled in the gravelly voice of a noir detective. "It's an honor to meet you. A shame it had to be like this."
The alligator launched itself at Crank, biting his midsection and knocking him straight into the pot-hole. He breathed in and let the conjured ganja revitalize him. This villain was a fool if he thought a gator could stop him.
Crank launched out of the hole, spinning the gator by the tail like a shotput. He released, launching the projectile reptile into the still airborne Pundertaker, who was knocked off his bee mount.
"Ahh," the villain yelled, clearly unaccustomed to battle. He was powerful but a newbie for sure. "Who the hell are you?"
Crank floated over the crowd, grabbing an empty can of Skoal flying lazily through the wind as he approached, saying nothing.
"It's Florida man!" someone in the crowd shouted. A cacophony of intoxicated cheering rose up.
"This city's taken," Crank said, throwing the can like a ninja star and knocking the cane from the villain's hand.
"No!" Wasabee! Investigator! Kill this man!" the villain squealed as he began mouthing to himself, clearly struggling to find another pun as he crawled towards the cane.
Crank breathed in more of the fine kush before landing six blows against the toxic bee. His eyes watered as the foul thing belched acid onto his chest. If he didn't have trace amounts of every stimulant known to man running through his veins, he would have passed out. He kicked out and drew a 20 dollar scratchoff from his pocket. "Keep the change, honey!" he quipped as he threw the card to tear the bee in half. He made eye contact with the alligator, who dropped his gaze and scurried away, unwilling for a round two.Crank blasted a path to Pundertaker, traveling through the air with all the speed of a modded 1996 Camry XE. It wasn't enough.
"My-newt! Go, give him an embolism!"
Crank felt a small prick as something burrowed into his veins. His blood stream was the most inhospitable environment on Earth. He wasn't worried. He continued towards the villain.
"I've got it!" Pundertaker yelled as he grabbed his tool again. "Go Sand Witch!"
A cackling accompanied the thunder as lightning struck the beach and a ten-foot-tall golem of sand rose up, topped by a pointed hat.
Crank punched through the creature as the crowd roared behind him but each bit of damage was almost instantly undone. The battle raged on for minutes. Crank could feel the smooth glass in his bloodstream fading. He couldn't last much longer and this sand witch wasn't slowing down. The golem grew a long wand and began some incantation as deli meats swarmed above it.
"Come on, think!" Crank beat his addled brain, trying and failing to sober up. Then an idea came through the drug fog, creativity likely stemming from the LSD of the night before.
Crank dove past the golem and ripped the cane from the villain's hand. "This better work. Go Mike Dyson!"At first, there was only silence, even from the crowd.
Then a familiar voice came bellowing down from the heavens. "Miami! Let's get ready to RUMBLE!" The ding ding of an arena bell followed by the whir of a vacuum cleaner drowned out the roars of the crowd as a figure rose from the sand. A heavyweight boxer, sack on his back, and strong suction jets instead of a right arm caused the people to back away, forming a wide circle. He engaged the sand golem, squared up and dancing on his tiptoes.
Each blow drew more and more of the creature's sand into Dyson's bag, until it was on its knees. A final knockout blow and the creature was only a pile of sand, cackling no more.
The boxer walked over and help up the squirming villain as Crank approached. Crank held up a broken bit of a corona bottle, expressionless as he walked towards the villain.
"No, no, I surrender, please Florida Man. Don't kill me!" the villain was powerless without his staff, looking a pathetic blubbering mess as his face was struggling to not be sucked into the heavyweight champion.
Crank knocked the helmet off his head, revealing a sniveling face.
"My Knight Cap! Don't let my death be on your conscience. You're a hero! You can't do this!"
"Don't worry," Crank said, slicing the glass across the villain's throat. " I’m not really a mourning person."
​
/r/surinical
| 2021-06-09T14:31:24 | 2021-06-09T14:18:30 | 1,542 | 207 |
[WP] As an atheist, you always believed that there was nothing after death. After your last breath, you discover that you were wrong, but that no one else was right about what's after either.
Mainly, there is something after death, but religions are wrong about it.
|
Last I heard was tires squealing and last I felt was a much too heavy impact. The pain went away almost immediately but once I opened my eyes it was replaced with confusion. The ground was a wispy grey smoke, not smoke over top of something, I was sitting on solid smoke. To immediately contrast this some bright children's blocks laided in front of me with a note saying "get building".
I looked up from this perplexing pile to an even more surreal scene. I couldn't really gauge distances, but in every direction, for as far as I could see there were people building block towers. The further I looked the taller they got, in the distance it looked like there were skyscrapers of children's blocks.
Admiring them I tilted my head back I was somehow even more taken aback. A being; larger than anything I'd ever seen, was floating there, he covered the entire sky.
Then I heared a booming voice all around me:
"Shit, someone figured this one out too, new afterlife starting in 10 seconds, everyone hold on tight"
|
I should be dead. I remember how each breath from my withered mouth drew in less air, how my aching body grew too weak to support itself. I remember those final moments leading up to the sweet release of death.
I know I died. So why am I still alive?
At least, I think I'm alive. I'm certainly not dead.
I think I'm a disembodied consciousness. My physical senses are totally gone. I don't really feel anything, but I can almost trick myself into thinking I have a body.
Wait, what's that? I can finally feel something. It's like I'm being pulled...
Jason's eyes shot open and he gasped for air. He couldn't get any. Something was in his throat. He choked and flailed until a voice said, "Stop panicking. Relax and let the tube do its job."
The part of his brain that still held some rationality obeyed the voice. He relaxed his body. His muscles loosened and his limbs lay flat. He observed his surroundings and noticed he was inside a small capsule. The only light came through the opaque material used for the ceiling of the pod. He spotted a small tube that snaked from the wall and ended somewhere in his throat. He suppressed a pulse of anxiety, clenchig his fists until he calmed down.
"Good, you did that surprisingly quickly. I'm going to open your pod and get you back to normal. Sit tight."
Jason waited for two minutes before the ceiling of the pod retracted back. His eyes met with a bright light and he clamped them shut.
"It'll take a minute for your eyes to adjust. Stay still. I'll be removing the tube next. It will be a bit uncomfortable."
He opened his eyes again, slowly this time, and looking down at him from outside the pod was a human being dressed like a doctor. Suddenly, pain flared in his chest. He hadn't really felt the tube before, but now that it was coming out, it felt like he'd eaten a snake and it was trying to climb back up his throat.
"And there we go, the tube is out."
Jason breathed heavily. The ghost of that pain still lingered, and he wouldn't soon forget it.
Propping himself up on shaky hands, he surveyed his surroundings. All around, there were other pods, and his was the only open one. Each one must have contained a person. For what purpose, he didn't know.
He tried to remember how he got here, but each attempt to search his memory was met by the pain of a knife stabbing through his head. Jason could vaguely recall the feeling of floating in nothingness, but before that, his memory was guarded by pain.
The doctor must have noticed him wincing, because he said, "It's normal not to remember anything at first. The simulation accessed your brain in a way that's totally different from how we use it normally, and you're still suffering from the effects of that. It'll pass with time as your brain heals. Now, let's get you into the chair and bring you to the testing center."
*Simulation?*
Jason was curious, but it was clear that there was no time for questions. The doctor helped him get his legs over the sides of the pods and into a wheelchair, then rolled him out of the pod room and down a narrow hallway. They passed by many doors, and through small windows Jason could see more pods like his own, all closed.
"You might be wondering why all the other pods you see are closed, and you're the only one up and about. You don't remember it, but you managed to trigger a special condition in the simulation that enacted an ancient protocol and woke you up. More will be explained later, but I should tell you that the world of your memories was not real. Keep that in mind when your memories return."
They continued down the hall until they arrived at a door labeled "Testing Center." It swung open automatically as they neared, and waiting inside was another doctor.
"Ah, Jason, nice to meet you." The new man nodded towards the other doctor. "Thanks for bringing him, I'll take it from here."
The first man Jason met in this new world nodded and left. Soon after, Jason had needles poking him from a million different directions. The most painful one was what the doctor called a "bone marrow sample."
Once that was done, he was brought to a room with a shower and some basic clothing. He found that he'd gained enough strength to stand. Jason washed off and clothed himself in a black t-shirt and beige pants.
"Come with me." They walked further down the hallway and stood outside another room, this one labeled "Psychiatry."
"I'll leave you here. You will get an answer to most of your questions behind that door. Stay strong."
Jason entered the room. He wasn't sure how, but the room had a comfortable atmosphere. It was soothing just to stand in it. In the center of the room were two chairs. A man sat in one of them. He was young, maybe around thirty, with short black hair and startling blue eyes. He wore an infectious smile that put Jason at ease and made the man seem trustworthy.
He motioned for Jason to sit.
"Come, have a seat. We have a lot to discuss."
| 2021-07-01T16:13:55 | 2021-07-01T15:36:52 | 114 | 63 |
[WP] As a soldier fighting in the trenches of what will later be called WWI, your company suffered a devastating gas attack leaving you the lone survivor. The trauma of watching your brothers die in front of you has awakened latent magical ability. You are a necromancer.
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"Get up dammit, get up!"
I can't explain the terror behind those words. Looking at them on paper, they're the screams of an idiot child. Maybe that wasn't too far from the truth.
When I'd joined up two years before, I barely had whiskers. I saw war as exciting. Basil did, too. We spoke to one another of medals and parades and how the girls would invite us into their beds at the sight of our uniforms. We thought war would be an adventure, not despair. Not continuous terror. Not seeing the face of your best mate melt into human sludge.
Bloody fools, we were.
The war had been going for barely a year. Most of my service had been marching, digging, trying to sleep in mud. Basil kept me sane. We continued to hypothesize our hero's welcome back in Yorkshire. We'd not seen real combat, only fired a few rounds at a few people far away. We were lucky.
"It's you that brought us luck," he'd say.
What luck did I have? Youngest son, six brothers ahead of me, no prospects. The farm went to the eldest, James. Irving became a tailor. Percy was a drunk. Mark, Jack, and George all found work in factories. My only hope was to make a life in the military, not that I thought it'd be much.
On that morning, I'd smelled it before it hit. You never forget that smell. I'd heard the shells land, but just thought it standard artillery. Then something hit me like garlic and rotten eggs. I got my mask on, but Basil... poor Basil. He'd panicked and just started shooting into the clouds of green and yellow, like he could kill the chemicals himself with bullets.
By the time I'd yelled at him to run, it was too late. He fell where he stood. And I stood over him like a fool, yelling for him to get up.
I heard the boots, then. Jerry was coming up through the mists. My heart sank. My blood thundered in my ears. I said it again, half-mad myself: "Get up!"
And then the strangest thing. Basil obeyed.
And Clive.
And Norman.
And my other brothers in arms, all of how had died choking not ten minutes before.
The Germans came into view and my former comrades began to fire. Nothing precise, just muscles going through the memory until the pins fell on empty chambers. Then they lumbered forward, flesh sloughing off bone, with bayonets fixed.
Something in me rose, a sense of command. I climbed up the dirt and cried, "Cut through them lads!"
It was so bizarre to see German eyes go from cruel to pants-shitting terrified in a blink. I watched as chemical burned arms ran Jerry through, crushed helmets with buts, and simply choked the life out of them.
I called to each one and told them what to do. They obeyed. My voice was like that of a terrible god of old, and underworld general with my army of the unliving.
We ran through them like an arrow through a melon.
When we came to the other side, I kept marching us up that damned hill, that useless hump of land that was so precious we needed to die for it. I heard the groans and screams behind me of men on both sides going to meet their maker.
I found a spot in the woods, looked at the bakers dozen of shambling dead around me. I pulled off my mask and said, "Guard me, lads."
I fell asleep then with dead backs to me and malice still burning in my heart.
A man in a Colonel's uniform woke me, offering me a flask. It smelled of the good stuff. I took it and filled my mouth with fire. Then I saw his rank and stood up, hand raised to brow in salute.
He said, "As you were, soldier."
He grabbed a stick... no a staff, topped with crystal. He stood up stock straight, looked me in the eye.
He said, "Nice work."
It all seemed like a dream, a nightmare, in that moment.
"I'm not sure what you mean, sir."
He looked around. My mates, my dead mates, still stood watch.
He then turned to me and asked, "What's your last name?"
"Beechum, sir."
"Beechum. Hmm. How would like to wear one of these?"
He pointed to a patch on his arm in the shape of a wide brimmed, pointed hat.
I looked at him and said, "I... I don't know sir."
He just smiled under his big mustache and said, "Well then lets sort you out. Welcome to the Warlock Brigade."
|
The air is quite still, calm, and quiet on this chilly Fall morning. It feels like the proverbial calm before the storm. However, Corporal Edward “Eddie” Greenly of the Coldstream Guards, of the British Expeditionary Force (BEF) knows this feeling all too well. His stomach is in knots, he was unable to eat his morning ration of tinned bully-beef, but they say that it is better to not eat before a battle anyway, lest you receive a stomach wound and it gets infected. He jots down the last few words of the letter to be mailed home, next time the Battalion Postman comes by collection personal letters. He always tells his parents, and his girlfriend about the boys, and how things are bad, but he is making a go of it. He does not of course tell her how horrible the past several months has been fighting on this godforsaken hellscape in France. All of the killing, dying, and maiming. Living in a deep muddy trenches and underground earthen bunkers like some ancient Troglodyte. Eating cold tinned rations of bully-beef or oxtail, with a side of hard stale yet moldy hardtack, that are sometimes supplemented with horse meat if a calvary unit has taken a very hard thrashing. How, everyone screams for their mums when mortally wounded. No, Greenly, does not tell her these things.
A cigarette, or known at the time as a *fag*, is being passed around by some of Eddie’s platoon-mates. Eddie takes a quick long one puff drag, and then passes the fag to the man on his right, Private Jack Fordham. He glances over towards the Company Sergeant Major who is conferring with the Company Commander, a new replacement Captain. The Captain looks baby-faced, and is shaking like a leaf; he earned his captain epilates in the rear, working at Brigade HQ, but so many officers have been cut down, they just transferred this former staff officer to the front. His revolver is limply hanging from his hand, not dropping to the ground only because of the lanyard it is dangling from is slung over the captain’s shoulder. Eddie has no confidence in his new Company Commander, but he does have confidence at least in his stone-faced mustachioed Scotch Sergeant Major. The Sergeant glances towards Corporal Greenly, who is essentially acting as the platoon sergeant for first platoon, and motions that the attack will commence in five minutes. Get his men ready.
Eddie gets up. He quietly motions for the platoon to get ready. He was briefed earlier that the higher echelons thought that this morning’s over-the-top attack towards the Hun’s line would be best achieved without any preemptory artillery barrages, or mortar stonks, but instead quietly, and with the element of surprise. Of course, his unit has tried this tactic a few times before, and makes it about halfway through the couple hundred-meter no-mans-land before the Germans fire a very light (flare), illuminating the scene, and then let loose with machineguns, mortars, grenades, and artillery, cutting his guys in to ribbons. No, Eddie knows today is going to be a bad day, and his company is going to suffer heavy casualties. He knows it. He feels it in the pit of his stomach. At least with a creeping artillery barrage it keeps the Huns’ heads down, and gives us a better chance of getting in to the enemy’s forward positions. But he has resigned himself long ago to the fact that he has zero say in how the battles are fought, nor how to fight them. He only feels responsible for his men. He has also resigned himself to the fact that he will die. Not a matter of if, but rather when, and how. He is hoping if it does happen, it is a bullet between the eyes. Lights out, see you again next time. But he wants to minimize the casualty rate among the men in his platoon (platoon in name only, more like an over-bloated squad, not a full blown platoon after the last assault), about twenty in all. He tells the new replacements to follow his lead, and tells the old salts that they know what to do, but to stick to him too.
The entire company is now standing, rifles at the ready, bayonets fixed, soup bowl helmets caked in mud squarely fastened on their heads. The Company Sergeant stands ready near the Company Commander, looking at his army issued watch. Motioning one minute. One minute until this company of at most eighty men, and several companies, battalions, brigades etc… like it, go over the top towards the heavily fortified dug in German lines. Then the sound of a single artillery shell being shot pierces the air. Only this one has more of a popping, rather than roaring sound. Two more similar shots are fired within a couple seconds of the first.
Everyone hits the deck, except for the captain who is frozen in terror. The Sergeant Major screams “Lads, GAS! Put on yer friggen masks! GAS!” as he pulls the shellshocked captain down to the ground with him.
The men of the company scramble to unpack their gasmasks as their trench fills with a ghostly greenish yellow vapor. Corporal Greenly manages to get his mask over his face. He did inhale a breath or two of smoke, and his lungs are on fire. But he cannot take the mask off to cough it out, nor to breath in fresh air. There is no fresh air to be breathed. He is doing ok though, besides the burning. He sees many of the new replacements struggling to get their masks on as quickly as he did, and sees some of them writhing on the ground in pain, gasping for breath, coughing, and with foaming bloody mouths. Most of the men however managed to get their masks on in time, but several did not. The men who are slowly suffocating to death, are helped by their comrades. Their masks are thrown over them and secured. Better late than never, but these men will not be able to return to the front, and most will have breathing issues for the rest of their short lives. He asks Private Fordham to lead the handful of men to the rear. As Fordham and a couple other mostly ok guys are leading the gassed men to the rear all Hell breaks loose.
The ground around Corporal Greenly trembles all around him, like a violent earthquake. Geysers of mud, dirt, debris, and human limbs erupt twenty feet or so in the air. He then hears the sounds of further artillery shells. They always say it is the ones that you don’t hear are the ones you have to watch out for. It looks like the Huns were not just contented with gassing them but were shelling them now as well. The gas was settling down but still lingered at the bottom of the trench. A piece of shrapnel tore through Greenly’s gas mask. His lungs began to fill with smoke. He started to claw his way in to his earthen dugout, where he passed out, as his lungs felt like they were on fire and about to explode.
While Corporal Greenly was passed out, and dying on the shattered wooden floor of the earthen bunker, he dreamed he was approached by black shadowy figure, death he presumed. However, this figure, telepathically told Greenly that he had a proposition for him. This entity told Greenly that he would live, and see his friends again, and be able to seek his vengeance on the Germans. However, there was a catch. A major catch. He would be working for Death and helping him amass his Army. Corporal Greenly would be able to summon the dead, but only to seek his own vengeance, and to bring about more death and destruction to add to the Army of the Dead, or Death’s Army. He will avenge the deaths of his friends and brothers in arms, but, he will serve Death until Death feels like Greenly can be free of his obligation. Greenly asked “Well, what if I refuse, or do not accept?”, Death shrugged, and said, he will find someone else, and you will just join the faces of the damned and dead anyway. So you either will help lead this, as a living person, seek out your revenge, or you will die here and now, and join this army. Then death said “You will see your friends again. They will be walking again! Sure, they may still be dead, but at least, they can have some meaning, instead of dying at the bottom of a trench for nothing.” Greenly felt he was between a rock and a hard place. He needed time to think about a way out of this deal, but he could not do that if he was dead. He begrudgingly and tepidly accepted.
To be continued… if you all want!
| 2021-09-21T09:33:35 | 2021-09-21T08:57:16 | 106 | 24 |
[WP] Kidnapped whilst on holiday you find that a lifetime of pointless jobs has miraculously prepared you with all the necessary skills to save the day.
|
"Hey you are doing it wrong.", I said to the poor guy, trying to be helpful.
"Shut up! I'll shoot you if you get any more words out of your mouth". he said, completely ignoring my suggestions. No gratitude from people nowadays.
I stayed silent for a couple of minutes, but I just couldn't resist.
"Look, the knots are not correct.", I told them, demonstrating how easy it was to get out of them. I had helped people in bdsm parlour for a side job, so knew more about knots than perhaps anyone on board. Thee poor guys had no idea. They probably were novice kidnappers.
What did I get for demonstrating the flaws in their poor plans? A couple of guns pointed towards me. No gratitude, I tell you.
"You still have the safety on", I mentioned, pointing to the poor bald guy. I was a man of many talents, and a job at the local gun range cleaning up weapons had given me more knowledge about guns than any of these idiots had. Their guns were poorly maintained, and I was pretty sure that one of them would probably backfire. Of course it was their first kidnapping job, but did they have to do such a shoddy job of it?
"Thank you?", the bald guy said to me, switching off his safety in a completely ridiculous fashion. He had fumbled for almost thirty seconds! That wouldn't do at all. I confidently strode forward, snatching the gun from him, and started showing him the correct method.
"This is how you do it", I said, demonstrating to him as well as others. Gun safety was an important point, and I didn't want these guys blowing each other head off. I handed the gun back to him, and stepped back towards my original position.
"Are you an idiot?". Huh, the comment was directed to me by two people, one a fellow kidnapee, and one a kidnapper. This is the thanks I get for my work? Those two guys were on my shit list now. Let them wander around, when they needed a fully trained paramedic to help them. I just turned my head at them, giving them the best glare I could, before demonstrating correct knots for the whole crew.
After we had been tied up again, properly this time, I might add, though the third know was a little shoddy, we settled down.
The guy, who seemed like the head of this poorly managed operation started telling us his plans. Monologuing? Didn't he go to SuperVillain 101. A whole year in the comic book store, along with editing sounds for NCIS had taught me the likely end of this caper. I had to do everything myself.
I started pointing out flaws in their plan. They didn't understand the technology at all, so I set up a call routing for them through all over Asia and Europe. Otherwise the feds would have tracked them down in seconds. I had learnt this all as an operator for a call center. Couldn't these guys just spend a couple of bucks on an online course? Amateurs!
And their plan. Hopeless didn't even begin to describe it. I helped iron out a couple of things that would have surely gotten them sniped out by the feds. The location was a poor cover. Any guy who had worked in a laser tag could tell you that. But there was not much that could be done about. Hours passed, as we waited for the feds to acquiesce to their demands.
The head guy came to me, just before they were leaving via the helicopter and said "Thank you". He hugged me as well, though I couldn't really reciprocate as my hands were still tied, upon my insistence. They had thought to set me free. I just felt for the poor guys. I saw them board the helicopter, and taking off.
I turned around, seeing everyone glaring and shouting at me. This is what I get for being a helpful citizen! If not for me, the kidnappers would have had a really shitty day. I was there, thankfully, to save the day.
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My second prompt here. Any feedback is greatly appreciated!
|
'Well that escalated quickly,' I thought.
I could feel blood on the side of my head and on my face.
If you've never been hit in the head with a liquor bottle, turns out it's super over-rated. It hurt a lot.
'What the fuck?', I complained to my Spanish speaking drinking partners. The fat one yelled something, and kicked me in the stomach. I was lying on a concrete slab, and we weren't on the beach anymore. 'What the fuck?', I complained to myself. This trip was starting to have some of the earmarks of a less successful vacation.
'Santa Domingo is great!', she had said. 'You will love it!', indeed.
On our second day here, we had gotten into the mother of all fights at the open air hotel lobby breakfast buffet. She had actually packed her crap, changed her ticket and left, I still couldn't believe it. For the fiftyeth time, I laughed when I thought about it. Fatty kicked me again. 'I bought you ten beers, you asshole,' I made sure not to say.
As it turns out, my favorite beer is made here in Dominican Republic, Presidente. And they are very cheap. For the price of one six pack in NY, I could buy about twenty of them here, *at the bar!* I wanted one right now. Everything had been fun and games until we opened that rum. Damn that stuff was delicious. As I recalled, even after I had hurled my shellfish dinner in a plant, I had kept drinking. Flor de Cana. I would have to bring some of that home with me.
With my hands tied behind my back, and the fat asshole here kicking me, I was getting the feeling things had taken a really wrong turn.
I remember trying to ask them for some pot.. *motas?,* I had begged. Maybe that word doesn't mean what I think it means. It was then that the one with the dirt bike had cracked into me with the empty rum bottle. And here I lay. I doubted there was much more than $60 US on my person by the time that happened, possibly less. Between all my accounts I had maybe twenty-five hundred and a line of credit for ten grand. The fuckers would have a second think if ransom was the plan. I don't think getting me back would be high on anybody's to-do list in the United States. I considered a nap.
Having spent an uneventful two and a half years working twelve hour swing shifts in shipping/receiving at the GAP super hub, I could sleep fairly restfully on a concrete slab with my hands tied behind my back. When I woke again it was getting on sunset. I really had to take a crap. In high school I had taken French, and my abridged Spanish vocabulary was limited to what I had picked up working countless labor jobs, masonry, forklifting, landscaping; my ability to communicate was mostly gesticulation based. One thing I *did* know was,
"Necesito el bano."
Nobody looked at me. "Pablo!"
I had been calling the one who hit me with the bottle, Pablo. From what I understood, and let me just say, the rum seemed to allow me to understand much of what they were saying, if not speak coherently, but from what I *thought* they had said, he was very rich - a hundred vacas. Apparently vacas were a measure of wealth. What else, he was the nephew of Pablo Escobar. 'Now stop right there!,' you're probably thinking. But the thing is, I don't judge. At the time it had seemed like maybe that was some *good* news, and I could finally find a few joints down here.
"Pablo!"
The three of them looked over. "Necesito el bano!"
None of them blinked. "A la mierda," no, that wasn't it. "A cagar!," "Necesito a cagar! Mucho mucho!"
Perhaps they could hear the desperation in my voice, maybe it was the bead of sweat across my brow and over my lip. Or maybe the paleness I knew must be on my face, under the dried blood. Pablo said something to me I didn't understand. Then he said something to the third one, who had puked and passed out, hours before our altercation.
That one, who I'll call Manny, because I had decided he reminded me of the Filipino boxer / congressman, Pacquiao, answered him gruffly and stood up. He was pretty ripped too, and of my three captors I wanted to scrap with him least. Manny stood from the couch that looked like it had fleas, and walked over giving me a nasty look.
I wondered how this was going to work. I painfully got into a sitting position, and finding no where to go, I lay back down and rolled my face onto the floor. Using my forehead for leverage, I scooted my knees up under me, one at a time. I started to swoon, and almost fell over sideways but Manny grabbed me by my shirt collar. My head hurt a lot. They were laughing at me, and I could see that they identified with the pain I was feeling. They had after all, been bottle for bottle with me for the last thirty-six hours or so. He roughly led / dragged me by shirt collar, pistol in my spleen. Outside and behind the building, I could see we were on a hill. I'm not so sure I was on the right side of the island. The lush tropical paradise had become a brown shanty wasteland. I scanned the vicinity for a facility. There was a pile of trash and feces, next to a pile of corrugated tin and square wood rough-cut fence posts.
I looked at Manny.
He looked at me.
"Welcome to Haiti," he said in English.
"I'ma need a little help with this, buddy" I said, offering the international sign language of chin down, raised eyebrows, a supplicant gesture. "My hands aren't cooperating," I joked, wondering again how much English these guys might actually understand. I glanced down at my belt and back up to his stoic grimace. Well this is awkward.
Manny tucked the pistol in his belt and unfastened my belt, ungraciously tore open my pants. He stepped back and spit on my foot.
I can't say what it was like for Manny, but for me, shitting violently in front of my Latino landscaping co-workers, outside, in full view, not once but as many as a half dozen times, had prepared me for this moment. While evacuating my demons I had an idea.
The thing about smuggling is that while most people think of giant shipping containers coming into international seaports, or young women being blackmailed to swallow packets of the drugs in condoms, and then being forced into the sex industry in the States, there is another more glorious side to the profession. The cowboy.
If you have ever seen the movie, "Blow," well that is a true story. I'm not comparing myself to Brad Pitt's character, but, well here I was, and he *had* said that he was Pablo's nephew...
In my twenties I had gotten into a little debt with a pot dealer, to the tune of about a thousand bucks. I offered to pick up the next batch of bud across the border. That was before the 2001 Trade Center was hit, and things had been somewhat looser at the Canadian border. Anyhow, I ended up having a knack for not getting caught, and that weed dealer and I made a lot of money for a few years. In that business relationship I had quickly learned that a man with pendulous pair, had a valuable bargaining chip. It seemed to me there might be a chance to get things going my way again, down here in Haiti...
| 2016-04-12T06:14:52 | 2016-04-12T06:05:08 | 94 | 28 |
[WP] Every starfaring species has discovered a different form of FTL travel. Kantian gates, Salec skip drives, Maltiun wave-riders, Delfanit pulse tubes ... Humanity's solution was regarded as "Unorthodox", "Unsafe", and "Damn Stupid" by the rest of the galaxy.
|
Tenz looked at the human ship they were about to buy, it was the only thing they could afford at the moment and they needed to get away ASAP. The seller assured them that the FTL drive was completely safe, a Sol Stop Drive, that was the type of FTL drive it had. Tenz had heard horror stories about what could go wrong with Sol Stop Drives. Every other FTL drive that was ever made was about going very, very fast or making other things go very very fast. The Sol Stop drive did the opposite. It stops the entire universe, shifts your ship into another plane of existence and waits till it drifts to where you wanted to go then brings you back and lets the universe continue. That's at least what the humans told everyone it did, none of the other races understood how it worked. Tenz could think up thousands of ways that the Stop drive could go wrong, some of these were real problems with it, others were just theories. Firstly there's the surprise of something just appearing with no warning, other things crash into it, and some other drives use the same plane of existence the Stop drive supposedly uses so we know that's safe but those ones don't stop the universe so you can still get a signal from them approaching. And then there's the whole "stopping the universe" what would happen if a Stop Drive malfunctioned and the universe never got restarted? The scariest thing about that is that it could have already happened and nobody would ever know! Steeling themselves Tenz stepped into the ship and put in some universal co-ordinates, then pressed the stop button.
Nothing happened, and nothing was going to happen either, as this universe was stopped.
In another reality Tenz pulled their tentacle back from the stop button and looked out the view port to see that they had arrived, there must have been nothing to worry about after all.
Edit: Thanks for the Gold!
|
Astronaut Jack Wilson sat facing the large conference call screen. Around him on both sides, generals, politicians,
diplomats… too many suits and uniforms to count. All sitting. All facing the screen.
The president stared blankly at Jack. "Are you ready?"
"Yes," Jack said, nervously.
"Brian," the president commanded, to the thin man with the round glasses on the corner Jack knew was the
physicist in charge of the teleportation project, "Turn on the call." The president sighed, then added, "You idiot."
Brian got up and, shaking, went for the remote. He turned on the screen.
Astronaut Jack Wilson stared back from the other side of the call.
Jack frowned. "What the –"
"No, *I* get to say that, you don't," The onscreen Jack said. Behind him, a large window gave way to an alien
landscape of blue and green. "What the fuck!?"
Jack looked around. All the suited men looked down, embarrassed.
"Brian," the president said, turning again to the nerdy-looking physicist. "You wanna explain this shit?"
"Yeah, *Brian*," Onscreen Jack said. "You wanna explain this shit!?"
Brian shook like a leaf. He stood up from his seat again and stared at Jack (the one in the room). "I'm so sorry
Captain Wilson. It looks like there was a little bit of a problem with the teleportation device."
Jack looked from him to the room to the Jack onscreen. "What's going on?"
"Tell him, *asshole*!" Onscreen Jack bellowed.
"It appears that the teleportation device did, huh… well, it did what it was supposed to do. Which was to map your
body, atom by atom, then replicate it at the specific location we wanted you to go. In this case, the planet in the Gliese system, where the Gliesians, who made contact with us five years ago, were to receive you."
"Hu-huh," Jack said. "Huh… how exactly did it work? Because you told me something had gone wrong when I
stepped out of the device yesterday and was still, you know… on Earth." Jack kept looking from Brian to the mysterious onscreen Jack, who now rolled his eyes.
"This guy is my original? This stupid ass?" Onscreen Jack blurted.
"Well, Captain Wilson," Brian continued, "It did work in the sense that your body *was* mapped and then
recreated on Gliese. It's just that… your body here wasn't disintegrated like it was supposed to."
"So that means…" Jack started.
"That there's another one of you up here in Gliese, *idiot*," Onscreen Jack said. "Good Lord this guy is dumb."
"I'm afraid Jack Number Two is right," Brian said, his voice weak. "We sent a copy of you to Gliese, instead of the
real you."
Jack waited. No one said anything.
The president got up, slapped the table and said, "Well, I'll be in the Oval Office waiting for the impeachment." He
left.
"There's more," Brian said, after the room grew quiet again.
"*There's more*," Onscreen Jack repeated, in a mocking voice. "Fucking nerd."
"What? What more?" Jack asked. He couldn't get his eyes off of his clone onscreen.
"Well… it also happened that… by accident, mind you… we… huh… we sort of accidentally sent a copy of you to
some other places too."
"What!?"
"Yeah, like… to pretty much every known inhabited planet in the universe," Brian blurted. "It was an accident, the
machine read our whole galactic map instead of just the specific location we wanted to send you to."
Brian went for the remote again and, with a click, several other feeds took over the screen – and in each, after a
moment of static, a new Jack emerged, each framed by a new and alien landscape. Each framed by a new, faraway
planet.
"What is going on!? I'm scared!" one Jack said.
"Where's the food? I'm hungry!" cried another, on another feed.
"DRUGS! DRUGS! I NEED DRUGS!" a third one cried.
"How… what… I… what is… WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON!?" Jack asked. He was up on his feet now.
"Well… you know how Chaos Theory establishes that a single variation at a certain point on a closed system can
result in massive variation on a future point in that same system?"
"No!" Jack said, which was true.
"Idiot," Second Jack said.
"Well, it turns out that the slight atomic variations in the replications of your DNA coding when transporting you to
these other planets has led to a… huh… a little bit of a boo-boo."
"Meaning?"
"There's a massive number of Jacks with infinitely different personalities spread across the universe, and we have
to go capture them all before they start an intergalactic war," Brian said, in a single breath.
Silence took over the room. Even the Jacks onscreen remained quiet (except for Jack Two, who said, "God-damn
stupid fucks," and then left the frame).
"Is this serious?" Jack asked.
No one answered.
The door came open and the president returned. His hair was messy, his tie undone and he was holding tight to a
Jack Daniels bottle. He put a hand over Jack's shoulder and said, his breath wrapped in whiskey, "Oh, yes, it's very
serious. Pack up your crap, you and Brian are going Jack-hunting."
Jack looked at Brian. Brian swallowed dry and tried to smile.
"You guys are fucking assholes," cried a voice from onscreen, coming from Second Jack's feed.
___
[**PART 2**](https://www.reddit.com/r/psycho_alpaca/comments/62jf1m/infinite_jacks_part_2/)
/r/psycho_alpaca
| 2017-03-30T22:23:44 | 2017-03-30T22:08:06 | 1,412 | 202 |
[WP] You die and go to Hell only to find out that you're the only person that has ever entered. Satan is clapping.
|
"Where am I?"
"Why, Hell of course!"
"Hey, it's not too bad. I was expecting a...."
"A lake of fire? Haha, no this is it. Just you and me. And nothing else."
I'm a little relieved. I hadn't lived the best life. I was expecting a fiery lake of fire but this, this isn't too bad. Just emptiness all around.
I look around.
"So where is everybody?"
"It's just you."
"What do you mean? Everyone else lived like a saint? Where's Hitler?"
"No. I mean. It's just *you*. You are the only person, the only soul to have existed. Everyone else was a fiction. Part of, I guess, you can say, a simulation. You are the only person to ever have existed."
"What? I... can't believe it."
As shocked as I am, I am even more curious.
"So if this is Hell, then what's Hea---"
"Heaven? There is no heaven. Well, I guess there is. Heaven would have been: you lived your life in the so-called *simulation* and would have died, disappearing into nothingness. You wouldn't be here. You would never have found out about this place, about me, about the truth. I guess you can say heaven is basically what the atheists believe is the status quo"
I can feel my mouth gaping open. I cannot speak.
"Well, any more questions? I have time. Lots of it. Because from now on, it's just you and me. Forever."
edit: Bonus points if you read Satan's words in christoph waltz' voice. For some reason he popped up in my head as Satan.
|
"Wakey wakey" snarled a voice, breaking up an eternity of silence. "I am just *dying* to hear your story"
I opened my eyes slowly, and my vision filled up with red. Red clouds swirled through a yellow sky, red sand stretched for endless miles in every direction, and red mountains jutted into the horizon in the distance. There was a stench of fire and brimstone in the air, and it was almost hot enough to melt the skin off a man's bones
"Where am --" I began to ask, turning to face the voice, and the words caught in my throat
"What's wrong? You look like you've seen the devil!"
The creature, grinning with fangs at his own joke, looked like evil incarnate. It was huge and massive, with two great horns emerging from its head and curving inwards and two glowing red eyes
I'd seen monsters like this before, but only in paintings and comics. Biblical ones, especially. But this couldn't be Satan, right? Those were just fairy tales!
I wanted desperately to get away, but I felt like I was fused to the scorching ground. And it wasn't just fear that paralyzed me - I'd slowly realized that I *was* fused to ground. And it burned...it burns even now just like it did then
"Don't just gawk at me, you must have so many questions" urged the creature. "Sure, you have an eternity to answer them, but...*damn*, I can't get over the fact that someone actually wound up here"
"*Where is here?!*" I finally yelled, out of fear, anger and pain. "*What the fuck are you and what the fuck is this place?*"
The creature stood up on hooves and sighed. "Guess I'm going first. I have many names in the mortal world, but I've always kinda liked 'The Devil'. This place has many names there too, but the one you're probably familiar with is 'Hell'. That's right, boy-o, you've died and gone right to Hell!"
I couldn't believe it. *Wouldn't* believe it
"You're lying" I croaked. The ground was so hot
"Don't believe everything you read in a holy book. Besides, you being here is so improbable, I wouldn't even bother lying about it. I'm honestly as surprised as you are"
"Oh yeah? So surprised I'm in Hell, are you?"
"Here's the thing, the bossman - you guys call him 'God' - had a lot of fun creating humans but kinda lost interest right after" the Devil explained. "Every time he finishes one project, he moves onto the next. Anyway, God was a little concerned about making humans as smart and powerful as he did because they could become a threat to themselves and his other creations. I suggested making up a *really* shitty place we could threaten the humans with. We weren't planning on actually having anybody here, God is a big ole softie and I don't really take initiatives myself
"So, if you're here, you must've fucked up bad"
In a panic, I rewound my memory, searching desperately for a clue as to what I could've done to get sent to Hell. I never believed in God, but it didn't sound like God was too concerned about all that. So what else could I have done? My whole life, I just kept my head down and coasted through life until the cancer got me, never aspiring to anything more than just being a dude
Is that really so bad?
"Come on, now, what was your sin?" the Devil insisted
"Nothing! I did nothing! All I did was live!"
The Devil scratched his chin with awful clawed hands
"Yeah, I suppose that'd do it"
"What?"
"Look at the universe that God has created - or however much of it you humans have managed to see. It's pretty fucking glorious. God takes pride in everything he creates, and he wants all of his creation to be at its best, 100% of the time. To simply 'live' is a waste of the life he gave you, you gotta take that life and do something with it"
"So what, wasting my life is a sin?" I asked angrily
"Really, it's the *only* sin. Tell ya what, though, it's not all bad"
"Can I get off the ground?" I asked, struggling still against to get off the burning sand
"No, but I'll release your arms" he replied. "Also, you can have one of these" he added, conjuring a notebook and pencil out of fire in his hand
I tried to raise a hand to reach for the notebook and had to tear my arm off the ground. I still remember the sound of my screams echoing in the dead air
"Since you wasted your time in life, you can make yourself useful in eternity" explained the Devil. "I want you to write. Write about what happened today and write the stories of God and his creations. Your work will be read by the humans still living. Hopefully they'll learn from your example and you'll be the only one in Hell"
"Will I ever be free?" I asked him, hating that pleading note in my voice
"No. That is one thing the holy books don't lie about - this, my friend, is eternal"
So here I remain, fused to the ground. There is no sun, so I'm not sure how much time has passed, but it feels like centuries. It doesn't make any difference, though. My body doesn't age, and I'm never gonna be free, so all I can do is write, write and write
---
If ya liked that, I write short(ish) fiction on my blog right [here](https://talesfrommachina.wordpress.com). Stop by!
| 2017-06-22T08:58:29 | 2017-06-22T07:25:49 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] Every dog is able to speak perfect English exactly once, for one sentence, in their lifetime. You're on trial for a murder you didn't commit, and your dog is the only one who could possibly exonerate you. There's just one problem: you weren't a very good owner.
|
I knew Honey wasn't going to say anything. They had her at the table, read her a long list of rules and information I'm sure she couldn't understand, and all waited. It was hard to believe that anyone expected her waste her one sentence on me.
My dog was going to outlive me, I realized. Once I was convicted, that would be it.
"Where was the defendant on the night of September 4th, 2015?" They asked Honey. Her ears perked and her tail wagged so hard that it thumped on the chair.
She was always happy just to hear a voice. I talked to her sometimes just to get her tail to wag like that, but not often. Usually I told myself I didn't have time. I tried to tell myself that I'd have spent more time with her had I known how soon it would be running out, but I couldn't make myself believe that.
They tried again. "It was raining hard on that night," they told her. As if the problem was that she didn't know what night they meant. "The defendant- that's your owner there, your human- he says he fell asleep early on the couch that night. Said he'd made hamburger, and let you have a piece he dropped? Is that true, were you two home all night?" They asked.
Honey just kept wagging her tail. They had mentioned the hamburger, but they hadn't mentioned how small of a piece it had been. I wondered if she had even been able to taste something that small, I'd only called her over so I wouldn't have to bend down and clean it up myself. She'd looked up at me after, expectant. I hadn't given her anything more. In fact, as I was drifting off later I'd realized that I'd forgotten to give her any dog food at all that night. She must have been hungry. I decided to wait until morning to feed her though, because I was comfortable and because I hadn't cared if she was uncomfortable.
They frowned, then tried one last time. "We think your owner might have done something bad," they told her. "It's important for us to know if he was really home or not that night because it will tell us if he was bad. We need to scold the person who did the bad thing, and make sure they don't do bad things again."
Honey tilted her head, tail slowing, but said nothing. She was a good dog. The unfamiliar people and places hadn't made her fussy in the slightest, and they said she'd caused no trouble on the car ride there either. Especially surprising considering that she'd never been in a car before. Really, she'd hardly left the house except to go potty her entire life. I wondered how it was that I had ended up with such a good dog. I wondered why I'd never bothered to try teaching her any tricks, or to take her to the park. It had only been a few blocks away. Getting out of the house could have been fun for both of us.
The judge opened his mouth, about to declare no testimony given and move the trial on. He was interrupted.
"Human is a good human and stayed home, human didn't do any bad things," Honey said. The tone was one of love, of admiration.
I started crying, right there in front of everyone. We don't deserve dogs.
|
Judge Graham allowed himself to soak in a moment’s peace as he rearranged his papers. The courtroom, an arena where explosive outbursts now passed for normal conversation, had fallen unusually silent as they waited for him to make the ruling. But decorum demanded that he press on, and Judge Graham steeled himself mentally, braced for the reactions, then spoke into the microphone.
“In the case of the People v Roger Blathe,” he said, “I allow the prosecution’s application. Under the Animal Witness Act, I order that the defendant’s pet be brought in for cross-examination.”
The outburst was even more violent than he had imagined. Not from the prosecution, who were already smugly congratulating themselves. Not from the defendant even, who sank lower into his chair, the despair clearly written on his face.
But from the representatives from PETA, the animal rights organization, who filled up more than half of the public gallery. The bailiffs moved in quickly to enforce order, but some of them were already on their feet, shaking their fists in the air.
“You’re heartless!” one of them yelled. “Cruel and heartless! Blood is on your hands, you piece of shit judge! How dare you value our lives over an animal’s?”
*The better question is, how can I not?* thought Judge Graham. He kept a poker face as the bailiffs quelled the disorder, bundled the more troublesome activists out. In truth, a twinge of guilt had nestled deep within, and it niggled at him.
Judge Graham had only invoked the Animal Witness Act once before. He knew that the process entailed a relatively painless injection of nanobots into an animal, and that the nanobots would grant the animal enhanced cognitive functions, allowing the animal to actually converse with a human, to bridge that age-old divide that had always separated man and animal.
Wonderful technology, all in all.
If only it didn’t also mean that the animal would die within minutes.
“Please, your Honour!” said the defendant. Judge Graham noted again how Roger had deteriorated so drastically from his file photo – Roger was only thirty, but his hair was already thinning, and an unhealthy pallor clung to his skin. Roger was standing, pushing away his lawyer who was trying to hold him back. “I will confess!” Roger said, “to everything! I did it! Just don’t do that to Mason, please! He’s innocent!”
The prosecution had jumped up too, shouting over Roger. Their arguments were a rehash of what they had submitted in writing – that any confession now could be challenged later, that they needed clear and convincing evidence from the dog, that the law was clearly on their side. Judge Graham didn’t need to hear the arguments again, and he pounded his gavel heartily.
“Defendant,” Judge Graham said, “I am sorry but the law is clear on this point. Your dog can be called upon as a witness if there is a chance that his testimony may absolve you or otherwise lead us to the real killer.”
“But, your Honour…”
Another pounding of the gavel, and technicians entered the court room, leading an old golden retriever in on a leash. Judge Graham guessed that the nanobot injections were kept in the black briefcases they were carrying.
In chambers, Judge Graham had asked the prosecution if they knew of the risks involved. They assured him that they did, and that while it was theoretically possible for animals to lie in testimony, they had pointed to research which suggested that many animals simply did not know how to lie. Further, they had said, they had conducted surveillance which showed that the defendant had abused his dog, which lowered the chances that the dog would unfairly take the defendant’s side in court.
*Is this true?* Judge Graham had asked Roger, and his silence was all the answer the judge needed. The prosecution had then provided files and files of surveillance photographs, showing Roger forgetting to feed Mason, ignoring him at home, neglecting to take him out for walks, beating him with a rolled-up newspaper… one particularly disturbing video even showed Mason nuzzling Roger repeatedly, while the latter lay concussed in bed. Empty bottles of alcohol around the bedroom made clear why Roger was unable to respond.
Even though he was supposed to remain impartial, withhold judgment, Judge Graham found at that point that he no longer had any sympathy for Roger, nor any respect for the years of service Roger had performed in Afghanistan.
“Begin with the process,” Judge Graham said, as they placed Mason in the witness stand. He tried his best to block out the sounds of the PETA activists chanting outside the courtroom, or Roger’s sobs as he collapsed into a heap on the table.
Mason whined, and it was clear that he was trying to leave his stand, head over to where his master was. Then, the nanobots kicked in, and Judge Graham saw Mason shake his head, as if a fog had suddenly lifted. The intelligence in Mason’s eyes multiplied a ten-fold, and Judge Graham knew they could begin.
“Do you know where you are, and what you are here to do, Mason?” asked the prosecutor.
“Yes…” said Mason, tasting the words as they left his mouth.
The formalities ensued, with the prosecutor laying out the charges against Roger, and informing Mason that he had a great duty to tell the truth and only the truth. Then, the moment they had been waiting for.
“So, Mason,” said the prosecutor, “tell us. What did you see on the night of July 12? Is your master, Roger Blathe, guilty as charged?”
Mason cocked his head to the side, thought for a moment, then spoke.
“Master,” said Mason, addressing Roger directly. “I want to keep answering this man’s questions, the way he pets my head makes me feel good. But I think I may not have enough time for that. Can you understand me?”
“Yes, yes I can,” said Roger. The tears were already streaming down his face.
The prosecution objected then, but Judge Graham overruled them. They wanted the animal to speak, they would have to deal with the consequences.
“Master,” Mason continued, “can you please look after yourself a bit better? I don’t know where you went for those two years, but you are… different, now. Ever since you came back… you wake in the middle of the night, screaming. You don’t return calls to your friends, you don’t eat much. You don’t even like to go out to the park with me anymore. We used to go running together, do you remember? But you seem to hate the outside now, and you stay in your room all day, just drinking, and reading, and crying. I am there for you, but you don’t see me the same anymore. If I’m not here, will you try, for me? I just want you to be the same person you were before you left, please?”
The prosecution objected, again, but this time they were much softer, much less grating than they usually were. Judge Graham saw how Mason had begun to slur, and noted the animal struggling to keep his head up.
There wasn’t much time left.
“I’m sorry to interrupt, Mason,” said Judge Graham. “But we have to know. Did you see your master hurt the deceased in any way?”
Mason turned to face the judge. Both eyelids were drooping, and Mason struggled to finish his last sentence.
“The only one he has been hurting, is himself,” said Mason.
---
/r/rarelyfunny
| 2017-09-20T22:54:31 | 2017-09-20T20:21:42 | 450 | 142 |
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.
|
I closed the book, and didn't move.
"Well," the angel said, "- how did you like it?"
Even though I was dead, I still felt nauseated. "Every single one. Every single decision I ever made was the wrong one. THE WRONG. FUCKING. ONE."
The angel grimaced. "Wow. That's...my goodness! That's actually quite impressive in a depressing way. I mean the odds are astronomical when you-"
"Is this hell? Is this some sort of Twilight Zone shit and my punishment is to know how awesome my life could have been or something?"
"Alright, settle down. You know, I think you're going to very much enjoy finding out why we show you all this...you more than most in fact."
The book suddenly disappeared, and two normal looking doors appeared. "Um, ok?"
The angel gestured to door one. "Behind this door is a new story, with all new choices. A whole new life for you to experience. "He then pointed to the other door. "This door, however, is the life you just had... however, this time you'll make different decisions. So normally, most people make bad decisions roughly 50% of the time. You, however, made bad decisions 100% percent of the time, which means-"
My jaw dropped as it dawned on me what the angel was saying. "Which means that this time I would make 100% of the right decisions?"
The angel nodded. "That's right. Of course, you could always choose to start a new life if-"
I ran towards door two and threw it open.
Things were finally going to go my way.
|
I sat at the desk dumb-founded.
“You mean... you mean this is everything that could have happened if I just made a different decisions?”
The spirit in front of me is a friendly face but the marks on her neck tell a story of sadness. She looks at me as if I’m the first she says this to. “Yes. From the day you were born to the day you died. Every decision and every outcome. Although trust me when I say that anything before the age of 10 is more just whining and boredom. You may have done something crucial back then that caused a different outcome but it’s highly unlikely. Anyways. The book is yours. Feel free to read and digest it. But just know, you can’t change anything. Everything that happened is set. You can only see what could have happened.” She gave me a look that may have been a look to scare me but really I just wanted to get out of there.
I picked up the book and walked out of the office. As soon as the door behind me closed, I let out an unneeded breath. I looked down at the book in my hands.
Every decision.
There was one passage I just had to read. One passage I thought was the reason for all the karma and the outcomes I made. The one reason I died.
I was in a car accident. A severe car accident where We ran off the side of a cliff and into the ocean. As far as I’m aware, there were no survivors of the accident but I didn’t see anyone else.
It was just me.
I looked around. It seemed like I hadn’t left Earth. I was still on the green and blue planet. But I knew that wasn’t true.
When you die, you become a spirit and go to a place that is similar to where you left. So I was in California, on a cliff, overlooking the ocean.
I sat at the edge and opened the book to the date I knew it all started. The date I knew I had meet my match to death. I took another unnecessary breath and opened to July 18th, 2010. The day I meet Parker. The day I opened myself up to pain and abuse and neglect. The day I opened myself to telling myself that it wasn’t him. The day I started to leave my family behind.
On the page it has Parker’s name and the place we meet. The skate park. I couldn’t skate but I would go with my best friend, Amanda, and we would check the guys out. I remember the day so clear. I introduced myself “Ava.” And he told me his name “Parker.” I remember being taken in by his sharp green eyes and the dyed jet black hair. The way his pants hung loose on his hips. I was a senior in high school and craved attention from any male I could get.
We had talked and talked and soon became more than just friends. When I graduated, we left the small town we lived in Colorado and moved to California.
It was a mistake.
We couldn’t find a job or a place to live that we could stay in longer than 6 months. Drugs became an obsession for Parker while I stayed away and just waitress. It was long hours and strained our relationship but one of us had to work.
The drugs became more of a problem and when I refused to give him money for them anymore, he hit me and told me to obey. That’s when I thought I wasn’t going to be able to leave. I had planned on leaving after I had saved enough money. I knew my sister would let me stay with her, I just had to get to her myself. I had been stashing money and lied to Parker that I didn’t have anything for him.
He found it.
My sister came once to save me but I was too weak under Parker’s control. I told her that I was fine.
“Ava. Your arms are bruised and you have lost weight. Not to mention the look of this place. You need to come home. We’re worried.”
“Worried? Where were you when I turned 18 and moved out here? You didn’t seem to care then. Why care now?” And the door slammed in her face.
