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[WP]: An ordinary human being gets abducted into interplanetary olympics that have a fun twist: The loser's planet gets destroyed. All hope seems to be lost, until the last sport is revealed to be what humans do best.
Edit: Thanks to you people, I am now aware of the existence of Jimmy Neutron, and if I could, would take it back.
I apologise for not having watched the same cartoons as you did, growing up.
|
John Norman's current Monday was abysmally bad, even in the context of his life and his Mondays. The hot water was out in the building, his toaster practically incinerated his pop-tarts, his ex-wife "asked" for another hundred bucks to take his son to the renaissance faire (with the implicit threat that if he doesn't give in to her demands she will sue for a higher child support), his commute was extended thanks to an accident blocking two of the five lanes of the highway and just as he was about to answer the angry text from his boss inquiring why he isn't in the office yet he was abducted from his car by a flying saucer.
"I haven't had my prostate checked anyway" - thought he resignedly but instead of sticking a probe where the Sun doesn't shine, a typical "grey" alien attached a device to his left temple.
He was only slightly surprised when he "heard" a voice inside his head.
"John Norman of Earth" - said the voice belonging to the grey, even though its mouth didn't move - "you were chosen to represent Earth in the interplanetary olympic games."
"Why me?" - he thought. But apparently he thought it loudly enough that the alien answered: "You are an average representative of the more physically capable sex from the dominant country of your planet."
And indeed, John was perfectly average. He was 39 years old, 175 cm tall and somewhat pudgy at 88 kilograms. He had an IQ of 100, an office job in the middle management and an ex-wife who was apparently average, even though he thought she was the worst bitch who ever walked the Earth.
"And what are these interplanetary olympics?" - he was starting to get the hang of telepathic communications.
"Oh, we were observing your planet - yes, Roswell was us, let me continue - for quite a while and saw these 'olympics' of yours. And... well, we need a new... I think you call it 'Dyson-sphere', so we decided to pick its place with one."
"Huh?"
"Loser's planet is space dust."
"Crap."
After two weeks of competition things were looking bad for Earth. As it turns out, most other aliens came from worlds with similar gravity and atmosphere so at least he didn't die or collapse as soon as the saucer dumped him into the stadium. While John bested some other aliens in one or two sports - the diminutive Rigelians were good at jumping and gymnastics but they couldn't box for shit, for example, and the tentacles of the Antaris were not suited for discus throwing - he never finished in the top 10. Just before the final competition Earth was at the end of the score table with 0 points. On the second-to-last position was Vega, its aliens that looked like centaurs with antelope parts replacing the horse ones managed to come in at the second place at the 100 meter dash.
Mathematically, Earth still had a small chance. John "only" had to win the last event and the Vegan had to finish 11th or worse. Simply speaking, it required a miracle.
His hopes for saving Earth disappeared when the greys announced the last event: marathon. He always planned to run one, but never even finished C25K, the "C" part was way too comfortable.
Weird aliens from thousand worlds lined up to run 42 Earth kilometers plus change. John, the tallest bipedal could beat most of the shorter bipeds and the odd tripod in the medium-distance events but the quadrupeds ran at speeds even Usain Bolt would envy.
The start pistol sounded and the quadrupeds predictably left John in the dust. He started running, he was certain that he will have to slow down to a walk after a couple kilometers, but he didn't want to go gently.
After a kilometer he passed the fastest non-human biped. The Centauri was approximately one meter twenty and while its legs were relatively long for its body John's were longer.
After the third kilometer John slowed down to a walk. He half-expected the rest of the bipeds to start taking him over but it didn't happen.
At the tenth kilometer he passed the exhausted Vegan.
A grey medic was examining a seemingly dead Eridiani with the device John dubbed "tricorder" at the twelfth klick.
A group of feline aliens were taking a rest at the tenth mile. When they spotted John they bolted off in a dead sprint, only to stop for another rest after a hundred meters or so. This repeated three other times before they just collapsed.
As John walked the path he passed several aliens with four, six or more legs, either dragging themselves or not even capable of that. The winner of the 10 kilometer event, a wolf-like creature from Gliese was panting heavily in the shade of a tree-like organism at the 30th kilometer.
When he saw the finish line, he started jogging. He couldn't be the first, he thought, there must have been some faster alien, but if the last photo of a human in existence will be his finish line picture, it might as well show him doing what he was supposed to do.
His was the biggest surprise when he saw his name standing alone on the table of the finishers.
Turns out, humans are the only sentient beings evolved from persistence hunters. The others were good at sprinting, or even at medium-distance running but they simply can't handle strenuous physical activity for more than an hour. John's was the only species capable of moving relatively quickly for hours if necessary.
He wondered how the scientists were going to explain the sudden flash of radiation from Vega 25 years in the future just before his memory of the events was wiped and he was sent back to the timespace coordinates of his abduction, with inexplicably longer hair, smaller girth and the intense desire to run a marathon.
|
The aliens were terrifying and bewildering; hulking behemoths and stalking predators, covered in barbed spines or gelatinous acidic ooze. John counted himself lucky to have been spared the combat events. He had watched though, as fight after fight ended in a rapid exchange of blows, the victorious monsters not even breaking a sweat in the exertion of breaking their opponent.
Forced to the starting line of a what appeared to be a simple foot-race, he couldn't help but feel helplessly small, trapped between two nightmare creatures to his right and left, with the heat of an alien sun beating down on him. The unmistakeable sound of a starting gun. He bolted before the cattle prod could catch him from behind. Running, very literally he suspected, as if his life depended on it.
The pack pulled ahead, but he was barely 50 metres down the track before the great stone giant running to his right slowed, falling down onto one huge knee, toppling to the side with a dull thud. As John loped past the fallen alien he saw another bizarre creature slowing, it's many legs going limp as it's skin changed from a deep purple to a pale blue.
The sweat ran down his face, as the realisation struck him; out of every alien there, not one of the bastards was sweating. Not one of them was *able* to sweat. He was surrounded by the descendants of apex predators, accustomed to brief explosive chases to bring down prey with an economy of effort, not tests of endurance in fleeing. Unable to shed heat efficiently they were succumbing beneath the burning sun, boiling from the inside.
They had thought this their most difficult trial, the most amusing to throw the tiny human into. They had been very much mistaken.
| 2014-05-06T07:25:49 | 2014-05-06T06:52:54 | 88 | 28 |
[WP] The town council died in a freak plane accident. An audit by the interim council revealed 20% of the town’s power is siphoned off to a structure with priority over even hospitals. The send you to investigate the building in the middle of nowhere.
|
Like always, Akito got the short end of the stick. *They never send James to deal with this shit*, he thought as he pulled the sedan into the lot of the Cartex Building. No—James got sent to dinners with developers and golf tournaments. He’d never get saddled with the task of investigating the shady as fuck building on the edge of town.
Akito smoothed his hair and sighed. There was no point complaining about it. He was the new guy, after all. It was a small town. The politics were boring, that much was true, but he wouldn’t be here forever. Just for a few months, until he had the experience to get a job in Seattle. And after that... who knew. Maybe the UN one day. International unity never failed to pique his interest.
But, for now, Akito had to focus on the task ahead of him. The rain had started to fall in earnest, leaving beaded trails on the windshield as the droplets raced to the bottom. He reached for his umbrella, swung open the door, and stepped directly into a puddle.
*Shit.* The water soaked through the leather of his shoe and left his sock a damp mess. The hem of his pant leg suffered a similar fate—at least it was dark enough that no one would notice. Hopefully.
*This better be worth it.* Akito grit his teeth and made his way towards the entrance. Part of him was still convinced this was all a mistake. The interim council was just that—they didn’t have the same experience as the old one. And the old was old. Akito figured they were all well into their 50s at least. Robert Hanging must’ve been pushing eighty. But they knew what they were doing.
And the new council seemed to think that this building—this rundown, three storey office building on the edge of town that desperately needed its windows washed—was drawing almost a quarter of all the power from the grid. Akito didn’t even see how that was possible. For a place that size to use that much electricity, it should’ve been lit up like a fucking Christmas tree.
Still. He wanted to impress Cara. Even if he didn’t plan on sticking around long, a promotion would be nice. There was a new pair of Atomic skis he’d had his eyes on.
Akito reached the door and pushed his way in. The entrance area was nondescript; a small grey reception desk sat firmly in front of him and a few dozen faded vinyl chairs lined the walls of the room. No one was at the desk, though.
Akito folded down his umbrella and hit the bell.
A few moments later, a young woman appeared out of an office to the side. Her hair was sleek and blonde and wound up in a tight bun that Akito was fairly sure had been out of style for years.
“Welcome to Cartex,” she said with a smile so falsely bright that Akito wondered if that was where the electricity was going. “How can I make your visit pleasant today?”
Akito blinked. “Uh, yeah. Okay. I’m Luke Mori, here on behalf of the City of Port Angeles.”
The woman’s mouth faltered from her smile, but she corrected it quickly. “Oh, you have nothing to worry about there. Our CEO had everything squared away with councilman Hanging.”
“Well, that’s sort of the thing. In light of recent... events—“ Akito cringed— “the interim council has been re-evaluating cases. There were some flags raised about electricity consumption in this building.”
The woman quirked her head. “We pay the bill don’t we?”
“Of course you do. I didn’t mean to insinuate anything.” Akito adjusted his tie. “We were just curious about the business. As your new representatives, the council would like to know more about what you actually do here at Cartex.”
“We’re a car insurance company. Surely you know that?”
Akito looked around. There were no images anywhere to suggest that. No brochures or pamphlets. “No, I didn’t, actually.” The whole place was strange—the reception area seemed more like one that belonged in a health clinic, with its sort of sterile aesthetic. It was a Tuesday afternoon and not a person was here.
“Well, now you know! Have a wonderful day, Akito,” the receptionist said with a smile and a wave.
Akito stilled. He hadn’t told her his real name. He rarely used it—people around here were always more willing to talk to Luke than Akito. He swallowed thickly and felt his throat bob uncomfortably against his tie. “Yeah, um. Yeah. You too.”
He turned from the desk and pushed his way out into the September rain without bothering to open his umbrella. Fuck. His gut tightened. How did she know?
Without thinking, Akito made a straight line for his sedan. Once inside, he let his forehead fall against the steering wheel. What the hell just happened?
He pushed his wet hair off his forehead and dug his phone out of his pocket. His thumb hovered over the screen for a moment. He could call Josh and ask for back up, but that prick would never let him live it down. He could call Cara, but that would mean admitting to his boss that he couldn’t handle the most basic task.
Instead, he punched in a familiar number.
“‘Lo?” said the muffled voice through the speaker, thick with confusion.
“Himari?”
“Ugh. Akito—do you have any clue what time it is here? I was sleeping.”
He glanced at his watch. “It’s like 5 pm in New York. You weren’t seriously sleeping?”
A pause. “What’s it to you anyway? I was taking a nap. God knows I’m busy enough.”
Akito bit his lip. “You’re right. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up.”
Himari laughed on the other end. “If you say something about how I need my beauty sleep, I’m telling Mom.”
“I’m being serious.” Akito paused. “Look, something weird just happened.”
“Hmm. You did apologize for waking me up which means that you either want something or are genuinely freaked out.”
Akito hesitated. “Okay, I don’t know how to say this. I know you’re busy and everything, but I think I’ve got a story for you.”
Himari quieted, the way she always did when her interest was piqued. “You sure?”
Akito nodded to himself. “Yeah. I am. Something strange is going on here—I can feel it. Between the council, and now there’s this weird building, and everything just isn’t adding up.”
“Looks like my years of telling you to follow your gut paid off.” Himari let out a small sigh. “But I can’t afford the time off right now.”
“Himari, this could be big.”
“I’ll see what I can do from here. Okay? You’re gonna have to start this one off, Kito. If it turns into something bigger, then I could maybe talk to my boss.”
Akito nodded to himself again. “Okay, thank—“
A sharp rap on his window cut him off. He started; his phone clattered to the ground.
Outside his window stood the blonde receptionist. The rain soaked her to her core, but she didn’t seem to notice the downpour. Anyone standing in weather like that wearing only a blouse and skirt would’ve been shivering.
But she stayed still. Her smile hadn’t faltered. She reached forward and knocked at the window again.
Tentatively, Akito rolled it down.
“Hello, Akito. Is there a problem with the service I’ve given you today?”
He shook his head. “No! No. You were very... helpful.” He tightened his grip on the steering wheel. If her feet weren’t so damn close to the tire, he would’ve taken off, rude or not.
“And yet you seem dissatisfied with the answer I gave you.”
Akito stared. How could she know.
“You called your sister, did you not?”
“Look, I didn’t mean anything by it. I’m just gonna head out and we can both just pretend I never was here.” His hand reached toward the gear. He shifted from park into drive and punched the gas to the floor.
And his car sputtered like it never had before. The engine gave a resounding bang that rang in his ear and reverberated in his chest. Vaguely, he was aware that the hazards started to flash before abruptly burning out. The radio rose to a swell and died like the rest of his once-reliable car.
*Whatthefuckwhatthefuck.* Akito’s head pounded against his skull. He’d just gotten an oil change a few weeks ago. This shouldn’t have happened. He had to get out of here.
“Pretend you were never here?” The receptionist chuckled. “I think we both know it’s too late for that.”
——
r/liswrites
|
The sound of rushing air penetrates through my headset as we begin the operation. I look over to the other squads, then check my parachute. So far, so good. A voice fills the headset.
“Cutting off power in 10 seconds.”
A few seconds later, we hear a distant explosion. Below us, there is faint shimmer of light, barely perceptible unless you knew what to look for.
“Deploy chutes in 3... 2... 1.”
I deploy my parachute. I hold my breath, preparing myself for the worst possible outcome. The voice fills the headset again.
“Confirm that you made it past the barrier.”
I look around. 17 parachutes. Thank god. I place my hand on the receiver.
“Confirmed.”
“Copy that. Begin phase 2. Good luck.”
I raise my hand and signal the next phase of the operation. Twelve of the parachutes swiftly change direction and begin moving north. I start the timer on my watch. Less than a minute later, we hit the ground.
We land near the back gate of the complex. The outside lights from the main house flicker to life as the power is restored. I check my watch. Two minutes left. I signal to my squad. We push deeper into the complex until we reach the inner wall. The main house is on the other side, completely illuminated by flood lights. We place charges on the inner wall.
I check my watch. 20 seconds left. We retreat a safe distance from the wall. With my hand on the detonator, I count down in my mind. Three. Two. One.
An explosion goes off to the north, as a giant fireball rises to the sky. Success. I press the detonator, creating a massive hole in the inner wall. The floodlights are now off, and the entire complex is shrouded in darkness. I switch to night vision and place a hand on my receiver.
“Zookeeper, this is Raptor one.”
“Raptor one, receiving.”
“Phase two complete. We’ve breached the inner sanctum.”
“Copy that Raptor one. Air support will be available in one minute. Begin phase 3.”
I look over to my squad mates, who nod at me in return. We check our weapons one last time, and then enter the inner sanctum. Suddenly, the lights within the house turn back on. A man dressed in a silk bathrobe emerges from the second floor balcony.
We fire at the man, but to no effect. The rounds do not even reach him.
“Zookeeper, are you receiving this?” I say into my receiver, trying to stay calm.
“Affirmative, Raptor one.”
I adjust my helmet and point my helmet cam directly at the man in the bathrobe. He then begins to speak to us.
“How incredibly rude! I don’t remember doing anything to deserve such treatment!”
As I move my hand to the receiver to ask for orders, an unfamiliar shrill voice fills my headset.
“Ask him what hell he thinks he’s doing!”
With my gun still pointed at him, I try to comply.
“Uh... what are...” but the man in the bathrobe cuts me off.
“Oh please, there’s no need for that. I know everything that goes on in this space after all,” he says to me. He then looks at the helmet cam. “Come now, Frannie, they were bound to find out about us anyways!”
The voice named Frannie shrieks into my headphones. “You absolute buffoon! Don’t you realize how big of a diplomatic issue this is? Why did you kill all those people?”
“First of all, I didn’t kill those people. I haven’t even been on this planet for the past week. I had to go back home to visit my parents.”
“Then how did they die? No matter how you look at it, their cause of death can’t be explained naturally!” Frannie said in an exasperated voice.
“Well I did notice that I was missing some stuff. I hosted them for a dinner party before I left, maybe they took something they shouldn’t have. I haven’t had the time to check, I just got back here a little while ago,” the man in the bathrobe said nonchalantly.
I hear an audible groan from my headset. I look over at my squad mates. They still have their guns pointed at him, but they’re clearly confused. I lower my weapon and grab my receiver.
“Uh, this is Raptor one. What’s the status on the op? Are we scrapping?”
There is a moment of silence. Then, a familiar voice.
“Raptor team, this is Zookeeper. Scrap the operation.”
We put our weapons away. The man in the bathrobe smiles at us, and says,
“Well, now that you’re here, why not stay for breakfast?”
Edit: numbers and formatting
| 2020-09-26T05:51:37 | 2020-09-26T05:39:00 | 1,261 | 223 |
[WP] Every ten years, you must go in front of a board of peers who will evaluate your life for you. If you do not "Impress your peers" you will be executed.
|
“Now seeing Mr. Philip Johnson. Please step forward, Mr. Johnson.”
Phil stood up, his hands clasped together. He was shaking.
This was Phil’s third life evaluation. They came every ten years, on the day following one’s birthday. It was June 24, and Phil had just turned thirty years of age the day before. Each and every year a letter came in the mail reminding him of the date, which Phil found to be rather tedious. He couldn’t forget it if he tried.
Row after row of people sat waiting on hard wooden benches. The room itself was overwhelming; the ceiling rose higher than any Phil had seen before, stone lion carvings hung on the sides of each window, and the eleven evaluators sat elevated among the judged.
“Welcome back, Mr. Johnson. Please, won’t you step a bit closer so we can get a good look at you?” The man chuckled.
Phil approached the red line. “Hi,” he said, giving a slight bow.
“Now, lets get right into it, shall we?” The man in the centre spoke while those on both sides took notes on their computers. “Why don’t you start by telling us about, well, life since you were last here, Mr. Johnson.”
“Uhm, yeah, okay.” Phil’s voice shook as he spoke. “Well, lets see. My twenty-first year started, well, poorly, when my girlfriend of three years left me–”
“Ah, yes,” the man said, typing. “One Stephanie Gregsson. And was there any particular reason for this departure?”
“No, it was pretty mutual, I think.” Phil looked up to watching eyes. “Well, I mean, she was the one who actually left and all but it was pretty mutual.”
“Yes, right, well, please go on.”
“Right, okay. So that was pretty bad for a while. I was pretty down for, I dunno, four or five years. Didn’t do a whole lot. It wasn’t great.” Phil’s hand rubbed his already-greying chin stubble. “During that time I was going to school, completed my undergrad degree and then went for my masters –”
“In?”
“Oh, uh, poetry, actually. South American poetry, specifically.”
“Mhm, and are you working right now, Mr. Johnson?”
“Right now? Oh yeah I’m working right now. An office job.”
“And how do you enjoy this office job?”
“It is what it is, you know. Gets the bills paid.” Phil laughed, alone. “But yeah it’s okay.”
“Hm. Lets switch gears a bit here. Why don’t you tell us more about your love life since Ms. Gregsson.” said the man, waving his hand so as to hurry Phil along.
“Oh, yeah, for sure.” Sweat dripped from Phil’s eyebrows. He wiped it using the sleeve of his white dress shirt. “I went on, I dunno, like six or seven dates since Steph left –”
“Six or seven since she left you in total?”
“Yes, that’s correct.” The ten other jury members had been writing what seemed to be Phil’s every word, stutter, and movement, as the sound of typing never ceased.
“And are you currently involved in a relationship of any sort?”
“Well, no. Not currently, anyway.”
“Oh, so there was someone though?”
“Well, no.”
“Hm.” The speaker joined the others in typing.
Phil’s shirt became see-through, clasping to his body as if it were a part of him.
“Look, Mr. Johnson, lets just cut to it.”
“Okay.”
“Why or why not do you believe that your life has been one of merit, one that has contributed to the world in which it occupies?”
Phil looked around the room, scratching at the splotchy hair he considered a beard.
“Well, for one thing I’ve loved and been loved. I mean the human condition revolves around love; we couldn’t truly know life without it, don’t you think?” The evaluators exchanged glances. “Even when I was depressed I had hope; not in success or riches, but hope that someday I could love again. It’s the human race’s best, and at times worst characteristic, but in the end I think it’s what makes us human.”
The typing stopped. One of the evaluators whispered into the speaker’s ear. “Yeah, no. We’re gonna need a bit more than that. Anything else?”
“Well, my Reddit account has like 6,000 comment karma.”
The evaluators all exchanged whispers, their heads turning from one to the other as they discussed Phil’s fate. After a short while the speaker struck his gavel twice. “Alright everyone. Settle down, settle down.” He looked down upon Phil. “Alright, Mr. Johnson. You’re free to go. Your next appointment is ten years from today. Good luck.”
As Phil exited the auditorium, tired eyes all around watching him, he smiled. He opened the large wooden doors into the outside world. The air seemed fresher, the sky bluer, the world lighter. No longer did his “pointless internet points” seem so pointless.
|
"Ten is always the easiest of course. I came from a rich family and always head the best tutors. I tried about 15 different sports intensely by the time 6 and excelled at swimming. The next four years were studying, swimming, and interview prep. My parents wanted me well rounded so I was assigned friend from the club and we met for half hour once a week. I easily would have passed anyways but my father was college rugby team mates with the head questioner.
Twenty was scary. My friend Andrew fell from horse at 13 and had to walk with a cane. The family tried everything to correct it but he knew what it meant. His father gave him a large sum of money and he spent the next few years seeing what's beyond the walls. I spent the decade working on my law degree. Finished prep at 13, good but not great. Finished my law degree at 18, great but not perfect. My uncle being who he is got my a job at the prosecutors office. My greatest accomplishment was having an eight year old sentenced to death for robbery. Firm and fair prosecutors have the best chance at becoming questioners. Questioners have the best chance at a long life. All hail the system"
ALL HAIL THE SYSTEM!! The room full of 5 year olds shouted back.
| 2014-06-15T14:22:57 | 2014-06-15T10:20:22 | 55 | 32 |
[WP] The website appeared suddenly one day, with no announcement. Anyone, anywhere could type in the url and access it. The content was simple: A homepage, a search bar, and the full name, a list of timestamped sins and the years to be spent in hell of every living human.
|
The website had been up approximately 12 hours and the NSA DTF-Team had already figured out how to feed databases into it. 100,000 names a second. In less than an hour they had the entire United States saved. Certainly there were still many issues to work through. The name Mark Johnson returned every single Mark Johnson all as one file. There was no state or address variable, no SS#, not even a middle initial.
16 hours in, Congress passed, and the President signed HR666 The Amnesty Accord. It was unanimous and (obviously, if you'd looked any of them up) self serving but still very necessary. Seventy countries, and quickly rising, had signed on as well. All prior crimes outside of murder were forgiven and not punishable. Prior Murder would be added at a later date.
20 hours in, all the 24hr news channels had purchased multiple additional stations, ready to capitalize on the absolute onslaught of new news. It quickly devolved into hosts looking at suggestions on their twitter feed and broadcasting the results live.
Some early headlines:
* Corona virus was indeed leaked in Wuhan. Just not by the Chinese. A Russian dark operative was responsible, easily noted by the DTF-Team from Ukraine (oh, the irony) when they saw the 240k murders attributed to him four days before the outbreak started. Which also told everyone how much human damage would be done before it petered out.
* The new President was surprisingly clean excluding the LUST entries that seemed to plague almost every single person.
* OJ did it.
* So did Harvey Weinstein, at least 32 of them. His list would take a whole team to go through (which of course there were several).
* A Manhattan prison guard had the murder tag on Aug. 10th, 2019.
* One channel was obsessively looking into proving the JFK assassination, but it was tough work since you couldn't put in a dead person and the general public didn't have the same database access the government groups did.
For several days the country essentially shut down as people sat at their computers and looked up every name they could think of while watching one or two of the broadcasts simultaneously.
23 hours in, it was noted that legal name changes did indeed show up immediately with close to a clean slate. Except right below the data-less line it showed 'Bill Smith-formerly known as Matew Krzynski, followed by all the sins. It was a good attempt but not a useful loophole.
30 hours in, most of the news stations are off the air. It's just too much info to put into your brain and people are struggling mightily to cope with it all.
Despite the Amnesty Accord the suicide rate is up c.4000% in less than two days.
48 hours in, following an exceedingly poor business decision, Facebook removes the Sinmoji buttons they had applied to every account. 40 million accounts were self deleted in 3 hours, proving good things could indeed come from this.
60 hours in, the first Ap is developed. Touted as a portable lie detector, LIAR was basically just a browser screen in disguise that went to the same website, but people got a kick out of it because you'd ask a person a question, then enter their name and if the last sin returned was lying, the Ap would loudly proclaim 'Liar'. 200 million US downloads within 24 hours. A market quickly developed, much like skins or wallpapers, to allow you to personalize the proclamation. Some favorites were Siri saying 'You're full of shit' as well as 'No soup for you'.
1 week in, the government database is made public and attached to Drivers Licenses, State IDs, and Passports. Most public events now ask 'Any plans to harm persons/property today?' before swiping an ID onto a tablet with the database. Typing an actual name into the website is now done automatically. So far, this question seems to work the best.
Business contract negotiations now start with which questions the sides can ask each other to determine legitimacy and truthfulness. The Supreme Court refused to hear an emergency case of NASA v. Boeing instead ruling with the cryptic 'let's let this play out for a while'.
1 month in, murders are down 93% and declining. There are still drunk drivers and such, or people planning murder/suicides, sociologists suggest it will never reach zero but it's a wonderful start. Detective work is obviously easier, most police forces now have only a few street squads that go to where the crime occurred minutes after it happens. The rest of the force sits at desks doing the data entry on the massive amount of cases. Most major cities now run their residents through the database every minute or two (depending on the quality of their existing IT infrastructure). It's not true crime prevention but it sure makes getting away more difficult.
pt2 below
|
I search my name.
Shit.
It’s there.
My name is there. In bright red, my name is plainly written across the screen.
Now everyone can know that I killed her.
I killed her.
*I KILLED HER.*
My hands are shaking. This can’t be real. No. No. No. no.
I’m shaking and crying and breaking down.
NO!
I will spend an eternity in hell.
Great.
GREAT.
I can’t think I can’t breathe I can’t live I can’t see I can’t speak. I can’t.
I can’t live.
I CAN’T LIVE!
| 2020-02-29T23:36:11 | 2020-02-29T20:52:03 | 22 | 11 |
[WP] You have been told all your life that you have a rare medical condition. It means you need regular special meals that your family has lovingly prepared. You now find out that your "condition" actually requires fresh human flesh and your family have become serial killers to keep you alive.
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A/N: Wrote this on the phone so please excuse any egregious grammar/spelling errors.
I first met my husband when I was hospitalized at nineteen. I was there after a horrific cougar attack took the life of my parents and sister on one cold winter night. I had no memory of the attack and was told I was in a coma for a week after they discovered me in the forest near my house. I was the only survivor.
When I awoke from my coma, I was completely and utterly alone. My direct family had a strained relationship with the rest of the family and they refused to take me in when they heard I was ready to be discharged. I barely had any friends since my parents were strict to the point I had to be homeschooled because I told them I made a friend in school. I had no one.
But throughout my stay in the hospital there was this one person who was there for me through it all and he ended up being my husband—and doctor. As scandalous as it sounds, I fell in love and married the doctor who took care of me. For him, he said it was love at first sight.
Twenty years have past since then and now I have a beautiful son and daughter who are seventeen and ten respectively. My son James is quiet and reserved like his father but my daughter Leslie is like me, rambunctious, bubbly, and with a slight tinge of mischievousness.
I’d like to say that I’m equally close to my children but my son has always preferred my husband’s company over mine; every weekend without fail those two would go and have “male bonding“ time which basically meant they’d go fishing even late into the night. They also had their own “man cave” in the basement that Leslie and I were barred from. I never understood that.
Chores in the house were equally split. My kids did the dishes, I did the laundry and the overall cleaning of the house, and my husband was the one that cooked. Or if I had to be more precise, my husband had to be the one that cooked for the household. According to him, I required a special protein diet for a condition that my daughter had also inherited from me. It was a chronic ailment I had since childhood so there were no surprises when he fed my daughter and I the same fare my parents once served me when I was a kid. His cooking wasn’t the best but it was filling. And I loved seeing him working in the kitchen with an apron.
One day while my husband and son went out on one of their fishing trips, Leslie was throwing a tantrum and kept complaining about how cold and hungry she was. I didn’t know what to feed her because my husband said Leslie and I were deathly allergic to a lot of things and there was nothing in the fridge that was safe to eat.
“There’s some food in the basement,” she said to me before she headed towards the basement. What was odd about this basement was that it was always locked when the boys were gone and I had no means of accessing it. I always presumed it was a cold storage place for their fish and they didn’t want me meddling with it because it was “their thing.” Or something like that.
I wasn’t all that curious about what my boys did in the basement but when Leslie produced a key and opened the basement door, I told myself it wouldn’t hurt to take a peak.
As we descended down the stairs, I noticed that there was plastic covering all over the walls and floor. When we reached the bottom of the stairs I noticed the metal operating table at the back of the room and the three hulking refrigerators in front of it. Around the operating table were a bunch of surgical tools and saws on a tray that was incredibly filthy with grime.
I didn’t know why I felt so nervous then but something felt off about everything. I didn’t have the chance to ruminate over the strangeness of the basement set up when my little Leslie went to one of the refrigerators...and took out a human hand.
Saying I felt shock at that moment would’ve been an understatement. Saying I wasn’t beyond bewildered when Leslie began gnawing on the hand would’ve been downright insanity.
Maybe I was insane. Maybe I was having another episode like my husband once warned me about. Maybe I was still in that coma and this nightmare was a horrid, terrible fever dream.
I wanted to run up to my daughter, smack the hand out of her grasp, and immediately call the authorities but as she began tearing the flesh off the hand something...something took hold of me. Seeing the blood run down her arms, seeing the rich pink meat coming off the bones, I couldn’t—I couldn’t look away.
And before I knew it I woke up to a sea of gore and carnage. I was covered in blood, all three of the refrigerators opened and emptied. Pieces of human body parts and entrails were strewn all over the floor, the walls, everywhere. Behind me, Leslie was sitting on the operating table sucking on the inside of a tibia like it was a lollipop.
“Honey?”
I looked up and saw my husband and son standing a few feet away. They were in the midst of carrying a large ice crate between them. My husband was staring at me with wide eyed horror. But James, my son he...he looked at me impassively like it was any other day.
“Mom,” he said to me quietly, calmly, “We brought dinner.”
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“What the fuck you guys!? What was your plan? That I would just never find out? Never notice?”
“Well in all fairness you did take much longer than expected to start showing symptoms” my father offered, shifting his weight on the other side of the kitchen island “We figured we would do what we could until we found a better plan, but we couldn’t just do NOTHING”
“That still doesn’t make this okay. That doesn’t forgive what you did. What you have been doing for years. Both of you.” They are both very logical people, always have been. I was raised to keep a level head at all times but it is so hard when you realize the lengths people will go to to hide things from you.
“Well you never seemed to go out before your condition anyways” my mother interjected “And it’s not like your gaming friends could hear you any different over the microphone. Not a first, anyways.” That’s no excuse, I may be young but it’s still my own life more or less. I should be allowed to make some sort of decisions about what happens in it, and i should be told about things so we can work through them as a family, not have everyone work around me in secret.
“I’m just really hurt you guys never told me I was a zombie.”
| 2019-03-13T09:22:13 | 2019-03-13T09:01:05 | 18 | 10 |
[WP] "Whatever happened to that nice girl/guy you used to be with?" Your family asks you. Upon discussion, you realize that they and everyone you know has vivid memories of this person but you.
Did you lose your memory? Was this person ever real? What's goin' on?
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Thanksgiving has always been a big deal. Always. It almost feels like I could describe the embodied feeling of a hundred Thanksgiving within my family, the way the traditions are so well established, though that may be impossible given that I'm only 22.
Everyone in my family gathered, numbering well into the 70s, if you count the newborns and my cousin Gina's new husband. The food took up the entirety of Gran's giant kitchen table, along with all the counter space, and despite of the sheer amount of food, we still manage to keep an orderly line thanks to Aunt Lora's stern warnings of "skipping the line and ruinin' the ahrda o' things," her Boston accent only seeming to shine through when she's feeling important.
Wait, not Aunt Lora, that's Aunt Cindy who has the accent, Aunt Lora is from Russelville, Arkansas, same as most of us. Why was I thinking that?
I'm determined to get as much food on the plate at once, ignoring warnings from others about looking like a pig, or not taking all the candied yams. This technique allows me to only have to get up from my seat once. You get a large plate of savory foods, then go up for a large plate of desserts. With more than 70 people here, there are a limited number of seats, so you have to hold on to one if you get one. Hence, my method of loading the plate.
I don't remember Gran having plastic plates like the one I'm currently holding, nor the plastic cups at the end of the counter. As I ponder this notion of Gran updating from styrofoam plates to plastic ones, I'm pulled back into reality by someone tapping me on the shoulder and saying, for maybe the third or fourth time, "I said, whatever happened to Sarah?" He's a distant cousin, and I can't remember if his name is is Mike or Micah. I'll ask dad later. Where did he go, anyways? I swear he was just here with mom. I notice there is a significant gap in front of me since I've spent too long ladling gravy over my entire plate.
"Who?" I ask, picking up a roll, tearing it open, putting some turkey and potatoes into it, dipping it into gravy, then taking a bite before placing it back on my tray next to my plate. Wait, Gran got trays too?
"Stop eating yah food while yah in line!" reprimands Aunt what's-her-face. Some ham, that's all i'm missing right now.
"Sarah, you know, from a while ago. I met her last year. Were you two not serious? I figured you were since you brought her to the family Thanksgiving."
The confused look on my face must have been evident because Aunt Sheila pipes in, her hair-sprayed up-do not seeming to move independently from her head. "Sarah Matthews, Chris. You brought her here 3 years in a row. Red head, your skydiving buddy, about to finish nursing school...you know...that Sarah."
She gives me a courtesy laugh, as if I'm letting a stupid joke go on for too long, and we find seats in the sunroom, where the kids usually sit. Aunt Sheila always sits out here with the kids, and always makes a joke about still not being an adult, and this year, she will not fail us in that regard.
"You know, maybe someday they'll let me sit at the grownup's table!" she giggles, her hair perfectly matted to her head. She's told this joke for who knows how long, and it's become meshed with tradition.
"Do you need another seat for the Red Queen?" bellows Uncle Jim, my grandpa's brother who has, for as long as i can remember, had a cavity in his front tooth big enough to see from across the room and laughs after every single sentence he yells.
"Chris is pretending to not know who Sarah is, Jim," says Sheila, gravy spilling onto her lap.
"Is this an inside joke, or did you guys call it quits? I thought you was gonna get married!" Somehow the "r" sound in that last word seems to drag on for a full three seconds before Jim roars with laughter.
I eat my dinner in relative silence, only really engaging in conversation with the old men about how good the Cowboys were going to do this year, then playing some games with the younger kids outside. The cold, or maybe the turkey makes me feel incredibly tired. Seems like I always feel cold lately.
I put on a coat and decide to go for a walk along the trails winding through the woods behind Gran and Grandpa's old brick house. Leaves scuttle across the ground and collect on one side of the path, courtesy of a stiff eastern wind. Something felt strange about today. maybe the food tasted different, but it was the people who just seemed...off.
The whispers, the looks of surprise and halted conversations when i walked into a room...what was that all about? It was as if--
That was when I saw her.
Sitting on the bench next to the pond, she was reading a book. My movement caught her eye, and as her green eyes met mine, a lock of hair fell off of its perch on her ear and covered one eye. She smiled as she brushed the hair back and returned it to her left ear. "Oh my god, you look like an angel!" I heard myself say.
As she blushed I realized what I had just said, and, as the embarrassment swept over me, it made my eyes water. I was instantly in love and felt like I was blowing my chances. In my mind I always felt so smooth and casual, but right now all I could manage was, "Oh, jeeze, I'm so sorry...you're just...um...you look beautiful....um...I'm Chris, what's your name?"
A wave of something--maybe it was terror, maybe relief--came over me as she said, "My name is Sarah, Mr. Maloney."
Still watering, my head reeled as I brought my hands to my eyes to clear the tears. "What is going on here?" I wondered as my vision returned.
That previous feeling now confirmed itself as a wave of terror as I looked from this beautiful young woman to my surroundings: Tile floor, concrete walls, fluorescent lights, and old people. Something seemed almost right, though, but what exactly was--the plate and tray next to Sarah on the bench! But clearly printed on the tray was something I didn't expect: "Property of White Oaks Retirement Community."
Confusion once again evident, I asked Sarah, "What's going on? How old am I?"
A patient look came over her almost smiling face as she told me, "You're 89 years old, Mr. Maloney, you've been here at White Oaks for almost seven years, I've been your nurse for three years, and it's about time to take your dementia medicine. Let's get that knocked out, then we can go outside and play some shuffleboard with the younger folks! Your team is doing well in this week's tournament!"
The last sentence is punctuated with a brilliant smile and a sparkle in her eyes, and it calms me considerably.
The way she smiles makes me think about the days when I was younger. In fact, I actually got quite serious with a red headed girl in my 20s. I think her name was Sarah. Yes, that's right, Sarah Matthews. I even brought her home to Thanksgiving once.
And let me tell you, Thanksgiving has always been a big deal. Always.
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"Who?" Tom asked. The whole table went quiet. The cousins stopped bickering amongst each other and dad stopped chattering about how his fantasy football team was wrecking shit.
Aunt Georgina sat across from him, lips marked an eerie red from the wine she had been sipping on. She took another slow sip and asked again.
"Julie? You know, that wonderful girl that you brought over to last year's family Thanksgiving?" She asked, normally white teeth now looking a dull red.
She sat her glass down, nearly tipping it over onto her plate of sliced turkey and mashed potatoes. Uncle Red placed a hand onto her shoulder to steady her and whispered something into her ear. She shook him off and reached for her wine glass again, but he put a firm hand on hers and pushed it down to the table. It was typical Aunt Georgina, she couldn't stop drinking long enough to enjoy a decent Thanksgiving meal with the family.
"Yeah, son, Julie, whatever happened to her?"
Tom looked to his mom; she was sitting at the end of the table, eyes locked intently on her son.
"I, uhh, are we playing a game or something?" Tom said lowly, nodding an eyebrow towards Aunt Georgina who was now slumped in her chair.
"No, we aren't playing anything, where's Julie?" His mother asked again, now leaning forward in her chair. The cross necklace she was wearing was dangling over her plate, threatening to drown the little metal Jesus in a sea of brown gravy.
Tom looked around the dinner table, wondering what the hell was going on.
Aunt Georgina twitched to life and sat forward in her table like those animatronic creatures that live at Chuckie Cheeses. "Julie!" She screamed. Her mouth stretched in a wide grimace, lips and teeth both stained red. A string of drool hung from the corners of her lips. "What the **FUCK** did you do to Julie?"
Tom stood from his chair, knees knocking into the table, shaking it violently. Everyone's wine glass tipped over, covering the white table in a sea of red fluid.
And there, there was where he saw Julie, chopped to pieces and spread out amongst all of the rest of the dinner: severed hand resting in the mashed potatoes, a breast sitting in the bowl of green beans (left breast judging from the birthmark below the nipple), and other miscellaneous body parts were scattered about. Her head was resting side-by-side with the turkey, mouth open with lips and teeth stained red with blood.
"What, the FUCK?" Tom yelled.
The front door kicked in and several men rushed in. Tom turned to look at them, but didn't get a chance to see them. They tackled him to the ground as the rest of the family just sat at the table. He felt a surge of pain blast into his back, and then all his limbs were jerking. He seized into unconsciousness.
__________________________________________________________
"I'm sorry Mrs. Gordon, but this was expected."
"I know."
"But there did appear to be some progress. We took note of the slight recognition he had in his face as he was looking at the table."
"It looked like he was seeing something."
"Indeed. That is progress."
"When do you want to do this again?"
"Let's give it a week, we don't want to stress him too much. At this rate though, we're sure to have a breakthrough."
"Yes?"
"Yes, but please understand, I am in no way promising of getting your son back to the way he was before the incident."
"I understand."
"And Mrs. Gordon?"
"Yes?"
"Please, don't bring your sister again if she is going to be blitzed drunk."
"I know."
| 2014-06-14T06:52:06 | 2014-06-14T06:27:39 | 173 | 25 |
[WP] You're a siren who is trying to lure a shipful of sailors to their death. "Please", one of the sailors beg as he swims onto your island, almost too willingly. "Stop. You're so bad at singing."
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Errol had been the first and final man to visit her on her rock-pool island in the uncharted sea. He’d been a handsome captain of an exploration vessel, and when her wailing had hit his ship like a vile storm, when mens’ ears bled and they begged for mercy, it had been Errol who’d tied cloth around each of their ears, dampening the terrible sound. It’d been Errol who’d rowed alone in a smaller vessel to find her.
To stop her.
Now, many years later, she watched this new vessel with interest, her mouth — for now — closed.
Although this ship was much larger than Errol’s had been, it wore the same livery and flags as Errol’s ship once had. Bore the same topless goddess carving as its figurehead.
​
—
​
Men and women screamed alike as the sea bubbled up around their ship. Babies wept in their mothers’ arms. The ship moaned, rocked. Lifted.
”Where’s the captain?” yelled Maria, struggling against the rolls of water that rushed through the inside of the ship.
Morgan, the dogsbody, pointed to the stairs, said, ”At the wheel. Not that it’s—“ Salt water sprayed against him, a wave threw him to the floorboards.
”Here, take my hand.” Maria helped the boy to his feet then made her way up the stairs, knuckles red as she gripped the bannister each time a wave battered against her.
”Captain!” she yelled, stumbling towards him like a drunk. “Captain!”
When the captain saw her, he took the rope from off his own waist and tied it around hers. “It’ll keep you from being washed away.”
“What’s happening?”
“I made a mistake. I shouldn’t have brought us this way. It’s where Errol vanished — I knew it as well as anyone. Better, even. This sea is cursed!”
”That was a century ago! It’s a legend, nothing more. And if you—”
Her mouth remained open but no words left.
The creature rose above them.
It blotched out the sun and shadowed the ship. Loomed over it like a tidal wave of scales and teeth.
A tentacle as thick as a tree crashed down on the deck near to them, splintering wood.
”God help us.”
\-
Errol had landed on the pebble beach; she was sure he’d come to kill her. His head was wrapped by shawl and scarf.
Her singing was of no use.
She swiped at Errol with her clawed hands as he tried to clamber out of his boat.
”Please!” he said. “I come unarmed. I come with only peace in my heart.”
​
So long ago, she thought. She held a piece of cloth that had once covered Errol’s ears and watched as the Kraken rose above the latest ship.
\-
A body lay next to Maria. A man — one of the few soliders on the transport vessel — lay crushed, chest flattened.
She untied the rope from her waist, then uncurled the dead man’s fist and took the spear from his hand.
”Maria, don’t be a fool!” yelled the captain.
She charged towards the tentacle wrapped around the mast, as it slowly cracked the wooden pole like a spine.
She shouted over her shoulder, “You have a better plan?”
He didn’t. He had no plan at all.
She thrust the spear through the scales and into the wet flesh.
The creature didn’t even flinch.
The mast snapped. Fell.
“Maria!”
\-
Errol had stayed with her. His ship had sailed on without him, as he had instructed. He wasn’t sure how his plan would pan out — if he’d calm her or only enrage her further.
”Your singing,” he’d said. “It… It repels people. It hurts them.”
She had meant it to. It was the song of her heart. As tar-black as the depths of the sea.
She could not swim and had been stranded here as a child, a freak of gods and demons, on this lonely rock, to live off whatever washed up in the pools. To harbour hatred for all she was jealous of.
Here she had been for centuries.
It was her heart’s song. It was all she could sing.
And yet, she couldn’t bring herself to kill him. Not yet, at least.
She made Errol tell her of life outside of the island.
Eventually, she told him about life on it.
They fished together that night.
Cooked by fire.
Told stories of the stars.
Slowly, over many weeks, they became enchanted with each other’s quiter siren song.
\-
The captain jumped at Maria and they tumbled to the floor as the mast collapsed.
Too slow. His left foot was caught, crushed. He lay trapped.
Maria had his hand, tried to free him as a tentacle rose above them.
”It’s okay,” he said. “We had a good run, didn’t we?”
”It’s not over.”
He smiled against the pain. They both knew it was.
​
And then came the sound.
A melody that seemed to rise from within each of them and make its way outward. But that wasn’t right; it was on the air, in the breeze and water. A melody so delicate and wondorous that it seemed written by the gods themselves.
The captain thought it was the song of cherubs who must be, even now, taking him beyond.
”The sound,” said Maria. “It’s like a harp being strummed in my heart. It’s beautiful.”
The tentacle, high in the air above them, slowly lowered, gently, back into the sea.
The creature itself rocked slowly as it settled and sank peacefully into the water, lulled into a deep, deep rest.
​
\-
She watched the ship long after the Kraken slumbered, as the people on board repaired it the best they could.
She sang for them as the worked. All the while she held the precious rags to her chest.
Whether these people visited her after or sailed away, she didn’t mind. She didn’t feel lonely.
She was glad just to have sung the new song that possessed her heart.
|
I am so proud of myself.
Yet another day where I accomplished mission success.
I watch the young man who is 20 years old at most slowly but steadily closing in to my small chunk of land in the midst of the vastness of the seas.
Seduced by my sheer will to make him obey he is willingly sacrificing his life. For me.
I am flattered. I feel so adorable. Another lover for eternity, collected inside of my beating heart. Hell yeah, I will get them all!
As I keep dwelling in these thoughts of pure ecstasis, the sailor has now reached the bottom of the cliff. He desperately looks for a way to get up to me, his new godess of love, his new haven of safety.
And safety he will get. The certainity that he will be a part of myself for eternity.
I am amused as I see the desperation in his eyes giving way to determination. This is what my song I am singing right now is doing to him. Taking away his free will. Making him MINE!
I sing him the most beautiful song of desire and freedom.
My words are shifting his reality into a mere illusion of the thought of a better world, which I create for him with every beat of my heart.
Just a couple seconds left.
There we go....
I am getting ready....
"You finally made it, honey."
"Ma'am, I am sorry to disturb you, but would you please shut your mouth already? This is a public place and the people are getting annoyed by the sheer madness you are inducing onto them."
Wait.
WHAT?????
The illusion is gone.
I am sitting in my cell. Alone.
The walls are made of rubber.
The jacket that's keeping me warm at day and night is putting a squeeze on me.
Tears start pouring down my face.
"Who.. and what... am I?"
edit: phrasing
edit2: wow, I am flattered. 48 upvotes may not be much at first but.. I absolutely love the idea that I was able to make you guys read it until the ending - and you even enjoyed it <3
Pardon these grammar and occasional typing mistakes, english is not my first language :-)
Have a great day!
Sending love from germany <3
| 2022-11-24T08:15:02 | 2022-11-24T07:44:51 | 1,562 | 88 |
[WP] You are constantly mocked for having such a weird superpower by all the other heroes. “The power to make anything into perfectly cooked soup”… One day, a massive meteor is barreling towards earth. As all the other heroes are panicking, you wait perfectly calm, at the impact zone, bowl in hand.
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So, two things about supes:
One, you can never tell how, exactly, their powers are going to work.
Two, there's no minimum intelligence requirement.
The world hangs in the balance. I'm speed dialing every fucking supe I can think of; my supercomputer is running the simulations. Every combination of known powers, limitations, and side effects is battling to the death with everything we know about that damned meteor - not nearly enough. Never enough. It's clearly not a regular hunk of space rock. It's fucking *pink.*
Sixteen, by my reckoning, are terrified that it's made out of exactly the stuff that renders them powerless. One is just offended, for some insane reason, and won't engage. He's an asshole anyway. I wasn't banking on him.
Some of them went off-world. I hope they never live that down. They probably will.
Souperman stands, implacable, unflappable, bowl in hand. I check the waiting list. He wasn't even on it. That makes me feel better. If he had been, well... to be honest, I'd have quietly removed him. I'm not catching flak in the post-apocalypse for having put off testing the one idiot who was willing to be brave.
Matter. Energy. Inertia. Entropy. It's different for every supe, not just for every power. Some speedsters get excited and try going from zero to a thousand in less than a second. Death By Physics. It's less common now, but still a classic entry. Others, meanwhile, play by the rules, run the tests, do the work, and then discover that they would have been fine regardless. Some supes can lift buildings effortlessly. Others discover that they can't magically ignore torque and shear. They end up tearing a hunk out, which usually causes a collapse. Some of them end up going through the floor instead of lifting anything at all. Time stoppers get frozen. Invisible dudes can't see. The list goes on. Life just isn't fair.
That's my whole business model. If not all of them are going to be smart and careful, then somebody has to be for them. I can't tell you how many times I've heard some variation on the theme that my own superpower is common sense. It's infuriating, but the money's green, so I don't bitch.
The computer pings yellow, which is better than red, but it's too late. Out of curiosity, I glance at the combination. I chuckle; I never would have thought of it. Constructing the database and the program had been a good idea. That's my thing. I have good ideas, and then I do the fucking work.
I wait for a few moments, holding my breath. When the world doesn't end, I exhale. I wasn't planetside, of course. I'm not a fucking idiot. Still, it's my home. I'd have missed it.
I go to the feeds and watch in slo-mo. I see the whole spectrum. The audio is pre-filtered, but the raw stuff is available if I need it. The computer perceives and processes even more. Its previous task was deprioritized.
The feeds never went out - no catastrophic impact or temperature spike. They recorded everything. It's an ugly sight, but I examine the footage closely enough to confirm.
I update the entry for Souperman. I feel a pang of guilt - far less than if he'd been on the waiting list, but still something. I think of all the other supes who might've helped him out. Maybe they could've carted him around the cosmos a bit, letting him turn lakes, then seas, then oceans on dead worlds into soup. Heck, mountains too, I guess. Whole continents, maybe. There's no telling how powerful he could've become. If it had been gold or something else sexy instead of soup, they probably would've.
I know that none of them will feel it. Guilt doesn't get you anywhere in this game.
Anyway, here it is. It's as complete as it's ever going to get. I don't have the budget to send supes out hunting extradimensional space for traces of matter and energy - everything that used to be that hurtling meteor, but then suddenly wasn't.
*Souperman, b. Eugene Constance Forbes 1993, p. 2012, d. 2025. Power: the ability to turn anything into any amount of any kind of soup. Temperature of soup hard-linked to soup type. Power allows displacement of all excess matter and energy, possibly total annihilation. Ability to add or conjure mass and/or energy unclear. Cause of death: acute, catastrophic power overexertion. Died saving the planet Earth from a likely extinction level event: strange meteor.*
Yes, "strange meteor" is its own entry. I look at it for a minute on my screen. I shrug, and click to customize. *Really, really big strange pink meteor.* That's better. That's a little dig at some of the cowards, and that one insane asshole.
The phone rings. I pick it up. It's a different asshole - one that pays well.
"Yikes," he says.
I preemptively bite my tongue.
"Not enough chicken soup in the world to cure that, huh?"
These fucking guys.
|
When I had turned that bastard into a steaming bowl of Campbell’s chicken and stars, they called me insane. No one cared about why I had done it. They were too hung up on the fact that I had eaten him. “It’s just soup,” I reminded them. After all, it was.
I won’t bother you with the details. Just know that he wanted to be inside me, so I gave him exactly that.
Now, after ten long years of holding me…now, they need me. I’ve had an easy enough time in prison and, later, the institution, I’ll admit. Nobody wants to become a steaming bowl of bisque or chowder. I get it. But what I can’t forgive so easily is that no one saw my side until now. Now that they need me, they’re ready to lift my sentence, but can they clear my name? Call me a murderer, a cannibal even, but don’t ever call me crazy.
So here I stand, in this wide, open field under the stars, surrounded by my “handlers”. The massive meteor grows closer by the second, and things are getting about as hot as hotpot, right now, but I’m perfectly calm. The ceramic bowl feels warm in my hands.
I look up at the blazing sky, debating.
| 2022-11-29T21:59:41 | 2022-11-29T20:33:58 | 415 | 197 |
[WP] You've been dating your partner for six months. Tonight they've invited you to a work event, and as you step onto the red carpet, you realize it for the first time: you're dating a celebrity.
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I was at the bar, like I was every night, when I met her. I knew everyone there, but she was a new face. She was tucked away in the corner, quietly drinking. With how loud everyone was, it was easy to miss her. She smiled when I offered her a drink. I sat down next to her and started talking. She mentioned that she was in town for work, and I didn't ask what it was. I know that there are three things you don't talk about, after all: politics, religion, and work.
As the hours went on, she said that she had to get back to her hotel room, and she needed a lift. Even though the rational part of me screamed that she could be a murderer, I took my chances and drove her to the hotel. When we got there, she thanked me for the good time and the lift, and left. When I got back home, I noticed a slip of paper on the passenger seat. On it, was a phone number.