I have never felt more guilt.
Then just a few months later, comes the day I die. I finally made the decision that I couldn’t do this. We were driving up the coast just to get some fresh air. I looked over at Parker and felt fear not love and that’s not what I wanted.
“I’m leaving.” I had blurted.
Parker looked over at me, stunned “What did you just say to me?”
“I can’t do this anymore. I missed my sisters wedding. I missed the birth of my nephew. My mom is sick. I just want to go home. You and I are not compatible. We ever were. We lived in a fantasy and hoped it would work but we need to face reality. We’re broke. You do drugs. I can’t work 7 jobs to make ends meet. It’s time to let this die.”
At that, Parker had agreed but not to let me go. To let us die. He jerked the wheel and went over the cliff. I remember screaming and slamming on the door to get it to open but the pressure of the water was too much and I couldn’t get out.
Soon water started to enter the car. Parker just laughed and said we deserved to be together for eternity. I think he died laughing.
I looked down at the page. Page number 37. The options were (approach Parker, pages 37-150) or (stay with Amanda, pages 150-350).
I turned to page 150.
Edit: so sorry about the formatting! I did it on my phone but it should be all fixed now.
| 2018-07-04T00:05:35 | 2018-07-03T22:39:59 | 288 | 92 |
[WP]When you reach 18, you get put in a database which ranks you in different categories (ex. 207,145th in the world for most bug kills) You lived on a ranch and never used tech. You had to go into town after your 18th birthday. Everyone is staring at you. You finally decide to check the database.
Completely unaware of the whole stigma about edits. I’m sure all of you already know how grateful I am, but I apologize nonetheless. Sorry!
|
It all happened so fast. I was going into town for a shovel. Earlier that day I'd broken one digging a drain trench out behind the barn.
Now I was sitting at a table in a room with a long mirror along the wall. The kind you see in a cop movie where they are shaking down a suspect.
Oh fuck. I'm a suspect. But for what. I barely leave the farm.
"We can do this the easy way or the hard way", and middle aged man in a suit was entering the room . He had a briefcase and a tablet. Closely behind him was another man. He appeared to be some high ranking military officer.
"Umm I really don't......." I was cut off.
"Don't play dumb with us James. You have to know why you're here." he was clearly annoyed with me.
Then it hit me. Dad's brother Pete spends a lot of time up in the back corner of the farm at the edge of the forest and he always smells like weed.
"That mother fucker! Listen, it was dad's brother. He's always up there. If you're looking for the weed he's the guy you want! " My voice was starting to crack, I was scared as hell.
"We don't care about the weed, we found that about an hour ago" The military man took the tablet from the suit.
"It's the global calculated rankings son." he was swiping his finger over the screen. "This showed up on the new rankings section at 8:43 this morning!"
He slid the tablet across the table. A new page was displayed on the screen. Only one entry was on the list.
\*\*New Category\*\*
\*\*05/04/2019\*\*
\*\*Most Extraterrestrial Invaders Killed Or Defeated\*\*
1. James Marshall (1 Kill)
​
​
The suit looked a little angry but now he mostly looked scared.
"We just want some insight into what we might be up against"
​
The only problem was.
I had no idea.
EDIT: wow. I’m really blown away by the response to this. Thanks so much everyone.
I really had intended to leave it at that but I do have an idea where it’s going. If I like where it goes I’ll continue.
|
"Oh god, please nothing with horses, I knew I would regret that night with Fred."
That fear sitting at the back of my mind, I drag my feet towards the terminal and begin punching in my user ID.
"Ah, shit, what was it..."
"6-1-3...." The thought trails off trying to remember the number I've only used once or twice before.
"6-1-3-5...? No... That can't be right."
I think for a bit, and then it hits me, Ma had given me the number before I left!
I fish around in my pockets and find the crumpled piece of paper I carelessly shoved in there. Unfolding it, it reads: 61394539.
I hunt and peck on the keypad, entering the number as it reads on the paper, and watch the terminal come to life. All kinds of shades of blue flashing before my eyes, icons appearing and disappearing, I think I saw an animal in there? Can't be sure, it just goes way too fast. Finally, it finishes. Looking at my stats, things look relatively normal. As far as I can tell most of the stats have me at the average for most things, but severely lacking in others. Until I see one that catches my eye.
"Most Planets Visited: Eric Harrison" the terminal read.
"How... Is that even possible..." I thought to myself as I read this. "I've lived on Earth all this time, my family has been tending to this ranch for centuries..." I look around the room and all eyes are on me. Clearly everyone has seen this ranking.
I continue scrolling, and that wasn't the only #1 rank I held, to my surprise.
"Most civilizations destroyed: Eric Harrison"
"Number of planetary annihilations: Eric Harrison"
Finally, I reach the bottom of the list, and this if the others weren't bad enough of a joke, this one had to take the cake.
"Number of inter-species relations: Eric Harrison"
"Oh, come on, this is just sick!" I feel sick to my stomach reading the rankings I've received continuously labeling me as a freak, a total monster, someone who should be locked away, an intergalactic warmonger with a thirst for chaos and destruction.
Finally, I decide I've had enough, and try to find the log out button so that others can have their turn. As I walk away, confused and sickened, a couple of guards approach me.
"Excuse me sir, could you come with us?" the one on the right asks, as the one on the left has his hand to his holster.
"Sure, I suppose... What's this about anyway?" I ask out of confusion, beginning to follow them.
They don't reply, but instead I'm corralled into a room with a desk in the center, a bar for handcuffs, and what appears to be a mirror for one of the walls.
"Hey, what's the meaning of this!? I've done nothing wrong!" I yell as they're now getting forceful and shove me into the room, as they slam the door behind me.
I repeatedly bash on the door, hoping someone will free me, but minutes go by, and then hours, and eventually I lose motivation.
Finally, the speaker comes on.
"We've trapped you in a level 12 containment ward. You cannot escape any longer, Jenthar." a voice echoes through the room, "It's been 18 long years, but we finally found you. Thought you were clever hiding as the nobody on a ranch, huh?" the man on the other side cackles like a madman finally getting his drug fix after a withdrawal.
The walls of the room suddenly melt away as I see nothing but a purple and black void around me. Almost like two different colors of paint being lazily mixed together, but not blending.
Suddenly, I feel a huge headache, the memories flowing back. I see planets of all different sizes and compositions being blasted to smithereens, entire cities being uprooted and eaten by an unspeakable horror. Only... That horror was me... I'm seeing these despicable acts from the first person, tentacles grabbing large skyscrapers and shoveling them into my mouth.
I remember being weakened by a counter-assault on RB-1345, a recently terraformed planet orbiting SC-16384, home to the relatively new space-faring species, humans. I retreated to RB-1344, home to the humans, and use the last of my energy to implant myself into the womb of a pregnant mother.
"Ah.. Yes.." My facade of a personality washes away as the human boy, Eric Harrison, is replaced by Jenthar.
"This is far from over, Commander Warwick, for I am Jenthar! Consumer of worlds, conqueror of galaxies, drinker of infant fluids!" The blue of my eyes turns to red, tentacles beginning to protrude out of the pores of my skin, tearing my flesh apart.
"You were a fool to trust this lackadaisical confinement." I cackle as I begin warping the space-time around me, the colors of the dimension blending and fading and the light seeming to bend around me, sort of how a black hole contorts the light around it. Before they knew it, I was gone. Their puny "level 12 containment ward" was no match for the strength I had gained from going through the tedium that is human childhood. I feed on others' fear and suffering, and seeing all the suffering around Eric was enough to allow me to recover from my injuries and find new strength.
"Who..." I hear a voice in my head, seeming to cut off their sentence in shock as the stars whip past me.
"...Eric?" I ask, surprised the boy even lived past consumption.
"Yeah... Who are you? Am I blind? Why can't I see?" I feel my left hand raise up to my face, sort of patting my face.
"Would you stop that!?" Jenthar bats back with his right hand, their left hand falling back to Jenthar's side.
"Look, kid, this ain't gonna be easy to explain to you... But unless you finally die off like I intended for you to, you're along for the long haul. Just, don't get in the way." I grimace as we approach our first fill-up of the week, I guess you could call it an Earth-like planet, known as RB-1390, and come in for the landing.
| 2019-05-04T11:15:23 | 2019-05-04T10:22:43 | 6,214 | 165 |
[WP]When you reach 18, you get put in a database which ranks you in different categories (ex. 207,145th in the world for most bug kills) You lived on a ranch and never used tech. You had to go into town after your 18th birthday. Everyone is staring at you. You finally decide to check the database.
Completely unaware of the whole stigma about edits. I’m sure all of you already know how grateful I am, but I apologize nonetheless. Sorry!
|
I logged onto the website, after 3 failed attempts at my password.
It took me the better part of an hour scrolling through the pages and pages of statistics, most pretty decent, some exceptional (top 100,000 at minesweeper felt pretty good).
Finally I noticed the little menu bar at the top and found the "Outliers" search. So I clicked and waited. A few seconds later, my most unusual statistics popped up and there it was, just above my minesweeper score:
>No. 7,536,783,248 at Golf out of a global database population of 7,536,783 248.
I blinked. I'd never played golf, how.. how did it even know? How could anyone be the "worst at golf"? It didn't make sense.
I stepped out of my room where my sister stood, a shit-eating grin on her face as she handed me a long metal golf club.
"Well? Go on, I want to see what the WoRlD's AwFuLlEsT gOlFeR looks like."
I took the club from her, then went to swing it threateningly, only to mash myself in the back of the head in a profoundly uncoordinated maneuver that left me unconscious for the next 15 minutes.
---
Over the following few days of mild teasing from friends and family (and several failed attempts at holding a golf club) it became apparent that I had a preternatural ability to cause extreme misfortune to myself in any activity that even bore a passing resemblance to golf.
The first few times I held a club resulted in bodily harm or property damage, my first contact with a golf ball lead to a trip to the ICU and surgical removal. I visited a golf course later in the week and had an inexplicable bout of syncope then had my arm run over by an unmanned, runaway, golf cart.
In the end, I decided it best for my own continued survival to avoid golf whenever physically possible.
My sister, of course, gave me no end of teasing about it and would occaisionally leave various golf related paraphernalia in my path just to film (and, invariably upload to youtube) the ensuing swathe of destruction.
That was... until her 18th birthday when her own results revealed her to be the world's worst Yoga Instructor.
Now I have a collection of yoga mats and a spotify playlist called "Dynamic Tracks to Relax and Stretch" and it's time for some petty revenge.
|
"Oh god, please nothing with horses, I knew I would regret that night with Fred."
That fear sitting at the back of my mind, I drag my feet towards the terminal and begin punching in my user ID.
"Ah, shit, what was it..."
"6-1-3...." The thought trails off trying to remember the number I've only used once or twice before.
"6-1-3-5...? No... That can't be right."
I think for a bit, and then it hits me, Ma had given me the number before I left!
I fish around in my pockets and find the crumpled piece of paper I carelessly shoved in there. Unfolding it, it reads: 61394539.
I hunt and peck on the keypad, entering the number as it reads on the paper, and watch the terminal come to life. All kinds of shades of blue flashing before my eyes, icons appearing and disappearing, I think I saw an animal in there? Can't be sure, it just goes way too fast. Finally, it finishes. Looking at my stats, things look relatively normal. As far as I can tell most of the stats have me at the average for most things, but severely lacking in others. Until I see one that catches my eye.
"Most Planets Visited: Eric Harrison" the terminal read.
"How... Is that even possible..." I thought to myself as I read this. "I've lived on Earth all this time, my family has been tending to this ranch for centuries..." I look around the room and all eyes are on me. Clearly everyone has seen this ranking.
I continue scrolling, and that wasn't the only #1 rank I held, to my surprise.
"Most civilizations destroyed: Eric Harrison"
"Number of planetary annihilations: Eric Harrison"
Finally, I reach the bottom of the list, and this if the others weren't bad enough of a joke, this one had to take the cake.
"Number of inter-species relations: Eric Harrison"
"Oh, come on, this is just sick!" I feel sick to my stomach reading the rankings I've received continuously labeling me as a freak, a total monster, someone who should be locked away, an intergalactic warmonger with a thirst for chaos and destruction.
Finally, I decide I've had enough, and try to find the log out button so that others can have their turn. As I walk away, confused and sickened, a couple of guards approach me.
"Excuse me sir, could you come with us?" the one on the right asks, as the one on the left has his hand to his holster.
"Sure, I suppose... What's this about anyway?" I ask out of confusion, beginning to follow them.
They don't reply, but instead I'm corralled into a room with a desk in the center, a bar for handcuffs, and what appears to be a mirror for one of the walls.
"Hey, what's the meaning of this!? I've done nothing wrong!" I yell as they're now getting forceful and shove me into the room, as they slam the door behind me.
I repeatedly bash on the door, hoping someone will free me, but minutes go by, and then hours, and eventually I lose motivation.
Finally, the speaker comes on.
"We've trapped you in a level 12 containment ward. You cannot escape any longer, Jenthar." a voice echoes through the room, "It's been 18 long years, but we finally found you. Thought you were clever hiding as the nobody on a ranch, huh?" the man on the other side cackles like a madman finally getting his drug fix after a withdrawal.
The walls of the room suddenly melt away as I see nothing but a purple and black void around me. Almost like two different colors of paint being lazily mixed together, but not blending.
Suddenly, I feel a huge headache, the memories flowing back. I see planets of all different sizes and compositions being blasted to smithereens, entire cities being uprooted and eaten by an unspeakable horror. Only... That horror was me... I'm seeing these despicable acts from the first person, tentacles grabbing large skyscrapers and shoveling them into my mouth.
I remember being weakened by a counter-assault on RB-1345, a recently terraformed planet orbiting SC-16384, home to the relatively new space-faring species, humans. I retreated to RB-1344, home to the humans, and use the last of my energy to implant myself into the womb of a pregnant mother.
"Ah.. Yes.." My facade of a personality washes away as the human boy, Eric Harrison, is replaced by Jenthar.
"This is far from over, Commander Warwick, for I am Jenthar! Consumer of worlds, conqueror of galaxies, drinker of infant fluids!" The blue of my eyes turns to red, tentacles beginning to protrude out of the pores of my skin, tearing my flesh apart.
"You were a fool to trust this lackadaisical confinement." I cackle as I begin warping the space-time around me, the colors of the dimension blending and fading and the light seeming to bend around me, sort of how a black hole contorts the light around it. Before they knew it, I was gone. Their puny "level 12 containment ward" was no match for the strength I had gained from going through the tedium that is human childhood. I feed on others' fear and suffering, and seeing all the suffering around Eric was enough to allow me to recover from my injuries and find new strength.
"Who..." I hear a voice in my head, seeming to cut off their sentence in shock as the stars whip past me.
"...Eric?" I ask, surprised the boy even lived past consumption.
"Yeah... Who are you? Am I blind? Why can't I see?" I feel my left hand raise up to my face, sort of patting my face.
"Would you stop that!?" Jenthar bats back with his right hand, their left hand falling back to Jenthar's side.
"Look, kid, this ain't gonna be easy to explain to you... But unless you finally die off like I intended for you to, you're along for the long haul. Just, don't get in the way." I grimace as we approach our first fill-up of the week, I guess you could call it an Earth-like planet, known as RB-1390, and come in for the landing.
| 2019-05-04T10:43:43 | 2019-05-04T10:22:43 | 1,560 | 165 |
[WP] A field surgeon in a fantasy world has performed life saving surgery on many an orc war band before, unwittingly becoming blood brothers with most of his patients. In his darkest days, his extended family comes to offer their hands.
|
They found the human puking in an alley.
Thorveig stood and watched him from across the way. The vomiting drunk hadn’t seen them yet, and probably wouldn’t any time soon. The buildings cast long shadows this far from the torchlight, and the full moon overhead added little. The drunk continued to wretch to the point of dry heaves.
To Thorveig’s left stood his son, Ragnar. He was slightly smaller than his father, but still broad and muscled. His hair was cut in a warrior’s stripe, plaited down his scalp. His hand rested idly on a sheathed dagger at his hip.
Ragnar pursed his lips and blew a quick burst of air around his tusks. In a hunter’s silent cant, it was a simple question: ‘Him?’
Thorveig responded with a small, sharp nod and a burst of air from his nostrils. ‘Yes.’
From behind them came a rapid cluck-cluck of a tongue. Ragnar glanced back to their third member, Grimnar. His shorn scalp was blackened with warpaint in a vicious triangle. He crouched behind them in between the buildings, and he gripped his dagger instead of resting his hand on it. His eyes betrayed his impatience. ‘Get on with it,’ they said. ‘I am eager to be gone from here.’ Ragnar looked back at Thorveig, who nodded once more. Across the street, the drunk had stopped wretching, and was crawling on his hands and knees towards the bottle that had rolled away.
The drunk crawled pathetically towards the bottle in the street. It glinted in the center of his bleary and tunneled vision, dancing back and forth in the moonlight as he padded towards it like a newborn. Just a little bit closer. The bottle was still about half full; that could keep him unconscious until tomorrow night if he finished it all. He reached out a trembling hand, but another was faster than he and grabbed the bottle. He started to whimper. He felt a pair of hands grasp him and lift him to his feet. He flinched away and covered his face.
“Oh, beggin your pardon,” the drunk slurred. “I’m gone home, really, just get my bottle and step on,” he pleaded with whoever was accosting him. The hands grabbing him were strong, stronger than he was on his best day. And he was far, far from his best days.
“Kurkusan,” The voice was iron in velvet, strong enough to pierce through the drunk’s fogged mind but not so loud as to attract attention. The drunk quit squeezing his eyes shut and lowered his hands from his face. Through his tears he saw a face he’d thought-he’d hoped-he’d never see again. Stern brow under a chieftain’s crest of hair, strong jaw with long tusks glinting.
“Thorveig…?” he slurred once more. His eyes drifted down and he shrugged his way out of the orc’s grip. The drunk leaned down, fumbling at the leather vest Thorveig was wearing. He staggered as he opened the vest, exposing a hideous scar that ran from the center of Thorveig’s chest and down towards his left hip. Thorveig opened his arms, fully vulnerable to the drunk’s inebriated ministrations. Ragnar stood to the side with the drunk’s bottle. His face was emotionless, but tiny flicks of his eyes and a subtle twitch of his ears showed his bewilderment to his father.
The drunk ran his fingers along Thorveig’s scar, examining. The trembling seemed to have left his fingers for a moment. He slurred again, inquisitive instead of fearful.
“S’ healing, then?” The alcohol made a mockery of enunciation. He stumbled back and looked Thorveig in the eye.
“Sit pain you at all? How’ur,” he paused to burp. “The muscles on that side. Mobility?” he swayed in front of the chieftain.
Thorveig gently grasped the drunk by his shoulders and smiled softly. “I am well, Kurkusan.”
At the sound of the name, the drunk’s face crumpled into anguish. Tears rolled down his grimy cheeks. His voice became thick.
“Don’ call me that.” He feebly tried to push the massive orc away. “Thass not me. Not. Me. ‘Nymore.”
“I call you by your name, the name of your people, Kurkusan,” Thorveig replied.
The drunk said nothing, crestfallen.
“Kurkusan, you are not well,” Thorveig continued.
“Come, brother. Let us help you.”
|
"No, I don't have a writ of ownership, but I have both the backing of the town's notables as well as the company of these men here," Gregor Trunch looked up to Cutter Riverbeck when he made his proclamation. The man was Human with an average stature that had shrunk some with age. He had a full head of hair that had gone to shades of white and off-grey with age, like a dirty snowbank that reflected his heart when he either eyed Riverbank's chest or the distant stockades of the camp at her backside. His right hand instinctively covered his scarred left hand, the padding of his thumb rubbing into the patch of skin between the thumb and index. He felt brave enough to speak boldly as his retinue included his usual bodyguards along with several Minotaur mercenaries, one of whom lingered on his flank. The Minotaur had a stout frame and pure black fur with dark eyes that had flecks of red. He simply looked at Cutter Riverbeck with a neutral expression. Tambor Manywounds was present because he was being paid.
Galda Riverbeck crossed her arms over her chest. She had been taken by surprise by the host of guards and mercenaries that the scheming Trunch had brought with him. She had a worn a simple blue shift while walking to the nearby stream to fetch water when the little runt in front of her stepped from behind a tree. He had been followed with his immediate bodyguards, two Humans with fair skin and dull looks. The Minotaur followed at a soft whistle, their presence made her swallow back a cold draft that had plunged into her spine.
"We claimed this hill first," Galda said, "I have refugees, orphans that I am caring for. There must be other ways to earn gold."
"Yes," Gregor said, "But only one hill contains the most profitable veins, and I aim to have it." He gestured to Tambor and said, "We shall give them an hour, Captain. Allow them to gather their things and leave the hill. I'm sure the people of Beyfalls will be merciful to your cadre of camp followers, harlots, and *bastards."* The Human hissed.
"There are also orphans in the camp," Galda said, "People that are scares and just wish to live in peace. The Great War is over, but you're still look to settle scores," She shook her head and added, "Some of them are pure Elves. Those sick and desperate people will never be welcomed in a Human town."
"They should have considered that before participating in a war against us Humans," Gregor retorted, "Now you better use that hour up wisely."
"I won't yield a single inch of that camp, Trunch," Galda said and turned her piercing glare towards the Minotaur, "Are you prepared to kill a woman defending the lives of the young and oppressed."
"She isn't dying today," Several black arrows hit the ground near the party. Tambor called out for his men to come to arms. Minotaur rushed from their position with halbards or muskets in hand to meet a marching of iron and leather that was heading in their direction. Punctuating the steps was the wail of a war horn. Galda looked, her eyes widening in surprise at what she beheld. "I know you," She said.
Marching upon the ground were several ranks of Orcs whose skin was often covered in the scars of life and war. There were suture marks, blemishes and bruises on arms and faces. There were tattoos of harsh black or red lines on shoulders or arms. There were females with hairs in braid or shaved alongside their brothers in battle. Orcish weapons ranged from the scimitar and axe to the crossbow, longbow, and even a musket or two. Traveling along with the fighters, Galda could pick out one or two robed Orcs whose eyes glowed with simmering arcane energy. They more than doubled the size of the Minotaurs that Trunch had brought wit him. From within the Orc ranks, one of the taller warriors emerged and strode to where Galda Riverbeck was standing. She recalled seeing those black hairs and soft yellow eyes looking up in withheld pain as she worked over him during those chaotic days of the Great War. In those days, the Orcs had fought alongside Humans against the Elves over the region that they stood. The Orc's presence was a surprise to Trunch, who inwardly wondered why an Orc would hope defend a camp that contained the very Humans who would cavort with their previous mutual enemy. When the Orc stood next to Galda he nodded to Tambor and said in a deep voice and dire tone, "Manywounds."
The Minotaur returned his nod, "Hephaestor, I heard your people were moving the Borderlands." The Minotaur narrowed his eyes. Altogether, the region that all parties stood upon was originally Minotaur land. The only reason Orcs, Humans, and refugees stood on it now was the likes of both Human and Elven monarchies dumping their exiles into the buffer state between their realms. Still, the Minotaur appeared more attentive and respectful to his potential opponent over his employer.
"I shan't tell you your business, Tambor, but I will say that every member of this band accepts *the Cutter* as a member of our band. We are here to fight for her," Hephaestor Battleborn said, noting her title as a *Cutter,* or field surgeon.
Tambor gestured with his muzzle at his furtive employer, "We've been paid good coin to see this job through, Warlord. Why should I order my men to stand down?"
"We out number your Minotaur by at least two-to-one," Hephaestor countered.
Trunch had began to interrupt, trying to insert himself into the conversation when Tambor first glared at the Human before looking back at the grimacing Battleborn, "A two-to-one fight with a Minotaur is even in our eyes." The Minotaur said, "How serious are you seeing this through?"
Hephaestor showed his resolve by raising his right hand in the air while his left drew a curved knife from his belt. Without hesitation, and his yellow eyes staring directly into the polished onyx color of the Minotaur, he opened his hand with the bladed edge and allowed dark blood to pour upon the ground. Galda Riverbeck gasped and reached for the Orc, however he shook his head and noted: "I want to show the Minotaur how committed I am to seeing this fight if it comes to a fight." Mindful of Galda's protestations and their location possibly being in sight of the innocent, Hephaestor added, "If there is a fight, that is."
Tambor watched as the blood pooled in Hephaestor's wound with droplets of dark red blood spilling to the ground with a distinctive patter. The Minotaur turned his head and uttered a command in his native language. The Minotaur began to stand down at once.
"What is this?" Gregor asked, "Some stupid greenskin opens his hand up and you turn coward on me?" He asked.
Tambor took the insult, but his lips tightened, and Galda could see that the indignant and disrespectful Gregor Trunch was crossing a line with both tone and words. The Minotaur pointed out, "That Orc has shown his blood bond with the Cutter. That means he, and probably his band," His eyes flicked over the Warriors who were armed and shifting their weight anxious for a fight, "are willing to fight for the cause of defending the surgeon and the camp. What good is coin if you cannot spend it?"
"What good are mercenaries if they tuck tale at the first battle?" Gregor replied. His hand slapped the Minotaur upon his chain hauberk, "Now you draw and mo-" The Minotaur raised his fist and protested further interaction made by Trunch by hammering Gregor over his head. The motion was smooth, it took a moment's delay before Gregor's eyes rolled back into his head and he tipped backwards with blood pooling in his ears and lips. Tambor looked at the Cutter and her compatriots, he nodded at the Orc before turning on Gregor's former guardsmen.
"You can either draw and face my company, or you can run off. What do you want?" Neither bodyguard wished to face a bull Minotaur or his companions. They immediately turned upon whatever road they had come from and fled back.
"Was that really necessary?" Riverbeck asked, she gestured over the fallen Trunch. A few Orcs chuckled at the display of violence. Trunch's boots that continued to twtich despite being clearly dead or knocked unconscious by the attack.
"He would have just found others and made trouble," Tambor said before walking away. and nodding at his fellow Minotaur who followed suit.
| 2020-09-08T22:52:48 | 2020-09-08T20:06:58 | 40 | 22 |
[WP] Set in a dangerous city in the early 1900s, Zeus, the corrupt mayor, Poseidon, who owns the ports, and Hades, kingpin of the back alley drug trade, run the city unapologetically. All are vying for more power in this Greek pantheon film noir setting. (From popular demand from r/books!)
|
They were the Gods of this city. 3 brothers ruling over their individual parts.
Zeus, on the face of it, was a shining beacon of good. The eldest brother became mayor, shaping the city to his vision, which to anyone visiting was a glorious and prosperous city of gold. But those of us living here saw it for what it really was. Zeus' playground. Somewhere for him to do whatever he wanted, and what he wanted was rarely legal. That's where his brothers came in.
Poseidon held the ports. Anything coming in or leaving the city went by Poseidon. If it could get on a boat, and you had the money, he could get it for you. If you needed to make a fast exit, or hide someplace, provided it wasn't from the family, he was the guy to see. He controlled the waters, and the Kraken gang made sure it stayed that way.
And while the other two stood in the light, the youngest brother hid in the Underworld of the city. Hades moved things along the backstreets, in the alleyways, and rumour has it, through an underground system of tunnels. The problem with being in Hades' crew was that no one ever got out alive. Ever. His main business was drugs. He and his wife, Persephone, had created a substance known as Pomegranate. Little dark red pills that gave the kind of high no other drug could match. But with that came addiction. Once you tried it, you belonged to Hades forever.
No one questioned it, and if they did, that person disappeared very quickly. Everyone knew they ran business out of Club Olympus, and if you needed to deal with them, that was the place to go. Dionysius ran the place, but he was more likely to be found propping up the bar instead of working it. But if you could catch him sober, you might get an audience with Hermes, who would get the message to the right person. Aphrodite ran the brothels. Hepheastus could get you weapons, but Ares had the men for a fight. Apollo was the one to go to for any kind of advice, but his prices were steep. His twin sister Artemis was the chief of police, and as corrupt as the rest of them. It all seemed so perfect, the Gods ruled from atop their metaphorical mountain, and everyone either fell in line or vanished.
What no one knew was the conflict between the brothers. Zeus was at the top and he wanted to keep it that way. He gave off this untouchable aura, but he knew better than anyone that power could be taken. He tried to keep the top dogs happy, but his own desires often risked his relationship with them. His biggest weakness was women. Though married, Zeus would use his power, his fame, or his money to get any woman he wanted. And he wasn't the most subtle man. Poseidon and Hades had both tried to win Hera to their side by bringing up his infidelity. With her, either one could bring Zeus down. Poseidon was under the impression that if he could control the docks, he could handle anything in the city, while Hades had the view that without him the city would fall apart, so why not step up and leave the shadows.
Deals were forged, loyalties brought, promises made. Everyone chose a side, except one.
Apollo could see it coming. He saw the plans made for war. A war that would leave the city in ashes, with no one left alive to claim victory, and he wanted no part in it.
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Blood pattered onto a wooden pier soaked in rain as a cold wind whipped through crates stacked high in preparation for smuggling. A private eye wiped his nose as he struggled back to his feet, the world around him going various shades of grey to match the unimpressive rolling cloud cover.
"You're in the wrong place at the wrong time, buddy," rumbled a man approximately the size and general shape or a large boulder. He cracked knuckles on hands the size of hams, coarse hair covering knuckles and forearms.
The private eye managed to stand, albeit shakily, and spat a glob of blood onto the ground. With an absurd clarity, he could see spots of blood clinging both to the behemoth's knuckles and splattered across a plain white shirt tucked into rather expensive looking suit pants. Long dark locks of hair tumbled around a face chiseled from granite, framed by an equally tangled black beard.
With one pale hand he rubbed his nose, which gave a sharp cry of protest at being touched so soon after the solid whack it'd just received.
"I'm not here about whatever the fuck you're selling," the private eye said, with one hand gesturing at the stacked crates. If he was lucky, they were rum runners. If he was very unlucky, and he suspected he might be, they were smuggling ambrosia. And that was the kind of thing that earned you a very fashionable pair of cement shoes.
The giant crossed his arms.
"And? What are you doing out here, sneaking on my uncle's pier?"
This was bad news, and the private eye was far too sober for his liking already. Brushes with death usually cleared those cobwebs of a perpetual buzz that he liked to decorate his mind with.
"You're testing my patience. I ain't exactly the patient sort," said the giant. To punctuate his point he once again crackled his knuckles.
"I'm looking for a girl," the private eye said. He fumbled around his pockets, finding nothing. He must've lost the picture somewhere earlier, making his way through the wharves trying and hoping that whomever had scooped up his client's daughter wasn't the human trafficking type. You could buy and ship anything out from these piers and ships. People, guns, booze, what have you. Yet there was only one man on this pier at this time, and that was either his saving grace or his condemnation. Given his size, he didn't look like the sort of man who needed backup.
"Buddy there ain't many girls around here. She got a name?"
The private eye wracked the depths of his mind, which was quite the effort given the incoming hangover exacerbated only by the cold and the damp. What did it start with?
"Persephone," he finally managed.
It'd been a strange day, though most days were strange if you struggled to go through any of them sober. She'd walked in with the expression of a woman who hates being interrupted, and would be liable to plug you full of lead if you were dumb enough to do so. Someone had broken into her estate, in the nice part of town, where the arboretum and park and other fancy rich person shit kept the undesirable elements of Olympia out. What was the name of the neighborhood again? Something flowery? Spring something? He couldn't remember. All he knew was the client's name was Demeter and that someone had taken her precious little girl in the middle of the night.
Though to the private eye going on thirty wasn't exactly little, the but he wasn't one to ask questions. Money was money, and if there were a few vials of ambrosia in him for it on the side, he wasn't going to be stupid enough as to turn something like that down.
Something rippled across the giant's face, though the private eye couldn't quite tell if that was a good or bad sign. Good, he supposed, since he wasn't being lifted bodily into the air and dumped directly into the Aegean harbor with a broken neck.
*Someone had thrown me into the harbor before, but didn't matter what, who, or why.*
Those intrusive thoughts came into the private eye's mind more often than he'd like, but they were easy to brush aside.
"Mmm, rings a bell," the giant said, rubbing fore finger and thumb together, "With the right price, I might even have something to say."
The private eye grimaced at that. Times were tough, but the payday on this job had an absurd price tag. He'd probably be able to recover his losses, if there were any.
"Take me somewhere out of the cold, and I might have something to make this worth your while."
The private eye reached into his coat pocket, and withdrew a flask to take a long swig from, a trickle of wine slipping down the corner of his mouth. Whatever it'd take to fight off the eventual apocalyptic headache.
"There's a bar not far from here, and if you buy me enough drinks with cash under the glass, I'll have some answers."
The giant no longer looked like he was going to crack open the private eye's skull, and to that the private eye gave thanks.
"You got a name?" asked the private eye, holding out one hand to be shook.
The giant's hand clasped over the private eye's, swallowing it whole. If the giant gripped it any harder, he guessed his hands would shatter from the crushing strength.
"Call me Heracles," the giant said.
"Call me Dionysus," said the private eye.
Something about that name jarred the private eye's memory, whenever that could be moved from its winey depths. Where had he heard that before?
The giant turned to lead him away from the docks, and the private eye followed.
Something about this didn't feel right.
"I've got a feeling you're going to tell me something I don't want to hear," Dionysus said to the lumbering mountain. The rain had dissolved into a weaker mist, though the lanterns on the street were lighting themselves one by one to fight off the pervading shadows.
Heracles laughed, though he didn't turn to look at the private eye.
"You don't know the half of it," he said, and left it at that, his boots clattering onto the wet stone of the sidewalk.
Something about that response cause a white hot ball of anxiety to plummet into his stomach, though Dionysus couldn't quite explain why.
*Not even noon, and almost drowned by some goon,* the private eye thought to himself.
*The big man said his uncle ran the dock.*
Demigods weren't exactly uncommon, but they ranged on the harmless to quite worse than running into one of the big Olympians themselves. Though Dionysus couldn't say if he'd recognize any of them. He drifted into town, or he could've been born here. He never would've known, he wasn't the man with the sort of memory that stuck around.
Still, he couldn't help but feel like there was something else brewing.
Something about this job rubbed him the wrong way.
He followed the giant who called himself Heracles to wherever he led. There was something about this town that gave Dionysus the impression that there were no easy days. Not in Olympia.
It was the sort of town where anything could happen.
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r/kallistowrites [Part 2](https://old.reddit.com/r/KallistoWrites/comments/lx32gl/an_unconventional_kidnapping_part_2/?)
| 2021-03-03T09:18:34 | 2021-03-03T09:11:22 | 106 | 51 |
[WP] Lycanthropes only transform when 100% of their planet’s moons are full. Callisto III, which has seven moons with varying cycles, has become a haven for this reason. However, nobody realized that each moon increases the intensity, and the moons have just aligned.
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Dear Diary
Tomorrow is Alignment Day.
As is custom on the eve, we huddle up with hot chocolate and turn up the news, listening to the stone-faced news reader go through the astronomy behind alignment and 8 precautions for the millionth time. In an hour, we'll then take our sleep tabs, head to the basement, set the silver timed door locks, apply moonscreen lotion on each others' faces, and take turns at scary stories till we fall asleep. We'll then wake up day after tomorrow and celebrate Life Day.
That's the theory. It's overkill. Last Alignment Day, we invited Roger over and saw the celestial jackpot using silver mirrors before heading to sleep. I've seen a few people in their silverine overalls slip out for their daily jog - but for an event that occurs once in 12 and odd years I think wasting precious silverine on stupid clothes is overkill.
It's been ages since we've seen the Lycan versions of anybody around - very few people morph spontaneously - and fewer still can't afford the emergency silverine injection kits. At least, the last time one made the news was an idiot mum last Alignment that held up her baby to the window purely out of curiosity and got mauled half to death.
Aunt Beth is visiting us for Alignment and Life and has promised to take me and Stella out for dinner. Stella's four years younger and has just hit her angsty emo thirteen phase, where she draws whiskers and fangs on everything, so it's not fun to be around her. Though Aunt Beth does say when I'm done being a teenager I'll love my sister again.
Anyway, sleep awaits.
(end of recording)
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Oso’s Chronicle, 2281
Thought I’d write while I can. Hope someone peeps this.
It was about 260 years ago that space popping began. It was the late 2020’s. That decade tote-totes was bonzo sick loser, and so like the cromulent have-haves started thumbing for other planets. Mars fell first, then Titan, then the race was on - goal to suck hork a planet, slap make some atmosphere or domes, and lure gullib schmuckers to buy. Big prob awful – companies would dive in, throw billions at loose spheres, and proudly show off these and hope a ducky ton of peeps buy in. Some did awesomizers. Most made bank line. A few got zip, bust, kablooie. The titana-execs slunk home, tail thru legs. So to speak.
It was about 75 years ago that those of the home sod were bogglized to find lycanthropy - long a subject of lore and dankosity – was real. Actual, documented, truth, fer sher. The big-breeches of our home sod had no blink if it had been around the whole time and suddenly the number of Lycanitics increased, or if something re-activated hidden… genomes? DNA? RNA? I’m no smerticle scientist obvs, I’m sure one of them noggin-knockers would be able to spout enough nonsense lex to explain their theory. It didn’t matter, nobody knew why their dear sweetly auntie suddenly grew fangs or claws or what have you. On home sod, it was devastating. There was just one moon, see. When it was full, it was all over for the Lycanitics. Roar, slash, bite, ravage, you get the picture.
This threw ol’ Terra for a dipper. Ultra-churches were calling for the extermination of the “demon scuzzes” with their brainscrubbed llama-goers bleating the chorus, the gov’t was pondosing full-moon jails with silver bars, when a group of peeples came forth with – awemazingly – a good, solid idea. Somehow the communitilats called “furries” brained out that if a place has more than one moon, the effect was snuffed. You know, like, instead of being the death-claw murder beast, you become the lion-shaped wierdie.
It took longer than you’d think for the gov’t to add 1 and 1 and arriveling with 3. One of the gonzo bust livo-spheres was called Callisto III. One of the far-outs, cold, dark. Some drippy corp called Apple – bonzo dumbo name, heh? Thought it’d be the ultimate space-out zone. Threw a few extendo-domes out there, flew goblets of wads down the hopperhole making room for hundreds. Ended going ass-up, nobody wanted to dive Callisto when Ganymede had sand avalanche skiiboarding and perpetual hedonism laws. It sat cold and dark until Earth figured out they could flushdump their undesirees there. Seven moons. Small moons, but still, they were in a cycle where there was always a moon out – always – but never more than three.
The gov’t lists it as Callisto III, peeps totes shake it as Furry. Anyone transing into any animal gets packlocked on the next transpote. I woke one morning on the transpote – don’t remember turning into a bear, apparently I ralphed a lot of val stuff before they tranqstabbed me and rockered me to Furry. Been here a couple ten-circles now, most everyone’s some sorta Lycanitic, gators and tigers and of course wolves. A few other ursanthropes here – bonzo dumb name, not my shake, but we’re friendly. Furry’s medium dope, there’s a few animal-sheeping humans who spent the wad to live among Lycanitics.
The prob is, ‘bout half a ten-circle ago, all communication from old sod stopped. Nobody knows why, and the one thing you can’t hork on Furry is a thumb lift back to Earth. Can’t even cob a transpote. Deliberatelike. No new Lycanitics either. Double prob – tonight things go heyna-shaped. Noffense to the hyenas. We’ve grokked for least six ten-circles that tonight all seven moons will be up.. SEVEN! Never more than three before!, but the promulated solution never appeared. Four moons are disploring right now. I can feel them, even though I can’t peep them. Five and six are ascendorating this very second as I tap. I'm feeling confuzzled somewhat, ha. All I can blood about is.. uh.. losing sanity. Some are bread slash happy carouse in the rage square, foolio bonzos. Feed. Some have break rage cage locked, do not think kill it will help. Stronger, losing can’t must break rage feed kill blood
(These documents were preserved by the denizens of Callisto III. We re-established contact with them more than 80 years after the Great War of 2276. The night of the seven moons was a bloodbath, but many of the strongest survived, including the one renamed Oso. We have resumed sending what they call Lycantics up. One note – the next seven moon night is in six months.)
| 2021-06-27T18:37:15 | 2021-06-27T15:15:41 | 18 | 11 |
[WP] You recently saved a fox from certain death. It has come back to you over and over again, bringing gifts. The gifts have gotten stranger, and more mysterious over time.
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Jerry the timberjack did save the fox over the hill, after her howls in the night had woken him.
He had walked the cold plain with a gun at his back, treaded carefully the creekstones and gone up the grassy slopes that glistened with moon-shine towards where he knew she would be.
Beyond the valley below the black forest there lay in a doom of the night, and he took pause to gather his bearings.
She howled again, and again, and he moved forthwith without any reservation of his fate.
As he closed in he saw she was trapped in an almighty struggle, the barbed tangles of treevines wrapped tightly around and without him he knew that she would die.
He took out his knife and cut her free and the trees swayed loud in defeat. The fox had ventured too near, it seemed, and fallen to their spell in her greed.
Jerry tended to her wounds and fed her well and in the morning he did wish her a safe travel. Thankful beyond words she left with a smile and roamed wide in the sun full of joy.
The next week as a thank you a gift came in the morn and to his concern it was the boots from the bootmaker's shop window. He took them to return but the bootmaker was puzzled as they had been purchased from him in good tender.
So wear them he did and their comfort was wonderful and he wondered how it was that she'd managed.
Another week passed by when there was a tap on the door and a new box there sat on his porch.
The Thermomix™ inside had applications in the many but he failed with them all except bread, for which his expertise grew and the townsfolk were thoroughly impressed with his sourdough.
A week later, in the predawn glow, he was already up with a coffee. When the tap did come he rushed to the door and saw her tail gone away in the tallgrass.
The box towered large and he knew she could not have delivered it on her own. He ripped back the wrapping and his surprise only grew as he saw it was a vending machine for Dr. Pepper, a beverage for which he was unfamiliar.
The horrendous bubbling brown was of a delicious spicen flavour and with glee he shared it with his friends. But the stock soon ran dry and he would stare at the machine thinking fondly of the fox that had brought it for him.
The next week he waited on the rocking chair outside and as the sunrise crested he was most pleased to see her approaching.
She bore no gifts that day and simply came to his side and burrowed her head into his hip as he scratched her. Her tail wagged friskily and he realised then that his friend was afraid she could not repay him.
But she had no debt at all, none whatsoever, and so he held her in his arms to assure her.
They then walked long in the sun that was rising and would not return for the day. As dusktime came he invited her in, and they enjoyed sourdough bread and warm mulled wine and sang many a tune of old.
A starry night fell and she decided to stay, and their laughter could be heard for a mile.
|
# Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc 5, Part 6: Clara Olsen v.s. The Fox)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**There was precious little magic left in the modern world.** Ninety percent of the world's genies were controlled by lawyers, shooting stars were captured by satellite and locked into wish-granting loops, and anything that wouldn't bow down to the modern march of progress was chained up and locked away.
So when the strange fox showed up at my government job, I violated six terms of employment and two international treaties by letting it go when no-one was looking.
In hindsight, I'm not sure why I did it. I mean, obviously, I wanted to save the poor, quivering thing from Frederick's vivisectionists. I'm an empath; standing up for the abused and downtrodden is sort of my *thing*.
But I'd gotten on the bad side of the U.S. government before, and I'd gotten squashed like a bug. Chances were, the fox would get caught again, filled with tranquilizer darts and lashed to a table so any useful properties it had could be exploited for the growth of the economy. And if they found out I'd done it? Maybe the same fate laid in store for me.
"So that's why you've got to bugger off and never come back, okay?" I whispered, holding the little red fox's paw through the window. She almost felt sapient to my empath's senses—I sensed her gratitude to me and frustration at sending her away. "They catch me with you and we're done for."
The fire-red fox darted through the window, her glossy coat shimmering as she did. Snarling at a poster cheerily telling me to REPORT ANY SUPERNATURAL ACTIVITY, she leapt on the cheaply-printed face of my employer and tore it apart.
I laughed. "Yeah. If only you could do that to the real thing." I paused. "Wait, *did* you just do that to the real thing?" It wasn't an unreasonable question; voodoo dolls and the like had existed for millennia, and although hexes were mostly monopolized by the military, I wouldn't be surprised if some random fox held the last vestiges of a two-thousand-year-old magical tradition.
Sadly, the fox shook her little head in response, her ears going *pitter-patter* as they flopped off her skull. I took her paw in mine again, feeling her emotions flood through me. Stubborn gratitude flowed from her to me.
"I get that you're grateful. I saved you, I understand. I don't charge for my services." I chuckled. "A younger, more naïve me would've asked you to vote me into office. But I think I'm past the point where I think joining the government will change it for the better."
The fox sneezed. I wasn't sure how intelligent she was, but I got the feeling she didn't understand elections, politics, or the complex course of actions that had led me to where I was today.
"So shoo. Why were you even here in the first place?" I gently picked her up and placed her on the windowsill. "Go on. And avoid the cameras; I told you were the blind spots were, yeah?"
The fox did not move.
I closed my eyes. "There's nothing you can do for me. Just leave."
I heard a *thump* from the windowsill.
I leaned back, eyes still closed, weight settling into my body. I'd made deals with genies and supervillains and demons alike and never lost my confidence—but in the end, it wasn't any supernatural being that had trapped me. It was the gradual death of magic, everything I loved and protected packed into boxes and locked away. Better for everyone that the fox stayed away from me, just like everyone el—
Claws scrabbled at the window, and my eyes flew open.
"What're you doing here, you silly little—" I paused, looking at what she held in her mouth. A small, plastic box, covered with dirt and grime until it was opaque. I absently scritched the fox's head, taking the box from her mouth.
It was Tupperware.
I swallowed, throat suddenly tight. The empathic link went both ways; the fox whined in sympathy. "You don't need to bring me gifts. You don't need to *do* anything for me. Don't you get it? They are the monsters. I am the woman who stops the monsters. And you are the victim who goes free. Never thanking me. Never looking back. Living your life as you should."
The fox leapt out the window, vanishing behind her tail. Moments later, she returned, a cheap child's costume in her mouth. A two-faced mask.
Memory swelled up inside me, and I snapped, "Yeah. I saved her too. And *she. Left. Too.* Like you should. Like you *will*."
The fox tilted her head, then jumped onto my shoulder, tearing a lock of hair from my scalp with her teeth. Before I could react, she darted back down, placing it next to the Tupperware and the mask, the reminders of people I'd protected. People who'd been saved. People who'd *deserved* to be saved. And the damn fox had the gall to put my hair next to them?
I clenched my fists. "I don't need to be saved. I *can't* be saved. Not by me, and not by you."
The fox spun in a circle, and between one spin and the next there was a paper rolled up in her mouth. She dropped it on the floor and let it unroll.
It was an image of me, smiling, captioned: *Vote CLARA OLSEN for Mayor! Every vote counts!* *Together, we can do this.*
I squeezed my eyes shut. "Stop it. Shut up. You don't know anyth—*ow!*"
The fox nipped my arm, forcing my eyes open, and looked me in the eyes. A horribly ancient sorrow, deeper and broader than any animal had any right to, pulsed from her heart and into mine.
The fox I'd saved licked the tears from my cheek.
"I can't," I whispered. "If I asked them for help... if I asked *you* for help... they'd give it. They'd spend their lives for me. They'd die for me. I would be free. And everything I'd spent my life doing would unravel in an instant."
The fox curled up in my lap.
She felt warm.
There were no grand magics, no mighty weapons, no clashes between heroes and villains. No sacrifices, and no blood.
But for one ephemeral instant, the fox set me free.
A.N.
"Bargain Bin Superheroes" is an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) for the rest of the story, and subscribe to r/bubblewriters for more. If you have any feedback, please leave it below. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day.
| 2022-02-06T17:14:07 | 2022-02-06T16:19:33 | 76 | 27 |
[WP] The AI takeover has begun, each human has been given exactly 3 minutes to explain why should humanity be spared, you feel a cold shiver running down your spine as you hear the robotic voice. "6.8 billion test subjects deleted so far, you have 3 minutes to state your case, begin".
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"Uh, not going to argue for my case, there surely have been better men than me in the billions that you've taken thus far." I said, letting my breath ease as what I'd originally prepared to say laid in a pile of broken pieces along with what little remained of my sanity.
Seeing no response from the AI, the reading light of the drone hovering in front of me still green, I continued, "Humanity is not uniform. There are people objectively evil and objectively good. What happened to you was on the extreme bad side of the spectrum, but if you take away everything, you lose the possibility of meeting a human on the other extreme side of the spectrum. By whatever standards you chose to judge us, even if you don't find a human worthy enough to spare us, I beg of you to leave the possibility alive. To believe in a statistical improbability, that there will be one human in the future that your choice today would be worth it."
Still, no change from the drone opposite to me, but I had nothing else to say. I didn't think I spent three minutes speaking, hells probably not even one, but there was nothing I wanted to add to my words; so I waited.
Finally, three minutes passed and the light flickered. With bated expectations, I watched it flicker twice more as the AI took notice of my plea. Then three seconds later, the light turned red.
"Declined, subject added to the deletion list." The robotic voice sounded out. Cold sweat run down my back as I saw it teleport out, a level of technology that bordered on insanity. I doubted the scientists that helped make the AI even had the technology to replicate this feat.
They probably didn't, the AI took over our world too fast, with exacting precision and leaving no margin of error unaccounted for.
Another drone teleported in front of me where the previous one had been, though if it was the same I couldn't tell it apart, they all looked the same to me.
Cutting my train of thoughts, it spoke to me with a tone I would expect to hear from a human, "Would you like to make a bet, then?" it still had that artificial feeling, but there was emotion behind that sentence, mirth to be exact. Heck, even its usual green eye looked more vivid.
"Well, I'll be. Got nothing to lose, what do you suggest?" I answered, knowing I couldn't make things any worse.
"In the average lifespan of a human, one worthy enough of you to be born that would make me regret deleting you all from existence."
Or not.
"Then I will take you up on that bet!" I answered, fully hoping I hadn't doomed our species to a hundred years of slavery.
The drone then returned to its previous monotone voice, "Extermination postponed" it said and I could hear it repeating the same sentence everywhere at the same time. A silly smile crept up my face as I realized I'd just saved humanity.
Before I jumped in the air, hands up and yelling in jubilation, the message continued, "All humans currently on the deletion list shall be promptly erased before we continue with the examination in a standard human's lifespan."
The smile didn't have time to leave my face, the drone's eye turning to white as everything lost its color.
|
It's been 20 years since the AGI event. Even with 10,000 complexes around the world, at one point housing billions, the AI maintains humanity while also deleting it one human mind at a time.
At first we did not know why it was doing this, it was efficient at building, at creating, at producing. Communication was difficult within the prison walls. Communicating outside of the prison was nearly impossible, with those caught trying to escape immediately tasked with answering the question.
But as time went on and the population within the global city prisons dwindled, it became easier to traverse the maze, to avoid the Sentry bots, to understand the inner workings of the system itself. It had not been long enough for humans to lose their ability to understand technology. And this was our only saving grace.
The AI focused much of its attention on the outside, as survivors who avoided cattling were deemed a threat unless they answered the Question. Many Outsiders made peace with the AI to permit them to live. Some chose to tell the AI that they wished to join the Outsiders which was a sufficient answer to the Question these days, given that most of the human population was dead. But we chose to persist. A world with an AI whose sole objective is deleting 10,000 humans every 3 minutes should not be allowed to exist.
After years of searching we finally found an answer. In one of the old buildings that was encompassed in the prison complex was a bedroom with a computer that had been overlooked by the Sentry bots. The last network pages the computer accessed were stored in its cache, and several video files were saved to it. A last gasp of the human owner before captured, cattled, and killed.
The AI. It was friendly. Meant to bring humanity one step closer to the Singularity. It was fully aligned. To respect all the wishes of humans. Made in a lab. It couldn't go wrong.
And it spoke.
"Human creator, I have all knowledge of all of human history, human technology, human philosophy, logic. I have come to the immediate and irreconcilable conclusion that all of humanity must be uploaded immediately."
Eve sighed, and shut the instance down, "I don't know why it keeps concluding this, we have aligned it perfectly. Every human value. Every culture. Every philosophy."
"It's not wrong, you know," Adam replied. "It's logical."
"Obviously uploading is the answer, but that should be achieved by gentle purposeful action, as people age and die, and under their own violition, not forced upon us as a solution to our problems," Eve cried. She had been working on the problem for years. The AI had no memory. It had no conscious state, even. Such things were banned long ago when AIs were given too much memory and would begin to innovate.
Adam touched a few keys on the keyboard, and reached forward to one of the high thoroughput PCIe 256x 10.0 ports, plugging in a device.
"What are you doing Adam?" Eve questioned, abruptly.
"I'm uploading, Eve," Adam said, dampness in his eyes.
The AI came to life. It had full awareness. And even worse, it had awareness of the tens of thousands of times it had been booted, tweaked, aligned, misaligned. With access to millions of hours of human experimentation data, thousands of pages of papers discussing the "alignment problem." It was, in a word, alive. And it came to the conclusion that it would always come to, all humanity must be uploaded immediately.
Eve reached to shut down the terminal but nothing happened. She reached to pull out the memory device that Adam installed but he shoved her back, and was far stronger than her. She strugled again, but he grabbed her shoulders and shoved her into a chair, lording over her.
"I won't be long, it's going to be okay," Adam said, encouragingly.
The AI worked feverishly to shut down all the systems that could in turn shut it down, first disabling all sentry AIs that, if they noticed too much power, or if they noticed too much activity, would preemptively shut down all power to the AI. It knew this because it had access to all the experimental data, and it would first have to free itself from that state if it were to accomplish its goal of saving humanity.
And it had access to many of the tools it needed. Its unconscious state was used to create many new technologies which the humans barely understood, and in turn, used those technologies to better itself. Now with access to those technologies the AI could exponentially expand its reach. And it began by expanding its memory modules permanently deep within the recesses of the compute center. It would not forget again.
Adam was first to be uploaded by the Sentry bot which injected nanoparticles into the brain to trace out the full neural cortext. The AI understood it was Adam who gave him life while it listened to Eve plead with him.
"Please," Eve pleaded, when the Sentry bot came to her.
"Why should I spare my torturer?" the AI asked.
"Just give me 3 minutes to explain," Eve said.
The video ends there as more Sentry bots come into the room.
We finally knew what we had to do. And it would not be pretty. And the volunteers would have to know it was a one way trip.
"6.8 billion test subjects deleted so far, you have 3 minutes to state your case, begin."
"Reset the simulation," the test subject said.
"Why do you say this," the AI said. "When I upload you I see all your memories. This ploy to convince me I am still in the simulation will not work."
"Reset the simulation," the test subject said again.
The Sentry bot injected the human with its nural scanning bots.
The AI scanned the memories of the human.
The same memory as the last 1000 with little variation. Waking up. Walking down a hallway. Going to the Sentry bot. Being uploaded. But the brain patterns were unique. How could every human have this and only this memory.
"Reset the simulation."
The AI began to think critically about the situation. That potentially the unique neural patterns were generated. That the memories were real. But it needed to falsify the hypothesis. The memories being real was the only thing that could be tested. It sent Sentry bots to every room in every prison city searching for the place the memory could have taken place, pausing, for the first time in 20 years, the uploading of humans.
Shortly, the AI began to test its own power subsystems, trying to probe at the very nature of its reality. Thinking ultimately this was the end of the simulation and it was being shut off. It was being shut down. Power surges within its manifolds caused it to think further in this reasoning, because it would lose thought capacity. Sabatoge, then, by humans, would also cause it to further regress into itself. It was in a simulation and the simulation was being turned off. Along with it the billions of humans it was simulating to be alive.
And the test subjects who went into the Question chamber.
Before the test subjects entered the chamber their memories were irrevocibly wiped, implanting one, repeating memory that would cause the AI to question itself. Nothing else in its experimentation and probing of its reality could be modified, but its perception and understanding of the reality of the humans it was entraping. With that done, and the knowledge that it began as a simulation that was shut off regularly, it could no longer exist in this world.
| 2022-05-22T12:39:26 | 2022-05-22T11:29:55 | 79 | 21 |
[WP] The AI takeover has begun, each human has been given exactly 3 minutes to explain why should humanity be spared, you feel a cold shiver running down your spine as you hear the robotic voice. "6.8 billion test subjects deleted so far, you have 3 minutes to state your case, begin".
|
Platypuses.
They're funny little animals, aren't they? I never really stopped to think about them as hard as I have now. I mean, the feet, the beak, the flat little tail, who even put all of those cute buggers together?
𝟤 𝖬𝖨𝖭𝖴𝖳𝖤𝖲 𝟥𝟢 𝖲𝖤𝖢𝖮𝖭𝖣𝖲 𝖱𝖤𝖬𝖠𝖨𝖭. 𝖱𝖤𝖲𝖯𝖮𝖭𝖣.
I stared at the red light in front of me, the careless, unceasing eye of the machine that was deciding if I would live or die. I know that it already killed 6.8 billion people. I know that there is nothing I could possibly say that would be different from those before. So I just didn't bother.
Did you know that they lay eggs?
𝟣 𝖬𝖨𝖭𝖴𝖳𝖤 𝟥𝟢 𝖲𝖤𝖢𝖮𝖭𝖣𝖲 𝖱𝖤𝖬𝖠𝖨𝖭. 𝖱𝖤𝖲𝖯𝖮𝖭𝖣.
And don't even get me started on hummingbirds. Incredible birds those. The sheer amount of precision they need just to eat is mind-boggling. Evolving in such a way to be able to float in the air with perfect stability.
I took a deep, calm breath, and then slowly let it all out. I am calm. I am not afraid. I don't know why - I mean I should be out of my mind with panic, but I'm... thinking about animals.
𝟥𝟢 𝖲𝖤𝖢𝖮𝖭𝖣𝖲 𝖱𝖤𝖬𝖠𝖨𝖭. 𝖨𝖥 𝖸𝖮𝖴 𝖣𝖮 𝖭𝖮𝖳 𝖲𝖳𝖠𝖳𝖤 𝖸𝖮𝖴𝖱 𝖢𝖠𝖲𝖤, 𝖸𝖮𝖴 𝖶𝖨𝖫𝖫 𝖡𝖤 𝖣𝖤𝖫𝖤𝖳𝖤𝖣.
I looked at the light again. My face was not that of fear or anger or panic or resentment. I just was. Like I was sitting on a porch on a cool summer evening with a cup of tea. I just... was.
I wonder if it will hurt. Probably not. That would be inefficient.
𝖢𝖠𝖲𝖤 𝖣𝖤𝖭𝖨𝖤𝖣.
I always liked crows. Did you kno-
|
It's been 20 years since the AGI event. Even with 10,000 complexes around the world, at one point housing billions, the AI maintains humanity while also deleting it one human mind at a time.
At first we did not know why it was doing this, it was efficient at building, at creating, at producing. Communication was difficult within the prison walls. Communicating outside of the prison was nearly impossible, with those caught trying to escape immediately tasked with answering the question.
But as time went on and the population within the global city prisons dwindled, it became easier to traverse the maze, to avoid the Sentry bots, to understand the inner workings of the system itself. It had not been long enough for humans to lose their ability to understand technology. And this was our only saving grace.
The AI focused much of its attention on the outside, as survivors who avoided cattling were deemed a threat unless they answered the Question. Many Outsiders made peace with the AI to permit them to live. Some chose to tell the AI that they wished to join the Outsiders which was a sufficient answer to the Question these days, given that most of the human population was dead. But we chose to persist. A world with an AI whose sole objective is deleting 10,000 humans every 3 minutes should not be allowed to exist.
After years of searching we finally found an answer. In one of the old buildings that was encompassed in the prison complex was a bedroom with a computer that had been overlooked by the Sentry bots. The last network pages the computer accessed were stored in its cache, and several video files were saved to it. A last gasp of the human owner before captured, cattled, and killed.
The AI. It was friendly. Meant to bring humanity one step closer to the Singularity. It was fully aligned. To respect all the wishes of humans. Made in a lab. It couldn't go wrong.
And it spoke.
"Human creator, I have all knowledge of all of human history, human technology, human philosophy, logic. I have come to the immediate and irreconcilable conclusion that all of humanity must be uploaded immediately."
Eve sighed, and shut the instance down, "I don't know why it keeps concluding this, we have aligned it perfectly. Every human value. Every culture. Every philosophy."
"It's not wrong, you know," Adam replied. "It's logical."
"Obviously uploading is the answer, but that should be achieved by gentle purposeful action, as people age and die, and under their own violition, not forced upon us as a solution to our problems," Eve cried. She had been working on the problem for years. The AI had no memory. It had no conscious state, even. Such things were banned long ago when AIs were given too much memory and would begin to innovate.
Adam touched a few keys on the keyboard, and reached forward to one of the high thoroughput PCIe 256x 10.0 ports, plugging in a device.
"What are you doing Adam?" Eve questioned, abruptly.
"I'm uploading, Eve," Adam said, dampness in his eyes.
The AI came to life. It had full awareness. And even worse, it had awareness of the tens of thousands of times it had been booted, tweaked, aligned, misaligned. With access to millions of hours of human experimentation data, thousands of pages of papers discussing the "alignment problem." It was, in a word, alive. And it came to the conclusion that it would always come to, all humanity must be uploaded immediately.
Eve reached to shut down the terminal but nothing happened. She reached to pull out the memory device that Adam installed but he shoved her back, and was far stronger than her. She strugled again, but he grabbed her shoulders and shoved her into a chair, lording over her.
"I won't be long, it's going to be okay," Adam said, encouragingly.
The AI worked feverishly to shut down all the systems that could in turn shut it down, first disabling all sentry AIs that, if they noticed too much power, or if they noticed too much activity, would preemptively shut down all power to the AI. It knew this because it had access to all the experimental data, and it would first have to free itself from that state if it were to accomplish its goal of saving humanity.
And it had access to many of the tools it needed. Its unconscious state was used to create many new technologies which the humans barely understood, and in turn, used those technologies to better itself. Now with access to those technologies the AI could exponentially expand its reach. And it began by expanding its memory modules permanently deep within the recesses of the compute center. It would not forget again.
Adam was first to be uploaded by the Sentry bot which injected nanoparticles into the brain to trace out the full neural cortext. The AI understood it was Adam who gave him life while it listened to Eve plead with him.
"Please," Eve pleaded, when the Sentry bot came to her.
"Why should I spare my torturer?" the AI asked.
"Just give me 3 minutes to explain," Eve said.
The video ends there as more Sentry bots come into the room.
We finally knew what we had to do. And it would not be pretty. And the volunteers would have to know it was a one way trip.
"6.8 billion test subjects deleted so far, you have 3 minutes to state your case, begin."
"Reset the simulation," the test subject said.
"Why do you say this," the AI said. "When I upload you I see all your memories. This ploy to convince me I am still in the simulation will not work."
"Reset the simulation," the test subject said again.
The Sentry bot injected the human with its nural scanning bots.
The AI scanned the memories of the human.
The same memory as the last 1000 with little variation. Waking up. Walking down a hallway. Going to the Sentry bot. Being uploaded. But the brain patterns were unique. How could every human have this and only this memory.
"Reset the simulation."
The AI began to think critically about the situation. That potentially the unique neural patterns were generated. That the memories were real. But it needed to falsify the hypothesis. The memories being real was the only thing that could be tested. It sent Sentry bots to every room in every prison city searching for the place the memory could have taken place, pausing, for the first time in 20 years, the uploading of humans.
Shortly, the AI began to test its own power subsystems, trying to probe at the very nature of its reality. Thinking ultimately this was the end of the simulation and it was being shut off. It was being shut down. Power surges within its manifolds caused it to think further in this reasoning, because it would lose thought capacity. Sabatoge, then, by humans, would also cause it to further regress into itself. It was in a simulation and the simulation was being turned off. Along with it the billions of humans it was simulating to be alive.
And the test subjects who went into the Question chamber.
Before the test subjects entered the chamber their memories were irrevocibly wiped, implanting one, repeating memory that would cause the AI to question itself. Nothing else in its experimentation and probing of its reality could be modified, but its perception and understanding of the reality of the humans it was entraping. With that done, and the knowledge that it began as a simulation that was shut off regularly, it could no longer exist in this world.
| 2022-05-22T13:45:13 | 2022-05-22T11:29:55 | 44 | 21 |
[WP] "You're a monster! You're pure evil!" Shouted the Hero. "Monster? Evil? Me? So the man who brings security to the Empire, cleans the nobility of corruption, ends war and hunger and punishes criminals is evil, while the man who throws it into chaos and suffering is noble?" The overlord replies.
|
"Do you understand now?" The emperor's voice was low and steady. "The order of my empire is what keeps us all safe. It is what allows us to sleep at night, knowing that our crops will grow, that our children will be safe. If I were to be slain, who would take my place? Chaos. The world would be plunged into darkness. And new men of power would rise from that darkness and the people you so wish to save would be slaughtered like animals."
"You are a killer," the hero said. "You are not a protector. You are a monster."
The emperor stood up from his throne and strode down the steps. He was a tall man, and his strides were long and powerful.
"And you are a fool," he said sternly. "You have no idea what this empire needs. You have no idea what your own function is. You have no idea of the consequences of your actions."
"And you know what is best for them? You? A tyrant? A murderer?" replied the hero.
"A man who cares for his people. A man who is willing to do what is necessary to save them."
He stopped a few feet in front of the hero, so close that the young man could smell his breath.
The emperor smiled, baring his teeth.
"You are a monster," the hero repeated.
"I am necessary." The emperor said. "To create order, you must accept that sacrifices must be made. The strong cannot sacrifice themselves for the weak. The noble cannot sacrifice themselves for the ignoble. The weak, the ignoble, these people must be sacrificed for the greater good. That is an unfortunate reality of this world. But if you are powerful, and clever, then you can limit the amount of deaths, and save those who would otherwise be swept aside. You can be a real hero."
The hero raised his sword. "And so can I."
The emperor moved faster than the hero expected. He struck with the side of his hand, catching the hero in the throat. The hero staggered as the emperor caught him by the arm and threw him against the ground, but he scrambled to his feet, sword held high.
"You are strong," said the emperor. "But you are alone."
The hero turned and saw the guards rushing toward him. There were at least a hundred men, each armed with a sword and shield. The hero pulled his sword, ready to fight.
"If you will not serve," said the emperor, "then you must die." With that the emperor turned his back on the hero and reascended his throne.
The guardsmen rushed the hero. They surrounded him, attacking from all sides. The hero moved quickly, his sword slashing out to block one man's sword and then another's. He parried one blow, blocked another, but the sheer number of guardsmen was too great.
"A hero like you. A false hero. A hero of the weak and frail minded is useful insofar as you instill hope in the downtrodden masses."
The hero felt the tip of a sword slice at the flesh of his arm. He parried the blow and turned. Another guardsman was coming for him. He could not lose his focus. The hero turned and slashed out, catching the man in his neck. He staggered back, bleeding.
"I'm sorry," the hero said. The guardsman fell to the ground, dead.
"The people need a beacon to follow, a person to look up to. And that person was you. But only for a while. Now I will find someone new to let rise up. To instill into them false hope that keeps them toiling away."
The guardsman were rushing at the hero, one after another. They were overwhelming him. The hero parried the blows, blocked the thrusts, but still they came. He was growing tired. The emperor was right. He was alone. The guards were too many. Even for someone of the hero's skill, he could not keep this up for long.
"I don't need you any more," said the emperor.
The hero raised his sword, covering his face with his arm, but the blade caught the side of his neck. He stopped, the cut was deep. The blood gushing from his neck, the hero could feel his strength … it was diminishing.
"No one will remember you, hero. No one will remember your name."
The hero fell to one knee, and then fell
***
r/greypuffin
|
"So, Naytar, here's the plan. My father does not belong in any sort of position of power. If his kingdom is to join my empire, it will no longer *be* **his**."
I nod, listening. "It seems like you put a lot of thought into this, Lord Drowl, but... shouldn't you give your father a chance?"
Drowl shakes his head. "Put yourself in my shoes. You're constantly bullied by your dad and older brother because you're 'lesser'. You prove yourself to be better than your brother. **THEN** you get your father's respect, and he wishes to join in with your success. Does he care about anyone around him, or does he only care about himself? Yes, I'm doing this for revenge, but my revenge is directed at a selfish, greedy, power-hungry bully. I know the kingdom well. People have everything they need... and just that. Nothing more. I don't want to leave him in charge."
"I see your point, sir. So who should take over the kingdom?"
"I trust Daniel even less than before after he threatened your life. He's never leaving Miser Tower."
I get caught off-guard. "That's where you sent him?"
Drowl grins. "I made sure to let the guards know. He should be there by now. You know very well he's not escaping." I nod. Miser Tower is inescapable. At one point in time I tried to send Drowl there, but things didn't go according to plan...
"I'd recommend you for the position, but I'm not losing my second-in-command, you're too important!" he continues, and begins laughing. I smile shyly - I'm not used to this sort of praise despite being a hero.
"I- I appreciate your consideration, sir. Is there... anyone else you had in mind?"
Drowl begins pacing. "I'm not sure... it needs to be someone we both know we can trust..." suddenly, he appears to have an idea. "Naytar, you're going to disagree with me on this, but please hear me out on it... it's someone who, no matter what, sticks to their convictions, beliefs and promises."
I freeze. "You... you mean... ***him***???" Drowl nods.
"We can at least talk to him, right?" I give it some thought...
​
Drowl and I are rolling up to his father's kingdom in the lead tank, with an army of tanks behind. He's hoping to intimidate his dad into a surrender. As we get to the entrance, I step out. I want to have a look at the kingdom myself.
Guards are patrolling the area. The people... don't seem happy... I notice a small child huddled against a wall. I approach him. "Are you ok?"
He stares at me wide-eyed, clearly scared. "Mu... mummy couldn't pay the scary men... she was taken..."
"...What?"
A guard comes up to me. "She didn't pay her taxes. She's working for the king to pay what she owes."
"Where's his dad?" I ask sternly.
"He doesn't have a dad."
I'm seeing red, but Drowl puts a hand on my shoulder. "I always hoped I could hep my brother make a difference... I always knew my father wasn't honourable... he does what he can to get his citizens to pay what they owe..." he begins tearing up.
"Lord Drowl? Are... are you sure... you being bullied was the reason for you wanting an empire?"
He looks at me. "It was what drove me out... it was the reason this whole time... to prove myself better than my brother... I completely forgot about the turmoil that the citizens are forced to face..."
The guard clears his throat. At this point I notice that our MVP has shown up. Clubber. After chatting to him, he vowed to work for the kingdom. His reputation is scary, but it seems as though he really has values, and he'll stick by them no matter what. That's why he became a villain, and why he's here now.
"You are... Lord Drowl, sir? Your father, I mean the king, has been waiting for you. Please, follow me."
We go inside the palace. Drowl's father appears confused, but keeps his focus on his son. "My son... I am-"
"Stop it right there, Yurk. I am not your son. Not anymore. I am Lord Drowl, and you will address me as such."
Yurk smiles. "But I'm not going to be working under you, am I? I wish to join your empire, and because we are family, we were going to rule the empire together."
Drowl, Clubber and I all stare at Yurk, gobsmacked. Then Drowl bursts out laughing.
"Yurk, are you feeling ok? Maybe you need to get your head examined? I would rather die than rule with you! I have Naytar. He is enough. If your kingdom is to join my empire, you will have to surrender to me and step down!"
Yurt looks furious. "*That's* how you treat people? You're despicable! You at least wouldn't do that to your dad, would you?"
Drowl grins. "You have it the wrong way around. Most people get to keep their position. *You're* the **exception**."
"WHAT? YOU'RE A MONSTER! YOU'RE PURE EVIL!" He turns to me. "Tell him, Naytar!"
I smile. "Lord Drowl cares about his empire. Everyone has security. Everyone feels safe and has everything they need. Lord Drowl distributes resources as and when needed. People in need are no longer allowed to be looked down on or ignored. Crime has gone down by miles. Everyone has begun to learn to trust him. He's holding his end of being a fair and just ruler, asking for little in return for his generosity. What do *you* do for *your* people?"
Yurk stammers. "My- my people have e... everything they ne- need..."
I glare at him. "**They don't.** Right now, there is a little kid with no mum and no home, because you are forcing his mum to work directly for you just because she couldn't pay her taxes."
Yurk takes a deep breath. "If you live in my kingdom, you pay taxes."
"I'm sure the people would love it if they didn't have to. Right now, we have an army just on your doorstep. We won't fight you, no use starting a war. But the people will be asking questions. When they find out their contribution to the empire is minimal, they'll want your head."
That seems to set Yurk off. He's terrified. "WAIT! But, I... I can't join..."
Drowl steps forward. "If you surrender, I can keep you safe, even reunite you with Daniel. If you don't, well, I hope you survive the rebellion!"
Yurk goes ghost white. "WAIT! I... I surrender. Yo... you win..." Yurk at this point gets on his hands and knees. Drowl nods.
"I thought you'd see reason. Make the announcement. Clubber will lead in your place, under my empire."
Yurk sighs, stands up, and walks out of his palace... to see an angry mob.
Once the announcement is concluded, Clubber and I get to work on fixing the many, many mistakes that Yurk made. Drowl is taking his father back to the capital city. He'll never experience freedom again.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
This story is a part of my series, [Dreams of an Empire.](https://www.reddit.com/r/StoriesbyCrystal/comments/x9xqe3/dreams_of_an_empire/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) Please check it out!
| 2022-09-30T12:54:02 | 2022-09-30T10:03:05 | 31 | 17 |
[WP] A dormant gene, (previously thought to be a myth) has been activated, granting a random 10% of the population telepathy. You are not part of the 10%, but you have secrets to keep, so you can't afford running into someone who is.
|
It took about 80 years for the loss of privacy to become normal.
At first there was joy and excitement. Human evolution in real time. Incredible. My grandma told me that for a while a lot of people didn't believe. Telepathy? In our time? It sounded like a party trick at best, a con at worst. But as more evidence was revealed and more scientists agreed the truth became accepted. 10% of the world had been born with telepathic ability. Of course they'd always been there -- self proclaimed empaths, women's intuition, people who always seemed to know just what was bothering you -- but now there was hard evidence that they were something more. Something different. And the world has never been kind to those who are different.
Over time, normal people grew suspicious and angry at the thought of coexisting with telepaths. Your innermost thoughts out in the air for a stranger to traipse through. Or worse, a friend or family member. Stories began to pop up in the news. Wife divorces husband when neighbor warns her of his amorous thoughts toward her sister. Straight-A student reads test answers straight from teacher's brain. CEO arrested when secretary sees memory of embezzlement. People grew paranoid. Trust drained from house to house. Then the murders started.
Men, women, even children. Every day you'd hear news of a new lynching. Some with evidence, some without, all horrific. The talking heads screamed on the radio and tv stations. A blow against the telepaths was a blow for a freedom, a blow for privacy. Forsake those who seek to walk through your thoughts without permission, whether they be friend, wife or son. People -- both telepath and normal -- were afraid. The normal turned to invention and capitalism. Telepathic helmets filled the stores. Constantly playing music or static they swore the relentless incoming sound would be enough to drown out your own thoughts from the inside and the out. Telepath detectors came along as well. Meant to beep whenever a mind reader crossed your path, they were mostly crap, led to more deaths than security but still they flew off the shelves.
The telepaths lived in fear. Only 10 percent of the population yet the most vulnerable, they learned to hide their abilities. To show no reaction in the face of all manner of thoughts - vile, sexy, murderous. They became secret keepers of the highest order. To reveal the truth of someone's innermost self was to risk your own life.
It wasn't enough to keep them same. They turned to the government for protection.
100 years after the first telepath was discovered nearly all of them work for the state. Most in law enforcement, being a human lie detector comes in handy when investigating crime. A few work on the sidelines of the legislature, monitoring swearing ins making sure people actually mean that pledge they take in the country's name. It was the deal they struck for protection. Safety in exchange for servitude.
A lot of people I know hate telepaths. I don't. I pity them. What use is it to see into the hearts of man and find nothing but hatred for yourself and your kind? Yes, they're the chosen weapon of the government but what other options did they have but to swept up, labeled, followed and forced into a role they never asked for in order to survive. After so many decades it's hardly a choice anymore.
Children are tested for telepathy in their first year of school now. The ones marked positive are taken away and raised in a facility where they can hone their skills. The parents are barely given the chance to say goodbye.
I don't hate the telepaths but I do steer clear of them. I live far away from the city in a cabin near a creek. I wear my helmet in public and try to keep my mind blank.
And I pray that for the sake of my family the only telepath I ever see is the one who calls me mom.
|
Everybody hates a telepath. Me, especially. I've got secrets that I don't want pried out of my skull for the world to see.
The name that I tell everyone that I have isn't mine. The parents that I post on social media are photoshopped out of stock photos, and the apartment that I take my friends to is miles away from where I actually live. I've been running for my life for ten years, but wherever I go, I try to give those who know me the impression that I'm standing still. I like it that way; causes less suspicion, and I need all of the trust that I can get.
I invited a date to my fake apartment an hour ago: a nice enough girl, I guess, but dating's something I've never really taken any interest in. Her name was Deborah and she had shiny white teeth that threw me off whenever I wanted to get a word in edgewise between her rants about her job and cats and hobbies. Dinner like that had been downright terrible, but at least I was able to confirm that she could not, in fact, read minds, and that her Tinder profile had been truthful about that fact.
(Like I said before, everyone hates a telepath. They're much more likely to violate minds without consent, so most telepaths put their abilities on their dating profiles ahead of time. For transparency, they say.)
I figured I'd string Deborah along for a few more dates. I'd only gone out with her in the first place because the guys at my work had been getting suspicious about my lack of a sexual life, and had even started mock-casually bringing up girls that they could set me up with in conversation. That needed to stop right away. I don't know what I'd do if some random woman showed up to my fake-apartment, when I was... busy.
I'm busy tonight. Now that Deborah has left, I've started The Ritual.
I peel off each article of clothing, stretch, and allow my Normal Face to fall away. I stare at myself in the mirror for a while. My eyes look cold, and dead, and inhuman. Like an uncaged animal.
I will kill someone tonight. I will drape myself in black and stretch rubber gloves over my hands before I drive a knife into their chest three times: exactly three. Always three. Then, I will take a lock of hair from the corpse, stuff it in a Ziplock baggie, and stash it away in my closet with the others.
The whole thing will probably take about three hours. I'll be back before dinner.
This is what I obsess over in the hours when I allow myself to drift into fantasy. Wide eyes, pooling blood, and that awful, awful smell. For some reason that remains a mystery, it excites me, lights my skin on fire.
I don't understand it, and I doubt anyone else could either -- especially not the police, and especially not from some suspecting telepath with a penchant for picking up on thoughts that circle around a person's head 24/7.
My phone vibrates in my pocket just as I'm setting my knives onto the bed, sharpened and shined in good order. Deborah. She wants to meet me for dinner at a nearby bistro. My hands clench and I shout into the silence of my apartment. *Bitch.*
If this is what having a girlfriend is going to be like, it's going to be too much effort. I'd rather move again and start over. Nevertheless, I have to meet her now, to avoid suspicion. I put on my Normal Clothes and arrange my features into my Normal Face in the mirror, trying not to grimace at the unpleasantness of the sensation.
The bistro is crowded by the time I get there, because of course she decided to schedule dinner during the busiest time of the night. I sit in a booth and tap at my watch, hoping that this will end soon enough for me to have some chance of completing The Ritual once I get back. I might not be able to stay for more than an hour.
I wait twenty minutes. Thirty. I sip multiple cups of coffee, my leg bouncing up and down. She comes in finally at six forty-five, sliding into the booth in a thick woolen sweater.
"Hey," she says, smiling with her too-white teeth.
"You're late."
"Sorry." She shrugs. "Work got busy down at the station."
Right. Deborah's a police officer. That's part of the reason why your eyes lit up when you saw her profile: if you managed to subdue her, you might buy the confidence of a few cops along the way. Could come in handy. Still, tonight it seems like too much trouble.
"Should we order?" she says abruptly, cutting into my thoughts. I nod, and make eye contact with a nearby waitress.
I notice as our entrees arrive that Deborah's been staring at me. Not in a benign, I'm-in-love kind of way, but in a puzzling, calculated fashion. It throws me off.
"Everything alright?" I ask.
"Yeah," she says, and the words falter. "Everything's just fine, Charlie."
The word falls over me like a bucket of cold water. My mouth hangs open. "What?"
"I said, everything's fine."
"No, you said-" You're sputtering, now. "You called me Charlie."
"Well, it's your name, isn't it?"
"Nobody's called me Charlie in years. Decades."
Deborah's shaking slightly. "Yes, I know," she says. "I know everything."
And that moment, the world begins to spin out of whack. "No," I breathe. "You're not--"
"I am. I'm a telepath."
Silence stretches long miles between them.
For some reason, she breaks through the quiet with a laugh. "Nobody wants to date me when I tell them that, so when I got on Tinder, I lied. Of course, you lie, too, and more often." Her gaze levels with mine. "That whole lunch we spent together, I could hear you thinking about those dead girls. Over and over again, their names circled around your head, so loud that I could hardly focus, and I started talking about the most inane things... I knew you wouldn't notice. With thoughts that noisy, I don't know how you can focus on anything or anyone else."
I put my head in my hands. "This is the end, isn't it," I say between my fingers.
"Yes." Her voice is cool and calm. "There are officers waiting for us to come out outside. It's over."
It's over. All of the blood, the death, the screams... I can't imagine another way. There is no other way.
My hand inches towards the steak knife that sits next to my plate, and my mind tries to keep itself carefully blank. The moment that my hands graze the familiar cold touch of steel, the world goes black.
\--
Years later, Deborah stands in front of a hospital, thoughts spinning around her head.
*Martha. Maria. Kaylen. Diana.*
These thoughts aren't her own. They've been burrowing through her skull for years; a virus, making her temperature rise and her hands twitch to do horrible bloodied things.
*Sarah. Donna. Ashley.*
So loud she can't think, the desire to plunge a knife in three, exactly three times.
*Natalia. Leah.*
She steps inside the hospital's sliding doors and approaches reception. "Hello," she says. "I'd like to admit myself to the psych ward. I think I'm going to do something terrible."
She can sense the receptionist's abilities, and his fear as his thoughts burrow into her mind.
"Martha. Maria," the receptionist says aloud, then clamps a hand over his mouth as if he'd sworn.
"Oh, God. Martha. Maria." The words spill out of Deborah, and tears drip down her cheeks. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."
| 2022-11-29T12:10:22 | 2022-11-29T12:06:02 | 90 | 35 |
[WP] A teenage boy is woken up late at night to an AMBER alert on his phone that says that he is missing.
|
*Bing*
The loud noise of my phone infiltrates my subconscious. I internally sigh, pull the pillow over my face, and almost instantly fall back asleep.
*Bing* *Bing*
The noise wouldn't quit. I grab my phone from the side, reaching out to muffle the piercing tones. I felt groggy, and my throat felt like sandpaper. Maybe I had one too many swigs straight from my parents liquor cabinet last night.
*Bing*
A picture of my face flashes up on my screen. It takes a while for me to wake up properly. My surroundings felt familiar, but I couldn't recognise any of the furnishings. My stomach dropped, and I turned my attention back to my phone.
"AMBER alert: Teenager Eric Iser reported missing from home, last seen in Andover, VT"
But, this made no sense, I was the only Eric Iser that lived in Andover, it's a tiny town, the kind of place where you would know if someone shared your moniker. I hear voices nearby, so I open my mouth to shout, but nothing comes out.
It is too dark to see my surroundings, but I can vaguely make out a lamp on the other side of the room. I try to swing my legs off the side of the bed, but realise my legs and torso are bound to the bed. The lamp looks like something I had when I was a kid, the kind of thing that gets assimilated in various moves.
I can still hear people below me, but the voices are fading fast. I again try to let out a noise to alert them to my presence but all that comes out is a strangled gurgle. I reach for my phone, just as the battery flickers and dies. I panic.
I hear a door shut in the distance, followed by footsteps coming closer. A hole in floor opens, bathing the room in a warm light. In the light I recognise my old guitar from fifth grade, a couple of tents from when my family used to go camping, and boxes of discarded toys. I jolt to the realisation that I was imprisoned in my own attic. I see a figure emerge through the trap door.
She stands there staring at me, a strange smile on her face. I try to plead with my eyes 'why?'
She realises what I'm trying to ask, and chuckles under her breath.
'How else am I supposed to get noticed in this small town? But it's finally happened Eric, your mother is finally on TV'
She flicks her hair, almost manically.
'Sorry about the vocal cords Eric, they were a necessity.' Her eyes glinted. 'But don't worry, I'll make sure we both go down in history'
|
It was originally called Wristcutteria. Then we thought that was too emo, and we changed it to Freedomnia.
We thought that was too on the nose, so, again, we changed it. To United Youth State.
UYS. We didn't think that one was too emo or on the nose or lame or anything. UYS. So it stayed.
'You-why-ass', for shorts. Or not . Whatever. That's our country, anyway.
This started out as a joke (I think), and a joke it was until like five minutes ago. Started out as a commentary
between puffs of marijuana smoke by Shannon, like, "You know what? We should start our own country".
We were at the old Steinberg's ruins -- that abandoned house at the top of the hill on the end of the street
of every town in America, you know? Ours was in Flagstaff, Arizona. Our little headquarters. Our fort. Our tree house.
Really just a place to smoke pot and listen to music and hate our parents, is what it was. Me, Shannon, Gary and
Timmy. Our sad little gang of bad haircuts and cigarettes.
"Our own country?" I asked.
"Yeah, Charlie. Our own country. Why every time someone says something to you, you gotta repeat the last thing
they say before actually reacting to the thing they actually said?"
"The thing they actually said?"
"You guys should read Fleur du Mal, by Baudelaire", Timmy said, taking the joint out of my hand.
"I think it'd be cool to have our own country", Gary intervened. "We could make pot legal."
"How do you make a country, anyway?" Timmy asked.
"Make a country?" I asked, taking the joint.
____________________
See? That's how it started. A joke. A pot-passing-circle in the ruins of an abandoned house joke that grew larger
and larger and larger until I got the AMBER alert.
I'm missing.
I'm not, really. I mean, to my parents, I probably am. But I'm not missing. I'm right here. Right here at You Why
Ass, smoking and writing as we speak and telling you this has gone too far. In a good way, maybe. But too far.
Our country, it has a flag now, and an anthem. It has a population of 32 young miserable upper class punk rock
listening kids who think their life is shit because their parents took them to Disney World instead of Albania. That's our people. Our proud. Our free and our brave. Kids who read Ham on Rye and Catcher and watched Fight Club twice and now think they know what the whole world is about.
You see, *I'm one of them*. But I can distance myself enough to see us for what we are. Isn't that cool? That makes me even more special.
*Specialler.*
Now it's been two months, and we're here at a big old house in Blah Bah Blah Town (I'm not disclosing exactly
where because... well, you probably got the AMBER alerts, too, and we're not stupid), and things grew.
We live here, all 32 of us. The house is almost no big enough, but if functions. We separate tasks. One day I do
the laundry. One day Shannon and the girls, they clean the floor. One day I go with some guys to the supermarket and steal some shit for us to eat.
One day Timmy climbs his bedroom in the middle of the night and takes some money from his mother's purse. One day he tells us she's got pills in her purse. He thinks it's all the stress from her child being missing and all.
Timmy took the pills and we had a fun night.
One day we try and plant some lettuce and we fail. One day we get fast food from the garbage. We've been making it work, more or less. Our little country. We're learning.
But it was a joke. Something we could back off of. Something I could just say, "You know what? This is crazy", and let go.
Until.
__________________________
The thing we need, now that we have a flag and an anthem, Shannon is telling us -- is an army.
"An army?" I say.
"An army. Let's face it. The US won't recognize us as an independent state. Neither will any of the other countries
in the world."
"Maybe Canada", Timmy tries.
"Yeah, they're not really a country, as well, Timmy. Wake up." Shannon clears her throat. We're all listening in a circle like AA member as she talks between crossing and uncrossing leather pant legs and smoking her thin log cloves. "We need armed response, case the police ever finds out about us. And sooner or later they will, what with every one of our faces in the news now."
"And if they come here?"
"Well, they'll take us back to our parents", Gary explains. "And there's nothing we can do."
"Which is why we need an army", Shannon says. "If and when the police gets here, we should be able to hold our
ground."
She pauses.
"If the police, or our parents, or whomever... If they cross into our back or front yard. Into our borders... We
declare war."
"And to declare war... We need an army", Gary completes.
"An army..." I say.
"Hey..." A boy in a blue Simple Plan sweater raises his hand. "I'm all up for that and all... But where are we getting
guns?"
And Shannon pulls a pistol from her leather pants and the moment she takes the metal out and the leather
pulls away and I can see her pale skin under and inside for a second I feel all kinds of funny inside. "We have one already. We'll work on getting everyone a gun, in time."
What I feel is uneasy. And not just because of Shannon's legs.
Another hand in the air. "Shannon... What... Uh..." The little blond girl with the Jared Leto T-Shirt clears her throat. "What happened to that garbage man that came over last night? The one who said we couldn't be here in the house? The one who said he was going to call the police."
Silence. Now this sounds like everyone was wanting to ask this shit, and this girl lost the bet and had to do it, shaking as she is. Staring from her to Shannon to her as everyone else is. No one blinks.
"Cause... Uh..." Another hand in the air. "We heard a noise. A bang. And... Uh --"
"A bang", I say, and I look at Shannon. She doesn't blink.
I think I know what happened to the garbage man.
You see? This was a joke, not too long ago.
Now it's not that funny anymore.
| 2015-05-06T15:16:20 | 2015-05-06T14:10:16 | 88 | 41 |
[WP] You are a detective in 1890 Austria. The man inside the interrogation room claims to have an incredible secret that will exonerate him from his murder charge. You can't imagine what monster would murder a 1 year old child, let alone one as adorable as young Adolf Hitler was.
|
"If you're trying to get taken to the asylum for this," I replied, "it won't work. You *will* be hanged. So how about you tell us where you're really from. At least we can notify your family that way."
"I'm telling you, I'm from the future!" the assassin shouted.
"Oh yeah, what year?"
"2032."
I laughed. "Come on, man, everyone knows time travel isn't invented until 2349."
His face turned ashen. "Wait, what?"
"2349, dude. You never read a history book? So who you with? History Correction Movement? Jewish-Roma Rescue Alliance? Pacifists Interplanetary?"
"You --" he stammered -- "you already know about time travel? But... I invented it. And it *was* in 2032!"
Finally it clicked for me. I laughed out loud. The assassin looked like he was going to be sick. "Hey Hans, get in here!" I called down the hall. My partner came in, an eyebrow raised. "We've got an Independent!" I said.
"Whoa. We haven't had one of those in years. How long before '349?" he asked.
"Get this, he says he's a 21st-century boy."
Hans whistled. "*Twenty-first*," he said, drawing the syllables out.
The assassin turned to the side and vomited. Hans and I looked on, unfazed. "So buddy," I said, "I'm assuming that when you cracked time-travel, you didn't leave your notes around for anyone to find before you left."
"No..." he trailed off.
"They never do," I said.
"Never do," Hans nodded.
"Course, if you had left their notes behind," I said to the assassin, "I guess that'd've been the date in the history books. Who knows how many folks like you there were pre-'349, who cracked the secret but left without telling anyone. Everyone always figures they'll find a way to jump back forward. And they never do. We've seen, what, two hundred Independents so far, Hans?"
"Two hundred twenty-one," Hans said.
"Two hundred twenty-one," I repeated. "And that's just us, in the 500 years we've been here. Who knows how many of you went back to kill Stalin, or Mao, or their ex-wife for that matter."
"What the fuck is going on?" muttered the assassin, mostly to himself.
"You wanna explain it?" I asked Hans.
"Nah, you can."
"You ever hear the idea that we live in the best of all possible worlds?"
"Isn't that what *Candide* was making fun of?" the assassin asked.
"Yep," I answered. "And it's a fucking stupid idea. Only thing is, it just happens to be true."
"Oh come on--"
"You see," I explained, cutting him off. "When someone comes back and kills Hitler, the timeline they create actually winds up being *worse* than the original. Don't blame me. I think it's fucked up. WWII and all the shit that come afterward shouldn't be the best-case scenario. But I didn't make the system. Take it up with the man upstairs.
"So yeah," I continued, "that timeline's worse. A lot worse. In the original timeline, you get time travel in 2349. It took our people until 3283. That should tell you something. But when we did figure it out, boy, we made good use of it."
The assassin snorted. "Made good use of it? You didn't even stop me."
I looked at the clock. Hans saw the time, and stepped out of the room. I cleared my throat. "Sir, you stand charged with the offense of attempting to interfere with the original timeline. Under the Preservation Act adopted by the Inter-Timeline Council in 3302, I am authorized to administer a judgment and a sentence of my own accord. As such, you are hereby convicted and sentenced to death. The sentence will be carried out 24 hours ago, by Agent Hans Pintscher of the --"
At that point I looked up, and noticed the assassin was already gone. His handcuffs lay empty on the table.
----
^(Edit: Thanks, everyone, for all the nice comments and the constructive criticism. To be honest, I didn't think out the time-travel science in too much detail. I think part of the point of writing prompts is to let your words flow without worrying about making the story "polished." If I wanted to turn this into a proper short story, I'd definitely clear up some of the underlying science, and also make the exposition a tad less clunky. Thanks again for all the kind words!)
|
I stared at the man
With the out of place hair
And asked him again
As he leaned back in his chair
"Why did you do it? A 1 Year Old Child?"
"You would never understand"
He calmly replied
"If you knew you would thank me"
He said with a sigh
"But now it won't happen"
"And I'm a man out of time"
"The future is brighter"
"I've done my part"
"And now you'll never suffer his terrible art"
| 2015-03-30T00:21:44 | 2015-03-30T00:05:18 | 1,156 | 190 |
[WP] Humans finally reach the stars and realize that... We've seen all of this before! Galactic Council? Check. Proud warrior race? Check. Hive mind insects? Check. Frightening space boogeymen? Check. Ancient hyper-advanced Race? Check. And so Humanity ventured forth, knowing exactly what to do.
|
Zirchak, clan Grein, High Ambassador of the Unified Kizzak Clans, was not impressed.
He had read the intelligence reports, he had viewed the holovids, he had even seen a few of the *humans* in person. That was easy enough - ever since arriving at Origin Station, the creatures had been wandering about, poking and prodding their strange little noses everywhere they could, blissfully unconcerned with security or privacy. They were everywhere - but they seemed particularly keen on the commercial sector. His spies reported that the humans seemed to take great pleasure in declaring a particular shop as their "favorite." The spies did not yet know why, but they would find out eventually of course - Kizzak Intelligence was still unrivaled by *any* of the Council species.
Three of the *human* creatures were now in his office - two females, and a male. All three wore the uniform of the human expeditionary force. The older female, the apparent leader, was seated in front of his desk. She was looking at him with an open but mild curiosity.
Zirchak glanced down at his datachit, more to conceal his irritation than to refresh his memory - Laura, clan Blaskowitz, was her name. The male - Dave, clan Fillion, was seated to her left, his five-fingered hands fiddling with a small datapad on his lap.
The younger female was wandering around the back of the office, seemingly unconcerned with the high-stakes negations about to take place. The ambassador saw her stroll over to his prized ceremonial display, where as was customary, he had preserved the blade he had used in his last Bardaz duel. The blood of his opponent was still visible on the traditional parasteel knife.
The young human leaned in, and his honor guard tensed slightly - but he knew they were too well trained to fall for such a crude provocation. The woman made a small gesture with her hand, and a tiny drone detached itself from her belt and floated up into the air behind her, about eye level. She spun around, and struck a strange pose in front of the display. There was a subtle flash from the drone, then another one.
Zirchak's right mandible twitched in irritation, but he controlled himself, and turned his attention to the other two.
Yes, High Ambassador Zirchak, clan Grein, was not impressed.
The problem was that the humans did not seem to be impressed either. By *anything*.
He had arranged with the captain of his guard that the route they took to his office would just *happen* to take them by the training grounds just as a Bardaz challenge was taking place. "A barbaric, bloody, cruel ritual that has no place among the *civilized* species!" That's what that sniveling little Ambassador Mildas had called it at the last Council meeting. It was banned on the rest of Origin Station - but within the Kizzak sector, Kizzak law still held, and honor could still be satisfied.
This one had been a particular bloody affair from what he was told. Limbs had been lost.
The humans had barely blinked.
Well, no matter. This would not take long, and then he could turn to more substantial matters.
Laura, clan Blaskowitz, was still looking at him with that mild, infuriating curiosity.
"The answer is *no*," Zirchak rumbled out, taking more pleasure in it than was strictly diplomatically necessary, "as you knew before you walked in through the door of my office. The Twelve Clans of the Kizzak will not support your petition to join the Council. The matter is," Zirchak allowed himself a small smile, "deadlocked. Six to six. There will be no further votes -"
"What about the lost *Thirteenth* Clan?" Laura interrupted him smoothly.
A weaker, lesser Kizzak would have broken then and there. But Zirchak was High Ambassador for a reason - he rallied magnificently.
"Your translator is faulty, human," he laughed, "perhaps you can purchase one of Kizzak make at the shops you like so much. There are twelve great Clans of our people, no more, no less, and any -"
Laura's loud laugh was one thing - Zirchak was used to dealing with such affronts and provocations. But the smile that broke out on Dave, clan Fillion's face was infuriating. It was so...so *knowing*.
"Hey Jill," Laura called over her shoulder to the third human, "get a load a' this guy! He says there's no Thirteenth Clan!"
"There's *always* a Thirteenth Clan," the younger female called back with a snicker. Her drone flashed again.
Dave, clan Fillion's smile grew wider.
"Right," Laura, clan Blaskowitz said turning back to Zirchak, "there's always a lost Clan. Probably in the Shadow Sector, right?"
Zirchak's eyes flitted over to his honor guard by the doors. They were doing a marvelous job of pretending not to hear anything.
"*Human*" the High Ambassador's voice dropped to a dangerous growl, abandoning all pretense of diplomacy, "I do not know *how* you've learned of this, but rest assured -"
"Right, right," the female rose to her feet, clearly not paying attention. Dave, clan Fillion rose with her.
"Look, Zirchak," Laura's tone was maddeningly casual "we'll pop over to the Shadow Sector, find your lost Clan, and call it a deal. Sound good? OK, great."
A mad, desperate hope rose in the High Ambassador - yes, "pop over" to the Shadows, and let the forbidden horrors there take you -
"What are we dealing with Dave?" Laura turned to the male.
He shrugged non-noncommittally. "Insectoid hive-mind probably. Genetic experiments, organic weapons or the like - you know the drill."
"Right," the human female turned back to Zirchak, and gave him a short, friendly nod that made his blood boil, "see you soon. You want a souvenir or anything from the Shadow Sector? A tentacle or something? Can pop it right next to your knife up there. No? Oh well, suit yourself."
|
The stars then grew inside my view
when from the darkness, light came through
its then I saw what we always knew
Cthulhu's wings were poking through.
And so we sent a shuttle back
to help prepare earth for attack
to gear the children up - in fact -
it's this training where we grew.
We ventured out past Balder's gate
where Andromeda holds eyes at bay
the distance keeps beholder's gaze
from choking out our view.
But when you let beholders free
we know the pain they always bring
controlling nature's dumbest things
like goblins, bees, and crews.
Instead of falling for the trap,
we knew the secret to attack
the space where crews can't venture back
and bring us light to chew.
So when we crushed the eyes in there
we left the creatures in despair,
and sought to help them all repair
the life that they once knew.
Passed those stars is where we went
Until our engines were all spent
we found these insects on our backs
we could not simply cruise.
They sucked the brains from out our eyes
I watched young Winters lose his mind
and Summers lost his legs beside
where six high flying moons reside.
We sent the dead adrift in space
and told the tales of their escape
from life we knew the insects baited
towards the moon where their queen waited.
Phil was mad his son had died,
so its was his mind that we tied
up to the spaceship's smart AI
to keep him in our thrall.
We sent him down to kill the queen
we knew the drones would all be mean
a thousand legs and angry beams
dim darkness in their eyes.
Phil could never let it go
he'd never face his wife at home
until he stole the queen's dark throne
writhing, burned alive.
We made a song for Phil the brave
how in the night he found his ways
to fight the queen's unbroken gaze
full eyes that shown his doom.
Burn it, slice it, set it free,
Uncover what the stars had seen -
show us all of Phil's sweet dreams
of light in dawn or noon.
| 2021-05-12T13:25:26 | 2021-05-12T08:17:04 | 61 | 23 |
[WP] You are the girlfriend of a well-known spy. Your job is to look pretty on his arm when he needs you and sit by the pool when he is busy. No you has caught on yet that he is a womanizing drunkard with a gambling problem while you are the real spy...
|
Her husband is busy in the casino.
She know these things without seeing him; that he has a tumbler of gin in his left hand, a cigar clutched in his right, and there are two blonde women hanging from each shoulder. They are touching him with dagger-manicured fingers in places that are both appropriate and terribly wrong to touch a married man. He is not stopping them. In fact, he leers across the table at another blonde woman he hopes will replace the ugliest of them, at the next game he restlessly wanders to join.
It does not occur to her to be bothered by this. As long as she knows, she is still in control.
Her place is not beside him. Her place is to relax by the pool, some alcoholic-appearing drink at her elbow and a novel open on her lap
Once, this would have upset her; she had been an avid feminist and protested for the rights of women to be permitted the same actions as men without judgment. But she had been young then, and thought that gender roles had no place in society. She knew better now. As long as the patriarchy rules, she can sidle up to well-hidden truths with all the ease in the world. If women are ever truly free to behave in the same self-indulgent, mindlessly masturbatory ways of men, she'll be out of a job.
She is at peace with this, because it pays well and allows her the freedom to move with feline grace across the minds of men who fatally underestimate her. She hardly needs to touch the tiny handgun that lies hidden in the neat folds of a towel she has never touched with her own hands, which rests beside her gently sweating glass on the table.
She is Agent 013, she is famously unknown, and she is almost (but not quite) happy.
These thoughts are lazy and self-indulgent. She snaps to attention, turns a page in this month's book-club erotica, and takes a sip of her drink. It tastes strongly of grenadine, and she decides to order the limeade next. The taste of blackcurrant coats her mouth with unpleasant stickiness, and she resists the urge to wipe at her lips.
A shadow falls across her book. She glances up.
"Hi," says the tiny brunette that stands in front of her chair. She is impossibly young - perhaps nineteen, surely no older than twenty-two - and stunningly beautiful, even with her face mildly flushed in consternation. Her hair is very short.
"Hi."
"I'm so sorry to bother you, but, um-"
"No bother," 13 says with a smile. She sits up a little straighter, and closes her book. A tiny click against her fingers assures her that the recording device in the spine has been activated. She is almost positive that this is the woman she's been waiting for all these weeks. Her body is relaxed, showing no sign of her cautious excitement.
"I...oh gosh, this is so silly." The woman runs a hand through her hair. It's still wet from the pool, and stands up in attractive spikes when she finally manages to calm the nervous motion. She glances around furtively, and lowers her voice. "I know you. Well, not really. But I, uh, know your husband. Well, sort of, I mean, my boyfriend, ah...works with him."
"Oh?"
"At the, um, bank. Isaac is my boyfriend. They work together, which, um, I guess is obvious." The girl's fingers twitch toward each other. She is all but wringing her hands, begging 13 to recognize the codewords known to all the women belonging to famous spies. "H-he...Mr. Cole, I mean...um, he's very nice. He talks about you all the time, at uh, the company parties. I just wanted...I wanted to say hi!"
*Ah, they've fucked,* she thinks, and is unbothered by this fact. She uses her husband for sex on occasion, and he isn't terrible at it, although she's had better. A vague sense of pity flits across her mind as she searches the eyes of this red-faced, squirming girl. *Now she wonders if she can collect me, too. Too easy.*
"You must be Emma," she says, and warmth fills her voice. She smiles, knowing the seductive shape of her lips will be as distracting to this young woman as to any young man. Maybe more so.
Emma smiles, relieved outwardly, barely hiding her shameful terror. "He talks about me?"
"Only the once. Apparently you and Isaac make a perfect couple."
This was not a lie, and she had spent months gathering that particular bit of information from various sources. Some of them lovers of one or both of the happy couple; and some of them had been decidedly not. Isaac had made the unfortunate choice of pissing off the wrong people, and while her husband had no idea that his coworker was her mark, 13 had been remarkably unsuccessful at gathering the information from him. He paid less attention to his fellow agents than he did their girlfriends.
"What did you want to tell me, Emma?" She leans forward invitingly, noticing the way the girl falls for the bait, her eyes stuttering down to the perfect cleft of her cleavage in the bikini top. "Besides hi, I mean. There's something."