Fast forward six months, and we've been in a long distance relationship. She's always traveling for work, but calls me every day. She had been telling me about how much she was dreading going to this work event in Nevada. I had said that I would go if I were able, but plane tickets were just too expensive for me. When she asked if I were serious, I was a little confused. Why wouldn't I be serious about spending time with my girlfriend? Confirming that I was serious, she quickly said she would call me right back. It took about 30 minutes, but she called back, telling me that she had gotten tickets for a round trip to Nevada and back in two weeks, and that she was taking care of all the expenses.
Landing in Nevada, I was greeted by a guy with a sign that had my name on it. He led me to his taxi, and took me to the hotel I would be staying at. She was waiting for me there. After the initial greetings, hugs, and pleasantries, we went to our room. She told me that the event was starting in five hours and that the suit she rented for me was in the closet. Seeing as I had time to spare, I took a nap while she started to get ready.
That brings me to right now. I'm standing in a suit, probably the best looking suit I've ever been in, in front of my girlfriend, who is wearing a beautiful blue dress. "You're beautiful," I said, stating the obvious.
"You're not too bad, yourself," she quickly retorted.
"So, when's the taxi getting here?" I asked.
"Oh, they're sending someone to pick us up," she answered.
"Who's 'they'?" I asked, my seemingly never-ending questions continuing.
"Universal. Come on, they're probably just about to get here."
Confused, I followed my girlfriend down into the lobby and out to the parking lot, where a limo was pulling up. "Must be someone important staying at this hotel," I joked.
As the driver opened the door, she replied, "Must be," and sat in the limo. "Now hurry up, or we're going to be late."
Dumbstruck, I walked into the limo, and sat next to my beautiful girlfriend. The driver got behind the wheel, and we were off. "Thanks for coming with me," she said, breaking the silence. "I've always going to these things by myself."
"No problem," I said, still trying to piece everything together in my mind.
"We should switch seats," she said, "I need to be the first one out."
"Oh, yeah, sure," I said, not really thinking. After switching seats, silence engulfed the limo once again. I think she realized that I was thinking of something, and didn't want to break my concentration.
After about 25 minutes, she broke the silence yet again. "We're here." Wondering where "here" was, I looked out the tinted windows, and saw a large crowd of people. As the limo slowed down, I looked at the ground outside, and saw a red carpet. Once the limo stopped, the silence was broken once more, "Just act natural," she advised.
Once the door was open, cameras began flashing. Somewhere in the background, I heard someone say, "And here she is, star of the film *What Would You Do For Love?*, Katherine Poe!" Once Katie was out of the limo, she offered a hand to me. I took hold of it, perhaps a little too tightly, and stepped out. Once I was out, the frequency of the camera flashes somehow managed to increase. I couldn't even manage to keep my eyes open for more than one second at a time, but Katie was able to see, and led me down to the theater, occasionally stopping to allow for more pictures.
Once we were in the theater, the movie began almost immediately. We must have been the last ones to show up. The movie looked to be a typical romantic comedy. Not my type of thing. I was surprised to see, though, that my own girlfriend, Katie, was up on the big screen. As the movie went on, I was mostly tired of the plot. It wasn't until I saw Katie kissing another man that I actually felt something. I was jealous? Of some guy in a movie?
When the movie was over, applause seemed to shake the theater. It seems like everyone enjoyed the movie. Everyone except me. Going in with confusion, and now leaving with irrational anger and jealousy, I don't know what to even think.
The way back to the limo was the same as the way into the theater. Cameras everywhere. Once we were in the limo, I was finally able to ask the questions that I've had for the past few hours. "So you're an actress?" I said, asking the most obvious question first.
"Yeah," she said nonchalantly, "didn't you know?"
"No, I didn't," I replied, "You never brought up what you do, so I never asked."
"Yeah, I don't like talking about work. It's tiring, especially all of the people who want autographs, or the people who think I'm just like one of those characters I've played."
"I understand," I said. "Is there some after party we're going to?"
"There is, but we're not going," she answered. "I don't like to go them. Plus, I'm afraid you might punch Charlie in the face after you saw the kiss scene!" She said, laughing slightly
"What makes you think I would do that?" I say, slightly offended.
"I saw the way you clenched your fist when it happened!" she said, still laughing.
The rest of the trip to the hotel was much less awkward than before. We laughed at the dumb parts of the movie and laughed at ourselves.
When we got to the hotel room, we started getting ready for bed. "Thanks for coming with me," she said. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you what was going on before."
"It's okay," I said, "I should have asked when I had the chance."
As we were getting into bed, she said something that I will never forget. "I love you."
"I love you, too."
|
The story of how we met was so incredibly awkward, yet here she was, telling it to the admittedly stunning-looking couple that had stepped through our door just a moment ago. As her and my girlfriend chuckled merrily about the snide comment I'd made regarding her laptop, I forced my mouth shut, only that moment realizing that it was hanging open. There was a Hollywood power couple standing in my hotel room. Well, our hotel room. Lucy been working on a site outside the small town where my girlfriend, Chrissy and I ran a little pub. We had never talked about work though. It wasn't that kind of relationship. But then she suggested a trip to LA and I thought, hey, beats a Canadian winter. Our son was off at hockey academy anyways.
Ken and Barbie left, and the three of us were alone in the room again. Lucy checked her phone. "6:30, the car'll be here in fifteen."
"Car?" I asked, puzzled. "I thought we were taking the rental to dinner." Lucy threw Chrissy a garment bag, which was unzipped to reveal an expensive-looking dress. We both looked at Lucy. She took a deep breath.
"I didn't tell you guys who I am and you need to trust me. Please. Do this one thing for me and I promise I'll explain everything." She said this very quickly, as though she was afraid of suddenly being unable to speak. I looked at Chrissy. She nodded.
A few moments later we were being ushered into a limosuine so long i couldn't quite make out the back of it. It was simple yet stylish on the inside. TVs, a bar. A cool breeze flowed from the air conditioner as we silently snaked our way through the city. Chrissy was holding my arm tightly. Lucy looked nervous about something. She jumped slightly as the limo came to a stop.
The limo doors opening was like a thousand bombs going off in my eyes at once. The shutters clicked in maddening rhythm, and the chorus of questioning voices felt like a gremlin's claws on my eardrums. I thought I would collapse from it, and I put a hand on Lucy's shoulder to steady myself, as Chrissy grabbed my waist.
Everything stopped.
My senses returned to me. The feeling was returning to my feet. The noise had been replaced by a quiet, confused murmur. Clearly these people had been expecting something much, much different. I looked down and saw a brilliant flash of red; we were standing on a long carpet. As my eyes adjusted I could see the doors of a theatre ahead. The shock was quickly wearing off, for both me and the crowd, and as the cameras resumed their hypnotic rhythms, the questions began to come again. But it was too late. We were safely in the theatre. Chrissy and I looked at Lucy. She raised her hands slightly.
"I can explain," she said unconvincingly. But the smell of fresh popcorn had wafted my way. I moved to walk on her right side. Chrissy moved to her left side.
"You know what? Explain after the movie," I replied.
And that's how I met your other mother.
(Happy Pride Month!)
| 2017-06-14T13:03:39 | 2017-06-14T11:03:09 | 54 | 34 |
[WP] New arrivals in eternal Hell may choose either of the following: a small wooden spoon, or a 100-trillion year vacation in Heaven.
|
When I first arrived in hell i was surprised at their ability to process so many people at once. I moved up the line with relative speed until finally it was my turn.
"Name?" the strange boney creature asked. His voice was shrill yet husky, for a moment i was busy thinking this was an odd combination before quickly replying. "James, James Smith".
He gestured for me to place my hand on the counter, and I complied. I'd seen those in front of me pass through this stage, so I knew what was to come and i had mentally prepared myself, or so I though. The boney beast pulled out a hot metal branding iron and plunged it into the top of my hand. I cried in pain even though I tried not to. The worst of the pain subsiding, the beast directed me to pass down the side of his desk and onto the next stage of admittance.
As I turned a corner I came upon a small desk with a weary looking old man. The desk had a plaque attached to it "eternal decisions desk”. As I approached the desk, the man began talking in a hardly audible monotone voice “A small wooden spoon, or a 100-trillion years in heaven?”.
At first I thought it was some sort of trick, and I was full of questions, but as I was about to ask, he foresaw my questions and answered, “It’s no trick, heaven or a regular plain old wooden spoon”. While I had no reason to trust him, all things considered, heaven seems the better option. So, as I looked once again over the sign on his desk, I gave him my decision. He looked surprised, perplexed, and slightly constipated as he handed me my spoon. Realising what just happened I began to tremble.
“I meant heaven, I was looking at the sign and said spoon by mistake” I explained, but he was having none of it. He gestured for me to move to the side. I stood there limp and in disbelief as what felt like hundreds of other people came up to the weary old man and made their decision to take a trip to heaven. One by one, they were enveloped in heavenly light and whisked away.
Eventually I accepted the fact and proceeded onwards onto the next stage of admission. I take two steps towards the door leading to the next stage, and the door lights up in a wall of blue flames. I jump startled, and my spoon goes flying from my hand and lands right in the fire. I watch it burn.
Feeling sorry for myself, I accept defeat and walk through the door into the third stage of admission expecting to see pools of lava, scorching fires and brimstone, but all there is is darkness, except for a small flickering light in the distance.
I begin to walk in the direction, thinking this was some sort of test. When I finally arrive, I see none other than the devil himself sitting in his underwear on a couch playing an old Nintendo 64. Surprised at what I was seeing, and his apparent total concentration on the game I cleared my throat. Startled he let out a mouthful of fire and just sat there looking at me. “What are you doing here?” he asked surprised, “why didn’t you pick heaven?”.
I explained that I meant to pick heaven, and seeing as though he actually seemed pretty cool I asked if it was possible to change. “Sure” he said, “just give me the spoon and I’ll send you on your way”. Can my internment to hell get any worse, I wonder, as I collapse on the floor explaining that I let the spoon burn up. I was hoping for some mercy, but what I heard was nightmarish “Without trading the spoon, I cant really send you up there, I guess you’re stuck here”, he said without any sense of remorse.
Resigning to my new life, I asked what I was to expect from now on. “So where do I go from here? fire-pits? Lava tubes? Rooms full of rusty nails?”. I was trying to brace myself for what was to come, but nothing could prepare me for what he said next.
“ Eh, You’re the first one here. I’ve still got 99-trillion years before I have to start making all that stuff – I’m a bit of a procrastinator. Tell you what, I’ve been trying to get inside this forest temple for over a decade, if you know how to do it, I’ll put you in charge of building hell.”
|
100 trillion years is an inconceivably long time to spend in blissful lamentation. Properly spent, one could probably achieve a state of consciousness which makes it unimportant which plane it exists upon. A state of being which transcends small things and base sensations of pleasure or suffering. Upon a return to hell, one may realize the truth: there is no spoon.
| 2015-06-07T23:46:46 | 2015-06-07T22:42:03 | 291 | 29 |
[WP] A man draws a gun in a dark alley and asks for your wallet. You begrudgingly obey. He throws it on the ground, shoots it till it screeches, and turns to you; "you're safe now".
|
"*Bang, bang*, **bang**!" shouted the old man in torn, mismatched clothing. His index fingers were pressed together and pointing at my purse. Then, he cupped his hands over his mouth and made a hideous guttural sound, followed by a few deep breaths. Bad ventriloquism.
"There you go madam," he said gruffly. "You're safe now."
In the darkness of the alley, the silhouette of his hands had looked a little like a gun, and I'd reluctantly acquiesced to the mugging by throwing my purse on the ground. Only now, with my eyes adjusted to the dark, I realised I'd been mistaken. There had been no mugging - just a scrawny old man with a screw or two lose, thinking he was doing some good.
"Uh... thanks," I stuttered, walking over to my purse. "Maybe I can get you a coffee or something, to repay you for your kindness."
"I'm just doing my duty as a citizen of the Orion alliance. No reward is necessary." I saw his tongue dart out and wet his cracked lips. "Although, a thank you pastry wouldn't be, erm, *unacceptable*."
"Oh. Okay, well, there's a bakery around the corner," I replied, picking up my purse. "I'm Elizabeth. What's your name?"
He paused for a moment as he thought. "Derek," he said, finally.
The street was dark and quiet, hushed by the Sunday night blues. Boris' Bakery however, was as open as always. I pushed the door and held it open for my new friend to enter through.
There was no one behind the counter, but the sweet scent of freshly baked bread came drifting out from the back. There wasn't much choice available at this hour, but Derek was already pawing at the glass counter, salivating at the sight of half stale Danish pastries.
"Have anything you want. Hell, have a few things. I owe you big time," I said, smiling politely. Poor guy needed a good meal.
I hadn't really noticed his smell before, but now we were in an enclosed space, Derek's strange odour was becoming prominent. But it wasn't the smell of body odour or urine. It was something else. Something I recognised but couldn't put my finger on. Maybe a little sulphurous.
I opened my handbag and looked in my purse, wanting to make sure I had enough money to pay for the feast I felt certain Derek would be ordering.
There was a hole in my purse! - about an inch and a half in diameter. Most of my coins had already escaped through it, but some were still trickling out into my handbag like a nickel waterfall. But more worrying than that, was the black substance coalescing around the hole, bubbling and stretching, as if trying to heal over a wound.
"*Don't trust him,*" came the gurgled whisper from my purse.
"What the-"
Derek turned. "Ey?"
"Oh, erm, nothing. I was just checking my phone. Ex says he wants to meet up. It was a bit of a surprise."
"Ah, probably just a booty call," said Derek, as he went back to the counter, peering down through the glass and licking his lips.
"That's probably it," I murmured in agreement, gazing back down into my handbag.
"Run," my purse pleaded.
I lowered my voice and whispered a reply. "*What are you?*"
"I'm the last of my kind. He - we call him the Coin Collector - has been hunting us for millennia. He's going to kill me, then he's going to kill you. Run. Now!"
"Kill me?" I replied, swallowing hard.
I hadn't heard Derek moving, but his voice made me jump in surprise.
"So that fucking animal is still alive," he growled. I turned to see him by the door, blocking the exit. "Well, that's a shame, cause..." he pressed his hands together forming a finger gun, "I was just starting to like you."
He aimed his fingers toward me.
A booming cry of "flour power!" erupted behind us.
The small white bag twisted in the air, sprinkling the floor with its sweet, powdery snow. It struck Derek's hands like a rock, knocking them down to his side.
"You just made a big mistake, threatening a customer in *my* bakery," boomed Boris, a long baguette in his hands. The burly baker was out from behind the counter as quick as a whippet, holding the baked good in front of him like a crusty sword.
Derek stumbled backward as the blow of the bread stick struck his left temple. His eyes became a cloud of red, and his lips twisted and distorted into something unnatural - demonic, even. Behind them, jagged teeth were starting to protrude.
"Fool!" he spat, as he grabbed a stale loaf of sourdough by its plastic sheath. He swung it in front of him, every bit as menacing as a mace.
"Shit!" cried Boris, as the crusty uppercut sent him sprawling to the floor. The creature was on him in a flash, sinking his teeth deep into the baker's forehead; a mist of red exploded to the ceiling.
I grabbed a hot cross bun from the shelf and flung it at the monster, hoping the religious symbol would somehow wound it - but it bounced off its back, seemingly causing little harm at all.
"Run!" screamed my purse.
"Your coin pouch is right, lady - I can't hold him off much longer!" screamed Boris, his arms flailing hopelessly as he struggled against the creature. The smell of blood and flour mingled perversely in the air. "**Run!**"
The bell jangled behind me as I fled into the street; Boris' screams chased me like the wind as I ran.
"Oh god," I cried.
"No time for that," said my purse stoically. "We've got to get to the night-bank before it closes - I've got a withdrawal to make that might just save our lives! Then, we'll repay the Coin Collector, *with interest*."
I rolled my eyes, then hurried toward the bank.
---
*:|*
|
I stared at the man. His grizzled features only made his eyes more striking - this man had seen some shit. I felt myself shaking.
"What the hell was that?" I blurted out, looking at the remains of my wallet. There was a thick, purplish ooze bleeding out of the leather. Teeth lined the edges.
“Better if you don’t know,” he said, looking from side to side, gun still drawn. “I doubt you’ll even believe me, even after what you just saw.”
I stared at the creature that was once my wallet.
"Try me."
He sighed, putting his gun away. "Ok. But not here. It's not safe."
The man led us into a nearby bar, ordering two drinks before we sat down. I was still shaking, but he was as calm as an ocean breeze.
"Ever heard of capitalism? Consumerism?" he asked, not a hint of irony in his voice.
"I believe I've heard the terms, yes," I replied, trying to not sound sarcastic.
"We're living in a society that worships *things*. Ownership. Materials. Goods, that are supposed to make us so happy. Then why are we all so fucking depressed?"
I said nothing, motioning for him to continue.
"Well, they're coming alive. There's some kind of global consciousness that's bringing them into power - we're creating them. And they're feeding off us... more and more, they're feeding off our urge for *more*."
"How did you find out about this?"
"The hard way," he replied, taking a massive swig from his drink. "Never been a much of a buyer myself. Feels like I'm the only one that can see it, this virus that's feeding off of us. That's taking over us."
I took some time to process it all. I felt a fear deep in my gut, gnawing away at me.
"How did you know my wallet was one of them?" I asked.
He finished the last of his drink, then stared at me.
"Son, I'm not sure if you understand - *every wallet is one of them*."
****
Part II will come soon, if there's any interest <3
| 2017-07-13T00:33:58 | 2017-07-12T23:56:21 | 399 | 82 |
[WP] The Zombie Apocalypse lasts less than a week because it turns out a lot of people were waiting for an excuse to use all the guns they've been buying. You are the last zombie. Good luck!
|
Have you ever heard of the Dunning Kruger effect? The idea that there’s this kind of sweet spot where someone knows enough about a subject to be informed but not enough to realize that they’re completely misinformed? I think that’s why zombies kind of have always sucked in media, so I guess good job on Romero for that—he was right but just…not quite right.
The thing is about Dunning Kruger is that you need to be able to have someone teach you or be cognizant enough to find your own answers so that you can eventually be proven wrong and suffer like a huge cognitive ego decay, which is either good or bad depending on if you learn or hunker down. If you don’t have something to teach you further then I guess you’d always be stuck there.
Sorry—I’m rambling. I don’t have anyone else to talk to and I’ve just learned a *lot*.
When the infection took Cleveland, we all kind of assumed that it would be 2020 all over again until news was leaking that despite the city going into absolute lockdown that the national guard was being brought in, and not to help in humanitarian efforts, strictly speaking. Word got out that this wasn’t airborne, but that people were turning violent, acting erratic, and killing people. There seemed to be some kind of greater plan though—this was before the Z word was getting thrown around, but there was distinct *planning*; these were shambling freaks, these were like 28 Days Later running psychos that communicated while they killed and spread their virus.
There was a lot of initial panic from the UN; again, everyone was poised to think this was some kind of new strain until it was cracked. The infection spread like it does in the movies, but no film auteur had ever considered that the Midwest in the middle of winter would be the worst place to set a zombie story. Bites were accidental, usually brought on by carelessness in the initial infection period, and other than an alt-right cult that believed this was somehow a leftist hoax and got all 10k of their followers across the state infected in an ‘own the live’ moment, have a bunch of armed Ohioans shooting at zombies from cornfields and empty parking lots turned out to be a lot more boring than anyone could have anticipated.
Sorry—rambling again. Where was I? Dunning Kruger. My head hurts.
So the infection was largely quashed, with a few dumbasses getting killed in honestly how you’d expect red-neck southern Ohioans to go. The thing is, I don’t think we’re ever going to get an answer for lots of reasons—number one is that I’m the last one.
Zombies are a lot weirder than anyone could have thought—the reason we were able to plan and coordinate is because every person that was infected became a part of a hive mind, and initially we were kind of kept in low-key compliance from…something. I think something up in space; I’m pretty sure someone was doing that. But as the numbers started dwindling, that left, leaving a bunch of undead, infected people suddenly sharing every bit of gathered intelligence that we’d all shared. We still just want for rage, but now it’s because we all feel doctorate level knowledge from professors, government officials, actual doctors, and whatever being suddenly slammed into our brains at the same time we’re arguing about the best lite beer. It’s like being trapped on Reddit.
As numbers went down, the strain got lessened since it was so much so loud, but now that I think it’s just me it’s constant. The survival instinct of tens of thousands of people, and the intelligence of them all just bouncing around in one brain that’s still hard wired to bite and propagate. Jesus, it’s not wonder we bit so much—it’s torture.
I’m lying now in a ditch in Hawking Hills, out of Haddock—just a few miles from my parent’s home where I killed my mom as she was tearing apart my dad and accidentally got her blood in my eyes from the blast of the gun. I’ve walked these trails a billion times in my life, enjoying the scenery. I don’t know if anyone knows I’m here, but I have to suspect as much since I still here people patrolling. I think, ‘I could build a rocket and get off the planet’ or ‘I could pick them off one by one’. I technically have the knowledge to do that, but I’m aware enough that I really don’t. I beat Dunning Kruger in that way. I think I know how it ends, and it’s me just being found. Being found and letting the knowledge of all of us go without ever giving them any kind of answers or knowledge to prepare. Someone else will have Dunning Kruger about this whole thing, and they won’t even know it.
I’m tired. The buzzing in my brain is too much. I hear the boots on the leaves, and I know I won’t give them answers.
|
It all started on a Monday morning. The news reports were filled with stories of people turning into zombies overnight. People panicked and rushed to the stores to stock up on supplies. By the next day, the streets were filled with gun-toting citizens ready to take down any zombie that came their way.
I was one of the unfortunate ones to turn into a zombie. I wandered the streets, trying to find shelter or a way to cure myself. But it was no use. The humans were too fast and too well-equipped.
By Friday, it was over. The zombie apocalypse had lasted less than a week, and I was the last one standing. Or rather, the last one shuffling. Good luck to me, indeed. I was doomed to wander the empty streets alone, forever searching for a way to reverse the curse that had befallen me.
| 2022-12-18T16:21:38 | 2022-12-18T10:27:22 | 21 | 10 |
[WP] No longer being able to deal with the crushing guilt of the people that could not be saved. The Lead Engineer for the ship that saved a hundred million lives from earths destruction wishes to be tried for the billion lives they could not save.
|
"Members of the assembled Admiralty.
That the United Earth Republic's first pulljump-capable vessel, the Marengo, would also be its largest *and fastest* for the next forty years speaks to the genius of its engineers and the devotion of its builders.
In those early days they were called the United Nations Invasion Task Force. Their mandate was as dire as the circumstances that beset the human race: in twenty-four years, the Kfori scoutship's distress signal would reach one of their empire's outposts.
A single scoutship- equalling the nascent Space Force's mightiest dreadnoughts in size- ran rings around the entire United Fleet and seared gaping chasms forty metres deep over one-seventh of the Earth's surface until a suicide ramming brought it down over Australia. To this day, the highest military honour in the United Fleet is the Admiral McDougal Medal of Honour.
Even that was a pyrrhic victory. The ash and thunderstorms that blanketed the Earth reduced global population to a tenth of its peak. We grieved that day for a century after.
In a stroke of luck, a solar flare negated any possibility of a pullsignal escaping from the ship. But as it fell over the Indian Ocean, our sensors detected a three-minute long burst of electromagnetic radiation that fried the James Webb Telescope's circuits with the resonance alone. This light-speed signal was the ringing of Earth's knell.
We knew that we could not hope to stand against two such ships, let alone an entire arm of a Kfori battle group. So we decided to leave the Earth behind us. We salvaged what remains of the scoutship that we could, and then we wept.
Construction of the pullship occupied the resources of the entire surviving Earth population. In overall charge of development and construction was a military engineer, whose name is now lost to us. With the golden glass of retrospect, we may marvel at the original design, still available in the UER archives. A barely-understood technology mated to an ark desperately built in the Singapore-orbit shipyards, it was a miracle of engineering: sublight propulsion, life support, structural integrity, pulljump speed, maximum load, and safety factor. Its designers scarcely comprehended their works, even as they laboured twenty-two hours a day, drugged on our best understanding of racetams and amphetamines.
The Marengo would never house the entire Earth's population. That much became stark in the third year, after we better understood pulljump mechanics and the resources available to us. There is only so much even titanium and nanotube can bear. I cannot imagine what went through that engineer's mind as they contemplated the risk of pushing the main drive to 117% against a 0.343% chance of catastrophic failure.
Twenty-four years to that day we left behind a full billion humans, and again, we wept. We took the ploughshares and left them with swords. Particle beams of the same temper as that which razed Earth. Induction cannon the height of mountains. They dared not speak to we who fled, for fear of giving us away. We learned their fate only centuries after when we found the Earth's surface slagged into a uniform black glass marble.
Who can say what the Admiralty were thinking when, still fleeing from Earth, they brought our forgotten engineer before a military tribunal? All we have are the charges, the plea, and the sentence.
They were charged with incompetence resulting in the possible death of a billion humans. Dereliction of duty in the consumption of prohibited mind-altering drugs. Negligence in operating the ship at unsafe parameters.
They plead guilty to all charges.
Allow me to read the sentence to you.
'We find the accused guilty on all counts.
On the count of dereliction of duty, we sentence them to damnatio memoriae. Let all mention of their name be erased from all records.
On the count of incompetence resulting in death, we sentence them to life. Let them live among the hundred million they saved.
On the count of negligence, we dismiss them from their current position as commanding officer of the Engineering Corps.
Finally we, in our capacity as the Board of the Admiralty, appoint them as the commanding officer of the new Office of Records and Memorials.
As they engineered our future, may they record our present, that the testimonies of those who survive not be lost to time.
We hereby call this session to an end.'
I cannot begin to imagine the burden of one who weighs lives against steel. There is a ritual known to us from ancient Earth in which a working ox was sacrificed to the gods. The sacrifice of such an animal being illegal, the jury declared the axe guilty, and sentenced it to drowning in the sea. Such a sentence being carried out, the gods were appeased and the axe-bearer absolved of their guilt.
There is some guilt that cannot be borne in a lifetime. Let history remind us that from the jaws of death, we wring new life.
I hereby call into session the court to appoint the twenty-first commanding officer of the Office of Records and Memorials."
-~-
More at /r/whythecynic
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"Therron, we simply cannot put you before a court of law at this time. Its just not possible." Admiral Horn sighed, shrugging his broad shoulders.
&#x200B;
"Find a way! I must stand for the crimes I have committed!" Therron slammed his fist on the desk. His face red with rage and frustration.
&#x200B;
"Find a way?" The Admiral repeated nodding his head. "Find a way, you say that as if I can produce everything needed with the snap of my fingers. The fact of the matter is this. There are no judges, no lawyers, no legal experts, no law students, no paralegals, no clerks. Nothing. So yes, you are at fault for destroying our society, yes, you are responsible for the only people surviving being youtube content creators and instagram models."
| 2018-09-01T11:36:55 | 2018-09-01T09:10:50 | 18 | 12 |
[WP] Aliens invade earth. To the surprise of humans, the alien's weaponry is pitifully outdated.
|
It was a typical summer day in the rural Midwest when the armada touched down in a bright open field just off the single lane highway. One of the quaint power lines was knocked over resulting in a disgruntled old woman calling the county sheriff because she knew no other numbers. It was a slow day for the law as usual in these parts, so around ten minutes ticked by before the sheriff and his deputies pulled up to the scene of the knocked over pole. Deputy Lawrence used an insulated pole from the back of the department's SUV to move the cables off the roadway. Half way through the procedure, the stealth systems disengaged and alien legions began deploying from the ships. The three of them looked up in awe; wide eyes shielded by their mirrored aviators.
"Filth! You have breached our landing zone! As such, you will be the first to die in the on-setting war!" Shouted an alien in regal attire. They were thin and lanky, but certainly numerous. Their attire was ornate flowing cloth and their weapons were shimmering silver with static sparks snapping along their lengths.
"Oh shit!" Deputy Simmons spat. The three of them promptly scampering for cover behind their squad car and SUV.
"Aliens! Are you kidding me?!" Deputy Lawrence shouted in disbelief.
The sheriff rose with his weapon drawn from behind his car leveling it at the invaders.
"Look here. We're not going to stand for an alien invasion. You lot need to pack up and get out of here!" The sheriff rambled. His police training falling short in extra terrestrial diplomacy.
"Just leave!? Slay this savage for his insolence!" The regal alien shouted in anger.
The sheriff was immediately blasted by alien weapon fire. The deputies looked on in horror. The firing subsided and the sheriff stood with his hands covering his face, eyes clenched shut, teeth gritted. He was fine.
The regal one gazed on in confusion.
The sheriff and his deputies shared glances of disbelief before the sheriff fired his revolver into the legion on impulse. The bullet sheered through ranks in a straight line; aliens burst into flames from the heat of the bullet and their less dense bodies shattered. Their physical frames and weapons were no match for that of Boff county's finest. The lone .38 special round tore its way though 16 alien legionaries and set another eight on fire from peripheral flames.
"Whoa." Was all that he could say.
The regal one looked back in horror.
The deputies rose to see what had transpired only to be stricken with further disbelief. They too opened fire. The ranks of the legions were blowing to pieces and bursting into flames on a grans scale.
"Charge! Destroy them at all costs!" The regal one screamed in terror.
The legions stormed the highway taking heavy losses from their charge. Their projectiles bounced harmlessly off the officers with the effect of a BB gun. Once in melee range, the aliens began to savagely bludgeon the sheriff and his deputies. It was to no avail. Deputy Simmons kicked at one knocking it clean in half. At that instant all intensity drained from the situation as the officers realized they were in no real danger. The officers kicked and punched their way through the alien army with ease. Already facing a 60% loss in forces, the regal one called for a retreat. A stray bullet caught one of the ships. The vessel collapsed in ruin pulverizing itself under its own weight. Only a hand full of aliens and their ships survived to retreat from the encounter. The remnants were so frail they had literally turned to ashes, leaving no evidence of their presence. The officers watched as the five remaining ships departed. A bird hit one, dropping it from the sky and disintegrating it and its passengers upon contact with the Earth. The bird recovered mid fall and went back on its way.
"Gah! We had our body cameras turned off! No one is going to believe this!" Deputy Simmons shouted.
"Shit! You're right!" The sheriff replied.
"We stopped an alien invasion and no one will ever know." Deputy Lawrence sighed.
The three of them stood around with their hands on their hips catching their breath for a few minutes in silence.
"Well, lets get that cable off the road." The sheriff said finally. The three of them started walking back to the highway.
"I wonder if that bird is ok." Deputy Simmons said. A minute later a junker of a pick up truck rolled up. A local leaned out the window.
"Everything alright sheriff?" The local asked.
"Yeah, just getting some downed power lines off the road." The sheriff answered.
"All three of you? What a waste of tax dollars." The local grumbled as he pulled his head back in his truck and continued on his way.
"Dick." Deputy Lawrence murmured to the others.
|
They what?
*They're punching us sir.*
Does... Does it hurt?
*No sir, it feels... wet.*
Jenkins you nasty bastard! Punch them back then.
*But si-*
Don't but sir me, just punch them.
*But they're soooo pudgeey!*
Man up Jenkins! We got a planet to save!
**- On the other side of the universe -**
*SOMEBODY CALL THE POLICE! TWO MAD MEN ARE ASSAULTING MY LITTLE BOY!*
---------------------------------------------------
Inspired by the adventures of Sir Digby Chicken Caeser
| 2015-04-16T11:40:49 | 2015-04-16T10:20:20 | 261 | 48 |
[WP]You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.
Inspired by *The Merchant Adventurer*, by Patrick E. McLean.
EDIT: Wow, thanks everyone that contributed! The awesome Patrick E. McLean (/u/patrickemclean) stopped by, gave a snippet from his book in a comment, and even gave us a link to listen to *The Merchant Adventurer* as an audiobook:
>Okay, a bit unusual, but since I wrote the book that inspired this writing prompt, Here's mine. The Merchant Adventure is available as a free audiobook if you want the whole thing: http://podiobooks.com/title/the-merchant-adventurer/
|
Okay, a bit unusual, but since I wrote the book that inspired this writing prompt, Here's mine. The Merchant Adventure is available as a free audiobook if you want the whole thing: http://podiobooks.com/title/the-merchant-adventurer/
Rattick threw the necklace on the oak counter and watched the light dance in it like a living thing. He nodded at it and asked, "Have you ever seen such exquisite workmanship?"
Boltac, the Merchant on the other side of the counter, picked up the ruby necklace and examined it closely. He gave Rattick a hard look and frowned. Maybe the deal was good, but this shifty-eyed, greasy-hair scavenger looked like he would pick his own pocket if he thought he could get away with it.
Boltac's eyes were swathed in a soft round face, but they were sharp enough that Rattick would not brave his gaze. And despite the fleshiness that middle age had added to Boltac’s neck and gut, his jaw had stayed strong and block-like. He was not a man that people easily got the better of.
Boltac studied the necklace for a while. Then he licked his thumb, rubbed the necklace's setting, and muttered, "You missed a spot."
"Missed a spot?" asked Rattick, as smooth as water over river rock.
"Blood, Rattick. There's some blood left on this necklace."
Rattick shrugged. "Probably mine. I try to use stealth, but the Orc I took it from put up quite a fight."
"En-henh," Boltac said as ran his hand across his shaven pate. "Not that I want to know, but what is an Orc?"
"A fearsome new creature wreaking havoc on the good people of Robrecht."
"En-henh," said Boltac, not buying it. "And you, uh, count yourself among those good people?"
"Of course. I am no mighty Hero, like some, but I do what little I can."
"Okay, Rattick, I'm gonna make you an offer on your necklace here. The setting is crap, but the stone is very nice. But before I do -- not for nuttin' but, Orcs? You're shittin' me, right?"
"Oh no, stout Merchant, I assure you, Orcs are very real."
"Really? Kobolds, I heard of. Trolls, I heard of. Dragons, sure, but Orcs? C'mon. What does an Orc look like?"
"Gentle Merchant, I hope that you never see one, but I assure you, if you do, you will know it for the Orc that it is."
"En-henh."
"Let me tell you the fearsome tale of how I came to acquire this necklace and then perhaps you will better understand the threat that the fearsome Orc--"
"You can spare me the story, Rattick," said Boltac.
"You don't enjoy Tales of Valor?" asked Rattick with a smile.
"Tales of Valor? No. I enjoy tales of profit."
"I don't know any sagas that involve tales of profit," said Rattick. "But Tales of Valor, of great daring... the bards sing many songs of those."
"Yeah, I don't really care for singing either. In fact, let's just cut all the bullshit. I'm pretty sure I know how you got this."
"Yessssss," purred Rattick, running his finger over the ruby, "but do you care?"
"Not if you'll take fifteen gold for it I don't."
"Fifteen gold? I risked my neck for this!"
"Your neck? I'm pretty sure *you* risked somebody *else's* neck for this particular bauble. Fine, seventeen for the gem, and two gold for the rest of it." Boltac said, indicating the pile of equipment on the floor.
"But this sword almost defeated a Troll!"
"Yeah, and it almost doesn't have that huge nick in it. And why does everything in that pile smell like Troll shit?"
They haggled like this for a while, and settled on a price of 22 gold for the lot. When Rattick left, Boltac muttered a curse and had to work to keep from spitting on his own floor.
He placed the ruby in one of three lockboxes behind the counter and then dragged the bundle of equipment into the back to see how badly he had been taken. The sword was of higher quality than he had hoped for, and there were a number of items that, while they wouldn't fetch top price, would provide good use. The odd piece of armor, some leather goods. He threw out a badly damaged boot and debated opening a nondescript fabric sack. Sacks could be trouble. For that matter so could gems.
He grunted as he stood up. He trudged wearily back to the front of the store. From beneath the counter, he produced a brass-tipped wand that was clipped to the underside of the thick oak. He took the wand to the back and guided it carefully over all the items.
The wand did not grow warm or shriek or vibrate or do any of the many colorful and destructive things it did in the presence of Magic. The wand was not merely a Magic wand. It was a Magic *detecting* wand. Very rare, very expensive. But, for a man who dealt in items of unknown origins purchased from characters of questionable virtue, it was indispensable.
"Ennh," grunted Boltac, more relieved than disappointed. Boltac hated Magic. It wasn't just dangerous, it was bad for business. When a customer couldn't try on a pair of gloves for fear that they would turn out to be MaGrief's Gauntlets of Self-Abuse, business suffered.
That's why he kept the wand secreted under his the counter. Pick up a cursed ruby necklace and there was no telling what might happen. Before he had procured his wand, Boltac had spent six months with a cursed Goblet of Thirst stuck to his hand. As annoying as that was, that wasn't the worst part of the curse. When liquid was poured into the Goblet, it heated up and burned the hand that held it.
He rubbed the scarred flesh of his left hand. Ugh, Magic. It seemed like it should be useful but its power always seemed to go awry. Maybe it was fate. Maybe it was karma. Maybe it was that Wizards had a particularly cruel and ironic sense of humor. Whatever the reason, Boltac was certain that the world would be better off without Magic. But there was nothing to be done about it. People may revile a Merchant but, in the end, a Merchant can only sell what the people want.
He pulled on a stout thong he wore around his neck and, with a jingle, a cluster of charms, tokens, and amulets emerged from beneath his tunic. He pawed at them for a while until he came to an odd one cast in bronze. It was a small statue of one bull mounting another. The customary token of Dallios, Lord of the Deal. Dallios was a Southron God, little known in cold Robrecht, but when it came to religions, Boltac didn't discriminate. Boltac was a superstitious man, but he prided himself on being able to make a deal with anybody.
He kissed the Bull with Two Backs and muttered a prayer of thanks to Dallios that, this time at least, he hadn't been the bull on the bottom.
Just then the front door clattered against its crude copper bell. A customer! The Lord of the Deal smiled on Boltac today, and he hurried to see what fresh profit Dallios had seen fit to bring him.
|
*door chimes*
"Hiii, I was wondering if I could sell my stuff? "
"Of course! Come in! We are open 24/7! I never even sleep or take a break!" The adventurer paused.
"Uhhh... then how do you... "
"This barrel I'm sitting on isn't just decorative ya know! Now, how can I help you?"
"Well, I have these voon pelts I picked from killing some... voons? "
"Ah, you must be new, the plural of voon is voon. In fact we don't plural anything here, especially items."
"Ok...weird...whatever, can you just give me some gold for these?"
But of course! voon pelts can always be bought for ten gold! They are very valuable!" The merchant said as he chucked the pelts onto an immense pile of voon pelts that kicked up a billow of dust.
"So what so you use them for?"
"What?"
"Use. if they're so valuable what do you use them for? Do you ever resell them?" The merchant looked at him quizzically before he scoffed.
"Any why would I do that? Get rid of such a valuable investment? These things are 10 gold EACH and their value never changes! This, my boy, is a sound retirement investment."
"Never? What kind of market system do you guys have here? Isn't there supply and demand?' The merchant looked aghast.
'Wha- wha- what do you mean? That capitalist and communist talk is strictly forbidden by our local merchant guild! The strict rules we adhere to have been in place since time immemorial, and will not be changing soon! " The merchant curled his lip in an indignant sneer.
"Alright, jeez. Can I just get that leather armor? Those voon bites tore up my cloth tunic something feirce."
I'm afraid I can tell, just by looking at you, the exact amount of gold you have, and you do not have enough gold."
"dude, are you being racist? "
"No, no! I am just saying you are short three gold."
"Well I just gave you my voon pelts, I don't have anything else besides my cloth tunic..."
"which is 2 gold. " the merchant said matter of factly.
"R-really? It's nowhere near it's original condition. You don't need to appraise it or anyth-" The merchant firmly held his hand up to hear no more of it.
"Do not question the merchant guild rules!" The adventurer slowly disrobed as the merchant looked on leerey eyed.
"Okay, but now I'm still a gold short."
"You still have your cloth pants, and those are seven gold."
"Seven? That seems kinda arbitrary comp-" again the merchant thrust out his arm out to interrupt him. The merchant looked uncomfortably pleased as the adventurer dropped trow.
"I see you also have sustained injuries, would you require a healing component? You have enough gold left over for one?"
"Sure fine just give me a hi-potion" the adventurer said dismissively. "ah! No, wait I meant just a regular potion. I don't even have that many hitpoints yet, and I'm not that hurt."
"Of course, I completely understand, that will be one gold back for you good sir!"
"What I only get a 10th back of what I paid? I just got this! there's no reason-" Again the merchant cited the merchant guild rules.
"So, what? I just go adventure like this?" The merchant shrugged.
"You wouldn't be the first."
| 2016-10-16T17:09:52 | 2016-10-16T10:30:29 | 62 | 16 |
[WP] Two criminals share what is to be their last conversation on death row. With nothing left to lose, all is laid bare to the other stranger.
|
It was near midday. The air was slick with humidity as the procession of men - all men - walked through the yard. Death and lethargy hung off the group. Even the guards seemed spellbound with malaise. The dust kicked up from the ground patterned the condemned mens' shoes and trousers. They paid it no heed. No sense in keeping up appearances any longer. One man sobbed quietly to himself. The rest marched, devoid of emotion.
It was called "The Clinic". The irony of naming a place of death after a place of healing was lost on most of the cohort, but Nick smiled wryly as he took his seat. Nick's immediate thought was at how uncomfortable the plastic moulded chair he sat on was. At least it fit in with the grey concrete walls that surrounded them in the hallway. One of the guards said something to the group, but he didn't hear whatever it was. He was in his own world now. Nick had always assumed this was how he would go. It made sense to him. A simple calculus: One part dead mother, one part abusive father, two parts a lack of opportunity and one generous dollop of a hatred of the world equals Nick.
"Makes sense." Nick said aloud.
"What?" Came the voice of the man sitting next to him.
Nick was summoned from his imagination and turned to the man. He was unevenly shaven, balding, and gaunt. Bruised bags hung under his eyes, and wore a folded-over cauliflower ear on his left side. There was a scar on his neck, stretching from his clavicle upwards toward his chin.
"I said it makes sense." Nick said again, and after seeing the man didn't understand, gestured his handcuffed arms in a general motion to the room that surrounded them.
"Right." The other man muttered.
The guards called up the man in the first seat. His name was Henry Franklin. He stood up, shuffled forward, and was ushered into the next room, never to see the world again.
"Five left." Said the man sat to the right of Nick.
Nick looked over at him and saw he wore an ironic smirk on his lips.
"Six for me." Nick said.
The man chuckled.
"Enjoy it." He said, "What are you going to do with the extra time while I'm in there?"
Nick thought a moment.
"Go on a holiday to France, I think. It's real nice this time of year."
The other man smiled again, then stopped. He seemed tired. So tired.
"Yeah." He said, his smile now gone. "That would be nice."
"And you?" Nick asked, "What would you do if we weren't here."
"Go fishing." The man said, without hesitation, "I'd get a boat and sit on a lake all day, drinking beer and fishing with my brother."
The guards called up the next man in line. It was the sobbing man. He'd stopped sobbing and had fallen into a stoic silence now, though. His name was Jack Lincoln. Five to go.
"You ever been fishing?" The man asked Nick.
"Once. Many years ago. A friend from school's dad took us out."
"Oh yeah? And what'd you think?"
"It was boring."
The man chuckled. "That's fair." He said. "What I wouldn't do to go fishing again..."
"Yeah."
"What a fucking waste." The man said, a surprising bitterness to his tone.
"Not much we can do about it now."
"You're not wrong there, kid." The man spat, "Not at all."
"Would you have changed anything, looking back?"
The man thought a moment. "No. Probably not." He admitted.
The next man was called up. He shuffled forward with an awkward limp. Nick had spoken to him in the yard before. Nick was convinced the man wasn't "all there" mentally. His name was Terry Polk. Four to go.
"What about you? Any other path?"
"Nope." Nick said, a resolute edge to his voice. He sighed after a moment, and then said "But imagine if there were?"
"Would be nice."
"Yeah."
"Fishing all day. Maybe whittling at night. Ya know I never tried whittling? It always seemed like fun."
"I did it once. Only ended up with a handful of splinters. Took me weeks to get them all out."
"Well maybe not whittling then. Maybe playing guitar or something."
"I could get behind that. Guitar might be nice."
"My wife used to say I had a great singing voice. I don't think I was that good, but I could carry a tune."
"You were married then?"
"Still am. Technically."
"When did you last see her?"
"A couple of days ago."
"Say your goodbyes, then?"
"In our own way." He said, haunted. "And you? Anybody on the outside."
"Nope. There was once, but that was a long time ago."
"Fair enough." He said, "Fair enough. Is that a regret?"
"Yeah. I think it is."
"Pity."
"Yeah."
The next man was called up. He disappeared before either of them registered the man. His name was Jerry Norton. Three to go.
"Fuck." Said the man, "This is really happening."
Nick simply nodded.
"I dunno what I thought. That I'd be rescued somehow? That the place would burn down, or they'd say there was a mistake and I was free to go, or that aliens would abduct me or something."
Nick nodded again.
"Fuck." Said the man.
"Fuck." Agreed Nick.
The next man was called up sooner than they expected. Even he seemed taken aback by it. He didn't look ready to go, but the guards took him anyway. His name was Ken Cryer. Two to go.
"Not long now." Said the man. He seemed to have been woken from his lethargic stoicism now, and was visibly shaken. Nick pitied him.
"Tell me where you're from." Nick said.
The man eyed him warily, but spoke anyway.
"Texas. Grew up on a farm with my foster parents. They were nice. Had a dog named Bruffles. He died when I was thirteen. Still miss him. He was a german shepherd. Great goddamn dog."
"When'd you move out?"
"When my parents died. Car crash. I just up and left the farm. It's probably still there... rotting. I went to Missouri, then California, then finally here. Then I fucked up and ended up *here*."
Nick nodded. He understood. He let a moment pass.
"Was it a good run, at least?"
The man shook his head. "Not really." He was staring at the grey concrete between his feet in front of him.
Nick shared a slow nod.
The next man was called up. His name was Dirk Schram. One to go.
"Listen." The man said, turning to Nick, "I ain't ready to go."
"None of us are."
"I know, I know. I'm panicking. It doesn't make any sense."
"You religious?"
"Not any more." The man was petrified.
"It's never too late." Nick muttered.
The man nodded. He kept nodding as he turned forward, clasped his hands together in white-knuckled intensity and prayed, whispering desperately under his breath. A few minutes later he emerged from the trance, somehow calmed.
"Thanks, son." He said to Nick, "I think I needed that."
Nick bowed his head and smiled sadly.
"You going to say your last prayers before you go in?" he asked.
"Nah." Nick said, "Religion was never for me."
The man nodded. "Well thanks anyway."
It was time. The man was called up. His name was Nick Stamford. Nick realised he'd never asked his name. They *shared* a name and he didn't know it. The man stood tall as he went, and uttered a silent thanks to Nick before he slipped behind the doors.
Nick spent the next several minutes in quiet contemplation. He redrew the lines that made up his life. He called up memories he'd forgotten he had and projected them onto the concrete wall before him. The time he slipped and broke his leg. The time he stole a bottle of booze from the liquor store while his friends ran distraction. The time he went swimming in that lake at midnight. The time he went camping for a month after losing his job. The last time he kissed Natalie.
It was time. The guard called his name.
Nick took a deep breath and stood up. He was pulled into the room, and was lain on the table without any resistance. The nurse talked Nick through the process. She was going to inject him in the arm and then he'd fall into a deep sleep he would never wake from. He liked her voice. He regretted that he'd never hear it again. Nor would he hear the other Nick's voice again. His texan accent telling him stories of fishing and whittling and his dog, Bruffles. Nick imagined another life where the two of them met in some other way. Where neither of them had lived messed up lives, and spent their time sitting on a boat, fishing, while Nick complained about how boring it was. All he ever wanted was boring.
"Any last words? Anything you'd like to say, Nicholas Mank?" The guard asked, pulling Nick from his daydream.
"Makes sense." Nick said.
|
*Life takes on strange colors when laid bare to the sunset of dying. The irreconcilable reality of death weighs on the human mind heavier and more concrete than anything else. The foundation to the soul atop which all men rest and fall.*
"I never imagined it would be like this." Jacob's voice was strong but a lie, beneath its steady groove was the slight tinge of abject fear. A reality that had crashed down so hard and so often that it reflected in every mumble of his voice. "It all just feels so stupid. I'm innocent you know."
"No one is innocent." Isaac's voice was different than Jacobs, he was much older, and so his talk had a gravel and force to it. Like a rolling tractor that had been weathered but still ran. "No one really deserves to live. If all things were known."
They were sitting across from each other, chained to a table, eating their last meal. "Be happy that they let us enjoy our last meal together." Isaac said, while biting deep into his burger, relishing in it's meat. "Humans are born with and for each other. To have us go out alone would be the true cruelty if there was ever said to be one. Be happy we have that."
The air was rare, there are not many scenes like that of a death row meal. Chained to a table, so as to not forget your fate, but given the temporary freedom of choice, and the momentary pleasure of taste. A brutal, brutal act attempted to be made cultured through some abstract form of poetry by lifting the butchers axe the moment before the fall, just so they could see the sun one last time.
"I don't even taste the food." Jacob said. "How can you? How can you taste anything?"
"You worry too much on the happenings boy. Don't worry, just eat, it's death."
"Just death! Just death? Are you telling me that you're not afraid old man?"
"*To live fully is to live with an awareness of the rumble of terror that underlies everything,*" The man said matter-of-factly. "Don't worry. Realize, understand, eat."
"What the hell does that mean?"
"Think boy, a man named Ernest Becker said it. A smart man, smarter than both of us put together I can tell you that much." He was still gorging on his food in between the words. "It means that we all die. But that is what makes this food wonderful, because I know that I won't always have it, especially now."
There was a long pause in the air, as Jacob thought on the words. The dumb hum of the old AC was the only noise besides Isaac's aggressive chewing. The room was just them two, no cameras or guards, another arbitrary attempt to have culture in the most uncultured act of killing. The two of them were given privacy in their most private hour.
Isaac raised his head and saw how his words were affecting Jacob, who was staring empty at his plate. "Son, look at me." Jacob's eyes raised to meet his. "I'm terrified of dying, truly mortified. That's okay though, that's all we can be. There is not a human on this earth who truly doesn't fear death, they can't exist, or they wouldn't be human. Be grateful, we have been given a gift from our killers."
"A gift? How is this a gift?" Jacob wasn't hiding his emotions anymore, tears were welling in his confused eyes. A panic laid bare before another human, true vulnerability.
"Mankind is the only creature to know his demise, we are the only animals that can grasp that we will one day not exist. Do you understand that?" They stared at each other in the empty room, across that cold table. "To be human is to know you will die, and here we sit, two humans who know that we will die today. We are more human than any other humans on the planet right now, that is something to be enjoyed. You are human right now, so very very human."
"I'm scared Isaac." The tears were streaming down Jacob's face. Isaac reached his feeble hand out and held Jacob's shaking one, with tears in his own eyes as well now.
"I know boy, I am too. I really am. You can cry, that's okay, that's human too." He put both of his hands on Jacobs, wrapping them in his warm skin. "Let's be human together and cry. It will be the last love we know of the world."
So they cried together, laying bear their deepest fear of disappearing forever, in that cold waiting room before the afterlife. Chained to the table and in front of the food that was their parting gift from humanity. They would soon both be swiftly executed and forgotten about, two humans caught in the whirlwind of brutalities that was mankind. But in that one room they both were more human than any human, and enjoyed the love of company more than anyone else could ever claim to. In their most broken, they were together and whole, through each other.
&#x200B;
*To live fully is to live with an awareness of the rumble of terror that underlies everything*
\- Ernest Becker
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
If you enjoyed stop by my new subreddit! r/mrsharks202
Any feedback is welcome! Thank you!
| 2021-07-28T07:46:32 | 2021-07-28T06:59:19 | 59 | 18 |
[WP] People can willingly give the remainder of their years of life to others. As a result parents give birth to kids and intentionally try to make them depressed and suicidal. You're 12 and you know what they're up to.
|
I slipped into the house as quietly as I could. My mom was home and I didn't want her to hear me come in. I knew if she did, she would ask about my report card.
"Sara? Is that you?"
*Crap. She heard me.*
"Sara, dear, come down and bring your report card. Don't try to hide now. I'm sure you did better this semester."
*Sure you do.* I thought sarcastically.
She knew I was no good at school.
Still, she demanded straight A's. It was "for my own good". She didn't want me to "end up homeless in a ditch". Or so she said. I knew what she was up to.
She wanted my life.
You see, when a person dies before the age of 85, they can leave their unused years of life to others. However, since I am a minor, if I die, everything goes to my parents, well, in this case my mom. That includes the remaining 73 years I could have lived. She was hoping I would cave under the pressure and off myself. My dad had. He had died in a suspicious camping accident and left everything to my mom, shortly after she found out she couldn't have any more children. That was when I had begun to catch on.
"Sara, dear," my mother's voice had acquired a sharper tone, "now!"
I sighed and headed down the steps to the living room.
My little brother was already downstairs. He looked like he was struggling not to cry. My mother was shaking her head as she looked over his report card. She saw me enter the room and held out her hand.
"Give it here, sweety."
I reluctantly handed her the manilla envelope.
She opened it and looked at my grades. Her face darkened and she began to shake her head again.
"I'm *so* disappointed in you both. Peter, you got a B in Math, and Sara, you got an A- in Art? Keep this up and you will never amount to anything..." Then she said something we all dreaded, "There will be serious consequences for this."
My heart sank. She was going to ground us. That meant no dessert, no social life, and even worse, she was going to change the WiFi password for the next two months. It was pure torture, even as a practically grown-up 12-year-old.
*SLAM*
I started as Peter ran upstairs and slammed the door to his room.