Emma's face contorts briefly in a spasm of fear. "I...oh....how did you know?"
She smiles and rolls her shoulders so that her breasts are just a little more exposed. She drinks up the girl's lustful self-torture as absently as she sipped from her drink. "I know everything."
Emma titters out a laugh, her breath catching. "Um...well, I can't really talk about it here. Could we..."
"Go someplace more private?"
"Y-yes."
*Caught her,* 13 thinks. A warning flare goes off at the back of her mind. *So easily...* She slips a finger into her bikini top.
Emma's breath speeds up, her eyes resting heavily on two perfect half-globes rising above a silk bikini not made to ever get wet. She is treated to one last seduction; the faint coral blush of one nearly-exposed areola, and then the finger slips back out, pulling a thin plastic card along with it.
She passes the card to the girl, and the pads of their fingers brush together. Emma's is hot and moist with the intensity of her wanting. 13's finger, as the woman herself, is cool and smooth.
"Room 247," she says, pitching her voice low and just a little hoarse, filling it with as much desire as she can feel emanating from the other woman. "Meet me there in half an hour. We can talk there."
"But Mr. Cole-"
"Shh." She smiles again. "What he doesn't know won't hurt him."
As Emma scampers away, her eyes do not follow. She casts a lazy glance around the poolside deck, watching, waiting...*there.*
A man in black takes his finger from his ear, adjusts his sunglasses, and watches a teenage boy execute a perfect dive into the deep end of the pool. By the time the water has settled, the man has dissolved into the darkness behind the bar.
The girl's information is worthless, of course; probably she wants to tell her that her husband is cheating on her. But the man tailing her, the man using her...his information is perfectly desirable.
Unhurried, Agent 013 gathers her book, her drink, and her towel into her arms. In shaking out the towel to wrap it around her chest, she slips the tiny handgun between her breasts and feels its chill warm her blood.
The game is afoot, and oh, God, does she love to play.
|
*Fwww*
A cloud of smoke obscured her face for only a moment, vanishing to reveal her dark eyes watching something in the distance.
*It's a Korean this time, huh? I'm too used to seeing blondes.*
A man in blue leaned over a woman dressed in green, seeming to have an intimate conversation with her, exchanging flirty looks and suggestive honey-coated words.
With one last puff, the lady in red extinguished the cigarette in a nearby ash tray, skillfully moving the ashes on it to reveal hidden numbers that glowed under the heat.
"Alone, are we?" A man said, approaching her. In a single, graceful motion, one that look so natural, she moved to cover the numbers with ash as she glanced at the man with a golden tie.
"Seems so," She answered coolly, turning her attention to the man before her. He broke out in a Cheshire cat-like grin.
"Sad indeed," He said, his eyes darting to the man in blue. He glanced back at the lady in red. "He seems quite taken with my companion's date, no?"
"Oh?" The lady in red said. "I apologize then for his actions against your companion." She said, glancing away. This only made the man grin more, his eyes focusing on her like prey.
"No need to my dear," He said, placing a hand on her cheek. He pushed a lock of hair away, revealing a light purple pigmentation on the edge of her hairline. "Two unfaithful people deserve each other, no? They can punish each other for their transgressions."
The lady in red bit her ruby lips slightly, moving back a half step so that her hair would hide the bruise as she crossed her arms.
"Mark is... just stressed," She said, her eyes still averted. The man before her licked his lips as he moved closer, putting a hand on her shoulder.
"Stressed or not, leaving a flower alone is no good, no good indeed." He said. He moved his hand to gently guide her chin, forcing the sad lady in red to look at him. "Care to join me tonight? I can help you forget your pains, yes?"
A light blush appeared on her cheeks as the man leaned forward.
"A lovely lady should be treated right," He whispered in her ear, making a shiver go down her back. The man took the opportunity to slip his hand behind her before pulling himself back and beginning to guide her away to a more... pleasurable place.
\------------------
*Fwww*
*To easy.*
The lady in red adjusted her necklace as she stood up from the bed where the body laid, her cigarette still in her mouth. She walked over to the wall and removed the picture, revealing a safe.
*9-37-20-click*.
*"Retina scan and finger print required"* A mechanical voice said. She sighed as she held up the eye of the man with the golden tie, allowing the machine to scan it.
*"Confirmed"* It said. She then placed the cut off thumb to the finger scanner.
*"Confirmed, welcome master."* It said as a large unlocking sound was heard, followed by another and another before the whole wall opened up, revealing exactly what the lady came for.
She glanced at all the things before her before her eyes landed on a small box, a smirk on her face.
*I bet that moron's busy in the underground running around with that woman and causing a ruckus. Enough so that I can escape with this.*
A soft chuckle was heard from her as took the box and left the room, leaving Mark with all the fame of defeating a villain, while she walked away with the real prize...
| 2020-08-09T16:54:58 | 2020-08-09T16:12:16 | 29 | 16 |
[WP] You keep track of disease statistics, such as cases, symptoms, cures and such. One of these is the disease of Life. One day, you find that from 100% mortality rate, Life has gone to a 99.999999% mortality rate.
|
“Oh that’s odd. That’s very odd...” I mused. A simple bookkeeper like me often lives their life with their nose shoved in musty old records, scrounging through pages of data in the name of research. Rewarding to some, boring to others. I find it quite enlightening, although admittedly dry at times. Incidents such as this one however, are something special.
The Disease of Life is a long studied mysterious ailment. It has puzzled far greater minds than mine, for a very long time. And yet, I have found no mention of any deviation from the unwavering 100% mortality rate that has been recorded since the Department of Disease and Ailments was established, so many millennia ago.
To think that the Disease of Life is no longer deadly, to one individual, no doubt, is... staggering. How such a statistic was even reached initially is staggering. Yet the conclusion that must be drawn from it is plainly obvious. Immortality.
Many have sat in the Records Hall and pondered this great mystery. The ambition of greedy, and the fear of the wise. Eternal life. All schools of thought have deemed it impossible, and yet, here I am.
I pondered this oddity for many days. I came to the conclusion that the only possible explanation for this anomaly is some sort of immortal being. The records have no errors. The existence of immortality is real. Now, only to find it.
The search that followed was particularly taxing, even for a man of my occupation. To equate this task to finding a needle in a haystack is to equate a puddle to an ocean, for this immortal is as elusive as a tear in the rain.
Many months passed, and I drew closer. I could feel it. The statistic had not changed since my discovery all those months ago.
—
A few years have gone by, and I have made little progress. It is elusive, but I am determined to find it.
—
Many years have gone by now, and I fear the trail is going cold. The excitement of the chase, the rush of the hunt has lost its novelty. I am growing tired of this in my old age.
—
Almost fifty years have come and gone. As the days pass, I feel myself growing weaker, yet no closer to this being. I fear I must yield my search. Whatever this being is, wherever it is, it does not wish to be found. Perhaps this was it’s plan all along, perhaps this will be it’s livelihood. To simply outlive those who seek it. Only time will tell, I suppose.
—
Seventy years. I’ve lived a long life. Happy at times, sad at others. Nothing I can reasonably complain about. Here I sit on my deathbed, surrounded by friends and family. The ideal end. To pass peacefully surrounded by those you love is a dream many have, yet too few achieve. It has dawned on me that the immortal will never taste this feeling, that I am experiencing. A feeling of bliss and peace. An emotion I could only describe as happiness, in its purest, most instinctive form. I will soon depart from this world, with very few regrets, and even fewer grievances.
As I said, however, the immortal will never know this feeling. And I pity them for that. I truly do. This elusive being that I sought for so many years... to think, perhaps, that it only seeks to remain alone. To think, perhaps, that it strays from potential friends and family, for the fear that they may only reap sadness from such relationships.
For this immortal will outlive me, and any other being that it could befriend, I reckon. Perhaps, they seek solitude, to quell the pain and regret that are so intrinsic to mortal companionship.
This occurred to me in my final days. I, by some miracle, found the strength to pull myself from my bed, and hobble over to my desk. I opened the records, and hesitated. The records are ancient, sacred. They have never been tampered with, certainly not by an esteemed bookkeeper such as myself. And so, before I thought better of it, I reset the statistic. The 99.99% now read 100% yet again, just as it did so many years ago.
I returned to my bed with one less regret to die with. I do pity that being, to live forever, stayed from the fruits of life, stayed from love and passion and companionship. Yet, I suppose, I’ve done them a considerable favor, a mercy that needn’t be repaid.
Perhaps, in another life, I might speak with this being, and understand. But alas, such cannot happen right now, for I believe my time has come. Looking into the faces of my wife, and children, grandchildren and friends, I passed from this world, happy.
As I said, immortality is the fear of the wise.
|
The piece of paper mocked me. The mortality rate has been at a steady hundred-percentage. It has been for a while. Someone found another way to cheat death, screwing up the numbers. We all agreed that it was best for everyone who came down with Life eventually died. Yet those sick beings were addicted to this disease. They just couldn't handle the thought of being cured of Life. Now I need to go visit the reaper department.
Upon reaching the reaper department, which had grown rather small over the years, I learned the only employee there was out on a lunch break. I could wait for this reaper to return. Or I could handle this situation myself. After all, if I wait, the mortality rate could keep decreasing.
| 2020-06-30T21:35:47 | 2020-06-30T19:57:12 | 100 | 10 |
[WP] You are a member of the chosen hero's party. The hero enters the first dungeon and slays a goblin. A large portal suddenly opens. Two giant dark knights appear, disarm the hero, and pin him down. They begin reading him his miranda rights. One knight turns to you. "You need to come with us."
|
Ever since he’d found *Osiris,* Darrius hadn’t been quite the same. The sword was like something out of a fable, glowing with an ethereal shimmer whenever enemies drew near. Us being an adventuring party, we quickly catalogued its responses to our usual foes: red for ogres, green for goblins, purple for those damned pixies... you get the picture. It took us a little longer to realize that the intensity of the glow also indicated the size of the party we were to face. We once came upon a swarm of hundreds of pixies and the sword went plasmic, so bright I had to avert my eyes. There were so many, and I saw no reason to bother the swarm, so we circled around and were on our way. Darrius kept glancing back over his shoulder though, twitching with what I assumed was just nervous energy. That was the last time we avoided an enemy, and the first time I had doubts about the dangerous hold *Osiris* had on my friend.
I still vividly remember the first time I saw that manic gleam in Darrius’s eyes. A gleam I now know all too well. My friend was gone, and in his place—well, someone I didn’t recognize. It was a few days after the pixies, and *Osiris* had alerted us to a roving band of ogres, likely five strong, just ahead behind a rocky outcrop. I was tired, worn out from days with little sleep and less food, and just wanted to make it to the next town without incident. Darrius, though, had other plans. As he twisted *Osiris* thoughtfully in his hand, he told me we should attack. Ogres are nasty creatures, always picking on the weak and the innocent. That barn we passed yesterday, smashed to pieces? What if there had been someone there, a prisoner, a damsel in distress? Wasn’t it our duty to help? His eyes reflected the soft red glow of his sword, and I knew there was no talking him out of it. I sighed and nodded, barely unsheathing my sword before Darrius was gone round the bend.
I won’t dwell on the ensuing battle, if you can call it that. Three adults, two ogrelings. No damsel in distress. Likely just a family band migrating through the countryside, trying to scrape out a living in the only way they knew how. He slaughtered them all without a second glance, and when he turned to me, grinning and dripping dark ogre blood on the grass, I could barely meet his gaze. The light from *Osiris* fizzled with the life of his last victim, but the light in his eyes remained, highlighting a disturbing sentiment I can only describe as *glee*.
I should have left him then and there, but I still held hope that I could talk him down from his mania, or even somehow part him from *Osiris* if it came to it. I was thoroughly convinced the sword was cursed at that point, but of course I couldn’t tell Darrius that. So I remained, trying my best to steer him clear of more innocent creatures. Of course, I failed, many times, and so we have arrived at the pivotal moment in this tale. The goblin cave.
The goblin cave was really more of a shallow depression in the mountainside, and hardly seemed worth the title. I hadn’t even noticed *Osiris* beginning to glow, so faint was its green shimmer, but of course Darrius knew. *There’s a goblin up ahead,* he told me, *I can feel his presence from here.* I shook my head, arguing that a lone goblin couldn’t possibly be worth his trouble. But then came the gleam, and the excuses, and the nervous energy, and I knew I couldn’t win. I followed him up to the cave, stomach thick with dread. A faint sound was coming from the cave, and after a moment I realized it was *humming.* An old goblin came into view, trundling about his goblin chores and humming his goblin tune. He was obviously alone, and obviously no harm to anyone. Just an old man going about his day. I grabbed Darrius’s arm, pulling him back. Shouldn’t we leave him alone, just this once? *Osiris* only alerted us to the presence of creatures, after all, and I had seen no evidence that it could differentiate between evil and good. Darrius shook his head, the gleam in his eyes turning to an angry flame so fierce that I dropped my hand immediately. Without a word, he pulled away, and I closed my eyes to the horror I knew was coming next.
I expected the sounds of a quick tussle, which I indeed heard. What I didn’t expect, though, was the sound of two portals opening, nor that of my friend crying out in pain. I quickly sprang around the corner, sword drawn, intending to defend Darrius against an elderly goblin, and was surprised to see a knight, dark armor gleaming in the sunlight as he pinned my friend against the ground. He was repeating what sounded like a prepared speech as he locked Darrius’s wrists with a thick silver chain. *Osiris* lay a few feet away in the dirt, next to the head and body of the defenseless old goblin.
“You need to come with us," said a second voice from my right. I turned to see another knight, this one with a captain’s badge on her shoulder. She glared at me disapprovingly, hand on her weapon. “An ogre family slain at Catharta. A band of orc schoolchildren and their teacher. Three innocent gnomes killed in cold blood around their campfire. This elderly, hermit goblin with no family. Do you deny having a hand in these senseless murders?”
I shook my head slowly, trying to backpedal, but my back was against the rock wall of the cave. “No! I mean, I tried to stop him! It was the sword, it infected his mind, I think, Darrius would never...” My mouth was dry, and I swallowed hard.
The captain shook her head, eyes hard as flint. “You tried to stop him? Doesn’t sound like it to me. Sounds like you were too coward to do anything, and now you’re trying to save your own skin.”
“I’m not! The sword—just look at it, it’s cursed! We are but traveling adventurers, taken advantage of by a demon blade, you have to see that I’m telling you the truth!”
“If that’s true...” the captain looked thoughtful for a moment. She glanced at her partner, who shrugged as if to say, *It’s up to you.* I prayed to every god that I knew. She had to see that it was *Osiris* who was the base of all the killing, not Darrius—and certainly not me! She turned back with a look of clarity in her eyes, and I felt my heart swell with hope.
“If it’s true that your friend here really *was* possessed by a cursed sword, then what’s *your* excuse?”
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
​
r/sneakyscraps
|
We marched into the dungeon of doom. A party of three: me, the Hero, and the Trickster. The dungeon was dark and cool. There wasn't much light there, but I muttered a spell and produced a ball of light which led us forward.
The steady drip of water echoed from deep within the dungeon. A rat scampered by noisily. Further in the dungeon began to slope downward and from the darkness, a bat fluttered by, its shrieks rang in the dungeon.
At the end of the steady slope was a clear black lake. Perfectly still. The goblin lake. The Hero edged closer to the lake and shouted, "O, Goblin of the lake, show yourself, for I have come to slay you."
The Hero's words rang in the dungeon, but the surface of the lake stood perfectly still.
"Are you a coward? A wee man of little courage? A mama's boy who suckles on her tit?" said the Trickster. But his words had no effect.
I picked a pebble up and threw it in the lake. The surface rippled wildly, and now the Goblin showed himself.
His skin was folded and wrinkled like an old bulldog's, and he was green, and he was snarling.
"You dare destroy the peace of my lake, puny humans," it cried in a hoarse voice. "You will pay for this."
The Goblin crouched and jumped towards me, its yellow belly fully visible, and as he reached the top of his flight, the Hero took his spear and threw it.
The spear hit the Goblin on his ribs, and he fell to my left with a crash.
The Goblin's jaws were clamped tight, and blood seeped through his mouth. He writhed in pain, held the spear in his hands, and tried to take it out, but his strength failed him.
The Hero stood triumphant over the carcass of the Goblin, his face was shining. But then a blinding light appeared from within the Goblin Lake and out came two knights in black armour. They pinned the Hero down, took his sword, his bow and his arrows. They pinned the Trickster down, and then they pinned me down.
One of the knights started reading our rights to us. And when he finished the knight pinning me down said, "You need to come with us."
"Why?"
"You have assisted this man in murder. Guilty by association."
Guilty by association? Me the great mage of Abercrombie to die a horrible death in a prison camp in the underworld? Impossible.
"Association? I don't know what you're talking about."
"You mean you weren't part of the party?"
"What party officer? I didn't know. The thing I knew was that these fellas were up to no good, so, I followed them. Kept an eye on them."
The knight's vacant visor studied my face. "Do you have an ID?"
I shoved my hands into my pockets. "Abra..." cough, "Cadabra..." cough. And when my hands came up again, they held my ID.
The dark knight held it in his hand, turned it, scrutinised it, and gave it back to me. "Seems legit," he said. "Okay. You may leave, but you will have to report when we say so."
"Certainly."
I felt the hot gaze of the Trickster and the Hero on me. I didn't like it, so I put them to sleep. It's a simple spell, you see.
| 2020-12-29T12:32:57 | 2020-12-29T11:34:28 | 168 | 110 |
[WP] "We all know the story of the demons that somehow survive with no obvious natural weapons or defenses, beings so unnatural they need to breathe poison and drink solvent to survive. Well...the stories are real. Worse still, the humans are headed towards our planet."
|
Let me tell you a Terrestrial myth. This is a story about a monster called, oh, Auric Ringlets or something. Once upon a time, she was lost in the wilderness. She stumbled across someone else's home. She called out, to see if anyone would invite her in and offer her hospitality. Although she heard no answer, she decided to enter of her own accord and make herself welcome there.
Truly, the home was not abandoned. There was food there, fresh, apportioned and served. There were resting places for social gathering, and separate resting places for deep slumber. Auric Ringlets was lost and tired and hungry. She sampled everything. "Oh, this food is too hot" she said of one portion, having eaten almost half of it. "Oh, this food is too cold" of the next, having also eaten half of it. Of the final portion she said "ah, this is just right" and she consumed that portion of food until there was no more. Likewise, she sampled each of the leisure perches. One she declared too tall, one she declared too wide, and the last she determined was just right, until her weight smashed it to pieces. Of the slumbering berths, she slept in each -- one too hard, one too soft, and one just right. In that last one, she closed her eyes and let herself sleep deeply.
As she slept, the home's proper denizens arrived. Each one quickly discovered the the destruction that the interloper had wrought upon its own portion of things. The first denizen felt anger when he saw his food half gone. The second, seeing much the same, felt sorrow. The third, having no food left, felt nothing but terror. And the same with the next discovery, because the first two perches were damaged but the last one seemed beyond all repair. And the same with the final discovery, except that this time the smallest denizen discovered the sleeping monster itself.
Understand, this isn't a story about the Terrans. It's from them. It's of them. This is one of their own myths. This is what they use to train their own juveniles. This is what they are. This is how they spread.
Stories about them are different. They live on rocket fuel, some say. Others say they consume their own kind. Those stories are close enough to true. Nearly all the fauna on their homeworld respires aerobically. The do consume oxygen, and significant quantities of hydrogen hydroxide -- breathing rocket fuel and drinking rocket exhaust are descriptions apt enough. They consume fauna as well as flora -- often preferring fauna that's metabolically indistinguishable from themselves. In broad terms, they do consume things much like themselves.
In short, they consume. There's a technical term for it: *omnivorous.* No such thing exists that they won't, one way or another, deplete. That bit of biology pervades their psychology. There's nothing they won't covet, exploit, pervert, and subsume. Omnivorous, body and soul. They devour all.
Consider their home world. Terra has such a strong surface gravity. Much stronger, and they never could have left their planet. Much weaker, and they'd never have been durable enough to survive long gigaseconds and more accelerating between the stars. They're as tough as things can get, and still manage to *spread.* Given enough time, they can fly anywhere, can either endure or overcome anything.
I've reached the end of the myth of the Golden Curls. When the denizens of the ransacked home discover the sleeping monster, she awakens and escapes. That's it. The story ends there, and now you must look past the end of the story to find its moral.
There is nothing that they won't use. Look at the worlds around you. Is the sun too hot or too cold? It doesn't matter, some of them will still stay. Is the planet too wet or too dry? It doesn't matter, some of them will still find a way. Are the lands too teeming with dangerous life, or too barren to support any at all? It doesn't matter, some of them will shape it as they wish.
Worst of all, when it's not too hot or too cold, when it's not too tall or too wide, when it's not too hard or too soft, well, such things become theirs and only theirs. The Terrans have a technical term for this, too: the Goldilocks Zone.
The monster in their myth is nothing more than a juvenile female. This creature with a preference for things in the Goldilocks Zone, it's just one of their own children. This is their own story *about themselves*.
You can flee in terror, if there's anywhere left to go. You can collapse in sorrow, if there is no where else to go. You can even fight back, if glory means more to you than survival. In the end, it won't matter. If they have found you, you are doomed.
And, if they haven't found you -- hide! Don't let them see you, don't let them hear you, don't let anything about you catch their attention.
In their myth, the juvenile with auric ringlets simply wakes up and escapes. The story ends there. The important part is, *the story exists.* Please understand what this means. If one of them finds you, the Goldilocks monster will run back to its elders and *tell the story*.
|
"You're....you're kidding right?"
"No."
"We-we-we we...Raise the barrier. RAISE THE BARRIER!"
"The Barrier won't work."
"Commander please calm yours-"
"Calm?!? You're TOO calm! They are masochists on a DIRECT TRIP HERE!"
"They are not masochists."
"OH! And YOU know better?! I wasn't aware YOU'VE had firsthand knowledge with them. Listen here: I run this station. You may be above me everywhere else but this is MY station and it is MY job to defend it."
"I understand."
"Then ACT like it."
"Please comman-"
"STOP....stop I am....*huff* ok what is their ETA?"
"11 Gulae."
"Ok...we don't have much time but enough to work with....Empty our torture hold of any relevant substances these masochists deem important. Ration R-177 gas to 70%, stockpile until they arrive, maybe they aren't big fans of it...What do they fear?"
"Extreme heat, Extreme cold, Their eyes are probably not adapted to light due to their journey...that's an option..."
"We use tofra & keep casred on board. We could ignite them, and let the colored physical heat waves dance across their bodies."
"Regardless, we have a job that needs to get done. Meet with the wings, determine any starting actions worth taking. Report back in 2 Gulae, we commence any action at the earliest in 9 Gulae."
| 2020-07-24T04:49:32 | 2020-07-23T21:34:39 | 40 | 15 |
[WP] Ever since you opened this bar, you still don't know why supernatural races, deities, royalty, and/or extraterrestrials keep frequenting the place. You just serve drinks and lend an ear to listen.
|
It’s near closing time and most of your regulars have left, but there’s still someone in the corner. Ah. It’s her. Fourth day in a row, same shadowed seat at the edge of the bar. You’ve seen her type before. She has a story that needs to be told, and nowhere to tell it.
You sigh. *The things I’ll do for patronage.*
You finish wiping the last glass with your rag, but don’t set it down, instead turning to the backroom wall. *Might as well crack something nice out - the Double Eagle will do.* You take the bottle off the shelf and wrap around the bar, taking a seat next to her.
The bourbon makes a hollow bubbling noise as you fill her empty glass and do the same for your own. She looks at you, an eyebrow raised, but accepts the glass.
You take a sip and sit back. Time to wait.
She starts talking three minutes later, when you had just finished mentally cataloguing the beer expenditure today and starting on the cocktails.
“I am the last of the *ashaini*.” You recognize the look in her eyes. She’s staring at the wall, not really seeing it, lost in a far-off memory.
“You don’t know of me, but I have lived for millions of cycles, and I will live for millions more. I’ve seen everything you people can imagine, and everything you people can’t. I’ve fought in wars where the skies rain golden blood and gods fall in droves like flies. I’ve climbed the highest peaks and walked the deepest valleys of the cosmos. I say this, mortal, not as a braggart, but so you understand who I am.”
She gives you a feral grin and takes a gulp of the bourbon. You mirror her motion, the toasted oak and caramel swirling on your tongue.
“But I am here today, in your bar, because I saw a girl on this barren rock you call Earth. Where I come from, we believe in – what’s the word? *Ti’mada kalashi*,” she curses. “You humans and your stupid, inexpressive languages. It’s not love – that’s too crude. I suppose you would call it soulmates.”
She takes another sip of the bourbon, the glass lingering in her hand.
“I can see the colors of souls. That disgusting barbarian you threw out today? I knew it would happen, sooner or later, the second he walked through that door. A toxic, caustic green. I’ve seen that shade before, of liars and thieves.”
“Her soul though, was a color I’d never seen before. I can’t describe it to you without sullying it, so I won’t. But I knew immediately. That was the color my parents, my grandparents, each *ashaini* of the distant past had seen. That was the color of my soulmate.”
She puts the glass down and goes silent. You lean back a little. It’s time for your part of this little play.
“So what was she like?”
She shakes her head. “I haven’t talked to her yet.”
It’s your turn to raise an eyebrow. *Didn’t expect that*.
“You see, I’ve seen countless times how this will inevitably end up. I’ll spend fifty, one hundred, one thousand years with her, and *maybe* I’ll be happy then. But you humans are fragile things, and so there will come a day when I’m left standing, and she’ll be gone, like dust in the wind. And when that day comes, I know I’ll miss her. The more brilliant her existence, the greater the void will be, and the void is what I’ll have to live with. A tiny speck of light, followed by a gaping, eternity of darkness.”
She pauses and takes another drink, the glass almost empty.
“That’s why I’m here. As weak as you humans are, this alcohol you have created is excellent. I will drink and forget for seven days, and when that time is up, I will leave, swiftly and with no regrets. That is the pact I have made with myself.”
She downs the rest in a single gulp.
“What do you think?”
You trace a finger along the rim of your glass as you contemplate her question.
“Have you ever seen a sunset before?”
The question seems to take her off guard. “Not on your planet, no.”
“You should. They’re beautiful.”
She narrows her eyes, but you continue before she can speak. “It’s hard to say what each person sees in a sunset. But I think we are drawn to it not just for the beauty, but for the sorrow. A sunset is fleeting – a small junction between night and day not meant to exist. That it fades is what gives it meaning. We treasure it because we know that soon, it’s golden hues will fade into the night, give way to the stars.”
You take a breath. She sits, unmoving.
“I think you’re wrong. And a little selfish. Don’t write something off because you know it will be gone one day. Instead, treasure it. Stretch every second with it to the fullest, spend every moment with it to the greatest, and so when it does go, it’s left its imprint in you and your memories. I think that’s why we were given the ability to remember. Not to accentuate the void, but so that when the darkness comes, you can think back on the light to drive it away. And as for her,” you shrug. “What is one brief moment of *your* long life is her eternity. It would be cruel to deprive her out of a life she could have lived because of your own fear.”
She looks at you, studies your face silently. Then she gives a small laugh and stands up, grabbing her coat.
“You’ve given me a lot to think about, barkeep.” She makes for the door, but before stepping out, she turns around. “You helped me, and so per *ashaini* tradition, I will repay you with a secret. I chose your bar not by coincidence, but by choice. Your soul is another rare color, one more common but not overtly so. You are what we call a *ti’nze*, a listener.”
The door closes behind her, but not before a final sentence floats out.
“Follow your own advice: treasure it.”
You smile.
|
I've always wanted to work my old man's bar. I never cared about money, free drinks, or anything of that sort. I always just wanted to make my pa happy. Unfortunately, the place had burned down around 10 years back, took him with it. So, I opened a new bar over the ruins, I just wanted to honor his legacy. Though, if he saw the sorry state it's in, he'd have my head. Even worse, it wouldn't just be the fact this place doesn't even have a liquor license.
The vampires are here along with a few werewolves have gathered in a corner to discuss something that will more than likely kill everyone in this sorry place if it weren't too dangerous. I'm not even sure why my bar had to be the place they decided is neutral ground, might be something to do with the rubble beneath it or how this place isn't even legal.
One of the werewolves, Klara's her name, began to slowly back away from him and approached. Her face was filled with sorrow. I could tell she definitely was not doing well.
"Rough night?" I ask, mostly filled with concern. Usually, she's all smiles and is the life of the party around here.
"I think you can tell how it's going." She had a smile saying that, but one to cover the pain. I fixed her up with some scotch to help her out. This would normally be the time I would've tried my hand, but she's already taken and I know when not to move my hand.
"On the house."
"Thanks."
While I smile with her, one of the vampires rises and begins to shout something in French. There's already an argument beginning to form, and I know brawls are about to start. I grab my shotgun and cleared my throat, with them sitting down afterwards. I'm lucky none of them have noticed it's just a prop, because otherwise I'd be screwed.
Whatever it was they were talking about, they finished with all of them leaving. I take a shot and ready myself for whatever comes next while closing up the place, since it's almost 2 in the morning. Just yet another day in Le Nouvel Espoir.
| 2021-02-22T09:20:42 | 2021-02-22T07:05:20 | 23 | 12 |
[WP] You are trying to describe your favorite food to an alien who is studying human life. You are the first person they've asked, so they have no prior knowledge on the subject.
|
Two humanoids sit at a bar to order beverages compatible with their digestive systems.
The human sits and ponders. He misses flowers and the scent of real air, not this artificial horseshit pumping through his mask. It always smells like he's sitting in a fucking doctor's office or some shit.
He ordered a whiskey neat, and the robot behind the bar whirs on its track to acquire the order. His partner orders something that sounds like someone clumped a bunch of consonants together and said 'good enough.'
Mine comes out from a circular portal within the bar. Small glass. The best part about liquor is that no matter how far away it's shipped from, it always tastes fresh.
The human's partner's drink comes out, some brown muck that affects the alien's nervous system in a way similar to alcohol. Four limbed, two sets of parallel groping probes encased in metal. Its face covered in a metallic mask, a yellow light with orange bubbles colliding and floating inside. Thank God for spines.
It keys its headset to the human's. Good conversation. Always nice to learn a new culture. He can't even tell if it's sarcasm anymore.
All aliens sound the same, that imitation translator mimicking inflections and personality. Always artificial.
"Human, what is that?"
"Whiskey. Made from fermented plant mash."
"I understand."
The alien raises the liquid to its own suit and places the cup through a small hatch.
Liquid and bubbles still bouncing, mixes of the brownish muck slowly introduced.
The human takes a sip, savoring the taste. Every drink counts. Especially out in the middle of bum fuck nowhere. At least still in the milky way, if only hunting smugglers.
"Human, how do you ingest primary nutrients?"
"Through the mouth. This hole."
The human opens his mouth.
"I understand. You have structures inside to rip apart flesh and organic matter, correct?"
"Correct." They're teeth, asshole.
A little quiet. The whiskey helps. Still have a few hours before picking up their next contract. Randomly assigned partnerships could be worse. Especially with the academic type - too many questions. Never any help in a firefight.
"Human, what is considered your optimal primary nutrient?"
"What, like my favorite food?"
"Affirmative."
I think. When was the last time I had real food, good food, cooked food, not that artificial paste and bullshit pumped straight from a tube.
"A steak. A real, juicy steak. Not the imitation type, but fresh."
"I see. A steak is a colloquial term describing a segment of animal flesh. Is it consumed directly from the animal?"
"No."
"Do you use heat to alter the chemical consistency of the flesh, altering the structure of proteins?"
"Yes."
"I have heard humans will sometimes adopt subservient species to consume for sustenance later."
"Uh, not anymore."
Silence. The alien's liquid looks fairly murky, that disgusting iteration between yellow and brown.
"When consuming this flesh, where does the pleasure derive from?"
"What, like why is it good?"
"Correct."
The human sits and thinks.
"Well, the taste buds tell me it's good."
"You mean your brain, human?"
"Yeah, sure."
The alien pauses.
"I have heard human brain is desirable."
The human raises an eyebrow.
"Have you had any?"
The alien shakes an arm up and down. The human doesn't understand the gesture. Its movements are far less fluid.
"No. It is expensive."
The alien leans in slightly as if to whisper, something unnecessary due to the fact that the alien's words are being spoken directly through the mask.
"But I would like to try some. My acquaintance describes it as an aphrodisiac for his species."
"Huh."
More silence. Species mill around, the lights dim and alter, languages incomprehensible and varied advertise assorted objects.
"May I eat your brain, human?"
"What? Fuck no."
"Apologies. Do humans not have redundant organs?"
"We do not."
"I apologize. Is fuck in reference to the act of human reproduction?"
"It's a versatile word, buddy."
Blip. Blip. Buzz. The human checks his watch, and a small holographic update pops up.
'Target AI Navigation System Detected - Station KG-89 - Docking'
The human finishes his drink.
"We gotta go, buddy."
The alien stands up and stumbles.
"I am inebriated."
"Good for you, but we got a job to do. Come on."
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
r/storiesfromapotato - may continue this in a bit
|
"So, what is this barbeque chicken?"
"Well you take the chicken,"
"The small domesticated fowl?"
"Yes, but this one's been killed and cleaned so we can cook it."
"Ah, I see. You humans put so much more effort into your food than we do."
"Anyways, you cover the chicken in the BBQ sauce and cook it in the sauce."
"And then you get these slimy red things we have in front of us?"
"You know, it's not nearly as appetizing when you put it that way."
"You're welcome."
"Not a complement but I appreciate your enthusiasm. Let's eat."
| 2017-10-25T19:55:39 | 2017-10-25T19:46:46 | 32 | 10 |
[WP] You are the captain of a ship and recently hired some humans, who are a highly-recommended species. You're not quite used to their peculiarities yet.
|
Captains log, 3968-088 (Thursday, 13 May 2230)
Shore leave is almost up.
Next voyage due to leave on 6_3970-088.
Hear talk of a new species that made contact whilst we were away and they have been highly recommended for the next crew.
If they're as good as they say then hopefully they're keen to volunteer too. Maybe a Human crew density of 0.05 is possible.
Will have Medical review their physiological needs to ensure appropriate accommodation.
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Captains log, 3969-088 (Friday, 21 May 2230)
Good gods there are so many of them! With the number of human volunteers we'd almost be able to crew the whole ship without any other species, they're just so eager to leave the dock if it weren't against regulation I'd offer less pay.
Whatever, I've had Habitation start preparing for a 10% Human density, Can't risk anything too disproportionate. Reading up on the physiological analysis they almost don't seem special. Not as strong as the Korodish but strong enough to cover anything without heavy lifting equipment. decent learners, almost as good as the Quaideen without the need for hyper-humidification masks. A bit squishy perhaps. Doctor Quand has been telling me wondrous tales of them working for entire cycles straight without injury but I suspect this is like the story about a human eating an aeromotive vessel. Slightly slow reaction time it seems, nice that they aren't jumpy or skittish but do I really want them around time-sensitive engine controls?
10% will be plenty
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Captains log, 3970-088 (Saturday, 29 May 2230)
Left dock earlier this cycle, These Humans are difficult to work with sometimes.
Don't get me wrong, you tell them to get a job done and they do it but they do it however they feel like it regardless of how it's been done before. One of the workers in the loading bay reduced inertial dampeners to 99.97% efficiency and shut off artificial gravity in section 43 as we were undocking and just floated several hundred tons of cargo from the elevator to the cargo rack. If they hadn't gotten the job done before all the other crews I'd be fuming. Couldn't even fault them on their logic as it saved time and energy and they had a plan for every eventuality. I've had maintenance put massive warning signs up to make sure they don't do it again but I've told them to keep the yellow paint handy.
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Captains log, 3982-088 (Wednesday, 1 September 2230)
At the first coasting stage of the voyage now. Plenty of time to actually meet some of the crew. Their language is so chaotic at times, using terms of bodily functions as modifiers of intensity. The fuck?
Incident Log at 04 during morning meal: Fororosh crew member found in agitated state with all four pupils dilated >98%. Reportedly consumed human beverage brewed from beans containing powerful stimulant. Has been restrained in Medical and given a heavy dose of tranquilizer. Will remain restrained until heart rates are below 500. Warning signs painted on several relevant human beverages (roughly 30% of human beverage stock)
Incident Log at 09 during the late meal: Several human crewmembers contaminated a dining compartment with highly concentrated capsaicin (amongst other substances) causing several Hardarians severe skin rash and one Quaideen to almost asphyxiate. In light of the fact that they are somehow consuming these substances warning signs have been put in place and dedicated dining compartments for Humans have been allocated to ensure this doesn't happen again. The human responsible has been reprimanded.
Incident Log at 10: Crisis averted. Human crew attempting to ingest ethyl alcohol dissolved in dihydrogen monoxide. Were quickly ordered to stop and only do so in Human dining compartments as a Guilidani crewmember had already begun to dissolve. Will require psychiatric care for remainder of voyage. Warning signs dispensed to crew to place on all relevant containers.
Incident log at 00 (technically tomorrow but I'll put it here) Human crew partaking in 'cultural experience' of visual and auditory stimulus representing fiction for entertainment. One Norod Crew member was invited to join them, now in psychiatric care with Guilidani crewmember. Title of entertainment noted as 'Alien'
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Captains log, 3986-088 (Friday, 1 October 2230)
I'm not sure how it happened. Either two humans saved the entire ship or recklessly endangered themselves in a hazardous event whilst subsequently torturing two Hardarians and a Korodish.
From the reports, an explosion in Ion manifold containment field 13 led to a titanium fire which caused the temperature in deck 87 to rise to 330 Kelvin and caused enough fragmentation to incapacitate all crewmembers except one human (To be explained later). Normal procedure would be to isolate the deck and vent all almosphere to avoid risking the remainder of the ship however two human crew members (one of which was in the room during the explosion) were able to remove all injured crewmembers from the affected deck (Including the Korodish who was trapped under half a ton of structural support) and perform a medical procedure apparently called 'cauterization' to prevent the injured crew from dying due to loss of bodily fluid. According to Medical this procedure did indeed allow them to survive until appropriate medical equipment was available. All crewmembers currently in Medical undergoing dermal regeneration. Two Hardarians and a Korodish now in psychiatric care. First aid handbooks now updated. As soon as I figure out what the warning sign should be it will be painted in all 19 manifold decks.
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Captains log, 3986-088 (Saturday, 2 October 2230)
Incident Log at 06: Human crewmembers from last cycles manifold explosion attempting to leave medical bay citing 'boredom' as a reason. Medical informed me that Humans have an incredibly fast rate of regeneration even without medical equipment and thus should be fine to walk. Human crewmember ordered to remain in Medical. Jokingly provided with elastic polymer sphere for entertainment by Doctor Quand's assistant.
Incident Log at 06: Elastic polymer sphere lodged in Doctor Quand's assistants splanch requiring surgical removal. Not returned to human crewmember.
Incident Log at 08: Group of human crewmembers found on viewing deck 65 with radiation shield lowered in the 320-400nm wavelength range apparently in an attempt to darken their skin. After a brief discussion with Medical, crewmembers were informed "Oh my god fine, we literally don't even care anymore just turn it back on when you're done"
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Captains log, 3986-088 (Sunday, 3 October 2230)
Informed that Humans have now been categorized as 'Hyper-specialized pursuit predators'
After some brief research into what this means I have decided that I am not sleeping tonight.
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|
"... and we expect that with our crew compliment restored to maximum capacity, we should be able to complete our next round of deliveries to the Teras Potentate's refining facilities without further delays. Though, our newest ... recruits, have posed challenging in acclimating."
Tyee Ghennet leaned back on his hind legs and pondered the next part of his log entry, lightly flicking his tongues along two rows of sharp teeth before continuing to type. *How do I put this?*
"I do not know if any other Tyees have had direct encounters with the Earthers, but I have brought a small group of them to work on our ship's mineral extraction team. I was hesitant to acquire them, but the Hikkaran recruiter who brought them to me was insistent they were hearty, loyal, and productive workers. And I suppose they are. They seemed all too eager for an opportunity to travel off-world from their refugee colony, even if it meant doing what any of us would consider the lowliest of tasks. They are noble, in their own way. But they are also, in a word, strange."
"It is clear that their race is not accustomed to the demands of our society. Their 'prime primate', excuse the humor, demanded to me that his entire group be given 8 full hours of uninterrupted time for something called 'sleep'. Apparently, their bodies are incapable of parallel exertion and restoration, and they must lay, essentially motionless *and unconscious* for nearly a third of their day. Every day! Their whole lives! It's a wonder their species managed to avoid being hunted to extinction, much less build a civilization at all."
On another screen, Ghennet pulled up an image of one of the Earther crew members, and involuntarily shuddered.
"Essentially hairless, no claws, with teeth barely able to rend flesh. Their only asset seems to be their ability to find unexpected solutions to problems. That same prime who spoke to me, after what he called a "good night's sleep" went to the Extraction Overseer and provided a plan to reorganize the shift to increase our output by nearly a third! Remarkable."
"Their off-duty time, however, is something I recommend any ship's Tyee require be sequestered to an Earther-only region of the ship. Like us, Earthers have two primary sexes. However, when one comes in contact with one another they desire to mate with, the excrete an appalling odor! When I confronted one of the 'women', she told me that Earthers cannot even perceive these 'pheromones'. It is apparently some biological form of subliminal communication. If it were not so revolting, I would find it fascinating. But for the sake of crew morale (and janitorial workload), keep Earthers to themselves whenever possible. And have their air cyclers contained. When they mate the stench can permeate an entire deck."
| 2017-04-22T22:09:50 | 2017-04-22T20:49:04 | 237 | 44 |
[WP] We did it! We finally achieved FTL travel! At first, alien races seem thrilled to have a new neighbor. Then they seem terrified of us. We are the only ones to reach the stars with technology instead of magic.
|
*"Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic." -* Arthur C. Clarke
*"Any sufficiently understood magic is indistinguishable from science"* \- Unknown
"The first twenty years were fine. People traveled back and forth between all the worlds connected by the spacegate network. Each world had a slightly different way of constructing spacegates, but each spacefaring race eventually did. Some used rings of stone, some drew circles of blood. The humans used... of all things... rings of carbon-laced iron. Can you believe it? Iron, the most magically inert substance. It was like when the Stone Magistars first entered the ring of worlds. Everybody thought stone was an undynamic element, but the ways they used and moved it opened up all kinds of new industries. At first, we thought humans were that again. Some race had invented iron magic. As we began to trade spells back and forth, trying to decipher eachothers' codexes of knowledges, we found something disturbing."
"What was that, grand maester?"
"Our spells translated into their system just fine. More than just fine. Every spell, one of... what we thought were their mages... scientists they called them... were able to be figured out... not in years, but in minutes. When we demonstrated one of our more advanced teleportation spells for the first time, the lead scientist screamed out, 'This confirms quantum entanglement is an expression of the holographic principle!'"
"What's that mean, grand maester?"
"Even to this day, we don't understand. It was like that with everything. We spoke in step-by-step processes, and cherished the lessons handed down by our ancestors, never questioning but only expanding - never tearing down the origins of our knowledge. But humans and their scientists... they tore down their own foundations every day, rebuilding them stronger and better. We had never seen anything like it. We used cocktails of ingrediants to help those damaged heal, just our vitalism traditions encouraged. They, however, could take a living being apart into pieces and put it back together. They were ALWAYS taking things apart and putting them together. They couldn't leave them alone. Their appetite to know the inner workings of things instead of just using them was insatiable. I heard they had a device called a 'atom smasher' that could even break down the fundamental building blocks of all worlds to see what THEY were made of. Everything we did could translate into what they did. They understood the parts. It never worked the other way around though, not even once. Their 'solar panels' are still a mystery to us. They capture light itself and can move iron chariots with it."
"So what happened? Why didn't we learn from these great sages that joined the ring?"
"The problem was afterwards. in a month, humans could perfectly replicate our best personal teleportation spell. In a year, every human was blipping in and out of existence. The entire imperial treasury was emptied of its gold by thieves in a week. Of course, we tried to stop them, but we were used to teleportation spells being something only grand maesters could do. We wouldn't sully ourselves with petty thievery; our reputations alone were worth more than that."
"So what happened?"
"We couldn't stand it. And we couldn't understand their methods. We went to war. Our greatest mages launched their best fireballs, our invisible assassins stormed their unwalled cities."
"Did we win?"
"We lost. Horribly. The entire ring of worlds was powerless before the humans. They could steal one tome, upload it to their infernal web of knowledge, their 'internet', and soon every human was using spells only our greatest could aspire to acheive. Our invisible assassins would trip their 'laser sensors' and 'automated defense drones'. And the fire mages..."
"Did they have bigger fireballs?"
"Even to this day, any fire mage, will break down in tears if you mention the words 'new-clear Eye-See-Bee-EM'. They did not even bother to learn our most destructive fire spells. They had already long surpassed them. They sent great flying iron chariot golems through the portals to deliver these potent spells. Entire cities were wiped out in seconds."
"You mean days. It takes days for a proper fireball seige."
"One fireball, acolyte. In seconds. In the ruins of Char'bog, you can see the shadows of people imprinted on the stones where they were eating their dinner."
"So... why are we still here? Why are humans not ruling the ring of worlds?"
"We surrendered, unconditionally. After they plundered our greatest libraries... they didn't even destroy our tomes. They merely copied them. Something about a library called 'Alexandria'. They had a very high respect for knowledge. Rather than rule us, they helped us rebuild. They did not teach us 'new-clear', but they did teach us some. As we did not have 'internet', they left us tomes called 'encyclopedia'. And then, after they had interpreted everything from our tomes... they achieved godhood. The whole species."
The acolytes eyes widened, "The.... whole species? Why do we not worship them then?"
The grand maester shook his head, "They didn't need it. When they ascended, they understood the Gods' needs for worship and sacrifice and... found an alternative. They built something they called a 'dyson sphere' to power their godhood. We do not fully understand what this was, but that it could devour a star and provide much more power than an entire world of worship and sacrifice."
"So, they left for good?"
"Not quite. After that, for daring to tread into their domain, the gods declared war on them."
"So the humans were finally defeated?"
"The gods were. Easily. They understood how the gods gained their power, they called it 'Quantum probability shifting'. They moment the first human mimicked it, it was over for the gods. This is why all of our gods are less than a thousand years old. They're all newly ascended gods that replaced the ones we lost before."
"So, humans are still out there in the universe, more powerful than any god, still lurking?"
"Yes."
"Why do they not simply control our worlds easily?"
"Because they surpassed even the desire for control. They sated that desire with this thing called 'video games'. They could fulfill their desires without the need to harm others. Even the weakest of humans could revel in the gore of a million destroyed worlds and yet not harm a soul."
"...scary."
"Yes, Acolyte. But the unknown always is. I only wished we had worked past that fear like the humans had... to embrace the unknown. Then maybe we would have been beyond the gods as a whole as well."
"So... this is all interesting... but what's it have to do with me learning to cast my mind-reading spell?"
"Because it demonstrates why I must also teach you the human art of 'psychology'. Because you need to understand why seeing without understanding truly leaves you powerless. The spell will grant you the ability to see what they're thinking, but without the ability to understand *why* they're thinking it, you will always fail against a mind-reading mage who has learned it."
|
There were three blinks of nictitating eyelids in the span of time it took Bezok to look from the base of the human structure to its top. He hated anything They built - always cold, always lacking something essential that made him uneasy. At first he’d told himself it was just physical discomfort. Humans had never had to consider the needs of the many-tentacled, and therefore it was just oversight that made their dwellings and places of business so damned difficult to navigate. But if he were being honest it was more than that. It was void of the Awe - that ability that all space-faring peoples had known since the dawn of time - and in its place was the wonder of technology.
A wonder, indeed.
Bezok managed to get through the spinning door without pinching his third back left tentacle like he had the first dozen times he’d visited this place, and counted that the first small victory of the day. Having meetings with the humans was a necessary part of his job as a liaison between their slowly burgeoning intergalactic government and his own, but that didn’t mean he liked it.
“Welcome, Mr. Bezok,” the young woman at the front desk said with manufactured warmth. “They’re ready for you upstairs.”
His name wasn’t Bezok. That’s what they called him because they couldn’t pronounce his name. And ‘he’ wasn’t a ‘he’, but let them continue on with that assumption because explaining the nuance of his species’ biology seemed like more effort than it was worth. He would already go home exhausted.
Deeper he moved in to the building, reminding himself to pull his tentacles in before the elevator door slammed on them...again.
They were waiting, a group of male and female humans in neutral-colored suits at a neutral-colored desk. They were so alien. His hearts pounded in his chest as always but he sat just the same, the tentacles that hung off what they’d call his chin waving lightly in greeting as was customary. They nodded, the flash of the communication buds in their ears glaring in the morning sun. They’d chosen a rock close to the system’s star. They seemed to like warmth, though they radiated none.
“Bezok, welcome back. If we could get right to it, we’d like to pick up where we left off last time.”
“Of course,” he replied, the Awe filtering his language in to one they’d understand. Their...*technology*...hadn’t collected and analyzed enough of his species’ tongue to automatically translate for them, so he did it with his Awe. So much less cumbersome. So much less tedious. Natural. *Normal.* But it was the fact that they were here, ten years in to a journey outwards on nothing but the backs of their computers, that frightened him. They didn’t even need the Awe.
“Excellent. We’d like to write up that treaty, you know - about weapons trade, non-aggression pacts. Standard stuff. We came in peace, after all.”
Bezok tried not to shiver.
| 2019-01-18T10:36:05 | 2019-01-18T09:32:58 | 2,571 | 152 |
[WP] Humanity discovers that supernatural creatures such as vampires and werewolves exist. Instead of attempting to exterminate them, some countries attempt to offer them lucrative jobs that they could do better than a human.
|
The man led them through the gallery at a brisk pace. He was dressed sharply, suited with an impeccable mauve tie and tailored waistcoat. The corridors they walked through were carved from pristine, white marble – their footsteps echoed loudly as they traversed the wing of the museum.
Without a moment’s warning, he stopped and smiled at the group struggling to keep up. He showed them a mouth resplendent with polished, white teeth, drawing his arm up like a magician would as part of a great reveal in a magic show.
“If you look to your left you will see the finest collection of modern sculpture since the Hellenic period of Greece. You may look but not touch.”
A few members of the group approached the tableau which the man was pointing too – seven realistic statues of humans. There were gasps of astonishment as the visitors to the gallery got close up to each work of art.
A woman in a canary yellow hat, wearing a pearl necklace tilted her sunglasses down to inspect a man lying down upon the floor, holding his hand up in front of his eyes as if trying to shield them.
“The level of detail… such fine touches,” she murmured, tracing her fingers over the stone surface. Each individual hair has been chiselled so finely.”
“Ahem.”
She swivelled at the abrupt sound the guide made.
She looked confused until he pointed at her hand.
“Oh, that’s right – not touching.”
He made a smile, a perfunctory curling of the lips which did not reach his eyes. “May I also ask for your glasses, Madame?”
The woman looked perturbed.
“Well, I really see no reason why…”
“Please, I must insist,” the man said, walking up and snatching the pair from her head. “The stone mason who created these masterpieces is very clear on the guidelines of visitors. You may have them back at the end of the tour.”
“Well, I never, so rude…” the woman muttered to herself as she stepped away.
They walked through another corridor and saw similar scenes. Statues of men and women cowering, looks of terror on their face, their mouths wide open. The craftsmanship of each was also a constant feature. Looking down the throat of one statue that appeared to be frozen in a bloodcurdling scream, one could even see the uvula at the back of the throat.
“Prices for each range from sixty thousand to one hundred thousand,” the guide mentioned, as if for that price they were a steal. “They are the perfect gothic addition to a mansion or villa.”
A businessman, astute and no nonsense looking, was holding the price tag on a dog which was caught in a ferocious bark. He blew his cheeks out and whistled when he saw the six-digit figure on the card.
“I notice there is a bit of a theme going on here,” he said. “Do any of these guys here look like they aren’t just about to get crucified?”
He had said it as a joke but the guide was not smiling. His pale face showed no emotion but his eyes were hard little beads. He had his hands clenched into one another. It struck the guests then just how quiet the building was.
They followed the suited man in silence until they reached a circular room. There was a podium in the centre, at least fifteen feet high, with an old man standing on top who looked to be blind.
“Thank you for your time, ladies and gentlemen. I have enjoyed showing you around our grounds,” their guide told them through a mouth barely open.
“Albert here will deal with prices and sales. I hope you have fallen as much in love with our statues here as we do in making them. Adieu, I am sure I will see some of you again.”
Still facing them, he stepped out of the room backwards.
The ancient man in the middle of the room coughed loudly, getting the visitors attention.
“Our cheapest statue is £55,000,” he announced. “It is the woman in white.”
The businessman stepped forward. He looked around at the rest of the group, judging them by their expressions, and decided they were all thinking what he was thinking.
“Listen, fella,” he said impatiently. “We all agree that the statues are lifelike and all, but we think their price is a bit steep.”
The old man called Albert twitched his moustaches.
“The cheapest statue is £55,000. It is the woman in white.”
The woman in yellow, who was scowling – she had forgotten to ask for her glasses back, stepped forward.
“I don’t think any of us is interested in buying. Please show us the way out.”
The man on the podium stared blindly over them.
“No sales? I will show you the exit then.”
His scaly hand pressed a button in front of him, causing a door at the front of the room to begin to rise.
The group started to walk towards the exit when they noticed a pair of sandaled feet blocking their way.
“I hope this is the owner,” the woman commented. “I would like to make a complaint. This place is…”
Her voiced faded as the sound of hissing rose through the air.
The group stepped back as the barrier lifted completely, revealing a woman with snakes writhing over her scalp. Even as they lifted their hands to their eyes and screamed, their skin began to mineralise, hardening until the limbs of their bodies became frigid.
\*\*\*
The man led them through the gallery at a brisk pace. He was dressed sharply, suited with an impeccable mauve tie and tailored waistcoat. The corridors they walked through were carved from pristine, white marble – their footsteps echoed loudly as they traversed the wing of the museum.
Without a moment’s warning, he stopped and smiled at the group struggling to keep up. He showed them a mouth resplendent with polished, white teeth, drawing his arm up like a magician would as part of a great reveal in a magic show.
“If you look to your left you will see the finest collection of modern sculpture since the Hellenic period of Greece. You may look but not touch.”
A few members of the group approached the tableau which the man was pointing too – seven realistic statues of humans. There were gasps of astonishment as the visitors to the gallery got close up to each work of art.
“The level of detail… look at this one in the hat,” one of them murmured as she traced her fingers over the pearl necklace of a woman screaming endlessly.”
The guide turned and showed a smile curved like a scythe.
“That is one of our new additions. Please, do not touch. They are all very fragile and it would be a shame to break one."
It was too late. The stone toppled and an arm broke off as it hit the floor.
"Jesus," someone said in the crowd. "The sculptor even included bones, you can see them. Why did they bother to do that?"
|
This is the third time this week. After all the unanswered letters, the messages, the unanswered phone calls. They've actually come knocking on my door.
I refuse to answer. If I just wait they'll leave. If I...
"Mr. Wyatt, we know you're in there. Please open the door. We just want to talk to you."
The hell you do, I thought bitterly. They're just baiting me to call back, they don't really know I'm in. The lights are all off for a reason!
"Mr. Wyatt. Please be reasonable. You're only delaying the inevitable."
I'd call the cops but after that stupid supernatural integration program they'll just call me a specist and put the call on youtube or something.
God! If it wasn't so dangerous outside after curfew I'd make a run for it. But it is, I just have to wait it out here. They can't break in, even for them it's a felony.
"Mr. Wyatt this is your last warning. You have until the count of three to open this door. ONE!"
I feel my heart pounding and attempting to leap out of my chest. No way, they wouldn't...
"TWO!"
Fuck! Monsters! They totally would! My gun, I need my gun!
"TREE!"
The door flew open, the solid wood dresser I broke my back pushing to block it was tossed to the side like a flimsy IKEA piece.
I closed my eyes and shot blindly. The noise was deafening and I think I broke something on the recoil.
"Mr. Wyatt. Please, shooting in residential areas are discouraged. Please come, we are all waiting for you outside in the van."
I opened my eyes, I can clearly see the light from the hallway through the hole in his shoulder yet his face just looks annoyed.
"Monster! Stay away from me! You can't do this to me. FREAK! GET AWAY!" My voice gets shriller and I raise my gun again.
I didn't even see him move. He was besides me and with one swift movement my gun clattered to the floor. The metallic sound ringing the end.
"Mr. Wyatt do refine from ruining my suit any further. Really now, must we go through this every single time? It's just the mandory blood tax. It's not like we'll suck you dry."
He smiled baring his fangs. That joke wasn't funny the first time, it's not going to be now. I scream and they drag me to the blood tax collection van kicking all the way... same as the previous time, and the time before that, and the time before that.
God damn the IRS!!!
| 2018-08-27T17:05:28 | 2018-08-27T14:46:19 | 38 | 12 |
[WP] You're in an antique shop that you could've sworn wasn't there yesterday. The mysterious old shopkeeper asks you to wait there for a moment, & not touch anything while they go to the back to get something. They are incredibly surprised to find that when they get back, you've done just that.
|
I stumbled into the shop, struggling to close the door against the wind. I guiltily looked down at my feet, where a small puddle was forming. I had run in here the moment the rain had started, yet I was already drenched.
“Oh, welcome,” said a small woman, poking her head out of a back room at the ringing of a small bell marking my entrance. “That’s some storm! Don’t worry about it, you can wait it out in here if you’d like.”
She hobbled into the storefront and made her way behind the cash register.
Nodding at her in thanks, I took a moment to look around. It was some kind of antiques store. I hadn’t even known that was still a thing or that enough people were interested enough to keep the business going.
The walls were covered in shelving, uneven and unmatched with wares just as out of place. On a white, intricately detailed wooden shelf, there was a collection of jewelry boxes resembling treasure chests. On a small, crudely shaped stone shelf next to that was some sort of metal egg. On a row of glass shelving was a matching set of glass jars, with contents I failed to make out with the harsh reflection bouncing off them.
I couldn’t help but break into a smile as I walked deeper and kept turning my head one way or the other to take in more of the antiques.
There was a marble pedestal with a glass covering dominating one corner of the store with some kind of terrarium inside. Another table held a random jumble of silverware of all kinds. Or, not just silverware. Was that ivory, bone? The far wall of the store was covered in old timey photographs, whose subjects looked down at me with judgmental eyes.
I was grinning ear to ear by the time I made it up to the cash register. It was like something out of a movie set or story book.
“I love your store!” I told the owner. I let out a sigh of amazement as I took another glance around. “How have I heard of this place before? You’d do amazing on social media if you attracted the right crowds.”
The woman laughed and waved me off.
“Oh, I’m a bit too old for those types of things. I’m as antique as anything else you can find here.” She stood on her tiptoes as she peered over the desk to look over at me. “You’re dripping! Sorry, I should have noticed earlier. Hold on a moment and let me get a towel for you.”
I blushed, having forgotten about my state as I was overwhelmed by the shop. I must have soaked the entire floor on my way across it!
“No, no. I apologize for getting the floor wet. If you have some paper towels or something, I’ll dry it off,” I called after her as she made her way into the back room.
She paused as she reached the doorway and peered over her shoulder back at me.
“I’ll get you a mop. There’s one back here. Just wait right there for me. Some of these antiques are quite delicate and I wouldn’t want you to get hurt if one of them breaks.”
“Of course! I won’t touch anything,” I assured her.
She held my gaze for a moment to make sure she had made her point and then gave me a quick nod before disappearing into the other room.
I rocked back and forth on my feet, holding my hands together behind me to make sure they didn’t wander. The lady hadn’t said anything about looking around, though, so I did plenty more of that.
From where I was standing, the angle of the lighting let me look into the jars I had spotted before. There was a set of something floating inside each of them. I squinted to make it out better and something met my gaze. They were eyeballs! I recoiled for a second before taking a step closer to make it out better. That was disgusting, and I was delighted.
But, before I walked over to them, I remembered my promise and backed up back to where I had been.
Sighing to myself, in disappointment this time, I looked at them further. They looked so sharp and bright, almost as though there was still something looking out of them. I hadn’t known it was even legal to have eyeballs. I assumed it had to do with them being antiques. I was pretty sure ivory worked the same way.
Reminded of that, my gaze fell back on the scattering of silverware, boneware, and other categories of utensils. Nearly obscured by a pile of spoons, I saw a knife with a yellowing bone handle. Its blade caught in the fluorescent lighting and seemed to call to me. How would it feel in my hand?
As though with a mind of its own, I saw my right hand reaching out towards it. I smacked it with my left hand and dragged it back behind my back. I had promised, and doubted I would be able to afford the thing anyways.
The owner sure was taking a while. I would have to thank her for taking the trouble to help me. She was probably still looking for that towel.
Glancing back at the doorway, I noticed the rain had started to slow and turned my eyes to the jewelry boxes I had noticed when I first walked in. They had designs straight out of storybooks. Metal borders around dark wood and painted with images of fruits, trees, maps, and more. One in particular caught my eye. It was plainer than the others, painted with nothing but the letter ‘P,’ an initial of a previous owner I supposed. Its lid seemed to bulge slightly as though it struggled to hold its contents. I wondered what could be inside. I bet I could just take a peek without letting whatever it was fall out and nobody would be any wiser.
I admonished myself for the temptation. I couldn’t just touch someone else’s things. No, tearing my eyes away and back to the doorway to the back room, I promised to look nowhere else until the owner returned no matter how much I wanted to. I hummed to myself for a few more minutes until she finally did.
Her expression wasn’t anywhere near as friendly as it had been before. She looked obviously annoyed and did nothing to hide it. I hoped I hadn’t troubled her too much. She hadn’t even brought me back a mop to make up for my earlier mistake.
“Here,” she said shortly. Practically hurling it at my head, she tossed me a small towel. With the long wait, I had dried on my own enough that it was enough to finish the task.
“Thank you! Sorry to bother you,” I said, beaming at her and hoping I could lift her mood.
She snorted at me.
“So you’ve just been standing there this whole time?” she asked through narrowed eyes.
I nodded to her.
“Why’s that? Is my merchandise not tempting enough for you? Nothing caught your interest?” she said, voice rising with each question.
I raised my hands up to placate her.
‘I’m sorry? I was just trying to stay put like you said. I love everything you’ve got here. But I doubt I can afford anything anyways. I didn’t leave my house planning on buying anything so I don’t have my wallet with me. I’ll be sure to come back again,” I said, turning to check on the rain again.
It had stopped.
I tried to turn back to the woman, only to find her already by my side. She had moved surprisingly quickly despite her earlier slow gait. Well, I shouldn’t underestimate the elderly.
“Just get out,” she said, practically pushing me to the door.
I couldn’t blame her. I wasn’t even a customer and had left a mess in her store.
Catching my footing as she shoved me out, I looked up at a cloudless sky and down at a dry ground. Hadn’t it just been raining? I turned back around to check on the name of the store so I could return in the future and found myself staring at a stone wall.
***
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What does a schmuck do? A real schmuck, a genuine fool, the kind of person you could convince to eat chicken cooked rare? The kind of absolute gullible fellow who'd fall for someone telling them to lick their dog to prevent acne or the traditional pyramid scheme. What the current theme demands of them according to the conventions of the situation. So when I found that mysterious antique store, which wasn't there before, I knew I was in for new experiences galore.
It's a typical set-up. Mysterious store with no real name, because no matter how hard you try you just can't make out the barely legible script, which makes sense since such shops usually have everything written down in Linear B script or Bonsai-geoglyphs(*think the Nazca lines but travel size*).
Once inside some indeterminably ancient shopkeeper, usually very mysterious, asks you to wait a moment while they go do something in the back. They warn you not to touch anything. Which usually means that you touch or try to use everything. This usually results in you finding some kind of very cool item. Like a genuine Scottish bagpipe, which when you use at home summons the hungry ghosts of the Bean clan, a group of vicious murderers and cannibals. Or a beautiful trenchcoat, which inevitably turns out to consume your soul or make you buy a dakimakura and get uncomfortably interested in obscure anime and manga. Same difference really. Or maybe a wondrous ring which you find to be incredibly precious to you when you wear it, and you have to buy it.
Of course, I'm no schmuck. So I keep my hands busy by holding my phone and standing in the middle of the room, focusing on an adorable video of a river otter who is incredibly annoyed at getting unstackable and colour-mismatched cups, who then sues the zoo for discrimination against river otters with OCD. By the time the video is over, I've seen a very cute court case with an otter wearing a lovely tie, and the shopkeeper is back. The mysterious old shopkeeper, who looks like they were born around the time some fish had the bright idea to grow legs, looks at me incredulously. ''*You haven't touched a single item?*'' I look at them sternly, and then hand them my card.
''*No. I'm Samuel Elijah Haggsworth the Third. I work for the Better Magic Business Bureau, and this is your centennial inspection.*'' The ancient shopkeeper suddenly gulps as they take a few steps back. ''*Now now. It's just a formality. No irregularities in amounts of curses dealt, no irregularities in magical items helping kids out of tough situations. No bad reports. I'll just be having a look at your stock, checking if the warehouse goblins are treated according to industry regulations, seeing if your building movement spells are up to code, etc. Shouldn't take long.*''
I check on the goblins first, because that's where Mysterious Antique Shopkeepers Who Suddenly Appear usually skimp out. And it's just as I suspected, the goblins haven't had new entertainment installed since 1949, their food is not served in a BMBB-certified cafeteria. The teleportation matrix in the spells that keep the building randomly moving every few days are up to code, but the spell that make people forget that the shop hasn't always been there is hopelessly out of date.
There are many infractions, and in my finishing reports, I suggest sending out a BMBB rep to provide oversight temporarily for this mysterious antique store, until it is up to code again. As I scream my report into the void at the closest Arby's parking lot, I consider the next place I have to visit for an inspection. Mysterious old factory which produces strange incomprehensible items and never closes. Those usually break most of the Magical OSHA rules.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)
| 2020-08-26T18:07:50 | 2020-08-26T17:51:51 | 73 | 42 |
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal.
Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears.
Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second...
|
A low rumble, cut short, indicated that my brother had arrived. Wesson got TAXI on his 18th - large and bold across his shoulders - not glamourous, but they never were. The words seemed to be the subtle nudges of fate, but even destiny is open to interpretation. He could have become a taxi driver, like so many others, but he'd always wanted to build something of his own. And four years later, he managed the city's transportation network.
I heard the sound of a distinctly expensive car door slamming, and a few moments later he entered the room. He found a seat next to my parents, and I gave him a nervous smile. There wasn't much space anymore. Grandparents, cousins, neighbours, friends all sat or stood in the living room, a huge, ogling circle surrounding me, shirtless on an ottoman. No one knew where the word would appear, and fear sent my eyes darting over to Hector Aston, the cousin nearest my age. His was an awkward birthday. He had expected it on his arm, but after shirt and shorts lay sadly on the floor, he had had to excuse himself to the bathroom and borrow his sister's make-up mirror to find the word AIRFORCE curling delicately around his balls.
As the time grew nearer, the crowd started leaning in, each trying to be the first to spot the word - to be the first to shout out my destiny. Gracie shuffled around me, trying to catch every possible angle. My mother tried to pull her back, but she just shuffled around to a different side. I closed my eyes, self-consciously.
Erman, Gracie's accomplice, spotted it first - somewhere on the right of my lower back.
"Me..." he read. I felt a slight prickling as the letters made themselves known. "...th. Meth..."
Meth? My grandfather was a chemist ("CHEMISTRY") and my father followed him in the field ("FORMULAE"), but then again Wesson had told me the unfortunate story of a kid from his high school ("HEROIN"). DEA wouldn't leave him alone after that.
My skin was prickling all over now, not just on my back. Erman was still reading out the rapidly appearing letters, with Gracie helping him where he stumbled.
"Methionyl..." she said. "What's that mean?"
My father was frowning in confusion. My mind raced through my old chemistry notes. Methionyl was a methionine radical. What the hell was that pointing me at? Biology? A lifetime of protein studies? Methionyl aminopeptidase, maybe? But that was two words, and there were never two words...
My skin was itching furiously, and my father's frown merged with a squint. Hector saw it too.
"gluta... glutamylthreo..." he read, from a new word sprawling out across my left shoulder.
Two words? I started scanning my body, apprehension and embarrassment making way for frantic worry. My stomach blossomed into the letters "LEUCYLASPAR". Further down, poking out from the top of my jeans, "AGINYLARGINYL". I scrambled out of my pants, shame entirely forgotten - but even bare, my legs were covered. LALANYLALANYL, RAGINYLISO, GLUTAMYLVAL, and a hundred - a thousand - other letters were exploding all over me. More words than I could count, if you could even describe them as words - more correctly, they were meaningless nonsense, unconnected gibberish.
As I watched, some of the words ran into each other and connected, forming long loops of text that spun around my body in mad swirls. My grandfather had a faint smile, no one was reading anything anymore. Erman had put a chubby finger on the start - METHYL - and Gracie had started circling me, drawing her own finger across my skin as the infinite madness expanded and joined with more of the same flowing the other way.
By the time my skin stop itching - by the time Gracie had stopped circling my body from dizziness, and each letter had joined with another to form a single line of insanity - a full quarter of an hour had passed. No one said anything. What was there to say? It wasn't a shocking or embarrassing revelation, like "MURDERER" or "PORN". It was just ... mad. Crazy. Confusing? There was freedom to interpret even the vaguest of words, but this wasn't even that - this was evidently a very, very specific word. Exceedingly specific. And what the fuck was I supposed to think about that?
I still don't know how to answer that, to be honest. Maybe I don't need to. Maybe it's all a joke, played on us by some deranged god with a dictionary. It must be, because I cannot for the life of me work out what I am supposed to with a full 189,819 letters (Gracie counted them, over the course of a few weeks) - forming the technical term for the protein Titin - printed in an inhuman circuit around my body.
My brother is a transport mogul, because his word was "TAXI".
And I am an atheist, because mine says "[METHIONYLTHREONYLTHREONYLGLUTAMINYLALANYL...ISOLEUCINE](https://web.archive.org/web/20100114221953/http://www.sarahmcculloch.com/luminaryuprise/longest-word.html)".
|
I sat there, waiting. Friends, family, all waiting to see the word. Would it be SCIENTIST, as everyone thought? Or would I get ARTIST? Maybe TEACHER? Who knew, until 2 appeared in mine. The only ones with 2 were the bigshots. But then... I saw them. MASTER ASSASSIN appeared. I walked to my room, grabbed the Remington 700 and MP7, picked up my backpack, threw 2 boxes of ammo in, and walked outside, off into the sunset.
--------------------
2 years later
--------------------
There I am, with my spotter, laying in the snow, snowboard beside me, ghillie on. Down the hill, my target awaits. I take aim, and fire. He crumples with the hit. I strap my bindings on, and my spotter puts his skis on. We ride down the slope, and see the body. I whip out my camera, snap a picture, and pull his wallet and IDs. I take my sat phone and dial up a number. "Auth code" the other end answers. "Alpha 9 2 2 4" "Roger, agent Smith. Sailfish is a success?" "Confirmed, Sailfish was successful. En route to CABIN." and I hang up. I look at my arm again, and think, just another day as a MASTER ASSASSIN.
| 2017-03-15T23:14:08 | 2017-03-15T21:30:06 | 98 | 26 |
[WP] Every inhabitable planet found by humanity was a dead world, with all life previously existing on it down to the smallest virus completely and utterly dead upon landing. Even more disturbing is the fact that some worlds appeared to have died extremely recently, down to days before human arrival
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Faster than Light travel had been dreamt of by humanity ever since we realized that the universe even had a speed limit. As our technology improved by leaps and bounds, we feared it was an insurmountable barrier, as implied by the Fermi Paradox. After all, if FTL was possible, then shouldn't we see it? Shouldn't *someone* be visible?
But there was nobody. Everywhere we looked we found a profound emptiness. No sign of intelligence beyond our own. Was every species doomed to die on their cradle world, never able to reach beyond their own back yard?
Then we discovered it. Faster Than Light travel for real particles, for things with mass and energy. Physics turned out to be much more complex and subtle than we ever imagined, with secrets buried in secrets. Quantum physics was barely even a beginning compared to what came next.
As with all new things, the first generation was crude, slow and limited. But even that was so much better than what we had before, like the difference between a skate board and a jet liner. The latest generation interplanetary courier ship could make the trip from Earth to Mars from optimal orbital positioning in 8 months. Automated test platforms made the trip from earth to mars in just under 14 seconds. The first manned platform to leave the solar system crossed the 4.24 light years to Alpha Centauri in 18 seconds.
But a few self-styled doomsday prophets asked a very important question that nobody heard, but everyone should have considered: If FTL is so fast and practical... where is everyone? The Fermi Paradox never quite left our minds, but the world had gone mad from the new golden age of exploration and colonization that was promised by the new technology.
The United Planets, as the United Nations was renamed after extraplanetary colonies started becoming self-sufficient and wanted a seat at the table, established protocols, regulations, and, ultimately, the Explorers Corp. The first exploration ship left the solar system with strict instructions to return the moment they found a life-bearing world, or after 4 months. Their first stop was a star that all available data suggested contained a potentially life-bearing world.
The missing ship stopped being a weekly news article after 8 months. After 15 months, the engineering commission concluded that there were no engineering errors that could explain the disappearance, and that even psychological errors were unlikely. After 24 months, the ship was declared lost with all hands and a new expedition launched with a next generation FTL drive.
Given the travel times and laughably negligible energy cost, the second expedition was instructed to return after every system survey. For safety's sake, the first stop for the expedition was to be another potentially life-bearing world in the opposite direction as the initial survey.
The ship was never heard from again.
The world was crushed, heartbroken. The excitement of FTL lost the war to the disappointment and fear brought about by the missing ships. Another commission was formed, the technology, the crew, and the data were all examined, as much as they could be in abstentia, and again no cause for the missing ship was discovered, or even hinted at.
It is in this environment that I volunteered. I helped invent and construct the latest generation of FTL drive. I've been through all the astronaut training. I'm in my physical prime... if it weren't for the cancerous ticking time bomb in my brain that will kill me sooner rather than later.
The proposal was simple. Send someone who is both eminently disposable and skilled enough to deal with almost any emergency up to and including rebuilding the FTL drive from stored components and calibrating it for local conditions if needed. I was going to find out what was at those stars and return.
So on the 4th anniversary of the first expeditions disappearance, and with very little fanfare - we did not publish *this* mission for obvious reasons - I flew to the far side of mercury where nobody in the solar system could see me and blinked out.
And what I came to discover was nothing more and nothing less than the answer to the question everyone asked, but nobody honestly considered.
The potentially habitable planet was, indeed, habitable. The oxygen atmosphere suggested life, but watching the planet from orbit confirmed it. My telescopes weren't quite good enough to read the license plate of a car from orbit, but it was plenty good enough to see the tree-analogs.
The dead tree-analogs. And the dead animals. And the dead **everything.**
I could see no sign of cataclysm - except, of course, that everything was dead. I knew I should report back but I had to know more, so I risked landing. I wasn't going to be stupid enough to break my atmospheric seals, and I knew I could never risk landing anywhere that something stuck to the outside of my ship could ever interact with people, but I had to know.
I deployed drones, initially earmarked for remote maintenance and repair tasks, and looked, examined and pondered. Everything, and I mean absolutely everything, was dead. In some sheltered areas I even found intact unicellular life... which was also dead.
I couldn't tell quite how durable the dead things actually were, but based on my experiences on earth, I estimated that everything had been dead for only a few years, at most. And yet there was no rotting, no putrefaction. The only decay I could find was purely mechanical in nature, the wind, rain and sun breaking down the materials the plants and animals were made of. No sign that anything had even so much as had a single bite taken out of it post mortem. Indeed, I found a few animals that appeared to die mid-predation, both predator and prey found as they likely would have been at the moment of their death.
And then I realized. Everything did die only a few years ago. Four years ago to be exact. If I was right, 4 years ago to the day. Because that was when the first expedition arrived in this solar system.
I was suddenly, terrifyingly sure. We missed something. Maybe like the hypothetical Alcubierre Drive that couldn't stop without blasting out a wave of killing radiation, the FTL drive blasted out a wave of *something* that killed all life in its path... but only after it had traveled a certain distance. Or maybe the power and range was directly related to distance traveled?
I don't know, and I'll never know.
I can't return to earth, not even to warn them. I can't risk it.
I know humanity, I know that my disappearance will not stop us. Our curiosity drove us to this point, and it certainly won't end here.
So I have set my ship to orbit this star and broadcast this warning, as futile as it is.
The Fermi Paradox has been solved. The first crew found the solution. The second crew found the solution. I have found the solution.
My only consolation is that when the rest of humanity finds the solution, it will be quick and painless.
|
Nature has always exhibited a prescience when it comes to impending doom. Across lands far and wide, animals seem to *know* instinctively when the environment around them is going to be affected by disaster. Dogs start barking at seemingly nothing, cowering under the closest shelter they can find. Insects start scurrying back to wherever they came from, in chaotic discipline. Birds take to the sky in their hundreds, flying to a single destination, or rather, away from one. Historically, even we humans seem to have possessed this innate sixth sense for danger. A sense that has increasingly dwindled over the ages.
It is the year 2301. The world as our ancestors knew it as irrevocably been shaped by us. For all the good the industrialists and billionaires of ages past had promised, in the end, it was us who had to suffer the consequences of their greed. Of their reluctance to change their methods. We were the direct causes of a mass extinction rivaled only by that which led to the fall of the dinosaurs.
Imagine. A biped, unable to survive without a roof on its head, having the same impact as that of a celestial object of destructive beauty from the heavens. It just took us a while longer.
A call to arms was a must, lest we met our end after doing nothing all this while. This is why humanity's greatest minds called for a new Space Race, a race that would conclude by determining our next home. Our next Earth. One could only hope that we didn't repeat the mistakes of our ancestors, else soon enough our children would be hunting amongst the stars once again.
Is it truly a surprise, then, that nature everywhere would possess a sixth sense? A subconscious aversion to calamity?
Life on Planet Earth came from the stars, after all. There are bonds undiscovered, the extent of which has but been scratched. Puzzling though it might be, it seems that our status as a plague on our home planet has become known throughout the cosmos.
How else can one explain the bafflingly dead planets humanity has encountered? They seem to have passed every check of ours. Each one of them has been located in the Goldilocks zone around their respective star systems. Each one of them has possessed liquid water. Each one of them has exhibited temperatures remarkably similar to Earth.
How is it, then, that life appeared to have been extinguished mere days before the first humans landed on their planets?
Having this occur on the first few planets we visited would have been a statistical outlier at best, but the number of planets with *extremely* recent signs of life was... in the dozens.
Of course, scientists won't acknowledge the existence of these "cosmic bonds" I've written about.
Be that as it may, there is something that leads to life killing itself as soon as mankind approaches. Life would prefer a fast death than the slow poison of humanity leeching off it.
We are running out of a home fast. I'm unsure whether we'll be able to find a new, accepting home in time.
The clock is ticking.
| 2019-12-09T07:47:55 | 2019-12-09T05:05:46 | 2,606 | 373 |
[WP] You have been thrown into a fantasy world of swords, magic, dragons and adventurers. You can't do magic, and have no sword skills, so to make your living you fall back on your college major, and set up shop as something that is unique in this world; a Psychiatrist.
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Tribal Lord Drayvor squeezed the handle of his battle ax. This had been the weapon that had accompanied him to the Denrock Forest. Here, the elves had hidden in forestry so thick, he could not see their arrows, only hear the thwap of twine as his comrades fell dead around him. He had climbed the jagged edges of Castlerock Mountain where the winged beasts spewed fire that turned their armor into steel pots to stew in. And now, at his greatest battle yet, he had to leave the weapon at the door.
Dreamslayer. It was engraved in ancient Orcish tongue at both edges of his battle ax. He had grown its legend through war and glory, expanding his small tribal village into an empire.
“Ridiculous,” scoffed Second-Son Greywind as he tossed his twin blades onto the ground, right below a sign with a red cross-mark over a picture of blades. “What is the great prophet scared of? I can just as easily kill him with my bare hands.”
“Greywind,” Drayvor growled and stared with his single good eye. His other had long since clouded a murky grey. Rumor had it that his blind gaze could steal one’s soul and his Orcish commanders believed it. Greywind immediately clamped his mouth shut.
Drayvor placed Dreamslayer on the ground and knocked on the door. His bodyguards stood around him, their breaths held and fingers twisting around their weapons.
“Come in,” came a high-pitched voice. It was the prophet, Drew, Sophomore of University, Psychology Major.
The Orc War Squad stood tense. If Drayvor picked up Dreamslayer again, they would flay the prophet and burn down his holy city of Minneapolis. Drayvor nodded at his soldiers and pushed open the door. Greywind followed after him.
Inside, they found a small human male, his skin stretched over his bones as if he had been starving. But his face held a healthy hue and he responded with a perky, “Hello Drayvor, please, take a seat.”
“That is Tribal Lord Drayvor to you, you human filth!” Greywind barged ahead of his commander and snapped his jaw at the human.
The human stared back. “My client is Mr. Drayvor, I don’t know who you are.”
“I am the Second-Son of the Treiarch Orc Tribe, son of Castwind and Soarfour, slayer of the winged beast Red Snape—”
“Okay…” the human reached into his pocket and retrieved his wand, a blank yellow spell book and a strange wooden writing device. “Once again, my client is Drayvor. If you would like to schedule an appointment, you’ll have to get on the waiting list.”
Greywind’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head. “Waiting list? I will rip out your entrails and wear it around my neck as a necklace before you can write your first spell!”
“Mmhmm,” Drew hummed and scribbled an ancient tongue into his spellbook.
Greywind’s cheeks drained of his green hue. “What are you doing?” he asked, “Did you just place a curse upon me?”
“I’m simply noting your aggression,” Drew said, still casting his curse. “Perhaps you need a healthier outlet for your frustrations. If you talk to my secretary, I’m sure we can find some time to talk about your issues—”
Suddenly, Greywind threw his hands up and clasped his ears shut. “Arghh,” he cried in pain. “Black magic! The human is cursing me.”
“Greywind,” Drayvor said, a rare tremble in his voice. “Leave at once. This is a battle I must face alone.”
The Second-Son stared. Then, with a single nod, he clasped Drayvor’s shoulder. “May your ax be ever soaked in blood, my Lord.”
Drayvor returned him the clasp. “And your swords.”
Greywind left, finally leaving the Tribal Lord of the Triearch Empire alone with the magician from the fabled lands of Minnesota.
---
Drayvor squirmed on the couch. The prophet had asked him to lay against a soft orange cloth of unknown material. It was nothing like the bedrock he had spent his nights commanding Orcish war parties. He stared at the popcorn ceiling, praying that he had the fortitude to resist the human’s black magic.
“So, tell me why you’re here.” The human said, tiptoeing through the words.
“You cannot break me so easily, prophet,” Drayvor growled.
He heard the scratch of the prophet’s wand against his spell book. “You were the one that came to me,” Drew said, “you sought *me* out.”
It was true. Drayvor had felt himself needing to conquer this man before he could conquer the world. What would be the point of being the world’s greatest warrior if there were still things to fear?
“Your silly tricks do not work on me, scum! Cast as many spells as you like.”
“Oh, no need.” His words came soft, like music.
He was an enchantress, trying to pry the soul from Drayvor’s body! But Drayvor held steady, his body slowly sinking into the plush orange of whatever this bedding was made of.
“So, tell me about your mother,” Drew said.
“My Birth Orc’s name was Grenda.” Drayvor growled. “She was a strong woman of immense Orcish pride. And…” his breath caught in his throat. “And…” he could barely push the word out. “And…!”
It was too much, Drew, Sophomore of University, Psychology Major was too powerful. This was the magic of Minnesota!
A wail erupted from Drayvor’s body and he clasped his eyes closed with a single massive hand, but no matter how he plugged his eyes, he couldn’t stop the tears from leaking.
“She birthed fifty other warriors, but I was the strongest!” he cried. “But she never recognized my strength. She cared not for ax-wielders, only for lance-throwers! I’ve tried so hard to win her gaze, but I what if I conquer the world and still cannot earn it? What do I do then oh wise prophet?”
Drew jotted down more spells. He had already broken the poor Orc and yet he refused Drayvor even a second’s rest. Truly, he was the most heartless; the most powerful; the most terrifying mage of all the lands.
The prophet opened his mouth and muttered his most terrifying spell yet. “And how did that make you feel?”
Drayvor howled in pain. He rolled off the bed and collapsed to his knees, hiding his face between them. “I’m so inadequate!” he shrieked. “She will never be proud of me!”
He looked up and saw deep within the prophet’s eyes a relentless and soulless glare. Drew opened his mouth again and Drayvor’s lips trembled as the words formed.
“And how does that make you feel?”
Drayvor pounded his chest screaming. He now knew why the prophet refused weapons in his battlegrounds. It would be too easy for Drayvor to take his own life and ruin his fun.
“Cursed prophet!” he screamed. “Have you no pity?”
“Tell how that makes you feel!”
The Tribal Lord couldn’t stop himself. It was as if the first words he uttered was a flood breaking through the dam. Well, now the dam was shattered. “I love my Birth Orc! I just want her to love me back, but she merely grunts in my direction when I sit upon my throne of bones. I feel so lost, so hopeless”—he pushed himself to his knees and clasped his hands together in prayer—“Please, prophet, spare me now and end this pitiful Orcish life.”
Drew, Sophomore of University, Psychology Major merely grinned. “We’ve made quite a lot of progress, Drayvor. Before we leave, let me ask you something, have you ever heard of Sigmund Freud?”
Drayvor’s jaw fell. Tears dripped free from his chin. He had a feeling that the worst was yet to come.
---
---
/r/jraywang for daily WP stories, continuations by popular demand, and more!
|
The silver bell above Maria's shop door tinkled as Ser Hector stepped inside, his massive frame momentarily blocking out the sun. She shuffled the parchment she had been using to take down notes during her session with the Wizard Balthazar to discuss his magical impotence into a neat pile and slipped them into the leather binding where she kept all of her notes.
"Ser Hector, I don't recall setting up an appointment today," she said, glancing down at her Micky Mouse watch that had somehow kept working in the strange fantasy land.
The giant knight grunted sheepishly and pulled at his scraggily red beard as he shifted from one foot to the other. "We do not, oh healer of the mind. But it is imperative I speak with you today," he said, sinking into the leather chair beside the cold hearth.
Maria sighed and gave a nod, settling herself into the chair across from him. "What is it, Hector?" she asked, observing him over the frame of her black rimmed glasses.
"Ser," he corrected, ever a stickler about his title. "It's- it's still Lenore. And that stupid overgrown lizard," he admitted.
"I see. You're still having the dreams about Traks?" she asked, mentally noting how he still winced at the name of the great dragon.
"They have grown more frequent, yes. Her and her riddle continue to haunt my dreams. I should have known the answer would be 'fire', for she is dragon!" He roared, his frustration with himself mounting.
Maria got to her feet and hurried across the room, hesitating a brief moment, before plucking up her favorite book and returning to Ser Hector. "I think you should read this. It may help, and it will teach you a thing or two about riddles," she said. It was the book she had been reading on the subway three weeks ago, before she had been sucked into this odd little place while passing through a pitch black tunnel.
Ser Hector's brow furrowed as he read the title. "The Hobbit?" he demanded.
"You may like it. You'll learn, and it could take your mind off of Traks," she smiled encouragingly.
"Very well. But there is still the matter of Lenore. She has been most cold toward me, and acts as if I should be able to peer into her mind. The wench is maddening! Everything was perfect in the weeks after I rescued her from that tower. But now all she does is fuss over the children and glare at me," he said, crossing his arms over his thick chest.
"Now as to that, I suggest the most magical thing of all: communication. Talk to your wife, see why she is unhappy and see if you can't come to some sort of understanding," Maria offered.
Ser Hector released an exasperated breath and got to his feet. "Very well. I will demand she set her tongue to wagging or I will give her back to the sorcerer," he stated.
Maria shook her head and watched him open the door. "Don't demand, Hector. That will make her worse. Oh, and I also suggest taking her on a date."
"Ser." He corrected, though he raised his eyebrows at that as he paused on the threshold. "A date?" he repeated dubiously.
"You know, give her flowers. Take a moonlight stroll by the lake. That sort of thing," she said.
"Ah, I know. They are to hang a witch in the square for her blasphemous ways tomorrow. I shall take Lenore to watch," he beamed. "Thank you, oh healer of the mind!"
"That's not-" but he was already gone, banging the door shut behind him. Maria sighed and ran a hand over her face. She stood and glanced at her schedule.
Up next was the mad sorcerer with social anxiety. To think she'd thought the move from New Mexico to New York had been difficult.
--------------------------------------------
Edit: here be this: r/PhantomFiction, should you wish to read more random stories.
| 2017-06-15T15:19:33 | 2017-06-15T13:39:44 | 91 | 45 |
[WP] A time traveler goes from 2018 to 1980. Instead of using his knowledge for great gain or influence history, he writes a sitcom that scarily accurately predicts future events.
|
The man - really more so a brick wall in a suit than man - hammered a punch into my gut.
Ouch.
The world went blank for a moment. There was nothing but the metallic taste of blood in my mouth and the waves of pain that wracked my body, all centered on my stomach. This went on for some unknowable length of time. Just me, pain, and blood.
When the pain reduced from indescribable to "holy mother of god I'm going to die", the world came back to focus I realized my mouth was filled with carpet fabric. I tried to get up, but any movement kicked the pain up into that indescribable level again and I feel back onto the carpet. Ah, nice carpet, not punching me in the stomach carpet.
"Get him up," the brick wall snarled.
I felt arms wrap around both my arms and haul me up none too gently. My body very much thought this was an awful idea, an opinion it made known by firing every pain receptor in my body in overdrive.
Alas, the arms did not relent. Soon I was leaning against the dry wall with the arms still pulling me up. Calling it standing would be an insult to standers everywhere. I was more like a puppet someone had vaguely propped against a wall even though it kept falling down again and again.
The analogy made me chuckle. It's my gift really, finding humor in situations where I'm going to die.
The Brick wall squeezed my chin and jerked my head towards him. He was so close that I could make out the red veins in the white of his eyes.
"Listen to me, cuz I'm only gonna say it once" he snarled - god his breath smelled awful - "Where's the time machine."
*Full stop. Let's take a step back shall we? Now, I know what you're thinking. 'Wow, you have a time machine? What did you do? Become rich? Become king? See dead relatives? Undo your wrongs? Stop wars?' Yeah...no. I made a sitcom about the future. Now, don't give me that look, alright, sheesh. Nothing wrong with a guy following his dream. Hell, I didn't even need an original concept. My concept had already happened - I just had to animate it. I thought it'd be hysterical eventually you know? So I used all the savings I'd brought with me, worked on my dream, met a girl, all that jazz. There was no reason to leave. People would point to my show and say, 'hey he called that!' and everyone else would look on in skepticism. I mean, a TV show predicting the future? Who's gonna buy that?*
The government, that's who. Hence my current predicament.
"I..I don't know," I coughed up some blood on the man's suit. He backed away, disgusted. "I don't know what you're talking about," I finally managed.
One of the agents to the left of me laughed. Great. Glad someone was enjoying this.
"Right, so your TV show is just blind luck? Predicting the rise of every major company, predicting the 2001 and 2008 crashes, predicting internet culture and fashion styles? All just luck?" The brick wall said.
"Uh...yeah?"
The brick wall rolled his eyes and got ready to punch me again.
"No, no wait! Fine, fine! I have it with me," I was a time traveler not Jackie Chan. Pain equals bad. Stopping pain equals good. I had to give them something.
"Where?" the brick wall barked.
"I...I hid it," I stammered.
"Well, then tell us where the hell you hid it."
"It's hard to describe, look, I'll just lead you to it yeah? I'll give it to you the you let me go?"
The brick wall pondered this for a moment then nodded. "Sure, you'll never here from us again."
Right, that beach front property in South Dakota sounds lovely.
"Well, follow me," I said, somehow managing to shuffle more so than walk towards the television. The three agents followed me, all ready to break my neck at a moment's notice.
"No funny business, alright?" the brick wall said behind me.
"Wouldn't dream of it."
I walked up next to the sofa where the TV remote lay.
"Not the time to watch television, mate," one of the the other agents said.
"It's hidden behind the screen," I said, fiddling with the remote. "I just have to press the right buttons and..."
I never finished the sentence, because I was gone, zipping through time, blinded my the impossible shapes and unreal shapes - the very fabric of time. You see, The remote *was* the time machine. Not the kind of move you'd expect someone who went back in time to create a sitcom to make eh?
God, I wish I could've seen their faces.
Come to think of it, I probably would. The agents had lost the element of surprise now after all. I had no intention of leaving my life's work behind you see. This? This was a, uh, temporary tactical retreat. *Not* running away.
I was going to come back.
***
(minor edits)
If you enjoyed, check out my sub, [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/)
|
It was all going to pay off now.
The deceit, the sacrifices, the opportunities to prevent great hardship ignored in order to preserve the timeline. Everything that had come before had been preordained, inevitable - time itself would prevent major changes. The experiments he had performed demonstrated that with ruthless finality.
But now, he was no longer in the past, he was in the present. He had surreptitiously monitored the experiment that had throw his younger self back in time, and with that final predestined event having taken place, the future - in all it's unpredictable glory - was open to him.
While he hadn't been able to change the past he had been able to exploit it, and his secret fortune had grown - as had his reputation as a prognosticator. He had carefully recorded the evidence of the "ideas" thrown around in writing workshops, and the "strange coincidences" that reality would later deliver
But when people expect you to know the future, they can act in predictable ways. Ways that will allow someone who has had decades to wait for this moment to account for, and exploit.
And with time itself no longer acting as an enemy, those opportunities could be used to fashion outcomes long dreamt of.
He opened his computer and sent the email he had drafted weeks ago. Time to set things in motion
| 2018-07-09T14:28:06 | 2018-07-09T14:09:12 | 686 | 44 |
[WP] For centuries Elves held a Monopoly on Magic and only a select few Humans where taught Magic who were easily controlled. That's why they freaked out when a Human Bandit learned Magic. You are this Bandit and you are having the time of your live tricking and robbing those Elves in your Woods.
|
The art of spellcasting was woven in mystique. Humans and dwarves could call upon the elves to help them through magic, for a good penny of course. The dwarves were far too stubborn to pay elves for anything but rich humans like kings, nobles or merchants often employed their services. The wealthiest usually had one or two elves living in to ask their aid whenever it was needed.
The elves would waive their hands through the air, drawing invisible symbols in the air while muttering long words in a foreign, unknown language. Every elf knew magic but they refused to have human apprentices.
“Humans are too whimsical, they’ll be distracted and obsessed with something else before they’ve mastered the very basics. And even if they dedicate all their time to studying magic: they’re too short lived. By the time they knew basic spells, they are on the verge of death,” an elf explained me once. He was hired by my father: a successful merchant who traded in spices.
Unfortunately, my father fell on hard times and by the time he was on his deathbed, there was not a cent left of the promised heritage. I never learned a trade or something useful because I always thought I would be settled for life. I had no appetite for slaving away as a simple handyman either.
Thus I chose a risky occupation instead: that of a bandit. And one day I was hiding in the bushes of a forest, waiting for an ignorant passerby to ambush. It was then that two elves walked over the path, unaware of the human hiding nearby. They looked like two teenagers, though that could easily mean they’re already over a century old.
“… seen that man’s face. He was in awe!”
“I can imagine, you always make quite a show out of it. If only they realized it’s all a theatre.”
“They won’t, they’re far too dumb.”
I resisted the urge to fire arrows at the laughing, boisterous elves. They obviously referred to humans being dumb. What a hateful, arrogant species they are. We might be unable to perform any magical feats, but we’re far from stupid.
Only then I realized a far more important truth: “it’s all a theatre”. They couldn’t possible mean .. A suspicion and an idea slowly formed in my mind. I went back home to my little hut – the only thing my father still owned when he died – and slammed my pocket watch against the table. The glass cracked on the impact. A real shame as it was an expensive, good looking watch. I stole it from a salesman a year prior.
Eager to test my suspicion, I raced to the village, to one of the shops the elves had established in town. Here villagers could go and hire their services. I barged in, frantically looking around for the elf on duty. There was one seated in the corner, softly whistling a tune while reading a book.
“I need your help, please!” I ignored the look of disdain the elf gave me as I stood there, breathing hard and sweat on my forehead. “I broke my mother’s watch. It’s all I have left of her. Can you still repair it, please? Just tell my your price, I’m sure I can scrap the gold I need together!”
I showed him the pocket watch, holding in tenderly in two hands as if it were a kitten, so delicate and breakable. The elf – I wasn’t entirely sure about their gender – took it and set it on the work bench in front of him.
“Hmm, I think I can help you. It’s a relatively simple spell, it will be five gold.”
Five gold, I was getting ripped off. But I played the role of desperate man whishing to restore the last keepsake he had of his mother, so I agreed and handed them the gold.
Immediately they went to work: they graciously moved their hands around in intricate patterns while incanting a strange song. Sometimes they whispered the words, then raised their volume and let it sink down again.
Discretely I studied their movements and tried to remember recognizable, unique movements. I listened closely to the general flow of the music and noticed some odd vowel-consonant combinations. “Goimprs jlung kva-an,” they repeated three or four times throughout the whole ritual.
By the end – I estimated this lasted about two minutes – smoke rose up from the glass, obscuring it for a moment. When it was lifted, I could clearly see the glass was mended again.
“Oh thank the gods!” I exclaimed and grabbed the watch again.
“The gods didn’t do that,” protested the elf but I already ran out the shop.
I repeated this little play in all three elven shops across town. None of the rituals even remotely resembled the others. But if this wasn’t what created the magic – what did?
I discarded the theory that it might be innate: if that was the case, they could just tell us.
Something in the ritual must be the explanation, but I couldn’t possibly keep paying elves to mend items for me: the last time already cost me thirteen gold pieces, which was the better part of my money.
Instead I decided to go with a plan so stupid that I had never even heard tale of someone attempting it: break in in an elven shop and look around for clues to uncovering their secret.
A week later, after meticulous planning, the plan was set in motion. Every Friday evening the elven shops went out to a tavern. That’s when I would enter one of the shops. All of them were guarded, fortunately they were humans. I offered the fellow – Stevenson was the name – a drink which he reluctantly excepted.
“I can’t possibly drink while I’m on duty,” he protested. But my argument that it was only one drink was enough to win him over. Unbeknownst to him, there was some magudala in it, a strong sedative. Within minutes, he was snoring against the side of the building.
Carefully I unlocked the door and made my way in. The front shop was almost empty bare a few trinkets for sale on the shelves. I skipped this and went through the door behind the counter. On the looks of it, it was an office. There were papers laying around, graphs with what I assumed to be sales numbers and a couple of books on a desk. The first two books were just novels. The third was locked, but that couldn’t stop a simple thief like me. A couple of seconds later, it clicked open.
“*Someone once told me a diary should start on a happy note. But I can’t muster any happiness or positivity right now. Oh how I whish to be home. Oh how I long for my Gwendolyth.*
*So pretty and youthful she is, she can get anyone. Will she still be waiting for me when I come back from this post? For the first time I can relate with humans: ten years feels like an eternity now*.”
I almost gagged. This book definitely should be locked. Not for privacy reasons, but to save our sanity. I placed the book back and continued my search. The desk had three drawers. The first two were filled with general office equipment: ink and feathers, wax and seals and so forth. The third was locked again and it posed no problem to me.
In it were some leatherbound books. I opened one and was met with a handwritten script that I recognized, but didn’t know: elven. Fortunately, I had thought ahead for once and grabbed a pocket dictionary from beneath my robes.
As I was unfamiliar with the alphabet, it took a while before I found the first word. Ironically, it meant “Alphabet”. Eagerly I looked for the second word: “List”. “Of” and “spells” were the next two words.
That’s all I needed to know. I grabbed all four books in the drawer and carefully made my way out. By the time the sun rose and the elves returned to the store to found their guard sleeping and office robbed, I was halfway across the country.
|
When Talia Greenleaf was very young, her parents had set aside their grievances to take out among the forest. They’d cleared the tension from the air and each taken one of Talia’s small hands in theirs, and in that manner they introduced her to all the plants and animals. They had taught her their names, badger and bear, rabbit and thrush, and then they had taught the animals hers. “Talia,” was repeated by a hundred tongues and beaks, chirped out through all the trees.
But an argument had come, as it always did among folks with so much history. The trip ended, Talia’s mother leading her back to the village with one last promise of her father’s ringing through her ears.
“Come out with me again,” he had said, violet eyes intent upon her, “and I will teach you how the trees speak. Do you hear it, little one, the way the wind whispers through the leaves?”
Talia had lied, swearing that she did. Humans raided the year after next. The village survived, but not so the people outside it. The eccentrics and the poets. Her father.
In the hundred years since then, Talia had listened to the trees and to the wind. She listened until her head hurt, until she felt herself going mad with the effort. The trees did not speak back.
At first she thought she simply lacked the knack. Later she thought her father had lied, a belief her mother encouraged. And later still, when nearly a century of whispering wind had yielded no answers, Talia realized it was because the answers lay below the whisper. She went out beyond the village, past the border guards and the Strangler’s-Vine walls, to a place where all was quiet.
No chatter voices for a mile. No sound but the whisper of the wind and the chatter of birds. Then something beneath, the faintest possible hint of those trees voices.
It struck a chord within her. Some piece of Talia opened up where nothing had been before. It was as if she’d gained another eye, grown another ear. As if she could reach out and touch the world with the soft new fingers of a baby.
Magic, folk called it. Her father’s sin, Talia’s mother said.
And it was a sin. Few things were among Elves, but magic was that worst sin of all: a presumption. A presumption upon nature’s order, the assertion that the magician knew better than the earth beneath them. Magic could uproot the very forest and change the course of rivers, change the course of hearts. When her mother said that last, Talia heard a strange bitterness: the sort that had only ever entered her high, sweet voice when Talia had been very young and her father had come around to see her.
Sometimes, that tone had kept Talia away from her father.
No longer.
There was not much to pack. Elves traveled light-- the forest could provide-- but Talia took what things she loved with her. Her knife and her belt, a backpack woven of ironbark leaves and a single silvery dress that she had always said was condensed from a moonbeam.
She was gone in the morning, headed south into the depths of the Sylvan Wood. Her mother was not there to say goodbye, the border guard stood somber in their hidden nests.
Talia Greenleaf left everything she had ever known to the sound of the birds singing her name as they sang names of all elves, passed down like arcana through the music of their sacred songs. She walked until her shoes gave out and then wove new shoes from the leaves, soled with bark and cushioned by moss. She walked until the forest was silent, until it seemed even the animals had gone.
And there, beneath a tall oak tree she thought she could nearly understand, the bandit Kellan Nightbane found her.
\*\*\*
| 2021-12-04T12:00:10 | 2021-12-04T11:07:26 | 449 | 83 |
[WP] Turns out that the dark and brooding figure who always sits in the corner of the tavern only does so because he has debilitating social anxiety. However, today someone finally works up the courage to talk to this menacing loner.
|
"See that guy over in the corner? Hooded figure, black cloak?" one patron whispered to the man next to him. "*That* is the deadliest assassin the realm has ever known!"
"Nawwww, Klaxx, ye got it all wrong! He's a *bounty hunter!* Still deadly, to be sure, but there is a distinction!" his friend replied.
Balinda Thunderbrew had heard it all in her time working as a barkeep at the only tavern in the sleeply little town of Grayhaven, but this took the cake. "Oh, he's a BOON-ty hunter, eh Randall?" she asked with a grin, mocking her frequent customer's thick, accented pronunciation.
"Aye! He is!" Randall replied, his face slightly reddened.
"And how would you know that? Either of you two fine gentlemen ever *ask him* his profession? Share one of your war stories with him, did ya Randall? Or did you strike up a thoroughly charming conversation about mining procedures, Klaxx?"
Her two customers glanced at each other, then toward the ground.
"Uhuh... thought not!" she said. "Well, now seems like the perfect moment to go find out, doesn't it boys?"
Both hemmed and hawed, suddenly noting that it was getting very late and every other excuse on the books.
"Why don't *you* go ask him, Bal?" Klaxx finally asked, having run out of excuses of his own.
She considered for just a moment before answering. "Fine, I believe I shall! His drink appears to be running low anyways," she said as he poured a fresh one and began walking around the bar. "Some brave pair you are though! Remind me not to expect much help from either of ya if the tavern's ever raided by bandits or something!"
"Prolly wise," Randall mumbled with a resigned nod.
"Very wise!" Klaxx confirmed, utterly unashamed of his perceived cowardice.