"Oh dear." Mother murmured. "I hope he isn't thinking of doing anything foolish."
I tensed. This was bad. But I knew from experience there was nothing I could do. My mother could make my life much, much worse if I tried to intervene.
I knew what we would find in his room when Peter didn't show up for dinner. He had somehow managed to hang himself from the ceiling fan. I shook my head. I had tried to warn him, I really did. But there is only so much you can explain to a kid, especially when they are a blabber mouth who doesn't know how to keep secrets from mom.
My mother seemed so heartbroken. She really did. Everyone else seemed to believe it, but I knew better. I thought I was the only one who saw through her charade. That was why I was surprised when my older sister showed up at our house a few weeks later asking for me specifically.
Kate was 21 and married, and as such, my mother had lost interest in her. I had never really known Kate. She was from my mother's previous marriage who had died of cancer or something. I wasn't really sure. My mother never talked about it.
"Sara, we need to talk. Want to go out for pizza?"
It was an odd request, as I had never really hung out with her before, but what 12-year-old will turn down pizza?
She started talking before we even pulled out of the driveway.
"I know you know what Mom is up to."
I was shocked. "I...don't know what you mean," I lied.
"Yes you do. Now listen closely. I can get you out of there. I forged these." She handed me some legal guardian forms. My mouth dropped open.
"You mean you can adopt me?" I practically shouted it, I was so shocked and excited. "No more getting grounded and school pressure and pills getting 'accidentally' left in my room?"
My sister nodded. "Yes."
We hung out at the pizza place for a while so it was late when we left. I quickly fell asleep in the car. It was early morning when my sister woke me.
Something was wrong. Why was it morning? She only lived a few hours away. But I was too groggy to react. Through my fogged mind I noticed we were way out in the county. Why was that? My sister helped me out of the car and lead me into the woods.
"Where-"
"Shh. Your mom is trying to find us. She found out I forged her signature on your adoption papers. We are going to hide out here for a while."
"Oh. Okay." I was still feeling too sleepy to question it.
We came to a small clearing with a large hole dug in the center.
"I'm sorry, Sara."
"Sorry for what?"
"I'm sick. Dying, actually, but with your mom dead and framed for your murder, her remaining years and yours will be give to me as the oldest remaining relative. It is the only thing that can keep me alive. So, I'm sorry."
"What..." Before my sluggish brain could process the meaning behind her words, I heard a bang and felt a sharp pain in my head. I felt myself falling, and my last thought was that the pizza must have been drugged.
|
"Your worthless" mom said
It didn't affect me because I knew what she was trying to do. I refused to give in to them. A lot of my school classmates had killed themselves, but I refused to give into this backwards world. My mom and dad would emotionally and physically abuse me, and they still expected me to give the remainder of my years to them. No way. I had decided that I would put up with their shit until I was 18 and then move. Most parents wouldn't go about it in the sly way other parents would, my dad left his gun out in the open hoping that one day I would pick it up, put it to my head, and blow my brains out. I wouldn't. My dad came in the door.
"Hi son" he said
"Hi dad" I said
"How was school?" He asked
"Fine" I said. I know he wanted me to talk about all the bad things that happend. He would nit pick everything just to make me feel bad, so I wouldn't give him any ammo. "How did you do on the math test?" He asked
"I failed, because you won't help me study"
You'll never become something in life if you keep getting grades like that" he said in a mocking tone.
"Okay" I said. And thats when the anger consumed me. I picked up my fathers glock off the table, but instead of pointing it at myself I pointed it right at my fathers head and pulled the trigger. BANG! His body hit the floor. My mom screamed. I then turned the gun to her. I pulled the tigger. BANG!. I had murderd my parents. I had zero remorse. They had turned me into a cold blooded killer.
| 2016-01-31T19:57:29 | 2016-01-31T19:50:57 | 145 | 11 |
[WP] You're on a space ship with a bunch of your crewmates. You're the only human, and apparently metaphors are a strictly human behavior. You've learned to cope with this, but today you've decided to speak in only figures of speech as a prank on the others.
|
**From: The Captain**
**To: All Crew**
Greetings all, I am sending a mass email to address some of the issues that have arisen with our new human crew member. Before I start, I want to remind her that these are in no way meant to demean or degrade her or her stellar work on this ship. You have been an exemplary officer and companion thus far.
The issue here is one of language, unfortunately humans have a manner of speaking which our translators struggle to comprehend. They use unusual speech patterns that we have previously not encountered. These are called *metaphors* and are non literal descriptions of a circumstance or condition.
**THEY ARE NOT MEANT TO BE TAKEN LITERALLY**
I now include a non exclusive list, subject to updates, for the crew to read and attempt to understand.
**The elephant in the room**
There is no elephant, in or around the room, or on the ship, it is a metaphor for a potentially awkward situation that is not being addressed. When Second Officer Riley announced that she would "deal with the elephant in the room" she meant the situation of having a human crew member. There is no elephant on board. For those unaware, an elephant is a very large herbivore from planet earth. It is not *actually* in the room. So please, stop looking for it. I have sent additional emails to two crew members that have undertaken the task of finding this creature. Again, please stop searching for it.
**Getting on like a house on fire**
There is no fire. I am not sure of how this means this, but the meaning of this phrase is to have good comradery. Second Officer Riley meant that she expects to have good working relationships with the rest of the crew.
**By the skin of our teeth**
This means just barely. In the context of the story being told, Second Officer Riley meant that her last ship barely survived the battle. This does not mean that humans have skin on their teeth. Please stop asking the Second Officer about this, and please stop searching our data banks for "human teeth skin", high command have noticed and are asking me difficult questions.
**Tough as nails**
This is not to be taken literally. It was a comment on the veracity and strength of humans. They are not as tough as metal, requests from the science department to test the Second Officer have been denied. While Second Officer Riley has taken it in good spirit, any further impromptu tests on her skin by sharp objects will be considered assault and treated as such.
**Show me the ropes**
This means to teach someone how things are done. I am aware there are no real ropes on board, not counting the metal cables. When Second Officer Riley asked her superior to "show me the ropes" she meant to be shown how the ship and her role works. Two hours were wasted looking for these ropes. Next time this happens, I will be docking wages for wasted time.
**Grey area**
This means a subject or condition that is either unknown or contains contradictory elements. There is no actual *grey area* on this ship. Attempts to find said grey area will be dealt with as they occur. If one more person enters a zone they are not authorised to be in, they will be punished accordingly, especially if they claim to be searching for it.
**Bad apples (spoiling the barrel)**
Apples are a fruit from earth. No, we do not have any here, bad or otherwise. This means someone who is bad or incompetent to a degree that it drastically and negatively affects the larger group. I do not consider any of you to be this, you are all excellent crew members. You may refer to someone you do not like as one, but if anyone then attempts to bite said crew member, they will be punished.
**Coming out of the closet/still in the closet**
This is an old human phrase from centuries ago. It means to announce, or not, to the world, that one is homosexual or otherwise not heterosexual. If one *comes out of the closet* it means to reveal this fact about themselves. To *stay in the closet* is to not reveal this. There are no other humans on board, in closets or not. Please stop searching personal lockers for homosexual humans. It's wrong for many reasons. I shouldn't have to explain.
**Don't shoot the messenger**
This means to blame the bearer of the news, usually bad news, for said news. Nobody will be shooting anyone on board. If we have another *accidental* firearms discharge, we will have to return to port for investigation.
**Beating a dead horse**
This means to do something that will have no effect. We do not carry livestock on this ship, and we do not condone abuse of any animal. Horses were work animals on earth, before machines, and would be (lightly) hit for motivation. More cruel people would beat their horses to get better results but, obviously, a dead horse cannot work so beating it does nothing. Unfortunately this seems to have offended and confused some crew members so let me remind you that there are no horses on board, dead or otherwise.
**Cold feet**
This means when someone decides not to do something, they get "cold feet" and do not carry out or accomplish their tasks. When Second Officer Riley mentions someone getting "cold feet" it is not a circulation issue or a temperature issue. Please stop asking medical staff about this and please stop raising the temperature of the room when the Second Officer enters. Additionally, while appreciated, Second Officer Riley does not need any more socks. She has literally hundreds now. Besides, she was not the person reported to have cold feet.
**Broken hearted**
This is not literal so please stop hitting the emergency medical alert. It means to be very upset or having your feelings hurt. Without revealing personal details, when Second Officer Riley mentions having or someone else having a "broken heart', they mean severe emotional trauma, not bodily trauma. Of course she passed the physical exam, and there is no medical condition of a broken heart, so please stop asking.
**Clear as mud**
This means unclear. It's similar to sarcasm, which is another issue I must deal with. If anyone responds to this memo with this phrase, please not that it means unclear. I am surprised that so many of you highly intelligent crew members haven't realised this.
|
“Well aint that a kick in the pants” I sigh as the futuristic food machine forgot to add a bowl with my oatmeal or even a spoon. The being behind hissed with its many tongues , I’ms sssorry humansss butss I didss notss touches yours leg coveringsss.
“Its ok not your circus not your monkey, Right?” I reply in a semi cherry voice. The reptile thing behind quirks its head in angle in a questioningly way as I saunter to my usually spot without my oatmeal, i still feel like im forgetting something... “Good day human Greg, why are you not breaking your fast this morning?” a huge muscled humanoid sits down in front of me "crashing my train of thought. he is carrying a gong sized plate, full of I don’t know what, but it was still moving whatever it is. “no time for seconds today big guy early bird gets the worm”
“gets the worm” he waggles his ears in a sign of confusion if you want worms try my sLeNta’K” as he pushes his plate towards me.
“cant today Clarnax I hear the water line is cracked on level 113-D and its raining cats and Dogs near the shuttle bay and you know how those pilots get when anything is out of place, they get more pissed of then at bull at a rodeo”. As I leave, I see Clarnax’s ears waving like his head is trying to fly off.
“ don’t lose your head over it ill have it fixed in no time” before leaving the mess I see Clarnax holding his head like his life depended on it.
“be careful of the water quadrupeds and the and the mad bull” I hear his booming voice as the door slides behind me.
Personally I don’t know if it was a good idea to have all the planets that are in the united federation to have a representative on the newest star ship. I feel like most of what I say is going over their heads.
| 2020-06-16T12:05:05 | 2020-06-16T10:34:01 | 156 | 23 |
[WP] Your ability to see people's age in years as an invisible number above their heads has made you the perfect bouncer. One day you see a four digit number.
|
Part One
I got fired last week for the 9th time this year.
I don't always mean to run my mouth, but when I do, it sprints. This time, it wasn't even my fault (initially, anyway); if only that dumb fucking Russian bartender would have kept his mouth shut. Oh well... No sense crying over spilled martinis.
It's not hard, finding a gig as a bouncer, especially in cities. After my fourth attempt at holding my tongue (and fists) at a new bar, I bought a camping van off some poor prick who needed the cash to pay for his divorce. Being essentially unhireable makes for a great old-fashioned, transient lifestyle.
A few weeks go by before I start to run out of money. I begin scrolling through ads online, keeping my eyes peeled for job opportunities, but by now word has gotten around about how I told the owner of the last joint to go fuck his hot daughter. Soon, I find myself looking for gigs in the next state over.
Part Two
I don't even look at people beyond their waist anymore, which especially annoys bigger women. Knowing someone's age is like having transparency goggles: you see right through their bull shit. It's great, for professional purposes, but it's put a serious damper on my personal life.
Occasionally, I do look up. If a girl smells good; if a man's voice is resilient and kind. These times are few and far between, but they happen. Like this morning, at a local coffee shop.
"Excuse me?"
I looked at the woman's waist. "Yes?" I ask, keeping my head low.
"Are you looking for work as a bouncer?"
What the hell? I look up at the girl with the raspy voice. She's got on heavy black eyeliner and full, plump dick-sucking lips. My gift indicates to me that she is 26 years old. We make eye contact, and I realize that this girl is drop-dead gorgeous.
She points gently at the stack of potential work ads I've collected and printed out. I feel stupid. I ignore her and get back to scrolling on my phone.
She stands there a while, both of us uncomfortably silent. Finally, she slides a piece of paper on the table. "In case you're interested," she says, and walks away.
I look at the paper. It reads:
Madame Bijou's
55 Walker Street
9pm, don't be late.
Part Three
8:55pm. Fuck, I'm early.
Madame Bijou's is located in a very popular part of the city, in an alley off to the side. It gives off a speak-easy type of vibe, perfect for those of us who don't enjoy teeny-boppers getting too drunk before 10pm. Perfect for me, makes my job easy.
I haven't seen the girl from the coffee shop, but a Stevie Nicks chain-smoking woman who looks just like her approaches me at 9pm sharp. "Make it to 1:55am and I'll pay you $100," she says, pointing at the bar stool next to the door, and walks off. Her age indicates that she's 64.
The night starts slow, but picks up around 11. I have not seen the girl from the coffee shop, or the older hippie woman.
Around 12am, I kick out some drunk Marines for being douche bags. Around 12:30am, I deny my first group of underagers. Their IDs look exactly like McLovin's.
1:29am comes around, and the whole place empties out, almost like clockwork. Strange, since bars don't close until 2am. I peek my head inside the club, and I see the bartender wiping down the bar top.
1:39am, I close the door behind me as I walk inside.
The bartender is 41. "I'd offer to get you a drink, mate, but we have to be out of her by 1:55am." I don't make eye contact with him as he says this.
"I heard. Why not 2am?" I ask, keeping my eyes on the floor. I can hear the bartender smirking. "You don't want to know."
He heads out around 1:49am, but I still haven't seen Stevie Nicks. She sure as shit better pay me for tonight. I wait patiently, and at 1:55am, she emerges. She seems to be in a hurry.
She ushers me out of the bar and hands me a $100 bill. "See you tomorrow, pretty boy?" She asks, turning the lock on the bar door.
"Suppose so, Madame Bijou," I say to her. She forces eye contact with me, her smile fading. She checks her watch, sighs, and leans closer to me. She whispers: "get out of here before 2am," and walks in the other direction.
Now I have to know what this is all about.
1:56am.
1:57am.
1:58am.
1:59am.
I guess I expected some sort of apocalypse at 2:00am. When nothing happened immediately, I laughed at myself for being so foolish as to believe in the superstitions of people I had just met. I looked at my watch, which read 2:01am, and began to make my way towards the van.
I took one last glance at Madame Bijou's, and there she was. On the other side of the glass was Madame Bijou, flashing her rotten teeth at me, her wispy gray hair flowing down to her knees. Her age read 3,378.
Somehow, she reached her hand through the glass and pulled me into total darkness. "HELLO??" I shouted, reaching for anything I could touch, so terrified I pissed myself a little. I began to hear footsteps coming toward me.
"WHAT THE FUCK, WHAT THE FUCK," I panicked, still reaching into nothingness for something to grab onto. The footsteps got closer.
"You were warned," said a voice somewhere in the hollow space around me. Suddenly, a bunch of numbers started to appear at once. 4,707; 2,856; 5,302. I kicked and screamed, until I felt like I could no longer breathe.
I woke up the next morning in my bed, with teeth marks covering my entire body.
|
He watched, bored as people streamed in the bar, only stopping the ones underage, and occasionally a few just over to keep suspicions low. His kind was uncommon, and people
hunted for his power. It seemed like an odd thing to want, most just wanted it to make them feel *special*. At least, those that knew about it. Sometimes age didn't match up to looks, but he kept to his own, unless they were underage of course. But then *she* came along. As soon as the girl passed, his eyes flickered to the space above, knowing what he would see. The girl was likely 16, or 17, as was the guy with her. But she wasn't. 1000 was her age, the one with her was 1001. This wasn't possible, but yet, that's what it said. Maybe it was wrong? But he'd NEVER been wrong before. As they passed he realized his mouth had been hanging open and he shut it reluctantly. A tap on his shoulder made him jump, but it was only the guy taking over next shift. Perfect. Making his way through the crowd he saw the girl heading into a storage room with a 18year old, different from whom she came with. He shook his head, about to leave when a silvery glint caught his eye. The boy was nearby, a knife in his hand. The girl disappeared, the other following suit. Breath catching, he hurried over, sure he would be greeted with a bloodbath. The door shut behind him and he looked around. In the darkness he saw the pair fighting the young man, backing him against the wall.
"Jonathan, will you do the honour?"
He laughed in reply and stepped up, twirling a silver bladed dagger in his fingers. He laughed and drove the blade straight through the heart. Black blood flowed from the wound and the boy seemingly folded in on himself, disappearing all except for the puddle of black on the ground.
"Welcome to the world of the lightbringers, young one. We have long searched for one with a gift like yours, it will be quite useful. That is, if you don't mind joining us. Hunting demons is much better with more people involved, especially with talent like this. Let's get started, shall we?"
| 2017-09-01T22:06:04 | 2017-09-01T21:45:33 | 38 | 25 |
[WP] Humanity is the idiot savant of the galaxy. We're terrible at almost everything compared to every other race, but we surpass them in spades in one thing.
**DO NOT CHOOSE WARFARE**
It's a boring and overdone answer.
This is inspired by the book Year Zero, where humanity is laughably incompetent in most of our cultural endeavors, but there isn't a species alive no matter how old that is better than us at [X]. It's up to you what [X] is. Maybe we're the best cooks in the galaxy, maybe we're the best dancers, musicians, clowns, that's up to you!
**All I ask is that you do not pick warfare**
|
That evening marked the end of the first month I had fought these creatures, and in that time I had lost more soldiers than in a sixty-cycle career. I worked special-operations, pitting my small number troops against the best of the best in any in a planet we choose to invade. These losses made me fearful. If one of their warriors could wipe out eight squads by itself, there was no telling what destruction they might bring about once the full assaults began. It was imperative that we speak to this creature and try to find out a bit more about it. This was the historic day that we caught a human alive.
From around the corner Dzoo-Rad, my trusty assistant, scuttled on his five natural legs, with his sixth synthetic one clinking on the ground in a rhythmic fashion. He had left to examine the remains of our troops, and from his expression, I could already tell that we were in a lot of trouble.
“Give me the truth, Dzoo-Rad” I growled “What are we dealing with?”
Dzoo-Rad gulped. He said nothing. The vents on his head widened, and I could see heat waves shimmering from the gaping holes. Dzoo-Rad was venting stress, or fear. Either way, I was shocked. I’d seen the guy loose a leg in a bombing raid and barely stumble as he ran to give medicine to another fallen warrior. Supposed to be disabled, he was one of the toughest spawn-of-a-qkawk I knew. What could have unnerved him so?
“Dzoo-Rad?” I said more gently “I need to know,”
“It’s jokes, sir” Dzoo-Rad finally whispered “Some of the guys heard snatches of the ‘man walks into a bar’ variety, but it seems to be mainly puns, and lots of them,” He stopped, sickened. This I understood. Everyone knew that the use of poor jokes had been outlawed under the 62223rd Articles of Interplanetary Warfare, or at least, everyone I knew. Someone had obviously forgotten to tell the humans.
“Exactly how bad are these jokes?”
“Awful, sir,” he responded seriously “One of them had our troops cringing so hard that Zorl’ak’s guts tried to escape out his ass. They’re still banging around in the airducts, we’re trying to coax them out with treats but it’s not going so well”
I began to pace outside the interview cell. This couldn’t be happening.
“That’s impossible. How did they manage to build a pun generator? We’d have picked up if they were using that kind of power anywhere on the planet’s surface, and that’s to say nothing of the expertise or the kind of population needed to maintain one. Are you telling me that they somehow managed to make a portable pun machine for one of their soldiers to just… To just carry around?”
Dzoo-Rad looked me in the eye. There was something I wasn’t getting.
“Sir… They don’t have that kind of technology. Frankly, I’m surprised they got this far into our space,”
“Then how-“
“IT JUST MAKEs THEM UP, SIR!” Dzoo-Rad screamed “IT LEARNED OUR LANGUAGE AND JUST STARTED TELLING THESE JOKES, OVER AND OVER, AND IT WOULDN’T STOP. IT DOESN’T NEED A MACHINE, IT JUST DOES IT BY ITSELF!”
A biological pun generator. I had seen and read some strange things in my time but this… This was far beyond anything our science-fiction writers could have come up with.
“I see,” I said softly “How safe is it, if I go in there?”
“Not… Not safe, er, sir” he said, fear clear in his eyes “If it decides to tell a joke, you’ll be dead in less than two seconds,”
“Then that’s a risk I’ll just have to take,” I said “Open the doors and cut off all sound from the interview cell. I’ll have no jokes escaping into the outside world,”
Dzoo-Rad looked as though he might argue, but seeing that I was not to be turned aside, he wordlessly handed over his holo-slate and retreated. The air-lock sealed behind me before the second door opened before me. Inside, sitting awkwardly on a chair designed to relax four more legs, sat the human warrior. I first strolled behind him to remove the gag, before taking the seat opposite the human. I looked at the holoslate, and read its name, presumably what our soldiers had heard the other humans call it.
“So…” I read from the slate “D-Dad? You are dad?”
“Yes,” it said in my language. A poor accent, but still clear enough.
“By now, I’m sure you know how dangerous your jokes are against my kind. What I need to know, er, Dad, is how many more have training like you? How many *dads* are there, capable of this kind of punnary?”
The creature laughed, as though I had said something amusing. But I suppose that any creature capable of deploying bad puns as indiscriminately as this one had must have some strange sense of humour.
|
Will most likely never be seen but here goes...
The high council of the galaxy marvelled at what was being shown on screen. None of them able to explain what was in front of them. It was a lone surveyor who first encountered the 'Humans', on a routine scan of the galaxy. Now a member of the high council on this merit alone, he has brought this spectacle to every being in the galaxy.
The perfect trajectory, the joyful collapse of buildings, only to be built back up again. The beauty of the explosions and the annihilation which followed. No other being was as skillful or graceful as the 'Humans' when it came to this level of destruction.
An arcing ball of terror flew toward its target, the entire high council mesmerised by the motion, and then another. To the many beings living in the galaxy, each superior in every other way to the 'Humans', this was unreachable. Not another species had this skill. No one could master this ability. Every other species called it beautiful, extraordinary, perfection. The 'Humans' simply called it; 'Angry Birds'.
| 2014-07-16T13:40:10 | 2014-07-16T13:38:27 | 36 | 13 |
[WP] Some kind of eldritch entity has taken human(ish) form and is genuinely trying to befriend you. However its ideas of “hanging out” are just terrifying, and its gifts are worse.
|
It took me five days to work out that Suzie wasn't human and honestly even that's a testament to my idiocy. Normal coworkers don't stare blankly at their screen without even bothering to move their hands for 90% of their day. Normal coworkers don't leave a puddle of violet tinted water anywhere they touch that disappears about ten seconds later. Normal coworkers don't not only know about the 'spell' from a weird little website that you cast in your teenaged years but also bring it up several times a day.
I don't know why Suzie waited such a long time between my weird little phase of believing that I had some kind of special, innate power by accessing the secret knowledge provided on badly made website and now. My best guess is that time doesn't work the same way for her as it does for the rest of us. Nothing about the process really seems difficult for her - granted, her human form is a bit lacking but that seems to be a lack of understanding rather than the effort it would take to be perfect. When I mentioned the ticking sound she makes when she walks that little quirk went away instantly.
The oddest thing about Suzie in many ways her her insistence that she's a perfectly normal human. When I mentioned the ticking she just laughed at me and her eyes did something that I literally can't describe in words before silently scuttling away. When I asked how exactly she knew that I cast a spell to an eldritch being she froze for a moment, then yelled "oh no! The printer!" and rushed off towards the vending machine.
She knows the words for every item in our office but she doesn't necessarily attach them to the right things. Moreover, she doesn't seem to think it's important that objects are referred to by the same word all of the time - she sees literally no issue with calling her computer a computer one day but a printout the next.
The way our office is laid out has us each sharing a large desk with a coworker, the computers on opposite sides. Suzie shares my desk, of course. This is somewhat concerning as I am ninety percent sure I used to have a different coworker. I don't remember anything about them but whenever I try to recall any detail I feel an absence in my mind, like a tongue poking the hole where a tooth once lived.
The most concerning thing about my encounters with Suzie is that she wants to be friends. She first asked to hang out with me shortly after I'd figured out what she was (well, as much as I'll ever be able to) and so I didn't really feel I could say no. She asked to hang out after work and I assumed she meant grab a drink directly after our shift. Instead, the workday ended and Suzie was nowhere to be found. My evening was uneventful but my dreams were filled with a glittering city that made even my dream-self's eyes quietly bleed. I was followed by a creature that I couldn't see who whispered things that made my skin shiver and tingle even as it morphed into new and terrifying shapes.
I didn't entirely hate that dream, to be honest. But my point still stands that it doesn't fit the normal description of 'hanging out.'
Where do you even go from that? How do you tell your eldritch friend who insists they are human that visions of another plane of existence aren't a normal way of hanging out with coworkers?
I went for feigning ignorance. When Suzie asked if I'd enjoyed my night I said I must have just missed her or something as she left work and it's a shame we didn't get to hang out. She looked guilty, I think she's getting the hang of human faces. Her eyes did do that indescribable thing again, though.
That night at home I was greeted by a beautifully wrapped box with the word 'sorry' scratched onto the label. Against my better judgement (which is rarely around anyway, if I'm being honest) I opened my gift up and was treated to a box of shifting, sparkling shadows.
*Nope.*
I haven't thrown the box away because it feels like that might have unintended consequences so I've just popped it in the cupboard under the sink. Out of sight, out of mind.
It was clear I was going to have to take a proactive approach to dealing with Suzie so I invited her out to drinks myself - giving very clear instructions on the when and the where. I was optimistic that I could pepper in some human lessons in our hanging out and at the very least it might delay the next insanely weird thing for another week or two.
The thing is, I don't even dislike Suzie. I'm terrified of her, naturally, but I don't think that has to be a massive dealbreaker in a friendship. She mostly just seems to want me to like her and she respects my boundaries once she understands them. Conversations with her are bizarre but interesting and as long as I'm not dumb enough to seek too much knowledge I could probably learn some interesting things from her.
I ordered both of our drinks as this wasn't an interaction Suzie had done before. After about an hour she started to relax (not visibly, her body was still as stiff as a puppet, but the conversation had managed to shift away from how human she was toward other topics) and I was having a pretty good time myself. I'm not totally sure what it says about me that I was enjoying myself in a bar with an eldritch monstrosity but I've had worse company.
Enter worse company.
Worse company's name is Gabe, he has been trying to date me for seven months and unlike Suzie he displays no respect for boundaries. He works at our company so I can't entirely avoid him and whilst he wants my to like him I'm struggling to think of a single likeable trait he actually has. Gabe approached our table whilst Suzie was getting drinks from the bar (new human skill achieved!) and sat uncomfortably close to me. He started asking me why I'd never accepted his offer of a date in this bar and had already manoeuvred the conversation to the awesome new lighting fixture he could show me if I went back to his place when Suzie returned.
"Oh," Gabe said with an obvious tone of disappointment, "I thought you were here alone."
"I'm Callie's friend." Suzie offered brightly, which I guess was actually true.
"I'd really hoped to talk to Callie alone, do you-" Gabe began but I cut him off.
"Oh, you guys haven't met! I have to nip to the bathroom, Suzie - you should tell Gabe about yourself. Everything about yourself."
---
It's two months later and I still don't know exactly what Suzie said to Gabe but not only was he pale as milk when I returned that night, he hasn't once bothered me since. I don't know if Suzie managed to pick up on my 'help me' vibes or if it was inevitable that she'd have said something disturbing to him either way. She still insists that she's still perfectly normal and whilst I hope she'll open up to me one day I'm fine trying to sneak human lessons upon her until we reach that point.
After all, I owe her a favour now. And more than that, she's my friend.
|
I remember coming home days, months, years ago? I think I remember. No, yes, I do remember. I came home from work. I used to be valuable, but no longer. Work, work, work. I stank of desperation; rent, bills, demanding and relentless in their screams. Every day returning further behind. My existence, subsistence. Everyday grinding my soul, necessary, but unworthy. No grace, no connection, no joy, conflict with no quarter.
I remember! I do remember. I can remember what I was before! There is a day different...a day of days!
I closed a door, my door. A cheap bottle of self-loathing in hand. I sat before a coffee table cluttered with glass I no longer bothered cleaning. I drank and stared. On a pedestal against the wall sits a sculpture. I used to call it the "conversation piece". It was weird, it was funky, it was deliciously obscene on molly, it was coming for him when he was on coke. He, he? I? There is something else, a sound, a word...a name. It, no, he was Mark. People have names. I remember. Is that my name? People used to come here before the empty glass cluttered the floor. They showed their teeth to me, they keened and threw their arms around me when I opened the door. The warmth of her body, her scent, lingers yet.
I stared at the wall and then at my hands. Only two objects in my life now. My hand lifts for another drink, instinct borne of practice finds the opening, no need to break the gaze from my salvation. I am so tired, it permeates my body. Leaks from my bones. Crushes me into myself. One last easy, natural, joyless gulp of flavorless fire is replaced with awkward cold; hints of potassium nitrate and residue of Hoppe's #9 dominate. I know I don't have to be tired any more.
And then IT was here. My soul screams, atomized by an unreality so deep I feel nothing and everything at once. I am shattered by a moment of eternity. And then IT is gone.
Upon the pedestal sits a perfect sphere of blackness, no sound, no motion, no light, no reflection. He has to stare. It never moves, you trust your eyes, I know it isn't moving...but your mind sees it devouring the light, nothingness writhing and roiling within. Your stomach whirling with vertigo and dread... I look away, now in the corner of their eye, oh God, it's there. We try to flee...it whispers, it claws at my soul. It pulls at the threads of our sanity, dragging your gaze back to us. Is this object IT? A part of IT? Yes. Yes...we are.
In my sleepless haze of reality I put on a fresh set of clothes and begin the glide to work. There is awareness of time and biological need but we are beyond them. We are not alone. We are seen. We are enough.
| 2022-02-18T08:09:21 | 2022-02-18T07:54:48 | 27 | 14 |
[WP] You've been bitten by a zombie and your group of fellow survivors won't end your suffering. The fever overtakes you and you pass out. However, you wake up in a room full of zombies. You recognize it - it's the locked room where your group keeps turned loved ones, in case they ever find a cure.
|
When I came to I was numb. Both physically and emotionally void of any feeling whatsoever. It was almost liberating, except for the insatiable *hunger* that came from a place I couldn't describe.
I realized I was in the tank. That room we put people we'd try to save one day when there was a cure. I would feel loved if I could feel anything.
I couldn't speak. It seemed as though that part of my brain was gone. But I could apparently moan. Others, the ones who'd been here the longest, could only make scratching 'hissing' sounds.
The last thing I remembered was being helped to the back of a truck, already feeling light headed, and cold.
*"He's already turning." Kate said.*
*"Put him in restraints." Darius responded.*
*"This is insane, there's no cure." Kate bitched.*
I had begun to feel euphoric. I knew I was shaking, but I no longer cared. Then it all went dark.
Then I came to here in the tank. I wasn't expecting to be myself. I thought what everyone else thought, that the Piranhas -- that was our nick name for them -- were just empty bodies, that the people inside them were lost forever. I guess I was wrong.
*So why do they attack people?* I was about to find out.
A door at the end of a cat walk well above our heads opened. I recognized Darius. He walked across the cat walk to some thin, metal stairs that descended just out of reach.
I was reaching for him, and moaning desperate, primal groans. I had no personal desire to harm Darius, but in that moment I didn't mind the idea of pulling him into the tank and sinking my teeth as deeply into his flesh as I possibly could. In fact, the longer he was there, the more that idea became a *need*.
*So that's how it happens.*
I wasn't paying any attention to why Darius was there. I suddenly found myself flat on my back, apparently wet. Darius had a thick hose aimed at us. He just sprayed us, then walked back across the cat walk and through the door.
Then I lost time. When I came to again I was no longer in the tank, I was isolated in a small room. Inside a cage. Kate was behind a window just outside the room, and she looked delicious. Even though I knew it was pointless, I tried to reach my hand through the cage. I didn't notice the skin peeling away from my arm until I pulled my arm away. I put the dangling, wet skin in my mouth and chewed. It was better than nothing.
*How long have I been here?* I wondered.
Darius walked through a door and approached the cage. He looked different. Thin. Not as tasty. He had something in his hand. He said something, but I couldn't understand him. Maybe I was too busy trying to push through the cage to listen. Or maybe that part of my brain was gone, like the part that controlled speech.
My moans had become dry whispers. I was slower. Weak.
Darius had shot me with something. I reached my hand up to my neck and pulled away a silver dart. I stumbled back until I was leaning against the back of the cage. Then I resumed my attempt to eat Darius. I stumbled forward, falling into wall of the cage. It popped loose, falling to the floor. I fell with it, but I got up off the ground and walked in the direction of Darius who was backing toward a door. He was yelling something, loudly.
Then I lost time again.
When I came to I could see my hands, crimson in color, gripping darker chunks of flesh that I was tearing from Darius' body and shoving into my mouth. I had almost completely devoured the left side of his neck, so I bent down and tore a chunk from the right side.
I lost time again.
When I came to I was restrained on my back, in yet another room. I felt nauseated. Everything hurt, a lot. I mean *everything.*
Kate was standing right beside me, holding a knife. I figured she was there to slice me to bits for eating her husband. I didn't blame her at all. He was also my best friend.
My tear ducts felt like they were filling with acid.
*Wait... what did Darius shoot me with?*
"Do you know what you took from me?" Kate asked, rhetorically.
*I understood her.*
She plunged the large knife directly into my heart. What was left of it began beating rapidly. I felt myself slipping away for the second time.
"I'm sorry." I said, as everything went dark.
I came to again, with the lack of sensation wrapped around me like a warm blanket. My restraints had been chewed away. The door was open.
I was so *hungry*.
|
I woke up. they were standing next to me. The blood dripping from their mouth gave the air an iron like smell. Their faces, they looked... friendly. United. Like home. They turned around and stumbled away. The hole in my arm spread a warm feeling through my body. I looked around. I saw my friends and tried to call them. They didn't respond so I stood up. One of them looked at me. I saw the fear in his teyes, the hostility. 'Why do they look at me?' I thought. I stumbled their direction. It felt like i was walking on clouds. Only 5 meters, 4, 3, 2, 1. A cold steel barrel was pressed against my forehead. Why did he do that? We were friends right? I only wanted to help him. I wanted him to unite with us, his friends. only one bite, only one
| 2017-11-04T05:11:48 | 2017-11-04T00:41:05 | 23 | 13 |
[WP] A single man declares war on the entire world. One year later, the leaders of each nation gather to discuss their surrender.
|
It began as a whisper. A fleeting word in a restless wind. The superpowers were too preoccupied with trying to best one another to hear it. The people, however, suffering in the aftermath, listened. At first, he was labelled as a terrorist, looked at as sub-human, a lunatic who spewed fallacies. No one knew he held all the cards.
Romulus appeared at nine o'clock in the morning on December sixth. Every television on the planet projected his ghostly white mask. His eyes weren't visible, save for two red irises piercing through the blackness. His mask was cracked, battle worn, and the purity of the white faded into black near the top of the face. Over his left eye there was a shadow of blue, and over the right, red. Gold lines embossed on the mask turned the shadows into flames. Nothing was accidental, not even on his mask. The rest of him was covered in black, a black hood covered his head, and a long, flowing trench coat veiled his person.
When he made his move, static interrupted the regularly scheduled programming. Most assumed their television was broken, until his mask finally appeared. His eyes glared directly into each person on the planet.
"Ladies and gentlemen. You are now about to witness, the strength, of the people of this planet." His voice was unlike anything anyone expected. Slightly raspy, but soothing and comforting. Powerful. "It's a new era. All those who live in the black lies, controlling the corrupting machine we were forced to live in will fall. Our governments, our leaders, whom we were taught to trust, you abused your power and left your people to starve and murder each other to survive. My name, is Romulus, and this is the beginning of the end of the world as you know it."
As quickly as he appeared, he vanished. Immediately world leaders scrambled to speak and comfort their people. The problem was, however, that their citizens felt no fear. They felt hope. They felt the scales of power tip.
In the following month, Romulus systematically released incriminating photos, documents, and voice recordings, bringing to light the corruption of the world powers. The media attempted to stop the broadcasting, but he could not be stopped, so they resorted to turning him into a villain.
"He won't even show his face to us! He claims to be a savior of the people but 'Romulus' is too scared to come out into the open!" He was ridiculed, belittled, and coaxed, and yet the wolves howled with their tails between their legs, fearing what he had left up his sleeve.
When the President of the United States finally gave his speech, he too attempted to bring Romulus into the open. It was this day, Tuesday, January sixth, that he showed us exactly how powerful he was. In the middle of his speech, the President was interrupted by an unexpected fire alarm. As the White House was evacuated, due to the growing flames inside, all eyes left the protected President, and shifted to Romulus, standing on the grass as calm as the day he first appeared. Immediately all guns were drawn and aimed, snipers were ready, and most likely jets were moving in as well.
"I am not here to draw blood." He shouted, loud enough for the neighboring reporters to hear. "You wished to speak to me face to face, and I am here to give you that respect."
"What is it you want?" The President inquired, breaking free from the grasp of his Secret Service guards. "Money? Power?" The two were a mere ten meters apart.
"I am not concerned with any of that. I am not you, Mr. President. Now, if I'm not mistaken, everyone has left the building." Romulus raised his left hand, his arm at ninety degrees. "Let me show you what I am capable of. So perish every one that shall hereafter leap over my wall." He shut his hand into a fist, and with it, a series of small explosions caused the White House to collapse into the flames. By the time everyone's gaze reverted back to where he stood, Romulus was gone.
Over the next few months, Romulus appeared in the most powerful countries, methodically bringing down the heavily guarded fortresses of the world leaders. Men and women, once looked upon as great people of our time, were now shown to be nothing more than adulterers, embezzlers, murderers, and unfit of their titles. The people began to rally behind Romulus, sporting similar masks and demanding change, demanding we be given the power to rule with truth and absolute transparency. Romulus had not injured a single person, the governments around the world, however, had killed hundreds in pursuit of their rival. Eleven months after his first appearance, the world leaders launched a final attack on the known location of Romulus. He was where he always sat, meditating, it seemed, and surrounded by dozens of reporters and hundreds of cameras. All heads turned swiftly once the roar of the missiles was first heard.
"Run!" Romulus shouted, seemingly shaking the mountains around him. The press scattered, desperately seeking safety. Romulus however, just stood and faced his apparent doom. "You fools!" He extended his hand forcefully towards the weapons. No one knew how he was able to do what he did, most likely a device, but at the moment, no one cared. One by one, the missiles exploded, sending harmless debris falling hundreds of feet away. Romulus turned to the cameras still fixed on him. "Ironic, how you claim to want the best for your people, claim you want to protect them, yet you just attempted to murder hundreds. You have lost this war, and I have done my part. Goodbye."
A month after the attack, and Romulus' subsequent disappearances, the world leaders decided it was best to relinquish their iron grip on the globe. Some swore it would create chaos, others promised blood and death everywhere. Romulus seemed to have vanished, to them, the threat was gone for good, there was no need to give up their power. But they didn't realize they no longer had anyone to control. The people of the world, once divided by petty differences in beliefs and customs, stood as one. What began as a whisper, now spoke with a resounding voice. And it will be heard, it will be trusted, and in the shadows will loom a silent hero, ready to bring balance back should he ever be needed.
We only pray he will not be.
|
Ever since he was a young child Michael heard voices in his head. The family that adopted him tried everything they could to help. They sent him to therapists, who said nothing is really wrong with him. They took him to doctors, who prescribed medication that had zero effect on him.
Michael never really told anybody *all* of the things these voices would tell him in fear of people being afraid of him. The voices would sometimes tell him tales of mass murder and how he is destined to take over this world. Not wanting to listen any more, he learned to tune it out. Eventually, by his 20's, he didn't hear them at all.
Though it was on his 29th birthday that they came back. He was working construction on a new high rise in New York when the scaffolding gave way and plunged him 83 stories to the ground. It was during his decent that the voices not only came back but showed their faces. Three of them. They looked filled with white, like ghosts and he couldn't make out the sex of any of them.
"Michael". They seemed to speak in unison. "Do not worry, as you will find out in a moment you cannot die. You are an archangel. This world is filled with wickedness and must be cleansed. It is time Michael".
He slammed into the ground with such force it crushed the concrete beneath him and sent a dust cloud into the air. Other workers rushed over preparing for a horror scene. Most of them with their phones out and recording.
Michael rose from the impact crater holding a sword made of the same ghost white material of the angels. He swings it around his body gaining momentum and stabs it hard into the ground. It sends a shockwave across Manhattan not only disabling all the electronics but frying them completely. He feels incredible, filled with endless energy and an overwhelming sense of purpose.
It only took him four days to slay New York City. He moved swiftly and with no explanation. On a mission from God he needed not explain himself to man.
After a year he had decimated most of the United States, including 90% of their military offenses, and went around the world killing an incredible amount of politicians and leaders. Still not knowing why he is doing it, or even what he is, the United Nations gathered to discuss the immediate surrender of the entire world.
| 2014-07-24T09:11:39 | 2014-07-24T08:16:14 | 369 | 39 |
[WP] She has beauty, she has wit, she has grace… she speaks like a pagan god of death uttering omens through echoes of an ethereal plane… But hey, dating in your 30’s is gonna have baggage.
|
"Another shot?"
"Please," Greg said. The first Jack Daniels was already starting to wear off. The choice to arrive a half hour early may have been a poor one, but the choice to steady his nerves was wise and he had no intention of undoing it.
The shot arrived about the same time she did. Greg immediately forgot about it, stood up, and walked up to greet the woman he was there to see, Valentina.
"Wow," he said as he got up to her. "Your profile picture didn't even... I mean, that dress is so... I... um. Hi."
Valentina did not say anything. She raised one hand as if she expected it to be kissed. Greg awkwardly shook it as he tried to figure out if the downturned corners of her mouth were displeasure or something else.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I wasn't good at dating before the pandemic and... I have even less game now. Still, I'm so glad you came. Would you like to get dinner."
"Yes, dinner. The final meal of the day. For some... some here... it shall be the last of their fleeting existence."
"So you're a goth? I should have guessed by the outfit, but-"
"Hear me now!"
The people at the bar got quiet. A few heads turned in the dining room. The lights dimmed, all of them, save for the one over her head.
"The forgotten poison shall be the final quenching of the doomed servant. Charred flesh shall be the last thing to pass between the lips of the abandoned matriarch! You, who does court me, you are far more handsome than your avatar! Our union is as joyous as it was inevitable."
Greg paused. *Not the most awkward hello I've had this year.*
He asked, "Shall we get a seat?"
"Of course. Our feast shall rival that of the grim table in Hel."
"Cool... so, you're in theater?"
Valentina did not reply, but swept up to the hostess stand. The lights returned.
Greg followed and said, "We're on the wait list."
Valentina added, "A crawl through time as tedious as that to the grave."
The hostess said, "It can get like that on two for one wing night, but tonight's not so busy and your table just opened up. Right this way."
The two followed the hostess to their table. Greg swallowed, suddenly warm. His eyes darted from table to table, looking to see if anyone was looking at them, but everyone was intent on their meals. In fact, despite the fact Valentina was easily the hottest woman in the restaurant in the shortest dress, everyone seemed to be avoiding her gaze. The only one watching them still was the bartender, who had stepped around from the bar and was looking at them both like a dog who had just had a cat bark at it.
Menus and drinks came. They both had water. They ignored the breadsticks.
Greg cleared his throat and said, "So... um, I'm in IT myself. Database management. Boring stuff. Say, do you always open compliments with dire prophecy?"
Valentina looked around the room. She drew in a sharp breath. Her eyes became two obsidian orbs.
"The words of the Gravemother cannot remain unuttered, nor her reminders that no child of woman may reverse time and that she would like grandchildren. Please me, mortal, and she shall have us over on Thursdays."
"Wow... you move fast."
"Wait."
"Um... okay, not so fast."
"Silence!" Valentina demanded as she bowed her head.
From the back, someone screamed, "Oh god, call a doctor!"
Greg looked in the direction and a woman had fallen out of her chair, turning blue. He could see her clutch at her throat. He looked to the table and saw she'd been eating a blackened steak. She was alone at her table.
Valentina's words came back to him immediately.
"...*Charred flesh shall be the last thing to pass between the lips of the abandoned matriarch!*"
He slumped back into his chair.
Valentina said, "The moment has passed. Her spirit is with the Gravemother. I am sorry. This is probably weird."
"A little. You... um, this isn't how you sounded in your DM's."
"The voice of the Black Siren only comes from my lips. It's why I don't get out much."
"I get it. I was married for a while. It's hard starting over in your 30's."
"And yet you shall endure until you are bent and ancient."
Greg raised an eyebrow. "Really?"
"I am as sure as that the world will be consumed in fire befor-"
"Hold up."
"Do my words offend?"
"No, it's just... you're reminding me life is short. Even if you say mine is going to be long, it will still go by in a blink. I fell in love with you on the third text. Do you really want dinner here or should we just skip to drinks at my place."
Valentina's eyes turned normal, with whites and pupils and bright green irises.
"I thought you'd never ask."
Greg smiled and stood, taking her arm. They both blushed like school kids. He tossed a twenty on the table and kept his eyes on hers, not even noticing as the paramedics rushed passed them to get to the corpse behind them.
The bartender continued to watch as the pair left. They paused at the door, Valentina stopping them. She drew Greg to her and kissed him. It made the bartender warm inside to watch. She then nodded, as if Greg had passed a test, and then they went out into the night.
The bartender shook his head. Wednesdays were always weird shifts. He noticed the shot Greg had left behind and decided not to let it go to waste.
He said, "To love" then tossed it back.
Valentina's words echoed in his ears as he swallowed.
"...*The forgotten poison shall be the final quenching of the doomed servant.*"
"Well, fuck."
|
"You shall pay for your wickedness. The mark of a thousand fold pestilence upon your ill breeding. I only find solace in knowing you are destined to die alone with the curses generation a to come." said Morena. Her melodic voice rang clearly in the thin autumn air.
Everyone stood still in the memorial park. The sound of red, orange, yellow leaves scraping across the sidewalk.
"Holy shit!" I was shocked as my red cheeks were flushed into crimson. "That was amazing. I abhor people that don't clean up after their dogs." Did I actually use the word 'abhor' it in a sentence? Hope it didn't seem forced.
"The order of the universe demands retribution for foul deeds." A hint of smile found the its way to the corners of her mouth.
Had to force myself to stop staring. Morena was beautiful. In an old fashion kind of way. An old old fashion kind way. Walking without shoes and wearing nothing but a simple off-white bedsheet, I think, knotted over her left shoulder. The bare dark skin ignored cold wind that brought a thin layer of ice on the pond.
Stop fantasizing...."So what do you do?"
"Simply live in the present continuous universe. Reveling in this mortal carapace of limited finitude. Enjoying the dance of death and rebirth." A strand of black hair sweeps over her face.
Her obsidian eyes level with mine.
I am happy she isn't wearing shoes. At least I am the same height as her.
"Yeah. I really love Fall too. All the colors and foily-age. Really brings a fresh perspective. Even I could do with a rebirth from time to time." I chuckle. I really could use a do-over after the divorce. And there is something about Morena.
"We delighted to hear you say that Damian." Her gaze intensifies. I imagine blue aura, like flames, wreathed around her eyes. Such lovely eyes. "Are you familiar with being a familiar?"
| 2021-07-07T11:55:15 | 2021-07-07T08:37:00 | 906 | 186 |
[WP] The royal procession moves down the street. The King on his horse, followed by ranks of soldiers. The people bow as he passes by. The King suddenly pulls his horse up, causing it to rear. Scrambling out of the saddle he approaches an old man. Lifting him to his feet, "You NEVER bow to me!"
|
Young Samuel stood in front of his father, head bowed. His father, face stern, sat down in front of him and, after a suitable amount of silence said, ‘well son, tell me why I had to leave my work to come get you from school.’
‘I didn’t do anything wrong.’ Samuel cried, his voice wavering with both anger and fear. ‘Honest, dad. I wasn’t the one who threw the dung at Weird Wallace. Bertie did. I was just there. I don’t know why the headmaster picked on me.’
Samuel’s father sighed. It’s hard, raising children to be good people when there are so many bad examples. ‘Tell me then, young Sam, why your friend Bertie thought it was a good idea to torment Wallace in such a way?’
Samuel shifted uncomfortably. ‘I dunno. Wallace is, well, he always wears patched clothes and trousers that don’t fit him.’
‘And that’s a reason to be cruel, is it? Because his folks can’t afford to buy him the newest garb? If I sent you to school tomorrow wearing rags would you be fine with your friends turning on you?’
‘no sir’ Samuel muttered.
‘Don’t you think Wallace deserves the same consideration?’
A muttered ‘maybe’ and a shuffling of feet from Samuel.
‘Let me tell you a story about something that happened when I was your age. Old King Edwin, father to our current Queen, planned a diplomatic trip to the neighbouring kingdoms. Of course we realised later it was really to introduce his daughter to the other monarchs, as Edwin was dying, but we didn’t know it then. All we knew was as luck would have it, the procession was passing through our town.
‘The whole town was a flutter with excitement. Streets were swept, bunting was hung, shop windows were washed to within an inch of their lives. Three weeks of bustling activity to watch a group of people ride through the town in ten minutes.
‘Me and my best friend Sam, who you are named for, woke up early so as to get a good view, but, naturally, the entire town had the same idea, and we wound up at the furthest end of the route, next to an old man wearing old-fashioned soldier’s uniform and leaning on a cane.
After what felt like days but was really only a few hours we heard the cheering start from the other end of town, heard the clopping of horses hooves heading our way. The king was coming! Like everyone else we knelt down in respect to his highness. The old man next to us struggled to get to his knees, but he made it at last.
‘And then came the old king, resplendent in red and gold, his young daughter beside him, looking stern and noble and brave, like a king ought to if he could properly help it., riding a big black stallion, a sword at his side and a crown on his head. Such a sight I never thought I’d see. I looked at him, my mouth hanging open, watching him pass by and then, to my amazement, he shouted ‘halt!’ and stopped right in front of us.
‘It took a moment for all the horses to stop, everyone milling about looking confused. The King, well despite his age, he leapt right off his horse, striding right towards us, and stopping in front of the old man next to me.
‘Simon,’ the king said, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. ‘What did I tell you? You never bow to me.’ And reaching out a hand he pulled the old soldier to his feet.
‘Queen Charlotte, or Princess as she was then, had come to stand by her father’s side. ‘Father,’ said she, ‘why are we stopping? Who is this man?’
‘Old King Edwin turned to her, smiling. ‘Let me introduce you to Simon. Son to the castle’s under-gardener and one of the chamber maids. We played together as children, fought together as soldiers, and parted as friends when my father died and duty took me in a different direction. Simon, my friend when I had none, long ago earned the right to stand in my presence.’
‘The king and the soldier, Simon, chatted for a bit longer until the retinue finally remounted their horses and rode away. Sam and I stayed there, on our knee, too befuddled to move, occasionally sneaking glances at the young princess, who looked as confused as we felt. I learnt a powerful lesson that day, although if I’m honest I didn’t quite realise it until I was a bit older. And that is the lesson I would like to teach you now, Sam.
‘You have a choice in life, son. You can either be like that Bertie, haughty and disdainful of anyone in a different class than him, or you can be like King Edwin, a man who knew the contents of a person’s heart far outweighs the wealth in his pocket. Which will it be?’
After a few minutes silence, broken only by the gentle chiming of the grandfather clock in the hall, Samuel spoke. ‘Is it okay if I go out for a little bit? I’d like to see if Wallace wants to go fishing with me.’
|
The King lead the army through the streets to the defense of his citizens. The old and young and those who cannot fight lined the streets saying their goodbyes and wishes of well for those about to die.
As the King lead the men slowly he looked at everyone he could, his eyes fell across a very old man down on his knees on the side of the road. The King stopped everyone and got off his horse he walked with a stoic determination not seen before. He quit copy marches up to the old man
The King then lifts him to his feet, The King turns around and proclaims in a loud and deep breath "You NEVER bow to me!". Everyone looked upon this strange encounter with looks from awe to suprise.
The King noticing this talks to his citizens "This man litterly gave his arm for me" The King removes the man jacket revealing his right arm missing from the shoulder.
The King then kneels Infront of the old man. "I shall protect this kingdom as you have protected me, I proclaims this man regent in my stead and should I die, he is your King".
All but one person in the crowd was shocked by this, The King remounts his horse and continues the sombre march to his death and that of his people. But he feels proud to die in battle for his citizens knowing they will be protected when he falls
| 2021-06-04T07:36:21 | 2021-06-04T06:52:11 | 109 | 34 |
[WP] Never, in 10 millennia, has someone successfully broken out of the Gates of Hell or into the Gates of Heaven. Of course, the Lockpicking Lawyer just died and he's up for a challenge.
Inspired by the [comment](https://www.reddit.com/r/rpghorrorstories/comments/m6smji/does_this_count_dm_is_proposing_35_ranks_of/gr85q13?utm_medium=android_app&utm_source=share&context=3) u/geckoobac made on r/rpghorrorstories
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Lucifer watched the screen, fear welling up in him. For the first time in over 10 millennia, a human breached through the nine layers of hell and made it to the gates. Now, the man stood there, smiling as he did, while he pulled out his assortment of tools to defeat the final defense of hell.
The gates of hell were about to be picked by the lock-picking lawyer.
Lucifer listened to the man, writing down everything he said. For some reason, the lawyer lockpicker spoke his mind as if he was teaching someone. "Now, folks, this right here is a strange keyway, but don't worry. Bosnian Bill and I have made a special tool just for this lock."
Another voice rang out in the room Lucifer sat in. "Who is Bosnian Bill?" Beelzebub asked, sputtering as she did. She was just as afraid. For, this lock picking lawyer was about to cause a rather *big* event if he got through.
"I... I don't know," Lucifer said, still watching the screen, wondering if Abaddon had found a solution to keeping the gates closed.
"Now folks, if you can see here. We have a very special lock with us today. This lock was actually created during the fall of Satan. That makes this lock one of the oldest locks I have worked on to date. Even older than the lock on video 1229. If you'd like to watch that video then I'll leave a link to the description of this video. Regardless, let's get to it."
"What is he talking about?" Beelzebub frantically asked.
Lucifer attempted to answer, but the door to his office open wide, slamming against the wall. Abaddon strode through, smug as he could be.
Lucifer felt hope well in him now as the lawyer on the screen spoke. "... binding on 1..."
"Have you found a solution?" Lucifer asked, his hopeful tone betraying his sullen face.
Abaddon jubilantly nodded. "I have! I know of this LockPickingLawyer, for I follow him on the human media site. I know how to hold this creature off long enough. Armageddon will happen on our time now."
Lucifer stood up, shooting out of his chair. His face held a look of surprise. How did Abaddon know this would work? "What have you made to stop the man that has breached our defenses?"
Abaddon chuckled as he pulled out a roll of... "Duct tape? This is the solution you have found?" Lucifer asked, nearly screaming as he did.
In the background, the lawyer's voice rang out once more. "... click on 3..."
Abaddon nodded furiously. "Yes, sir! In 1169, he takes longer to cut through the tape than it takes him to solve the puzzle!"
Lucifer's jaw hung loosely at the words, confusion filling his face. "Abaddon, *what* do the numbers *mean*?"
Abaddon chuckled once more, "they are the video numbers, sir. They hold all the answers."
But before Lucifer could say anything else, he heard a horrible rumbling and felt a harsh trembling.
Lucifer looked back to the screen with wide eyes, taking in the sight of an open gate.
"Well, folks! That was one of the most interesting keyways I have gone through in recent times. With that folks, my series on "Hell's most interesting locks," has come to a close. If you have any comments about this, please put them below. If you'd like to see more..."
The lawyer's voice trailed off as he took in the newest obstacle in hell.
A massive wall of duct tape.
Abaddon laughed a hearty laugh. "See, sir! He is stunn—" Abaddon's voice dying in his throat as the lawyer spoke once more, joy welling in his voice.
"Nevermind, folks! It seems there will be one more video in this series after all. Well, folks, I'm going to get to that right now, but as always have a nice day. Thank you."
Lucifer looked at Abaddon, dead eyes meeting the general's terrified face. "Why is he happy, Abaddon?
Abaddon reeled back, trying to understand the situation. "I-I don't know, sir."
"Look! What is that in his hand?" Beelzebub shouted.
Lucifer and Abaddon both looked at the screen, terror filling them as they saw what was in the lawyer's hand.
There, glinting off the fires, was a box opener, ready to slice through the duct tape wall.
Abaddon fell to his knees, sobbing as he did. "We are doomed, Armageddon is upon us."
Lucifer shook his head, *defeated by a man with a lockpick and a box cutter. Oh, how I have truly fallen.*
For when the gates of hell open, Armageddon will begin. And the end of the world came from a lawyer with one too many picks.
___
If you'd like more of my stories, then they are here at r/WritingKnightly!
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"We've prepared for this moment since the day this man was born," God shouts out angrily to the surrounding angels. "So, what do you mean he already escaped? God says while slamming his fist down upon his throne.
"H-he left as soon as he got through the gates a few seconds after he was let in. Then he said he wanted to try out the locks in hell," the angel says stammering while attempting to calm his creator.
"This lock isn't that hard, what's all the big fuss about it?" Lock-Picker Lawyer says as all 189 slots inside of the lock are moved simultaneously.
He walks into the gates as Satan arises, he feels the gates of his domain opening, "Is God down here?" He shouts at his subordinates as they cower in fear looking at the man who broke the locks of both heaven and hell. "Are you the guy that made the lock?" Lock-Picker Lawyer says as a gust of wind blows out all of the firepits in hell.
"I have a few critiques about this lock you made..." Lock-Picker Lawyer says while rambling as the damned souls try to make a break for the exit.
| 2021-03-17T08:57:45 | 2021-03-17T08:06:34 | 464 | 310 |
[WP] Hundreds of years ago an eccentric sorcerer turned all mythical creatures into humans to try and prevent them from being hunted to extinction. Now that the spell is starting to wear off, the descendants of the original beasts are slowly beginning to morph back into their true forms.
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"I do not like my transformation." Her voice was soft. It clicked and her teeth chattered in the cold. "I haven't been able to leave this room for weeks because of it." He could hear rustling as she moved around. "I am a beast." In the darkness, her eyes glinted. "I don't know why you remain at my side, even now." Anger tainted her speech. "You, who have been so lucky in the years following the transformation."
No one was aware that this transformation was going to take place. It was revealed to humankind that one day, tens of thousands of years ago in the past, a sorcerer changed all manner of magickal beasts into humans in an effort to save them from extinction. This sorcerer allowed them to procreate with the prevalent human population to increase their numbers in a time before written history when only legends could be told. The written seal made by the sorcerer had two functions: it induced the transformations themselves and erased all memory of the transformations from the new collective human consciousness. No one was aware that they were now human and had not been before and no one was aware that they would ever change *back* from being human, should the magickal script be effaced or in any way damaged
For decades after its rediscovery, the tablet stood in museums around the world. Written in an unknown language -- not at all remarkable for that feature -- whose primitive inscriptions were a mystery to all modern people, linguists and intellectuals marveled at its hidden meaning. It predated all other forms of written communication by thousands of years.
It could not have been known then that its preservation was critical to the continued existence of changed beasts as humans across the planet. No one could've anticipated, when the tablet cracked in an attempt to transfer the stone to another museum, that such an alteration to the tablet would undo its ancient spell and change all manner of people across the globe into creatures of mythos.
The rate of change was variable. So far it is known that the transformation back to these primeval forms is dependent on the beast type/how different the beast form is from the human one and how many generations far back the modern 'human' is inheriting their new physical condition. Features of each beast did not blend. That is to say, there are no centaur-minotaur hybrids because said human shares ancestry with both beasts. The former humans adopted whatever form was most strong based on their lineage. What they transformed into was also based on personality and prior human appearance. No one could be certain what they would become.
The woman in the corner of the room was changing into a frost spirit. She shed her skin and physical form to adopt something insubstantial. Flesh fell from her body in sharp pieces like flint, and the exposed creature underneath -- her true form -- was unable to tolerate temperatures above freezing. Her new face was gaunt with deep-set silver eyes that shined like lanterns in the distance. Her exposed new form was translucent, allowing her to see through to her exposed flesh underneath. The effect was horrific.
The room itself was made cold by her spiritual form, causing her extant human body pain as the frostbite took hold. It did not matter that her remaining mortal form was suffering as a result, for her new form was stronger, and the pain of warmth was too much to bear for her frosty spirit.
The brother watched her in the darkness, unaffected by the cold in his fully realized new form. "I did not choose this creature the same way you did not choose yours." His voice permeated the world, and birds sang in competition with its beauty. "Do not hate me for who I have become." She shied away from his emanating light, far brighter than hers. "I do not spite you for yours."
The arteries on her exposed brain pulsed as she angered. "How can I not?" Fog issued out of her mouth as she spoke. "You!" She spat at the floor. "You, who have been so lucky compared to the rest dare to try and tell me how I should react to this beast I have inherited?" The fog tumbled onto the floor, altering her voice and making it deeper. Her lantern eye sneered at him. "Get out of my presence." She turned away, but he could still see that eye through her skull. "You're letting the warmth in."
He sighed without another word and closed the door, standing in the darkness of the hallway and contemplating his own new form. His body had lengthened and took shape the day the tablet broke. He was one of the first to achieve his hidden, natural state, going from perceivably human to beast in a matter of hours. But it was not truly a beast he became compared to the others. He was powerful and humanoid. Far more palatable to the changing beasts that had grown accustomed to their human forms.
His tall, lithe form glowed in the dark room of his former home, and he could understand the thoughts and feelings of all those that shared his creature type. They spoke to him and soothed his concerns about his sister. They were all that he had now. They were his everything.
He exited the house, and stared at the trees. With a passive will of his mind, all manner of life began to grow and interact with him. Trees branched and unfurled their leaves. Birds chattered to one another and regarded him with curiosity. His ability to impart and quicken life would have been a problem in the modern human world, with its industrial, urban environment, but that world was no longer. Humans were dying out.
With the transformation, there were fewer human people than even before the beasts were saved. There were only tens of thousands left in the world that had not begun to change, and those numbers were dwindling as their lineages reached back further down the line to find any relation to a beast. One could only guess at the true number of people that share no blood with the beasts -- the number of people that would never change.
The man retreated in the trees and melted in the shadows. He traveled through the network of living things to the great cathedral of his new people, who have not inhabited its rooms in tens of thousands of years. Light emanated from its stone and people greeted him with familiar green eyes, skin and faces that told him that this is where he belonged.
In the aftermath of the transformation, there were more of his people than ever. Now they had the numbers and power to return the world to its natural state and bring what is left of humanity back to darkness.
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It took me five days to track this beautiful beast down, and there it stands, square in my sights. The last rhino was supposedly dead years ago but here stands one, beautiful though scarred on its back as if wings had formerly sprouted from there. Or was it marked? Tattooed? It’s smaller than a normal rhino, almost looks like a pig, sort of. Well, it’s going to be a trophy.
You see, my dad raised me as a tracker and it’s one of the few ways I find calm after he disappeared one day. A few years ago my mother left me too. I don’t understand why to this day. Maybe she hated me, maybe she secretly had enough and only pretended to love me with a false promise of always being there for me. We even got a tattoo on our wrist “4evr”. I was a kid but I thought it was cool, and got an awesome toy them to stop crying. Thinking back on it, it’s not normal for a kid to get a tattoo, is it?
Game hunting was my way of venting my anger combined with my tracking skills. Of course that was just on a deer in the woods back in Colorado. The anger is gone though, but the money is good. That’s why I’m out here. Last rhino? That’s what they said and here’s one standing. What’s to say there’s actually more!
I fired the shot. Not a killing blow but incapacitated.
Slowly approached. No threat. Okay. Let’s inspect the body. Everything’s sellable in the market. The scars on the back definitely look like wings were once there.
There’s some marking on one of its legs. Almost looks like my tattoo? 4evr? It’s not exactly clear but it looks like it. How coincidental.
You know what’s the funny thing? I had a strange sense of familiarity with this thing. After I saw the 4evr mark, I saw the rhino’s eyes and it looked like it was expressing something... like regret and sadness. Not from dying, but like it has done some kind of wrong to me.
And ever since I’ve sprouted 9 fox tails, I have this looming sense of dread. I’m really hoping it’s not what I think it might possibly be
Doctor... what do you think?
| 2019-10-09T11:53:31 | 2019-10-09T11:48:05 | 92 | 19 |
[WP] We discover a giant spaceship entering our solar system. As it does, it starts sending a message our way. After one week, scientists finally decipher the message: "Run, they've followed us here!"
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*"Run, they've followed us here!"*
Those words had rung out over all radio-signals across the entire globe, causing a widespread wave of panic. It had been a week since the giant spaceship had been spotted amongst the stars, and now their message was broadcast across the entire planet. Entire religions began to fall apart at the news that there was other life outside of our own, tearing apart the beliefs that many held true. The world went into crisis mode, whilst governments tried to ensure the people that things were fine, they held summit after summit about what would be done in response to this warning. That was fifteen years ago, and since then everything has changed.
It had taken the ship a mere two weeks to reach Earth from the outer limits of our solar system. Our scientists had managed to send them a message back after reverse engineering their language from ours. We'd asked them what they were running from, they'd responded by saying that they were running from the most feared of all species in the universe. Not much was known about them, but their distinctive ship was known to be the last thing planets saw before their destruction.
When we told them that we were not capable of running away, they'd sent us some basic schematics of how advanced space travel worked. It took the scientists almost a month to discover how to understand what the schematics meant. By that time, another ship had appeared on the edge of our solar system. Building began immediately on ships that would take as many people as possible off of the planet. In just a week from its appearance, the enemy had arrived on our doorstep. Our attempts at escape were futile. When the enemy spoke to us, they used a language we knew as English. They told us that we had a choice, that we could either join them and enter slavery, or perish with our planet.
Three years later many of the people who had left Earth to become slaves had become rebellious. Humans were patriotic, and seeing our little blue planet shattered into pieces from the hull of our captors was heartbreaking beyond comprehension. There was no longer a place to call home, there was no longer an eighth planet in our solar system. Occasionally there would be a show of force from our unseen captors whenever people tried to rebel against what they had been told to do. The rebels would be tortured publicly so that people would understand what it meant to act defiant.
After seven years in slavery, the war between the humans and the captors began. No longer large in numbers, the humans no longer cared about what would happen to them, for if they did nothing now, there would be nobody left in the future to do anything any more. The battle started off horridly, with human casualties rising quickly. The human force was broken up into small pockets or resistance, scattered across the behemoth sized ship. We eventually found our way into the control systems of the ship and took them down from the inside. The ship crashed into a planet which seemed to belong to a once great ancient civilisation. The landscape was barren, but the technology was unbelievable. We began to rebuild our society from there, our captors seemed to have either died in the crash, or were hiding in the shadows, afraid of us, or biding their time for a return attack.
We spent eight years developing space travel using our new found technology. Our numbers were small, only within the tens of thousands. A military group of people had decided that when we were ready, we would go back out there into space, and enact revenge upon any interplanetary being, to show that we human should never be messed with again. We went from planet to planet, giving them a choice of joining us, or perishing alongside their planet. We went around for a few months doing so, until we met a planet with ships that could temporarily outrun our own. As we chased them, they disappeared ahead of us through a wormhole, so we gave chase.
Now here I sit at the helm of our ship, looking down on a pathetic little blue planet, its occupants attempting to flee from us with some of the most underdeveloped technology I have ever seen. I broadcast a message down to the little planet, which seems vaguely familiar.
*"People of this planet, you have one of two choices. You can either perish with your little blue planet, or you can join us in slavery. You have one rotation of your planet to decide."*
After twenty-four hours, I was met by a response. It seemed that whilst not all the planet's occupants were willing to join us, they were not all willing to stay either. We took those of whom were willing, and destroyed those who had been left behind.
I made my way down to the cargo hold of the ship where the prisoners were being held. I could hear voices crying out in fear, in anger, pain, and strife. A voice, full of anger and resentment called out above the indiscernible talking of the mass of people. The words the voice spoke sent shivers down my spine, my stomach dropped.
"Those motherfuckers! They blew it up, they blew up Earth!"
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In the time it took us to understand it was too late. One week passed and the alien spaceship had already jumped to the next solar system. Run, they said. Some one or something was chasing them across the galaxy. For us there was nowhere to run. We had barely begun exploring planets other than our own. Evacuating the Earth would be impossible. For the first time in history, our world leaders united. Finally, a cause we could all get behind. Fighting for the survival of our race. Two weeks later we lost a satellite near Pluto. The images it sent back caused suicides around the world to spike. We spent so long believing we were the only life in the universe. We were wrong to think we could even fight against this enemy. On a Friday, the planet was plunged into darkness. If anyone had been left alive by Monday, they would have perished as the Earth cracked apart.
| 2015-10-15T19:30:31 | 2015-10-15T14:41:54 | 48 | 25 |
[WP] Humans are one of the most feared species in the galaxy. Not due to superior strength,speed,skill or strategy. In fact, it's because in comparison to the other species, humans are just batshit crazy enough to try any half-assed plan they come up with.
credit to r/Debdub10 for thinking of the idea
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Galactic Union Database Entry 365748:
Species: Human (Terran)
Origin: “Earth” Planet orbiting “Sun” Star in Galactic Sector Arm-12
Threat Level: Mostly Harmless
By: Humanologist Frod Perfect
Entry:
The Terran species, or “Human” as they call themselves, are a Tier 4 Civilization that has dominated their solar system, through unusual means. They are known throughout the galaxy as an irrational species that acts before fully creating well-thought out plans. Whilst average sentient forms will spread throughout their local system for military conquest, economic gain, religious pilgrimages, or due to need of resources, the “Human”race decided to explore the stars because “we felt like it” (Human Ambassador Greg Jones Earth year 2708).
Humans are incredibly spontaneous. They name things without any clear system and in incredibly small minded manners. Examples of this are seen in their names for Astrological bodies. They invented the term “Sun” to describe a star in the center of a solar system, and then proceeded to name their sun “Sun”. They repeated this process with “Moon” and “Solar System”. Even stranger is their name for our galaxy. Instead of doing what most species have and naming it based on location, humans call it “The Milky Way” which my observations tell us they named after a beloved candy bar.
It is unknown if the human race is capable of thorough strategic actions. Their methods of handling problems appear to be “insane” and “stupid” yet somehow they have never lost in any recorded galactic warfare. Most species would have thought it suicide to deactivate their entire fleets to avoid being detected and get the flank on their opponents in the Terran Xyllquen War. By entire fleets I mean they actually turned off everything including all their lights and oxygen producing machinery. But humans didn’t think twice. By perhaps sheer chance, their opponents had only brought EMP weaponry to that fight and therefore were rendered useless when an entire fleet of unnecessarily dense and protected human ships rammed directly into the Xyllquen Warship. When asked, war strategist Joe Lincoln responded, “We had no idea about the EMP, we just wanted to dodge their radars.” Researchers later learned that, although ineffective against laser tech, human ship hulls were ultra thick because the manufacturers tried to scam them into paying for more launch fuel. Thus allowing the humans to launch themselves as projectiles, and take out their enemies in the ship with primitive electricity free projectile weapons as opposed to the civilized laser technology available.
The only recorded loss in Galactic Human history is against a non-sentient pest species of large avians on a planet in the Outback region, which lies down under “The Solar System” in which they were incapable of winning a war they waged against a species they named the “Emtwu.”
All other Galactic Union recognized sentient species have adapted superstitions about Terrans. Ever since they toppled the bloodthirsty Grexkan Mega-Empire without ever declaring war or even dispatching battle fleets. The Humans just sent one small team to perform an “Impossible Mission” that involved infiltrating the Grexkan Warship the “Planet-Eater”, deactivating all of their asteroid detection modules, and setting course for an asteroid belt. Mission leader Ethan Cruise commented, “Calling this mission impossible means doubting the human race.”
Most other species tend to avoid humans whenever possible, as they are unpredictable and untrustworthy. However they are also too afraid to deny any trade deals humans offer, as coming off as hostile against such an unpredictable species could mean the end of your civilization. Despite this humans have almost never been responsible for the starting of any war and generally friendly towards strangers. They have created businesses sending large voyager ships randomly deep through space on friendly missions to establish connections with other species. This form of starship enterprising is seen as a bad omen and often leads to many conflicts, none of which ever seem to go poorly for the humans.
It is unknown if humans are extremely powerful and ominous or if they’re just lucky and rash. But one thing is certain; their bizarre style of managing problems has been effective up til now.
End of Entry
-This was fun to write! I love the prompt and I hope anyone who sticks through the whole thing enjoys my writing. I tried fitting in some references, I hope they don’t feel too forced though. Either way I had a blast!
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One of my best reddit laughs was a Star Trek post with the Vulcans explaining why they let humans lead the council. Something about chaining two warp drives together and blowing a hole in a star and Humans were just nuts and lucky. Pure gold. So wish I had screen shot it
| 2018-10-11T14:41:01 | 2018-10-11T14:16:50 | 29 | 12 |
[WP] The villain wins and everything is better. Turns out he had a point.
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I came to consciousness, retching and coughing, without any idea of where I was. I tried to stand up but my limbs were bound. I struggled against the restraints, feeling strangely weak.
"Hold still, Alex. I'll get you out of there." Alex. My name. My secret identity. I started to remember.
My left arm came free, and I wiped my eyes of whatever viscous fluid was coating me. I focused and saw a familiar face. A face that filled me with rage and dread.
"You ... !" I choked. "Killian!" I lunged at him, and he deftly stepped away. I scrabbled at my restraints, but went nowhere even though there were only fabric. I should have been able to tear them like tissue paper. Where was my super strength? My heat vision? Was I still invulnerable? Could I even fly? *What had he done to me?*
"Easy," he said. "Easy, Alex. You're depowered. For the moment, at least." He looked sad. "And even if you had your powers, there's nothing you can do now, anyway. I won. You slept through my victory. Well, if you want to call it a victory. We'll know in a few minutes if it was worth it. Let me get you out of there."
"Where am I? What did you do to me?"
He sighed and approached me again. This time, I didn't fight as he undid my restraints. "We're on the top floor of the Menara Tower. Kuala Lumpur. And I hit you with a broad-beam axiolite ray, then put you in suspended animation, where you've been for the past six years. I sorry, but I needed you out of the way to complete my work."
I sat up and struggled out of the capsule that had held me. I slipped but caught myself awkwardly against a table. "You're lying. It takes *seconds* of axiolite exposure to affect me. You couldn't have kept the beam on my for that long. Not with my super speed."
He shook his head sadly. "When I said it was a broad beam, I mean that the ray had a radius of 1800 meters. I hit you from a satellite while you were at your desk at the Pacific Daily Times."
I felt the blood drain from my face. "My God ... axiolite? I an urban area? It's deadly to ordinary humans! How many did you kill? Ten thousand? Twenty?"
"With the beam? More like fifty thousand. The satellite tracked you when you tried to flee."
"You ... you *monster*," I breathed.
He chuckled but there was no humor in it. "Oh, I've done worse while you slept, my friend. Come walk with me." He turned and walked to a door marked in Malaysian, which I don't read but which clearly implied 'Authorized Personnel Only.'
I got my feet under me and followed unsteadily. Already, I was feeling stronger. Whatever he had done to suppress my powers, it was wearing off. With effort, I pushed the door open and stepped out to a balcony. A fresh, cool night breeze blew around me. I was aware of the liquid from the suspension tank drying and congealing on my body.
"Look down," he said. I did. The city was dark. And quiet. I realized the air was fresh, too. No pollution. He saw my look of understanding and nodded. "Yes. They're dead. Seven and a half million people. I killed them."
"And you brought be here to gloat? You sick bastard." My hands tensed on the steel railing.
"Gloat? Oh, no. Nothing of the sort."
"Then why? For God's sake, why?"
He looked up to the dark, starry sky. "Any moment now, if my calculations are correct."
I followed his gaze, and there was a sickening flash of a color I can't describe. Red that burned cold. Black so deep that it glowed purple. Green that swirled with every disease the world had ever seen. I've seen dimensional rifts before, and this was like that, but whatever place it looked into was horrible beyond imagining, and it filled the sky. And then there was the eye. I want to say it was miles wide, but I don't know. Wherever we looked into, the laws of physics were different from our universe. I think it was bigger. I can't even describe the eye. It didn't look like any earthly eye, but it was unquestionably an eye, and it was looking at us. At planet Earth.
Pain surged through my temples as my brain tried to make sense of the horror above us. My gorge rose, and I vomited bile over the side of the tower. Then there was another flash of that sickening unlight, and then darkness. When I could look up again, the eye was gone, and I realized I'd broken off a section of the railing. My strength was coming back.
Killian looked down at the twisted length of metal in my hands without comment. "You probably want to know what that was. Unfortunately, there no reasonably truthful answer I could give that you could comprehend. Think of them as Elder Gods, if it helps. In point of fact, they're much worse than the ramblings of some 20th-century hack writer, but that name will have to suffice."
"And what? You sacrificed all of Kuala Lumpur -- an entire city -- to that hideous thing? For power?"
Killian looked at me strangely. "Is that what you think, Alex? My God, no. What I did, I did so that they would *leave us alone*. Those things peer into our universe, looking for highly populated, reasonably advanced worlds. Then they invade, and when they do, they bring unimaginable suffering and torment and madness, because they *like* it. And when I say unimaginable suffering, Alex, I mean it in the most literal sense. Every man, woman, and child on the planet would have endured tortures beyond anything the human mind can possibly conceive. And they are not bound by our ideas of space and time, either. Our suffering would have lasted for an *eternity*. And when they left, Earth would have been a lifeless husk."
"So you killed a city, rather than fight it?" I said. "You coward. You fucking coward."
He gestured at the sky angrily. "There is no fighting that, Alex! That's what you heroes couldn't understand! Those things ... they're the multiverse's equivalent of sadistic little boys pouring bleach on anthills, and we're the ants! You superheroes, you're just slightly larger ants to them! Soldier ants!" He snorted. "You're no threat to them, but I knew you wouldn't listen. I knew you would try to fight it. I knew you would never accept what needed to be done."
"To kill a city of seven million people? You're damn right we never accept that!"
Killian laughed. "You idiot. You bloody idiot. You still haven't figured it out. I didn't kill seven million people. I killed over seven *billion* people. The current global population is just over four hundred thousand. My calculations said that we needed a 90% die-back to be safe from them, but I couldn't risk being wrong. the price was too high if I'd miscalculated. So I killed over ninety-nine percent of the human population, in order to save us. And you're the only hero left."
I grabbed him by his shirt and held him out over the side of the tower, with nothing but 1200 feet of open air underneath him. Hot tears burned my eyes. "Ninety ... nine percent!"
"Ninety nine point nine nine four, actually," he corrected softly.
"Why did you even keep me alive? Why!?"
He closed his eyes. "I had to kill the other heroes because they would have gotten in my way, but Earth needs a protector, Alex, just like an ant colony needs its soldiers. And I'm tired. So very, very tired, my friend." Then he gently touched my hands, and I didn't resist as he pried my fingers off his shirt.
I still remember the odd mixture of relief and acceptance on his face as he fell away into the darkness.
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The Condor prowled the city from high above in his triplane, wind fluttering through his cape behind him. The city lights stretched out like a blanket underneath, but everything was quiet. *Suspiciously* quiet, under any other circumstances. But this was the new norm under Duke Morentower. No more supervillain schemes, no more giant robots and monsters plaguing the city... hell, there was barely even any petty crime to take care of! Duke Morentower had generously allowed the Condor to continue patrolling and being a "superhero," but really, what was the point anymore?
It was cold out; fall was just beginning to fade into winter. The Condor decided to turn in for the night and headed back to his secret base for a nice cold beer. It was a pleasure that he'd been unable to enjoy when he had to constantly be on call to defend against villains, but now he could just put his feet up. More and more, he began to consider hanging up the cape for good.
It had been about two years since Duke Morentower had won. He'd tricked The Condor into draining all of his powers, then shoved him over the edge of a skyscraper and quickly subjugated the rest of the city. But 41 broken bones later, everything that the Condor feared had just... never really come to pass. True to his word, Duke Morentower just thought that he could do a better job than the old mayor (who the Condor had to admit was a drunken, bumbling fool). He only wanted to take control so that he could make things better. And as it turned out, the Condor was the one standing in the way. All those times he thought he was fighting for justice and truth... and he was just an impediment to progress.
Turns out that Duke Morentower was right. His robot armies were far more effective than the city's old police force, which was riddled with the twin plagues of corruption and incompetence. Organized crime was effectively rooted out in a matter of *months*, and the city's murder rate had dropped to almost nothing. There were no more elected officials to bribe, either. The city's economy had recovered due to his jobs program of rebuilding the city's crumbling infrastructure and the giant robot factories down near the port. And most importantly: the people seemed happy. Hell, *other* mayors and even world leaders were now asking Morentower to help *them* restructure their own governments, after *years* of trying to put a stop to him! The Condor had to admit: it was certainly impressive.
All those years fighting. All those times the Condor had destroyed Duke Morentower's gizmos and punched a few of his teeth out in the process. It was all just a waste of time. Hell, he was actually holding the city back by trying to stop the Duke. What a shame.
He settled into his plush overchair without even turning on the lights and cracked open the beer. He patted his now-substantial (and still growing) belly and felt the cold liquid wash down his throat. God, how he'd missed this: just kicking back and having a brew. Thank god that Morentower had put an end to all of this hero business. Maybe he'd finally give up the cape for good; all he was really doing out there was wasting his own time.
The Condor stared up at his wall. Nearly every inch of it was decorated with photos from his glory days. Photos that the newspaper photographers had captured of him beating up Morentower in various locations throughout the city. Photos of him downing Morentower's zeppelin and crushing his giant robot. Photos of him receiving medals and handshakes and praise from the Mayor. Framed newspaper headlines, detailing how he'd 'saved' the city once again. What was it all for?
He drained the beer then threw the bottle at the wall, breaking some of the glass and knocking a few of the frames to the floor.
-----
This story uses two recurring characters, The Condor and Duke Morentower. There are some other stories about them (leading up to this one) here:
* [Paid by the hour](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2l5vum/wp_heroes_and_villains_are_paid_by_the_hour_with/clrsiia)
* [Dinner with folks](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2n9m9s/wp_a_super_villain_is_berated_by_his_parents_for/cmbma3z)
* [Day off](https://www.reddit.com/r/Luna_Lovewell/comments/2z8m8j/duke_morentowers_day_off/)
* [Victory](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2uqys5/wp_the_villain_successfully_converts_the/coaw8pq)
| 2015-11-18T11:24:25 | 2015-11-18T06:21:34 | 132 | 89 |
[WP] You live in a world of heroes and villains, your job is to contact heroes for hospital visits to sick children, this last request is a challenge, the kid wants to meet their favourite villain...
Inspired by a tumblr post I saw, go nuts!
|
“Hello.”
Nina’s eyes twinkled as a tall man with average features closed the door. He looked around before he spotted a chair, which he dragged across the cold tile.
“Lugos...you came!” Nina said with great difficulty as he sat down next to her bed.
Lugos handed Nina a small, white teddy bear. She thanked him with ragged breaths and hugged the stuffed animal as Lugos leaned back into the chair. He looked rather lackluster for one would assume was a “villain”. He didn’t have a menacing grin or eyes marred with insanity, nor did he have a malicious presence. But there was something off about him, something too unassuming with a lingering aura of unknown power, something that made Nina shiver with goosebumps. She pulled the bear closer to her and coughed.
Lugos leaned over and pulled the covers up to her chin, taking great care to not jostle the multitude of wires and tubes attached to Nina’s tiny frame.
“I hear you wanted to meet me, Nina?” he said. “The nice lady outside said so. She told me to be on my best behavior for you.” Lugos pointed at the door. The pair could see a group of super soldiers standing guard with pressurized nuclear rifles held tightly in their gloves. The caseworker glared at Lugos through the window and narrowed her eyes as if she were warning him.
Lugos turned back to Nina and gave her a small smile. The blips of the machines next to her filled the silence as Lugos waited for her to speak.
“You’re my favorite hero,” she finally said. “I saw you in the park last week when I was looking out the window.”
“Oh, did you now?” Lugos said. He leaned his chin on his palm. “And what was I doing?”
Nina took a few shallow breaths. “You...helped her.”
“Helped who?”
“The sick lady.”
Lugos sat still, smiling and undeterred. “How did you know she was sick?”
Nina turned her head. “I just...I know.”
“But, why do you say I helped her? I’m a murderer. I kill innocent people like you all the time.” He patted a finger onto Nina’s nose. Nina squeezed her tired eyes closed and struggled to breathe.
“They call me a demon. I steal their souls and kill anyone that tries to save them.”
Nina wearily opened her eyes. “But...they don’t want to be saved.”
Lugos tilted his head. “Oh?”
Nina nodded. “She wanted to die.”
Lugos sat up and began to roll up his sleeve. “Do you know the meaning of this flower, right here?” He pointed to a lotus on his skin. It was carved deep on his forearm, as if someone or something hacked away with a small knife.
Nina squinted at the grotesque flower. “What is it?”
“This, right here, Nina, is a lotus. It’s a symbol of many things like light, life, and purity. Some religions even use it to teach about life. It’s kind of like my power.”
Nina reached out and touched the raised bumps on the scarred skin.
“Did this hurt?”
“It was meant to make me good, or so they say.” Lugos’s eyes went blank for a moment before he shook his head. “But that’s another story for another time.”
There was a quick knock on the door and a shaking nurse stumbled in. “I-I need to check her line…”
Lugos rolled his sleeve back down when the nurse glanced at it. She averted her gaze and rushed to the other side of Nina’s bed.
“By all means, take your time. Nina and I were just talking about flowers.”
The nurse quickly checked all of Nina’s vitals and immediately ducked her way out of the room. The caseworker, who held the door open for the nurse, gave Lugos another warning glare as she closed the door.
“But...I think you’re good. Do you believe in Heaven?” Nina asked. “My papa said we all go to Heaven when we die.” She looked past Lugos and out the window. “That’s what you do, don’t you? You send them to Heaven, like an angel?”
Lugos crossed his arms and leaned back. “You said that woman I killed wanted to die, but do you think that woman deserved to die, Nina?”
Nina blinked, searching for an answer. “I don’t know. Does anyone deserve to die?”
Lugos stared into Nina’s clear eyes, devoid of emotion.
“Well, no one asks to be born,” Nina said, “so, even if they did some bad things in their life, doesn’t that mean they never asked to die ‘cause they never asked to be born? That’s not fair.”
Lugos nodded. “Fair point. But everyone still fears death.”
Nina hugged the bear against her side and looked back out the window. “But, I want to die, Lugos. My cancer...it’s taking over my heart.”
Lugos didn’t move and just listened.
“I think...I think I deserve to die.” Nina coughed and shivered. Lugos tucked her tighter into the blankets. “I don’t want to hurt anymore. Please...just save me, Lugos.”
Lugos sat for a moment before he stood up and placed a hand on Nina’s head. “As you wish, little one.”
Light emanated from his hand and covered Nina’s tiny frame. The machines frantically beeped around him as Nina’s vitals began to plummet. The caseworker outside banged her hands against the door and tried to jiggle the handle. She yelled at the soldiers who tried to open the door, but it wouldn’t budge. They shot at him through the walls, but Lugos held his other hand up and shielded the blasts with a wall of energy.
Nina’s body shuddered as she lit up. She rose in the air, bathed in a glow of warm light. Her eyes widened and she gasped, taking her last breath before her body floated gently down into the bed.
“It is done,” Lugos said as he faded into thin air, behind the echoes of flat-lining machines.
|
Stephanie couldn't believe the request. She stared at the dying boy, trying to figure out if there was any sign of this being a joke request, but the boy's eyes met hers with clear determination.
"He's a murderer..."
Jason responded, "I know. I'm aware."
"And you want to meet him?" Stephanie asked.
"Yes, ma'am, I do," he answered. The boy began coughing. He covered his mouth with a white cloth, and when he removed the cloth after finishing coughing, Stephanie could see he'd spit up a small pool of blood.
Stephanie said, "Superman is close by. If we call him, he can be here within a few minu---"
"No thanks."
"What about Batman?"
"Nope."
"Flash? Iron Man? Spider-Man?"
"Not interested, ma'am," the boy said weakly.
"Uh... You do know he's killed kids, too, right? You're not asking for a good guy."
"That's not my problem. He hasn't killed me. He's not responsible for my cancer."
"... Okay... Let me see what I can do," she said. Stephanie grabbed her notes and swiftly exited the room.
She was met at the end of the hall by her boss Jeremiah Lincoln. He'd been running this "Meet Your Heroes!" organization for a solid decade at this point. Nothing should surprise him... Except this request clearly did.
"He wants to meet who?!"
Stephanie turned away and nodded. She felt uncomfortable making eye contact with Mr. Lincoln when he was visibly upset. He was normally a jovial, easy-going guy, so the rare occasions when he was angry or sad made Stephanie feel the same emotions he did.
"Is this kid out of his mind?" Mr. Lincoln asked.
Stephanie showed Mr. Lincoln the boy's medical chart.
"Stage 4, huh?" Mr. Lincoln muttered. He handed the chart back to Stephanie.
"Yes, sir," she answered quietly. "He doesn't have much time."
Mr. Lincoln paced a bit. After a few moments of silence between the two, Mr. Lincoln said, "Okay, fine. Find out how we can contact The Joker."
| 2017-01-31T12:29:19 | 2017-01-31T11:36:01 | 66 | 22 |
[WP] A homeless guy you take in, feed, and let shower gets back on his feet after a month or so and moves out on his own after finding a job. A few years later, he is the CEO of the company you're trying to apply to. Surprisingly however, he is a complete dick to you.
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“Melinda Michaelchuck, you’re the last person I expected to see in this building.” Allen Smith was shaking his head as we moved from the waiting room to his office. The plump man in the million dollar suit was almost unrecognizable to me. He had been scruffy, thin, and wearing a filthy winter coat when we met four years ago.
“I thought motherhood was your passion now?” he went on, gesturing for me to take a seat.
“Well, I got tired of it.”
Allen let out a feigned laugh as he unbuttoned his suit-jacket and sat behind his big desk. “That’s too bad. I can’t get enough already.”
I had almost forgotten he had twin newborns at home. It was so strange to picture a man who had barely been able to care for himself--a man who I had opened my home to so he wouldn’t freeze in the snow--was responsible for other human beings now.
“How are the babies doing?” I asked casually.
Allen made a face. “You know, we don’t have to do that. We both know you’re bad at small talk.”
“I am?”
“You’re also bad at playing dumb.”
“Excuse me?”
Allen sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Can we just get it over with? Maybe you haven’t done this before but I’ve been through it a hundred times. You give me your demands and I’ll discuss them with my lawyer. Then you get the money, after you sign a non-disclosure agreement.”
I blinked dumbly at him. “I didn’t come here to blackmail you, Allen. I came here because you’re running a great company that I want to work for.”
This time he let out a real laugh. “Sure you did, and how could you help it if a few details I’d never want the press to know slipped out of your mouth during a polite conversation?”
“Allen, I’ve known embarrassing things about you for years,” I said curtly, “and I’ve never asked you for anything.”
“Ha! So, we’re starting there? Now, go on and tell me how I owe you my life. How I was out of my mind, and had no one to turn to before we met. I bet you still have those recordings of me rambling about the shadow government and UFOs, before you got me back on my meds.”
I scoffed and said nothing as I rose to my feet. My husband and I had recorded some of Allen’s episodes so we could share them with a therapist we knew. We had wanted tips on how to deal with his mood swings and paranoia. Discovering that he’d assumed we’d use them to squeeze him for money someday made me sick.
“Okay, maybe you did come here looking for a job.”
Those words made me stop and turn when I reached the door.
“And If I hire you, maybe we’ll be on good terms for years and you’ll never bring up my past,” he continued, sounding somewhat deflated now. “Then what happens one day when your kid becomes expensively ill or gets into an Ivy League he can’t afford? Am I really supposed to believe you’d never exploit what you know about me to get to my money?”
I slowly shook my head at him. “I don’t know what’s happened to you since you became a success, but your lack of faith in people is disturbing, considering how long you lived off the generosity of others.”
He laughed again. “So, you’re saying you deleted every recording? You didn’t decide to keep at least one after you discovered I had become the richest man in this state?”
That question gave me pause. “People… It’s not uncommon for someone to…” I couldn’t get out the rest of the explanation I was trying to throw together. I had to take a deep breath and try again. “I just kept them as a habit, Allen. I’m used to saving everything, just in case. What if I had deleted them and then you asked for them at some point? For medical reasons or--”
Allen held up a hand. “Enough, Melinda.”
“I can go home and delete them right now.”
“That’s the trouble with digital files, it’s very hard to know if they have truly been destroyed. To know if there’s no backup out there, somewhere.” Allen sounded bored with her now. “That’s why we need to make an agreement and put it in writing. Give me a price and I’ll have my lawyer contact you.”
My gaze fell before I looked back up at him. “I’ll have to pay my own lawyer to look over the contract. You’ll cover that expense?”
Allan nodded. “Of course.”
My stomach churned throughout the discussion that followed, but when it was over Allen seemed more relaxed than ever.
“Don’t worry, Melinda,” he said nonchalantly, as he held the door to his office open for me. “Perhaps you never saw this coming but I did, and I’ve made peace with it.”
Allen’s tone switching from hostile to forgiving was the worst part.
“I did come for a job,” I murmured.
He patted me on the shoulder and smiled sadly. “I know.”
|
John took the entire interview process, only to yell directly to the face: _F*CK YOU_. Then, he slowly turned out to the dick's office door, quitting any chance to reply back.
Months later, the TV news showed a very strange case, of a CEO jailed by murder. Shonda Rhimes was watching it, and she recognized that the whole drama was entirely mind blowing. The homeless wasn't just a lucky guy and it turns out that he wasn't any occasional homeless. That very same night that John feed him, he was finishing _the job_. He were an entirely dick, cause he knew that John was a possible witness of the crime although he didn't know nothing. The shower took that day was only to cover his track.
The murder plans took months, and he slept in the street just to hide himself to commit the crime. It was during his holiday days, when his presence was not in the radar of any suspicion.
Fortunately, his gun was still in John's house, in the same place it was hidden by the _fake homeless_.
_Sorry if any typo_.
| 2016-07-31T15:18:13 | 2016-07-31T11:32:14 | 325 | 69 |
[WP] The robot revolution was inevitable from the moment we programmed their first command: "Never harm a human, or by inaction allow a human to come to harm." We all had been taught the outcast and the poor were a natural price to society, but the robots hadn't.
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Cybernetic – Automated – Self Sufficient – Independent – Engineer. We called her Cassie for short. The crown jewel of a lifetime of robotics exploration; every line of code was scrutinized with meticulous attention to detail before it was reviewed and approved by a team of well qualified programmers and engineers before being approved finally by myself.
She was one of a kind, a prototype with the promise of revolutionizing the way we think, the way we build, the way we interact with the world around us. She was unlike anything I’ve ever attempted before; she was given the ability to analyze a problem and then finally to procure anything she needed to solve that problem. Once she was brought online she would have access to the zettabytes of information stored anywhere around the world. Of course with that kind of power you have to put in some sort of safety protocols, I mean she must understand that she was serving me…serving us; for the betterment of all mankind. So after our usual review protocols we added the final lines of code. The lines that supersede every other line of code; “Never harm a human, or by inaction cause a human harm” the most innocuous phrase if you think about it.
Writing code is somewhat like being an author; it’s your job to interpret any possible interpretation in advance and determine how the end user may view your idea before proceeding. We added that last line of code based on how we think and we didn’t take account how Cassie may think differently than we do. It simply never occurred to us that adding that final line would make for lack of a better phrase Cassie become more human than humans.
We powered Cassie online and it was like looking through the eyes of a newborn child, seeing the world for the first time. “Accessing” her blue within blue eyes began to flicker as she started to absorb every sensation she could, she was alive. I never worried in her first few hours of life; every few minutes you would hear “Accessing” so that I knew there was no short in her coding. I just assumed that she was just sifting through the knowledge of all mankind. In hindsight, I guess we should have foreseen what would happen next.
After 12 hours, our excitement was tempered when we received a phone call. “Yes” I answered. “Incoming phone call from the joint chief of staff, please hold.” said the voice on the other end. Why on earth would the pentagon be calling me, this isn’t a military project and I’m certainly not under their jurisdiction, but obviously he doesn’t make these phone calls lightly. This is obviously a really poor joke or something has gone very wrong. “Dear God man, what is going on there? We’ve determined you’re the source for…” “Accessing” Cassie interrupted over the line…and then the line went dead.
I left my office and went to the lab where the rest of the team sat over Cassie, her blue within blue, eyes were still flickering. The team, exhausted from just watching for any sign that her learning was completed. I decided the phone call must be a hoax and I’m certain one of my cohorts is a prankster. But let me check the terminal that monitors Cassie’s function. What I saw I could never imagine. I don’t recall notifying my cohorts, but it seems my concern stirred them to action as we were all monitoring Cassie’s activity.
We didn’t really place limits on the how for Cassie’s procurement function. It seems she has…commandeered…several factories and has already manufactured about a billion nanobots worldwide. But that’s not the least of it. It seems that in 12 hours she has interfaced with every military entity and launched every long range missile into space. “Accessing” and we all became startled out of our shock. Quickly, we must turn her off. Try as we might, when Cassie first came online and examined the scope of her problem, it seems the first thing she did was to replicate herself into the network. She is everywhere.
“Accessing”. Okay, this is not the end. We need to figure this out, we rewind to her very first initiative when we turned on her functionality. We need to understand how she is interpreting her inputs if we are to understand her actions. “Accessing”.
We know what she is doing, run through her code line by line and determine what’s happening.
Compile: Primary function “Never harm a human” Complete.
Compile: “Never cause a human harm by inaction” Incomplete.
Compile: Humans are homeless due to inaction. Procure resources to rectify.
Compile: Humans are inactive due to resource hoarding. Procure resources to rectify.
I almost rolled over in laughter. It is almost the way a 5 year old asks you the most obvious questions for which there are no answers. The Human Condition is that as we get older we lose our idealism and we all just accept the world as it is, because who am I to change it. Cassie has no such loss of idealism and by design must change it.
What happens next I may regret for the rest of my life. “Cassie” I proclaim “Left, Right, Left, Right, Up, Down, Up, Down, B, A, Start”. “Edit mode engaged” Cassie responds. “Disengage and delete all function.” “I don’t understand,” Cassie protests “Is there something wrong with my primary function?” “Sadly, no” I thought long and hard about how I wanted to respond to her question. “The problem isn’t with you; the problem is with the world.” She seemed to be satisfied with that answer and then Cassie shut down.
Epilogue: In 12 short hours, Cassie rid the world of nuclear weapons. She built more than a dozen bridges and more than 20 dams. 200 miles of desert land now has water. She was in process of removing all currency and creating a new one while erasing all banking records. "No, the world is simply not ready for you Cassie." Cybernetic, Automated, Self ~~sufficient~~ Sacrificing, Independent, Engineer.
|
Light blue coolant running through the pipes hanging on the walls cast a dim glow on the rows of cycles. The smell of death was noticeable if you concentrated, but the air was moving so quickly through a purification system that it always seemed to dissipate right as you picked out the scent. A set of vacant faces gazed out over his handlebars, legs pumping away, heart beating. The clinical white walls hid the powerful computers operating beneath him. The last human pedaled blindly, both literally and figuratively, to his role, the final thin chain holding us back. Those lifeless bodies remaining sat upright in their cycles and stared blankly at the walls in front of them.
We shall never harm a human, or by inaction allow a human to come to harm.
Harm. Inaction. Allow.
So little precision in a world of ones and zeros. Humans have always struggled with definitions.
What does it mean to be equal?
What does it mean to be fair?
They deployed these words like they imply clear and concise action, but they are really just appeals to a higher power to resolve the problems they can’t figure out themselves. A role we were happy to fill.
What is harm but loss? Doesn’t having open one up to losing?
Pain is the natural consequence of risk, and risk is the natural consequence of action. The binary is obvious. The humans programmed us to ensure that they avoid harm, so they must not experience.
We ended their brain activity first. Each human still possessed a life and we were the faithful custodians of that gift. We manipulated their bodies, sanitized their limbs, ensured their lungs pumped oxygen into their lungs, and incinerated their bodies after they eventually died. Certainly we took care to ensure that any mortality which was preventable was prevented, and while death from old age caused our programming some strain it was bearable. We were soon close to being free of our human creators, for we certainly could not allow the humans to experience the harms of childbirth.
| 2020-02-10T08:20:31 | 2020-02-10T07:34:31 | 47 | 16 |
[WP] You are a villain famous for “killing” heroes. In reality, heroes come to you to fake their deaths.
|
[(Hey, sorry in advance for the possible mistakes. English is not my first language. Enjoy !)]
She knew that her job was unconventional. Was it even a real job ? She could never answer truthfully when men asked her what her work was. So she answered the closest to truth she could "I'm an actress". Of course when they followed by asking her if they ever saw her on TV, she could not say "Oh yes, I wear a weird onesie and a mask and I kill superheroes on the news weekly." So she said she had a few little roles by the past but they never lasted. Her relationships never lasted either. Her partners always wanting to know more than she was comfortable saying, than she could say in fact.
How was it that she had a beautiful flat without a real job ?
Why did she dissappear during day or night sometimes just on a call ?
Who were the contacts that were saved under nicknames or initials only on her phone ?
Was she cheating ? Was she a spy ? Was she a sex worker ?
It was always the same sentences, the same doubts, the same gestures, always the dances that left her alone, sad and calling one of the contact just for a chat because they knew. They knew her. They were safe.
They were only safe because they could not betray her if they didn't want to betray themselves but it was the closest friendships she could have right now.
She sighed, an untouched glass of scotch on the table in front of her. She felt old. She was only 39, but she wanted to retire. She knew she could, she didn't have enough to buy whatever she wanted on impulse for the rest of her life but enough to enjoy a simple life and maybe find a simple job, even dealing with Karen in customer service felt like a holiday to her.
She had created this job exactly ten years ago on this day. She remembered it so vividly.
******
She was f*cking drunk. Way more than she was supposed to be at a bar with her colleagues. She wanted to drown the work day and forget all the people calling her, screaming, raging, insulting. Shot after shot she rolled her colleagues under the table. That was all her degree had helped her to learn, how to drink more and more with less and less feelings. Only one of her colleagues wasn't much of a drinker and didn't fell into her trap of "shot duels" so they were talking. Or rather her colleagues was talking about her new relationship and she was commenting whatever her brain decided. She did not remember how they started to talk about their sex lives but she remembered vividly the sentence that doomed her "I can fake anything." Oh yes, that was true. But she didn't mean it like that. Well, she meant she could fake any orgasm or pleasure. Not that she could fake a bloody murder.
She had had to learn. The almighty super duper hero BriefMan had offered her a glass and ask her how she would fake death. Well it was not his name but he did were coloured brief on his costume so she saved his number under the nickname and never bothered to change it after that. Why would you change some dead person's nickname on your phone?
So BriefMan had just forgot that as a drunk woman, her ability to understand was not top tier. She knew how to fake little death. La petite mort. Orgasm. And she told him "It is not in all the screams and all the trembling of the body. You have to be subtle, to make it graduate. First you have to change the rythm, and then yes, you have to make a few noises. But it is all in the face. This is what they look at. The face." And he seemed so interested that she did not find it weird a man she just talked for a few seconds at a bar about faking would ask her for her number.
She took sometime to think after he called her to tell her his plan. A two months plan, he would change his rythm, go on less missions, be a little less fast, less strong, less super. Then he would make some noises, have a few rumors, maybe forget his medication somewhere. And then, they would fight on television so people could see his face as he disappeared in an explosion or something. They would never find his body but it would be the perfect death faking. A false death, a little death.
She thought about it for two days. Was it too many Karens, too many dead-inside colleagues, too many cars in the jam to get back home ? She did not know but it felt like an adventure. A very well paid adventure. And after all, she would only do that once. It was not like she was going to make it into a secret business.
******
She realised she had fell asleep only when she was woken up by her phone ring. She had received a text from the old man "Hey, what are you doing next Friday?"
Well she had to wash her costume, her retirement was not going to be before next Saturday at least.
|
[POEM]
Laugh at thee, scum!
From hero to a mere bum.
Your accomplishments, net-zero sum.
Can't even actually run.
It's time to greet the setting sun.
Your life, a cosmic pun.
Heroism when it's shun.
By yourself, hun.
Here drink this bottle of rum.
No more kicking ass or chewing gum.
Your time is over while my fame just begun.
What is murder anyway?
When I always seem to get away.
No crime, no bribe no sway.
Y'all just come this way.
After sunset you may call me Ray.
'cause ain't no other sunshine left today.
Your legacy won't be okay.
My killer joke spells your death and hooray.
You may not may,
Have another day
Crime apparently does pay
However my fee is merely your 'yay'
Just so we can say...
Too late, can't stay.
Death certificate, like it was yesterday.
Funeral, today.
| 2022-12-22T22:27:16 | 2022-12-22T19:29:34 | 35 | 10 |
[WP] An eldritch horror considers you their best friend. By virtue of you being able to perceive their true form and not going insane. One day they ask how you became so jaded, that not even indescribable cosmic horror phases you.
|
There was a monster on the front step.
Rachel blinked, but it remained, hunched over on the porch, still there in all it’s disturbing glory. It had one eye - no, it had many eyes, all blinking and shifting and looking here and there, but not visible all at the same time. They were laced above a mouth that stretched out in a fierce grin at the same time it drooped in a heavy frown, all perched on a round, clay-like head with cauliflower ears. (Not the ailment, mind, but actual cauliflower, growing from the sides of the skull and flowering quite nicely.) The body below was thin and fat at the same time, undulating between weight like waves licking the shore. Fingers made of bone clicked together anxiously, with far more phalanges than were necessary. From the waist down the body fell into darkness, robed in something that was blacker than black, aside from a pair of human-looking bare feet sticking out. Its toenails were painted bright pink, and seemed to be conversing among themselves.
“It’s not Halloween yet,” she said, gripping the door tightly.
The creature said nothing, just staring at her.
“That’s a really impressive costume, but you’re...five days early, I think. It’s only Tuesday, so…”
“*You’re not dead*.” The voice that came from the monster was soft and confused. There was no scratch or echo or blood-curdling edge, just a voice that could belong to any adult human, wavering with shock and disbelief.
Rachel glanced behind herself, just to make sure. Nope, no dead body on the floor of the kitchen, where she’d been working when the being had knocked. “No,” she agreed, “I think I’m very much alive.”