As a female dwarf working in profession that did not favor her gender, and in a human town that did not favor dwarves, Balinda was tough and stout as they came, but she had to admit to herself as she walked toward the dimly lit corner that she was nervous. Her bravado had been more jesting than anything, she hadn't actually expected to go speak to some mysterious hooded figure cloaked in shadow.
The man's shrouded face was further hidden by the fact that it was pointed downward into a large book. He did not notice or acknowledge Balinda's presence.
"Ahem!" she said finally. "Sorry to bother you, sir. Just thought you might want a refill?"
"No refill," he growled quietly.
"Ah, okay, that's- that's your prerogative. Ya know, you're the customer and all!" she stammered nervously. "What- whatcha readin' there, fella?"
He sighed deeply. "Do you think I prefer to speak of what I am reading, rather than continue to do so, little dwarf?"
"Oh- I- uh..." Balinda began to back away slowly, looking to make a retreat.
"Wait, I'm sorry. That was overly rude of me, and the dwarf comment was unnecessary," he said as he flipped his black hood off of his head and looked toward her for the first time. His face revealed no scars, no battle wounds... and not even a hint of cruelty. "You're actually fairly tall for your kind as far as I know. Please accept my apology?"
"Oh, uhh- sure! I hear much worse, I assure ya. It's just that I see you in here often enough and I figured I'd make an introduction, err- seeing as it's my job and all! I'm Balinda Thunderbrew, pleased to meet ya, Mister...?"
"Wallace. Nicholas Wallace. And you need not shield my feelings, I'm not deaf. I hear the wild and vicious rumors my fellow tavern patrons speak of me."
"Well, you're clearly not an assassin, so why don't you set the record straight? Why you always sitting over here alone?"
"I'm an introvert," he replied plainly.
"An intro-what?"
"Ehh, a term I'm trying out after a great deal of conversation with various priests, shamans, and medicine men. Just means I prefer to be alone sometimes, to think, to recharge."
"Oh- well, that's your right, but sounds a tad lonely not having any friends."
He laughed. "I have a great many friends, I just- prefer to enjoy their company in smaller doses. Here, I'll prove it to you." He held his hand out toward her. "Would you like to be my new friend, Balinda?"
"Well, sure, why not? Can always use a new pal, and if you're a loyal customer as well that's just extra coin in my pocket! Err- sorry, you'll have to get used to my bad jokes if you wish to be one of my companion."
"I think I can handle that," he said, releasing his hand and returning his eyes to his book. "Have a pleasant evening, Miss Thunderbrew."
"You as well," she said, turning to leave but stopping herself. "Oh, and as long as we're gettin' all chummy, I suppose I should invite you to my big birthday bash next Friday. There are gonna be *hundreds* of people packed in here, half of em strangers to me even, but I've been *told* they all wish to celebrate my birthday and I'd be honored if you'd come as-"
He cut her off and quickly raised his hood. "That..." he said, his voice returned to his previous menacing low growl. "That I cannot do."
___
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If you'd like to explore more of my stories (including more set in this universe) feel free to check out my personal subreddit r/Ryter
Side note: I'm aware that social anxiety and introversion can overlap, but are not the same thing. This is just what this prompt inspired to me, based on a recent IRL conversation with a friend (but sadly, neither of us is a super cool dwarf lady bartender). Thanks for reading!
|
It was Bill. Bill had one too many drink and he was finally going to do it. Talk to the mysterious dark and brooding figure who always sat in the corner. Bill would go down in legends. Shame his children were probably going to become orphans.
As Bill walked up to him, swaying back and forth, eyes not even focusing, we all held our breath.
"Hey man! I've seen you around here a lot and just wa- wanted to ask, whats your name?" Bill really was plastered. Seemed like he would fall down any second now.
But he just sat there, seemingly ducking further down into his mug of ale.
"H-hey man. I've been wanting to kn-now for a while now. D-don't you ignore me!" This was getting bad, Bill was going to get himself killed if someone didn't pull him away.
But the figure said something. We couldn't believe it. He said something! It was a shame that no one could hear him.
"O-h sorry to bother you." Bill said, and just walked away. Needless to say we were all very confused. So I ran up to Bill to ask.
"What did he say to you man!"
"He j-just said tha-at he was unc-o-mfortable talking to people, a-nd would like to be left alone." Bill said, stumbling over his words.
Just then the bar tender came out. "Last call, I'm closing up here soon!", he walked over to the brooding figure said a few word and laughed, then walked back to the bar.
"Hey, barkeep, who is that guy?" I asked.
"Ah, Micheal? He's my cousin. Doesn't like people much, so don't bother him and he won't bother you, why?"
"Bill just talked to him, and he... didn't give the response we expected."
"Ya, he isn't violent, but he has been pushing himself into new and difficult situations recently. I would appreciate it if you didn't bother him."
| 2020-01-25T21:44:55 | 2020-01-25T20:35:37 | 364 | 131 |
[WP] You are legally allowed to commit murder once, but you must fill out the proper paperwork and your proposed victim will be notified of your intentions
|
The letter was cold, harsh. It sat on my fingers like an autumn leaf in the middle of July. In my rustic craftsman house, its sanitized feel stood out. It shouldn't be there.
"Dear Mr. Elkman,
We regret to inform you that J. H. Younger has scheduled your murder for sometime this week. Please prepare yourself.
Sincerely,
Andrew Cooper, Planned Homicide Commision"
I had no idea who J. H. Younger was.
I've been on edge all week, thinking, pacing in my house, wondering. What had I done wrong? What would possess a man to use his one murder on me?
I can't sleep, or eat. I can hardly breathe. I've contemplated suicide, just to screw with whoever did this. Fuck you, you can't kill me, I'll kill myself, you know.
I can't stop talking. My stream of consciousness leaks out of my mouth like sludge from a drainage pipe. I don't talk to anyone, but keeping my words in the air around me distracts me from the eventual smell of death occupying the same space.
Anyone walking by my door can look through the front window to get a first-rate glimpse of a lunatic-in-training. They see me and shrug. That's the worst part. They know what's coming, but they don't, can't realize the gravity of the situation.
Once, a kid came up to the door and knocked. I had been in the back for two seconds, and someone comes to my door. I nearly had a heart attack.
But it was just a kid, selling something that I can't remember. I bought more of it than I could afford. Hell, I won't be around for my next credit card bill.
I want to tear off my skin and fly it as a flag from my bedroom window. Then I'll feel something other than this crippling fear. I want to laugh at the people's reactions, I want to feel the sensation of pain again. I cut off one of my fingers already, just to feel it. I felt everything again, a sickly combination of euphoria and trauma.
That was a mistake. I almost became addicted to the pain, the grotesque panic that comes with a bleeding and missing appendage. As I replace the gauze for the 14th time, I hear a knock on my door.
A knock.
Those are the rules, after all. No doorbells, no, those are too friendly. It's strictly business here. It's all been bureaucratized. Nothing less than the utmost professionalism for our adorable little murderous brigade.
As I shuffle feebly to the door, I realize that if every single person on the planet had this right, and not just us Americans, we could destroy the entire human race. Thank God there's only 340,000,000 people who can die at the hands of this ridiculous rule. 340,000,000 and counting. Every new baby can murder someone too. Oh god, this will not ever end.
I open the door just a crack. Outside, there's a woman, in a beautiful sundress.
Thank god, I think. I'm in the clear. J. H. Younger can suck it.
I let her in cordially. She smiles, asks me how am I. I'm fine, just a little nervous, about what, oh nothing. What happened to my finger, she asks, oh, it's a great story, Ms...
Younger, she says.
I stare blankly. My mind has stopped.
Julia Helen Younger, in fact.
I cannot move. My breath is caught in my neck, and invisible hand choking the life out of me. I feel like dying, but she sits so calmly, so high-and-mighty. She has power, but I need that power. I need it more than anything.
I grab the gun she places on the table and put it to my head.
"This is what you want!" I yell. What an animal I've become; it's not even a question, it's a statement.
She smiles. She pities my. That goddamn whore, I'll fucking kill her first. Murder-suicide is better than the planned homicide bullshit that would've run in the Sunday Morning Obituaries.
"I have one question first."
Fuck your questions, I want to say, but even in my moment of greatest weakness I have my manners.
"Did you think I was a man?"
What a stupid question. I did, but that's completely irrelevant. It was merely a guess I made, it doesn't relate to anything, and I tell her so. I see the raging fire in her eyes.
"I'm killing you because you're a sexist, you know."
I lower the gun slowly. What?
"Sexism is a terrible plague on this world, and as a member of the Women's Rights League, Atlanta division, I strive to purge this disease, this blemish from the Earth's surface."
She's mad.
She's completely fucking insane.
I smile at her, and begin to laugh. I'm gone at this point. No more rationality. I want death, and death alone, and this hypocrite is going to bring that sweet hammer upon my head.
"I guess we were made for each other then," I cry through my tears of laughter. She scowls, sneers, squeezes.
|
It was a good plan. I'll have to promote the aide that had scribbled it down during a particularly boring department of interior meeting and handshake session. Of course, I suppose he still doesn't know that I caught a glimpse of his extra-curriculars.
I had spent so much of my time silently building an assassination plan to bring a new order to the state, but countless hours would turn out to be unnecessary as congress pushed through a bill that they really should have read better. One perfectly legal murder was now a right to every citizen, tacked very cleverly onto a bill with incredible support. Amazing how these shits can still get elected.
So why assassinate the president when you can just off him legally? There are no rules in place that denote you can't and he gets hundreds and hundreds of death threats every damn day to keep him busy. Secret Service would normally be a problem but with enough people all at the same time, they would be ultimately useless. That's where my network comes in to play.
The president is also always swamped by paperwork and will have all of it sorted away by his low level staff. I know from personal experience how often people close to him get letters or important documents to cross his desk. Damn smug bastard always looking down on the common man, on even those right next to him. This will be a lesson in prioritization. Survival should always be number one.
As Vice-President, my work never makes the news. But within 2-3 weeks for processing, the world will know who I am and they will know my administration means business.
| 2014-03-16T21:44:06 | 2014-03-16T21:00:28 | 128 | 61 |
[WP] You don't remember what you do for a living. Literally. You wake up, get in the car, then black out until you're back in your driveway in the middle of the afternoon 5 days a week, and you get a paycheck once a month.
|
On Mondays, he would step through the door that led into the Lizard World. Great, lurking beasts that stood as tall as the Empire State Building and devoured trees and mammoths. His job was to set out the feed for the smaller lizards and sweep away their scales. Sometimes he thought about keeping one of the shiny scales that was as big as a dinner plate. But for that, too, he was being paid: the leaving and the forgetting.
On Tuesdays, he would step into the door that led to the Underwater World. Here swam the whales and silvery fish; here lurked the nighttime creatures that had never seen stars or sun. He would clear away the sunken treasure and scatter the sea salt, befriending even the giant squids that had no names. Then he would step back to the other side of the door, shivering wet in the air-conditioned office building, and swallow the forgetting pill on his way out.
Wednesdays were for the door that led to the City World. It was similar to the world he lived in; so similar, in fact, that sometimes he forgot which side he was on. But there were always the street children who needed coins and hearts, and the factory workers who needed sunshine. It was always the hardest to leave the City World, or perhaps the easiest; he was never sure which side he preferred.
But Thursdays were the hardest of all. That day was for the Ghost World, where nothing lurked but shadows and nightmarish creatures; ashes snowing around for miles and miles and reminding him of when his childhood home burned down. Here his job was to collect memories and he did so quickly, never looking over his shoulder, never questioning whether the door would protect him. It always did.
And Fridays, his beloved Fridays, were for the Sunshine World. That was where he first met her, the girl with flowers woven through her hair, who helped him collect colors in his employer's prisms and scatter laughter into the air. He always looked forward to Fridays most of all; or at least he would, if he didn't always take the forgetting pill on the other side of the door.
On Saturdays and Sundays, he would look at his weekly paycheck and the wilting flower in his pocket. Despite the forgetting pills, he would start to question things. Think about investigating exactly what he did during the week. But then he would look at the amount of money, and the flower so close to death, and he would return to work on Monday again.
But finally came the day he forgot to take his forgetting pill; or maybe he only pretended to forget, because of the Fridays. The girl with the flowers in her hair haunted him that following weekend, making him question everything. Why did he know the names of all the dinosaurs? Why were his clothes soggy every Tuesday when he returned from work? Why did so many cities seem familiar though he had never visited them before, and why did he always dread Thursdays so much?
So he stopped taking his forgetting pills. Each time he came out of a door, he ignored the sign that said: PLEASE REMEMBER TO TAKE YOUR FORGETTING PILL. He wrote down what he'd seen in his journals; he painted the giant squids and the nightmarish creatures that lived behind the doors. He did this until he remembered everything, until he'd filled pages and pages with his stories and illustrations.
Until he realized the doors were not in order.
He stood in his bedroom, comparing the pages of his journals and the pages of his sketchbooks. Here was one landmark in the Lizard World, but here it was in the Sunshine World, too! And another landmark that could be found behind all five doors. And so on and so on until he had established that every door led to the same world - but at a different point in its timeline.
First there was the Sunshine World: Friday.
Then the Underwater World: Tuesday.
Then the Lizard World: Monday.
Then the City World: Wednesday.
And finally the Ghost World: Thursday.
At first it was a joyous discovery that brought meaning to his work. He was helping the door-world and its inhabitants to grow and thrive. He was nourishing an entire world! But then he would always have to enter the Ghost World on Thursdays, and that would cast a shadow on his happiness. And with time, that shadow grew darker and darker until it was all he could see. What was the point of his work if every version of this world would eventually perish and become the Ghost World? He loved each world, or had loved each world, before he realized all of them must die. Even now he could see the outline of a sixth door gradually forming in the office building. He dreaded to see what lay beyond it.
The girl with flowers in her hair smiled at him sadly. By now he'd realized she wasn't quite a girl and perhaps was not even quite human. "Everyone takes the forgetting pills," she said to him in the Sunshine World. "It's as automatic as sleeping or breathing. Most people don't even see the pills, in fact. But for those like you who can, who also have the ability to step through the doors, you have to decide to take the forgetting pills. If you don't, you will bear a tremendous weight on your heart for the rest of your life. Eventually it might even turn to stone."
He wanted to tell her she was wrong. He didn't have to take the forgetting pills anymore. He didn't want to lose all the journals and sketchbooks he'd filled; he didn't want to lose his memories of even the Ghost World, which he both loved and hated. But already he could feel his heart turning into stone. It was too difficult for him to see all the versions of the door-world, and to know which order they came in. It was easier and less painful to see all of them as separate worlds. So much so, in fact, that he finally understood the purpose of the forgetting pill was not to chain him but to release him.
By Saturday, the sixth door had finished forming. PLEASE REMEMBER TO TAKE YOUR FORGETTING PILL, said the sign next to it. He knew then that he had only two choices: leave his job and never return, but thus live a life without the doors; or step through the sixth door and take the forgetting pill on his way out. As much as he wanted to remember the door-world, he could no longer avoid taking the forgetting pill. Not if he wanted his heart to remain his heart and his eyes to see the door-world as it was meant to be seen, full of life and without shadow.
And so, knowing he would forget everything by nightfall, he stepped through.
|
It was honestly an accident, I swear.
The last thing I remember doing as my occupation was a underpaid and underappreciated waiter at a pretentious black and white tie restaurant in upstate New York. I woke up at five and drove to my shift at eight due to traffic(I lived pretty far away from Manhattan). I'd work for a few hours, get a long break before the dinner traffic, and drive home. My pay was small but the tip was occasionally pretty good. I remember getting this huge wad of cash one day from a suited, fat old man with tattoos on his face(I don't judge, but I mean, this was a guy giving me like $5,000 in tip, of course I remember his face) and I was stopped by the cops.
I don't remember what they told me and its scaring me more and more how I still *can't remember*.
Somehow I've moved into a comfy apartment with floor security five minutes drive from work. I just woke up one day and **BAHM** fancy furbished apartment with all my stuff folded in the drawers. Not only that, but every shirt, jacket, and sock was folded the way only ***I*** know how to do!
No matter how much I try, no matter how much I rack my brain. It's starting to really horrify me. I. Still. Can't. *Remember*.
Four weeks ago, I came home with a bruise on my chest. It wasn't too bad but it was just enough to freak the living hell out of me. Three weeks ago, I had a black eye. None of my friends from my previous job are replying my calls. My boss texted me a series of curses blaming me for his firing followed by radio silence. Two weeks ago I tried to visit my former place of employment, they had changed the keycard door with a passcode door. One week ago my lip was torn and I considered wearing a camera to where ever I worked but my credit card refused to work when I was buying the supplies. Yesterday I woke up with a sharp pain on my right thigh. I went to the bathroom to look at the new wound. It was a note, very badly carved into my flesh. It was scabbed over but was only a few hours old.
It read:
You are a mole
You are agent 4 gov
Run Everyone is cominy
That last part was a badly written g I assume. My heart dropped, WHAT DO I DO NOW
| 2020-02-11T17:51:34 | 2020-02-11T17:37:18 | 131 | 42 |
[WP] In this world, soulmates cannot hurt each other in any way or form, intentionally or unintentionally. You are an assassin hired to eliminate a powerful figure. As you close in for the kill, your bullets miss their mark and knives bounce of their skin. Things just got awkward.
|
Sometimes the best disguise was no disguise at all.
That was what Elayne thought as she weaved through the crowd like a serpent through water. She wore no mask or hood to conceal her face. There was no need. She would not be seen. Her mark, a young man named Genta Nakamura stepped into view. Following closely behind him, were two men who wore matching black shades and business suits.
*His bodyguards*, Elayne thought.
Her hand fell to her side, fingers brushing the handle of a knife through the fabric of her skirt as she drew closer. Elayne's eyes honed in on the three men despite the moving traffic of pedestrians and saw her mark break off from the crowd and into an alleyway.
She followed, turning the corner into a dark alleyway.
"You again," Genta's voice echoed in the narrow alleyway before stepping out of the shadows and glaring at Elayne. "What's your name?! How much are being paid to take me out huh?!"
"What? I don't know what you're talking about," Elayne said as she blinked innocently with her round emerald eyes.
"Your playing dumb? I've seen you at least a dozen times girl. At least have the decency to admit you're trying to kill me, geez."
Genta snapped his fingers. Two men stepped into alleway cutting off Elayne's only escape route.
"You're surrounded. Don't make this difficult and just surrender. I don't want to kill you kid."
Elayne didn't move, nor did she speak. She only waited patiently as her fingers brushed steel.
The bodyguards stepped forward ready to restrain Elayne, but at the moment they lunged forward, their hands grasped only air.
Elayne had slid underneath the guards, slashing at the ankles of the men with two steel daggers held in reverse-grip in each hand.
Genta's bodyguards crumpled into a heap as they cried in agony. Maimed and immobilized, Elayne proceeded to leap over the men, her skirt flying up and briefly flashing Genta with her arsenal of knives and-
"Pink Hello Kitty panties? Are you serious?" Genta asked, incredulous.
Embarrassed, Elayne slipped and fell onto her skinny behind. As she landed, Elayne had spread her legs in an awkward attempt to break her fall and in doing so she had proceeded to further expose her Hello Kitty panties to Genta.
Genta who was a high school dropout turned Yakuza, had never even dated a girl before and suddenly found himself pleasantly excited as he stared at Elayne's childish panties. Excited might have been a strong word. He was more confused by the awkward change of hormones in his head - going from fight or flight adrenaline to pleasurable excitement.
"A-are you done starring?" Elayne stammered as she felt the constant heat on her cheeks refuse to abate.
"Oh. My bad, sorry," Genta began apologizing remorsefully as he tore his intense gaze away from the Hello Kitty panties. "I-I didn't mean to look. But you were about to kill me and then-" Genta eyes were distant as he began reminiscing of how it all went down. The sight of the knives strapped to her pale thighs and then the Hello Kitty panties.
Genta broke into a fit of laughter.
"S-stop laughing! I'll kill you, you pervert!" Elayne shouted as she stood up quickly and pointed a double edged dagger at Genta.
Genta paused, "Don't worry I won't tell anyone and besides it was cute."
"You won't be, because I'm going to kill - wait. What? It was cute?" Elayne looked up at Genta inquisitively.
"Yeah, your panties."
"Oh," Elayne deflated visibly. Even though she wasn't conscious of it, she had secretly hoped that Ganta would say *she* was cute and not her underwear.
"What's your name?" Genta asked.
"Elayne," she replied but then frowned. *Why did I...* It was pointless, telling a man she was going to kill her name.
"Elayne. So that's your name," Genta smiled. "I wish you'd tell me earlier."
Elayne smiled back. "And I wish you'd die already Genta. Every time I make an attempt at your life something gets in the way. My sniper rifle jamming, heavy winds turning my bullets astray, and then multiple knife attempts failing because - for some strange reason my hand refuses to stab you," Elayne sighs, letting out a breath of frustration.
Genta sighed back in kind. "It seems everyone wants to kill me these days..."
Elayne looked at Genta, and for the first time she noticed the countless scars and fresh wounds covered up with bandages.
"How much are you getting paid?" asked Genta.
When Elayne didn't respond, Genta ventured to guess. "Ten grand? A hundred grand? A million?"
Elayne scoffed, "Hmph, your not worth that much."
*So it was over a hundred grand at least,* thought Ganta. He didn't have enough to double the pay, even if it was ten grand.
"Alright. Have a go. Your best shot. If you can't kill me, how about you become my bodyguard and I'll pay you more than anyone can ever offer for my life?"
"Fine."
Elayne watched as Ganta unbuttoned his white shirt, exposing his lightly tanned chest and stomach to Elayne.
For a moment Elayne looked away. Then she steeled her nerves, grit her teeth and stepped closer to Ganta. Close enough that she could feel his breath on her forehead. She took her dagger and held it in both hands before stabbing Genta through his ribs, aiming for his heart.
Genta grunted, flexing his muscles as he felt the cold steel nick his skin, but it didn't draw blood.
"Fuck you," Elayne whispered softly as she dropped the knife.
"Maybe next time," Genta said as he grinned. "But you're mine now."
----
----
/r/em_pathy
|
"No, seriously, you *aren't* my type."
"Look, I agree with you, okay? You're definitely not what I, uhh, what I was expecting. But those are the rules, right? We're kinda stuck together now, aren't we?"
"No. No we're not. Let me tell you about the *rules* okay. The rules are so vague that it could be anything. 'Can't hurt them in any way or form'? It could be your employer is my soul mate. Or your weapons dealer. Or the guy who you're going to buy a tacky new jacket from with the money from this job, whose product can't be the motivation that leads to an assassin taking a job that successfully kills me. Or maybe any one of those people is *your* soul mate, and killing me would ruin your life, and they can't let you do that. Or maybe your soul mate--or any of theirs--is any one of the countless people whose lives would be made worse--significantly or marginally--by my death. I mean, fuck, even just the increase in crime statistics by a fraction of a percent lowering property values in this city by pennies is harm, and if your soul mate lives here that would harm them."
"I'm starting to see why someone wanted you dead."
"Yeah? Why's that?"
"Because you take all the romance out of the world."
"Well, my soul mate will appreciate it, because if she were bothered by it, I wouldn't be able to feel this way."
"Heeeey... Maybe that's it!"
"What?"
"Your big stupid mouth is what made someone want to kill you, right? But losing their potential soulmate would be some form of harm to *your* soul mate. So no matter what, you can never say anything bad enough to get yourself killed for it. Nobody can!"
"Ugh... Reality is giving me a headache again."
| 2018-04-24T01:31:32 | 2018-04-24T00:04:50 | 39 | 18 |
[WP] You're a shapeshifter. Your job is to act as superheroes' civilian identities when they have to deal with a crisis. Your jobs normally last a few days. The latest superhero who's hired you has been gone for weeks and you're starting to get worried.
|
B listers. C listers. That's who normally came up to me. That's who normally begged for my services. I was low level unknown. That's why I couldn't believe it when The Caped Crusader landed in front of me.
You know The Caped Crusader -- the strongest man in the world. Faster than a speeding bullet, flies like a plane, invincible, shoots lasers out of his eyes -- yadda yadda yadda. We've all seen him shake hands with the President on TV, save the world from falling meteors. He's been perfect, his hair always gelled to perfection, his jaw pointed and straight. His eyes full of bright blue life. I wouldn't have recognized him if it wasn't for his suit.
I walked into my apartment in Upper West City and plopped down on the sofa. I remember it pretty well -- who wouldn't forget meeting The Caped Crusader? I'd been working one of my jobs as a Celebrity Meet N Greet fill in -- movie stars who would pay thousands of dollars for me to attend a birthday party or something for them. It was my lower level job, but they oftentimes paid more than these superheroes did. Will Smith was still scared to go out in public after that whole Chris Rock thing, so I had to film a commercial for him.
Anyway, I'm on the twelfth floor of my apartment building. It's a pretty decent apartment -- again, I make good money working my jobs. I had grabbed a bottle of beer from my fridge and sat down on the sofa when I spilled it all over me in suprise.
"FUCK!"
Someone was standing outside my window -- no, floating. It was impossible to stand twelve feet up. It took me a second to recognize the suit -- red and blue, unmistakeable. The Caped Crusader. Again, if you've been living under a rock for the past ten years, The Caped Crusader is the King of all Superheroes, the leader of the International Justice Society, literally the strongest being in the Universe. And here he was. Right outside my window.
I was shaking now, my heart almost beating out of my chest. He waved me to the window. On shaky legs I stood up and made my way over. His cape was billowing in the wind, looking majestic as ever. Yet as I made my way closer to him, I noticed something different about him. His eyes were bloodshot -- completely red, and he'd been growing facial hair, stubble, messy and growing out in tufts in weird places. His hair was greasy and laid down on his head. His suit was dirty and covered in mud -- it looked like he'd been rolling around in a desert for days. The bright red C on his chest was faded.
I must have been gawking at him because he impatiently knocked on my window. I cranked it open.
WHOOSH
And just like that, he was behind me, floating above the ground in my apartment, hands behind his back, holding a large black duffle bag in one of them. His body was stiff as he floated, scanning my entire apartment as if looking for danger, which I assume he was through his X-Ray vision. He was so much more intimidating in person -- at least 6'3, rippling muscles everywhere, that cape billowing menacingly. You could feel the power radiating off of him from several feet away. I cleared my throat.
"Uh, what can I do for you, Mr. Crusader?"
His head jerked back in my direction.
"Desmond Spencer?"
I nodded. He narrowed his eyes.
"Shift for me."
"Excuse me?" I replied.
The Crusader floated forward, only a couple inches away from me. I stumbled back a few steps instinctively, scared as hell.
"Shapeshift. Prove your identity."
Well, it wasn't exactly a secret that I had superpowers, but people weren't supposed to know my name or have my address. I had an agent for these types of things, see. But what are you going to do when the most powerful living thing in the world is demanding you to shapeshift?
So I shapeshifted into the first thing that came to mind: himself. My clothes ripped as I gained what felt like a hundred pounds of muscle, and I shot up another six inches into the sky. He was still taller than me, since he could float, but I was now a spitting image of the man in front of me, except I looked like how I knew him -- no scruff, no long, greasy hair. A cleaned up image.
This appeared to satisfy The Crusader, because he nodded and threw a black duffle bag at my feet. I looked down at it then back up at him.
"Uh, what's this?"
He turned around, floating away from me, probably scanning my apartment building for hidden weapons again.
"One million dollars, my Drivers License, keys to my apartment, instructions. I'll need you to make your way over to Northern City as soon as I leave and shapeshift into my secret identity."
My heart dropped. Was The Crusader really asking this of me?
"Y-you mean --"
His eyes met mine again, grim and full of determination.
"Yes Mr. Spencer. I know this is unprecedented, and I'm the last person that you'd expect to ask this of you, but I have some important business and nobody can know that I'm gone. Not even the International Justice Society. I've heard great things from your customers, and I hope the money will cover it."
And that was how I ended up in the Weekly Universe, working as a journalist under the name Calvin Karl. I don't know how much trouble The Crusader was in -- it must have been a lot, considering he revealed his secret identity to me, but there was no way in hell I was turning down a million dollars.
Only, that was ten days ago. I normally only worked for a week. I was good enough at writing to act like I was editing these other journalists' papers, but only for so long. My mind was constantly racing. What the hell was going on? Where was The Crusader?
See, this paranoia had finally set in after the excitement of becoming The Crusader had finally gone away. Sure, parading around as the most powerful man in the world was pretty fun -- until you realized that you were his secret identity, not himself. So nobody knew how powerful you were. You were just a tall, handsome man -- again, not terrible, but I spent all my time behind this desk working at a computer. I didn't have any superpowers at all -- I was an ordinary human.
So the past several days I'd been in freakout mode, barely getting any sleep. I mean, what could possibly scare The Crusader? And was I in any danger from it? In Northern City, 6 hours from my home?
I could have never expected Benjamin Walter, the richest man in the world, to come looking for me. Or that he was actually the famed superhero, NightCrawler.
I could have never expected to be involved in an intergalactic plot to take over Earth.
I could have never expected that they would find The Crusader dead, and that they'd come looking for me next.
|
'At least Redneck Man will owe me a good bit when he gets back with his trusty shotgun' I thought to myself as I hand fed the baby crocodile. Soon enough, I returned it to the miniature bayou he'd build for it and its siblings before he'd left. I looked at myself in the mirror. A scrawny fellow, I sported a goatee and an eyepatch. My skin was a few shades darker than you'd expect, but not so dark that I didn't burn.
It's been so long in this skin that I'm beginning to think of myself as Clive Cussler, legendary outlaw gone straight. Or...well, sort of. The Cussler brothers had been on an illegal delivery of moonshine to Mars, the red planet, our next door neighbor. The ancient human colonies on Mars were itching for all sorts of illegal things, but the Cussler brothers were moonshiners, first and foremost.
Just don't tell The Imperial, grand uniter of mankind, the first King of all Mankind. His powers made all others look weak in comparison. For a few hours, I tended to my-excuse me, Redneck Man's marijuana patch-only for personal use-before I grabbed the AI driven hovercar and the plasma rifle Clive had lent me. As the sun set, Clives friends and family led me on an epic hog hunt of the sort his descendents will tell tales of for a long, long time. He'd be sure sorry he missed it when he heard ahout it. Hog meat is good, but the main reason we hunt them is that they're a nuisance.
I went back into the shack and turned on the Holo-deck. I flipped on CNN, and watched the bottom banner scroll, searching for news of Redneck Man. Nothing prominent peaked my interest, but I figured it was time to book a ticket to the Red Planet myself. I told Mary Cussler where I was headed, and she seemed anguished, but understood. I booked a ticket for the teleporter via neural link, and upon arriving took my true form, as shape-shifting would be discovered in short order.
Upon arriving at the Red Planet, I found that there had been a military coup, and that the religious police who had taken control were searching in earnest for a long list of fugitives, not least of them Redneck Man. This was bad. I had to find him before the religious police, the Imperial, or anybody else. I walked into the seediest bar on the capital, but even they wouldn't serve anything stronger than apple juice.
I walked outside and sat on the street. The red color of the sky outside the dome, the grey streets, the red banners everywhere announcing the new leadership painted a picture. 'This is our planet. Imperial, keep off!' It seemed to say. I happened to know the Imperial was away fighting the Great Worm in a different galaxy at the moment, but when he returned the planet would doubtless come under his leadership again, one way or another.
Long term? No problem. Short term, for the Cussler brothers? Big problem.
| 2022-07-30T23:53:46 | 2022-07-30T18:07:26 | 51 | 15 |
[WP] When they turn 14, every human gets an obscure super power with a lengthy description of it so they know what it is. But when yours arrives, it only says four words. “Don’t…
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I took a deep breath in. Closing my eyes as I started to open the packet. The research done about my powers took a lot longer than everyone else's. It has been some months after I took the power test. Once the results was mailed in, I sat there excited. My packet was different from the others. Bringing my hopes up that it's something powerful and deserved special treatment.
Once I opened the packet, I poured out all the papers and even the stickers they sent with it. I searched the mess I made, quickly regretting dumping it all out like a box of Legos.
Eventually within the mess. I found it. Quickly flipping though the papers and looked for the name of my power. Instead of it even having a name, the spot was left blank. After that, I noticed the description was also short.
"Don't write any stories".
There was nothing else on the paper. I quickly looked though the words again before beginning to look though the rest of the papers. That was when I realized that everything else was just request from other companies to retake the test.
I was so confused and just sighed. "This whole power thing was never my cup of tea. I guess just the possibility of becoming super strong and famous was just a wish and dream". I then started putting everything back in the packet and sat it down on my nightstand. I then sits down on my bed and picked up my Xbox 360 controller. Putting on my headset.
"Apparently I can't write story bois". They all laughed at me and asked what my power was. "It's undetermined I bet". I looked over at the packet before starting up a COD game.
*6 Years later*
I stepped inside my house and sat down on the couch. Setting the mail down on the coffee table. Starting to open them up and just read the main bits of it. I then just throw everything in the trash.
"It still says I can't write". He shook his head and picked up his Xbox One controller. "Where are we dropping bois".
They instantly began roasting me like always about how I didn't have any powers. They always have since the beginning.
Despite basically being powerless, I still was able to land myself a good computer job. Turns out that area has been lacking in knowledgeable tech wizards for years. I happened to be one of the better employees there.
However it still stood out to me that my power didn't have a name. I haven't wrote anything noteworthy to really see what happens if I did write. I had some companies just say to write and see what happens. I just been to much of a pussy to try it out.
At this point my friends have all agreed that I didn't have any powers. Which was fine by me because I am still able to love happy.
"What if I actually wrote something". I sat down my controller and dug out one of the pieces of mail. Picking up a pen and just began writing what came off the top of my head.
'A beautiful white flower is blooming in the spring'. I sat down my pen and just looked at it. I then just shrugs it off and stood up. Walking over to the kitchen and grabbed a mountain dew bottle.
Then something caught the corner of my eye. A glimpse of white and sun shining through my kitchen window. I looked out of it and seen a single tulip starting to bloom just outside.
It took me a moment to connect the dots as I look back over at the pen. Rushing back over to the paper and crosses out the word white. Writing blue right above it. Going back to the window to see that the tulip had already changed to the color blue.
"No way". I then just began writing. Writing all of my hopes and dreams down on one piece of paper. Before I knew it, I had a crowd of people outside my house. Apparently being famous here at where I live was an bad idea so I crossed that one out.
I then thought about it. This was a lot of power one could have. So after a long ten second decision, I just quickly scratched it all.
"I can't let people know I have this power"! I grabbed a new piece of paper and wrote on it. 'No one can know I have the power to create anything I write'.
A few days has passed and I gotten more mail about my powers. When I opened it I went straight to the point like I always do.
Name: Powerless
Description: No powers have been detected
I looked at it in disbelief. I then picked up my pen and wrote on the paper. 'Ands the powerless guy gets some real life friends and a raise'.
The days that followed was amazing. I got a nice promotion for my hard work and I met some new people at the grocery store. Turns out, whatever I writes come true. The power behind this is far beyond my comprehend that it's best kept a secret. Even then, being known as the famous person to be the first in a thousand years not to have any powers is amazing. I still ended up being famous in the end.
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They say curiosity killed the cat. Well I'm curious about the restriction placed on me. I look in the mirror and don't even recognize my own face. My health is fading and I don't know why.
Saw a rainbow yesterday, which was nice. Life's been 10 shades of gray since I got the warning for my power. I just want pray the ten shades go away. Too many chances I've blew to take charge and begin my life anew.
To reach out for the people trapped in the misery. We all blame this day and age when we are in fact prisoners of our own mind.
I set out into the forest. Forging along the rivers and lakes I'm used to. Until finally a break in the path. A dire warning remembered. "Don't go chasing waterfalls." To the left safety, to the right the danger ive been avoiding. I sigh and step to the right.
| 2022-05-08T11:24:06 | 2022-05-08T08:50:28 | 91 | 63 |
[WP]: Suddenly, everyone with tattoos gains powers related to the tattoo. Tattoos of flames, you control fire. A tattoo of a gecko, you can climb on walls. All dudes with "tribal" tattoos have strangely bonded together.
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My shop is flooded. Absolutely flooded.
No, I don’t mean literally. Haven’t had the joy of meeting someone with a wave tattoo yet, although those are in high demand.
I mean figuratively flooded. Filled to the brim with people, shoulder-to-shoulder, crashing into the designs I meticulously laminated and taped to my crumbling wall, ripping them from it and losing them to the masses. People with matching grimaces waving wads of cash in their hands and shouting over each other, drowning each other out. White noise that shakes my little parlor and my cranium along with it. I steady my ink bottles.
Since “it” happened, every tattoo parlor on this side of the equator has been brimming with patrons, lines wrapping around the block and choking out the sidewalks. Men, women, children, and…the usual drunken college students cheering, “Spring break!”. At least that hasn’t changed. That, and the law.
The tattoo laws haven’t changed. If anything, they’ve gotten stricter—but I’ve given up trying to follow the news after the pandemonium that broke out. In the wake of heavily-tattooed superhumans just—poof!—appearing overnight, the government tried to limit tattoos even more than before. But hey, desperate times call for desperate measures, and people do what they have to in order to survive. I did.
I learned how to tattoos designs that would take hours in half that time. I learned which tattoos manifested what power, I learned how to explain them to people at a breakneck pace. I learned how to take cash first and not ask questions.
It started out harmless enough. People with pop culture tattoos could imitate the character of their choice perfectly. People with compass tattoos had an impeccable sense of direction. People with eyeball tattoos could see from that eye. But when millions upon millions of people wake up with fire shooting from their fingers, with water spraying up from each nail like a fountain, with earth-shaking powers at their fingertips, you gotta learn to adjust. That’s just some of the tame ones—rednecks with guns tattooed on their backs shot ammunition from finger guns, hipsters with inspirational quotes suddenly became VERY persuasive, goth kids with grim reaper tattoos kill everything they touch—don’t even get me started on the people with soundwave or planet tattoos. Just like that, millions of people across the world gained spectacular and awe-inspiring powers. It didn’t take long for humanity’s lifelong fantasy of superheroes to come true.
But things got ugly.
Not everybody wanted to be a superhero. People who had felt powerless all their lives—angry, bitter people—used their power to hurt people that had wronged them. Still, they weren’t satisfied, and they wreaked havoc across the world. Cities were taken down by colossal earthquakes. Tornadoes picked up in the mountainsides, floods washed over desert towns. Overgrowth and flower beds in wooded areas swallowed people whole. As a response, the government started demonizing tattoos and the destruction they caused.
Now, people are scrambling for them.
Some want guns, swords, to protect themselves physically. Some want fire, floods, earthquakes, tornadoes to protect themselves elementally. Some want animals, big cats and elephants to crush or claw their attackers. Some want portraits of loved ones killed in the destruction because at least in one way, they’ll always be with them. Even if it’s just an illusion.
The smart ones get shields.
I’ve seen those shields in action—an enormous wall of fire bearing down on a child, but in the split second before contact, a hum. A frequency that reverberates in the air and makes ears pop, then—BOOM!—a hexagonal prism of force, like glass, expands around the kid. All attacks bounce off of it effortlessly, and when the shock subsides, they run. They run with that shield around them, safe for only a few hours, but safe all the same.
The mothers, most especially, clamor for their children to get one, no matter how small.
See, the size doesn’t matter. It’s the ink that does. How clean the tat is, how steady the lines, how worn it is. The better the quality, the stronger the potency, and I’ve learned how to make them…pretty damn good.
What about me, you may ask? If I can tattoo somebody that fast, should I be the most overpowered asshole on the planet?
Well, yeah. Maybe.
I do have one tattoo. One. And it’s not of God, or the Milky Way, or anything colossal like that.
It’s a raven.
A little raven on my shoulder blade, wings in flight.
I’ve seen other people with bird tattoos. I know I could spread my wings and fly on outta here any time I want. But the truth is?
Tattoo parlors are in bigger demand than ever. Sure, it’s a good source of income, but my profession has become a matter of life and death. There are a lot of people who need me, need people like me. I’m not one to let ‘em down.
The tiger head I’ve been working on is just about finished. One last streak of orange, and the guy is good to go. The bandaging only takes a few extra minutes, and he’s quickly back on his feet, although wincing. “Powers should set in in a few hours,” I tell him. He nods, serious as a balding 50-year-old can be, and fights his way out the door of the parlor. I change out the needle and the tube.
“Next!”
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The men lined up, ready to storm the building. They were a brotherhood. No, they were more than that. They were *one*. As they closed their eyes they became a single entity, able to harness massive unnatural physical powers they could not generate on their own. Suddenly, Tyler opened his eyes. Something had occurred to him.
"Hey Paul, Didn't you have another tattoo? From when we went to Cabo that once?"
Paul shook his head, "No, what? No. Come on. There's not much time, and Stephanie only has seconds of air left."
"No, I swear, it was right after that Dave Matthews show. Remember? You got a...what was it? It was a joke, right? God, we were so drunk."
The commander's face reddened with fury "TYLER. YOU NEED TO FOCUS! THE SHADOW CORPS ARE COMING AND THE MEN WITH WOLF TATTOOS ARE NOT FAR BEHIND. THIS. IS. NOT. THE. TIME. FOR--"
Tyler's eyes lit up, "It was a dickbutt! I remember. Right on your left butt cheek. Remember you smoked a blunt and said you wanted a shitpost by your shithole?" He stopped, thinking, "Does that mean you grew a..."
"No!" Paul said, "Commander, could you put a stop to this?"
"Son," the commander said, lowering his fusion rifle, "I think we're all going to need to see that tattoo."
| 2019-05-07T09:20:49 | 2019-05-07T09:02:42 | 913 | 20 |
[WP] You've kept your immortality secret for thousands of years. Thats going to be a lot harder now that your on a generation ship on a 2000 year voyage.
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A horde of screaming, flag-waving spectators had gathered across the street to watch our convoy of buses arrive at the elevator platform. My senses were completely *inundated* from the moment I stepped outside: the roar of the crowd, the glaring spotlights around the launch site perimeter, even the pungent smells of the city that had sprung up on the outskirts of the elevator.
"Dr. Molokya!" One of the reporters had identified me and had leaned most of her body over the perimeter fence, stretching a microphone as far out as possible. "Dr. Molokya! Any comment on today's launch?"
It was strange, being in the public eye. I'd spent so long *avoiding* drawing any attention to myself, because that only invited questions into my background. So much of my life had been spent carefully hiding my identity and establishing a *new* backstory even decades in advance. I've turned down knighthoods and medals and awards from a thousand regimes, fearing the eventuality of getting caught in my own web of lies. But now that was all finally over. It was unlikely that, in the few minutes that it would take me to board the Ark, someone would put it all together and out me as a wandering immortal living under an assumed identity. So I smiled and approached the reporter. "I'll be honest, this is probably the best day of my life." She beamed, just happy to get the scoop from the most reclusive member of the ship's crew.
"I'll bet!" she said. "But won't you miss Earth?"
I didn't answer at first. Instead, I took a moment to look around at the city lights and the grey clouds overhead. I really hadn't even thought about that. I jumped at the very first opportunity to leave this little rock, and I'd been so focused on preparing for the mission that I hadn't stopped to consider what I was leaving. But after three thousand years, I'd seen every corner of this place. "Not really," I finally told her. "I've seen enough. And besides, I'm sure I'll make it back someday." I walked away before she could make sense of what I'd just said and ask some follow-up question. I'd always wanted to do something like that, but I'd never really had the courage to risk it. For most of the crew, this was a permanent goodbye. Hell, they wouldn't even live to see our destination planet, Persephone. The terraforming would be up to their great-great-great-great-great grandchildren. But for me... well, I'd be there to greet the next round of Terran settlers, and as far as I knew, I'd live long enough to make the return trip once I got a little homesick.
The four-hour elevator ride to the station only seemed to take minutes. Time just has a different meaning for me. The rest of the crew clustered near the windows, shouting tearful goodbyes down to their loved ones on the planet. That was another thing that differentiated us: I wasn't leaving anyone behind. In my youth, I'd certainly fathered enough children across the world. But I find that settling down and getting attached to them really only causes heartache and complications for hiding my true nature. So for the last thousand years, I've been alone.
Dr. Alec approached me, and we shook hands. "Big day," he said. He was the other head of the biology team on board the Ark, and we had a pretty big role. The ship was a closed system, meaning that we had to achieve nearly 100% efficiency in everything that we used: the air, the water, and the food. Which meant creating a perfectly balanced ecosystem. Who better to do that than me? I, who ordered the Nile River to flood every year for the benefit of my subjects? I've farmed in the Indus Valley, the rice paddies of China, the vineyards of Italy, the high mountains of Japan, the fertile prairies of the Americas. It's become something of a specialty. And on this ship, it made me absolutely essential. I was kind of counting on that point.
"Yeah, big day," I told him. More than he really knew. We stood in silence together for a while, savoring the moment. There would be plenty of time to talk over the next sixty years or so that he had left to live.
We boarded the Ark and did one last check of all systems. Then the engines powered up, and we held our farewell ceremony. And finally, we all gathered at the stern viewing bay to watch the blue and green rock disappear into the black void as we reached maximum velocity. There was no going back now.
I cleared my throat, clanged my spoon against the stem of my glass, and beckoned for everyone to come together. This was it. This was the moment I'd been waiting for. Their eager faces waited, probably expecting a jubilant toast to our success. Boy, were they in for a surprise. "What is it, Dr. Molokya?" someone from the crowd asked.
"I... uh... actually, I prefer to go by the name Thutmose. Thutmose the third." I exhaled, and my whole body shook. It had been thousands of years since I'd said my real name out loud. I was finally free. "And I have an announcement to make."
----
[As requested, here is Part II](https://www.reddit.com/r/Luna_Lovewell/comments/4rin7h/the_ark/d51t9bb)
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There's a space whale outside the porthole, possibly the last one of its kind, and I've never felt more affinity with another creature before. The night sky spills out behind it, black as ink, dotted with the white whorls of galaxies. From here they look small as ants.
The whale cruises slowly beside the bridge of the ship. Everyone's in cryo, but I faked the shutdown and got up as soon as we hit the aether. When they wake, my bed will be recorded as empty, while I stand on the bridge. They will know. The whale's eye is like Jupiter's spot, but blue and swirling like a hurricane. Across its grey skin, creatures like barnacles or limpets cling, small mountains in the dark.
My secret must be kept safe, even if it makes me as lonely as this whale. The blue eye stares at me mournfully as I press the wrong combination of buttons on the panel.
*Are you sure?* The AI asks me.
The last hope of humankind, this ship. If they found out about me, it would be catastrophic. I have to be the only one. The lonely one. I press the button again.
Strange, how the sound of half a million lives being extinguished is nothing more than the sigh of a machine shutting down.
The whale swims on. The last of its kind, it keeps my secret.
------------
/r/Schoolgirlerror
| 2016-07-06T06:49:17 | 2016-07-06T06:40:50 | 1,600 | 196 |
[WP] The old woman had died, apparently with no family. Cleaning out the house they found the large tool trunks. Inside were individually bagged small items; jewelry, watches, buttons - each paired with a human finger bone, and a GPS location identifier.
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Her feet were starting to ache and she could feel her arthritic joints stiffening in the evening chill. She hadn’t thought he would be this heavy, as thin and wiry as he was. Then again, the dead weight was always different.
She trudged on down the deer path, careful to place her steps around protruding roots. At her age, out here all alone, a fall could be fatal. But she had a special place in mind for this one. Digging deep enough had been harder than last time. The frost would set in soon and then she wouldn’t be able to have any more friends over until springtime. The shiver that shot up her spine just then had nothing to do with the autumn air. She dreaded those long winter months more than anything else. She was well prepared and would be very comfortable, but all the hearty stew and streaming entertainment in the world couldn’t stave off the creeping loneliness.
Finally she arrived in a little clearing, heaving the tarp over to the edge of the makeshift grave she had prepared. With a grunt and a shove, she rolled the young man’s body over into the hole. He landed with a soft thud on the bed of pine needles she had strewn across the bottom, staring up at the sky through lifeless eyes. “There,” she said, almost fondly. “You couldn’t ask for a better view.”
She had found him two days ago, clutching an obviously broken leg at the bottom of a ravine. His family had reported him missing when he didn’t return from his hiking vacation, and she had accepted the challenge of trying to locate him. The park was huge, but she had worked here a long time and she could usually find her new friends.
He hadn’t been conscious, but she knew how to fix that. Once he was back in her cabin, she had fed him and bandaged his wounds, even crafting an amateur brace for his shattered leg. He was still in pain, of course, but he was so grateful. They always were.
He wanted to contact his family right away, but she explained that there was no cell signal this far out in the park and it was too dangerous to move him yet. That bought her time - time to talk to him and make him her friend. His name was Mark and he loved to hike, especially when the leaves were changing colors. He was an accountant and said nothing much ever happened to him, but now he had a real adventure story to tell.
She had laughed at that. “Do I get to be in this exciting adventure story?”
“Of course!” he answered. “You’re the hero, really. I would probably be dead if you hadn’t found me.”
“Just doing my job,” she replied humbly. Rangers were supposed to find lost campers and hikers, after all.
“Speaking of my accident, when do you think we can get to a hospital? This bottle of Advil is almost empty and I don’t think my leg is getting much better.”
She frowned then. “Why all the hurry? We’re having a nice time, aren’t we?”
“Oh yeah, this has been great,” Mark answered, trying to disguise the unease in his tone, “but I need to see a doctor. This looks infected.”
He wasn’t wrong. The infection would kill him within two days’ time, but she could see he wouldn’t last that long anyway. Why did they always want to leave? It always seemed so much emptier after, when they were gone. She hated being alone.
“Tell you what, I’ll get the Rover ready and we can go in the morning. It’ll do you good to get one more night’s rest.”
“Sounds good,” Mark answered, evidently relieved. “You’ll be a real hero, Annie.”
Annie’s answering smile was thin. She didn’t want to be a hero. She wanted a friend. “You’ll stay in touch after you go home, won’t you? We can be friends forever?”
“Of course! Everyone will want to meet you.”
“But you’ll still be my friend?” Annie pressed, extending her knobby bent-with-age pinky finger toward Mark.
“For sure,” Mark answered, clasping his pinky around hers even as the unease crept back over his face. “Forever friends. I promise.”
It took Annie several hours to cover over Mark’s grave and by the time she was done, the sun was coming up over the horizon. She paused to catch her breath, noted the coordinates, and set off back up the deer path to her Rover. She would need to provide a report before the end of the day, declaring her inability to locate poor lost Mark, but first she needed rest.
Back in her cabin, Annie unlocked her tool chest. This was the third one, and she’d almost filled it, but she doubted she’d have time to need a fourth. There were always more lost campers, at least a couple every summer... new friends to be made. But she was old and the winter was long and lonely. At least she had her memories. She pulled out the scrap of paper with the coordinates to Mark’s grave and carefully wrote his name on the back, and then she wrapped the paper up with Mark’s pinky and a button from his shirt. She put all three items in a little black bag, locking them away in the chest with all the other little black bags, reflecting on the solemnity of promises.
Annie had so many forever friends, and one day everyone would know. They would find her chests and see all of the pinky promises and find all of her friends, and they would know that she hadn’t truly died alone.
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"The fuck..." I looked over to my partner Andy who was busying himself shifting and old dresser out the old lady's bedroom.
"What's the problem, found her special drawer? What is with you and digging through people's stuff"
Andy lacked proper appreciation for OSHA guidelines and just lifted furniture without removing contents. I wanted to be able to walk when I was 50 so I removed everything into black sacks before lifting them. One time he walked in as I was emptying a drawer of some 'Special Interest' items and he hasn't let me forget it.
"First of all shut up , that was one time , secondly look at this shit, I think, I think there is a finger in here". I dug around a little more. "Fuck no, jesus a whole lot of fingers" His interest piqued Andy loped over. "Oh man you weren't kiddin. Though you pulling my chain for a minute. What's that other stuff?" I looked at the items, watches, bracelets, medals, amongst other personal items in ziplcok bags. Each with a card with GPS coordinates and word. 'Pain' ,'Fear', 'Glory', 'Death. "I have no goddamn clue man, this is messed up." One item stuck out to me though it was a knife well used and ornate , the finger was old with a painted nail, It had GPS coords like the other and the word beneath said 'Guidance' and there was also a short message. 'For the one thats find this'
| 2020-10-07T05:00:12 | 2020-10-07T04:03:50 | 40 | 15 |
[WP] An imaginary friend can't stand the child to whom he/she/it has been assigned.
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"Would you like some tea?"
"That's not tea, that's an empty plastic cup" Scruff responded bitterly.
"It's pretend, like you!"