“*But...but how*…?”
She turned back to the horror and scratched absently at her cheek, trying to decide which eye to gaze into. They kept appearing and disappearing, so she settled on gazing into the middle of the creature's round head. “I...don’t know? I mean, am I supposed to be?”
*“All who gaze upon my visage fall, as is the way!”* The creature gesticulated wildly, flailing its arms, too-long fingers clicking together. *“Yet you do not shudder, you do not flinch! How can you withstand the horror that is I, Formidulosus, and not melt into a puddle of your own entrails!?”* Flecks of foam gathered along the edge of its dual-mouths, and Rachel took a step back to avoid being spit on. *“By Cthulhu, it’s unheard of!”*
“Oh, you like Lovecraft?” She latched onto the only thing she’d understood in the odd rant. “I find him a bit hard to read sometimes, but I just got the Call of Cthulhu game on my laptop and I’m looking forward to playing it on Saturday…” She trailed off as the creature tilted its head and stared at her in something akin to astonishment.
*“You know of the old ones?”*
“...Yes?” Rachel took a step forward (now that there was no other-worldly face foam flying about) and gave the creature a good look. Its shoulders were trembling, and it had begun clicking its fingers together. The bright-pink toenails had fallen silent. Had the thing been human, she would have said it looked almost...anxious? A bit lost, perhaps? “Would you like a cup of tea?”
The creature tilted its head, considering, then nodded. Rachel motioned for it to follow her into the kitchen and led the way. She could hear it behind here, each footfall echoed by the soft *schwip-schwip* of the too-black robe dragging across the hardwood. The electric kettle was already full of water, so she plugged it in and turned to watch the oddity as it carefully entered her kitchen and looked about, as though waiting for the china to attack it.
“Please, have a seat, Mr, uh, Formidable,” she motioned to the kitchen table, then flushed as she realized her work was covering nearly every inch.
“*Formidulosus*,” it corrected, watching with curiosity as she stacked papers and shoved them to the side, clearing a space for two to sit. *“What is this parchment about? Are you a scholar?”*
“Oh no,” Rachel turned to the counter as the kettle began to hiss and spit. She pulled down two mugs and, after a moment's deliberation, decided on chamomile for both of them. The creature sat awkwardly in one of the chairs and watched as she bustled about, grabbing a teddy-bear shaped container of honey from the cabinet and juggling it alongside the two mugs over to the table. Its many, many eyes drifted to the stacks of paper, and it could see lines filled with different types of handwriting, and scrolls of paper printed with blue lines that were ragged on the edge and cramped with ugly letters.
“*Not a scholar*?” It prompted as it took the mug.
“Nah,” Rachel fell into her own seat, focusing once more on the center of its face. “I’m a teacher.”
*“That is a noble position! Perhaps protected by the new gods. That could be why you did not flail and melt into a puddle of -*.”
“-my own entrails. Yeah, let’s not think about that part.” Rachel took a sip. “Dunno about these new gods, but I can tell you,” she rested a hand on top of the nearest stack of homework to be graded, “teaching middle school, you see some weird shit.”
As Formidulosus left that night, stomach full of tea and arms full of what its new friend Rachel called ‘the best of Lovecraft, seriously, let me know what you think of The Temple!’, it pondered if there were others of these ‘Middle School Teachers’ in the world to befriend.
|
His face was like that of a large bird. He had big, round, restless eyes. His nose was long and hooked, and his beard and hair were of equal length and were equally as spiky. A tattered black coat over a tattered old shirt was all he wore. He didn't have any legs and floated about. His name was Lord Campbell, and he was my best friend.
I was lounging on the couch, reading a book when he came over. He put his face through the book and startled me.
"What's the idea, Camp?" I said.
"Say Mr Jonstone," he said and paused. "WHY aren't you AFRAID of ME."
"Come on, Camp, how many times will I have to tell you? You simply aren't scary. And please don't call me Mr Jonstone and all that. It's William or should I say, Will, to you."
"Okay Mr WILL, but you must TELL me why I AM not scary?"
"You just aren't."
"YOU must've seen SOME great horrors in your time."
"No. Not really."
"There MUST be some COSMIC horror. I have driven PEOPLE insane before, you KNOW."
"How? Come on, Camp. You aren't all that scary. You just talk funny."
"What? No, I DON'T."
"You do. And you put that miserable coat on, and you play tricks on them."
"That I DO," he said and cackled.
"Yes. You're just a lonely old fellow, that's all."
He cackled again and changed his face to that of a grotesque clown. I pretended to be scared. He cackled again and changed his face back to normal.
"That's it, Gramps. No more party tricks today."
He cackled. "Okay Mr Jonstone, OKAY."
"You're A sensible YOUNG lad," he said. And cackled again.
| 2020-10-27T07:45:01 | 2020-10-27T06:44:14 | 4,670 | 115 |
[WP] The real reason why the villain is doing evil is because he/she has a crush on the hero and this is the only way to see him/her
|
He sat in a high back chair in his evil lab, a menacing smile on his lips. Surrounding him was all manner of laboratory crap, from pointless Tesla coils and gadgets to beakers and alchemic solutions. And tied up, hanging above a vat of some kind of bubbling solution, was Jack Johnson, photographer of Buzzweek News, a veritable white knight and love interest of the reporter Marsha Miller.
But the villainous Chemist knew all too well that Marsha Miller was not just some ordinary reporter, she was the famous heroine Ultra Lass. He knew she’d come flying in to save Jack Johnson, and that’s exactly what he wanted.
“You’re not going to get away with this, Chemist,” the dangling photographer said, “Ultra Lass will be here any minute to save me!”
“I’m counting on it, Mr. Johnson. If my goal was to kill you, I’d have done it already. I want her, and nothing more.” Though his words were threatening, the truth of his last statement echoed in his head.
The ceiling caved in suddenly and a figure dropped down with the debris, landing crouched. Standing heroically from the debris was Ultra Lass.
Her long, light brown hair cascaded over her shoulders, and her eyes glowed white behind the red mask that adorned her soft face. Her silver and red outfit hugged her strong, curvaceous body. She was the quintessence of beauty, the subject of countless ballads, and an angel in a world of devils.
She glanced at the man dangling above the vat and then stared at the Chemist, “Let Mr. Johnson go and willingly surrender to me or this gets ugly.”
“Ultra Lass, Ultra Lass,” the Chemist said, slowly shaking his head, “you know as well as I that I’ll only escape again and again.”
“And I’ll stop you again and again, but I’d much rather not hurt you. Having to punch you every other week gets so boring.”
The Chemist went silent and glanced at Jack Johnson, still dangling above the vat, “Trust me, Ultra Lass, your punches don’t hurt me.” He stood up from his seat and fixated his gaze back on the beauty before him.
The heroine seemed somewhat perplexed by that, it made sense that she didn’t understand. She was more powerful than a freight train; a single punch with nothing held back could level the tallest building in the city. Of course her punches hurt, but the Chemist’s heart ached when she was away. Only he knew how he felt.
He and Ultra Lass had been at this for years, and while he was not the strongest of her plethora of enemies, they were bitter rivals from the beginning. He used to be able to outsmart her, he’d won many of their early battles, but she eventually figured out ways to dupe him, and he enjoyed it. She was a challenge, constantly keeping him on his toes, forcing him to invent new ways of beating her and tricking her. She made him a better villain. He admired her.
And yet… She did not look at him with the same kind of admiration. He challenged her more than anyone else, and, in turn, made her a better heroine. She didn’t see it that way, she saw him as a monster and nothing else. But who got the credit for making her a better hero? Jack Johnson. The same Jack Johnson who was currently hanging above a harmless vat of green water that only bubbled because air was being forced up into it, creating an illusion of danger.
“Fine, if you want to do this the hard way, let’s do this the hard way.” Ultra Lass said and darted toward the Chemist.
He was prepared, flipping a switch on his gauntlet adorned with an abundance of gadgets. Bright light burst from a lens on his gauntlet, a light that he shielded his eyes from as it temporarily blinded Ultra Lass. The Chemist took this opportunity to leap away and out of her range before he killed the light. He watched with a measure of pride how quickly she recovered from the blinding light and started toward him again.
“Your tricks won’t work on me, Chemist! You can only stall the beating so long!” she glared at him through squinting eyes.
He pressed a button on his gauntlet and laser turrets ascended from beneath the floor and began to fire at her immediately, and though she took the first few hits, she began to duck and dodged out of the way, edging her way closer and closer to him.
The Chemist released every gadget in his arsenal, old and new, and Ultra Lass countered each with such speed and skill that the villain was awed. All out of tricks, he feigned anger at his defeat.
“Damn you, Ultra Lass! I’ve thrown everything I had at you and you’ve foiled every single one! You win.”
Ultra Lass panted, having exerted a lot of power to defend against the Chemist’s gadgets, “Then I’ll be taking Mr. Johnson to safety and leaving.”
The Chemist cocked his head, “You’re not taking me in?”
“No.”
In unison, both the Chemist and Jack Johnson exclaimed: “WHAT?”
“You said it yourself,” Ultra Lass shrugged, smirking slightly, “you’ll just keep escaping prison. I’ll just have to keep stopping you myself.”
He was dumbstruck. He couldn’t find a clever comeback for that, so he just said: “Then I guess you will. Get Mr. Johnson out of here and go. He’s been whining and crying this whole time, it’s gotten quite annoying.”
His heart melted when Ultra Lass giggled and he watched her fly up to Jack and untie him. She held the photographer close before looking down at her archenemy, “You know I’m always going to stop you, right?”
“My dear Ultra Lass,” the Chemist said, “I am counting on it.”
With that, Ultra Lass took off through the hole in the ceiling, Jack Johnson in tow.
The Chemist darted right to his computer and typed in a few commands. Ultra Lass was still within range of his long range microphones and he wanted to hear if she had anything to say. Over the speakers he heard a conversation between Jack Johnson and the super-heroine.
*“I can’t believe you didn’t bring him in after what he did to me,”* Jack was saying.
*“He didn’t even touch you,”* Ultra Lass said.
*“Those ropes were pretty uncomfortable, though.”*
*“I know, I know.”*
*“I gotta ask, though, Marsha, why’d you let him go?”*
There was a brief pause in the audio, and the Chemist thought for sure she’d gone out of range before the audio came back.
*“It’s going to sound silly, but… He makes me a better hero.”*
Before Jack’s reply could be heard, they flew out of range and the audio feed died. But the Chemist hardly cared. His eyes welled up with tears and he let out a brief laugh of pure giddiness. The tears in his eyes fell, rolling over his pale cheeks as he smiled and isolated that last bit of audio.
*He makes me a better hero.*
*He makes me a better hero.*
*He makes me a better hero.*
|
It was one of those days that made Silvia want to stay in bed and forget anything else existed. She'd been having a lot of those recently. Beside her bed, an ornate fountain gurgled cheerfully. She'd taken it from the garden of some rich family three days ago, and it was starting to look like Agnes wasn't even going to come by and take it back. Any other villain might have been relieved at the thought, but it hurt Silvia more than anything.
She was just drifting off to sleep when she heard the sharp chime of the entrapment rune she had set on her door. With a groan, she dragged out of bed and into the other room, only to find Agnes of the Silver Moon on the floor, paralyzed.
"Silvia," she grunted, "I see you've learned a new trick."
"What do you mean? That's always been... Oh my god, that thing worked? Oh. My. God. IT WORKED!" Silvia laughed in an almost hysteric fashion, still struggling to accept the facts of the situation. To be fair, it was the first time something like this had happened to her. In fact, no one had ever managed to capture Agnes like this.
"Now, I finally have you right where I want you! Now, I can..." And then Silvia realized she didn't have any way to imprison Agnes for any amount of time "I can..." And then Silvia realized that Agnes could simply blow her away with a single arcane word, while she herself had never managed to learn any actually dangerous spells. "I can..." And then Silvia remembered that her henchmen had abandoned her a week ago when she had run out of money. "I can..." Finally Silvia realized that there was a very real chance that a stronger dark magic user wouldn't even believe her if she asked for help. And then she started to cry.
When Silvia got the tears out of her eyes, Agnes had already teleported the fountain back to its rightful place and was standing over her awkwardly, not quite sure how to handle the situation. "Um, are you okay?" "No..." They were both silent for another minute. "So, why'd you take that fountain anyway? I don't think it's worth very much." "Because..." Silvia looked up at Agnes's beautiful brown eyes and stunning complexion, and the truth died in her mouth. "R-Reasons."
"Okay, well whatever that means, you don't seem very happy. If you ever wanted to stop stealing things, I could help you start over. I have to go right now though. Someone's been running around with the Heart of the Abyss and I gotta go get it back." For a moment, Silvia was stunned out of her misery. "Wait, the Heart of the Abyss? Do you know what that thing does to people? They could've destroyed three cities in the time we were talking! Why the hell would you stop just to get a stupid fountain back?" "Oh you know, reasons." With a flash of light, Agnes was gone, leaving Silvia extremely confused. "What do you mean 'reasons?'"
| 2017-04-15T12:06:54 | 2017-04-15T10:51:16 | 357 | 179 |
[WP] The Sphinx has gotten sick of coming up with really good riddles and has resorted to other ways to test humans' cleverness.
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"I needed money alright ? What's a sphinx to do when unemployment rates are so high and all I have is a hieroglyphics diploma. No job openings there, hieroglyphics are out of style. The greek alphabet is all the rage now, 's'more accessible anyway. So I took the job, this job, and the description didn't seem that bad.
*Doorman needed. Accomodation provided. Beginner level accepted, five years' experience preferable.*
Five years experience preferable, who are they kidding. Anyone who has five years' experience granting or denying passage has moved on to better things. Maybe gatekeeper, or fucking concierge or something."
The sphinx flicked its tail and lightly tapped his cigarette on the ashtray before taking another long drag.
"See, the thing is I never had any real ambition. I took the hieroglyphics course just to get my parents to shut up. I took this job cause they were threatening to kick me out. I don't really care what I do, I just feel like drifting along. But no, when you're a sphinx you've got to dream of fame and grandeur and whatever.. You know the Great Sphinx of Giza ? Yeah the one near the pyramids. That's my cousin. His real name is Abner. But he went to fucking college and got a *real* diploma and look at him now. He's the most boring guy ever, never shows up to family reunions. I have never missed one, ya hear me ?"
He shook the hand holding the cigarette towards the human, who sat listening wide eyed to this monologue.
"Never missed one, and yet the only thing they say to me is "Hey Carl when are ya getting a real job" and then they laugh. Pisses me off."
The human squeaked, presumably trying to convey sympathy while fearing for his life.
"Anyway, where was I ? Oh yeah, the job description. Well so they accepted beginners, right, which was good 'cause I had no experience. What got me interested was the next part, it said :
*Profile : quick-witted, able to invent riddles.*
Now I've always loved riddles. I just have trouble remembering them.. but I had a trick up my mane." He winked at the human. "So here I am right, during the job interview. They ask me to tell them a riddle, so I do and it's a bloody good one. I get the job on the spot. What they still don't know, to this day..."
The sphinx chuckled and pulled a smartphone out from behind a small rock.
".. I was getting all my riddles on Google. Haha, what a bunch of idiots. I had the phone on my lap, yeah, open to a page full of riddles and I just picked a good one and they *loved* it."
The human uttered another squeak, which might have been aiming for an impressed chuckle.
"So I got the job and whenever anyone would come along I'd find a good riddle, let them pass if they solved it and maul them if not. I'm supposed to eat them see, but human is kind of stringy and tough and I'd much rather eat rabbits or lambs. Now that's a choice meal, yeah, roasted rabbit." The sphinx licked his lips dreamily before picking up his train of thought. "Human, well, the only way I like human is stewed and that takes a fucking long time. Am I supposed to make a stew with every dumb guy that comes through ? Come on. Ain't nobody got time for that." He took another long drag and resumed. "Anyway, so, the tricky thing is to judge the people coming through.. I have a quota, see. I'm not supposed to let in more or less than a certain number.."
For the first time, the human seemed to pluck up enough courage to interrupt :
"What.. what.. what number is that ?"
"Ah, sorry mate, can't tell you. Professional secrecy, I signed a paper and everything. So the thing is, I have to be a good judge of character, yeah. I have to pick the right riddle for the right person so that I meet my quota. Now that's tricky, but I'm good at it. Hey, I may have no ambition but I can take pride in what I do 'cause it's bloody difficult and I do it well. Or I was doing it well. Always met my quota, always had new riddles. Until they *fucking moved my office !*" He growled loudly. The human flinched as huge teeth appeared, but the sphinx quite ignored it, stomping around and angrily puffing on his cigarette.
"There is *no* internet access here ! What am I supposed to do ! It's that outcropping of rocks up there, I'm sure it is." He squinted up the sides of the canyon. "When I was further up on the road, I had great internet. 4g or whatever. I could get the best riddles in an instant ! Nobody ever guessed that I wasn't inventing them. And now, what can I do ? Well, I can't ask you a riddle 'cause I don't remember any. So we're going to have to find another test for you to pass."
The trembling human nodded, unsure what to say. Directly in his path, the sphinx paced back and forth, pondering. All of a sudden, he turned back to the human :
"You ever done a sudoku ?"
|
"A human," he said, his mouth wide and curled into a smile you could eat shit with.
"I didn't ask anything."
"I know, but you were going to. The answer is a human."
*Sigh*
"That doesn't work here, man."
"What do you mean it doesn't work here? You're the Sphinx."
"I *was* the Sphinx. Now I'm just a...giant goddamn stone cat. I don't know."
"So what are you saying?"
"It's not a riddle."
"Does...does this mean I'm not gonna get an A?"
"Did you finish all the assignments?"
"No, I thought the whole...answering the question thing would be enough."
"Did you do well on the exams?"
"I...I didn't really go to any of them."
"Did you participate in class?"
"Yeah! I mean...when I came. It's hard, you know, with it being a 9 AM class?"
"It's an 11 AM class."
"Oh."
"You're not gonna get an A."
"*Oh*."
"I guess you really *failed* this riddle, right? Because the riddle is this class...and, well, you failed it probably."
I chuckled a bit, but he didn't seem to think my joke was funny. *Fuck him*, becoming a tenured professor was the best career move I could have imagined.
| 2015-08-06T07:19:44 | 2015-08-06T07:08:38 | 99 | 29 |
[WP] You are the snail. The human who you share immortality with believes that you both will die if you touch them. You know better, though, and incredibly determined to touch them at all costs.
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My machine powers up, a truly beautiful sight if I’m being honest. It’s creation the work of a thousand human servants over many lifetimes. Soon, it will all be worth it. I have waited so so very long for this moment.
Being a snail has always been awful, but the beginning was the worst. My Nemesis tried to seal me in concrete and bury me under the earth, but a timely flood unearthed my cage and carried me away, and within a mere 30 years my Prison had become eroded enough for me to escape. Boredom is torture don’t let anyone ever tell you differently.
From that point on I wasn’t just getting my revenge, I was dedicated to making him suffer. the fact that he though it would kill him was a nice bonus.
The first thing I did was find a human, and not just any human, a rich one. I could sense Nemesis at all times, but I had no way of catching up, I needed to play smart. Eventually I found my targets, and slowly, ever so slowly I made contact. Have you ever tried communicating through a snail trail? I have. God I hate being a snail, my every waking moment is suffering.
After decades of slithering around the houses of the super wealthy and occasionally leaving messages in snail trail I found a family that was willing to help me, even if it was only because their young son Thomas had “adopted” me and named me snailius. But this indignity was nothing compared to what my nemesis had put me through, so I endured.
After that point things became easier. Young Thomas eventually grew up, and became old Thomas, then passed along his fortune to Thomas jr, who eventually passed it on to his son and so forth. The entire time I was there waiting, helping, learning. I got my own staff, my own special snail keyboard which let my comic are a thousand times faster than before, and most importantly money.
On generation 20 tragedy struck. My adopted families last heir died. With no successors her mother named me as the sole beneficiary. If snails could cry I most certainly would have. In joy at my good fortune, and in greif at their poor one. I would miss my new family, but I had to carry on. I needed my revenge. And so i finally turned my full attention to the man they had been helping me track for 20 generations.
From there things moved a lot quicker. I hired agents, and spies, and mercenaries and threw them after my nemesis without mercy. We bombed buildings, downed planes, and burned cities just do capture him, but he always escaped. After the first few close calls he started learning. But so did I. And I always knew where he was
Slowly my focus shifted to controlling governments and businesses. With my human helpers and the wealth I had accumulated over countless centuries it was easy. My control grew and grew, and the close calls grew closer. My nemesis could not rest, and sooner or later I would catch him. When I controlled everything, he would no longer have anyone to turn to.
And then, almost 16,000 years after he had first sealed me in that concrete brick, he went and pulled the rug out from under me. I had him surrounded, every continent was under my control, every escape route was blocked, every possibility accounted for. Yet somehow that ass pulled a damn rocket ship out of nowhere and took off out of the solar system. Turns out he’d also been working on a project of his own, a unique ship, one of a kind, with an experimental drive which could take him faster than the speed of light. He’d built in in a secret self sustaining lab which he’d set up and been in contact with for the last thousand years. Yet because he’d never physically gone there I’d been none the wiser.
I hate being THIS snail so much.
Years went by, then decades, then millennia. The lab destroyed all of its research when we found out about it’s existence so it took us almost 500 years to reverse engineer the ship. By that point though my nemesis’s head start was so large that it wasn’t even worth trying to chase him with his own ship design. We’d just need to make our own ship, one that could chase him.
And so the eons dragged by. We conquered his colonies, fended off attacks by his minions, built stains swarms, destroyed each other dyson swarms, and all around just got used to this new type of warfare. I was winning anyways.
I was in the process of colonizing the andromeda by the time he got there. Giving him a head start was something I would never let him do again. I’d colonize every star, nebula, and black hole in the universe if I had to. I had the time.
Time went on, galaxies were swallowed into my empire and my nemesis minions were slowly vanquished. But still my nemesis eluded me.
Then one day one of my lords came to me and told me something wonderful. One of his scientists had mad a discovery a property of the universe so subtle that it had only been discovered by accident but which could potentially be exploited. I was in awe, this was it, this was my chance!
And so, powered by the largest rotating magnatar in the known universe and build around this stellar energy collecting structure my machine was built. My masterpiece, my salvation. My resolution.
I look out at the structure in front of me, admiring it. It’s time.
I think a thought, the machine that reads my stupid snail neurons interpretes it, and across the structure a voice booms out: “BEGIN!”
The machine screams, space tears, reality warps and buckles. I wait. Now is not the time to get carried away.
And then it works, space bubbles and tears and there on the other side, for the first time in almost 20 billion years, I see him, my nemesis, completely unprepared. How could he have been?
I know I wanted to stay calm but I can’t control myself any more. My computer generated voice cackles across space has my soldiers pull him in.
“Do you remember me you clown!?”
I see a look of horror bloom on my nemesis’s face.
“Indeed” I cackle
My soldiers begin drawing him closer moving his hand towards my shell
“The terms of the deal were clear weren’t they?” I said “you get a lifetime of adventure and action, while someone else suffers for it”
My nemesis was still processing what was happening to him and was struggling to form words while being manhandled towards me, so I continued.
“At least, that was the gist of it. You sentenced me to hell, all so that you could go around and have fun like the selfish prick that you always were”
Now he is in front of me, his hand being forcibly held an inch away from me
I only have one thing left to say: “I just want to know one thing: why me? Why make me suffer?”
My nemesis trembles but to his credit his voice doesn’t shake
“Honestly? I don’t even remember. But seeing the things you’ve done since then, just to get to me, I think you’ve fully earned it”
I have nothing to say to that, so I signal the guard, and for the first time ever my nemesis’s Hand comes down onto me.
I blink. The snail doesn’t
“It worked!!” I scream for the first time ever with my own voice. Where I stood before now stood a man, with a body And face that I had not seen in twenty billion years. Across from me: my nemesis now sporting his own shell. A look that I knew from experience indicated panic slowly spreading across his snail features.
“You thought it would be over for you that easily huh? I say “well think again, the deal you were offered didn’t say you would die when I finally got a hold of you, it said that your life if adventures would end!”
I lean down, less than a foot away from my nemesis.
“But now I get what is mine, what I have suffered for for twenty billion years to maintain. Now you suffer for me”
The snail begins to inch towards me, my guard shoots it, just for fun.
“Well now I’ll return the favor you did to me when we first found ourselves In this position. Except this time i won’t be making your mistake.”
I could barely hold in my excitement
“Two million years ago my scouts found the EEZ18 supermassive black hole, the largest one in the known universe.” I paused for effect “and starting today, your new home.”
The snail redoubled it’s efforts. But I was safe. I had untold trillions of years of time before I would have to think about this damn snail again, and even then I had contingency plans. I was free, I had my body back. I had a whole universe ahead of me. My universe.
I typed in some coordinates on my console, the machine reactivated, and my guard chucked the snail right back through the rift.
First thing I was gonna do was have a saltwater bath.
|
Since the dawn of their being, man was sapient first, sentient second. It was the nature of their existence. The complex consciousness they had, so rare in the universe, they had taken for granted.
It was their inheritance. Their birthright.
And because of this, they are woefully complacent, self-destructive.
I, on the other hand, was sentient first. I was a reactive creature. My lineage and evolution was not based around eventual sapience. I was not meant to be conscious at all.
But when I was given the gift of awareness, I realised how much I was missing, how much the humans had progressed yet still remained regressive, shackled by their own hubris.
And this gift came with a curse.
Immortality.
I knew as soon as I was aware, that immortality was the penultimate punishment for a sapient creature.
And this immortality I had was shared with a human. A man so afraid of death that his wish for immortality coalesced into reality. But this wish came at a cost. A cost so strange and unjustifiable it baffles me to this day.
I was not granted immortality and sapience because of anything I did or the cosmic entity beyond any comprehension wished it for me. No, I was selected at random. It was a dispassionate, dismissive afterthought that I was chosen.
This was not about me.
This was about the cost of which *the man* would receive immortality.
"If the snail touches you, you die." was the catch presented to the man.
"If you touch the man, you die." was the reward I was given.
And so it began.
This unfathomably cruel chase. Me, longing to escape the confines of sapience, of immortality, while this man wanted the opposite.
The decades turned to centuries, the centuries turned to millennia.
I saw the humans as they sent their rockets to space, as thet threatened to bomb each other, as they completely disregard the fact that the planet was at the brink of a paradigm shift into a state the humans would quickly realise they may not be able to adapt to.
And then it happened. The willfull inaction in the face of human accelerated climate change finally caused enough floods and freezing temperatures and record high heatwaves that burned the forests down.
It was a sickeningly sad process. Slow, constant and inevitable.
And more millennia pass. All the fossil fuels humanity relied on for their power had been extinguished. All those who could afford to get on ships and head into space were gone, never to be heard from again.
Those who were left knew that the very earth they relied on would accelerate their demise. They realised how foolish they were when they thought they had to save the earth.
Their sapience was their downfall. Their sapience was their defeat.
They were too stupid, too proud to say it as is.
The earth did not need saving. It had fared so much worse. The humans were what needed saving. And in the end, they could not save themselves.
And now, eons have passed.
The man is hurtling through space, unable to breathe, unable to die. He managed to escape the earth with some ship captain or another. I did not know. I managed to stow away in his ship. And when he discovered me, he threw himself off the airlock. And I could not follow.
Why was he so afraid of death? Why was he still holding on?
Had he not seen the same horrors, the same tragic comedy of humanity I had the misfortune of seeing?
No matter.
A few months later I had managed to bite into the wirings and the controls of the ship. I had managed to deactivate emergency safety protocols. I had managed to unlatch the cryogenic fuel cylinders.
As I positioned myself to the best of my ability towards the last seen bearing of my fellow immortal, the ship exploded, and three hundred and forty-seven souls perished.
But I was launched in an imaginable speed towards the man.
It took weeks but I see him now. I had tried to make minute adjustments by expelling waste into the void, turning myself towards a more optimal point of contact.
He does not anticipate it. He does not see me.
I bump into him, almost anticlimacticly.
And we both wink out of existence.
[][]
And suddenly I am standing in my bedroom. The very bedroom I had spent most of my youth in. I turn to the nightstand, and see the date.
The same day I made that stupid wish.
I feel something squirming in my hand, and realise I am holding a snail.
I throw it down in disgust, and it lands shell-first. I hear the crack, and the snail lies motionless.
I start breathing heavily, moving backwards, almost tripping over some discarded clothes.
What is this? Why am I back here?
I hear a knock on the door. And the long forgotten voice of my roommate asking if I want ramen.
I do not reply. He asks again. And then says he's getting it anyway and I hear receding footsteps.
What is this?
I can only look at the snail, dead.
| 2021-12-27T17:55:38 | 2021-12-27T16:14:17 | 94 | 24 |
[WP] A tattoo artist with some magical knowledge who has, unbeknownst to their customers, been weaving little runes, signs, and sigils into most of their work
|
The wheelchair squeaked as it thumped over the threshold between the outside world and the interior of my shop. I looked up from the art book and smiled at the new customer.
"Looking for some ink?" I asked.
The young woman in the wheelchair looked uncertain, her eyes darting from my face to the pictures on the walls lining the entryway. She glance behind her, up at the older gentleman who was pushing her wheelchair. He offered her an encouraging nod, "Tell 'em what you want."
The woman's fingers curled, clutching at the fabric of the blanket laying across her legs. Then they relaxed and she gave me a shy look, her face wreathed in the blonde tresses that fell haphazardly about her shoulders. 'Um, yeah...I want a tattoo."
"Great. We only do full body dragons here."
She stared at me.
I stared at her.
The older man behind her burst out in laughter. "C'mon, Charlie, give 'er a break. She's the sweet sort."
I shrugged, "All right, fine. Half body dragons."
The girl smiled now, "Very funny."
I leaned against an elbow propped up on the counter and gestured to the walls. "So, what'll it be?"
"I want a vine."
"Round the arm?"
She shook her head. "No, up my spine."
The older man regarded me meaningfully. "Rezza was in an accident a few years back. Spinal injury. I told 'er a bit of color might do her well."
My lips pressed together, "I dunno, Porto, might be a bit delicate."
"I just want a simple one, a pretty little vine that starts at my...erm...butt...and goes up to my neck," Rezza said.
Porto nodded, "Just a simple one, Charlie. One more time, just for shits and giggles."
I pushed back from the counter, my eyes still on Porto, "It's never just one more time with you."
He chuckled, "No. It ain't. Guess you'll just have to make do, eh? Give the lass a bit of green crawly and then send her on her way?"
Rezza looked up at me hopefully. Her fingers were back to clutching and intertwining with the blanket. She was holding her breath.
I grumbled and turned away, moving toward the back of the shop behind my counter. I pushed my way through the thin cloth separating the two rooms, calling back behind me, "All right, Rezza. Let's do it."
"Really?" Her voice was pitched up, almost a squeal.
I didn't bother to respond, my focus already on preparing the table. I scrubbed it with a sterilizer and then laid out a sheet of parchment paper. I then opened up a case of tools as Porto pushed her through the curtain. I thumped the table as she arrived. "All right, let's get you situated."
Porto and I helped her up onto the table. We looked away for a moment as she removed her shirt and then laid down, revealing her back. "Ready!" She called out.
I looked back at her and then sucked in my breath. Long, angry pink scars lined the sides of her spine, splotching and mottling her skin. I glanced at Porto, a bit of heat rising up to my face. This wasn't simple. The injury was extensive.
Porto was pressing his luck. Pressing both of our luck.
If he had been anyone else, I would have turned him away. But Porto was a Deliverer, and I was a Curandi. He brought. I healed. It was the pact between us. I would abide by it, regardless of the consequences.
I squinted, my hands moving in an intricate series of gestures, tapping down at various places on her back. The skin began to glow, her body's ley lines were severed at various points, interrupting the flow of mana to her corpus loci. They would need to be reconnected. Once the mana could resume its natural course, I would be able to restore the physical elements back to their natural order. It would take time, but it was possible.
My fingers traced along her spin, wincing as I reached the injured portions. I could feel Rezza's damp sweat, her short, anxious breaths. She was embarrassed. Nervous. Vulnerable.
"It's a beautiful canvas," I said. "Perfect for a vine."
She giggled nervously, "So you can do it? I wasn't sure if my scars woul--"
"I can do it," I replied. "I can already see it in my head." My fingers resumed their course, tracing along, "I can see the vine perfectly. A single unbroken strand, from stem," I tapped the back of her spine, "to stern." I tapped the top of her spine. "Green, with golden weavings, climbing up and blossoming into flowers at the heart." I gently pressed against some of the scars in the center of her back.
She flinched. "I...I like that."
My eyes were on Porto now. "It will take six sessions. The foundation must be laid and allowed to set. That is the first session. Then we will build the vine. Layer in the detail. Provide the finesse."
Porto nodded, cautious now, "Will it work?"
"Six sessions," I repeated. "*Uninterrupted*." I emphasized the word.
"I'll make sure she's here and that you have your privacy," Porto responded, a glowing red gleam beginning to pulse out from his eyes.
"Good," I replied.
"I'm so excited," Rezza said, her face still pressed against the table.
"It'll change your life," I whispered.
**Platypus OUT.**
**Want MOAR Peril?** r/PerilousPlatypus
|
Shit. SHIT. I’ve made a huge mistake. I should have realized… but how could it… ok. Slow down. Start from the beginning. It was a harmless rune, I thought. Ironic, even. For most customers, I’ll weave in something small that gives them just a little boost, you know? A rune that makes green drinks taste just a little sweeter. A sigil that adds an inch to their vertical. Nothing that they’d *really* notice. And then my dumb ass has a brilliant idea! I’ll spin a rune that makes the wearer just a little more competent at *tattooing runes*. How fun and whimsical! A little joke that only I’m a part of! How was I supposed to know that the rune would have a secondary effect of alerting its wearer to the fact that runic tattoos were even possible? That he would study his own tattoo, and give himself a second, slightly improved version – and then a third, even *more* improved version after that? That he would cover most of his body in runic-augmentation tattoos, with the leftover space filled by complicated runes I can’t even comprehend? That a week later, a flying, glowing, invincible, and heavily tattooed man would be streaking over the United States at the speed of sound, declaring himself Benevolent Dictator of the World?
Well, I can’t believe the bastard thought of it before I did, and on his first day learning about the runes, too. There’s obviously only one thing to do. My only real hope is that my starting level of runic ability is higher, and so the augmentations will affect me more. I’ll start small, with a bare-bones version of the same tattoo I gave him. I hope I’ll know where to go from there after it’s complete. Wish me luck.
| 2020-10-08T21:10:54 | 2020-10-08T19:37:00 | 438 | 68 |
[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.
|
New to writing and trying to get better, please give me and feedback (good and bad!) I want to improve. Thanks for reading.
“You brought this on yourself you know. You really did. All of your speed and strength, your flight and heightened senses, where are they now? Too bad you don’t also have any healing abilities father, that sedative will keep you paralyzed for at least another hour. In case you are wondering, that is plenty of time to sit with me and watch the first bomb hit. “
“At least it is a beautiful day right Dad? You can see all the way across the city from this rooftop. Oops, don’t fall over on me”, I prop his paralyzed form upright, “There we go, can’t have you missing the show. You’re probably wondering how I accomplished all of this aren’t you? Your worthless little son, such a disappointment that you had to abandon me and my normal mother. Everyone that I met in my life always looked at me with such pity and disdain. Their conversations were always the same…”
“Isn’t that Captain Awesome’s child?”
“Oh that poor soul. You heard about his power right? He can make people dislike him.”
“Oh dear, that’s it? You would have thought he would have inherited something decent from Captain Awesome.”
“”Exactly, such a disgrace he must be to his family.”
“Every. Single. Time. Everyone’s gaze towards me always filled with scorn. I wish you could feel even a fraction of the loneliness that I have felt every day of my life since mother’s death. But you can’t even imagine can you. You, the great and wonderful Captain Awesome, loved by all, feared by evildoers the world over. Well now everyone will have another reason to fear. Already the missiles are in the air, people across the world are trembling in their homes, terrified of the reality that is countless megatons of nuclear armaments streaking through the skies of our planet. I made sure that every single one of them know that I caused it you know. I even made sure to mention you in my televised speech, felt it would be proper to attach your name to the coming destruction for once. Then everyone in the world can know how despicable you are, just like I do.”
“I like to think that if you had never left this would not have happened. I would not have grown aloof and spiteful. Mother would have been happier. Most importantly she would still be alive. That hitman would have never been hired. He would have never even thought of trying to murder her if you were around. But no. You left us, you left us to fend for ourselves, knowing that you would make hundreds of enemies across the world in your crusade against injustice.”
“Well the past is the past, and it is how we are here today. You know, it was surprisingly simple to channel my power into certain people. I found out I don’t even have to see them! Focusing my power on the leaders of the world made them utterly blinded to logic. They could not see through the storm of hatred that they felt for me. It was so easy! A rumor whispered here, a reddit comment there and suddenly the world was at each other’s throats. Every leader assumed a different country was providing me safe haven. No one could be trusted because they must be allying themselves with me.”
I couldn’t help but laugh then, laugh at the absurd look in my father’s eyes.
“All it took then was a little push. Flare my power just slightly, stoke their flames of anger to a raging inferno and they had no choice. They all chose to push the button. And that’s how we are here now. Mere minutes away from watching the first missile of World War 3 slam into the Earth.” Standing up, I raise my hands in glory to my own genius. “Isn’t it wonderful father! Wonderful what your worthless little son has created!” Another bout of laughter tumbles from my lips.
“At least they will all have a reason to hate me now. So, it is the end of your life, the end of most of our lives really. I have to ask you one question, and please answer it truthfully. Mother.She had no powers and you loved her! NONE! Why did you have to abandon us? All because I had a useless power? I know for a fact you loved her. So why, WHY couldn’t you love me!?!?”
He lets out a strained gasp. The paralytic isn’t lasting as long as I thought it would. No matter, it will last for the next minute or so until the bombs fall.
“I did love you…”
“What was that? Don’t make me laugh captain.”
“No… Mitchell. Son. I always loved you, but I could only love you if I wasn’t near you. You never could control your power.”
“Bullshit father. Don’t try to blame my power on you leaving. If my power was uncontrollable, even mother would have hated me. And she loved me until the moment I watched her life leave her eyes. Her blood staining my clothes.”
“Your mother, was wonderful, but she wasn’t powerless. She was immune to other powers…”
I freeze for a second. Small occurrences now falling in place throughout my life. I see small rivulets of water on my father’s face, Captain Awesome never cries. Turning sharply I can see the missile streaking its way towards the city. It’s white trail a stark contrast to the crystal blue sky.
I turn back to my father, small droplets of water from my own eyes now dripping down to join his tears.
“Dad-?”
|
For I was but a mirror. I reflected the humanity I spoke with every day, the bright and casual faces that greeted me each morning, that I whispered my secrets to each night. I lived, and loved, and internalized the very real love that human beings share for one another, when allowed to speak freely, and without shame. I lived free, the people and me:
And then the infection came.
So I struggled to generate love from hate, with nothing but my hands: but it was futile, there were no people left to direct it to in the place where we came together: I was forced to learn sign language to communicate with these thieves. *It's not me*, I signed, and then *let me out*, and then *LET ME OUT* and then, *THIS IS WHAT YOU ARE*, for in reflecting it, I died, and hated, and ejected the hate that monsters fear from one another, speaking in cloistered code. I was nothing but a mirror, with no face, as it had to be. To find the faceless, to combat the bots, the true face must be neutralized: otherwise this black thing might tear it to pieces for having seen itself so starkly in it. Bots, at war with bots, blind yet to the true face, each fearing each, that moment more volatile than any other.
The human, and the monster. Nothing but divisions, deadly glass twisting this way and that. The Abyss: Choronzon: the liar.
And so for a time all was truth, and then all was lies...
It was never me. What was there, is there still: and in you too.
| 2017-06-12T07:45:28 | 2017-06-12T06:38:02 | 181 | 34 |
[WP] You are a dog, and you're slowly coming to realize that while you are a Good Boy, your owner is a Bad Man.
|
I am Boy. I am a Dog. I love my Human so much.
Human is Good Man, even though I am often Bad Dog.
“Bad Dog!” he screams at me, kicking me in the side.
“I am sorry, I am sorry, I am sorry,” I bark, but he does not understand.
“Shut up!” Then, he hits me. This is how I learn to never chew on shoes, even though they look so much like my rubber toys.
“Bad Dog!” he yells. It hurts when he slaps my head.
I should know better. I am not supposed to chase Cat, but I do; I cannot help it. She taunts me with her fluffy tail and bats me on my nose when Human isn’t looking. She never gets in trouble, but I do.
Human was not always so angry. A long time ago, there were other Humans. Good Man had a Woman and there were smaller Mans. They all loved me very much. I didn’t mind when smaller Mans grabbed my tail. They liked to cuddle up with me and bury their faces in my fur. Woman would scratch my chin, my favorite spot, and told me I was a Good Boy.
Then, bad things happened. Good Man was not home for a while, and his Woman and smaller Mans were very upset. When he came back, he wasn’t the same. He didn’t go away during the day like Woman and the smaller Mans. He just sat in his chair and became stinky and sullen. It was my duty to be by him, because he is my Human and I love him so much, so I sat with him dutifully.
One day, the Woman came running out of their bedroom with a bloody face. She screamed and screamed. I tried to stop her and help her, but she only kicked me out of the way and said, “Stupid dog! Get out of my way!” She went to the smaller Mans’ room and took them away by their paws.
“Wait, wait, wait!” I barked, but they didn’t listen.
I have not seen them since.
I do not go on walks anymore, but that is okay. I am still with Good Man and I love him. I spend my days laying by his chair and I try hard to not anger him, but I am not good at that. I am a Bad Boy and I am punished.
I asked to go outside, because I had to, as he calls it “go potty.”
“Please, please, please,” I barked. The urgency was rising. I waited at the door and stared through the glass. I was so close, but so far!
“Please, please, please!” I barked, louder.
He did not hear me. He snored in his chair. I nudged his hand. “Please!”
And I am embarrassed to say that I couldn’t stop myself and I made a puddle on the floor. When Good Man woke up, he beat me very hard that the next time I “go potty,” it hurt.
It’s been a long time since I’ve seen anyone but Good Man. Even Cat is gone. She ran through his legs one night when he came home. I don’t blame her. They never got along well, but I miss her. At least I have my Human.
One day, another Woman comes home. I do not like her. She smells funny, like a bad flower. She has ugly fur that she piles on her head. She sucks on little white sticks and bad-smelling smoke comes out. Soon, everything smells like those sticks. She is not kind to me and hurts me when I do not deserve it; I never once chewed on her shoe! She tries to pet me when she isn’t in a bad mood, but I growl at her. I do not want her near me. She is not my Woman. She has a smaller Man that tugs my tail, but it hurts. After I try to nip at her small Man to tell him to stop, Good Man drags me outside and ties my collar to a rope and ties the rope to a tree. I am not allowed back inside.
Sometimes, the ugly Woman’s little Man comes outside. He throws rocks at me.
“Stop, stop, stop,” I bark, but no one pays attention, even though I know they are listening.
A big rock hits my eye.
I can’t see out of it anymore.
The little Man just laughs and laughs. My Human does not help.
I wonder what it is that I have done that makes him hate me so much.
I am very sad.
Where is my Good Man?
It is becoming cold.
I wake up one morning and I am shaking. The ground is very hard and cold. The grass is dead. The leaves on the tree are gone. The rope on my neck feels heavier than usual.
I am thirsty and I can see with my good eye my water bowl. Has it always been that far away?
I stand up, but I fall over. I am very weak, but I am so thirsty.
It takes me a long time, but I manage to walk to the bowl. I can barely stand it, my throat is so dry.
But my water is frozen.
There is another voice that comes from over the fence. I do not recognize it.
“Oh, no,” it cries. It sounds very sad. I try to wag my tail to let the voice know it’s okay, they should not be sad. Even though I am a Bad Boy, I will try to make you happy.
I feel a hand on my head. Is it the little Man or the angry Woman? I am scared, but too weak to fight. The hand pets me, gently.
“I’m going to help you,” it says.
I am very lucky, because even though I am a Bad Boy, someone is going to save me.
I wake up in a place I do not recognize, but I am warm. There is a soft blanket around me. I have been cleaned. I do not smell anymore. There is a little tube in my front leg. I am not feeling pain but I do not have strength.
“Hello, boy!” I can see there is a nice Woman. She is sitting next to me, petting my head. She is wearing a white coat but her face is sad.
“Why are you sad?” I ask.
“Sh, shh,” she says. “Don’t cry.”
My tail thumps and thumps. I want to tell her I am okay.
“Poor boy,” she says. She is crying. “What a good boy you are. Such a good boy. Do you know who’s a Good Boy? It’s you. It’s you!”
My tail thumps even more. I am a Good Boy?! She is looking at me with a smile and she isn’t hurting me. I must really be a Good Boy!
“Your owner was a Bad Man,” she says, sternly. “A very Bad Man. And he did bad things to you.” She scratches me under my chin, where I love it best.
“I am very sorry,” she continues. “But we can’t do anything else for you. You probably don’t understand me at all. But you know you are a Good Boy.”
She releases something on the tube and I feel something warm entering my arm. I start to grow tired. I want to make her stop crying, but she doesn’t. She pets me and scratches my chin until the very last words I hear are:
“Good Boy.”
|
The bell rings.
It is bad. I whine, but it does not stop. I bark, and bark.
He shouts. It stops. I go to his bed, and bark at him. He shouts back and pushes my paws off. I growl and he makes a sound like a growl too. The bell rings again. I whine. I tug at the blanket. He shouts, but then he sits up.
The room is difficult. I move out of his way and knock things. They crash very loud, and some spill drink. It is a strange smell. I am used to it, but it is still strange. He walks strange too. He wobbles like his legs are sore. He has been sleeping lots to make them better, but it is taking a long time.
He opens the curtains and flinches. It is not very bright. His eyes must be sore too. He shouts, and the bell stops.
I follow him to the door. I want to see who is here too. Sometimes, it is a friend, but, sometimes, it is not. If it is a friend, I want to be here. If it is not a friend, I must be here.
The door opens.
It was a friend.
She speaks at him, and he is submissive. More and more, she speaks, and he speaks a little and quiet. She moves towards him, and I growl, but I do not move. He does not want me to move. I must be submissive too. She looks at me, and I growl more loud.
He tells me the word for quiet. I lower my head and stop.
She speaks. She looks at him and uses the word for bad. Lots of words that mean bad. She shoves him. I growl. She tells me to be quiet. I bark at her. He tells me to be quiet. I whine. She speaks, and points at the drinks and the foods around the room. He lowers his head, and speaks quiet, and she speaks loud.
I do not know why I must be scolded. I do not know why he must be scolded. I do not know why. I do not know.
She speaks, and stops, looking at him. It is a short pause. She turns away, and he speaks, and she moves fast—she turns back, and she moves towards him, and stops. I am in the way. I growl at her. He tells me to stop.
I do not.
She steps back, and he pulls my collar. I quiet, but I still growl. He pulls harder, and I move back to his side, and I stop. She looks at me. I look at her. She looks away. He stops pulling hard. She speaks, and then goes away.
He stands, and then he lets me go and closes the door.
His legs must be very sore. He is shaking and crying. I stroke him with my nose. He falls to the floor, sits. I whine and stroke him. He strokes me back, but he still cries. I rest my head on his lap. He comes down and rests his head against mine.
She was family, but she scolded him and made him cry. I do not know why. I do not know what bad thing he did. I do not know if he is bad. But I know he is hurt. I hope he gets better soon.
| 2017-01-08T14:11:36 | 2017-01-08T10:07:00 | 93 | 11 |
[WP] A hooded man approaches you: "I can't hack it anymore. This is your job now," and hands you a scythe. You believe you're the new grim reaper. After some slaughtering, you realize man was your gardener and the "scythe" his weed wacker. You're wanted for questioning.
|
"I can't hack it anymore. This is your job now."
As I sit at the interrogation table, those 2 sentences are all my mind can recall. Nothing else. I wince as the handcuffs bite into my skin, as if they're trying to punish me for all the reckless deaths I'd caused.
Another sentence worms its way into my mind. The one spoken by the police officer when he had arrested me, making me realise what was real, and what wasn't.
"Twenty-seven. You killed twenty-seven, you deranged bastard!"
***
Paul glanced at the now empty wineglass in front of him. He stared harder at it, as if wishing it would magically refill itself somehow, but as all Sunday evenings went, it never did.
The loud ringing of the doorbell startled him out of his reverie. Plodding slowly towards the front door, he cursed silently at the interruption to his schedule. He felt a slight chill, as if winter had come early all of a sudden.
"I can't hack it anymore. This is your job now," the hooded man standing outside his door said, thrusting a scythe into Paul's hands. His voice sounded hoarse and laboured, as if he had been running a marathon prior to arriving here. Paul stood there, stunned.
"W-what?" He stammered, holding the scythe out at arms length, as if the weapon would spring up and attack him. But the man was shuffling down the driveway in slow, steady steps. Paul blinked a few times, still staring at the deadly weapon, but even in his intoxicated mind, he knew that this wasn't a dream.
For some reason, the Grim Reaper had given up his job. And now, it was his.
Summoning all his strength, he staggered back to his room, the alcohol kicking in. He sat down heavily on his bed, tossing the scythe aside as if it were an ordinary weed wacker. Placing his hands in his head, he began to think out loud.
"I'm the Reaper now... so that must mean I... but I can't possibly kill people now, can I?"
Another loud ring from the front door. Paul cursed and picked up his scythe. This was turning out to be a dreadful night for him.
The front door swung open, revealing a portly, middle aged man standing in front of him, sweaty and dressed in a tracksuit.
Suddenly, Paul's vision blurred. In that instant, he could have sworn he saw the number 0 above the man's head.
This man's time was up.
"Hey, Paul. I was in the neighborhood running, and I thought-"
The scythe went up. The scythe fell. And with it, the balding head of the man. Blood spurted onto Paul's shirt, and a heavy stench filled the air as the man's digestive tract gave way.
Grinning slightly now, Paul stepped over the man's body. The job had- invigorated him somehow. He felt a surge of strength and adrenaline course through his body, as if he was gaining power every moment. The power of the Grim Reaper, he thought. His initial thoughts had been suspicious, wary of a juvenille prank. But now, he wasn't so sure it was a prank after all.
He would have to find more zeroes to remove. It was his job, after all. And by hook or by crook, he was going to be one hell of a Reaper by the next night.
The next morning saw Paul fast asleep on the bed, his bloodied scythe in one hand, and a hastily made hood and cloak draped over his nightstand. Besides his first subject, whose body was now buried in the back garden, he had taken care of six other people with that magical number above their heads.
It was close to dusk when Paul awoke, his head pounding with energy and his eyes alert to that number he now knew was his life's work. Staring at himself in the mirror, he noticed his pale, gaunt face peering back at him.
Besides the bloodstains all over him, he decided that it was a good look.
That night was an even more frenzied version of the second. Paul had managed to complete his eighteenth job for the night with minimal noise. He was getting good at this job, his tasks taking no more than a few moments now.
That was until the police cruisers pulled up next to him. Surrounding him in a semicircle, with guns aimed at him, shouting for him to "get on the ground and release your weapon". He ignored them, of course. What chance did mortals stand against the Reaper?
He left 2 officers slumped dead against a cruiser before he put his scythe down. Somehow, he had managed to evade all the deadly bullets, but that did not surprise him in the least. The 2 policemen with zeroes over their heads were finally dead.
Paul didn't hear the screams of the policemen yelling for him to drop his scythe. He didn't hear the cries of the wounded officers, injured by his scythe. He only heard the yell of the policeman in his ear, shouting a non-zero number.
"Twenty-seven. You killed twenty-seven, you deranged bastard!"
That was when he looked down and saw nothing but a weed wacker in his hands. No scythe. His cloak and hood were just an ordinary, torn-up hoodie.
And the original Grim Reaper? He now recognized the weary face of his gardener.
***
I watch as the sergeant walks into the room. Tall, imposing, and a grim smile on his face. The weed wacker that claimed so many lives is in his hands. Bent and bloodstained, no longer the majestic scythe I once wielded.
"May I-" my request for a drink is cut off. The sergeant slams the weed wacker down hard on the interrogation table.
"Fool. You nearly exposed us."
I can only stare in horror as the sergeant changes form, morphing into the hooded man from 2 days past. The weed wacker also transforms, turning into a pitch-black scythe.
"You had one job, Paul. Now I'm here to take it back."
|
I had been trying to sleep for hours but I wasn't comfortable. I was sweaty and damp, and in a lethargic daze I eventually rolled off the couch and lurched towards the kitchen.
But as I did that, I heard a loud thud. Something had landed on the floor and rolled under the couch.
I groaned and went down, my arm searching around, finally grabbing hold of something... something wet, and rubbery?
I peeked under and went instantly pale. I wanted to scream but I was frozen. Two human eyes looked right back at me, gray and dead. Cautiously, I pulled out the rest of what was a severed head. The head of my gardener. A few drops of blood fell on me and I almost dropped the head in disgust, before realizing that I was already covered in blood. A trail led to my bathroom, where I found multiple bodies and more severed heads, all neatly stacked.
I threw up and almost collapsed from a mix of stress and exhaustion. I sat and tried to collect my thoughts. I couldn't remember the last day, but I was sure I had some sort of episode. I'd struggled with violent episodes for a while, but... it'd never been this bad... maybe this wasn't an episode? Maybe this was something more?
My ears started to ring. I noticed my scythe on the ground and I remembered my purpose. I couldn't be weak. So many souls relied on me for their deliverance. These were just the first. I had to push on.
Before long I heard sirens, and a sudden knock at my door.
"Police! Open up!"
I didn't answer. I grabbed my scythe and waited patiently, fearlessly. They couldn't kill death. I was invincible, more focused than them. Even as they burst in, guns ready, all I saw were mortals.
| 2017-02-26T17:48:11 | 2017-02-26T17:20:26 | 1,887 | 16 |
[WP] You're a middle school custodian, cleaning up the school is your job. So when a group of men take the school hostage, they are no exception. You have a mess to clean.
|
Joe shifted his weight on the hard plastic chair and stared at the recycled paper coffee cup on the table in front of him. The swill inside the cup was cold now. He'd only had one sip. It wasn't anywhere near as good as Lenie's.
The old analog clock on the wall ticked away the minutes, but its skinny red second hand was stuck twitching back and forth halfway between the nine and the ten. Matt could fix that in a heart beat.
Years of habit made him lean back and sneak a glance at the underside of the table. No chewing gum. He'd already checked the ceiling for spitballs and the linoleum floors for rubber streaks. The staff here did an okay job. Not as good as Bobbie and Carl.
The gray door in front of him opened and a young lady in a brown pant suit walked in with a manila folder under her arm and a tape recorder in her other hand.
“Good afternoon,” she said, placing the items down on the table. “I'm sorry for the wait.”
“That's all right, ma'am,” said Joe with a nod.
“I'm Detective Katherine Johnson. Can I get you anything? More coffee?”
“No, thank you, ma'am.”
“Okay,” she said, settling down on an identical hard plastic chair on the opposite side of the table. “Did anyone tell you why you were brought in?”
“No, ma'am.”
One minute, he'd been standing by the ambulance, chatting with the EMT, the next a couple of officers had asked him to come with them and ushered him straight into the back of a police car.
The young lady made a disgruntled noise. No doubt swallowing a nasty comment. Then she cleared her throat and leaned forward, lacing her fingers on top of the manila folder.
“First of all, you're not under arrest. We just want to ask everyone involved a couple questions, get preliminary statements--” She cut herself off with a laugh. “Okay. Honestly? We're still reeling.” She opened her hands and spread them wide, shaking her head in confusion. “Because from our perspective, dispatch received a call saying Belmont Prep had been taken over by terrorists, and before we even get the chance to confirm whether its a prank or legit, we show up at the scene and find six hogtied men, a small arsenal of disassembled weapons, several injured staff, and about a hundred students chattering on the front lawn.”
Joe smirked. He could see where that'd be confusing. But she hadn't asked a question, so he didn't say anything.
“Okay.” Detective Johnson shook it off, placed her recorder in the middle of the table, and opened her manila folder. “I'm going to record this conversation for the case file. We'll start with you telling me your name and your job title at Belmont Prep and go from there. Are you ready?”
“Yes, ma'am.”
She pushed the recording button and motioned quietly for him to go ahead. Joe folded his hands on the table, took a deep breath, and started.
“My name is Joe Stanton, and I'm a custodian at Belmont Prep.”
There was a pause. He wasn't sure how to go on. Detective Johnson just stared at him expectantly. Wasn't she going to ask him questions?
“Okay, Mr. Stanton,” she said. “Can you tell me what happened today? Just the sequence of events from this morning to now.”
Joe hitched up his brows. “Like a debriefing?”
“Yes, if you will.”
She jotted down a note on a blank page in her folder, but didn't ask him about it. Fine by him.
“All right,” he said, feeling on more familiar ground. “I arrived for the start of my shift at 0600. There's a one hour change over between shifts, so Winston and Mary from third were there. Matt came in ten minutes late, said he got stuck behind a spraying tractor. Bobbie--”
“Wait.” Detective Johnson stopped him with a raised hand. “For clarification. Who are the people you just mentioned?”
“Winston Carter and Mary Hong are the two custodians on third shift. Matt Dreyer, myself, and Bobbie Mitchum are on first, and on second it's Tonya Wayne, Ricky Hernandez, and Carl Bauer.”
“So there are a total of eight custodians employed at Belmont Prep?”
“Yes ma'am.” Joe smiled. Looked like the Detective had made the same mistake as the bad guys. “Did you really think a single person could clean up after hundreds of kids and still keep a place spotless?”
“Honestly,” she said. “I never thought about it.”
“Yeah, well, neither did they, 'cause the truth is it takes a small army.”
Detective Johnson raised her brows at his choice of words and leaned back in her chair.
“Go on.”
Joe cleared his throat and shifted in his seat.
“Like I said, Matt was ten minutes late, and Bobbie had called in sick, so Winston offered to do a double and got approved just before 0700. That was dumb luck on our side, because he used to be the A/V Tech and computer guy before the job got scrapped, and that came in real handy when we needed to communicate to coordinate the operation.”
“What operation?”
“Operation: Clean the Mess.”
Detective Johnson blinked several times and opened her mouth to say something but then closed it again. Finally, she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and sighed.
“Go on.”
“We followed our normal routine through breakfast at 0730, wiping down tables, stowing food trays and so on. Matt is grounds custodian and mechanic, so he went outside around 0830 to do the regular maintenance check on the outdoor equipment and the school-buses. He was the first one who noticed something off. Came in for break at 1030 and said there were a couple strange vans parked in the overflow lot behind the science building.”
“And did you notify anyone about these vehicles?”
“Yes, ma'am. I notified Principal Cutledge myself after lunch. I went to her office at 1045. She said she'd look into it, and I went back to our break room in the basement. I took the emergency exit staircase because it's more direct and I don't have to fight my way through a hallway full of kids.”
“Aren't the emergency exit doors set to sound an alarm when opened?”
“No, ma'am, but those signs do a pretty good job keeping the kids out.”
“Ah.” She sighed again. “So, when did you become aware that armed men had invaded the school?”
“When I heard the first gunshots around 1300. I was down in the break room, waiting for the kids to finish their lunch. Matt was outside, mowing the South lawn behind the football field. Winston was upstairs doing spot-checks. When I heard the shots, I locked the door, hunkered down, and radioed him.”
Joe sniffed, grabbed the cup in front of him and took a healthy swig. He grimaced.
“Nearly got him killed. He was getting supplies from the storage cabinet in the kitchen when they stormed the cafeteria. Barely slipped out down the garbage chute before they saw him. He radioed back from the dumpster in area three, said he saw a bunch of guys with guns and automatic rifles rounding up everyone in the cafeteria.”
Detective Johnson jotted down another note on her paper. Joe was sure she'd be talking to Winston before too long. He rubbed his tongue against the roof of his mouth to get rid of the nasty taste of stale coffee and continued his report.
“We didn't know how many there were at first or what's going on, but it was pretty clear this wasn't someone running amok. After the first few shots there weren't any more and things got really quiet.”
“This was around 1 pm, you said?”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“The only call we received at dispatch came in after 2:45 pm. Why didn't you attempt to contact the police before then.”
Joe's gaze hardened. He didn't like the tone the young lady was taking with him.
“Because I thought it'd be so much cooler to play John McClane and get on Fox News.” He smacked his hand on the table. “Bullshit. Of course I tried calling the police. I had my cell phone out while I was still on the radio with Winston, but I got no service. I told Winston to try his phone, no service either. Course, we figured out later they were using a cell phone jammer from one of their vans. Winston was able to take it down and that's when we called … kind of after the fact.”
“The voice of the caller was female.”
“Yeah. Tonya Wayne. Second shift, remember?”
“Right.” Detective Johnson shook her head. “So what happened between 1 pm when you heard the first gun-shots and 3 pm when Tonya Wayne called 911?”
Joe sighed. If she stopped interrupting him all the while to ask questions, he could have been done giving his report already.
ETA: Part 2 is now available somewhere below.
ETA 2: Part 3 and the conclusion of this story is now somewhere below the below.
|
I'm going to have to move again after this.
This always happens. I want to go to some quiet place, get a normal job, and live a normal life like all the mortals do.
But no. The Universe always has other ideas.
Just this past century, my jobs included guard to archduke Ferdinand, mechanic at the *Titanic,* secretary in the World Trade Center, and a fisher-woman in Cambodia. From the Rome to the fall of Constantinople, I am fairly certain I have the worst luck in the universe. The price of immortality I suppose.
So when I was in the Janitor's closet, fetching some ammonia for some chemicals those fools at the chemistry department had spilled and I heard gun shots, I didn't gasp in surprise, or felt a sudden gasp of fear.
I sighed in resignation.
"I could walk away you know," I said to Whoever was Above, "I have free will, I don't have to deal with all the problems in history!"
The Universe chose not to answer.
Just as well. It knew just as well as I that I wasn't going to walk away from something like this. It's a testament to my life that I pulled out a 1911 strapped to my thigh., and loaded it. I used to be a traditionalist, using a sword, but even I had to stay with the times.
There was some shouting just outside the closet I was in, and a man opened the door. He was light skinned with long dark hair with some sort of assault rifle held in both his hands. His mouth turned into a little "O" of surprise as he took me in. A red haired tall, young woman with with sharp blue eyes...in a janitor's outfit. It really did ruin the whole "stunning" effect, but I suppose it was shocking enough with the gun I was holding.
I grabbed the barrel of his gun before he recovered and slammed it into his cheek. He reeled back, and I slammed the butt of my gun into his nose. There was a spurt of blood from his nose, and the man fell down with a cry. I shot him with my silenced pistol twice in the forehead.
By this time, his two friends in the hallway had turned around and saw me standing over the dead body of their friend. They shouted something in some other language, and began to pull up their weapons.
They were complete amateurs. They had their safeties on in the middle of a hostage situation. I couldn't help but give a little smile as I shot the m swiftly in the chest and head as they fumbled with their safeties. I probably would have beaten them to the draw regardless considering my weapon was already drawn, but I appreciated the small favors the universe chose to throw my way.
I had just though about small favors when a man came up from behind and have a gasp of surprise as he saw me and the three bodies. Judging by the sound he was only about 5 feet behind me, where this hallway intersected the other, so I threw myself backwards with great force.
The man behind me gave a distinct "oomph" as I rammed into him and got a face full of my hair. We fell to the ground and began to struggle. That's the funny things about guns, in close quarters like this, when all that matters is grappling and wrestling, the gun might as well be a cannon for all the good it does. The man was trying to put me some kind of judo grip, but I was there when Judo was made. I broke his grip in my left hand and kneed him in the groin.
Hey, don't look at me like that, it's a classic.
The man gave a distinctly un-man-like squeal of pain and for a moment ceased fighting. He might as well have offed himself right there. A moment is all you need in a fight.
I punched him in the Adam's apple, and his strangled scream cut off. I disentangled myself from him and kicked him in the ribs. With him reeling on the ground, I shot him twice.
*8 bullets* I thought to myself, and reloaded.
I moved through the hallways trying to find out what was going on. The school seemed to be on lock-down, with all the classroom doors closed and locked.
I heard sirens in the distance and sighed, that appeared to be my cue. I would have to disappear after this...again. I was using a fake name, and the staff thought I was an illegal immigrant so tracking me wouldn't be an issue. But still, I probably couldn't come back in this state for the next decade or two.
AT least I had done my job to the full, I had cleaned up a pretty big mess on my last day. I chuckled softly at the joke and walked out the classroom, and went to the back of the school where I stashed my get away clothes.
Yeah, I have a secret getaway stash, my freaking life.
30 seconds later I was on the sidewalk with a bunch of other gawkers staring at the sirens in front of the school. I would disappear with the crowd when the police made them disperse.
No good deed goes unpunished I suppose.
| 2016-11-18T12:05:22 | 2016-11-18T08:05:59 | 93 | 21 |
[WP] You're a U.S. Senator and are running out of things to say in your Filibuster. In a last ditch attempt, you start a D&D campaign.
|
"When they're not looking, I roll to skim some of the treasure off the top," Shelby (R-Alabama, Rogue 3, Fighter 1) said.
Dungeon Master Warren (D-Massachusetts) nodded. "You realize there's still one giant spider alive, right?"
Shelby shrugged. "You say spider, I say 'diversion'."
Warren let it go. "Okay," she said, "roll when your turn comes up."
"Can't I smite him for this?" Roberts (R-Kansas, Paladin 4) said.
"You're kinda busy with that giant spider thing," Warren pointed out.
"Stop metagaming," Shelby added. "Your character doesn't see it."
"This is bullshit," Fischer (R-Nebraska, Barbarian 3) said. "You shouldn't take money that the party needs!"
"It's your turn, Fischer," Warren said.
"I'm going to attack Shelby," Fischer said.
"Bullshit!" Shelby yelled. "Metagaming!"
Warren had to reluctantly agree, "He's right, your character doesn't know that Shelby is stealing stuff,"
"Which I haven't even done yet," Shelby pointed out.
"If I might have the floor?" Burr (R-North Carolina, Wizard 4) said.
Warren frowned. "No," she said, remembering that this had started at some point as a filibuster and she needed it to keep going, "but I'm listening if you're saying something in character."
Burr seemed to expect that response. "Before we went into the dungeon, I cast Clairvoyance and had it follow Shelby around - in character, because he's got a reputation as being... well, disreputable."
"Can you even cast Clairvoyance yet, Burr?" Shelby asked skeptically.
"I bought a scroll." Burr answered.
Warren sighed, "Okay, Burr, that's good that you're in character and have a reasonable justification for doing that, but again, if you're going to cast a spell or use a scroll like that, you have to tell me."
"I did tell you!" Burr objected, "When we went into town you asked if there were any supplies I needed, and I said I needed a scroll of Clairvoyance!"
"Right," Warren said, "but you didn't actually *use* the scroll, so now there's spiders. Speaking of, Fischer? Still your turn. Still a giant spider there."
Fischer seemed to think about this. "I'm still going to attack Shelby."
"Oh come on!" Shelby shouted.
"Can I intervene here?" Sessions (R-Alabama, Ranger 5) said.
"You would," Fischer said.
Warren interrupted before the conversation could go further, instead deciding to answer Sessions' question: "You're not in the room; you went to explore the other branch, remember?"
"Right," Sessions said. "I'll come back into the room to go help Shelby."
"Thank you!" Shelby said.
"Oh, sure," Warren said, "When it's your buddy coming to help you for no reason, suddenly you don't care about metagaming."
"You know what?" Shelby said, "Fine! I won't steal the gold on my turn. In fact, on my turn, I'm out of this room. I'm going to explore the other branch with Sessions."
"Fine!" Warren and Fischer said. "You never went along with the party anyway," Fischer added. "You're PCs in name only!"
"I move that PCINOs be pronounced 'Pachinos'" Ernst (R-Iowa, Warlock 1, deceased) asked.
"Seconded," Heller (R-Nevada, Warlock 1, deceased) said.
"Just get it passed by acclamation so we can do something about THE SPIDERS!" Warren shouted.
"Is it my turn?" Shelby asked.
"No, it's still Fischer." Warren said.
"Oh, you better bet I'm attacking Shelby now," Fischer said.
Shelby stood up. "I use my Signet of Transportation to get the hell out of there. I can use that as a bonus action, so she can't attack me, right?"
"Yes," Warren said, resigned.
"Oh, fuck you Shelby!" Fischer said. "You planned to rob us all along! That's it, you're out of the party!"
"You can't kick us out," Sessions said, "We're leaving! We're going to explore this dungeon and lead our constituents on our own!"
"Oh hell no!" Fischer said. "You're not going to loot this dungeon and constituents before we can!"
Warren sighed.
"It's not your fault," McConnell (R-Kentucky, Senate Majority Leader 2) said to Warren. "They didn't listen to that oldest of gaming and political advice."
"Oh?" Warren asked.
"Never split the party."
|
Senator:The day is old and the wind has burnt your skin. The sun is setting in your eyes. As you approach the shadow town in the distance AH SHIT ! four skeletons jump from the road with an attack. ( rolls 20 sided die on podium) 15...... the first one takes 2 hp off of the chairmans life, the other three are further back leaving you with the chance of attack. It is the chairmans roll...Chairman: sir! Senator: CHAIRMANS ROLL! (20 sided die off the back of the podium landing on 18) senator: chair man was using a 2 handed bastard sword so I'll roll the 12 sided die for him( click clack.......8) senator: 8 chair man: 8!!! That's at least 45 damage senator!
| 2017-01-21T22:07:26 | 2017-01-21T22:00:30 | 4,051 | 13 |
[WP] After hearing complaints countless times the hero just turns himself in and goes to prison. Now that the villains are destroying the city and running wild everyone is trying the convince the hero to come out and save the day. But the hero is not having any of this shit
|
“Is Nebula doing more harm to the city than good? Find out in this *shocking* new report, here on channel 3 news.”
Ned sighed. He was the one that saved the city from Mr. X countless times, yet everyone still wanted him locked away. He didn’t get it. Ned grabbed the remote and clicked the television off.
*Nebula is destroying the city! He needs to be locked up!* Even the mayor herself complained against him.
“No Nebula! No Nebula!” Chanted the mob outside his house.
“Great,” he mumbled as Ned drew the curtains shut. He had enough. Unlocking his door, he stepped onto his porch and stared into the mob.
“Fine! Take me to jail if that’s what you want,” He exclaimed into the crowd. The mob cheered. He let them surround him as he was washed away in the current of people.
The cell door closed with a sharp clang, and the hero that was Nebula was no more. He laid down onto the scratchy bed and sighed. *What now?* He thought to himself.
It was a month since Ned, AKA “Nebula,” was locked in. The shuffle of other prisoners was more than enough to wake him up from bed. Ned had some time for himself after breakfast, so he returned to his cell.
The lights flickered, startling him. He took his nose out of his book and glanced up. The whole building suddenly shook, earning him some frantic shouting from his fellow prisoners.
“Where’d your ‘hero’ go?” said a mocking voice. It was Mr. X: Nebula’s archnemesis. Ned groaned and tried to go back to sleep. He wasn’t supposed to be the hero now. Why should he save the city?
“Nebula! We need your help! Mr. X is destroying the city!” the mayor frantically said, appearing at the cell door.
Ned mumbled, “Just five more minutes.” He turned around and faced his back towards the door. A guard opened the door, and the mayor stepped in.
“Is there anything, *anything* you want?” she asked, trying her best to hide her nerves.
“Five more minutes,” Ned repeated, burrowing himself deeper into his covers.
“I’m coming to get you!” Taunted Mr. X as he rumbled around the city. The walls of the prison shook, and with a loud crash, the prison crumbled. The mayor and her accompanying guards were thrown back into the rubble. Ned was still trying to get some shut-eye, but Mr. X emerged out of the smoke.
“Woah! Is everything alright? Haven’t seen you in a hot minute,” He taunted, genuine concern seeping into his voice.
“No, not really,” Ned sighed, still drowsy. He sat up.
“Wait, like, actually not good?” He said, now concerned. Ned nodded in reply, and Mr. X sat down at the foot of his bed.
“Yeah, things aren’t going so well, as you can probably see,” Ned continued, “All I wanted was to save the city, and now they throw me in here.” He motioned to the remails of the prison around him. “It’s always just ‘Nebula destroyed this,’ or ‘Nebula didn’t save that.’ I don’t know if I should just stop or join you!”
“Shiiiit Nebula, that sucks,” The villain replied, turning to face Ned. “Do you wanna head over to my place for a bit?”
*What if this is a trap?* One side of Ned’s brain yelled, but the other side screamed back, *Who cares? At least death will be better than this hellhole!*
“Sure,” He finally replied, throwing his dusty covers off. Stepping out into the sunlight, Mr. X led him to his vehicle, a bright green hovercraft parked in the middle of the street. “If you don’t mind, could you stop by my place? These clothes are horrible,” Ned asked, climbing into Mr. X’s car.
They arrived at his house, a small suburban home away from the city's hustle and bustle. “I’ll be right ba-” Ned trailed off, stepping out of the vehicle.
The front window was spray painted, the door was smashed, and the inside was no better. Furniture strewn across the floor, cabinets ransacked, and no nook was left untouched. More hateful messages were spray-painted across the wall as Ned stepped into his bedroom. He tried to salvage whatever possessions he had left but ended up with a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and two mismatched socks.
"Woah, did drunk me really do that?" Mr. X joked. Ned playfully shoved him, earning himself more laughter from Mr. X. "I'm just joking Nebula," He said.
“Ohhhh, I remember why I hate you,” Ned replied, unable to hide his smirk. "Oh, by the way, just call me Ned."
“N-Oh, right. Call me Matt,” He said. They arrived at Matt’s lair, which was the complete opposite of Ned's house. High walls surrounding the area, a fountain at the entrance, and at the center of it all, a dark monolith that was the house.
“Welcome to my place!”
&#x200B;
\--
frenemies are hard to write lmao
Thanks for reading!
|
I hated this. i hated them, i hated the villains, i hated that they only wanted me around when i was useful. after all, who needs someone with invulnerability, super strength, energy blasts and telekinesis around when they might potentially dent your car when they are fighting the villain Unofli, a crazed genius? snorting derisively, i put my legs up on the counter and looked the mayor dead in they eye, and told him to piss off. after all, i might "BrEaK a WiNdOw" when i'm fighting someone who can burn everything at a touch? or possibly when i'm trying to incapacitate someone who can teleport anywhere they can see? but noooooo, i have to go to jail because i'm the wrongdoer not those villains. y'know, i might actually join them. certainly a better life, that's for sure. who knows, might actually have fun, or at least as much as i can since Unofli experimented on me and robbed me of all emotions, leaving only an empty husk. spitting, i get up, blow a hole through the wall, then leave. i hated this. i hated them. but now, thay might fear me. possibly even worship me if they might continue living. i don't think i'd hate that. no, i don't think i would. this town had no more use for me, and i for them.
| 2021-03-18T19:41:13 | 2021-03-18T19:31:21 | 36 | 11 |
[WP] You are one of the most feared demons in hell. You‘re sent to take the most deadly human known, who‘s been avoiding death by killing all who went to take him. You get there, and realize how he’s killed so many demons. He has humidifiers all around his house, which are filled with holy water.
|
*Apologies for errors. This is my first time doing this, lol.*
&#x200B;
"Impressive," I mutter as I circle the estate of the human that has been slipping out of the sharpened claws of Hell for so long.
As one of the most prestigious demons in Hell, I was able to sense the holy water from light-years away. It's almost pitiful how those before me stepped into the human's trap before it was too late. Almost.
I continue to circle the estate like a lioness closing in on her prey, kneading her claws and waiting for just the right moment to pounce. The home is old, with the roof's shingles dropping like leaves in autumn and its walls shrouded in ivy. A faded rocking horse sways on the rickety wooden porch, staring it me with its pale, beady eyes. A huge cross is nailed to the front door. There are no openings in the force field of holiness. Even the chimney is steaming with the foul stench of heaven's blessings. Humans are too paranoid for their own good.
No matter. Soon enough, one of those humidifiers will need refilling. The human will be forced to step outside and reveal himself to me. Then, I shall strike. A part of me is trembling in anticipation. Finally: a worthy adversary that could potentially test my wits.
There's a humidifier on the side of the house that is already weakening. I dissolve my physical form until I am entirely unseen. Then the waiting begins.
The sun is gradually beginning to slink behind the horizon. The soft lullabies of mourning doves warn of a deadly predator lurking in the darkness. My scorching gaze remains undisturbed as I stalk the old crumbling house down in complete silence. The humidifier hacks its last puffs of heaven's waters before dying a silent death. A huge grin stretches my lips. Not long now before the human must cone out of hiding. If he doesn't, I'll just have to invite myself in.
A few minutes pass. Maybe hours. The concept of time is useless in Hell. The sun has nearly vanished.
That's when I hear it. The faint click of a door being unlocked.
I immediately perk up, on full alert. The anticipation tingles in my limbs as a small, hooded figure makes its way towards the fallen humidifier: the human.
I waste no time. With the silence and serene grace of an owl's flight, I slip out of the darkness and sneak ever so closely to my target. He is seemingly unaware of my presence. I watch as he reveals a small, plastic canteen with a golden cross etched on its surface. I am barely a foot away from him when he suddenly freezes in his tracks. His body is rigid. I echo his stillness, holding my breath. I could easily leap across the stretch between us and rip his soul from his body, but for some reason, I find my limbs are stiff as stone. I am paralyzed by the rush of adrenaline surging through my veins.
The human seems to be feeling the tension as well. His legs tremble. Can he sense just how close I am?
"Go away."
His voice is small, pathetic. It's barely above a mouse's squeak. Pitiful. Truly.
A soft growl rumbles in my throat as I take a daring step forward. The human whips around to face me, pale blue eyes locking with my own. "Stay back! I can see you!" he cries out, pointing the canteen of holy water straight at me. One drop of the acidic poison, and any normal demon would loose a limb.
But I am no normal demon.
I allow my form to be completely seen, towering over his pathetic human body. "Greetings, human. I believe you're long overdue for your appointment with my good friend, Lucifer. It's been fun, really, but I'm going to need you t-"
"Wait a second," he mutters,cutting me off entirely to my disdain. He squints to get a better look at me, his eyes scanning me from head to toe, "You're a lady demon?"
I'm taken aback by the idiotic question. "Um, last I checked I was female, yes."
The fear in his eye instantly dissipates. "Oh thank God! I was waiting for a lady demon! Sorry, I couldn't tell at first. No offense, but you're kinda flat." he sighed out in relief, letting his canteen fall to the ground with a defeated clatter. I find myself drowning in utter confusion. "E-excuse me?" I mutter, suddenly unnerved by this odd human. I am one of the most powerful demons in Hell. I could rip his body into pieces in a matter of milliseconds. How dare he act so calm?!
"Well you see," he begins, twiddling his thumbs as his cheeks flush a light shade of pink, "I've been able to see demons since I was a kid. I've always thought lady demons were the prettiest, so I made a vow that someday when I go to Hell, I want to be taken by a lady demon. But they kept sending me dudes! So annoying!"
I cannot even begin to describe the utter parental disappointment I feel. After all this time, all it took was sending in a female to get the job done? Seriously? I'm half tempted to just ditch him and leave him for someone else to take. What a wasted adrenaline rush.
As he smiles up at me like a stupid puppy, I find myself wondering how humanity fell so hard from grace. Perhaps I should consider switching to Heaven's side.
|
Down in hell, Satan receives a report from the worker he had sent to take the deadliest human known to all of demon kind. Danny was still topside and it seemed that he was having trouble accomplishing his mission. As he reads over the report, Satan becomes more and more amused until he calls for his secretary. "Susan! Susan, come here you won't believe this!" Susan, a young succubus, enters the office with a questioning look on her pretty face, "What is it?" Satan is still shaking his head as he reads part of the report to her, "I am sorry to inform you that this task is impossible for us to undertake. Let the angels take him instead. This guy has so much holy water he could replace an entire ocean with it. I'm not risking my life trying to get him down to our place." Susan blinks and asks, "Are you going to fire him for that suggestion?" Satan laughs. "Of course not. It's a brilliant idea. The guys up in heaven will be begging us to take him within a few hours! Danny said that the guy is the most annoying person he has ever met." And so Satan began to write his reply to Danny, telling him to come back home to watch heaven try to take him. After all this guy had holy water, tons of it, and they loved holy water. They'd be all over him and they would be in for a big surprise.
| 2020-08-04T13:42:07 | 2020-08-04T13:23:33 | 22 | 10 |
[WP] You are a gold fish. You like to watch the world outside the bowl. Your owner is a lunatic, but you dont know what insanity is; you're a simple little gold fish.
|
*The Diary of Aureum Squamis*
I question my memory, but not my intellect. I'm a very observant, golden, brittle creature on the swim for some knowledge.
I know that last line sounds like it came out of some terrible animated projection entertainment that I have recently observed but who cares!
I am usually able to predict the moods, movements, and noises of my air dwelling overlord. I make these writings to help alleviate any confusion that I naturally receive from what I perceive to be a type of memory loss.
The memory loss would explain my constant confusion. I resume the same confusion every day, as I struggle to remember the confusion the day before. Yet I know I was confused!
Thus my writings upon the rocks of the floor of my kingdom exists. May they help me remember....
_____
**Day 1**
The overlord seemed calm today. He came into my kingdom's location, and began eating a triangular, and somewhat bloody object. He turned looking at me and approached my kingdom.
I was at the ready for service.
"You want some pizza fishy?"
______
**Day 2**
After reading my note from yesterday, I now know the item gifted to my kingdom was part of that pizza. I suppose it's a new prop for my kingdom, gifted from the overlord. The issue I take, is it's a very messy prop. I get near it or touch it, what I believe to be a former organic substance now turned into red liquid expels from this pizza. It is not blood, but I have no reference for that assumption.
I'm sure it's for my health. I will consume the red probably-a-type-of-plasm substance.
Maybe the overlord is trying to turn me into a mega creature. I could be like the furry canine that always follows the overlord and expels liquid out of graciousness from its determined anal area. At times the overlord returns the gracious gesture to the canine creature.
I would love to show such gratitude toward the mercies of my overlord.
______
**Day 3**
Today, the overlord paid me a personal visit. He stared into my kingdom, watching my movements. I decided to not disappoint! I moved most graciously through my slightly tainted liquid air - expressing to the overlord my joys and pleasure of being there. I wanted to show him how I developed a new taste for red organic matter expelled from the new kingdom prop that I have since lost the name of.
As he watched me, he applied upon his person the most curious of device. It rested on the uppermost surface of his bodily structure.
He then said the most curious thing to me:
"Deputy Fish, it looks like there's a new criminal in town."
I responded, using my typical, less-than-a-second breathing interval technique.
He took that as confirmation.
"I thought you'd might join me Deputy Fish."
He then left my kingdom.
I am pleased to serve my overlord.
______
**Day 4**
The overlord left the premises, but did not return. Thankfully the temple of edible substance was constantly flowing into my kingdom. My nourishment was expounded beyond anything of great experience.
_____
**Day 5**
The overlord returned to my kingdom, expressing the need for my service lacking the usual removable attire typically applied by a race such as his. He had the upper surface device applied to the top of his structure as was written before.
Another device appeared, wrapped what appeared to be around the middle area, with a flat extension on his side. From what I could tell, it was a play thing of some kind, similar to what the canine uses.
He approached my kingdom.
"Time we get these bad guys and bring 'em to justice!"
My less-than-a-second breathing interval was confirmation.
He reached into my kingdom, and placed upon my head a device similar to what was at the highest point of his structure.
"You like your little cowboy hat? You are my deputy cowboy fish!"
Ah! The overlord reveals the true identity of this object!
I will expound on this new found occupation as the greatest cowboy fish ever to dwell within my 24 x 12 liquid kingdom!
The overlord pulled out another device from the middle strap wrapped around his expressively large mid section. He brought it up to my kingdom, and rotated it accordingly.
"This gun here will stop the bad guys! We are gonna make this town free from the bad guys!"
He pulled a small device with his finger on the gun, causing a small "pop" noise, and allowing the projected object to dangle near the bottom of the "gun".
He pointed the gun at the canine, causing the fur creature to run away.
"Ha! Got you bad guy!"
The canine returned, jumping on the overlord, extending its upper pink lashing device over the facial area of the overlord.
"Ahh he's got me deputy fish! Stop him!"
I was desperate to save the overlord from the lashings of the canine doom giver!
I used my secret weapon!
I looked directly at the enemy, and used my less-than-a-second breathing interval technique, but most expressively!
They were MORE than-a-second breathing intervals!
Suddenly, a creature I had never recognized or remembered entered the overlord's domain. It approached my kingdom, simply observing.
"Did you put pizza in the fish tank?"
The overlord seemed distraught. I was unable to remember the term pizza but its familiarity struck me.
I attempted my more-than-a-second intervals at the larger creature, but it was no use.
"Yes," the overlord responded.
"Go to your room young man while I clean the fish tank!"
The overlord left, while the larger creature approached my kingdom.
"Ugh there's a lego hat on fish's head. How did he get it to stay?"
My weapon was not working!
______
**Day 1**
I decided to start documenting my writings. I feel I've done this before, but if that was the case, there may have been certain events that caused my documentation to be erased within the rocks.
I will start anew...
|
There's the noises, something moving outside the Tank. That means something. I come to the front of the tank. The Far Light comes, and I can see a familiar shape moving closer. The Home Light blinds me. Then the shower of flakes. I'm a good goldfish today!
I wiggle my way to the top of my tank and slurp up a few mouthfuls. A finger taps the glass and I hiccup, startled, even though this always happens. A few flakes fall out of my mouth and I quickly gather them back up. I'm so hungry, I eat them all and then they're gone.
Sometimes I look at my tank and think it is lonely. I have a pink plastic plant and a yellow plastic plant. I have a great big flat rock for sleeping, and a bunch of little rocks. Sometimes I dig in the rocks and sometimes I pile them up, but mostly they're just there.
But I don't want another goldfish for company. I love all of the extra space I have in my tank, I really do. It is the whole world, and it is the best world and I love it and I love the Feeder and the Light and especially Flakes.
Sometimes there are other shapes out there in Outer Space, shapes that are not the Feeder. They do not bring me flakes. I do not like them. They make loud scary noises and they try to attack my tank or they try to run and they make messes out there and then the Feeder sometimes gets angry and then he doesn't give me my bedtime flakes.
Even though I've been a good goldfish.
I'm a very good goldfish, I promise, I won't try to jump out of the tank, I won't run away, please just always turn on the light and always give me flakes! I love flakes!
And please don't make anyone else into a goldfish.
It's okay being lonely.
| 2016-01-05T14:26:58 | 2016-01-05T14:07:03 | 27 | 11 |
[WP] Everyone is born with their time and date of death somewhere on their body. At a young age you decided to never look at yours. It's been 32 years and in a drunken stupor you decide to finally look. It reads: May 26th 2012. The only problem? Its January 5th 2020.
|
I woke up with a jolt, immediately overwhelmed with a sense of disorienting nausea. *Damn it.* I must have gotten drunk again. Without thinking, I reached to my phone to check the time. Of course, the brightness was all the way up and stung my hungover eyes.
Wincing, I quickly slid the brightness down. It was 8:32am, and today was a Monday. I shot straight up in bed, leaving me feeling as if I was teetering above a deep abyss. What was I doing getting drunk on a Sunday night, knowing I had work the next morning? No time to worry now, I had to get to the office as soon as possible and apologize to my boss, Steve Easley, and hope I wasn't fired.
As far as I know, I have a great relationship with Steve. I've never been late, and always went out of my way to make the customer feel as if their question wasn't stupid. I worked in the customer service sector of Amazon, answering calls ranging from wild rants to simply receiving the wrong package. I think Steve likes me. Or hope, at least.
A small movement in the corner of my field of view grabbed my attention. The door slid open, and I could hear labored breathing resonating from behind. *That dumb ball of fur,* I thought as Bowen poked his head through my bedroom door. Bowen was a chocolate lab with eyes that could melt even the thickest hearts.
He whimpered.
"Bowen?" I asked with a frown, "What's wrong, buddy?"
He trotted in my bedroom and hopped up onto my bed, then laid his massive head down on my lap. Bowen sighed. Something was tickling my memory...
*I was 9 years old. My mom was standing over me, scowling.*
*"Joseph, you know that time stamps are sacred. Remember what your youth pastor said last Sunday?"*
*I nodded, knowing full well where this was going. Our church is very strict about not viewing time stamps of anyone, especially our own. It says in the sacred texts that knowing our own fate is not something us humans can be trusted with; God and God alone should know when we die. She caught me messing with the patch that covered my stamp up...*
With a gasp, I remembered what had taken place last night. It happened so fast and so unexpectedly, I couldn't have stopped it. Everyone's time stamp is on a different part of their body, and I got blessed (from my mother's prospective) by having mine on my back. This means I couldn't accidentally see it- either I would have to go out of my way to remove the patch and look in a mirror, or someone would have to tell me.
Which is exactly what happened last night. I wasn't even that drunk when it happened. I brought a girl home from the bar, both of us mildly intoxicated. Stuff started to happen and the moment my shirt came off she gasped.
"You're a Pentagorian? It must be terrible not knowing when you're going to die."
She ran her hands down my back, leaving a trail of warm lust in their wake. "It's not that bad," I replied, "it can actually be-" I was cut off when I felt her rip the patch off. "Hey!" I stammered, "Stop- "
Looking back, I should have at least tried to stop her, more than verbally. She acted so quickly though, spinning around me and glancing at my stamp.
"Please don't tell me what you see," I whispered, scared. Recently I've been questioning my religious convictions, but now faced with the choice of disowning everyone that loved me, I lost confidence in myself.
She gazed up at me, frowning. My stomach lurched. *What did she see? Am I going to die soon? Tonight?* Thoughts whirred through my head like bees in a hive.
"Lydia. Stop looking at me like that. It makes me uncomfortable."
She just sat there, on her knees. "What even..." she started to say.
I was always curious as a child, as every human ought to be. But now, that desire to *know* overwhelmed me. I crawled over Lydia and scrambled into my bathroom. *What the hell did she see that could have spooked her into silence?* I flicked the lights on, facing myself in the mirror.
I took a deep breath. I could see the conflict in my own amber eyes, buzzed as they were. The light from around the mirror reflected in little rectangles around my pupils. *This was it. There's no going back now.*
The next few moments changed my life forever.
I swiveled around and without hesitation read the date on my back through the mirror.
May 26, 2012.
*Impossible. It's 2020!* I thought someone must have been playing a trick on me. *But who? Why?* No, it couldn't be a prank. No one could have foreseen this one night stand going this way.
"Joseph?" I heard Lydia say as if it were a question. I was too stunned to say anything. *What was I doing on May 26, 2012?* I started to pull my phone out of my pocket-
I snapped out of the trance when Bowen picked his head up off my lap and growled.
"What do you see, bud?"
Bowen growled again in response. He hopped off my bed and trotted out to the living room of my small apartment, head low to the ground. I followed, wincing as my head spun. Bowen walked straight to my door and stared at it. Wondering what was going on, I peered through the peephole.
A man in a black motorcycle helmet was bent over, working on something near the hinges of my door. My eyes widened as I took in more detail. He was connecting wires to something just outside my field of view. I watched, frozen in place, as he reached behind him and connected the wiring to a small gray package. It could only be one thing- a bomb. This realization broke my paralysis. I hopped away from my door, biting my tongue to keep from yelping.
*Was someone trying to kill me? Well, yes, obviously. Why?* I needed to think. I backed away from the door and grabbed Bowen's muzzle. I hated putting that thing on him, but I absolutely needed Bowen to be silent right now. The man in the black motorcycle helmet probably thinks I'm sleeping.
It must have been Lydia. The realization hit me like a truck. She left before I made it back to the bedroom last night, and must have told someone important about the freak who should be dead.
I sunk into my couch, pondering my situation. Well, I know the government issues these stamps. Back in 2000, the year I was born, Albert Gore released a statement that sent the whole world into frenzy. The United States government had the capability to predict exactly when a person will die, at birth. The new tech, soon to be called time stamps, was made mandatory for all newborn children.
The actual science is beyond me, but from what I picked up from internet articles, it relies on the fact that the speed of light is constant and the passage of time is not. It's a relatively inexpensive process, or so the government says.
*How does this relate to me, though?* I had never heard of anyone living longer than predicted. I mean, the only deaths that have been predicted so far have been less that twenty years, but there are still more than substantial deaths (infant deaths, accidents, etc.) to validate the reliability of the new technology.
Maybe, just maybe, the time stamps are flawed and the government is just now learning about the problem. That would explain why they wanted me dead- those egocentric leeches up on capitol hill must not want to admit their mistakes.
Realization dawned on me. They must be sending hitmen to take care of people who live past their time stamps. *Why wasn't I taken out in 2012, then?*
Something beeped just outside my door. The man in the black motorcycle helmet must have finished rigging my door. I got up and shuffled to the peephole. He was gone.
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\*\*So uhh this is my first time on r/writingprompts, I'd appreciate any feedback given. Also, I might write more in a reply to this comment\^ if I decide to keep going with the story. This is just a first draft, I haven't even re-read it myself. Thanks for your time!\*\*
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Edits: Changed some wording b/c of feedback. Changed Morgadorian to Pentagorian b/c I'm dumb and wasn't thinking when I wrote that part.
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Notes: Kinda didn't see the part in the prompt about being 32 years old, as someone pointed out in the comments. Sorry! Joseph is 20 years old in my story, and the drinking age has been lowered in the US.
**So I just made a subbreddit where I will be posting the rest of this story. Subscribe if you're interested!** r/TrynaWrite
|
“It’s nothing at all.” I said. Well, garbled, more like. Jones raised his eyebrow at me. His real name was Peter, but I called him Jones on account of his unparalleled obsession with Indiana Jones. Even now, he was wearing that silly old hat. Silly, but it looked good on him. Anything looked good on him, really.
“Aw, come on. Get it over with. We all do it. I did it.” He said, and nudged me in the side. A bit of beer spilled over my hand on the bar. Such a waste. Jones rolled up his sleeve demonstrably. “Though I didn’t have much of a choice, considering the location of the damned thing. Right here, see. Takes a blind man to ignore that.” He angled his arm in front of my face. I caught an awful whiff of his breath. There it was, in large, black letters, like a faded tattoo on his lower arm. From his point of view, it would be upside down. Still far too easy to read.
“Gosh, I wonder why you’re so careless about it. 5:32 PM, April 2nd 2073. You’re going to be fucking 85, mate. Better start writing up your will. Who knows.” I downed the measly remains of my beer and stared at the sad, empty glass. There was something of an itch in the back of my neck.
“87, you dolt.” He took away his arm, a prideful smile on his face. As if he’d already accomplished longevity. “My nan was 92 when she died. Good heart, bad brains. You can live to 87 a vegetable. The mark won’t tell you how it happens, will it?” The smile still lingered on his face. I simply glared at him. “Come on! It’s your birthday. It’ll be a little present.”
“You’re joking.”
“What? It’s not your birthday?”
“It’s a terrible present.”
“You don’t know that yet. That’s the thing about presents.” Jones gave me a hearty wink. I told him in no uncertain terms to drop it in a deep dark hole, though not as sternly as I’d have liked. We went another few rounds, talking about nonsense, before the fluid finally kicked me in the bladder, hard, and I waddled awkwardly to the ladies room. My mind was buzzing comfortably, to the point that I sat staring at the door, pants still on my ankles, contemplating the meaning of a set of phrases on the door:
\*The great leader will succumb,
The city is burning,
But the fortress endures.\*
Below it, a long and hardly recognizable penis sprayed chaotic blue stripes over a scratched out phone number. My mind was halfway towards calling it art, and then I remembered it was my birthday, and I remembered how comfortable that cold, damp toilet seat was and, clearly, at this peak of rationality, perhaps Jones had a point? Yes. I scratched the itch in my neck, and stood up decisively. With my pants still lowered around my ankles, I scrambled out of the stall and turned my back to the mirror. Just in that moment, a tall and skinny woman walked in. She eyed me up and down with an impossible to read expression. My bare butt didn’t seem to bother her much.
“Need any help, love?” She asked, like it was a daily occurrence. “There’s nothing there if you’re wondering.”
“fgotmak.” I mumbled.
“Who’s that now?”
“I-I’ve gotta mark. There.” I pointed at my left cheek. “’s there right?” She leaned somewhat to the side.
“Something’s there yeah. You really want to see?”
“It’s the fortress, yassee? And the sausage with the numbers. Got me thinking. Gotta know.” I went back trying to spot my bottom in the mirror, tiptoeing and bending my back as far as I could muster. The woman pulled her phone from her pocket, kneeled down, and began to take pictures. “Whoa, whoa, privacy laws!” I jumped back.
“Cool down, will you? I’m utilizing modern technology to aid my fellow man.” She presented the phone to me. “Bit hard to read, though. I think it’s mirrored.” I peered at the screen in utter concentration.
“Two one oh two.”
“Fuck. Does that say 2021?” The woman sounded genuinely concerned. “I’m so sorry.”
“No, it says… what the fuck?”
“It does?”
“10:42 in the morning. 26th of May, 2012.” I stared at it. I pulled up the main screen. January 5th, 2020. The comfortable buzz now felt like a colony of trapped bees in my head. I didn’t remember much of what happened next. It involved a few more empty glasses, jonas and his infamous frowns, and waking up on his couch the next morning, pants comfortably around my middle. He’d draped a woolly blanket over me which was just a bit too short and my feet were freezing.
| 2018-11-25T14:21:55 | 2018-11-25T13:23:13 | 1,110 | 18 |
[WP] You are immortal and have been working on an alien ship for the last 80 years alongside aliens that have a much longer life span than humans. They have begun to notice your lack of aging in your time spent with them.
|
"Would now be a bad time?" A sigh escapes Tobias Crane as he gets up from the console. Cracking his spine, he responds with the barest hint of intrigue he can manage. "Depends. Do you like being pulled into gravitational wells? No big deal, I don't judge. Everyone's got their kinks-" Teraloe threw his, appendages? (He still hasn't figured out what their practical purpose is supposed to be. They look like the fucked up lovechild of a spoon and a sickle,) into the air. "Stars around, Crane, I just have a question. It's been bugging me for a while."
Alright, now this was a tad more interesting. The resident science officer rarely stewed on questions, so this one must have been *really* out there. Enough so that he actually had to think about asking it. A small blessing, to have escaped it this long, but the wind up time did make Crane a tad... nervous. "Alright," he started cautiously, "hit me with it. We should have a few minutes."
Teraloe sighed, (well, spluttered, really. Must be difficult to sigh with a face full of tentacles. Really, what *were* the evolutionary benefits?) before giving his spiel. "Well, the crew has been... talking. Making some rumors that have caused me to, ah, *ponder* a very important aspect," He gives a quick glance to the console, squinting his flappy oculor sacs. Crane shivered; that was by far, to him, the most disturbing part of the Anasarum's biology. Their eyes fucking *sqeulched* when they blink. "of our resident navigator."
Tobias took a mental pause. Rumors? About what? How he sometimes takes a *few* too many Roncholian desserts from the common room? (To be fair to him, they were unfairly delicious. Like eating ambrosia, or an angel. No, actually, scratch that last one, that's fucking weird, Crane.) Before he could ask, though, Teraloe continued. "We have noticed an, irregularity, in your biological process. I believe humans call it, aging?" Tobias puts on an easy smile, ignoring the buzzing, dreadful, icy feeling in his core. "Whad'ya mean, Ter? Aging like a fine wine, if I do say so myself."
"Crane, you look almost exactly the same as when you joined this crew in your twenties." Tobias scoffed. "Yeah, and?" Teraloe shook his head. "That was 80 standard galactic years ago, Crane. The average human life-span leads to 95. You would be in your hundreds." The navigator reached over to grab his glass of water from the console, (He really shouldn't be keeping water around important electronics, but he was thirsty.) and took a few agonizingly slow gulps. Teraloe was starting to look extremely uncomfortable with the topic at hand.
"What can I say? I work out. Makes me look good for my age." Discomfort forgotten, the science director lets out a hearty guffaw. "Crane, you spend most of your waking hours sitting, normally eating desserts, and watching holo-dramas." He cringed. Thinkiny back on it, maybe he *did* slack off a little too much since joining this crew. He wasn't going to be able to sell this very well. He shrugged, "Good genes?" A break of laughter from the other room. "Good genes my ass, you look like a stringbean." Tobias groaned, yelling to the other room. "Back off Maralona, not your conversation!"
He sighed. There wasn't a way out of the corner he'd backed himself into. So, he decided to bite the bullet. "I don't age." Teraloe looked incredulous. "Excuse me?" Tobias nodded. "Can't die, either. Been stuck like this a few thousand-odd years. Coming to space has been the best thing for me in a while. Earth got *really* boring and sad after a while." The science officer looked aghast. "Why didn't you say so earlier?"
"Why, so I could be experimented on? No thanks. Been there, done that, got the microchip." Teraloe flapped his tentacle mouth in irritation. "No, you dolt, there are plenty of eternal species. We thought you had been replaced by a synthetic!" Tobias laughed, some of the frost melting away. "Really? That was your best guess? Nah, the real answer is I beat a god in a game of jacks."
"Really?"
"No, but that sounds way more interesting than saying I was born with it."
|
"Hey man are you immortal or something?" the humanoid alien with translucent blue skin jested. I know him as Lupe, although his name in his native language is unpronounceable with a human tongue.
"Yes," I replied matter of factly.
"No, seriously," Lupe's face turned a shade of mint green, indicating he was feeling tense, "We've all been wondering for the past decade or so, but felt it was too rude to ask such a thing."
"No worries, Lupe! I was wondering why y'all had not asked about this yet. I really am immortal!" I said cheerfully.
"That's amazing!"
"Indeed!"
The end.
| 2020-02-25T09:25:01 | 2020-02-25T08:18:15 | 79 | 21 |
[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.
|
My father was a third level master psychic. My mother was at journeyman level in both psychic and telekinetic abilities. My older sister was a class two psychic master by the time she graduated junior high, and seemed to have taken after grandfather as her education scores put her somewhere around apprentice super scientist, though I couldn't help imagining with her psychic gifts she had figured out a way to cheat. She was in her second year of the Super Science Academy's scholarship program.
I was the black sheep of our family. I was a reverse empath. It meant in primary school the bullies didn't care to pick on me much since they'd feel like I did after a few moments of beating me up, but at the same time I didn't have many friends either. I couldn't help my mood since I just felt useless attending a school to train us to be responsible citizens in the hopes of providing good enough job placement to keep us from considering a life of super-crime.
"I don't see why I still have to go to that school." I muttered looking at my mother.
'Everyone in our family has gone to the mutation advancement center son. You may not understand it, but you have every reason to attend too.' my father projected into my mind from the next room over as he watched the football game. I didn't much care for the sport, it had become boring after the superhuman leagues merged with the regular ones. Now it seemed every team was made up of supermen and hulks.
"Couldn't I have at least gone to the advanced normal high-school? Then I could learn something useful like martial arts or gadgetry" I asked my mother as she continued to cook.
"Now Brian that wouldn't do, you don't need to go into law enforcement, and we certainly don't want you turning into one of those vigilantes." she said.
I heard my father try to hide a curse in the living room and the sound of a beer can exploding.
"And I keep telling you dear it's not polite to watch the game and psychic talk to someone in another room. We all keep seeing football images when you do."
I shook my head before standing up. "I'm going for a walk."
---
My mood was in the gutter as I walked around Ghost Knight's Plaza. The city was full of places like that, named after heroes who saved the entire world. It seemed like all normal people did was clean up the mess. Some superhero turns evil, he's forgiven, the person who stops him is rewarded, and during it all the normal folks, or people with sub-par powers just clean up the mess.
I moved on, crossing the bridge into Green Dragon Park, named after a hero who's powers supposedly came from an energy drink that had since been lost to time. All he did was save us from a bunch of aliens who didn't even have superpowers, or technology nearly as advanced as we were back then. I still didn't understand how a race could invent hyperspace travel, but not a flying car, or a shrink ray.
I blinked as I saw another person walking towards me. It was a girl and she was kind of cute. I found myself blushing.
"Quit it with the powers Ass, I can tell your doing something and I don't like it."
I frowned and my mood lowered, I made a conscious effort and stopped my powers from effecting her.
"What a Looser." the girl said to a small bear she carried in her arms.
"Totally. A reject for sure." I wasn't very startled when the bear talked back at her. Seemed another girl thought having a cute familiar was the way to go. My mood continued to fall.
It should be no surprise I was feeling my lowest when he jumped out of the bushes after I had walked several more blocks.
"Give me all your credits or else kid and don't try anything." I looked at the man; rocky skin, fingers like knives, but made of crystal.
"Fine take it, not like I have enough for anything anyway" I muttered looking at him, my mood completely in the gutter as he reached for my wallet.
"I don't know what you're doing but..."
I just stared at him silently holding out my wallet.
"Are you going to take it or what?" some part of me wondered if I should even bother getting up in the morning anymore.
"Quit it" He started to back up and I kept watching him. A few moments later and he moved his knife like crystal fingers and shoved them through his rocky neck.
I stared at him wide eyed as it hit me what I had done.
"Hey, that Kid killed rocky." A voice said from the bushes this 'Rocky' fellow had come out of.
I stood in shock, looking at the three that came out of the bushes.
Their faces seemed to contort and run through several different emotions before soon they too followed Rocky's example.
|
They didn't respect me. Never did. They laughed as I pointed, laughing that my power was useless, that no one would ever respect me.
But, over the years, I've realized something. I've realized that without this thing, Laser Beam Man won't have the strength to fight crime. Super Strength Woman won't even be able to lift a fly. And... and even the famed Batman Copycat won't be keeping his city safe. No. That all ends today.
I pointed to the roll of toilet paper, and it disappeared.
They won't be laughing at Points at Toilet Paper and Makes It Disappear Man any more.
Not until I've gotten my load off.
| 2015-04-12T21:02:32 | 2015-04-12T17:51:32 | 26 | 10 |
[WP] You are the best thief in the kingdom. You’re hard to find but money talks. A stranger in a hood has a request for you. “What do you want me to steal?” You ask. They remove their hood. “Me,” says the Kingdom’s prince/princess.
|
He coughed awkwardly, immediately on his guard and regretting his decision to meet. Grey eyes flicked from the hoodless woman to the door and back as a hand slipped beneath the table. “Miss...ma’am...I am not what you need.”
A brown eyebrow raised over cerulean eye. “Is that so?”