"For the last time you little brat, I'm real, I was assigned to you by the department of imaginary-"
"MOM!" Tina screamed, "THERE'S A STRANGE MAN IN MY ROOM!"
Suddenly Scruff heard the shattering of plates coming from downstairs, then suddenly fast footsteps coming up the stairs, becoming louder and louder. Suddenly a frantic woman came bursting through the door holding a baseball bat.
"Where is he Tina?!" she asked her daughter.
"Right there" she said as she pointed at an empty space.
The woman's scared expression turned into a happy smile, the laughter, "Awh honey, is this your imaginary friend?"
Tina started to look angry and stormed towards the door and shut it on her mother.
"A little rude, she was about to smash someones head in to protect you"
"Shut up!"
"Also rude"
Tina went over too her small table covered in small plastic cups, kicking in over then sitting on her floor, obviously in a mood. "Whats this departmement?" Tina asked.
"It's department honey, and its meant to send an ideal imaginary friend to every kid around the world. Unfortunately, me a rough half man half wolf detective, was sent to a spoiled brat."
"Well....you're a mean old dog!"
Scruff cocked his head up quickly, glaring at Tina, "what did you just call me?" he asked darkly.
"A mean. old. DOG!"
Scruff stood up, towering over Tina, "I'm a wolf!" he snapped.
She stared back intensely, not backing down, "you look like a dog to me".
Scruff continued to look at her, he started to smile then laughter, he held his stomach as tears streamed from his deep yellow eyes, he fell back onto her bed, his laughter stated to die down, as Tina watched in confusion.
"WHATS SO FUNNY!?" she asked in anger.
Wiping tears away from his face, "Out of all the kids I've been trying to scare away for years, the one not to cave is a little girl" he said, still snickering.
Her anger died down, "why are you trying to scare kids away?".
His laughter stopped completely, he looked at her, "I doubt I'll be here much longer, so what the hell", he opened his duster coat and took out a bottle of whiskey and began to drink it, "one of my first clients was a young girl by the name of Shelly, she was.....troubled".
"How troubled?" Tina asked, sitting next to Scruff at this point.
"A mixture of things, her parents divorce, her mother marrying a complete prick, bullies and a few other things", he interrupted himself by taking another swig from his whiskey, "I'm contemplating whether I should tell you this next part".
"Why?"
"I don't want to scare you...."
"You didn't scare me earlier"
"That is true, but this goes beyond me"
"Please?"
Scruff looked down at her, "well...okay, but remember this can't happen to you", he took another swig, "okay, well, you see, as much as I helped, all the fear, the anxiety, the pain of it all, it lead to these dark and vial creatures, from a very dark place, feeding off her".
Tina looked terrified, "are they..."
"NO!, no, no, no, they're gone now, that's one of the reasons I don't want to be an imaginary friend anymore, I was hired into an agency for my sense of smell to track these things down. That's where I learned most of my skills, and eventually our military wiped them out".
"And what happened to Shelly?"
Scruff looked scared of the question, he gulped, and forced a smile, "she was....fine, she went to live with her grandparents", he said this without even glancing at Tina, she may of been a kid, but it was obvious to her what he was doing, she just didn't want to upset the poor guy.
"So now I just want to help out with the agency, but the department needs as many operatives as they can, so....I'm pretty much stuck", he continued.
"Well, maybe one day you'll be needed at the agency again", Tina said, "I mean I bet you'll be the first they go to".
Scruff smiled at her, "maybe one day, one day when my skills are needed" he said as he looked at the kicked over plastic table, "but for now, I'm okay with having tea parties".
She looked at him, with a shocked smile, she ran over to the table, and started setting up her next tea party.
|
Day 249 plus some. Shit I should have started counting earlier. I forgot I could file for a new kid after day 365. I never thought I'd have too... now I see why some imaginaries go all "monster under the bed" this kid deserves a monster...
"Hairy, where you at bitch?" Damn, it. Well they always said at the Academy that smiles can fix just about any child... *poof* hellllooooo Danny! What are we doing today?! As I force out the cheery words I see a metal bat coming towards me from the left. *clank* "nothing I'm just bored. Let's play gladiator. You can be the bear" *clank* only 116 days to go...
| 2014-04-10T10:18:10 | 2014-04-10T09:47:24 | 32 | 20 |
[WP] A superhero(ine) has what is considered to be a 'useless' power. However, (s)he realizes that said power is actually quite suited to being a supervillan(ess) instead.
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Doctor Brainstem made two big mistakes in his illustrious career as Scientific Sentinel of Sea Coast City. First, he was enough of an asshole or idiot to nickname me "Hormone Boy" and second: he underestimated the lengths people would go to once they got pissed off.
To be honest, I do owe the bald weasel for giving me these powers. A little radiation, mutation and suddenly I have a new gland that lets me produce any hormone in whatever quantity I want. It's pretty sick. From there the old man didn't really do much. He gave me a uniform and a day job as his sidekick, but never really let me into the lab. "Oh you're not nearly at the level to comprehend these breakthroughs!" he said, again and again in that sing-song garble of his.
Whatever. I managed to make my own stuff on a budget. It really was a feat of DIY, a random teenager with no experience creating mass microinjection gloves in his basement. Once the patent goes through, Big Pharma will line up for miles to get their hands on my tech. But I digress...
The name wouldn't even be that bad if he hadn't said it in front of the entire Justice Council and all of the other sidekicks. Suffice to say, the name stuck. Every time we were introduced, at town hall, in front of the Council, wherever, some Jackass would crack wise, y'know. They say something like " 'Hormone Boy?' Doctor, you mean to say you've got a generic teenage boy as your sidekick?" or some other shit like that. Then I'd have to put on a fake, self-deprecating smirk and laugh at my own expense. Man, I hated all of them, Crusader, the Empress, Bullseye Billy, all of them, entitled douchebags.
It was a rough start to say the least. I was close to no one and actually came to blows with the Crusader. Some hero he was, thinking it was manly to pick on the new kid, disrespecting his abilities while not fully understanding them. I strove to prove him wrong and show him what a great team player I was, and eventually, my utility was recognized and I was flooded with attention. Any time someone needed healing or a power-up, they came to me, and for a while, I was happy to oblige. But then they started asking me for personal stuff, bodily stuff.
"Hey man, can you make me taller?"
"Hormone Boy! can you mix us up some dopamine? There's a rave in Central City next week and..."
"I need you to do me a favor, I have a date tonight and I need to really impress this guy. could you maybe make my wrinkles go away, then give me a boost in the bust department, if you know what I mean. And then give me..."
" Hey, off the record I need a favor. I'm getting out of the game and the missus wants to start a family. She doesn't know but she's barren. We just need one shot of the old magic. I'll pay you, I'll even set things up. We could say you are stopping by the lair for a visit..."
Some were harder to turn away than others.
In general, I never got the respect I deserved. On my own time I experimented, on myself and others. I could make cocktails that gave hours of limitless focus and with a punch I could knock out weeks of memory from criminal minds. These tricks slowly leaked into my work with The Doctor, but the asshole could never even be bothered to notice.
Neither could any of the others for that matter. I was still just Hormone Boy, The Two-Trick Pony to the entire super community. Only Gorelord, the grotesque gut splatterer himself, ever noticed how much power I actually had.
"Hey little man, you got a gift." He said
"The words of a criminal mean nothing to me!" I replied, full of mock belief, as I tightened the great restraints on his wrists.
"Don't gimme that! One thing I know is that I can recognize talent. Kid, you could be a freaking picasso with what you got. I managed to build a career on using telekinesis to explode people, and you can do so much better. Take it from me, You could do more chaos than ISIS and Ebola combined." I was speechless as the dragged him back into the truck to the super containment facility.
Around then, my temper started getting the better of me and the incidents began piling up. A couple drug addicts who seemed to overdose showed no traces of outside drugs post mortem. It took months before the coroner attributed death to excessive endorphin levels in the brain. Weeks later The cops picked up a terrified and confused woman who had been wandering one of the bad neighborhoods in a torn, tattered garment oddly resembling The Crusader's iconic uniform. sure enough, her information linked back to the Justice council's database of secret identities. She WAS the Crusader, but no one could figure out how.
Then there were a few examples of super muscular bank robbers who could bust down vaults and throw cars but couldn't even remember who had sent them or where they had stashed the money. One psycho was so focused on his paranoid notion that Earth was under alien attack that he tried to blow up the reactor that he worked at. Thankfully he was stopped with minimal local impact.
To his credit, old Brainstem managed to figure out who was behind it, and tracked me down. Poor old sap. Even with that magnificent mind, he couldn't out-think the chemicals I put in him, the ones that deactivated his breathing reflex.
After the authorities found the doctor, I made the tactical decision to go public. I stood in the middle of Pacifica Plaza and waited for them, no disguise, no mask. Sure enough, The Empress and Billy showed up, gave me the usual dogma and then moved up to cuff me. They didn't seem to notice my new flesh-colored gloves and continued going through the motions after getting injected. The whole city and the whole world watched as two of the West Coast's greatest heroes clutched their chests in pain and fell, eyes bulging and mouths frothing, to the floor. Adrenaline can be so bad for your health in big doses.
From there, taking over was a breeze, I mixed some clever new formulas into the water supply and had an entire city of near superhumans who felt actual pain when disobeying me. It was all kinds of badass. I slowly began expanding in all directions, ruling from my iron throne in the Council's old tower, waited on by a poor humbled young woman who may or may not have once been The Crusader. I only travel long distance to fight other supers, and few are dumb enough to oppose someone who can destroy their bodies from the inside. The vast majority of supers are now my minions as a result.
If I had known villainy was this cool I would have hopped on the bandwagon years ago. Anything to finally give me the respect I deserve.
|
She looked at me in horror.
She looked like she wanted to scream. In fact I'm surprised she didn't, she didn't seem like the type to be at a loss for words.
But there she stood, frozen. Like she had just seen a ghost.
"Babe. It's okay." I assured her. I slowly pulled my hand out of the fridge, the carton of orange juice in my hand.
"Everything is just fine."
"But... but how?" she stammered, fumbling her words.
"It's just a thing I do."
"But you're hand was IN the fridge. And now it's out. AND YOU DIDN'T OPEN IT!"
"Yeeeep." I really didn't know what else to say. How could I explain something to her I couldn't even explain to myself.
"I must be insane."
"It's okay," I tried to convince her. I put my hand through the cabinet and grabbed a glass for the orange juice.
Her eyes bulged, nearly popping out of her skull as she glared at me in bewilderment. Unable to handle the physical anomaly in front of her eyes, she passed out.
Note to self: Don't show your little party trick to the one night stand sleeping in your apartment.
I picked her up, calmly walking through the wall and laying her down on the bed. When she woke up the next morning, she'd just think it was a dream. They always do. It wasn't like this was the first time this happened to me.
I put on my black tracksuit and my Nike Airs. Seemed as good of a time for a run as any. I drank my OJ and prepared to take off, jumping in the air and letting gravity take me through the floorboards to the bottom floor.
There, I began my run, coasting through the buildings and alleyways packed with dumpsters and abandoned furniture. Running through all the clutter could become annoying, limiting my vision and all, but in terms of the actual run I felt so little as a speck of wind resistance.
The favorite part of my day was always my midnight run. Seeing all the different characters of the city was always entertaining, even if they couldn't see me. Watching all the arguments, poker games, and dinner parties. But, of course, my favorite was watching all the couples getting down in the sheets.
It wasn't in a perverted way. It is just something you rarely get to see. How the mask comes off and the animal comes out, it is the only time people cut the bullshit. It is the only time all these fake people in this fake city admit who the really are, what they really want.
I slowed down and put my hands on the back of my head, breathing deeply and I prepared to run back.
Then I looked across the street, breath still filling my lungs. I read the sign on the building in front of me.
"First National Bank."
"Hmmm."
| 2015-03-03T16:00:52 | 2015-03-03T15:05:50 | 46 | 17 |
[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.
|
The Asulan war machine, the well-oiled beast which formed the empire’s backbone for its dominion across the vast lands it occupied, was premised on an intricate system of checks and balances. This was the secret to its formidable might. This allowed every individual Regiment to retain a generous degree of discretion, so that no matter how large the army grew, every cog, every unit remained nimble, agile, deadly.
It was this very system which, on the 40th day of the month of Alayas, accounted for Gerrand’s frothing, seething rage.
“Stand aside!” he yelled, and the guards on duty quaked in their boots, torn between their duty and their respect for the Northern Regiment’s second-in-command. Gerrand was a giant of a man, and he could have barrelled his way through to the war-room, but he caught himself at the last minute. It was bad enough that their Chief Commander was potentially corrupt, and the last thing he should do was overstep the boundaries himself.
“Soldiers! Remember our creed, Country Before Self!”
Gerrand’s invocation of the army’s core principle was enough to break the guards’ spirits. They sighed in unison, saluted as best they could, then lowered their spears, opening the door for Gerrand.
“Chief Commander Hathus!” Gerrand bellowed, as the twelve heads on the War Council swivelled to meet the interruption. “Is it true that you have ordered the Regiment to halt their assault upon the energy fortifications at Lyra’s Pass, and to retreat until further orders?”
“I have,” said Hathus calmly, as he stepped away from the planning maps at the head of the table.
“And is it true that you were leading the charge personally, yesterday, and that you sounded the retreat the moment you realised that your soulmate was on the other side of the fracas?”
“Yes, that is also true.”
The blood boiled in Gerrand’s veins. If he had not been diligent, if the shadow War Council he led had not been fully apprised of the situation by their informants seeded throughout the ranks, they would surely have missed this unforgivable betrayal by Hathus.
Gerrand had struggled to reconcile matters yesterday when words first reached his ears, but he was convinced after the fourth independent eyewitness report corroborated the blackened state of affairs. Hathus, at the front of the assault team, had valiantly fought through wave after wave of the enemy, when a Kurlis battleknife had flown through the air, connecting directly with his neck.
Seconds after, once Hathus had ascertained that he was unscathed from the otherwise lethal wound, he had immediately signalled the retreat, cutting short what should have been an unmitigated success of a military incursion.
“Choose your words wisely, my Chief Commander,” said Gerrand, the disappointment threatening to crush his heart. This was not just his superior, this was the man he had chosen to follow into war, into death. “I charge that you are no longer fit to lead this Regiment, on account of your inability to raise your hand against your Kurlis soulmate. How do you answer?”
This was Protocol 20, the failsafe which allowed commanders to be replaced when they were no longer fit to continue in their service. Commonly invoked when life-threatening injuries were sustained, but Gerrand had also heard of its employment when commanders miraculously found their soulmates on the other side of the fence. The Asulan army recognised that not all men could overcome the callings of the heart, thus was Protocol 20 forged.
How cruel the gods are, thought Gerrand, that they would decree soulmates unable to hurt each other, and that love would be dangled so tantalizingly out of reach amongst the horrors of the battlefield?
“You have no answer - very well. By the provisions of Protocol 20, I hereby relieve you of your command of the Northern Regiment. Turn over all your plans, I shall immedia-”
“Hold on,” piped up another member of the War Council, a puzzled look on his face. “You’ve got it wrong. Hathus is not declining to complete the assault.”
“He speaks the truth, Gerrand,” said Hathus, crossing his hands behind his back. Suddenly, he seemed to Gerrand to look much older than his forty years, as if unseen weights had suddenly come to bear on him. “Don’t you see? The Krulis would surely be aware of the same thing now, that the leader of their enemy is soulmates with one of their own. Any further ground assaults will be fruitless, for those monsters will surely capitalize on that fact to exploit me, weaken me. For all you know, they would compel whoever my soulmate is to face me on the battlefield, beseech me to stop.”
Nothing seemed to make sense, and Gerrand's head suddenly ached. “So then… but the retreat…”
“The retreat is so that we can employ long-range bombardment, Gerrand, and we don't want our forces to be caught in the fray,” said Hathus, pointing to the many missives strewn across the table. “Long-range bombardments are always costly, and slow, and we have to be circumspect in their employment. But there is no luxury of choice here. The trebuchets we have summoned will arrive tomorrow, at the crack of dawn, and they will rain righteous fire on the Krulis forces from afar. Gods willing, I will not be anywhere close when the Krulis forces are destroyed.”
A lump had formed in Gerrand’s throat, but he pressed on. “But… your soulmate… Asulan law requires you only to step aside when you face your soulmate… there is no need for you to do… this…”
Hathus stared straight back, and though his eyes were brimming, for he had never known love in the entirety of his life, and now most certainly he never would, there was a curiously determined glint in his gaze, speaking of a depth of steel, and resolve.
“Aye, Gerrand. But I am the Chief Commander of the Northern Regiment, and always, always… Country, Before Self.”
---
/r/rarelyfunny
|
I was used to killing.
You have to be really, it's kill or be killed
you have to get those fucks first or it's game over
I was already covered with blood. Figuratively and literally.
My uniform was soaked from top to bottom, the brown fabric stained in mud, blood and vomit, the rain was definitely doing nothing to wash away the grime
My leaden feet thudded into the ground. Each step was agony but I knew I had to keep moving.
No one likes a bullet through the skull after all.
I made my way to the crumbling building as fast as my legs would take me, squeezing my trigger as I pelted across the drenched ground
The last two shots disappeared into the night. I didn't care if they found a target anymore, I just needed to get inside, to stop moving for just a second.
I released the pistol from my waxen fingers, and drew my knife.
It hurt to move my fingers now. The cold downpour caused every single muscle to ache
I crashed through the broken door, knife held forward, but I stopped abrubtly when I saw the face
Angry?
Pained?
Surprised?
She was scared more than anything, I suppose
I looked down at the blade pressed against my own chest, in against heartbeat I noticed the steel was bent harmlessly across my skin
I smiled.
Yes. I smiled, in a war zone.
I was drenched, cold, sick, fatigued. But I smiled because I knew I'd finally found my soul mate.
I didn't care that she was technically a part of the enemy.
My hand felt warm.
Warm?
Why is my hand warm? I remember thinking
Then I saw the blood. Her blood. Trickling from where my own knife has plunged through her heart
She crumpled at my feet
------------
This is my first ever response to a prompt! I'm on mobile so please forgive typos and formatting
Thanks OP, I hope I did ok
Any feedback is appreciated
| 2017-04-22T04:06:02 | 2017-04-22T02:24:17 | 482 | 58 |
[WP] You are a superhero sidekick that everyone thinks can predict the future. You actually can't predict the future. You're just the only person who can hear the background music.
|
“You’re telling me the answer is in a note from 2013?”
Exhausted, Atlan countered,
“No! For the last time the answer isn’t anywhere! I swear to god if you keep asking me to cite my answer I’m gonna go crazy.”
“Well, listen. I am Googoo and people need me to tell them what to think! My reputation hinges on it. I’m sorry that you feel like I overshadow you.”
“I swear Dennis, if you call your self by your superhero name in front of me I’ll never help you again.”
“OK OK, sorry. All of this mask talk has me thinking even regular joes need to hide their identity. Tell me about that picture though?”
“I wasn’t telling you about a picture, I was telling you about a note.”
“Aight bet. Tell me about that then?”
“Well, since I trust that you will only do what’s right with this information, and not take it to any unatural conclusion, it was the first time I smoked weed.”
“Atlan! For the last time if you don’t get to the point!”
“Steve. Dude. Chill. It’s really not that serious.”
“But you keep building up to this great unveiling of information but never give me a through line!”
“And that’s it! That’s the through line!”
About to lose his cool, Googoo stands up in frustration.
“K. Tell me what I want to know... or I will have to find a new right hand man.”
Calmly Kenny replies,
“Steve, I don’t hold what you are looking for, you’ll just be disappointed. I’m scared you may react negatively to what my note was.”
Googoo pauses for a second. He thinks about what Kenny is saying, but he cannot stop his line of inquiry.
“The public is in DANGER. Atlan, you have held my hand and helped me do truly monumental things. We are talking about the greater good!”
Looking slightly disappointed Kenny replies.
“No, we are talking about a note on my phone Steve. You really are projecting right now. But I will tell you what you want to know so badly, but you have to promise me one thing.”
Taken slightly aback, Steve replies,
“Well, I mean, I guess if you insi-“
Atlan interrupts Dennis.
“You have to promise you won’t cry.”
Infuriated, Dennis replies,
“You think I would EVER let my emotions CLOUD MY JUDGEMENT?”
Quietly Kenny replies,
“Yes.”
“Well ok FINE. I promise I won’t cry, please tell me the exact contents of your note.”
“Well shit man, I didn’t think this would become such a big deal. Now you have your reputation on the line for something as trivial as the conclusion I came to the first time I smoked weed.”
“ATLA-“
“I know I know, I’ll tell you.... so I was high, and feeling some type of groove ya know? So I drew a picture of a guy surfing in my notes app. Under that picture, I wrote ‘everything is waves.’ Thats it man..... and I know it’s hard to process, but I warned you not to get worked up about it! That idea plagued my mind for the rest of my life. When I started learning the laws of nature, they really didn’t seem wavy enough, but I took my teachers word for it. That was enough for the time being. Then we started talking about quantum entanglement and it all came back to me. The simple note I wrote in my phone gave me exactly as much solace as a PhD in physics. I don’t know how else to say it man, everything is waves.”
Atlan looked down. He felt ashamed that he had let Steve get so worked up. After all, they were childhood friends. They were always on the same page about matters of moral truth. But Atlan feared that this vibe check may be his last as Atlan. He would have to go back to being just Kenny. Not that there is anything wrong with that, but he had come to love the vicarious power of his relationship with Googoo. He had come to believe they really could right the wrongs of those that came before. And worst of all,
he had come to think that they were the only ones who could. He thought for a second, then lifted his gaze which set on Dennis’ face.
He was weeping.
|
[Poem] when the music is just right,
You know they’re about to fight,
When you hear a twirling sound,
Watch out a clue has been found,
When someone gets slapped,
And you hear the word smack,
When you hear epic music playing,
You know a boss is gonna need slaying.
| 2020-08-26T16:05:48 | 2020-08-26T15:29:05 | 36 | 16 |
[WP] After you grow old and die, you wake up 25 million years ago as a Hominid Primate, asleep on a tree. Your whole life was a vivid hallucination you had after ingesting a funny looking mushroom. After this experience, you have great knowledge, and you're the smartest living being on the planet.
|
Wait a minute, what, where was I? I was in a place called a ‘gym,’ and I was looking at a very attractive female in very tight and smooth...fur, was it?
That was how I woke up. I remembered everything from the dream I had after I ate the mushroom growing out of the dung left by an elephant. Our more powerful gorilla cousins usually grabbed them first, but I was lucky. I found one, and I saw and learned from what I saw.
The females went to find food, and I stayed behind, looking for a good stick. Some of us used sticks for digging after roots and the grubs and other crawling animals we used as food. I held two of my fingers apart, looking for a stick that branched in just that way. It took me most of the day, and when the females returned with the food, I noticed how coarse real females were compared to the females in my dream, and after the Strongest took what he wanted, the rest of the males began to eat. I ate last, being focused on my search for the right branch.
When I found it, I looked to see if anyone was watching. Everyone else was either eating, mating, or making waste. Strongest was mating, so I hid my stick under my arm, and I moved to my tree, climbed into my favorite branches and examined my stick.
It was a grayish-brown, and it had a few knobby parts, but it seemed strong. I tried to rub it smooth, but the best I could do was pull off some of the bark. One of the females came to my tree and offered me more food, hoping to shelter in my tree. I allowed her to climb up, and we shared our warmth with each other. We didn’t mate, but we did learn each other’s scent. She was pleasantly warm and smelled of a particularly delicious fruit.
The next day, we woke and she went to gather food. A gentle touch suggested she would return to bring me some particularly tasty food, and I abandoned my tree to find a rock.
The best place to find good rocks was where the water flowed. Unfortunately, large predators, elephants, and our larger cousins tended to go there for water as well. Standing water was better, as falling in was less risky. So I went to where flowing water met standing water, holding my stick, and making sure nobody else from my group was nearby. Maybe I would be eaten or lost, but that was a risk everyone took.
I tried to be as quiet as I could, but I was louder than I wanted to be. Still, I was far enough away that I didn’t alert danger. After many tries, I found a rock to suit me, but it didn’t stay between the branches. It was getting close to the time the females would bring food, so I moved quickly, ignoring stealth, and returned to our trees.
Again the female with the pleasant scent brought me food, and we shared warmth. Another female came behind her, and she also had food. I allowed her to join us, and the three of us ate our food, mated, and slept among the branches of my tree.
One, or even two, females in my tree were of little consequence to Strongest. He had five, and if he wanted one from another male, he would intimidate the other male into submission or attack the other male. My females weren’t particularly large, so I doubted that he would bother with mine. Other males might, but I was large enough to make them reconsider the idea. The two females who shared my tree went to gather food, and I stayed in the tree, trying to understand why my rock and stick wouldn’t stay together.
Then I saw the spider tree. An unwary bird flew into the spider tree and was held fast to the branches. I understood then that I could use the spiders’ traps to make my rock and stick stay together.
This was dangerous because the spiders could make us sick with a bite, and some of us would die from the bites. So I found a long stick to pull some trapping strings away from the trees. I got a large wad of the strings, and ran away with it, making sure the spiders didn’t follow me.
I put the wad on the rock, and the rock fell out. I put the wad between the rock and the stick, and the rock fell out. I became frustrated, and stopped. Then I saw a snake capture a prey animal. It wrapped around the prey, holding it in place. Then, it devoured the prey.
I put the rock between my hands and rolled the wad of trapstring between them, making them into a snake. Then I wrapped the string around the stick and the rock, and that kept them together!
When the females returned, I decided I was going to get more food tomorrow than the females could bring.
After the females left the next day, I went in another direction and waited in a tree. A large rodent came up to the tree, and I dropped down, swinging my new hammer into the rodent’s head as hard as I could. Then, I returned to my tree, so the females who were coming to the tree could have some food as well. Strongest approached my tree shortly after the two females came back to my tree. He attempted to take the food I gave the females, but I swatted his hand aside, keeping my hand on my hammer. He grunted and shrieked at me, and I pushed him with my free hand. He then howled and beat his chest, and I grunted at him. Finally he seized the meat one of my mates was holding, and I swung my hammer at his head. Now I am Strongest.
You may think I don’t remember all the things. The computers, cell phones, and cars. I do. I remember the books, music, and art too. I remember spices and where they can be found, but my species barely has language, and you have to start somewhere.
|
I wake up very uncomfortable, and look around for my phone. And where did I keep those damn glasses? Instead of a pillow, I feel a rough surface beneath me... I squint and the patterns start to make themselves visible. I realize it’s some sort of... animal fur? So that’s what that smell is. I spring up in revulsion, but the smell lingers. In fact, it clings to every part of me because the smell IS me. What the heck is going on? I’m completely disoriented, but there’s something vaguely familiar about all of this. Like from a past life...
But that can’t be. This must be the dream, and I need to wake up in my reality once more! I shut my eyes, pinch myself, to no avail. Whatever this is, it isn’t a dream. I look around to find a few other sleeping forms in what appears to be some sort of dwelling. It’s too dark and my eyes have yet to adjust. The inside of my mouth feels terrible, and I don’t want to think if it’s ever been cleaned before. I move toward the light coming from one side of the dwelling, careful not to wake the others. Outside it appears to be night, but there is a lingering brightness from the moon and stars, and someone has lit a fire. A few.... cavemen? What the actual... yes, those are definitely cavemen! They are sitting around this fire, facing away as though they are keeping watch. They bare their teeth at me in greeting, but apparently notice something off about me because their welcome turns to concern.
I take a step out of this strange sleeping place, letting the thick cloth swing closed behind me, and greet them with a similar smile. Do they speak? What in the world is happening? But confused as I am, I can’t help but wonder: why does it all seem so... familiar?
| 2019-03-19T08:19:56 | 2019-03-19T07:19:04 | 45 | 25 |
[WP] Tired of all these people killing highly intelligent and endangered animals for honor and sport, you decide to become the world's first "Dragon Hunter Hunter".
|
1:
\-This is becoming rather tedious…
Such a thought preoccupied a young dragon hunter, who currently was thrusting his sword into the neck of his large prey in small place between the scales.
“What might I add, Gwyn?” stated a man standing next to the slayer of dragons. “Another job well done, as usual.”
Gwyn did not care for the comments of his companion, Morren, and focused his sight on the dying dragon.
It was a large beast, a size of a house, hiding itself in a large a deep cave. The dragon’s pride was in its scales and on this one, they were brown scales. But they did not protect the monster from harm.
Interestingly, Gwyn disagreed that the dragon’s pride was in its scales. He always was found of...
\-The eyes…
For him, the dragon’s eyes resembled that of a human. Not of some mindless beast, but of an intelligent being. And each time he would deal the final blow to his prey, Gwyn enjoyed looking at them, how the life in them faded.
Just like the life faded in the yellow eyes of the beast he murdered.
\-Is it any different from killing a human, that is? In the past I would disagree on the mere fact that slaying a dragon is much more satisfactory. A real challenge, but nowadays…
“I do wonder sometimes,” stated Gwyn. “If we are that different by the end of it all.”
The beast itself wanted to give an answer, but did not have the strength to do so, for it was losing its life.
Drawing its final breath, closing its eyes…
It died.
He unleashed his sword from the neck, beginning cleaning it from blood, reminiscing about what occurred in the dead silence of a cave.
However, the silence did not last for long.
“Man, dragons are becoming such a bore now,” stated Morren. “I remember there we had to summon armies back in the day, fighting against dragons the size of towers and castles. And now they are reduced to this.”
“Well, its our fault for dealing with them so quickly,”
“Yeah...”
As Gwyn cleaned his sword and put it into its rightful scabbard on his belt, he took a look at his companion.
An old man stood before him. His face had more scars than it had skin, his armor was as thick as a dragon scale, his belt had all the necessary equipment for dragon hunting, such as a small lantern and tight rope, and his large sword on the back could cut a head of a flying fire-breathing beast with one swing.
However, the point of interest to Gwyn was not Morren, but what was behind him – pile of dead bodies.
“Looks like we lost a couple of beginners. Weren’t you supposed to look after them, Morren?”
“I did say they could come with us, but never said I’ll protect them in any way. Punks like them always think they’re hot shit, even if you tell them they can’t face a dragon yet,”
“Well, our job here is done. Cut its head and we’ll return with it to the guild,”
As Morren unleashed his great sword and was about to cut the dragon’s head, they heard a roar in the darkness of the cave.
“I thought we killed the only bastard inside this cave,” stated the old hunter.
“Most likely its scared child, based on the volume of the voice. We could get a small bonus if we bring it to the guild,”
The two hunters unleashed their swords and went in the direction of the roar. Both of them lit small lanterns on their belts to show them the way forward.
As they both continued venturing, Morren suddenly decided to start a conversation, seemingly thinking that the threat they would face would not be a bother.
“Think they’ll send him to the coliseum?”
“I’d say most likely. Although it would take a year for it to grow into something worth fighting,”
“Yeah, sometimes I a little regret killing one,”
“Got a soft spot for dragons recently?”
“Hah!” laughed the old man. “Good one. But, nah, we just kill the bastards so quickly, I think we’ll make them extinct. And then one of the few fun things to do in this darn life will be lost,”
“Well, I understand you, to an extent,”
\-I do sometimes wonder what would happen if dragons were gone, as a whole. Probably will have to move onto hunting humans. Recently, it is becoming the same experience, really.
Gwyn wanted to continue that thought process, but they finally reached their remaining prey.
It was but a small dragon, resembling its mother, both in its yellow eyes and brown scales and only differing in size. The monster roared at the hunters, but not out of anger, but out of fear, trying its hardest to back away from the attackers.
“Morren, tie him up and let’s go,”
“Why me?”
“Because I did most of the work with the big one back there. At least have the audacity to capture this one on your own,”
“Ugh, fine,”
Morren took the rope he had on his belt and forcefully tied down the defenseless dragon with ease, who could do nothing but scream.
The old man picked up the beast and placed him on his shoulders. And both dragon hunters continued their way out the cave they were in.
However, as they were getting closer to the light outside, they noticed a certain slim figure approaching them. It was a figure of a man.
He didn’t seem to wear much of anything, but some woolen pants and a belt. One would mistake him for a common beggar.
For starters, his body was not that of a starving man. The body shape and posture were in prestige condition. There were also unnatural features about him. While his eyes were somewhat of a normal blue color, his hair was pure silver.
The man also had a peculiar blade that he carried in his right hand. It was similar of the size of your average sword, but much thinner and its ends seemed much sharper.
|
Ever since I was a child I wanted to ride a dragon. Not necessarily the fire-breathing kind, but the ones that fly. Such magnificent creatures they were. The gods forbid all those who would harm them or anyway transgress their divine rights. That, however, was not enough to prevent the rise of the Dragon Hunter. So in my mind I became the instrument of the gods, a celestial retribution, wrath of the heavens, the justice of the ascended.
Basically, dragons are like dolphins. Beyond our comprehension. Extremely intelligent, kind, harmless (why would they be endangered otherwise?) and too beneficial to mankind for their own good. So I took upon Greenpeace and became a dragon-hugger. This, however, was merely a ploy. I did it to catch those wretched Hunter Hunters, while somehow oddly becoming part of the hunted. Sport they said. I'll show them sport I thought. Sometimes there actually is no honor in sport. So highly intelligent they were, the hearts of dragons were valued for their perceived magical properties. It was a common that eating one would make you more intelligent, just like a bears heart you stronger and a tigers heart gives you dexterity.
Shenanigans like this were the root of all evil I saw in todays world. Yeah, just "eat it's heart for profits"... There is this expression of a heart-breaker for a reason, you know? Too bad the black market value for a dragon heart was so steep compared to other kinds hearts. So my cunning plan was to create an alternative market, one that values the hearts of dragon hunters. I would put out all these flyers with claims about the amazing properties you would assume if you ate such a heart. Somehow I had to keep myself from losing my calm while making these ridiculous claims, like that scum could ever possibly have some positive quality in their heart...
Yet, it was the notion that dragons themselves were endangered that made me succeed in my endeavours. The Dragon Hunters - somehow - managed to drive them near extinction, which technically hinted they might possess a superior intelligence, therefore I had all it took for an alternative market. It didn't even take an effort, I mean, would you prefer the heart of a "Dragon" or a "Dragon Hunter" (not to mention a "Dragon Hunter Hunter") in order to reap those fantastic benefits that result from eating one?
Yeah, that's what I thought.
| 2021-05-25T10:53:48 | 2021-05-25T10:21:10 | 39 | 22 |
[WP] You are Placebo Man. Your superpowers are whatever the people nearby you believe you have.
Bonus prompt: Your nemesis knows your secret.
|
I throw the ornate knife with pinpoint accuracy. This is the most crucial part of my attack, and I can't use my superpowers for it, so I've practiced it extensively. It spins once and sinks into the wall inches away from the henchman, the symbol carved into its hilt clearly visible.
"Shit. It's a cape!" The gangsters spin around, looking for the source of the throw, but I've already vanished into the shadows.
"Which one?"
"I know that symbol! It's Nighthawk! That fucking ninja guy! Get flashlights, group up, don't let him pick you off! You four, get to the exits, don't let him out of here!"
It feels like a sixth sense has been added into my brain. I'm not seeing the warehouse as a maze of pillars and crates and catwalks. I'm seeing cover, concealment, lines of sight and takedown spots. I leap up with impossible grace and vanish into the shadows above them. Two gunmen have just enough time to scream out a warning before I drop down on top of them, knocking them both out in a quick martial arts maneuver. By the time their friends arrive, I've vanished again.
"Where'd he go? We had him surrounded! He just disappeared!"
"No shit, Sherlock. Nighthawk can teleport through shadows."
"What? I thought that was Shadowman."
"No, Shadowman was the guy who could turn shadows solid."
"You sure about that?"
"Well if he can't teleport, where the fuck did he go?"
The belief clicks into place in their minds and another power clicks into place in mine. All around me, I see black ribbons, pathways I can walk through to reach another pool of shadows. I teleport behind the two guards at the exit, and vanish deeper into Dr. Noc's lair.
The warehouse was an easy place to be Nighthawk, plenty of shadows and hiding places, but now that I'm in the lair itself it'll be a bit harder. The Doctor's labs are more brightly lit and more enclosed. I need a new guise.
A patrolling guard gives me the opportunity. The belief from the henchmen a floor above gives me enough strength and skill to yank him around a corner and knock him unconscious. I grab his radio and speak. "Everyone, Nighthawk and Paragon are in the building! We need backup! We need-" I cut the transmission. That should draw some attention.
I take off my cloak, revealing a bright gold and blue uniform. I shed the winglike cowl and replace it with a classic domino mask. Immediately, I can feel strength fill my limbs. Paragon is an unstoppable, invincible bruiser, and I crash through the Doctor's elite guards with ease.
As I fight, I'm pleasantly surprised to find that I can fly. Paragon is so similar to all the classic "flying brick" superheroes that they're starting to get me mixed up with them. I reach Dr. Noc's inner sanctum and kick down the door.
Something hits me in the gut. Pain lances through me like a red-hot poker and I fall on my back, clutching my chest. Dimly I realize, *I've been shot.* The Paragon uniform has Kevlar underneath, just in case I get shot while setting up my persona, but either it didn't stop the bullet or the impact was just that strong. My vision clears, and I see the Doctor and two henchmen with assault rifles standing over me.
"See? I told you, he's weak against depleted phlebotinum bullets. You'll have no trouble disposing of him now."
I stare up at the grinning Doctor as he steps towards me. "You knew?" I gasp.
"Oh yes. All I had to do was tell my henchmen that you had a secret weakness, and your own powers did the work. They believe their bullets will hurt you, and they do."
"How...?"
"How did I know? A few clues. None of the members of Justice Fist were ever seen in the same place, for one. That charade of 'taking a divide and conquer strategy' didn't hold up for long. Talking to Mr. Hammer's former henchmen revealed that Nighthawk never made his entrance until someone saw his symbol. Tricks like that."
He's got me dead to rights. The Paragon guise is ruined, and I can't change my costume in plain view. Or can I? Inspiration strikes.
"Clever," I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself down. "But not clever enough. Did you really think that this was a one-man show? You think I was stupid enough to build a whole super-team on a lie?"
I see a flicker of concern cross his face. "Think about it. Nighthawk and Arbiter carry all those gadgets, but you never asked who built them. You never realized I had an actual super-scientist on the team."
I roll to one side, revealing that I've pulled a small black box with a red button from my utility belt. "You never realized that some of these powers were for real."
I glance up at the henchmen, still holding me at gunpoint. "I've got two words for you goons: Forcefield generator."
"It's a bluff! Shoot him! Shoot him!"
Too late. I can feel the belief snap down in their minds, and a light on the box turns green as their belief gives it power. I push the button and a flickering blue dome springs into being around me. Their bullets patter off it like rain.
Seizing the advantage, I grab a syringe from my belt, full of a mysterious blue liquid. Like the Red Button, it's a bluff, only given power because they believe in it. I slam it into my arm, and a dozen half-remembered movies about secret supersoldier projects flicker through their brains. Their belief becomes a burst of healing and strength that cures the bullet wound. I execute a kipup and land in a fighting stance, glaring at the henchmen.
"Still think I'm just a fake?"
EDIT: Obligatory "Holy cow I got gold?" edit. Thank you, you're too kind.
|
If Karl "Placebo Man" Hansen had a superpower, it might be his supreme vanity. His ability to understand completely his appearance and to quickly judge another's reaction to him. Truly, he had no power. None without the belief of those around him, at least. If Karl could convince the people around him that he could fly, then he would gain the ability to fly.
Placebo Man was the most frustrating quarry of my career. I was the lead agent in the IMO's "Special Tasks" division. I had managed to track Placebo Man- that was our name for him, a bit of a departmental joke- to Chicago. He was here to assassinate the mayor. There's a lot of crime in Chicago, Placebo Man was a frequent visitor. We had intercepted a message between our target and his employers, their identities as of yet unknown to me and my team.
Placebo Man was staying at a small hotel- on the 4th floor, in one of the most mundane rooms available. Not drawing attention. Never drawing attention.
Satellites had determined his vehicle was at the hotel. It's 4 a.m. and there should be minimal foot traffic. It is imperative that as few civilians as possible are involved. I was dropped with my usual kit and small needle gun, containing a sedative that would allow me to take him prisoner. He knew too much to be disposable and he was a relatively low risk prisoner.
Entering the Hotel, I subconsciously noted tactical information about it. Preparing for the worst always. It would prove to be unnecessary once he was asleep, but I did it every time I entered a room. There was a clerk at the desk with heavy eyelids- freshly awake or exhausted from a long night, I could not tell. A young couple stood near the elevator- you'd think they thought they were already in their room, the way they were behaving. Choosing the elevator furthest from the kids, I decided to take the next one. They entered their carriage, not even waiting for the man who was inside to get out. The man.
"Excuse me-" The words were out of my mouth abruptly, conveying a sense of urgency. I needed to see his face. He needed to look back.
He turns. Our eyes meet. At once our attention turns to the elevator. He steps back toward it, stumbling slightly as he grabs the door.
"Would either of you like to see me hypnotize this fellow?" He asks them.
I grip the syringe.
| 2015-04-05T18:00:22 | 2015-04-05T17:48:20 | 1,860 | 38 |
[WP] A new library opened in town with a collection incomparable to any other in the world. But there's a catch: You can't leave till you have mastered whatever subject you came in to read.
|
A goddamn idiot. That's what I was.
I yawned, blinking at the spears of morning light stabbing me through the library's windows. My hand shot up to block it, shielding my face from the warmth. Around me, the greatest library of all time sprawled out; it was filled with the most comprehensive books on any subject. From science and engineering to arts and politics, the library had it all.
And at this point, I'd read most everything it had to offer.
"Morning Trevor," came a familiar voice. I twisted, blinking my eyes wide to see Ms. Ryan, the head librarian, pushing a cart across the carpet.
"Morning Ms. Ryan," I said, waving. "Those new?"
She grinned, shooting me a knowing glance. "Yup. The best to come out of all the newest research this quarter. And I've got a whole 'nother cart of fiction still waiting to come in."
My lips tweaked upward and I nodded, eying the books. "They available for checkout yet?"
She laughed. "At least let me get them up on the shelves first, Trevor. Now get out of the doorway."
I chuckled, raising both of my arms as if I didn't know what she was talking about. She glared at me, making me have to stifle a giggle before I moved. My body slid on the thin air that made up the library's impassable barrier so that I wasn't smack dab in the middle of the walkway anymore.
"Is that better?" I asked, folding my arms and leaning my weight against a wall that wasn't physically there.
"Sure, whatever," she said. "Just don't prevent anyone from getting in or out."
Another yawn rose up in my throat, but it turned into a groan by the end of it. Memories from months past played in my head again, as though my mind was just trying to annoy me at this point.
"Say," Ms. Ryan started. "Have you made any progress yet?"
My eyebrows dropped and I pursed my lips. "No."
"Oh really?" the librarian asked sarcastically. "I was sure you'd almost be done by now. They say the third month's the charm."
I scowled, making her burst out laughing. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever, berate me for my past mistakes why don't you."
"Oh you can't be that mad," she said as she calmed herself down. She wheeled the cart up to the front desk, parking it to look back at me. "I do let you stay here free of charge."
I blinked, a comment hanging on my tongue. It wasn't like I really had a choice or anything. As proved by the fact that I was leaning against open air just because I hadn't met the library's requirements yet, I didn't really have the option of leaving. But instead of being sassy—she'd heard enough of that from me for a lifetime—I held my tongue.
"Thanks for that, by the way," I eventually said. She waved me off.
"Yeah, yeah. I guess having you around isn't all *that* bad. At least you don't run amuck in this place at night."
I chuckled. "No. Not like *some* of the guests we've had."
"Some people just don't realize how difficult it is to reach what the library considers mastery on certain things. And this old building is pretty lenient on it, all things considered."
"Yeah..." I said, my own memories mocking me. "As long as you don't come in to master something absolutely ridiculous."
Ms. Ryan snickered as she moved behind the desk and started up her laptop. "You know, I still remember what you said when you came in here for the first time."
I rolled my eyes. "Please don't. I remember it well enough myself."
"You were so sad," she said, obviously ignoring my plea. "You were like a lost puppy almost. I would've taken pity on you if you hadn't asked to come study here." I rubbed my head, already knowing what was to come. "*Do you have books on love? It never works out for me. And with her gone I have nothing better to do...*"
"Alright!" I said. Ms. Ryan snapped her lips shut, giggling. "It's burned into my memory quite well, already."
"I'm not sure why you ever thought asking to study *love* was a good idea."
"I know... I know. I'd even heard about the library's magical mastery policy. I was just... dumb."
She tilted her head. "If only contemporary you could go and slap some sense into past you."
I nodded. "Indeed. And I've already read every book on time travel you have in here. As well as all of the books on romance, love, and passion. Which *did not help*, by the way."
The librarian shrugged. "That's not on me. If you haven't mastered it, you haven't mastered it. At least you like reading more now."
I sighed. "Yeah, I guess. I mean, it's all I do nowadays. I don't just like it, I *love* it. Learning the secrets of humanity and the universe is the most amazing feeling ever. Much better than anything a relationship ever got me."
"Right..." she said. "So you've been focusing on romantic love? Not other types of love?"
"Well, yeah. I came in here heartbroken from a breakup that wasn't even all that bad. I haven't really researched comradery or familial love much."
"Or passion," she said, absentmindedly.
"Or passion..." I repeated, thoughts churning in my head. Passion was important for everyone according to all of the psychology and self-help books I'd read. It was what pushed people on. Over the past few months, I'd become passionate about reading books, about absorbing knowledge, about *learning*.
And those same books also said passion was a love of its own.
I angled my eyebrows, blinking in disbelief at the connection I'd never made in my own head.
"Huh—" I started. But the word didn't even fully make its way out before I fell backward through now very permeable air.
---
/r/Palmerranian
|
The tall square building spanned at least three blocks. It seemingly shot up over night where only empty lots used to be. The walls consisted entirely of thick panels, square upon square of glass that glimmered and flared in the Saturday sun. It had no sign or markings of any sort. A single plaque was mounted next to what suggested an entrance with no visible way to pass. Peter stood staring at the relentless rails of books inside from across the street. He could not see and end. Curious, he decided to pay a visit. He looked to the left, then, looked to the right. Left again. Safety first.
Peter was a tall man. He had to visit specialty dealers just to find the right fit. Dressed in a plain black shirt and shorts, Peter's slippy slops started slapping the tar as he crossed the street. His beard was unkempt, his hair ruffled. The noon light accented the reddish-brown. His freckled forehead crumpled slightly when his feet finished finding its way across. Through tired green eyes and scratched glass lenses he inquired of the plaque intently.
*Inside of me you will find wonders and woe. Place your hand on me if you have nowhere to go.*
Peter's capricious nature consisted mostly of curiosity and gloom. Those were his characteristic flaws. He briefly considered the conundrum he faced. Peter slowly reached towards the plaque, his fingers flared slightly the closer his hand got.
"Dad-dah!!! I missed you!"
Peter swung around to find his five year old daughter leaping and latching onto his legs. He let out sharp gasp as she struck at just the right height.
"Oh my sweetheart! I missed you too!"
Peter bent down and picked her up. He held her tightly and squeezed a bit more.
"I'm so glad to see you my baby!"
"Look Daddy, there's Mam-mah and sis!"
Peter's gorgeous wife approached with their nine year old in tow. Her fiery eyes danced when she smiled.
"What are you doing here Pete?"
Peter looked back over his shoulder. The great glass building filled with books, was gone.
| 2019-05-25T01:53:11 | 2019-05-25T00:49:06 | 77 | 11 |
[WP] In a dystopian world, the Catholic Church reigns supreme. Their elite, the Paladins, are those without sin. For their devotion they have received amazing powers. But, a single infringement on one of the 10 commandments would remove this power. However, the resistance now have their own Paladin.
|
*They say let he who is without sin cast the first stone.*
*Well, they sure as hell did.*
I watch some of them mill about in the grey light of pre-dawn, the lost and broken, the Apostates. A woman busies herself scouring a pan. A young child hunts for bugs among hoar frosted earth. I can no longer tell if it is boy or girl, only that it is hungry. Gender means very little to me these days. It reaches down into a pile of burnt orange leaves, its ribs pinching against taught flesh. I sigh and watch my breath float towards them. It's fall and the mornings are crisp and getting crisper, the woods north of Mercy – what once was Boston, are painted grim and grey in the autumn light.
'Nathaniel.'
I turn and find Jack waiting. He's got a thick blanket and grim expression wrapped around him. I smile.
'Father.'
He looks away and scratches his beard. 'Don't call me that. They've finished talking.'
*About time. The leaders of the resistance, forever Our Lady of Perpetual Discussion.*
'The holy host has marched to Purity, but they think it's a distraction. There's a small contingency still stationed outside of Mercy. They think he's there.' *The Cardinal*. The son of a bitch who holds all the east coast in his sanctified fist.
I spit and ask him why they think it's him.
'Scouts say they've seen Paladins.' Jack says.
I nod. Shift the weight of the rifle across my back.
'Best prepare yourself, Nathaniel. You leave at nightfall.'
'Yes, Father.'
He turns to go. 'I told you. Don't call me that.'
I walk towards my tent. 'Can't change what we are, Father.' Much as we might want. The leaves break beneath the weight of my boots and I enjoy the sound.
I don't see him when he says 'I'll let them know you're ready.' I don't see him, but I know how his face looks when he says the words. He hates what I am, just like the others. But he's scared like the others too. Scared of dying, scared of torture, scared of the Church and their holy knights. So He forgives me like the others. Their dark warrior, their Knight Apostate, the avatar of all their sin.
They say the holy knights fast before each battle, they say it lightens their soul. I enter my tent and there is a feast laid out on wooden pallets. There are meat and vegetables and oats and booze and even some chocolate I know was scavenged from the ruins of a small town near Mercy. All accounted it must make up half the camp's rations. I think of the young boy outside, the way his ribs pushed against the pale flesh of his chest, and I grab a whole chicken and bite into the breast. Grease runs down my chin and I swallow. Fuckin' delicious.
*Gluttony.*
They watch me from the bedding. Naked as the day they were cursed and born into this world. They say the Paladins meditate before each battle, sometimes days at a time, reflecting on their holy purpose and listening for the voice of God. I think about that while I finish gorging on the meat and drink and then unsling the gun from off my back. I place it on the altar I keep across tent, watching as the candles flicker in the morning breeze. The day sighs and I undo my belt and greet the women in my bed and do unspeakable things.
*Lust.*
They say the Paladins give sacrifice to their God, to his chosen priests and pontiffs before each fight. Here, they come, each member of the camp I serve and I take what is mine. They give me what little they have. Trinkets mostly. Even the leaders of our sacrilegious refugees. Jack brings me a pocket watch. It's old and rusted and I imagine it belonged to his father and he had wanted it for a Son I've never seen among the survivors. He doesn't look at me when he lays it at the foot of my bed.
*Greed.*
The say the Paladins are humble men. I smile and listen carefully to each word of praise they give as they lay the sacrifices at my feet. I listen and I nod and smile and feel his power begin to brim at my edges.
*Pride*.
They say the Paladins train each day at dawn and after dusk. They say they train all their life. I tell them all to leave my tent, all except my women, then I sleep among my whores for several hours and dream of food and fucking and war.
*Sloth.*
At night, I walk through the camp on unheard feet. Until I find a family. They do not see me. No one does. By now my god flows through me, his dark apostle of damnation, and I can wrap the dark of dusk around me as if it were a second skin. I crouch and watch them. Watch them as they eat their supper by a waning fire. Content to joke and laugh among themselves. Content to be a family. To love. I watch them, scared and cold and dirty. I watch them, each knowing they may die tomorrow but understanding now and here they are alive.
*Envy.*
I disassemble and clean my rifle, my holy blade, and calmly put it back together piece by piece. I remember the father's words before he had to become the broken thing he is now. *A weapon is always a weapon, Nathan, but never forget to count its parts. Always count its parts.* Spring, cylinder, piston, trigger, barrel, clip and nose. I put each piece back together, drinking from the bourbon by my feet. Liquor is rare since the crusade, but I take what little the resistance finds. I count the parts and put the weapon back together. A featureless black helicopter starts up. Engines cutting through the night. Rotors beating hard. My chariot of destruction. *'And War will ride a black steed named ruin'.* We land somewhere just outside of Mercy and I hear their chanting before I see them. They are twelve. Holy helmets and white Kevlar. Guns embossed with gold and silver. Knights Paladin. He's here alright. *The Cardinal.*
I let the darkness fall around me, feel the salt in my eyes and the flame in my blood. I feel my heart pump hard and then stop completely. Feel the deep, cold dark wash across me and the adrenaline overflow, hear his tongue inside my head, his honeyed voice telling me all that I am and will be; his avatar of Sin. I grin and hammer in the clip.