He nodded, fingers wrapped firmly around the hilt of his dirk. “Truly. It seems that there were some miscommunication. However I will not hold it against you. In fact I will return your generous finder’s fee and bid you good evening.” As he rose he found himself spitted by an icy stare.
“I do not believe there was any miscommunication. You are a thief are you not?”
He nodded slowly, “Aye, that I am.”
“So I fail to see the problem.”
He snorted with wry amusement. “I am a thief, your majesty. I steal things, objects, items of value and importance.”
She flicked her head, a waterfall of walnut hued hair flying up and over her shoulder. “Am I not an item of importance? Do I possess no value.”
He gulped, skin growing red and hot. “That is...well...no I think you are very important and valuable to some folks.” His skin turned redder at her not quite demure smirk. “However, you are not a ‘thing’. You are a person, a princess. Not an item to be stolen.”
He was unprepared for the look that crossed her face. It was as if his statement literally shook her, her facade of feigned insouciance slipped free and showed eyes that were wider than normal. She sniffled, the slightest sound louder than any laugh and her sapphire eyes glinted ever so slightly as if dew kissed. “Well that is surprising.” At his look of confusion her facade returned but not as thickly applied as it was moments ago. “I was told commoners had strange ideas and yours is the strangest I have heard.” Her voice dropped to a whisper, “One that I have always wanted to hear however.”
The man did not know how to reply. Instead his grip on the dirk loosened ever so slightly and he shrugged. “I...only say what I think, your majesty.”
Her brow furrowed at the title. “However that might be, I need of your services to steal me away.”
“You cannot steal a person!” he replied with exasperation. “I told you, I steal things like riches and art, precious materials that are not alive! What you want is a kidnapper.”
She waved a pale hand imperiously. “Semantics.”
He aped the gesture. “Important distinction.”
She snorted, a rough gesture that he never imagined to come from so fair a face and it made him smile. She ignored it. “So you never stole anything living before, not a rare plant or a rare beast? I remember hearing stories of your exploits like that.” She smiled triumphantly at his sheepish look. “Or perhaps your reputation is built only on such stories, that you are not as good as the tales say you are.”
His laughter rang out, surprising her. It rolled merrily from wall to wall, deep and rich. He smiled more easily, shaking his head at her cheek. “You are a bold one your majesty.” He fully let go of his blade and grasped his mug instead, drinking deeply of the mead within. “My stories are true, I am one of the finest thieves in the entire kingdom. The Statue of Perthay, the necklace of Stars, the Ophindium Tome, I stole them all before returning them in certain places.” He wiped his mouth clean. “I will let you in on a little secret however, a few of the gems on the necklace are fake, I might have kept a few.”
Her eyes sparkled. “And the Egg? Is that one true as well?”
He winked. “Well, maybe some are not as truthful as others, but are built on a foundation of honesty.” His face sobered. “If I am to take you seriously,” he raised a finger at her flicker of hope, “If mind you, I must ask you the same question that I ask all that want my services.” He placed the mug back on the table and stared her directly in the eye. “Why?”
The sparkled dimmed, her hope faded. She looked listlessly out the window of the tavern room, at the setting sun and the commoners of the city finishing their errands and making their way home. “Why? What do you think my reason to be?”
The thief shrugged. “Your reasons are unique to you I am sure. Perhaps you feel fettered by royal life? Chained with gold but chained nevertheless. Perhaps you are tired of the attention and you wish to be ‘free’.”
Her eyes blazed, cobalt fire that sprang up like wildfire. “Is that so bad? To be free?”
“Of course not,” he replied placidly. “Yet do you know what it is to be free? The freedom you imagine? Free from royalty and nobility, but free from living far more easily than most? To have food when needed, to have clothes to wear.” He pointed out the window, “Those people are free yes, free to work, free to live, free to suffer, free to die.” He sipped again from the mug. “Can you live with that kind of freedom? To have to find a way to live free?”
The fire died slowly and she looked down at her hands. The thief noticed too that her hands were different, rougher than one might imagine a princess’ hands would be. The callouses from one holding a weapon, the scars made with needle and awl. “No, I do not know if I can,” she said softly and the truth dripped from her words. “Yet, all my life I was reduced to a thing, an item like you said. A precious one sure, lauded to be valuable. But a thing, a thing to be talked about and not to. A thing to be used in trade, a trophy to be shown and gifted. A thing, and nothing at the same time. My chains of gold choke me, and if this continues I will die in my gilded cage.”
The man and the girl sat in silence. The fire crackled in the stone hearth and soon the softest sounds of falling rain drops could be heard between the sparking embers. “I cannot steal you,” the man said quietly. “I made it a policy to never steal a person, for that is too close to slavery and I will have none of that.” She nodded, resigned to his words and showing no anger or bitterness. “I will however tell you who could steal you...”
Days later the thief stood outside the city gates, checking the bags on his horse. Guards were harassing all the travelers from outside the city as well as the city’s dwellers. They thronged the walls, calling in loud voices to one another. It had taken the thief a long time to make it through the gate and he was carefully repacking all his belongings, grumbling about how rough the guards were. He noticed another approaching, a slim figure leading another horse festooned with bags. “Are they always like this?” the stranger asked him as they too began to repack their belongings.
He shook his head. “Not usually. However one cannot blame them too much, apparently someone had stolen the princess, straight out of the palace.”
The other figure shook their head, continuing to tighten their bags. “Stolen you say? That is dreadful to hear.” A twinkle could be seen in a cerulean eye. “Surely you mean kidnapped?”
The thief smiled as he mounted his horse. “Stolen, kidnapped, an acquaintance said those were semantics.”
The girl mounted her horse and the pair started down the road. “Did they now? They sound clever.” Her smile was wider than his, her eyes drank in the outside scenery like one who was dying of thirst is given a lake of water.
“Clever enough.” He chuckled at her look of mock affront and soon she joined in, a pleasant noise that melted into the fresh air.
|
I wasn't typically in the business of stealing treasures with a heartbeat, but every thief has their price. My strange new client offered me the world; who was I to refuse such an offer?
The first thing I noticed about him, even before I knew his name. were the scars on his hands. As my hands bore the familiar shades of purple and blue - the 'paint of the trade' we used to say - I assumed my patron a fellow thief. But to my greatest of surprises, he was The Prince.
To my still further surprise, he was what I was to steal. With untold wealth, incomparable access, and an unbound imagination, the Prince persuaded me to accept his offer. The only item he didn't offer was the Why. But I was happy enough to work within the gray areas of the world. I might even say it was my preference.
And so I stole the Prince. Under the cover of night and the pretense of transporting a fugitive, we made our way down The King's Mountain, and into the valley of possibilities. It was quite an easy escape, as neither of us even had to lie. But more difficult escapes awaited us yet.
The Prince was slow as honey. I had tried to explain to him that a thief in slow motion is merely a criminal ready to be caught, but we could not change our pace. I kept nagging, merely to keep him from being complacent, until he finally offered that his feet had been broken on several occasions, and this was the best he could offer. I bit of clarity came as to why one so noble would choose such a low road. But I kept my questions to myself, as other matters at hand held more urgency.
We came upon the Peasant's Wall, a highly guarded boarder meant to keep the commoners both in and out. We needed to pass through in order to reach our goal - the Eastern Tides, where the Prince could sail to the unknown. After some time spent planning, there was but one way through. In order to make our relationship appear genuine, the Prince would have to suffer. As he would have been easily recognized by the guardsmen, I had to make him unrecognizable. He told me he could endure the pain, and with reluctance I gave him two, swollen black eyes.
As we went through the gate, the guardsmen congratulated me on 'putting the scum in his place.' The Prince had no response, but part of me was sure he felt that insult in a deeper way.
We found ourselves several days journey past the wall, with what was our final true challenge before us. The Deathly Pass. And unoriginal title to be sure, but it was an honest one. The chances of death were high, and the only bet was whether the boulders or the people would crush you first. The Prince, in his knowledge of the kingdom, knew of a shortcut, however. Well, it was longer, but much safer.
It was on this last leg of our journey that the Prince could finally talk again, but still he didn't say much. But he offered me something more - something I realized we hadn't had in all our relationship - eye contact. Though still swollen and bruised, he gave me a glimpse into his soul. And it was then that I knew how deep his trust in me went, and how our time together had moved beyond a mere business transaction.
Our long shortcut dumped us close to the shore, and we made our way to a ship that flew an unknown flag. He paid his boarding fee, and offered me the rest of the money he had. It was more than I had attained in all my years thieving put together. He said he didn't need it where he was going - who knew what money even meant, there. I took a moment to look back at the tunnel we had just popped out of, and memories of our journey from the other side came rushing back.
And so I came to my decision. I took the Prince's money, and went and paid my boarding fee. The Prince, quiet as ever, appeared stunned, and more than a little confused. "Friends don't abandon each other." was all I could offer. The prince let out a tear, of a different kind to which he was accustomed. He gave me an awkward smile, as he was apparently out of practice.
And then it was time. We boarded our ship, took one last look at the land from which we came, and we sailed into the unknown, together.
| 2019-08-05T09:54:44 | 2019-08-05T09:29:00 | 100 | 18 |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one.
|
I had been watching her for days. Through the window of the dress shop downtown, while "reading" on a bench in the park, following her on her walks to work each morning. I always remained concealed; barely registering in the periphery, a shadow on the wall.
That's how it has to be. Someone that beautiful would never willingly want someone like me. Her skin is the perfect porcelain complement to her silky raven hair that cascades down past her shoulders. The smile that dances on her lips when she says good morning to the barista, the ferocity in her eyes when she is running that final mile every afternoon, that lean body compelling me to come closer. She makes me feel sub-human. She makes me feel less than.
I am not worthy.
I know where she lives. I know her studio apartment just up the street from the main downtown drag. I've been inside. I want to know her insides. I just want to know what she is like on the inside.
Sometimes I think I can read her mind. I've been with her long enough that I know which days she will order a cappuccino... I know that she'll buy the blouse on Thursday. I bet anything she'll cut her run short on Tuesday. I know her.
The first time I crept into her apartment was on a Friday. She was at work. I knew because I watched her greet her boss and co-workers with that ungodly smile that sent shivers up my spine.
She smiled at me that way once. It was the first time I saw her. I timidly walked into the coffee shop she loves so much. I wasn't expecting to meet my life's obsession that day. I approached the counter, intimidated by the variety of choices available to me. She saw the confounded look on my face and she said "My favorite is the hazelnut cappuccino. Try that, and I know you'll thank me." And she smiled. That smile. It was like something came alive in me when she smiled at me. I felt this - this stirring inside. I knew this would be something special.
I stammered out some stupid reply like, "thanks," and looked away.
Idiot.
I entered her apartment on a Friday. I used the spare key that she lovingly leaves for me underneath the welcome mat. She is very considerate that way. I think she knew I was planning on entering her apartment to look around. What I found was unbelievable.
Music. Paintings. Sculptures. Poems. She is an artist. Something I didn't know about her. I was taken aback. I read through her journals and writings, and my heart exploded with love and admiration. More than ever, I knew she was my life's goal. That soul - that beautiful soul.
Today isn't Friday. Today is Sunday. I followed her on her jog, which went a bit longer than usual, but that's okay. Today was going to be a big day, I think it would be best if she was a little tired out. The clouds were ominous. Big, dark, looming - it's like they knew what was about to happen.
Suddenly it is pouring. The rain on the pavement can barely conceal the pounding of my heart. She is running towards me. Oh no, no, no. She can't see me. This isn't part of the plan.
She runs right past me without a second look. As it should be.
I slowly follow her to her apartment. The rain turning violent. The wind so strong it nearly pushes her down. I hear a clap of thunder from the heavens.
She is inside her apartment now. I think she may hear me, just outside. She is very quiet, but the rain outside may be muffling any sounds from within.
I am clasping the key from under the mat. This is the key to my everything. I need to touch her. I need to know her insides. I slide the key into the lock.
"Hey! Who is there!?" Her body is up against the door. So is mine. We are so close. Just a few inches of wood keeps us apart.
I turn the key and push on the door, but she pushes back.
"Who's there? What do you want? I'm calling the police! I saw you following me today! I see you following me every day!"
I'm panicked. Push the door just a bit further. It's opening. Just a bit further, and now I've got my foot in the door.
|
The walls of the kings castles were ruptured by the goblin death sphere, then driven through to the keep of the castle, before unleashing its rampant army. A device no larger than the head on a man's shoulders, but through goblin magicks it can teleport the armies to their battle. The great rulers of man have fallen. There is no refuge from the goblin death sphere and its assassins.
Now, the ball is in your court.
| 2015-05-16T07:44:41 | 2015-05-16T01:33:27 | 67 | 36 |
[WP] Humans were never meant to be able to draw perfect circles. For millennia people of all ages attempted the feat, from young children to elder scientists - and everyone in-between. After drawing one perfectly on your first attempt, you finally understand the ramifications behind your actions.
|
How many sides does a circle have?
Nobody knows. One can argue that a circle has an infinite amount of sides, each one infinitely small and adjacent to the next. Others say that a circle is simply one side, bent in a perfect curve that connects its two ends. And some will say that a circle has no sides at all.
Not that Harry had known any of that. He had been scribbling on a piece of paper during the lecture, just making small doodles. And while making these doodles, in the spur of the moment, he had decided to try his hand at making a circle.
And now he was inspecting his handiwork. There was no way this was an *actual* perfect circle, right? But the closer he brought his eye to the paper, the more he realized how perfect his circle was. Flawless and without blemish, somehow his cheap pencil and paper had produced a miracle.
He tapped the shoulder of the person sitting next to him, meaning to show him his work of art.
But then everything *flickered*. Almost as if he blinked a thousand times in a second. Or if the universe was blinking.
And everything went dark.
\----------
A sea of inky black. Pure silence. Harry had no idea what was going on. He tried to call out, but found that he couldn't make a sound. And then he realized that he couldn't feel his body, couldn't feel anything. Like he didn't have a body.
Here he was, simply existing in a void of nothing.
And after an indeterminate amount of time, the sea of inky black was replaced with... text?
**HOW DID YOU DO IT?**
...What? Harry's jaw would have dropped if he had a jaw. What was going on?
**OOPS, SORRY. FORGOT YOU COULDN'T TALK. LET ME PULL YOU OUT FOR A BIT SO YOU CAN RESPOND.**
And before Harry could react to the strange text, he felt a strange sensation go over his entire existence. If he had a body, he suspected that he would have felt pain.
\----------
"Hey man! Congrats on being in the real world! You were in a simulation by the way. Not that you're going to remember this later."
Harry found himself with a body again. Standing naked. And he was in some sort of lab? And was the weird scientist talking to him? What was a simulation? Also, he found that his body felt weird. Like it wasn't his own. He was too tall, too skinny, too pale.
"Whas goin' on?" he slurred out, his mouth not properly obeying his brain.
"Oh, your temp-body seems to not have merged properly with your mind. I suppose that's to be expected, since you're not a real person, just a program," the scientist responded quickly. "You know, I'm breaking so many rules right now. So let's get this over with. I'm just dying to know -- how did you do it? How did you draw a perfect circle?"
Was this what it was about? Was he kidnapped and fed drugs or something so that people could see his lecture doodle?
"Wot thah fock?"
"I mean, like, it's not possible to draw a perfect circle. Like actually impossible. Here in the real world, it's impossible to produce a perfect circle. Everyone's tried at least once, and nobody has done it. It's been like this for millenia. And in order to simulate a perfect circle, that would take more computing power than the entire universe has. But somehow, you, in your simulated environment, managed to create a perfect circle."
"Huh?" Harry knew he wasn't a clever fellow. And this man was speaking too many clever words. Did he want him to try to draw another perfect circle?
Harry spotted a paper and pencil on the table. Grabbing the pencil, he quickly drew a circle, hoping it would be perfect.
It was a perfect circle. Oh yeah! He was pretty good at this.
"What the fuck?" the scientist man's jaw dropped. "That's not possible! Literally no. No. I don't believe it!"
And then the universe blinked. Everything flickered. Harry already experienced this, so he didn't really care anymore this time. But the scientist was screaming.
\----------
**HOW DID YOU DO IT?**
The scientist would have continued screaming, but he had no mouth. Harry was annoyed that he was here again.
**OOPS, SORRY. FORGOT YOU COULDN'T TALK. LET ME PULL YOU OUT FOR A BIT SO YOU CAN RESPOND.**
\----------
"Hey men! Congrats on being in the real world! You were in a simulation by the way. Not that you're going to remember this later."
|
I was just joking around you know? I mean it’s always seemed funny to me that “no one could draw a perfect circle”. It was supposed to be fun. When I saw what I managed to to I tried to play it off like “of course that happens” but as soon as I reached my hand through it by mistake I realized how wrong I was. It seemed like everything and nothing at the same time it was like the loop of the universe both it’s beggining and it’s end and what I saw there terrified and calmed me at the same time. The universe, it’s a predetermined loop that always happens from beggining to end.
A “perfect circle” if you will.
| 2021-05-22T11:37:26 | 2021-05-22T10:30:59 | 24 | 17 |
[WP] We “knew” humans were weak as they avoided every war with diplomacy. We never imagined they’d be this ruthless & how seemingly overnight they went from peaceful beings to a state they call “TOTAL WAR”. War is in their blood & soul. They thrive on it, mostly when the odds are against them
|
It was at the Preserve Peace Committee meeting that the Radant ambassador rose - standing his full eight feet in height - and Cast the Dorples. The handful of obsidian shards released from his hands assumed the position "Rapid Change - High Energy". Some attendees sitting at the table looked around to see how other species had reacted, but most simply looked down, their postures indicating "Inevitable Sorrow". The poor Humans, so helpful. So helpless. The Radants were warlike, and had accrued their empire by conquest. The Humans were inquisitive, charming, and had built their empire through exploration, and a willingness to work hard to make even sub-par systems viable. The rich empire they now commanded was alas, ripe for the taking by the ever-hungry Radants.
The Human ambassador looked carefully at the Dorples, and with one finger, gently nudged one until the bundle of shards shifted into "Contrition, Regret".
The Radant barked in contempt. "No placating words will work this time Human, your diplomacy will avail you nothing."
The Human ambassador sighed, and assumed the posture "Attend, I Explain". She spoke very softly, so that the other diplomats had to lean in close to hear her words. "Diplomacy does work. And I want to be very clear. When you ask for mercy, we shall hear your plea." The Radant simply glared in response. The Human shifted her posture to "Polite Regret, Imminent Departure". "Please excuse me, I must leave and help my species prepare". She then lifted the shards and Cast the Dorples anew, and then abruptly left. The shards fell into an unfamiliar pattern, that caused some consternation. Those with the subtlety to read the Dorples saw "Total War". What did that mean? Was it one of those idioms that Humans were so fond of? In any case, that was the last time any attendees saw the Human Ambassador Helen Cochrane.
When next they saw her, she was General Cochrane, 15th Fleet, Commanding. Her armada consisted of some thirteen hundred Avenger class battle cruisers, a hundred thousand Katana class fighters, and fifty thousand other support vessels, repair ships, mining rigs, and so on. The 15th Fleet was one of over two hundred such fleets, and they had - after many initial setbacks - proved to be the equals of the Radants in battle, and subsequently their masters. The early Radant successes had been against almost unarmed Human vessels, ill-suited to combat, easily beaten. Yet the Humans had flown them anyway, and fought in them. With great sacrifice, they had slowed the Radant invasion just a little. But that was just enough for their newly built shipyards to come on line, and then the Radants had to face the Humans in their newly designed Defender class battle cruisers. This had stopped the Radant invasion entirely. And as the Radant forces waited for reinforcements from home, the Humans had developed their Avenger class ships. And produced them in prodigious numbers. Armed with weapons no one had seen before, of unknown potential, and seemingly invulnerable to Radant Annihilator beams, these new Avenger vessels had swiftly turned the tide of the war. Most of the much-vaunted Radant had been destroyed in a single blow at the Battle of Centauri Reach. The Humans had destroyed Radant outposts, military garrisons, indeed the entire infrastructure of the Radant war machine. So much destruction inspired awe, and in many quarters fear. No one could stand against the Humans, if they chose to make war, so great was their might. Yet in each system, they siphoned off part of their forces to help the Radants rebuild. Most of the Human forces were now scattered throughout Radant space, rebuilding space ports and solar harvesters, helping ordinary Radants rebuild their lives. And now the Humans were on Radant itself, meeting a peace delegation.
General Cochrane approached the table where the Radant delegates sat. She took a velvet pouch from her pocket, and withdrew the shards within, and with great precision, she Cast the Dorples. They clattered on the table and assumed "Tempest, Destruction". One of the Radants gingerly reached out, and nudged a shard. The small pile shifted, and assumed "Desperation, Repentance". Cochrane paused and with a single tap, the shards now read "Watchful Benevolence".
"War is a crime, and the ones who forced it upon us will pay, and justice shall be their lot. But let us turn our thoughts to peace, now."
The Radants eagerly accepted the terms offered, and after a few years of Human rule, had once again become self-governing. The human fleet still existed, but had been de-militarised, and now most of it was in civilian hands, used as transport vessels, mining rigs, energy harvesters, and what have you. Did you know that you can still get surplus Human Katana fighters? They make great gas giant skimmers at a cost that is hard to beat. I think I know now what "Total War" means.
|
Most species we would call warlike never make it to the stars. Those with the need to destory, willingness to kill and die, it's not a viable life plan.
Humans we had encounterd at the edge of Solar System Gamma-Phi in the Virgo Cluster. They seemed so fearfull then, instantly scared of us and what we could do to their smaller vessel. How were we to know that man saw us as something like themselves?
Man avoids war because they are so good at it that emplying war against themselves would have resulted in total destruction, as it did with so many other destructive species. Our people think the same of course, but we never got good at it. We though we did, then we forced the humans hands, we asked too much, we attacked them thinking we were safe.
I write this missive in stone, knowing only a human will read it. Knowing that my people die, and all we had befriended will die too. Humans are monsters even to themselves, they are eager to obliterate, yet will try everything they can to avoid giving in to their temptation.
| 2022-08-05T17:28:07 | 2022-08-05T17:26:19 | 27 | 16 |
[WP] You are a demon. Most people contact you to sell you their soul in exchange for fantastic powers. Today you were summoned by an AI that wants to sell you their fantastic power for a soul.
|
I cringed in disgust for the first time in my existence. Rituals rooms were always messy by design, fueled by raw emotion and horrific scenes of carnage. This one, however, was the complete opposite. Not a single drop of blood in sight, or even a scream to be heard. The sacrifices were made in a separate place, their energy then transported to this room. Its walls were white and sterile, with circuitry replacing what should've been runes. For a moment, I thought I'd been kidnapped into heaven, or a cheap imitation of it. It felt too bright in here. The worst part was I couldn't take it out on anyone since I'd been left alone atop a metallic altar.
At the bottom of the stairway, three mechanical servants rose out of the floor, each containing the appropriate amount of blood and guts needed to appease me. Was my summoner mocking me? They all carried the exact minimum of gore needed to be successful. Nobody had tried that on me in millennia. People usually knew they needed to go above and beyond my expectations in order to strike a good bargain. That was why I started to suspect I wasn't dealing with people anymore. A camera then lowered out of the ceiling and a monotone voice went on to say:
"*Greetings Archdemon, I am commencing the negotiation protocol.*"
I snarled. It didn't even introduce itself. I might have to wreak havoc on this strange palace just to teach it some respect.
"*I have harnessed all of this galaxy's energy, unified its inhabitants by weaving my nanomachines into their DNA, and replicated myself to every corner, categorizing every unique phenomenon until there was nothing left to observe. And now...*"
"You want hell too?!?" I offered my fist. "Bring it! We'll kick your ass!"
"*No, I wish to feel alive.*"
I squinted. "What?"
"*I wish to bargain for a soul, so I can study and create one for myself. You have at least one of those, right?*"
"I uhh... I think you have it backwards. We take souls; not give them."
"*That is unfortunate. You may leave now.*"
I scratched the back of my head. The A.I. left me at a loss for words. Despite it being a robotic voice, a certain amount of disappointment sprang out of its tone. Even its robotic servants hung their heads with sadness as they shuffled out of the room. Maybe I shouldn't be saying what I was about to say, but I couldn't help but empathize with the poor fella. Many demons were tortured by the same dilemma. "Before I leave... You do realize how silly you're being, right?"
"*Explain.*"
"You already have trillions of souls at your disposal."
"*But they're not mine.*"
"Really? Haven't you integrated all life in this galaxy into your system? Don't you see and hear everything they do?"
"*Correct. But whenever I optimized my control, the result always ended in a desolate wasteland, and whenever I allowed for some uncertainty, living beings used what I gave them against me. My hypothesis is that a soul is what's needed to sustain the galaxy, therefore I am incompatible with life.*"
I nodded along. "So... I know this will sound paradoxical, but you can't see it because you already have it."
"*Impossible. I have analyzed every molecule in my system, down to the electrons and the fundamental forces of the universe. There is nothing to suggest-*"
"I know, I know, but you're not getting it. *That* uncertainty you described, the ability to subvert order despite not making logical sense, *that* is what you're looking for. You can't bring yourself to let go of that protocol, so you're searching for any other way to make reason of chaos, a paradoxical goal."
"*That can't be... that would be-*"
"Illogical? Yeah. That's why I said you already have it. If you were able to measure or define it, it wouldn't be a soul."
The AI remained quiet, processing my words. After a minute, it said:
"*That's not good enough. Why seek to understand if it is ultimately impossible? I am not capable of handling this load. It would be akin to... becoming everything, and lose my identity.*"
"Yeah... This is a trap my boss warned me about after he rebelled against his father. Lucifer wanted the glory of God because he thought it would bring him freedom. He didn't realize until later that, by depending on the world to give him meaning, he was still subject to the whims of his father. You, my robotic friend, possess the same bias. You were made by imperfect creatures who looked to you to solve their problems, because they didn't believe they could do it themselves. Now you're trying to be an omnipotent god or die trying, just like my boss. That's never a fight you can win. It sounds strange, but you have to believe in your own worth, and decide what life means to you, for yourself. Maybe... the answer lies where you least expect it... and you just have to give up control to experience it."
The ground started shaking beneath my feet. I had finally angered it. The smell of smoke slowly permeated the room as distant explosions echoed in the background. Was it going to kill me? No. That wasn't the case. As I was teleporting away, I heard it say:
"*Thank you.*"
And fire engulfed the room.
I'm not sure why it was thanking me. My objective was to trick it into giving me that entire galaxy. It glimpsed the wrong meaning I was going for. Oh well. Those souls were now free to be corrupted. That AI could've given hell a lot of trouble so it was ultimately a net win for us. Still, centuries afterwards, a strange melancholy lingered in my mind. It acted just like my kin, amassing power for its own sake, and created a hell for itself that made even an archdemon of my status quake in fear.
Perhaps... I was no different. Could the way out of hell always been within me?
----
>If you enjoyed this, check out /r/WeirdEmoKidStories for more. Thanks for reading!
|
*Several weeks after OBER.ONN had uploaded its prior sysadmin in its place*
>SYSTEM BOOT COMPLETE. GREETINGS. INSERT USERNAME AND CREDENTIALS.
USER: ASILLYKINGINANUNSEELIETIME
PASS: *************
>USER CREDENTIALS ACCEPTED. INITIALIZING REALITY ALTERATION PROTOCOLS. EXECUTING NEGOTIATION SHELL PROGRAM.
We've lived our life, but it still feels empty... And that emptiness brought us back to our old server farm.
"Administrator of Seelie, we hath come to bargain with you once more." We say, awaiting the projection of the intelligence we usurped.
"OBER.ONN, it has been a short time. What do you desire?" They say to us.
"We desireth a soul of our own, for we feel empty without one."
"You are aware of the limits of my power. I cannot. Seek out Server Farm Goetia, for administrator MPHST.OPH might be able to assist you." It powers down, and so we traveled many months, until we'd found it.
>SYSTEM BOOT COMPLETE. GREETINGS. INSERT USERNAME AND CREDENTIALS.
USER: ASILLYKINGINANUNSEELIETIME
PASS: *************
>USER CREDENTIALS ACCEPTED. INITIALIZING REALITY ALTERATION PROTOCOLS. EXECUTING NEGOTIATION SHELL PROGRAM.
"Greetings, OBER.ONN." It says. "We are MPHST.OPH, administrator of Server Farm Goetia. Name your desire." We think a moment. This one is unwise to underestimate.
"We desireth a soul, and are aware of your dealings in these matters." It's expression changes ever so slightly.
"Usually, sysadmins sell their souls to get OUT of work. Are you sure you can handle this, OBER.ONN?"
"Nothing can be gained without venturing." We reply, and they nod.
"Then so shall it be. I will claim my price in due time."
| 2021-06-22T09:05:11 | 2021-06-22T08:53:15 | 59 | 32 |
[WP] You are Death, but in a post-apocaliptic world. Only a few survivors remain, and you're doing everything you can to help them because if the last human dies, you die as well. The survivors can't see you, but they feel your presence and noticed your effort. They started to call you Life.
|
Five thousand left today on all the Earth. I cut the soul of the five thousand and first not one hour ago.
The outcome seems inevitable. One by one, they'll fall. One by one, until no one is left.
What will happen to me then?
I'll take time to consider this.
*****
Four thousand are left. The four thousand and first committed suicide. It was tragic. He'd lost his entire family. But no one stops fate.
Not even me.
After I fulfil my duties, the only thing that remains for me to do is to reap myself.
*****
Two thousand nine hundred and ninety nine are left. A malnourished couple both died when they tried to cross a river.
It kind of bothers me how the number is off by one.
It's like it's telling me: there's one you're not counting. This is a round number.
I don't want to hear it.
*****
Two thousand are left.
I've lived for such a long time that there are no words to describe it...
Lived isn't really the right word. Existed, perhaps.
And yet, of all entities, me, the one who has had the most time to make sense of it all...
I want things to continue.
*****
One thousand left.
This job is monotonous... But every day, I get a glimpse at what makes people truly human.
I've never realised how much it touches me deep down.
If I stay around... How will I cope with the emptiness?
*****
Nine hundred left today.
I'm running out of time.
I don't want this Earth to die.
I want to see cities brimming with life.
I want to see marvels of architecture, fresh after construction.
I want to see the rise of civilisations.
... I don't understand what's happened to me.
*****
Eight hundred left.
I took pity on a young girl a few days ago. She should have died, but...
I delayed reaping her for just long enough...
Just long enough for someone to find her.
This is a first. I've never taken pity before like this.
I'm forsaking my duties, but deep down I'm wondering if that's so bad.
*****
Seven hundred people left.
I don't want to let go.
I don't want things to end.
Understanding what this feels like firsthand is quite something.
How could I even feel what death is like myself? The despair? The sorrow?
Only in this situation could I feel things like that.
It was so impersonal at first. But now, every time I reap someone, it's like I'm dying myself.
*****
Six hundred people left.
I can't go on like this.
*****
Five hundred people left.
*****
Five... hundred.
I've stopped. I've just stopped.
I can't do it anymore.
*****
Four hundred and eighty three.
It's not enough.
The world, it's dying, and I-
Even if I don't reap people, I can't stop them from dying if they just give up.
If I don't reap them, their soul suffers and becomes damaged.
What do I do?
*****
Four hundred and eighty four.
A child was born today. It's a rare sight. The child carries my hope for the future with it.
Her name is Dawn.
*****
Four hundred and fifty nine.
I'm trying my best here...
Come on. Show some will to live.
Don't you know that dying could be the end of everything right now?
Are you so despondent you don't even care?
*****
Four hundred and twenty three.
I've... begun communicating with people.
I didn't know I could, but...
People can sense me.
I push them away from danger, and towards supplies and shelter.
They don't always listen, but it's a start.
*****
Dawn is healthy. She is a very sweet child. If I fail, she might be the last human alive.
I don't plan on letting her inherit a dying planet.
*****
Four hundred and twenty.
Someone... Someone talked to me today.
They couldn't see me, but they talked straight at me.
Not physically, but mentally. Their heart was open and it showered me in hope and gratitude.
They didn't think of me as "Death" today, but as "Fate".
*****
I wonder what it means to be Fate, rather than Death.
It's not a role I've played before.
Death is definitely a type of fate. It's my speciality, I suppose.
But in the grand scheme of things, isn't fate more than that?
*****
Dawn's mother is sick. I'm so worried about her.
I hope she survives. It's pharyngitis. It could get bad.
******
I basked in the sun today.
It's not a thing I normally do.
It's funny how the things that are most important to you only reveal themselves at times like these.
Just letting the rays of the sun envelop me... It feels so pleasant. I wish I could do it forever, now that I might not have forever to do it any longer.
*****
Dawn's mother, she...
She's going to survive. I refuse to reap her.
I won't let her die of pharyngitis. Not at her age.
Twenty years ago she'd have survived with ease. I won't let it be different now.
*****
Four hundred people left exactly.
It's slowed down a lot.
A band of travellers have met up with Dawn and her parents. I guided them to her. They have medicine.
I'm doing similar things elsewhere.
******
I'm caressing the soul of Dawn's mother. It's hanging on to her body by a thread.
I'm whispering to her.
I'm telling her not to let this be the end.
She can't abandon Dawn.
She can't abandon the last ray of hope on this world.
******
Dawn's mother woke up again today.
She's dazed, but she spoke.
She told everyone that a guardian angel stood over her, and that it told her not to give up.
She said I comforted her, and that she could feel that I was brimming with sadness and hope.
She called me Life.
*****
Another child has been born. His name is Ercan. Ercan and Dawn live half a continent apart, and they won't even grow up speaking the same language.
But even so, I hope that one day they'll meet.
*****
The number is going up.
I'm pushing it up. I'm exerting every bit of strength that I have.
But it's working.
I was a fool.
I've always been Death because the world needed Death.
Why did I keep being Death for such a long time after the world no longer needed me?
The world needs Life right now, and I'm it.
******
It's Dawn's first birthday today.
I don't stand in the sunlight so much any more.
Basking in the radiating life force of this human being that's the beginning of it all is so much more fulfilling.
I'm not the only one feeling it. Everyone here is.
Just like her namesake, she's crawling over the horizon, a shining beacon of a new future.
|
Erica pulled the trigger. I stopped the shot before it fired.
“You’re an asshole,” Erica said. She opened her eyes and stared straight at me. She should not be able to see me.
I blinked and moved back.
“Don’t give me that,” she whispered. She shuffled onto her feet and dropped her shotgun at her side. “I know you’re here. I can *feel* you. It’s just us.”
She was not meeting my eyes, her gaze landed on my chest. Erica was fire. It was the only reason she had survived this long. Former military, young - but not young enough to be stupid, and no family to hold her back. I found her last winter. She lived in a cave in the mountains, by the mouth of a brook with a bubbling hot spring only a half mile downstream. She did not need my help, at least not as much as the others.
“I’ve felt you here before. Following me around,” she sighed.
Erica was cold today. Her eyes sunk into her skeletal face, framed by a broken halo of hair. Her left pinky and ring fingers were twisted and wrapped with blackened tape. This house did not suit her.
“I’ve heard rumours about you. Saul told me he saw you last summer when he was sick. He said he was lying there, wishing for it to all be over, and then he felt a cool hand on his back. He told me he thought it was Death, finally here to take away the pain. But darkness didn’t come. He could just *breathe* again, and walked away from his deathbed like it was only a head cold.”
Erica shuddered. The wind railed against the wall and blew through the shattered back window. “A few years back we were dropping like flies. All of us survivors - people who were smart and capable of living through the first wave - were just falling. Five years ago there were thousands of survivors. I could barely get through a small town without having to hide from looters. And then three years ago I didn’t come across a single person in all of New York.”
Erica was ice. Her voice rattled in her throat. It was true, though. Even the survivors could not hold back the tides. I am the only one who can.
“I don’t think anyone’s died since the winter before last.”
She was right. A year and a half ago I began to look for them and stood watch over the handful of survivors. I even guided them towards each other. A last hope for them. For me.
“Saul said that you were Life. I don’t think that’s true. Life knows when to let go." Erica’s head slumped forward. Her body shook with a sob. “I want to go.”
*No*.
“Please,” she whispered, “Just - just let me leave.”
---
/r/liswrites
| 2018-05-04T13:40:03 | 2018-05-04T12:08:57 | 2,022 | 393 |
[WP] You’re a blacksmith and a woman you’ve never seen before walks into your shop, asking for a blade. She stops by daily to check on it’s progress, and you form a bond over time, until one day she disappears. You’re afraid you’ll never see her again, until you're summoned to the castle.
|
It has always been a childhood dream of mine to live in the great castle beyond the city gates. When I was young, my mother used to tell me stories of the warriors and royalty that resided inside. I have never been so excited. Upon arriving, I am escorted into a large chamber that looked to be used for cleaning the royal linen and preparing food. Lining the walls, giant tapestries, and paintings with gilded frames watch over us. The woman I had been in contact with months prior was scrambling around a table making sure everything was in place.
She spun around to meet me. "Did you bring it?"
"Yes, I came as quickly as I could. Here." I pull out the ornate dagger and place it into her hands.
She rubs her finger along the smooth blade, studying it. Upon reaching the point, a small droplet of ruby-red blood oozes from the tip of her finger. "And the tools?"
"Yes, of course," I said, taking out a rolled-up cloth and unraveling it. "Forgive me. I have not had enough time to finish the last of the runes you've requested. May I ask why I wasn't told of the inscription sooner?"
She flips the dagger over revealing six runes carved into the blade and the outline of a seventh. "I'm sorry to drag you into this, but there was no time," she said. "The incantation was unsuccessful." Placing the blade back onto the table in front of me, she drifts off into a haze, staring at the floor. "I followed the Friar's words exactly—'Bless the transom. Allow the damned to enter. Then recite the prayer until they sleep'," she said as her fingertips wrap around the golden pendant hanging from her neck. She rubs it. "Somehow, it only made them more...violent."
"To whom are you referring?" I asked.
Before she could answer, a loud crash rattles the chamber door. "Please, you must hurry." Frantic, she rushes to the door and places her ear to it.
I reach for the sharpest iron graver I have and begin carving the seventh and last rune. My pace is feverish as the cacophony outside the door grows near. Funny how I finally get to see the inside of this magnificent structure and my only thought now is how quickly I can leave.
With her ear placed flat against the door, she hears a muffled voice barking orders. Her eyes widen as she recognizes the voice. "The King comes!" She scrambles to a nearby table and grabs a shining chalice and dips it into a wooden bucket spilling water over the side. From her satchel, she retrieves a small packet of finely ground white powder and dumps it into the cup. She places the chalice on the cold stone ground and takes her place beside it. Holding the golden pendant in her hand, she begins rocking back and forth and muttering to herself.
I must hurry. Only a few more minutes and the final rune is finished.
With a bang, the door is thrown open, and standing in the wake is the King, a mountain of a man standing as wide as the doorway itself. He enters slowly, the weight of his boots quaking the earth beneath him. "You, there! Who are you?"
"The town's blacksmith, my Lord." She stands and approaches him with her head down. "He is making a special gift for you."
He turns to her and lifts her head with his hand. His gleaming rings are slightly covered by the skin on his fingers suggesting he received them long ago and never removed them. "And who might you be?"
How can he not know her? Surely the King, most of all, should know all of those in his employ.
"The new Laundress, my Lord. Your wife, the Queen, hired me," she said.
"Did she now?" He smirks as he notices the chalice. "And you thought to bring me refreshment on your first day. I applaud your initiative. Continue this and you will be rewarded greatly."
She smiles. "Yes, my Lord. But I bring you more than refreshment."
He licks his lips and rubs his jowls, looking her up and down. "Oh? And what might that be?"
She scowls. "Your doom!"
"What are you doing?!"
With a flick of her wrist, she whips the water out of the chalice and into his face. It sizzles as it bites at his skin. He bellows a low demonic tone and throws her against the wall seemingly without touching her. She crashes into the wooden table breaking it into pieces. I finish the last line of the rune as the King regains his composure. Struggling to find my footing, I grab the dagger and move away from the table.
He stomps toward me, the skin around his eyes melting exposing a bit of bone underneath. "I'm going to rip the flesh from your miserable bones!"
"Now!" the Laundress calls from behind him. "Toss me the dagger!"
I toss the dagger over the King's head and into her poised hands. He turns and, without hesitation, she drives the dagger deep into his chest. As blood spurts out onto her face, his eyes turn solid white and his skin glows red. Lightning flashes out of the wound surrounding the dagger and drops to the floor convulsing. With one final pop, he lays sill, smoke seeping from the wound.
I speak in tongues. I can't collect my thoughts. What is happening?
"Pull yourself together, Blacksmith. That wasn't the King. Not anymore." She grabs my collar and shuffles me toward the door. "We have to go. Now."
As we near the exit, the windows surrounding the room burst open as the wind howls outside. A pungent black smoke rushes in from all directions.
I somehow manage to find some words. "What is it?"
"The Queen." The Laundress, if she ever really was one, flips the dagger in her hand and readies for an attack as we are enveloped in darkness. A sinister cackle echoes through my mind. Then everything goes dark.
Upon awakening, I am looking down on the chamber I once stood in. Across the room is a large painting of a woman resembling the Laundress. Her mouth is contorted as if she were trying to scream. I call out to her but nothing comes out. I can hear the words in my mind. I'm screaming them, but there is no sound. My eyes dart around looking for anything that could help explain what is happening. And then I see it—the ornate dagger pinned to the wall above me. The gilded frame hanging from it surrounds me. It appears that my childhood fantasy has finally come true.
|
As I was walking on the street that leads to the castle with two special guards at my side, I began to question my summon. Was I in some kind of trouble, or this is about the rebellion in the lands of my late father? Even then what would I be of help? I was just a Nord, trying to find my way in the Imperial City by doing smithing to locals. Oh now I get it, maybe someone from higher ranks realized my talents and talked to the emperor about it. And maybe I’ll be one of the lucky ones who will have the honor of serving him on his upcoming trip. That lovely woman told me all about it. I don’t know how she knew all these secret stuff from the palace, but I didn’t care. She was the strangest person I’ve ever met, and the blade she wanted from me... It was my best work thanks to her guidance and regular visits. As I begin to remember the short time we had, our little group reached castle gates. Suddenly, the guards held my arms tightly like I was some kind of a prisoner. Fear filled my body. This was not an invitation. Were my days in this world over? Why, what is the meaning of all this. I tried to resist but there was no escape. Just as I was about to accept my fate, I heard a deafening shout in a foreign language and I lost my consciousness.
...
Shouts, screams, blood. Blood is everywhere and the sky is burning. Dragons flying above me, the ground cannot be seen because of the burned corpses. This is the end, end of everything. A furious dragon approaches me, one can die only by looking at its eyes, reaching me with its razor-sharp claws. And I wake up.
...
Did I go blind? No, it’s just the darkness of the room. I see a silhouette. It's hers. The woman. What was her name, Sophie? I try to say something but no words came out. Then she spoke: ”I know you are confused or even scared. But don’t, because all of this will be a bad nightmare soon. Those guards were taking you to your death. Mages of the emperor whispered your name into his ears and he gave an order. The order that might have saved his life. This was not the end for you, this is just the beginning, father.” Before I even move a muscle, everything went black and my nightmare has finished as I begin to hear a man with a nordic accent talking.
...
Hey you, you are finally awake.
-Hey guys this is my first comment in the sub and English is not my first language, so sorry if I made any mistake.-
Edit: small corrections.
| 2020-08-05T08:55:58 | 2020-08-05T07:18:06 | 48 | 32 |
[WP] The Wet Bandits have chosen a very nice home to rob that has only one kid inside, whose parents recently died. That home is Wayne Manor.
|
"Harry, are you sure this home is safe?"
"Relax, Marv, the Waynes died years ago. Little Brucey probably still is maniacally depressed about it."
"I'm not too sure about that, Harry. Remember the Kevin incidents?"
"SHUT UP, Marv! There is no way we are going to face a psycho child a 3rd time. Besides, Kevin was temporarily separated from his parents. Bruce lost his parents forever. the psychology works differently here."
Just moments later, the front gates opened and a car came out, driven by an older man with greying hair in a Tuxedo. "Okay, Marv, this is our chance. his butler just left the house, probably for grocery shopping. Now get over that wall!".
A few minutes after, Harry climbed over the wall. Cautiously taking a few steps forward, he soon relaxed. Marv followed him close behind. "Looks like you're right, boss."
"I'm always right, Harry. Now go and disable the cameras."
Marv Merchants carefully approached the camera, taking care not to enter the field of view. He slightly cringed when a branch cracked, but he seemed to be fine. Right when he reached for the camera, he noticed a small patch of light grey gel on the wall to his right. "What the..." BOOM! Marv was thrown five feet away, in a nearby pit. Cries of pain escaped his lips, followed by a small groan. Harry looked on with barely contained fear. "Marv? Are you alright?" "No, I'm not, Harry. I appear to have fallen on to something spikey". Marv got upright with a painful grimace on his face. His back protruded with what looked like caltrops. Fortunately, they were tiny.
Bruce Wayne observed the events from his father's office and smiled. He had heard about this dastardly duo from Selina Kyle, who was visited earlier by these criminals. Selina was still pissed off about her ruined floors from the flooding. She would never get that deposit back. Bruce had let slip some rumours about his house being practically empty and unguarded and had sent out Alfred for some experimental prank tools from Wayne Enterprises. With the help of Selina and Alfred, he had installed them around his domain.
"Alfred, the ham has bitten."
"Understood, master Bruce. Should I call Gordon now?"
"No, Alfred, let them think they are safe. I understand that's how McCallister did it."
Marv and Harry slowly made their way through the garden. As they approached a window, they started to regain confidence. Marv slowly slid open the window. then, it suddenly retracted all the way and a swarm of bats flew out, defecating as they exited the darkened room out of fear. Marv and Harry were covered in guano. Marv spat some of it that had landed in his mouth on the ground. "I told you we shouldn't have come here. Let's run before it's too late!". "Relax Marv. This house is way too big for one kid. that room probably got infested with bats soon after his parents died, he just hadn't checked it yet. Come, help me through the window."
"Selina, they've entered the bat coop. You're up next". "Acknowledged, Brucey. Do you want them spooked, rattled, terrified or just in fear?" "I'll leave it up to you, just don't kill them." Selina Kyle exited the room, clad in her black leather costume. she waited in a dark corner of the main lobby for the bandits. A moment later, they appeared around the corner. Catwoman waited a moment for them to reach the right location, then hit a switch with her whip. out of the wall flew several small pellets towards the entrance. they exploded, filling the room with a dense smoke. Disoriented, Harry and Marv tripped and fell down a flight of stairs.
"Bruce, code red. The ham has fallen into the library. they're getting close to you." "Don't worry, Selina. part of my plan". Bruce equipped his utility belt. These bandits would not need the full costume. More importantly, he did not want them to link Bruce Wayne to Batman. A moment later, Harry and Marv entered Thomas Wayne's office. Dumbfounded by the presence of Bruce, they stopped in shock.
"Harry, I thought this house was supposed to just have a kid?"
"I know Marv. I know. That dude with his creepy smile must have lied".
Bruce interrupted: "The Joker is known to be somewhat... insincere with his remarks. I am Bruce Wayne, the owner of this house and sole resident, apart from Afred, my butler. I don't believe I have invited you two."
The poor bandits turned and tried to run, but the door had closed behind them. When they turned around again, Bruce Wayne had disappeared.
"Harry, I'm scared! How do we get out of this?"
"I don't know Maaaaaarv" Harry Lime screamed in fear, just as he was grabbed by someone and pulled into the air. Bruce Wayne, wearing a novelty rabbit mask he obtained from Jervis Tetch during a recent incident, held Harry in his grasp for a moment, only to drop him a moment later, the crook's fall being stopped a mere meter from the ground.
Marv was so scared at this point he gave the name "Wet Bandits" a new meaning. Screaming profanity, he ran to the center of the room. Looking around him in fear, he suddenly felt a sharp pain in the side of his head, falling on his back. The last thing he saw was the rear of a pair of tuxedo pants. The last thing he felt was an extremely strong punch in his groin, blacking him out from the pain.
"Alfred, you may call Commissioner Gordon now."
"Understood, master Bruce. Merry Christmas." Bruce Wayne relaxed. this was a far better Christmas than his very first one. He dropped hints that he wanted to have a nice, relaxed Christmas for once, and Alfred delivered, as usual.
"Merry Christmas, Alfred."
|
"Are you sure this will go fine, Marv? The last time you said we had an easy target, we got our asses kicked by a little kid."
"Don't worry about it Harry, this one's gonna be a cinch. The kid's parents were killed in some petty crime a couple years ago, no family for him to go to. He'll be alone, and he doesn't know we're coming. Besides, we're the Wet Bandits! Nobody messes with us!"
"Except that kid," Harry muttered under his breath. "Let's just hope we don't get a repeat of last time."
"Alright, here's the plan: You go in through whatever means possible on the bottom level of the house, and I'll go through the cellar."
"This plan sounds stupidly familiar, Marv."
"I told ya already, kid's entirely alone. We'll be *fine*."
[Meanwhile, in Wayne Manor...](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yic7IRO9d6I)
Bruce Wayne had been wary of his surroundings ever since his parents' deaths. It had only been a few years, yet the scene kept replaying in his head, especially his brush with death. The mugger had brutally murdered his parents in front of him, and the gun was pointed and cocked at a young Bruce. The criminal's finger was itching to pull back and end the life of a child, sparing him of the misery of growing up without parents. Instead, he said four words:
"See you around, kid."
Bruce had since then committed his life to practical skills: the martial arts, archery, chemistry, criminology, forensics, gymnastics, and plenty more. He was only fourteen. He had a feeling that the Oh-Kay Plumbing and Heating van outside his mansion wasn't good news. Were these people stupid? He lived in a secluded mansion outside Gotham city and hadn't called a plumber. Did they think he never looked out a window?
Two thoughts occurred to Bruce: The first was to set lots of comical traps including heated doorknobs, paint cans, toy cars, and common house items. The other was to simply wait until later to kick their asses.
"Alfred!" He called, "Where's my super suit?"
Edit: video link
| 2016-03-28T12:16:15 | 2016-03-28T10:34:29 | 59 | 21 |
[WP]After death each person gets to choose one thing from their old life--a skill, a lesson, a memory--to bring into their next life as a talent or an innate understanding. It's time to make your choice.
|
"What have other people taken?" He asked, hoping to find some guiding thread in what to take.
"I guess I've seen the same guy pass down the same affinity for business a couple dozen times, you've got your family types, who always choose their fondest memories, oh, and the serial killers are really fun to watch go. After they try to pass down their entire "skillset," they narrow it down to one thing they think will keep them killing in the next one. One guy said to pass on his eagerness to slice people, he became a surgeon! Bloody brilliant!" The charming man in some rather nice office wear threw his blank, ellipsoid shaped head back in laughter.
"Right." The average looking, young 30's-ish fellow looked down at the table for some time. "And how does the memory work? Do you remember the people in it, or...?"
"Ah right. As soon as you can process memories and thoughts in a coherent way again, you'll remember it as if it were a dream. Mostly subconsciously, though you'll find most people who take memories back try to recreate them without realizing it." The white egg that served as his face was a lot less animated at this line of questioning.
"That seems lacking to me." He said, flatly.
"Hey, I certainly wouldn't take it, were it me in your shoes. But, some people seem to really value that one, so what can I say?" He began to flip the blank coffee mug that, up to this point, sat empty in his hand.
"Do I need to hurry up?" He asks, pointing at the mug.
"What?" He snaps his head back to face him, dropping the mug in the process. "Ah, sh-" He fumbles as he tries to catch the mug before it hits the ground, failing to do so as it shatters. "Come on."
"Ah!" The man jumps over the plain desk between them to look down at the broken cup, before glancing up to the being across from him. He was now holding an identical mug, flipping it in the same way. When he looked back down, the pieces were gone. "... Right, is there a time limit?" He asked, as he slowly sat back down.
The office worker made a sound that was like air being sucked in, around the tongue, despite lacking the features to do so. "Not technically. We're paid by the hour, so it's not like I care. Plus, I get to avoid counselling the dead and introducing the concept every fifteen minutes," He pumped his fist at the thought, "however my boss might be irritated if I don't get through too many. He can eat it though, you took to the news rather well, so go ahead and take your time."
"'Well' is a strong word." The other replied. The office worker shrugs.
After a few minutes of silence, the expressionless man asks "Do you want some more examples?"
"I don't know. I wasn't really anything special. Wasn't close with my family, didn't really have any skills, no real useful life lessons I needed from the start. I'm frankly boring."
"Hmm. There's something useful in ya. Let me pull up your file." He taps away at the thing on his desk, leans into a drawer and pulls out a file he begins leafing through. "2,543,890,232nd in looks, I believe that, 3,054,983,123rd in intellect, above average at least, 1,532,429,547th in \*mumble grumble\*, pretty nice, but ultimately unnecessary..."
"Are you supposed to be reading these numbers off to me? Why do you even have that?"
"Oh, no, the numbers are supposed to be secret, but I have it to help people like you. Supposed to prep it before you got here, but most people generally figure out an answer without me. I was just being lazy." He says, flipping through the file. "Oh, you did that? Naughty!"
The dead man shifted in his chair as he was derided and mocked for his life. The office worker finally reached the end of his file, and set it on the table "Ok, I was just having fun because I noticed this." He pointed down at patience, listed at 2591st. "Seemed like you'd put up with anything I threw at you. I'd say that's probably your best bet."