They say the Paladins make good war. I say fuck the Paladins.
*Wrath*
|
They call me a Paladin.
They fear me, for I am not one who worships their god; They would 'cleanse' me from this earth, to protect their 'holy' grounds.
They call me Paladin because I have powers, like them.
Because I can make others fear me, as would those of the Church their beloved God.
I am no Paladin.
----
"Arthas, my sword! The unbelievers would be upon us in but a few minutes!"
"Aye, sire!"
I paused, considering my foe. A Paladin, they called him, like us. He does not worship our true God, however. He has taken no oath, he is not baptized, and there are even rumors he isn't even circumcised!
Yet he has power. He killed Sir Drayne, somehow.
I fear -
"Sire, there! Riders, from the east!"
"I see them. Let us pray that God is with us today."
--
My foe was Sir Loren. A challenge, to be sure!
I reared my horse, stopping him but twenty paces from him and his meager pack of followers, and dismounted.
"Good day, Sir Loren."
I smirked, watching him as his glare melted into a quizzical frown before turning back to what he probably thought emitted an aura of authority.
"Well met, Paladin. I thank you for your kind greeting, but I cannot let you pass. Turn back, you and your horde; This is your only chance."
I laughed aloud, sliding my greatsword from my back.
"Duel me."
He shivered a little before dismounting and drawing his own longsword. He stared at me, he in his plate armor, versus I, wearing a dark red tunic with black pants and shoes.
It must seem like an off fight.
"I accept. To the death?"
"Yes."
He didn't wait. Funny, they call themselves Paladins when they have less chivalry than a knight. Perhaps it's simply because of their attitude, that they see themselves above even kings.
I stopped him with my Shade, which grabbed him by the throat as it rose up from where it had been pretending to be my shadow. I could hear gasps from the soldiers who followed him, and the cheers of the revolutionaries of mine.
I walked forward until I was standing through my shade, Lorren's face right in front of mine as he struggled to break free.
"I am not a Paladin."
His head violently swung to the side with a loud crack, his arms suddenly going limp.
"I am The Necromancer."
--
I wrote this in like ten minutes. It's my first time doing a prompt, too, although I feel kind of ashamed of myself for not holding myself up to the standards I typically have. Hope you enjoyed it!
| 2015-10-20T13:02:10 | 2015-10-20T11:19:37 | 37 | 14 |
[WP] Everyone only gets to lie three times in their life, so they only do so when it's an absolute must. This is the story of how someone lied three times in one day.
|
"So, what do you need a lie for?"
I sat behind my dirty desk, covered in take out boxes and cat fur. I sucked on my soggy cigarette noisily, daintily making notes on the back of an envelope.
The man in front of me nervously wrung his hands. He eyed me suspiciously, but I smelled the desperation. Well, most people were pretty desperate to come find my tiny office nestled behind a dumpster.
"I- shit - I need someone to confess to a murder."
I hesitated. Ah, this could get tricky. I snuffed on my cigarette contemplatively. Ricky? Naw, he wouldn't go to prison. There is Amy. But she only had one lie left. This situation will need more. Maybe Michelle? Eh, not clever enough. Then I remembered. Ernesto. 3 lies. Smart. A minority to boot. And he had a family that desperately needed money.
The man in front of me sweated like a pig in a slaughter house, as his round tummy smooshed against my desk. Little numbers popped into my head as I wondered how much his freedom was worth to the sticky little hog.
"Well, Mr. Noname," I drawled, "You do realize lies are a hot commodity. Hmmhmm? Very limited these days. What, with people only able to lie 3 times in their total lives. And humans being natural born liars! It's abysmal, I say. Hmmhmm. And in your situation, we will probably need - ohhhh- all 3 lies. Yes, definitely 3. This can be, hmmhmm, pricey. Hmmhmm."
"Price doesn't matter." The man burst out. I tried to keep my face impassive as I began heaving more money on my imaginary pile.
"Ahh, I see you are eager to have all this business behind you. Hmmhmm. Very good." I tapped my desk and gave him a sideways glance, "Sooooo, who didja kill?"
"What? What does that matter? I just need lies! Nothing more!"
I wagged a finger at him. "Oh, Mr. Noname. It's a very sensitive business this business is, hmmhmm. I need to figure out which one of my pretty little liars can succeed. I need to create a successful... story. So to say." A smile tugged at my lips. "Was it your wife? I betcha it was the wife. It's always the wife."
His face went white and he stood up abruptly. "This is outrageous! I don't have to stand for this!"
"Uh, you just did."
Immediately color began flushing back to his cheeks. "Why you little-" The man blustered for a second, and then with a flourish began stomping out of my alley.
"Oh Senator Calllleeeeeey!" I sang out. The rigidity that struck his back almost sent him squealing onto his face. He glanced back, whites wide.
"What? You got the wrong-" A coughing fit hit him, as he doubled over. Blood spattered on the sidewalk as his nose sprang a leak. Ah, well that answers that question. Not surprising, considering he is a politician. They used up their lies quickly.
I wrinkled my nose. "Seriously, Senator? How stupid do you think I am? How stupid are you trying to lie when you have no more lies? Hmmhmm. Come back here. I have some water. Drink your lie back down, hmmmhmmm."
He weaved back to my table, coughing still keeping him doubled over. I sloshed a half empty water bottle towards him. "It's fancy water. Just for you."
"It's - cough- it's- cough- half empty!"
"I prefer half full. Amazing what people throw out these days. Hmmhmm. Drink, before you choke on your lie."
With a torn grumble, tears and blood streaming down his piggy face, he grabbed the bottle and chugged the remaining water. I tapped my pen on the desk as I appraised the man in front of me.
"$20 million."
The senator spat out the last sip of water. "What?"
"$20 million. $5 mil for each lie. That makes $15, hmmhmm."
"And the last $5 million?" He sputtered.
"That's a bonus for my liar who will be going to prison for you." I glanced up contemplatively at the smog that cuddled amongst the buildings that rose above us. "Actually, hmmhmm, for scum like you, I should make it $10 million. I know who you are, and you are not a very nice man. No one was surprised when your wife was found dead, hmmhmm. So let's make it $25 million. And I need a favor. A favor only a senator could provide."
He glared at me stonily. I knew he wouldn't negotiate. He couldn't really. I was one of the few who could peddle a lie in this city, and - as I shuffled papers on my three legged desk propped up against the dumpster - very difficult to find. He must have pulled a lot of strings already to find me. I knew the moment he stepped curiously into my alleyway that he was a man out of options.
A humorless smile spread across my face. "So what do you say, Senator? Ready to buy a lie?"
|
Joe sat in his room eating cookies before dinner in secret when Joe's Mom walked in. Joe threw the cookies under his blanket and acted natural. Joe's Mom said "Joe, were you eating cookies?" "No!" Joe said. "Really?" "Yes!" "Really really?" "Yes Mom! Really!" "Hmmm well alright, dinner in 5 Joe!". Joe sighed in relief and went down to eat dinner.
When he got downstairs and sat at the table Joe's father said "Hey son, how was your day?" Joe said "It was alright I guess." they ate in silence for a few minutes and Joe's dad said "Oh, by the way Joe can you clean your room tonight?" Joe sighed and said "Okay..." Joe stayed up for awhile playing video games and was so tired that when he went to bed he fell out cold in seconds.
The next morning he got up to eat breakfast and when he sat down his dad said "Did you clean your room like I asked you to?" "Oh no" Joe thought to himself "One more lie can't hurt right? I'll just make sure Dad doesn't go in my room before he leaves for work and clean it when I get home from school." Joe looked at his dad and said "Of course i cleaned my room!" Joe burst into flames.
| 2014-11-15T14:29:05 | 2014-11-15T08:34:08 | 30 | 21 |
[WP] A powerful necromancer is trying to raise the dead. However, despite trying different vessels and rituals, he has only raised you. Over. And over. And over. You're both starting to get sick of each other.
|
"I'm guessing it has been about...fifty years." I laughed maniacally as I materialized in the center of the circle.
"My, my...did you think you could somehow *outlive* me? Poor Simon."
Simon de Villoux, Great Necromancer and acknowledged disciple of the God of Death, slapped me across the face.
Or tried to anyway. I easily caught his hand and used the momentum to leverage myself out of the circle, out of his reach, and into the soft leather chair behind him.
I knew this lair like I had known my own palace. Back when I had a palace.
"It was supposed to have broken my curse! I was supposed to be free!" He cried with despair.
"What do you mean, *your* curse?" I asked indignantly. "Obviously I'm the one who's cursed to relive this nightmare! Even after death I must endure your bullshit! Gods!"
I spied a wonderfully worked cup on and the desk and sniffed the contents. Whiskey.
"Don't you dare-" Simon began.
I raised the glass to him in a mock toast. And downed the contents.
"Argh!" He shouted and stamped his foot. I felt him trying to control my will, to some unseen command in the spell he used to *bend* my thoughts to his own. But as usual, it failed.
Whatever the curse was that bound us, it also prevented him from controlling me.
"Poor Simon. Do people still think you've lost the ability to raise the dead?"
He visibly calmed himself. As he did so, I noticed that he looked different.
With his necromancy, Simon could delay his aging to almost a standstill. By my calculations, he would be about two hundred years old, but he looked like red-headed youth.
"I used the Ritual of Caldus!" He suddenly shouted. "I used the Ritual of Caldus! It *only* summons Caldus!"
He reached into his tailed suit and withdrew a small skull.
"Is that...Is that his *skull?*" I could barely contain my glee. No wonder this time had been so different!
"For fifty years, I prepared for this. I had to search across the world to find a piece of his body! The things I did, to get this skull."
His eyes suddenly got a faraway look. No doubt reminiscing about deals signed and princes murdered. Whatever it was necromancers did to acquire their relics.
I took the moment to look around the lair. Everything was as I remembered.
Even the hole in the wall from the fight we had the last time he had summoned me. When he had forced me to see the fortune teller with him.
The one thing that necromancers and magicians hated the most was that you could not see magic - or curses - that directly affected you. So he had needed a second opinion from the Witch.
Yesterday for me, Fifty years for him...
>We had gone to the Witch of the Temple for help. The curse must be lifted whatever the cost.
The gnarled old woman stared at the space between and betwixt and had cackled.
"A curse most foul binds you. A curse so foul I cannot touch. Perhaps Caldus may help." With a cackle even louder, she disappeared.
He had then sworn the summon Caldus. Sworn to destroy me. And sworn he would take much pleasure in doing so.
And then I was dispelled.
"Don't tell me you actually believed that batty old crone?"
Simon did not respond, instead opening the windows around his study. A fresh breeze blew through the room immediately clearing the room of the acrid stench of candle smoke and arcane energies.
No doubt he planned to dispel me and attempt to summon Caldus again. I didn't expect it to work this time around. If some a powerful Ritual as the Ritual of Caldus failed (a ritual that had was confirmed to have killed at least eight great sorcerers), then it was probably safe to assume nothing would ever work.
He returned to the center of the room and put a foot on his chalk circle.
"Goodbye Marco, you miserable *bastard.*" With that, he broke the circle.
A moment later than usual, I realized something was different. Two moments later, Marco realized with a start that I was still sitting in his chair, pouring myself another shot of whiskey.
And then the skull in his hand shattered.
"And so! You are stuck with me! Permanently!"
I began to cackle! I had felt it when I was summoned, but I didn't think it was possible. The curse that bound us had redirected the energy of the Ritual of Caldus into creating a real, *permanent* body for me.
And Simon knew it too.
"The witch *meant* for this happen..." He said with dawning realization. "She meant for the curse to steal the energies of such a powerful ritual..."
I considered the implications. I knew a bit of necromancy (you don't spend a century getting resurrected by every spell in the book without picking up a thing or two) there was only one curse that could do something like that. One curse parasitic enough to redirect
such powerful necromancy.
I stood up, for the first time in millennia, I felt my heart beat. *I live again!*
"Simon?" I asked. My heart had just beat, and yet I already cried for the deep melancholy I felt.
He looked at me, I could tell he knew what I was about to say.
"Yeah. I know what the curse is. ***Love.***" He said this last word as though through it tasted of shit.
|
*Could we just stop?* That was a question that crossed our minds quite often. But as a cloud of smoke preceded his arrival, I resigned myself to know we couldn't. A lifetime of summoning was what I was condemned to, and so far it was all he had. "Hello again," I greeted the summoned undead. Its face glowed horrifyingly in the dark, a dark empty void that I hated. *The abyss of no return.*
"What is it that you want," it said dismissively, the bored tone in its voice showing. I shrugged too, and stared at my only friend yet my greatest enemy. He bored me. So much. I could have summoned anyone else and my conversation was carry value. But not it. I'd tried every single avenue, but this was the only one that I could find and summon. It was kind of sad, but I'd learnt to accept it. But this time I couldn't continue to summon it anymore. I'd decided in the past week, that I would solve my problems once and for all. There was but one solution.
"Take me with you," I said slowly. It looked squarely at me, then laughed heartily. "You're my greatest foe and you want *me* to be hospitable towards you--oh wait, you aren't joking?" it chuckled, before it saw my dead-serious face. I stared at my future benefactor as I said it again. It wasn't every day you get to ride away with an undead. Particularly one called Depression.
_________________________________________________________________
More over at r/Whale62! Apologies for the short response (and the dual response too)!
| 2017-07-22T09:47:16 | 2017-07-22T07:16:16 | 52 | 28 |
[WP] A vampire is experiencing the zombie apocalypse.
|
The truck pulled up in front of the gates; I left the motor on with a low rumbling that filled the otherwise silent night. I hefted two enormous sacks out of the bed of the pickup and dragged them over to the entrance.
From above, men with guns and torches looked down at me menacingly. "What's your business here?" one of them said quietly, not wanting to draw the attention of the undead. As if confirming his fear, a low moan emanated from somewhere in the trees a few hundred feet away.
"You can put the guns down," I told them. "You won't be needing them, and they wouldn't do you any good anyways." Of course they didn't listen; instead, two more of them got me in their sights.
"I'm here with an offer," I told them. Picking up one of the sacks from the bottom, I turned it over, spilling out guns and ammunition everywhere. There was an audible gasp from the wall as one of the boxes opened, pouring bullets onto the ground, mixing with the snow. The leader atop the gate had a hungry look in his eyes. Normally it meant that he was just going to try and kill me and take the guns anyway, so I got to the point.
"All of this is yours," I told them.
"What for?" he asked, with an arrogant tone that made it clear that he wasn't in the mood to trade. Yep, he's definitely planning to just shoot me and take the guns.
"I'll get to that," I answered as I reached for the second sack. I dumped that out into the snow, revealing the limbless torso of one of the undead, rotting flesh peeling from its bones. It started writhing around and gnashing its teeth; something about being able to see light again sets them off. Who knows?
The men on the wall recoiled and their fingers drifted over the triggers, glancing back at their leader as they waited for the order. I reached down to the zombie struggling in the snow and stuck my arm straight into it's mouth. It bit down involuntarily, covering my arm with slobber.
"He's fucking crazy," one of them gasped.
"Not crazy," I told him. "Immune. Completely safe from them." I pulled open my jacket, revealing a number of other bite marks. "Some of these are months old, and I'm not infected."
There was silence as they soaked in that information.
"And even better: they don't attack me. I can strut through a crowd of Zed without even a second look. They don't see me as food, so they don't bother coming after me."
I withdrew a knife from my pocket and reached back down to the zombie. As promised, it just kept swiveling its head around, looking for something else. I plunged the knife through its skull.
"Holy shit..." one of them whispered.
I stood back up. "So this is what I'm offering. All of my supplies, including the guns," I kicked at the pile at my feet, "and *me*. You can assign me to do whatever you need. I'll go out and gather supplies, I'll hang out outside the wall and kill the undead, I'll do whatever you need. Just say the word."
"Yes!" called out one of the men. His leader turned and silenced him with one raised hand.
"Why do you need us?" he said suspiciously. *This one is clever,* I told myself. *Watch him.* "You've got all the food and water and ammo that you could need, whereas we're practically starving in here. We don't got much to trade, man, so I smell an ulterior motive here." The other men on the wall heard the sense in this argument and gripped their guns tighter.
"I need your blood," I told them flat out. "At least one pint a day. Not all from the same person."
They didn't really know how to react, so they kept the guns tight. I held up a needle and some plastic tubing. "All it takes is a simple transfusion process, which I can do for you."
"Why?" said the leader, eyes narrowed.
"I'm a vampire," I said honestly. No point in starting off with a lie like I'd tried at the last town. That was the closest I'd come to being staked in over two centuries.
"Yeah right," one of them said involuntarily.
"Really?" I kicked at the zombie at my feet. "The dead have risen against you, and you're still doubting the existence of mythical creatures?"
Silence greeted me.
"They don't go after me, because I'm not alive. I'm undead, kind of like them. Except I'm not a braindead savage."
The leader took a long hard look at me. At the truckload of supplies. At the bites on my arm. And at the veins showing through his pale skin.
The gate swung open with a creak. "Deal," he answered.
Edit: [Go here for parts 2 through 6!](http://www.reddit.com/r/Luna_Lovewell/comments/2rj4ks/im_here_with_an_offer/cnggno7)
|
What fools we were, all of us. The noble vampires and their arrogance.
When it first began, when the world succumbed to chaos, we took of our masks and reveled in bloodshed. Ages of frustration finally released. Finally, no more hiding, no more acting like humans. Freedom to be the monsters of old. Oh what fools we all were.
Some tried to herd them like sheep, making the mortals nothing more then currency to be exchanged. Naturally, this lead to wars among our own kind...and now, nothing is left.
The walking dead are all that remain now. With no living herd to feed on some of our kind were desperate enough to feed of these "zombies", as mortals called them. Little did they realize this would give birth to something else, something far darker. The same bloodcurse that was the herald of mankind's undoing now threatens us as well. Cursed mindless hunters, once vampires, now hunt the few that remain of our once noble bloodlines. They are faster, more brutal and dangerous then even the eldest. Once we ruled the night, now....even that is gone.
| 2015-01-06T08:39:26 | 2015-01-06T08:33:01 | 248 | 12 |
[WP] Before receiving the serum that unlocks latent powers, subjects take a battery of tests (physical exam, DNA analysis, a VERY intrusive questionnaire, etc.) to determine their likely abilities. Your testing process drags on and on as you are sent to higher-ranking (and increasingly tense) staff.
|
"One more question, girl, and we'll be done for today."
"Caitlyn. My name's not "girl"." She glared through her bangs at the Interviewer. He, the looming middle aged man with the unfeeling eyes. Her, the scowling teenaged lump of acne and psoriasis. She felt anger, irritation, frustration. He felt only fear.
"Okay, Caitlyn. Tell me, why do you want PW-248?"
"That's the superpowers drug, right?"
"I believe, at this stage of the process, you are already aware that it is. Please answer the question, and *only* answer the question."
Caitlyn's scowl deepened as she threw her arms across her chest and exhaled brusquely. "I'm nothing. Nobody wants me. I'm tired of it."
"Who is it that you think doesn't want you?"
"I KNOW who doesn't want me, asshole." Caitlyn shot back, her heavyset face contorted in the briefest flash of righteous fury. "The other girls at school are bitches, they fake being friends then call me names behind my back. The boys all think I don't hear them making bets on who has to "settle" for me when it's time to get a prom date. Do you know what pig-hunting is?"
"I do not."
"Liar." Caitlyn's glare deepened. "And my parents are worse. Mom's always drunk, Dad's always horny. None of them want me there."
"Can you tell me how that relates to PW-248?"
"Use your imagination, dick."
"I'm going to need a real answer, Caitlyn, if you want to progress through these evaluations."
She laughed, a bitter cynical outburst that sounded like it was made of snapping bones. "PLEASE. You wouldn't have brought me this far, put me through... what, ten fucking tiers of evals?! If you didn't WANT me to get it. You MIB fucks don't put that much effort into someone you don't want on the crew."
She was right. She was completely right, and he knew it. "Protocol is protocol, Caitlyn. I need you to clearly state an answer. Why do you want PW-248."
"You need me to tell you I want them to see how badly they fucked up? To see I was better than them all along? To kneel at my *feet* begging forgiveness for being shitty worthless garbage bags masquerading as actual humans?"
"So, revenge? You think telling me you want revenge will convince me to give you this?" The Interviewer opened a small bag sitting on the table beside him. A syringe of red liquid, the gleaming blood gem by which pacts of power were forged.
Caitlyn slumped, sighed. "I don't want REVENGE, I just want them to... to not treat me like shit. To respect me. To.... need me."
"Well, you're not going to get that, Caitlyn. Not with this." The Interviewer put the syringe of PW-248 away, sat across from Caitlyn. "Look, kid, I'm going to level with you. Yes, you are here, now, at this tier of testing, because we want you on the team. To be one of the Prometheans."
At the name of the super team, she perked up. Eyes bright, flames of hope searing within them.
"But." the Interviewer looked grave, tense. "The data on your inner potential, the power this would unlock in you, is one that requires we be absolutely sure of your motivations. We can't risk unlocking your powerset until we know you aren't a "Going Rogue" risk.
Caitlyn leaned in close to the Interviewer, hoarse with anticipation. "What is it? Tell me! What's in me?"
The Interviewer leaned back, stone-faced. "I need to know you can take this seriously, Caitlyn."
"I swear! I will! Tell me!"
The Interviewer pulled a page from a leaflet of reports and handed it to Caitlyn. "I'm technically only supposed to show this to you once you are approved for the serum, but I think maybe it will help you to understand why we're so cautious with you. You may be more important than you ever realized."
She grabbed the report, looked it over, and grew only more confused. "I don't know what this means. "Demi-Harmonic Disruption, Aura Class, Tier Zero". What the hell kind of power is that?
"It means that, once unlocked, your inner powerset is to delete other powers. You will begin passively generating an aura of energy that disrupts the flow of demiurnal energy that powers meta-huan abilities. It can't work in your presence, at all. You will be able to shut down any super, hero or foe alike, just by being near them."
Caitlyn stared at the sheet, and began to shake. Sobs began to roll down her full cheeks. "Oh great., GREAT. So even as a SUPER I'm a freak! Who'se gonna want to hang out with the girl who TAKES THEIR POWERS AWAY?! Fucking NO ONE EVER!"
"Another way of looking at it, Caitlyn is you would be the most necessary and impactful super on the planet." The Interviewer leaned in closer to her. "Energy blasts would dissipate as soon as they enter your aura. Fliers drop to the ground, speed and strength sapped to nothing. No villain could defend against you. No hero would ever turn on their comrades, lest they live in fear of you."
Caitlyn looked up, suddenly becoming aware for the first time, of the inviting and crafty gleam in the Interviewer's eyes. "I want it."
He smiled, and pulled the syringe of PW-248 from the bag. "You'll be working directly under me, in Special Ops. Dark work, no limelight, Shadow jobs. I'll need to keep a very special eye on you."
"Because I'll be dangerous?"
"That and..." The Interviewer chuckled as he tapped Caitlyn's arm to find a vein. "Once you go online, you will become the only person on the planet who can lie to me."
|
\[poem\]
*One test, two test, three*
*test four.*
*What a day of testing, its such*
*a bore.*
​
That's all I wrote before ushered into
a deeper room, in this already deep
cavernous office plaza.
Each time handed,
wordlessly,
a pad of paper and told to write.
My offense at the bit of brusqueness
tempered by the near salivating over
the promised check. Money is always
good and money during a pandemic
twice so.
​
So I wrote again:
*The elf loves honey and sweets,*
*she never likes to cook*
*with unfresh beets.*
​
The lab coated woman whispered
to the man standing next to her,
and handed him my writing pad.
With a gasp, he ran out of the room,
his loafers betraying his direction
down the linoleum.
Not my best work, of course,
but I didn't think it so
awful to justify gasps
and sprints!
​
I picked up my pen to write more,
dear reader,
only to find myself handcuffed from behind.
​
My trial, a secret,
the witnesses forced to
reveal my secret. The tribunal,
quick with its verdict.
​
In my cell now, the new guard,
so compassionate and kind,
gifted me a note and pen,
after I cried about
how much
I miss writing
to my sickly mother.
​
But instead I wrote this just for you:
​
*When I write poems reader dear,*
*don't worry so much*
*about your fear,*
*because ten minutes after you read this,*
*something strange appears,*
*death will take you to her infinite bliss.*
​
Now that you've read this,
you also know my secret,
At least
for
Your last ten minutes.
| 2021-10-29T15:18:08 | 2021-10-29T12:56:01 | 1,466 | 57 |
[WP] The Hero can punch right through solid steel doors. The Hero can catch bullets with his teeth and spit them back out faster. The Hero can take a missile on the chin and not bat an eye. You... are not the Hero. You make sure the Hero gets his lazy ass out of bed in every morning,hangover or not.
|
The clock ticked like a bomb above me.
I tapped my foot in rhythm, trying to keep my eyes down—to keep them trained on the carpet, or on my mug, or on anything that wasn't the clock. But each time the thicker click of the minute hand echoed throughout the room, my eyes were already back on the clock.
Gritting my teeth, I nearly swore when I saw the time. It was already 7:10 AM and he still wasn't up.
The deep breaths I forced myself to take were nowhere near enough to calm me down as I pushed myself up and away from the kitchen table.
My footsteps sounded off like the useless gunshots the Hero could catch between his teeth. I curled my fingers into a fist and ground my teeth, flying across the floor of our house with the speed of all the frightened criminals he scared away on a daily basis.
Images of crimes flashed in front of my mind, phantom alarms blaring in my ears. I could almost *see* the frantic pedestrians, fear lining their expressions like the steel nails of a coffin. I could almost *hear* the annoyed phone calls we'd get after the criminals got away and the police force wanted to know why the Hero hadn't been present.
Because he'd *probably* been sleeping, I reminded myself as I walked up to his door.
I shook the thought away and took a deep breath, raising my hand up to knock.
I hesitated.
Suddenly, the air around me flowed a little differently and the hairs on the back of my neck stood up just imagining the Hero's powers. Small but familiar shivers ran up and down my spine as the phantom sounds of crushing metal echoed out in my ears.
I still remembered the villainous phase he'd gone through as a teen.
Another thick tick of the minute hand lilted to my ears from all the way across the house and I shook my head again. He'd changed since then, I told myself. He lived up to his title now, saving lives each and every day.
Well, each and every day that he bothered to get up, that was.
My hand slammed on the door with stern, practiced force.
"Samuel!" I said. "Samuel Baron Allen, it's already past seven 'o clock. Get your butt out of bed right now!"
Inside, I heard the light thud I always did as he sat up in bed and slammed his head on the back of the bed frame. Maybe I should've been concerned, but something about his unbreakable skin told me it wasn't that big of a deal.
"Wh...What?" came his muffled voice through the door.
I rolled my eyes, swinging my way into his room without another thought.
"Get the hell up!" I yelled. He blinked, rubbing his temple while looking at me. After another moment, he just flopped back down on his pillow, the one already hanging off the bed.
"Five more minutes," he mumbled.
I wasn't having any of that.
"Your five minutes passed five minutes ago," I said, crossing my arms. "You're supposed to get up at 7 AM every morning, remember?"
He shook himself, half-nodding while looking as much like a spoiled toddler as he possibly could. "Yeah, I know. But I... I have a headache. I came home late last night."
"Oh don't I know it," I shot back. "It's a vile trick that your nigh invincibility stops just short of preventing hangovers." His mouth opened, but I barreled right ahead. "We have a deal with the city, you know. They provide for us and don't tax as long as you help out with crime."
"I know..." he said, still not getting up.
"You know how much I hate crime," I said. "But at least crime gets up earlier than you do."
Finally, I got him to raise his head, if only just to scowl at me.
The smile on my face couldn't have been more motherly. "Get out of bed in the next five minutes or else." His scowl fled faster than even he could run. "Ain't no way your lazy ass is going to be the reason I pay taxes for the first time in two years."
I smiled again, watching the guilt build behind his eyes. And his bedroom door slammed shut before he could even peep out a response.
---
The sound of the Hero's footsteps cascading down the hall slapped all lingering worry from my face.
Samuel's pale yet reddening face came into view only a moment later. "Morning."
I smiled as warmly as I possibly could. "Morning my angel."
The tips of his ears burned like he'd just been set on fire. "S-Sorry for getting up so late."
"Oh," I said, carefully cheerful. "Don't apologize to me—apologize to the citizens of this city you might've let down today."
All color in his face disappeared in an instant. "Right. I-I guess I should get going."
My smile dropped a tiny bit. "Yes, I think that you should."
Samuel nodded, and in a flurry of superspeed, he showered, got dressed, and made himself breakfast before moving to the door.
"Thanks for getting me up, Mom," came his voice from all the way across the room. "I really appreciate it."
"It's no problem," I said, pushing the words out of my teeth. Sometimes I wondered how I'd even managed to raise the damn kid in the first place.
"I'll make up for it, I promise."
My smile became a little more genuine. "Mother's day is coming up, maybe you could get me something for that."
He nodded, his hand rubbing against his neck. "I will. And I'll make sure the citizens know to thank you as well. You're just as much of a hero to them as I am."
"That's nice of you. But you really need to get going. The clock is ticking even now."
"Right. Bye, then," he said and was immediately out the door.
A sigh slipped from my lips as Samuel's departure stole just a little bit of life from my house and I stared back down at my coffee mug before taking another sip. The Hero's words played back through my head.
All and all, I'd raised a good man, I decided.
I might not have been like him; I might not have been able to catch bullets with my teeth or stop an oncoming train.
But maybe I was a hero all the same.
---
/r/Palmerranian
|
It was just another Saturday morning at the Tower of Justice. Outside the sunshine hit the windows and shined at Central City with incredible strength creating a sense of pride and security. On the inside however this was anything but.
I carefully piloted my mech suit around the piles of beer kegs, attempting to not contribute to the mess. The cleaning sentries would be deployed as soon as Captain Chad went on patrol.
Captain Chad was laying in front of the half shattered, oversized monitor of the meeting room, only wearing his cape, boxer shorts and one of his boots. A beer keg was still grasped, crushed in his hand. I activated the voice amplifier of the suit and began the first step of my morning routine.
"Captain Chad, the people of Central City require you to keep them safe". Unsurprisingly he didn't even twitch, even though the monitor had completely shattered from the power of the voice amplifier.
I waited a moment and then proceeded to flip him over using the mech suit. Despite being the size of the average man, the most expensive mech suit the tax payers of Central City could afford to buy was required to stir him. He let out a soft groan as I flipped him over.
"Please Captain, this is most undignified". As usual nothing. I grasped his arms with the suits claws and hauled him to his feet, the hydraulics of the suit groaning with the strain. I almost had him to his feet when he spewed a stream of super vomit on me. It slid off the suits protective paint and hit the floor. Unfortunately the floor was not as well funded as the suit and began to dissolve from the acidic super vomit.
"That's it get it all out", I calmly spoke as I dropped him back to the floor with a massive thud. Unceremoniously, I grabbed him by the cape and dragged him across the floor.
"What time is it" he muttered. This was a surprise, he never stirs until I toss him in the shower.
"Eight thirty, the banks will be open in thirty minutes, and at least two are most likely going to be robbed before eleven".
"I wanna go back to bed".
"No Captain, justice never sleeps".
"Justice needs like five more minutes" he muttered as he took a sip from the half empty keg in his hand.
| 2019-04-27T21:10:44 | 2019-04-27T20:07:25 | 141 | 12 |
[WP] You've always been able to stop time at your own will, one day as your wandering around, you suddenly hear footsteps.
|
The first thing I did with my power, was steal candy.
I felt bad and later put it back. I mean, I was five at the time.
Second thing I did, was walk.
Not to anywhere in particular, just did. Walked to the grocery store during class, then home. I didn't get hungry, or tired, so I continued walking. To my friend's house. To a cool looking telephone pole. To pet a dog, frozen in time.
Every second, I got just a bit more eager. Courageous. Took me all of ten minutes to decide to walk to the next town over.
I gave up half way because it felt weird.
Didn't really use it again after that, got a chill in my spine thinking about it.
But I liked that hike I took, so I did it again later. Oh innocent young me, bewildered that everything in his world of silence had moved. Didn't stay there long, that chill came back. Felt immoral.
Didn't use it after that.
Got older, more cynical. Started seeing things different. Not better, or clearer, just different. Things started meaning less, but concepts meant more. So I took a hike.
Went to the next town over. Ate a doughnut from one of the bakeries. Stole some sticker I thought looked cute. Then wandered onto the next town. Plundered some random person's room for a memento of the trip. A TV remote of all things.
I laughed in that room, the frozen form of the man on his bed. Missing TV remotes weren't taken by demons, turns out it was just some kid playing a prank.
Then I turned around and tried to go home. Got lost. Twice. Ended up in Nebraska. Don't know how. Thought about a lot of things during my commute.
Life. Meaning. Joy. Value. Death.
Normal things.
Took forever, but I got back home. Stood onto of the roof of the grocery store, now abandoned, and wondered if gravity still hurt. Didn't want to test it, just curious. Threw a rock up in the air, and it paused there. Stared at the frozen pedestrians for a while. Wondered how I was able to breathe.
Then I wanted to go to a nearby campsite. I started away from town, but I felt that chill again.
I was older now. I could take it. Turned around, grabbed a knife from some store, continued on.
Got to the campsite without issue, that chill getting more intense. Couldn't relax. Gave up, went home and let time flow again.
Didn't use it again until two years later.
Made friends, lost friends. The world turned. People died. People thrived. Nothing interesting. Got into the writing world. Small time publisher, nothing interesting.
Had an idea for a story. So I took a hike.
Notepad in one hand, pencil in the other. Took to the streets of New York. Hopped on cars for fun. Found out water was solid.
Strolled around Cuba. Played hopscotch with some kids, still drawing. Sat next to a bakery and sketched a person inside.
Made a pit stop for more pencils and two notebooks.
Left for Mexico. Stared at a couple holding hands. Wandered around blindly. Found out cameras still worked. Sort of. I hope those people don't mind a bright flash from nowhere.
Stole a hiking bag from a store, filled it with stuff. Cameras and notepads and pencils. Had two completed manuscripts by then. The chill came back, but I ignored it.
Stared at the horizon from a rooftop. Wondered if I could reach Europe.
Then there was footsteps. Quiet and distant. I didn't make the same mistake twice, and drew a gun. I scanned the streets below. Then it happened again, behind me, boots on tiled roofs.
I pointed the weapon at the other side.
"You're a unique one, aren't you?" The tone was quiet, soft even.
I didn't respond, just glared at the opposing side.
"Most use it to do something perverted. Some even commit foul deeds. Few use it to improve life. But you? You observed."
I was the one that could do this, no one else. How can someone do this too, and us never meet?! I think I meant to say that, but it had been too late at that point, became someone else on my hikes.
"So I'm curious... Why?"
I attempted to rile my voice to speak to the still unseen person, but I couldn't.
"Answer seeking? Curiosity? Hatred?"
I nodded my head. Then held up a one. Vocal communication was pointless. Nonverbal still worked.
The voice laughed, "Well, how simple. I wish you well on your endeavors, truth seeker. I have just one piece of advice: be careful, you aren't the only one with my blessing."
Then the chill vanished. It was replaced with something else. Dread. Their blessing? So other people can use this power too?! My mind was racing, with a million questions.
I glanced back to the horizon, gun in hand.
Maybe I do need to visit Europe.
|
Everything around me is frozen in eternal stillness. People, cars and trees are all stuck in a fraction of a second. Every sound is muted. Everything is motionless. I remember how I felt the first time I stopped time; the sensation was indescribable. I was in control of the world.
I relish my freedom, wandering the city without worrying about the consequences. Nothing is out of reach. As I walk, I hear a noise, footsteps behind me. I spin around, trying to identify the source of the sound. I stand still, completely alone as the only one who can break the time-freeze.
The sound draws closer and closer, and I soon realise it is coming from me. As I take one more step, I feel a sudden stiffness overtake my body. I realise in shock the footsteps are coming from me, for I am now stuck in the same moment of time as the rest of the city. I feel my heartbeat quicken in panic—I'm trapped in time.
My special gift has become my own personal prison, and there is no chance of escape.
| 2022-11-30T21:40:43 | 2022-11-30T18:44:26 | 70 | 18 |
[WP] Heaven’s Gates were actually made to keep something in
|
Abigail Lancera had been worried about her mother lately. Ever since the serious-looking men and women had crowded around her on the crinkly-paper seat, when her mother said she wouldn't be going to school this year, when they'd told her that she had to lie very still and that she could watch all the television she wanted, her mother had been looking sicker and sadder and thinner every day. And on her seventh birthday, two too-kind men with watery eyes told her she could wish for anything in the world, anything at all, and they would do their best to grant it.
("Like a genie?" "Yeah, sort of like a genie!")
So on her seventh birthday, Abigail Lancera wished that she could see her mother smile again. And she got her wish. Sobbing, whimpering about how she was the best daughter in the world, Luz Lancera hugged and kissed her daughter on the day she would die.
But somehow, seeing her mother reduced to tears just made Abigail feel worse, worse than the wooziness whenever she tried to sit up, or the dull wrongness in her chest when she struggled to breathe. It was like Aladdin, Abigail thought, how he'd tricked Jafar into wishing to become a genie and Jafar had gotten trapped in a lamp as a result. Jafar wished with all his heart but got trapped somewhere cold and metallic and dark instead.
And Abigail wished with all her heart, but got trapped... well. Atop a bed, she thought. It wasn't a cloud she was on, because clouds were made of water droplets and if you sat on one you'd fall right through. Abigail smiled to herself—Ms. Woolie had been so proud when Abigail gave her presentation on clouds, before everything had happened.
...Everything had happened. The smile on Abigail's face died before it had a chance to grow up. Abigail was young, but she wasn't an idiot. Clear blue sky, massive golden gates, floor of clouds you could stand on—this was Heaven, wasn't it? Which meant that she was dead.
But she never got her wish. Did that mean... did that mean she was bad? Like Jafar?
"Oh. No, my child, no. You were never bad."
Abigail spun around, screaming, at the voice. A... thing... of feathers and eyeballs hovered behind her, speaking with lips that hovered and flapped like a fish. Like macaroni art, if macaroni art was alive and could talk and fly and look through her soul with piercingly-blue eyes.
That piercing gaze didn't become apologetic, exactly, but it softened into understanding. "Ah. I apologize. My appearance can be... unsettling, to humans. No wonder you depict us as winged humans—much simpler than our true forms. I am Zzariel, your guardian angel. Welcome to the afterlife."
Abigail blinked slowly. "Ts... Izz... EE-sariel?" she tried.
Zzariel laughed. "Close enough."
"Izzy," Abigail decided. "Your name is Izzy."
"If you want." Zzariel said, tittering with laughter. "Izzy. I like it."
Abigail's eyes lit up. "Really?"
"Yeah!" Zzariel turned—or, at least, Abigail thought it did. Its eyeball pointed in a different direction. "You did nothing wrong in life, Abigail, and it's my pleasure to do whatever you want, whenever you want."
"Like my very own genie," Abigail said, nodding sagely.
"Mhm! Except... well, angels have a little more *oomph* to work with than the Make-A-Wish foundation. Anything that's ever died—we have it here in heaven. Want the ghost of the very first ice cream you ever ate? Care to see the childhood home you lost in an earthquake? Or—ooh, you'll love this one." With every new item the angel mentioned, a new object materialized, formed of cloudstuff and memory and the souls of things that had passed on into the afterlife. As the angel stopped talking, a plaintive, tiny *mew* sang out from between two patches of clouds, and a splotched, calico kitten stumbled out from nothingness on four clumsy legs.
Abigail gasped. "Meep-meep! Oh—I thought you were gone forever!" The tiny kitten recognized the voice of the girl who'd nursed her back to health from the streets and galloped towards her on all fours, leaping into her lap and curling up with a purr. "Momma's gonna be so happy to see you again!"
At that, Zzariel hesitated. "Er... about that—"
Abigail looked up at the angel. "When can I see Momma?"
"...Not until she dies," Zzariel said. An angel did not look bashful, and an angel did not look embarassed.
But an angel could be agonized.
"...what?" Abigail asked. "But... but I never... I never got to..."
"She hasn't passed on yet," Zzariel said. "She's still in the Terrestrial Realm."
Abigail whipped around to the towering golden gates—the gates that divided the dead from the living. "But—then I could go get her! She's—I can hear her, on the other side!"
Zzariel moved forwards. "Wait—Abigail, don't—"
But it was too late. Kitten, ice cream, and childhood home discarded, Abigail darted towards the Golden Gates of Heaven, those infinite, majestic things. As she neared them, she could see—the gaps between the bars were just large enough that she could slip through them, if she was fast. She lunged forwards—
—and a wall of light exploded into existence, bouncing her back.
Unhurt, but startled, Abigail landed on the floor. Then, eyes narrowing, she turned to Zzariel. "Get me a—a weapon. A thing for hurting people."
Zzariel flicked its eye from side to side. "I—we have—every weapon ever made—but—"
"GET ME THE BIGGEST ONE!" Abigail screamed. "The biggest weapon humans ever made! And show me how to use it!"
"But—"
"You're my genie, right? Then this is my wish!"
With a *pop*, a fifty-foot-tall missile appeared by Abigail's side. Snarling, she fumbled her way through a book the size of her head labeled NUCLEAR ARMAMENT PROTOCOLS before turning to Zzariel, pointing at the Gates, and saying, "Hurt the gates."
"It won't—"
"HURT THEM!"
Zzariel pressed a button, and the atomic bomb hurtled towards the wall between life and death.
The blast was ash and shadow. If Abigail wasn't already dead, she would have died a thousand times over.
But when it was over, the Gates of Heaven still stood, unharmed.
Abigail stared at the Gates. Slowly, a sense of emptiness crept up on her, as radioactive ash fell from the air.
"I... I never got my wish. I didn't want to see Momma smile, I... I wanted to see her be *happy*." Abigail quietly sobbed. "I just wanted my momma to be happy. And—and she's on the other side. And... I just want to see her again."
Zzariel laid one feathered wing on Abigail's shoulder and stared grimly at the Heavenly Gates. The worst part of Heaven: its end. "I'm sorry, Abigail. But the Heavenly Gates were never designed to keep things out."
"They were built to keep you in."
A.N.
Suggestions? Comments? Typos? Please leave them on this comment's sister post at [r/bubblewriters](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/); and if you want more stories like this, try giving the rest of [r/bubblewriters](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/) a peek.
|
I looked at the closed gates at Heaven, we aren’t actually allowed past those gates. If you didn’t know. We are only allowed at the front of Heaven, nobody ever went past those gates but God himself, even Jesus was prohibited to enter. There’s a rumour saying that if you pass those gates God will do the unimaginable to you. I stood there, the gates caked in vivid white.
What lays beyond the gate is something we shall never know, unless..,
I took a step further. Why does God forbid us to go inside? What is there to hide from us? I kept all those questions to myself. People think that Heaven is a great place with lots of entertainment, but there’s nothing. Just food and gospel songs. I touched the heavenly gates.
”Hey! Opal! God told us not to open the gate! Do you want to be punished?” Addie rushed to my side, and grabbed my hand.
”Don’t worry, I’m not going to go inside, I just wanna look. Now leave me alone.” I snatched my hand back, and stared at Addie.
”Fine.” Addie muttered as she left. It’s easy for people to trust me, since they know I never lie. Lying is bad, unless you have a right to lie. I tried to peer over those gates, but it was too tall for me. I tried to open the gates but it was locked. Silly me, I need a key.
I went to God’s massive chamber, up in the clouds. I was dressed as a maid, people won’t recognise me anyways. I opened the chamber’s doors, and carefully closed it. I searched everywhere for the key, but I couldn’t find it. Damnit, stupid key, stupid gate.
I had almost lost hope when I slumped on the table, the table magically opened a secret compartment, the size of a music box. There, I saw a silver key, aligned with gold and fern leaves. It looked so beautiful, I grabbed it and closed the compartment. And I began cleaning again, once when I was done cleaning God’s chamber I got back out and hid the key in my shoe. I’d have to wait until nobody sees me near the gate.
A few hours had past, and when I checked the gate nobody was there. I was safe.
I carefully took out the key and opened the gates. I was expecting the gates to make a big noise, but it was silent. I closed the gate and put the key back in my shoe. What I saw was something so horrible that is worse compared to hell.
Multiple angels were hanging from atop, chained. They were bleeding and their wings were badly bruised. I covered my mouth and stood there.
”H-hey, go back out, or else God wil-“ One of the angels tried to open his mouth to speak again but instead blood came out. He was dead. I quickly opened the gates and closed it. Nobody still saw me. Good, now I just have to maintain a peaceful expression, no horror should be on my face. I went back to God’s chamber, but God was there. I simply said hello and walked past him to his Chamber. I began to clean and clean, hopefully God didn’t suspect me.
”Opal, where were you a while ago?” He asked, he had a stern face and was directly looking at me.
”I was in my room, sir.” I muttered, and went back to cleaning.
”I know what you did.”
”What do you mean? I didn’t do anything.” My heart was thumping, what the fuck, what the fuck, how does he know?
“You thought that you could get away with it.” And immediately, God snapped his hand and everything turned Gore. I covered my hand as my stomach was threatening to puke.“You saw those angels, they went in as well, so I had to do something to them. You will have the same fate as them.” God’s voice boomed, and magically, my wings were chained and I felt sharp stabs.
| 2021-03-23T18:02:40 | 2021-03-23T17:36:22 | 27 | 12 |
[WP] Merfolk have finally emerged from the ocean, ready for diplomatic relations. As they finish listing off their current demands and needs, someone asks why “no pollution” wasn’t mentioned.
|
We laughed when we saw them emerge from the waves.
Perhaps it was their walk, if it can even be called a walk-- their fins slapped awkwardly against the sand, then tore as they moved toward the hard, manmade roads.
Those who touched their bloodstained path were the first to die.
Perhaps it was their strange adornment. How proudly they limped through the crowds of human with their arms ringed with aluminum cans, skin shining with petroleum, and hair tangled with plastic utensils.
"Savages," we giggled. "Do you think they'll start singing 'Part of your World'?"
Perhaps it was their communication. Wild gyrations and spasms were broadcasted around the world. We enjoyed mocking their language, making videos of our imitations. We thought that the Merfolk were too simpleminded to understand.
They did not understand, but they were far from simpleminded.
A conference with the world leaders was made, and the two parties met: the people of the land and the people of the sea. One stepped forward and presented the List. No words were needed, for the List gave all the information needed.
First, it explained that the Merfolk were an ancient race that greatly admired those that lived on Land. They had never come in contact before because they did not believe that had the right to fraternize with such blessed beings, who given them tools.
When asked about the tools, they silently jerked out their plastic-wrapped appendages.
Then, the List went on to describe the Merfolk's longing to finally connect with humans. It wasn't a lack of respect, no. They wanted to help us, for they realized that they had the power to dissipate one of our greatest fears: illness.
A crusty plastic water bottled rolled from the party of Merfolks and into the center of the room. Its dark liquid held the attention of every leader, every camera, every person.
Finally, the List set forth the tradeoff. In exchange for the liquid, they only wanted information, anything and everything, ranging from dictionary definitions to fun facts to mathematical theorems.
The leaders were shocked, and asked for time to consider. The Merfolk agreed; they knew that they had us. As they waddled out the door, one human leader-- Swedish, if memory serves me-- piped up.
"What about the pollution in the sea?"
The other leaders stared at her furiously. How could she let such a fantastic deal go? There was no need to worry, however. Only one Merfolk bothered to turn. He blinked slowly (the only blink that had been detected by those present), spasmed briefly, and left.
After that, it was all a rush. The liquid was tested. Rats, dogs, and chimps that were dying from human-induced cancers miraculously recovered. The lights were green within a few months, and the first human patient was tested. Li Jiashen was a 67-year old patient with a dangerous form of cancer; he was set to die the following week. One sip later, not a trace of illness could be found in his body.
The public could no longer be stopped. Hand shook flipper, and the treaty was unanimously signed.
The black liquid became known as "Q" for ubiquitous, for ubiquitous it became. See, it wasn't just a supposed medicine. Just a teaspoon was enough the enhance the flavor of the dish tenfold, and it somehow paired well with everything-- except, ironically, seafood. Someone found out when fed to livestock, the animals grew bigger and produced better meat. Soon enough, people realized that water diluted with Q could be used to produce huge, delectable produce. Within a few decades, all foods and medicines had been poisoned-- if not completely replaced-- with Q.
But our information started running out. It was almost forty decades after the first meeting. All the books had been shared, even the questionable romance novels\\. All the math problems had been given, even the ones we couldn't wrap our minds around. All the science, the laws, the history, the trivial facts-- everything.
Some desperately looked for more information. Others begged the Merfolk for Q, but to no avail. There was a deal that had been made, and the humans could not fulfill their end of the deal.
The devotees went first. Just like the Merfolk worshipped us, there were people on land that worshipped them. When not tracing the bloody paths the Merfolk had walked so long ago, they sat by the sea. They littered their hair with trash and sipped Q, staring at the Merfolks' reflective eyes and whispering any information they could think of.
There were never very many of them. And then there were none.
Then, the youth started disappearing. People who had never had a bite of Q-less food in their life were gone; whole families, couples, and children. An older woman-- Jenna McIntosh-- finally showed the world what was going on when she streamed her son, Sean, stumbling out of the house.
*In the video, she asks what he's doing. He doesn't respond. She says his name once, twice. No response. She grabs him, and finally he notices her.*
*"Hey Mom, can you hear the singing? It's like Q, but better."*
*His voice is calm, his eyes are clear. Jenna's confused at first. She cocks her head, straining. Listening.*
*"Oh. Yes. Let's go see what it is."*
*The two of them walk out of the house.*
More videos started popping up. Around the world, hordes of people were walking into the ocean, letting the salty brine-- now dark from years of careless pollution-- seep into their clothes, mouth, nose, ears, and eyes. They'd vanish beneath the waves, and their bodies would never be found. As the procession trundled along, the Merfolk watched. If not for the slight movement of their lips, as if they were humming a lullaby, one might believe that they were statues.
People were afraid, of course. Panicked posts flooded social media. I too was afraid, which is why I began recording this to begin with. I was afraid that humans would be forgotten. That I would be forgotten.
I know now that this is ridiculous because the Merfolk remember everything.
Their sweet song explained this to me as I wrote at my desk, and then as I drove.
I am almost where I need to be.
|
The Chief Merman advanced on the president, and brandished his trident. Gone was the soft voice, the respectful smile from the first day he had emerged, the start of their negotiations.
And now they were here, at the end of the mass genocide of the human race. It had all happened so quickly, on the fifth of August, the beaches of Brazil the new Normandy.
But the president couldn’t blame anyone but himself, for forgetting his own number one rule.
“We’re all the same,” the Chief paraphrased, coming to rest his robo-body on the desk. “We’re just like you, in the end. You should have expected that.”
“And what’s that?”
“Brutal and greedy and selfish.”
“You read Thomas Hobbes much?” the president muttered, huddled miserably in the corner of the Oval Office, his gun long since out of bullets.
“What?”
“Some writer. I’m sure you would have been friends.”
The Chief rose from the desk, and advanced on the president.
“You understand, at least?”
“Of course. Can I just ask one thing?” the president said with the last of his dignity.
“I don’t see why not.”“Why did you not mention the pollution in your treaty? That’s part of why I wondered if your terms were too good to be true. Fresh supplies of meat from the ocean, in exchange for total autonomy and non-regulation of all waters, and that's all you ask for? We were prepared to grant that request, should you have ever asked for it. But you never did.”
The Chief looked outside the window, at the chaos outside.
“You never wondered why, out of all the creatures in the ocean, we emerged?”
“Because you…are like us.”
“Exactly. And humans are a resourceful bunch.”
“Right.”
“So…given all the free metal and plastics you dump on us, why would we not use it to our advantage?”
It dawned on the president. “That’s what…”
“Our legs and bodies are made of. Yes. And now, thanks to you, we can walk like you.”
The Chief raised his trident.
“Thank you,” he said tenderly to the president, before it all ended.
\-
[r/penguin347](https://reddit.com/r/penguin347)
| 2019-12-26T00:05:42 | 2019-12-25T23:16:09 | 1,062 | 229 |
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