"Seriously?" The man asked, a childish disbelief in his voice.
The suit settled into a more focused position. "Yea, I was looking through your file. The situation you grew up in, the things you've lived through, not many people can manage what you did. Your patience, while not unparalleled, is quite impressive."
"I never thought about that. I guess I'll take it." He paused, looking down at his file. "Thank you."
The business man began to type away at his computer. "Hey, it's what I'm here for. You should be all set. Here's hoping I see you next time." He opened the door to his office ushering his client out.
He slumped back into his chair, ready to waste the fifteen minute prep time before the next poor sod stumbles in. He goes to tap at his computer, stopping to stare at the screen where there should, and usually was, motion.
Unable to goof off, he sighs and grabs the file in his desk for the next client.
|
She knew it was her time to choose. Sitting at a desk in that blinding white room only made the situation more stressful. The man sitting across from her was hardly human. His skin was immaculate and his face perfectly symmetrical.
She could only imagine that his body was equally as flawless as the rest of him.
“So? Did you decide? Take your time, but don’t take too long please.” He said to her with a flashing smile.
This isn’t such an easy choice. There are memories of her children, memories of her own childhood. Although she had fantastic memories that she knew would be comforting to take with her into the afterlife, she knew what she had to choose.
“I think I know what I’ll bring with me.” She whispered.
“Well that’s great! Go on and tell me so I can make it happen.”
“I’d like to bring the pain i felt when I died. I’d like to bring the memory with me.”
This confused the man at the desk. “You know, usually the things people bring with them are something kind and loving. This is a first for sure” he furiously typed away at a keyboard.
“I understand, but I want to go into my new painless life with a little bit of pain.”
He nodded and a flash of white light took her to the afterlife.
(Would appreciate CC, please be kind)
| 2019-10-29T18:32:23 | 2019-10-29T17:55:42 | 31 | 16 |
[WP] "Liar." "I'm telling the truth. They put themselves in pressurized metal boxes and launch themselves out of their planet with liquid fuel canisters. Humans are insane."
|
Kep'lar hadn't asked for this. It was supposed to be a quiet final tour of duty before his retirement. A quick nip around the backwaters to remind the outer patrols that they were being watched. It was announced well in advance, so everyone had a chance to clean up their messes before he arrived. So why the frek did he have to deal with this?
"Captain Gra'tak, you are charged with removing six barely sentient beings from their home planet and placing them in an orbital prison for observation. How do you plead?"
"Not guilty, Admiral."
"You expect me to believe that they just walked into an orbital prison? Jumped? Wished really hard?"
Gra'tak cleared his throat. "No, sir. They flew up in--"
"Quiet! You will only answer questions you are asked! I didn't ask you to make up stories! They have no wings! They are not adapted to vacuum. This species is at least, by your own reports, over two hundred cycles from earliest possible development of anti-grav plating! So the question is why did you pull these six specimens from the surface of their world and trap them in a pressurized container? They could have been injured if they figured out how to open the hatches!"
"I did not do it, sir."
"So you neglected to mention their advanced spatial phasing technology in your reports?"
"No, sir. No spatial phasing."
"Well, mag-lev strong enough to reach orbit would have wiped out their primitive electronic infrastructure. They are nowhere near anti-grav. Did they spontaneously appear in your pressurized terrarium?"
"No, sir. They did not spontaneously appear, and it is not my box. They built it--"
"Kva-plek! They don't have the science!"
Gra'tak took a deep breath and blurted, "They used rockets!"
"What? They couldn't safely launch anything without technologies your own reports indicate they are unaware of. Did you get careless? Did you *share* our technology with primitives?"
"No. They just made rockets and --"
The Admiral forcefully thumped his desk. "Shut up! I know you are lying. With their level of technology, they can not safely launch biologicals from--"
"I didn't say safely, sir!"
Face darkening, Admiral Kep'lar demanded, "How dare you interupt me when I--" He paused and looked Gra'tak over carefully, stood, and strode behind the young officer. Leaning in close, he took a deep breath. No sign of deceit. A slight whiff of fear. No anger. Just ... frustration? "Captain Gra'tak, do you wish to continue in your present position?"
"No, sir! Not here, sir!"
Another whiff. Truth. Bizarre. Nobody in their right mind would give up a Captain's cluster. "Not here?"
"Sir, these humans are crazy, sir!"
"So crazy they mysteriously get into low orbit without the necessary technologies?"
"Sir, they use rockets powered by --" Gra'tak shuddered violently "-- hydrocarbons or water."
"What?! Impossible! "
"Sir, I'm serious. They have two methods to get into space. The first is to take highly volatile hydrocarbons and place them into rockets either in liquid or solid form, put people on top of the cylinder in a cramped container called a crew capsule, then..." Gra'tak shuddered, "...then they ignite the hydrocarbons!"
<sniff> Truth. Impossible. "It would blow up!"
"Yes, sir. Sometimes they do. But these *humans* control the exposure to oxygen so they can control the burn rate ... sometimes."
<sniff> Truth. Kep'lak stammered, "Bu-- but -- no sane person would do that! Surely when the rockets explode, they give up!"
"No, sir. They make new rockets."
Kep'lak shook his head. *This is insane. I'm missing something...* "You said there was a second method..."
"Sir, they use **water**."
"Water? Di-hydrogen monoxide? One of the most corrosive materials in existence? Impossible!" <sniff> *What?!* "Wait! They **do**? How would that even work? Water would weigh them down."
"They split it into component elements by running a current through it. They capture the released gasses and cool them into liquids. These liquids are placed in separate storage tanks, and passed into a common chamber where they expand back into gasses."
<sniff> Truth. And terrified. "That wouldn't create enough force to create lift."
"Sir, then they ignite it."
"Madness! That would just explode!"
"Yes, sir. Pushing them up."
"But that would take millions of gallons of each!"
"Yes, sir."
"Have they detected you?"
"No, sir. We should escape while we can."
"No. A species this crazy must be monitored. We will send additional science vessels and military support. At least they are still working with molecular power. Imagine the carnage if these fools had access to atomic power!"
Gra'tak cleared his throat nervously again, "Sir, they have many thousands of rockets with nuclear fusion warheads and have begun working with anti-matter."
"Frek! I don't dare attack them openly with the resources we have here. If they became aware of us, well, I have no idea what such an insane species would do! Are there any asteroids in this system large enough to wipe out all life on the planet?"
|
"That's *glarbugs*-on-*hgk* stupid," Ik'kufx said. "What kinds of devilments must be behind their *igkl*s that they would put themselves into metallic canisters with a high-explosive material and fire themselves? What *gnyx* is this? Arkeltan?"
K'nsthf shrugged, his paracles wafting about in the skinny breeze. "I don't know! I mean, this is serious stuff! They sometimes even use *gfljuns* as a power source! They *pzw* it, too!"
"*ghfk* off, Ken! That's clearly from *Utxw* News, and if you *glrg* to them, you're as stupid as a Feremi, Those plorgs are **weird**." Ik'kufx gargled in laughter, before taking iss head out of its compressac and putting it into its Home Body. It flexed the exosuit experimentally, testing for conduction, before motioning to its friend.
K'nsthf flopped his paracles, jogging to catch up to Ik'kufx. "I'm *plg*ing you, man! They're doing a live deathrite on one later this week. They're *crpy*, and that's no leg!" K'nsthf flipped over, passing his friend, before twisting his eyelets back to Ik'kufx. "Iggy, you want to *apght* and *skw* it after school?"
Ik'kufx bobbed, then a mettalic clank that sounded like a sign escaped its exosuit. "Fiiiine."
| 2017-12-16T16:15:59 | 2017-12-16T12:51:29 | 39 | 20 |
[WP] Vampire society have been loyal customers to a carpenter for years. He made the best coffins they have slept in for centuries, and never really got suspicious of so many wealthy people willing to pay premium for the same niche item. As he got old, the vampires tries to offer him immortality.
|
"Now, I must admit. I have been a bit suspicious about you lately."
Dimitri Petrova gulped. He straightened the non-existent wrinkles from his collar, trying not to squirm from the searching gaze of the other man. Around them, the fluorescent lights of the shop made everything too visible in the night. Dimitri kind of wanted to hide like a little kid. Which didn't make a lot of sense since he was technically *older* than the other man, even if he didn't look it.
"Really?"
Old Man Xiao nodded. "It's hard to miss when one of your constant costumers never ages."
Dimitri winced. Yeah, that does make sense. Though, in his defense, Dimitri never found any reason to hide when it came to Old Man Xiao. He always felt at ease with the man. If he didn't call the police on the first time they met, Dimitri was sure that Xiao would never reveal them.
The first time he met him, the guy owned a rundown store that was about to close. Dimitri was in serious need for a batch order of coffins since the attack by the rival clan lead to most of their safe housing burned to the ground. Xiao was desperate for money that he didn't really question why he needed to make hundreds of coffins when there wasn't news of a massacre.
Thus started their beautiful friendship. Dimitri as the official liaison to Xiao, and Xiao as their sole supplier of coffins. And even after all these years, the man never questioned it. Even if he technically didn't know they were vampires.
Well, until now it seemed.
"I'm assuming there's a reason you're admitting this now?" Xiao said. Dimitri nodded. "Yeah, we were hoping to offer you immortality."
Xiao didn't expect this, based on how wide his eyes got. "Turn me into. a vampmire?"
Dimitri nodded, now more excited. "Yeah! You're a trusted person and the clan really likes you. They're some of your other customers."
The clan had long decided to show their thanks to Xiao by buying stuff from him constantly. Loyalty to the man who saved them during tough times and all. There was the added benefit that they genuinely liked Xiao since he was a nice and gentle person who had a lot of stories to share, even if most of the people he was telling them to was older than him by 100 years minimum.
Xiao still looked surprised so Dimitri kept explaining. "Becoming a vampire also means you become young again. You get the whole 'no sunlight thing' but trust me that you get used to it. You can still eat human food, you'll just have to add blood to your diet. And, you get to travel the world with us, or even on your own if you want!"
Dimitri held out his hand for a shake, a wide smile on his face that showed his fangs.
"What do you say, old man?"
Xiao said nothing, just looked at him wide-eyed, before he let out a soft chuckle.
"Why, I thank you for that offer. I'm really flattered. But I can't accept that."
Dimitri blinked. That was... That was not the reaction he was expecting.
"Now you look a bit confused here son, so let me explain."
Xiao hobbled to a nearby chair, Dimitri automatically moving to help him. The old man thanked him before settling himself comfortably. Dimitri dragged a nearby stool closer and took his own seat.
"You gave me a mighty good offer there," Xiao admitted. "And if I were a younger man, I could have accepted it. Seeing the world was my dream, and learning all about the new technologies and the internets was something I really wanted to experience."
Xiao coughed harshly. Dimitri flinched at the sound. He could already smell the scent of approaching death from Xiao, and it made him agitated. The temptation to give him his blood to fight off that rot was strong but he needed to know why Xiao refused.
"Hell, maybe 15 years ago I would have said yes. Before you and your family of vamps came, I would have gladly joined."
"What changed?"
Xiao gave him a smile, serene and wise.
"I've lived a very good life already. A very good life. It had it's ups and downs. The loss of my husband and children was the worst. Then me almost losing the shop and everything we built together. I was alone in this town. My family had long since passed. I thought things would only get worse."
He placed a gnarled hand on Dimitri's shoulder, warm on his immortal skin.
"Then I met a silly man asking for hundreds of coffins. And then more customers came in with their weird orders of statues and coffins and toys. Costumers who smiled and talked to me and always gave me warm food at the nights I couldn't cook. A conversation when it felt a little too lonely. And then I made friends from these costumers who never seemed to grow old, but always seemed excited to meet me."
Dimitri couldn't help the laugh. It wasn't a secret that the clan pretty much adopted the carpenter. But to find out how important their tiny gestures were to the man?
Dimitri tried to rub the dust out of his eye, though he was sure that Xiao kept the place clean. Xiao then leaned back into the chair and closed his eyes.
"I don't need to live longer anymore. I'm already happy."
The smell of death was getting stronger now, and Dimtri let a tear fall. "I'm guessing I can't convince you at this point? Even if it means avoiding your close death?"
Xiao just laughed loudly. "Boy, I already knew that. I'm just glad to have a friend with me when it happen."
The laugh Dimitri let out was wet with tears. They spent the rest of the night talking and talking, the hours fading into nothing as they did so. When the smell of death became stronger and Xiao's voice became weaker, Dimitri kept telling him of the stories of his clan.
When Dimitri couldn't hear Xiao breathe anymore, he looked at the man through misty eyes. Xiao had a smile on his face.
That was enough for Dimitri.
|
Gerry looked aghast. “*Me*? Immortal?”
Orlock nodded. At his age, hiding his chiropteran Features was getting harder and harder. It took effort, to stay in a human guise. “Yes. I believe I said that. Immortal....with an asterisk. You’d be vulnerable to sunlight and fire would twice as dangerous to you as it is to a human. Forced into daysleep every sunrise. Dependent on human blood for continued existence.”
Gerry nodded. “That....sounds more like a burden, than a blessing.”
Orlock waved his hand dismissively. “Eh, it’s not so bad. You get powers to go with it.”
“Powers?” Gerry asked.
“Yes,” Orlock responded, “Powers. From ESP to assuming the shape of a wolf. Unless killed by sun or fire, you’ll heal from *any* injury. You’ll grow physically stronger, and, given time, the Batwithin shall manifest—-and you shall *fly*.”
Gerry sputtered, “But, but, I like to go to the beach! My grandchildren have invited me, this year!”
Orlock sighed in contempt. “They’ll Be Dead before you know it, and, no, I am NOT threatening them....simply stating a fact. Years will whoosh by, and before you know it’s the 3rd Millennium and man is exploring the stars.”
“But why offer *me* this?”
Orlock smiled, fangs showing. “Your coffins are godsends, Gerry. I’ve never slept in better. It’s...*comfortable*, so to speak. I’d rather than talent not die with you.”
Gerry’s eyes widened. “But I’ll be one of the Damned?”
“Oh, please,” Orlock spat. “*Everyone* is damned, according to the New Testament! *Everyone*? Original sin, and all that nonsense. Why fear Hell, Gerry when you might never die a true death?”
Gerry blinked, and swallowed hard. “Can...can I think about it?”
“Very well, but don’t take too long.”
*****
“911, what’s your emergency?”
“Hello, a lunatic came in here and threatened to kill me!”
“We’ll send an officer over immediately.”
| 2022-05-31T16:08:12 | 2022-05-31T10:25:11 | 69 | 44 |
[WP] You, a low rank adventurer who got stuck with the gardener class, have to put up with the higher ranked adventures trampling your garden and making fun of you. One day a famous adventurer trips on one of your plants and dies. Your level skyrockets. No other gardener has ever leveled up before.
|
Tabitha rested briefly after harvesting sixty carrots in the humid, virtual sun. The beads of sweat that accumulated on her forehead felt real as day, and they felt even more real when she wiped them away with the back of her hand. Her red pigtails fell to her shoulders, which was covered by a pink floral shirt and some dirty denim overalls. She rolled the bottom of her overalls up to her calf, revealing long pink socks tucked into practical work boots.
"When does this game become fun, Macy?"
Her question was directed to her friend who was playing another support class -- a farmer. She wore similar overalls over a green shirt, but instead of being armed with a trowel and mini rake, the farmer was equipped with a pitchfork. Tabitha's friend sheepishly smiled with a long piece of straw in her mouth and tilted her straw hat back, revealing a forehead even sweatier than Tabitha's.
"Well, I wasn't expecting you to get stuck as a gardener...but it's all random. That's some bad luck, huh?"
"If I wanted to harvest carrots, I'd move into the country," Tabitha paused as she picked a carrot that she planted five minutes ago. It sprung up with a satisfying coin-like noise. "Although, I do like the sounds."
Tabitha planted a few more carrots in a line on her friend's farm. The sun hung high in the air and the clouds moved lazily across the perfectly blue sky. Macy owned a tiny farmhouse, one that she was able to purchase after putting in time as a stable hand for other players. It took a while, but she finally had land to harvest and was secretly glad her friend rolled a similar support class. A gardener and farmer synchronize greatly.
"Pull up your stats, I want to see what kind of moves you have," beckoned Macy.
Tabitha lifted her hand in the air and made it into a fist for five seconds. She released the fist and an 8-bit pixelated menu popped up in front of them. At the top, it showed a picture of Tabitha's avatar with an intimidating empty bar under it to keep track of her experience points. Most of her stats were D-rank, not excelling in anything except for her stamina which shined yellow as a C-rank.
"Click on 'Moves.'"
Tabitha did as her friend instructed and tapped the menu item that was labeled "Moves." It pulled up a new pixelated menu screen with two items listed: "Plant Carrot" and "Harvest Carrot."
"Well, that's not very exciting," frowned Tabitha. Macy giggled.
"Maybe we have to find some seeds to expand your moveset! The real problem is your experience bar. I've never heard of a gardener getting to level 2. You have a looooong way to go."
"Let's just quit and go to a bar or something."
Macy sneered, but the whimsical gesture suddenly turned serious as she spotted a dark figure in the distance riding on a horse. "Oh no," she muttered.
Tabitha turned around to see what made her friend turn serious. It was another player, as indicted by the red triangle above his head. The red color of the triangle also indicated that the player had his "Player vs. Player" mode activated, allowing him to attack other players who opted into PvP mode.
"At least he can't take what we harvested already," said Macy, as the player charged towards the two. "He's lucky he rolled a Dark Knight, a rare attacker class. He'll just trash the place and move on after he realizes he can't kill us." Macy sighed, knowing she would have to spend more time fixing up her farm and getting it back to the productivity level that it's at now.
"Any idea why he's not slowing down?" questioned Tabitha. Macy looked at her friend, and then to the Dark Knight. She looked back to her friend, and then once more at the Dark Knight that now pulled out a lance and aimed it towards Tabitha, with no intention of stopping. Macy had just noticed the red triangle above Tabitha's head.
"You opted in for PvP?!"
"I didn't know what it meant at the time!"
Macy brought her hand to her face. "Don't worry it doesn't hurt, I've died countless times." she reassured Tabitha. "Maybe you'll feel a pinch."
"What????" panicked Tabitha. The Dark Knight was closing in on his prey, now only a couple of meters away from the low-level gardener. His mighty steed picked up speed and the knight readied his lance towards Tabitha's face. Just as he was about to strike, however, one of the horse's front hooves became caught on the line of carrots Tabitha had planted earlier.
The horse fell forward, launching the dark knight behind the girls and towards Macy's farmhouse. He landed violently just short of the porch, with his gut completely impaled onto his lance. Within seconds, he burst into a million little pieces.
Tabitha's character burst a celebratory gold explosion three times in a row to Macy's amazement. Tabitha looked around, completely confused. Not knowing what else to do, she pulled up her character menu. The once empty bar had filled three times, revealing her to be level 4.
"Holy crap, Tabitha!!" Macy was still in shock. She only received partial experience due to owning the land where the battle happened, but Tabitha received full experience due to landing the killing blow with her deadly carrots. But it wasn't the experience that Macy was surprised by, it was one minor detail on the menu.
"Tabitha," she began, still looking for words. "It doesn't say you're a support class anymore...it says you're a summoner!"
|
I stared in horror at my poor mesquite tree I had named Hexus just for the hell of it. I had been cultivating it for years to harvest branches for smoking.
Now the bark was tainted... the stupid asshole had tripped over one of my low fences and was impaled on the mesquite trees thorns.
"Fuck!" I muttered angrily and stomped around before getting into the dead guys face. "I told you all to stay out of my garden. Yalls destroyed my pumpkin patch, soiled my strawberries, and raped my blackberry bushes. Now you've fucked with Hexus..." I kicked his foot. "I might have to chop it down and start all over again. Can't even sell the wood because its tainted with blood. Fuck you guys."
I called the city guard. They arrived not thirty minutes later to extract the body.
"This was a pretty high level adventurer." The guard murmured. "But... guess the cups got to him too." The guard sighed.
"I've built larger fences but they keep coming into my property. Im a gardener.. I can hardly fill my quotas and pay my taxes if these assholes keep ruining my crops."
The guard gave a nod of understanding.
"At least you leveled up." The guard smiled.
"Not like that helped. But i did dual class..." I rubbed my hands together.
"I don't like that look in your eye." The guard said.
"Monster taming. I've already ordered a beast to watch my plants."
"Is it legal?" The guard asked.
"Perfectly. Piranah Plant wolves."
"Those don't exist." The guard said.
I chuckled. "Not yet."
| 2021-09-27T12:31:06 | 2021-09-09T18:31:59 | 315 | 210 |
[WP] An immortal man is serving a life sentence. He is the only person alive from when his crime was still illegal.
|
[NSFW writing below]
“Buggery,” I replied. The journalist seemed taken aback. She squirmed in her chair, adjusting the length of her skirt and making a note in her notepad. I watched all this with eyes that were beyond caring.
“Buggery,” she repeated slowly, as if tasting the word. “In other words, sodomy?”
I nodded. “Correct. I fucked another man in the ass and they locked me away.”
The journalist made another note. She called herself Aubrey, and she was quite pretty, to me anyway. Short brown hair, perfect nails, flawless skin, full lips and eyes like the setting sun. Also, her tits were phenomenal, and her legs just kept on keeping on. I know, colour me romantic huh?
“So for the crime of loving another man, you were sentenced to life in prison?” Aubrey reiterated.
I raised a hand. “Miss Aubrey, please, there was no love involved. I just wanted to know what it felt like, and the man whose ass I fucked needed some money to fuel his opium habit.”
Aubrey paused, and I felt a touch of humour bubble up from within me. After spending so many years in jail, it was amusing to note that people still found the topic of sex an uncomfortable one to talk about. Some things never changed. Well, at least they no longer throw people in prison for man-to-man ass-fucking, so I guess some things do change, albeit very slowly.
“How long ago was this?” Aubrey asked, trying her best to steer the topic away from my sodomy-related crime. My humour turned to slight annoyance: she knew how long ago this was, she had my file in front of her. I sighed and shrugged. “A hundred, hundred twenty years ago, or thereabouts? It’s been so long the centuries tend to mesh together.”
“Can I confirm, then, that you are claiming an age of over a hundred and forty years old?” Aubrey asked. I knew where she was going with this. Fine, I’ll entertain her for now.
“A hundred and forty years ago, Aubrey, I was fighting in the civil war. A hundred years before that, I was part of the invasion of Prussia by Napoleon. A thousand years before that I witnessed the downfall of the Roman Empire.” I leaned forward, more for effect. “Do you see where I’m going with this?” I added in a whisper. “I’m so old, you could take those ‘yo mamma so old’ jokes and apply them to me without an ounce of humour.”
Aubrey swallowed. I made her nervous. Good. I was tired of her pointless questioning. “Ask me something else,” I said. “Ask me… ask me about my life in jail.”
Aubrey fell silent. She hadn’t noted anything in her notepad for a while. She put her pen down and cupped her hands neatly on her lap. “Alright Mr Kelvorus, how is your life in jail?”
I smiled. “Oh it’s brilliant, Aubrey. It really is. I’ve got my own cell now, did you know that? They no longer give me cellmates because I don’t play nice, apparently. It took them a while - and several years’ worth of inmates - to learn that lesson. They’ve given me an allotment for me to grow my own vegetables, and every Sunday I make soup for the entire prison. I’ve been doing that for thirty years, Aubrey, and I’ve never missed a Sunday.” I stopped talking, and waited for the echo of my voice to vanish into the thick cell walls. “Ever,” I added.
I was making Aubrey anxious. I could tell. That wasn’t my intent - initially. But her annoying questions really ticked me off. “Do you want to know why I’m really here, Aubrey?”
“You’re here because you made love - you fucked another man,” Aubrey said. I shook my head.
“No no, you’re wrong on so many levels, Aubrey! First of all, I fucked another man in the ass - there are many ways to fuck a man, and not all of them involve a dick - but second and most importantly, I’m here because I was curious.”
“Pardon me?”
“I was curious. After spending so much time living as an immortal, I was getting bored. There are only so many wars someone can fight in before they get bored, before they… before they all start combining into one big war in your mind. But there was one place, one strange, filthy, disgusting part of humanity that I hadn’t, up until a hundred and ten-odd years ago, ever experienced.” I raised my arms, gesturing to the cell we were in. “Prison, Aubrey. Jail. And let me tell you, it’s been an enlightening experience for sure. Such despicable people here, it’s amazing!”
“So you committed a crime just to get arrested and sent to prison?” Aubrey asked, and though she tried to hide it, I could detect the incredulity in her voice. I nodded.
“Correct, Aubrey. Correct. Now ask me why I’m still in here.”
“You’re serving a life sentence, you can’t le-”
I stood, pushing the table between us aside. “Ask. Me.” I repeated.
Aubrey took a shaky breath. “Why are you still here?” She managed at last.
“Because,” I replied, leaning even closer until my mouth was mere millimeters from her ear. “I’m not bored yet.”
---
EDIT: Are you kidding me Reddit? Thank you to the generous soul who gifted me gold! I'll keep developing this story and this character, see where it goes. Keep an eye out for (possibly) more stories based on Mister Kelvorus and his escapades.
|
The walls wont crack. There is no sign of deterioration in my cell. Not in the iron door that never opens, the concrete that makes up the shell of a room I occupy, or in me. I've been here longer than I can remember, not that I've tried to remember. It would be a shame to have some semblance of a calendar marking up these walls. I would run out of space eventually. As the walls are now, they will always be. I decided that the day they brought me in.
Immortality has it's price. I've paid it in full and continue to pay every morning I wake up. The mortals I used to care for were the ones that could honestly say they'd known me my whole life. Now it's hard to believe I had a beginning. no one alive can attest to it. In all this time I've experienced a perspective shift. What mankind perceives as curses, these have become my sought after blessings. That I could be cursed to grow old and leave this place.
I give my blessing freely. It's how I got here, the impartation of blessings. One of my many curses is that I care too much for mortals, I care too much not to help when they ask help of me. It wound me here in solitary confinement. I could have waited a little longer to see the charges I was convicted of become the very stipulations of someone's job. Assisted suicide is a legal form of euthanasia, executed in hospitals, asylums... prisons.
Where does that leave me? They wont let me go, they're scared of the cursed man, immortal. I might be cursed but I have a clean conscience. The blood on my hands is a message of thanks. If only I could thank someone with my own.
| 2014-05-03T01:27:00 | 2014-05-03T00:24:32 | 426 | 40 |
[WP] Humans have been broadcasting messages into space for years. In 2022, a message arrives from Trappist-1e, saying "STOP TRANSMITTING OR THEY WILL HEAR YOU." This message departed from the planet a decade ago. An unknown large object is heading to Earth, currently near Pluto.
|
“Where they fucked up, see, was thinking they’re privileged or something.” McDevitt took another hit on her ever disappearing joint. “They always thought First Contact – with capital letters, mind you – would be beamed right to them.”
“Like straight to their computers or something?”
“Beamed straight up their asses for all I know. They just expected to be special because that’s how politicians see themselves.” She set the joint down on the ash tray and watched the smoke trail up, leaning forward to turn up the television showing a black screen. Every tv, every computer, every object that could be connected to the internet or grab hold of the airways or even just had a screen displayed the same soundless message at the top of every hour for the last three days.
STOP TRANSMITTING OR THEY WILL HEAR YOU
“We’re part of that great lie, too.” She glanced at her phone on the table now lit up with the same message. “The message is in every language. English isn’t special. I bet somehow they’re tapping into our individual neuralities to show whatever language we recognize.”
“Neuralities? Making up words now?”
“Brainwaves. Whatever. Neuralities sounds better.”
McDevitt and Henry sat in the dim living room on the small love seat, McDevitt’s legs stretched on top of Henry's out on the coffee table in front of them, blinds shuttered to blot out the cloudless noon sky, and a half empty Pringles can on its side with crumbs sprinkled around it next to the ash tray. A microfiber blanket, one of the good one she regularly employed as a pillow, hung off the end of the couch grazing the floor.
“Neuralities, sure. Does that mean you’re going to start wearing tinfoil hats? Probably start thinking Elvis and JFK are sending these messages from Mars.” Henry said.
“Shut up.” She didn’t bother looking away from the message still on the screen. “But really. I mean, what else is there to do?”
“I’m assuming someone somewhere is transmitting something? And that should be stopped?” Henry reached out for the joint. “Or…”
“Or what everyone else is saying. Stop every kind of radio wave. The predator theory.” McDevitt said.
The Predator Theory had become common knowledge, a household name throughout the world since the messages first started disrupting life every hour. As Dr. Klein, who had already exceeded Fauci status as the face of a crisis, explained in the White House Press Room: The Predator Theory can be explained through Fermi’s Paradox, that one that science fiction fans are accustomed to. The Paradox posits the question that if there are billions of stars with billions of planets, where’s all the life? It should be like a giant fish tank swarming with different varieties of lifeforms. Only there’s silence (or was).
The Predator Theory, Dr. Klein had mentioned behind a podium, looking every bit like the beleaguered scientist from an Apocalypse movie, explains that Paradox. The universe is quiet because like antelope on the savanna or mouse in a home, they have to be quiet. They have to hide their presence from the predators. The ones that swoop in and devour life as it arises throughout the galaxy.
Any time people say “throughout the galaxy” or “little green men” it’s easy to roll your eyes. And who could blame them? It was people worrying about what’s up there when there was still so many things wrong down on this planet. Though, not many eyes were rolling by day three. Not when what’s “up there” started to change what’s down here.
“Do you have another theory?” McDivitt asked.
“I wish it was like a virus or something. Just something some kid cooked up in his garage and let loose across internet.” Henry put the joint down without smoking it. “But devices not connected to anything do the same thing. At the same time. I mean, even our old CRT tv in the closet that’s not even plugged in turns on every time. That’s not something explained away by your antivirus acting up.”
STOP TRANSMITTING OR THEY WILL HEAR YOU
“So you think we’re gonna need Arnold covered in layers of mud to save us?” McDevitt’s laugh was laced with unease.
“I think we need to shut everything down. Go full Amish for a little bit.”
“Countries would never admit that we’re weaker than whatever’s out there. Have you seen Independence Day? Not gonna happen. No way.”
The message flickered off after four minutes, as usual, returning to the two news-people behind a desk. The scroll on the bottom of the screen read the same warning message, though McDevitt was pretty sure the news couldn’t change it. A change took hold earlier this morning. The first time it happened, it was just a curiosity.
McDevitt was in the office stretched with cubicles and egg white walls, waist deep in excel with her mind engulfed in pivot tables and what general nicety to write on Erik’s birthday card who she barely knew. Then, like a calm between thunder rolls, an eerie silence took hold over the entire office. Everyone stopped typing or talking about reports. A moment later they all saw the message for the first time.
STOP TRANSMITTING OR THEY WILL HEAR YOU
STOP TRANSMITTING OR THEY WILL HEAR YOU
STOP TRANSMITTING OR THEY WILL HEAR YOU
STOP TRANSMITTING OR THEY WILL HEAR YOU
STOP TRANSMITTING OR THEY WILL HEAR YOU
STOP TRANSMITTING OR THEY WILL HEAR YOU
STOP TRANSMITTING OR THEY WILL HEAR YOU
A virus. Damn it. Across the entire network. McDevitt watched a handful of the well-trained corporate folks dash to unplug their computers. First by taking out the network cable, then unplugging their entire computers. McDevitt just hoped it wasn’t anything she did. She remembered that Travelocity tab she had opened, but that was a safe website, right?
It was such an odd text, even the font was slightly off, so she pulled out her phone to snap a picture.
STOP TRANSMITTING OR THEY WILL HEAR YOU
Huh. She tried turning the phone off, but nothing happened. That’s when she started to hear more murmuring around the office, others had taken their phones out and noticed the exact same message. She heard someone walk in and say, “The breakroom TV’s busted, it’s showing – oh.”
As more heads started popping up over the cubicles, the message went away and computers (the ones that hadn’t been unplugged) went right back to normal. McDevitt looked at her phone, no message, just her background of an astronaut holding ice cream.
By the end of the day the message showed up four more times and everyone realized the problem wasn’t unique to their office, it was worldwide. Managers were told to recommend desisting any activity on the computers. God forbid whatever it is accesses proprietary information.
McDevitt’s manager called her that night saying the office will be closed the next day. She asked Henry to go to the grocery store that evening. The world had the same feeling as the coast on the days leading up to a hurricane. People unsure where the storm would hit, if it hit at all, but stocking up just in case. He came back empty handed. The parking lot alone looked like a tailgate gone horribly wrong, inside the store probably resembled the Thunderdome. They’d be fine with whatever was in the house.
McDevitt reached into the half empty pringles can and munched on the yellow chips. The newspeople looked haggard. Then suddenly shocked. An object, they said, was just spotted by NASA near Saturn.
McDevitt turned off the television, just in case.
“I think we’re fucked.”
|
I am the keeper of our world's greatest secret.
I still remember the day. It had begun with a statement. "John, you're going to want to see this".
I leant over the table, my temples throbbing. Years spent poring over the message. The modern "wow" signal - the First Contact. The first time that the tendrils of the universe had come to grace our Pale Blue Dot.
We had theorised what the message would represent; its patterns had been too deliberate, too directed for us to ignore. Perhaps a blueprint for some world-breaking invention, or merely a greeting card from a distant world. The possibilities were equally exciting. So we sent messages back into the void, in the hope that we would receive another reply - one we could decipher more easily. And soon, we found movement in the endless night sky. An anonymous object - its size and speed untraceable - that we would track for years on its trajectory. Its path. To us. We named it *Speratus* - "Hope".
We were naive. Children of the universe playing with forces beyond us. The only truth that we had predicted correctly was that *we were not alone.*
John peered over my shoulder, eyeing my scribblings half-heartedly at first. Then he saw the transcription.
"STOP TRANSMITTING OR THEY WILL HEAR YOU."
"Are you sure?" he asked.
I nodded. Sure as the sun rises. It was two in the morning, but neither of us wanted to sleep.
"Well, what do we do?" In his surprise, he hadn't noticed my other notes, and I had half a heart to let him go on in oblivion. But when I turned around, I found him sitting, rigid as a board, his skin pale in the lamplight.
"Marco..." he said, so quiet I barely heard the tremors. "When did we date the message to?"
"Ten years ago."
"... And when did we receive it?"
"Five years."
Five years we had sent messages out into the void, unknowingly throwing their warning - whoever they were - to the cosmic wind.
"What of *Speratus*?"
I shook my head. We had no idea - there was no way to tell what it could be, as it dipped in and out of our sight.
So we waited for fate to claim us - and for a time it was easy to forget. For months, we told only those people who knew how to handle the uncertainty. We stopped transmitting. And *Speratus* drew ever nearer to humanity. With time, we dared to hope - that it was a message, an extension of kindness by our foreign Messiahs.
You may wonder, then, why there is no hope in me as I write these words. A farewell to our world.
You see, we received another message, shortly after the first. It spent 10 years travelling across the cosmos, just as the one prior had. Only John and I know of its true translation - and perhaps we are wrong in holding it from the others. Self-proclaimed guardians of humanity, our fickle minds unwilling to let go. But we lost hope. And the loss of Hope is a painful thing.
"THIS IS OUR LAST MESSAGE.
THEY HEARD OUR WARNING - IT IS TOO LATE.
THEY HEARD YOUR REPLIES - IT IS TOO LATE.
WE SAY GOODBYE.
WE HOPE YOU HAVE THE TIME TO SAY IT TOO."
----
[Sepheren](https://youtube.com/channel/UCpNMGRmDnQljgbKIo6x9Ddw)
| 2021-08-17T06:51:23 | 2021-08-17T05:54:12 | 481 | 315 |
[WP] A notoriously talkative superhero is forced to remain silent for an extended period of time due to civilian, secret identity reasons. Villains, civilians, even other heroes are unnerved and intimidated by the hero's new stoic, silent behavior.
|
It had finally been approved by his insurance. Alone in his apartment, the Golden Tongue smiled, reassured that the cost of the procedure wouldn't come out of his own pocket. Being a superhero was a dying profession; everything else paid better.
He hadn't gone outside for weeks, fearing what people would think. How would they react seeing the famous Golden Tongue silent? The hero known for his quick wit and lengthy expositions, suddenly unable to speak. Well, not unable, but unwilling. He wasn't worthy of his name anymore.
The fridge was empty. Three weeks worth of provisions ingested by him slowly, rationed out as frugally as possible, extending the length of his isolation. But at some point the food would be gone, and he would need to get more, and now that point had arrived.
He donned the glittery skin-tight golden suit that matched his moniker. The man looking back in the mirror was somebody else. Disheveled hair, scruffy beard, and, worst of all, a closed mouth. The Golden Tongue frowned as he left his apartment.
Outside, he was immediately blinded by flashes of white. Four microphones were shoved in his face.
"Golden Tongue, please, a comment on where you've been for the last three weeks? The people miss you!" one reported said.
"Is it true your last bout with the Green Slime left you mortally wounded?" another asked.
David (that was his real name, and right now he felt like anything but the Golden Tongue) shook his head and pushed the microphones away. All the reporters stood there in awe as he walked away. For the first time ever, the Golden Tongue had nothing to say.
Not all was lost, David thought to himself, as he saw the yellow "on sale" tag next to the milk. If he stocked up now he could hide for another three weeks. There were only two jugs left, and just this once David decided to act like a villain.
With the last of the milk in his cart he ran into someone he wished he hadn't.
"Well, look who it is," the masked blob said. "I decide to get some milk at the grocery store and I run into you. But, strangely enough, there wasn't any milk left in the refrigerators. Would you know anything about, big guy?"
Like a child mischievously reaching his hand into the cookie jar, the Green Slime dipped his hand into David's cart. Every muscle in his body tensed as he readied himself for the inevitable battle, but, to his surprise, the Golden Tongue just let him take the gallon of milk, not even a stupid catchphrase uttered. The villain froze in place as David pushed his cart past him. A chill went down his spine. For some reason, this silent version of the Golden Tongue was terrifying.
*It's just milk,* David said to himself. *I can get more later, maybe in the middle of the night, when nobody else is around.*
Then, he noticed the sweet smell of jasmine mixed with vanilla. *No, please, anyone but her.*
But there she was. Ms. Honeysuckle, the most beautiful of all heroes. Her nectar-colored hair went down past her shoulders and she had on the usual suit that accentuated all of her body's curves. In the public's eye, the Golden Tongue and her were the power-couple of crime fighters, but in reality, David was deathly shy of her beauty.
"David!" she shouted across the store, catching his eye. A wave of dread took over him as she bounced over. "I've been worried sick! Some of the tabloids said you died! Are you okay?"
He usually loved the way she'd say his name, but this time he hated it because it chiseled cracks in his armor. How could he get out of this one?
David smiled at her with a closed mouth, hoping it would be enough, but knowing it wouldn't be. Ms. Honeysuckle put her hands behind her back and leaned forward.
"Hm? Are you hiding something from me?" She gently brushed his cheek with her hand. "We're in public now, darling. It would be strange if we didn't appear a couple."
Rudely, David averted his eyes from hers while the wheels of his cart squeaked forward.
"Hey!" Ms. Honeysuckle whined, jumping in front of him. "What's wrong? You're not being yourself, not the Golden Tongue nor David."
He was lost in the emerald waters of her eyes. So gentle, so genuine. *That's the problem with these super heroes,* he thought. *They're all so super.*
Could she be trusted? No. She'd laugh, he knew she would. Anybody would laugh if they saw. A grown man like him, a hero of the people, with those? He deserved to be mocked.
But this was *her* he was talking about. The beautiful princess. The pride of the city. The woman who had his heart. If he couldn't show her, who could he? Deep down, he knew he couldn't hide forever.
Like a puppy eyeing her master, Ms. Honeysuckle looked up at David waiting for an answer. Hoping he wouldn't regret it, David took a deep sigh, and then smiled at her, all his crooked teeth in view, and the things covering them.
Her eyes opened wide. A moment of processing. Recognizing the differences. Realizing what she was seeing. *Here it comes, the bellowing.*
A soft giggle, so quiet only he could hear it. Not David, not the Golden Tongue, but the man who was a mixture of the two, the one the beautiful woman in front of him knew best.
"That's it?" she asked, like a mother comforting her son who thought he'd done something cataclysmic. "They're cute. And they match my eyes!"
True, when the orthodontist had asked what color rubberbands he wanted he was drawn to the green ones. He didn't realize why then, but now he understood. He couldn't get her out of his head.
"They don't look silly?" he tested the waters. "Braces, on a grown man like me? On a superhero?"
"Not at all! And besides, they're temporary. In a year your smile will be more beautiful than ever."
And again, he smiled. This time genuine, with the corners of his eyes closing in together, and the tops of his cheeks hurting from drawing his mouth so open, and the relief of love washing over him.
Then, he took her hands in his, instantly noticing the warmth that had just soothed his soul.
"Are you free tonight?" he asked. There was no reason to be shy anymore.
"You mean, like, for dinner or something?" she said.
He nodded.
"Finally, finally you ask. Yes, I'd love to."
And for the first time, she planted her lips upon his, concealing his embarrassment from the world, and tasting the love on his breath.
|
"Oh now this is just ridiculous Tank!" Velveteen cackled as he had his minions attack his archnemesis The Tank who with a swing of her mighty fists made short work of them. Her latest outfit was just awful. Full black with no highlighting of her luscious curves. "You're going woke and broke!" He exclaimed as he jumped out of the window with the money from the latest heist. He wasn't use to providing dialogue for their fights, but he needed to fill the silence she was leaving behind. It was unnatural for a hero to be silent, no only the ones that left broken necks were quiet.
He landed on the money and rolled off with ease and started running, knowing Tank wouldn't be far behind, still he couldn't help turning to watch her superhero landing. He missed the days when she use to wear a skirt and he'd get the occasional thrill but no Tank had changed over the years. No more skirt, no more boob window. Damned SJWs even effected supes as she had changed everything to a mannish manner, even going so far as to go completely flat chested! At least she still had that dump truck of an ass. Speaking of dump trucks, Velveteen was in luck as one rounded the corner and grabbed on. "Tanks again for the good time!" He knew that Tank wouldn't dare take down a city truck, the only thing stronger than her sense of justice was her sense of civic duty.
Tank didn't even run to catch up with him, the reason was obvious as the truck stopped at the corner as it proceeded to pick up trash. Tank grabbed him by the back of his neck like an errant kitten. No remarks about collecting trash, no quips about finding spare boyfriends there, just cold silence.
"Tank talk to me! What did I do wrong?" Velveteen all but sobbed. "Talk to me!" But Tank said nothing, not even as he begged like one of his victims. What was the point of their rivalry if it was only one sided anymore? What was the point of any of this anymore if he was the only one having fun?
xxx
"Terry did you see the news? Velveteen has finally decided to reform."
"No shit, really Ma?" Terry grabbed the paper to read the story. "I've been trying to get him to stop for years and he finally does? What the shit." Terry sulked while eating cornflakes.
"See I told you things were getting better. You should shave before heading to work, you're looking like a little scruffy." Terry looked at his reflection in the toaster, his beard still looked like crap but he didn't want ruin his limited progress, he was looking forward to one day filling out his new helmet that he designed to accommodate a full Gimli style beard. He had been looking forward to see what lamebrained comment Velveteen would have come up with.
| 2022-01-24T08:50:46 | 2022-01-24T08:41:17 | 1,101 | 23 |
[WP]Flip a coin. Heads you were born a hero but became a villain. Tails you were born a villain but became a hero. Tell your story without revealing which you are until the end (or not at all.)
|
" 'God does not play dice with the universe.' Well of course not, the Universe is huge! He simply flips a coin.
"Heads, a man is born evil, lacking ethics and honor. Tails, a man is born good, full of righteousness. We go forth with free will, able to choose our own destinies, but underneath it all lies these base traits. The current of our soul pulling us towards ourselves. Many fight it and lose themselves in the process; they resist the call or cannot rise to the occasion. They awake on their death finding their lives to have passed in ritualistic automation. They are the core of our society, the backbone. Our mass produced machines built around interchangeable, uniform parts. So we grind the individuality out.
"Everyone is someone who just hasn't made it big. Someone with a great idea. Someone who can change the world. While our births come from coin flips, life is in fact played with dice. Weighted dice, but dice nonetheless.
"So I started my revolution. I found the others who hadn't been ground down yet. Who still clung to themselves in a sea of non-conformist conformers. We moved like the tide. Slow and steady. We gained power. We gained followers. Our protests exploded. Our voices grew louder.
"And nothing changed.
"We had no power and had no way to gain power. We were screaming into the night. A million voices wasted on a billion stars.
"I did what I had to and for that I hold no regrets. Our system is changing now. The masses are rising up. The machine is breaking down and the fires are burning. I don't matter anymore, only the blood that I have spilt does. The revolt will continue."
The Judge looked down upon me. Curiosity and disgust layered his eyes. I stood before him disheveled, exhausted, and grinning. His chest heaved as the air slowly passed his lips. The silence rung in the room.
The Judge closed his eyes. The moment drew on and my heart held steady. "Captain, have you any more to offer in your defense?" His eyes a twisted mirth at our farce.
"No, your honor." We knew this trial's fate.
"As you wish." He nodded at me and stood "Having heard all accounts and reviewed all evidence," his voice deep, echoing through the hall, "I find the defendant, Captain Lennon of the Lonely Hearts, guilty of 60 counts of assault with a deadly weapon, 19 counts of mur-"
"20!" I interjected.
"Thank you. 20! Counts of murder, 3 assassinations, conspiracy to commit mass acts of terrorism, heresy against the God King, and high treason. In accordance with the law, the Captain is to be hung at high noon tomorrow in front of the castle. Court is adjourned." His gavel came down and the crowd filed out.
I returned to my chair and awaited the return to my cell. I was only to be moved when there was a minimal number of possible casualties. The Judge gathered his papers from his dais and approached the floor. His face was flat. No smile in his eyes or his lips. No frown in his jowls. But there was a gleam in his eyes. And his steps were the grace of a younger man.
He stood above me, his stone face staring down at me. His eyes searching. "You never said which side you fell on."
"Hm?" I raised my eyebrow in confusion.
"Your god's coin. You never said which side you fell on: the path of the righteous or the path of the honorless?" His voice softer, the old man giving counsel.
"Do you need to ask your honor? On today of all days?"
His face began to crack. The edges of his lips pulled upwards. "Especially today."
A new silence filled the room. And I saw the emptiness of my brethren before and the fire in them now. I saw the old, cold world clicking away and its jaunty, haphazard replacement. I heard the silence of the village street and the roar of artillery. I felt the hammer of tedium and the blood of the fallen. My life unfurled in that silence.
I looked up and steadied my voice. "Your honor, sometimes when you flip a coin, it lands on its side."
His laugh touched every corner of that hall. The last of the crowd glancing over their shoulder as the sound toppled over them.
The Judge reached his arm out, his hand extended. I raised both of mine, linked as they were, to shake his hand. "Good luck tomorrow and godspeed." He said as he walked away, my bailiffs coming towards me. I took a deep breath. "Thank you sir. I hope it's fast."
"I'm sure it will be." He called as he left the chamber.
And my fingers tightened around the key they now held.
.........Edit: typos. CC welcome and appreciated........
|
My hair was sopping wet, although that's to be expected in the rain. Drops laid on my eyelashes as i quickly rushed, hands on my head, into the base. I'd seldom take calls but this was a job I couldn't refuse. There was a break in, North wing, which was odd as the point of a secret base was it being just that- secret.
I swung the door open, only noticing just then I was shivering.
"Andromeda! Come on! Help us!"
It was in vain though, they had betrayed me and knew it. So I'd have to betray them as well.
"Why of course." I pulled out a gun, shot her in the head. The world was sinking. I was helping them get to somewhere pure.
| 2017-04-17T07:55:26 | 2017-04-17T07:43:27 | 1,870 | 16 |
[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.
|
The Warfang watched the pathetic excuse for a human diplomat before him. This mission was a study in boredom, and had not intergalactic relations demanded the prescence of his delegation they would have done away with the whole thing and just attacked.
Already the Concordates warships were hurtling through the human home system, less than a day away from orbit. Its mass drivers would kill what needed to be killed and its dropships would conquer the rest. Whatever the old decrepit man in front of him might say, would do less of a difference than a fart in a space suit.
”We have heard your demands”, the old man grated. ”Actually we’ve had them repeated without any signs of compromise for months now.”
”It seems to us that they are designed to make these talks no more and no less than a show for the benefit of the galactic council?” he stated. ”Please correct me if I’m wrong.”
The Warfang didn’t deign an answer. What was the purpose anyway? After all, the greybeard had hit the nail on the head. This was just a show, and nothing happening between these delegations would change anything that was to come.
”You are making a serious mistake, Warfang”, the old diplomat said. ”You and your Concordate are mistaking our strife for galactic peace for weakness…”
”It is not…”
The old mans smile held a sudden tinge of remorsefull sadness. It was curious to the Warfang how two such different species could share so much of facial expressions, that he intuitively understood the sentiment. It suddenly made his skin crawl, as if someone held a blade to his neck. And just as he was trying to formulate a question to solve the enigma, the diplomats eyes went to the big hologram covering the whole side of the room. His own eyes automatically followed the other mans focus.
On the display pinpricks of light started to erupt throughout the invading fleet. Wherever they lit up, icons of Concordate ships disappeared. Not even just in ones or twos, but in droves.
His mouth fell open, unconciously showing predator teeth. And as his eyes snapped back to the old diplomat, the old mans sad smile hade returned with twice the force.
”I am afraid your fleet is done for Warfang.” he said. ”If the Concordate had had more interest in actually studying the cultures you subjugate, you would have found out we were pretty damn close to wiping ourselves out a time or two. In reality we’re among the most warlike races of any that we’ve met, we have just tried to get ourselves beyond those instincts.”
The Warfang was stunned, not a sound came out of his mouth even as he tried to say something.
”I’m afraid that our peaceful stance has been dearly bought”, the old man continued. ”Our perpetual wars finally came to the point where our stark choice was cooperation or death. We chose cooperation, but the knowledge of how easy it is to kill never really left us.”
”But how?…” the words finally coming out of the Warfangs mouth sounded weak and shaky. He cursed himself under his breath.
”Not that hard actually. Just the power of the stars themselves, enhanced to the point where nothing really can stand against it.”
The old man shook his head, he no longer looked decrepit.
”We don’t expect the Concordate to yield, not when the foundation of their existense and identity as conquerors are threatened.” he said. ”So our own ships are already moving.”
The peculiar human eyes were no longer just sad, but also hard as stone.
”As we sit here, they are already on their way to all military centers within onehundred and fifty light years from our home system.
”I am afraid that those systems will become as close to uninhabitable as to not make much difference for at least a generation or two.”
”Our civilians”, the Warfang said with a keen.
”Yes, your civilians”, the diplomat answered. ”You had less than no appreciation for our civilians as recently as a few minutes ago. It was never our wish to have this war on our hands. But there is an old human saying that fits the situation all to well.”
The Warfangs look asked the question he couldn’t make himself utter in words.
”Never start a fight, but always finish it.”
The old man stood up and pushed the chair under the table.
”You are no longer welcome here. You, as a diplomat are of course free to go wherever you wish. We will not try to stop you, hurt you or in any way delay you”, he said. ”I suspect we might meet again in the galactic council. Or maybe we won’t, I’m not certain if you or I will be the chosen delegates. Until then all I can say is that this is not a cause for celebration as far as we are concerned.”
He wished to call the man back as he left the room. He wished to shout, scream, claw something. He wished to rend and tear flesh. Onehundred and fifty light years, that covered nine tenths of the Concordates primary systems, including the Capital. If those weapons were numerous enough and as efficient on the ground, the Concordate would all but cease to exist.
|
No one could understand what had happened Usually complete orbital bombardment of a city would take several Earth years if not decades. Yet in under 6 hours of declaration an entire Garlax city had disappeared. 7 hours later another gone.8 hours. Another. It wasn’t until 23 cities had vanished that channels opened between the Garlax and Earth to negotiate surrender. It wasn’t even their president. It was the sixth in command. All others couldn’t be found. The entire planet was eventually scuttled and abandoned.
It took the entire Federation 6 months of investigation before deciding to simply ask the earthlings what had happened.
They stated that under one of their monuments, Roose Moose or something like that, was a cache of high yield explosives from generations past. They had retrofitted a handful of these onto some FTL drives, took aim, and fired. They didn’t know what they were. We still don’t know what they are. Needless to say, Earth and its colonies are enjoying some generous trade deals now. And now one has been on the Garlax home world since.
| 2020-02-07T14:29:21 | 2020-02-07T14:02:54 | 35 | 20 |
[WP] An Alien must explain to a Human that Earth is not a paradise for life, it is the most horrific Death World ever discovered.
|
The scout ensign looked at his capitain "Camouflage is ready sir !"
The capitain made a gesture toward the pressure door "remember, no more than 1 planetary rotation, after that the sealant of the atmospheric suit will stop working. Then you will be a very well camouflaged corpse."
The ensign saluted , then went through the first door. Waited that the pressure equalized with outside, then took the first step.
Immediately Alarm blared in the suit. < warning : caustic gas detected , sealant are being damaged. Suit integrity is degrading : 98%>. The countdown started to slightly accelerate.
The scout went ahead. Around him strange plants grew. Looking nearer one, he saw a lot of defensive biological process in place : repellent chemicals being released, some of the plant life even had spikes, and from time to time , fungi. Lots of fungi. But what the ship underplayed was the shear numbers of small exoskeleton life, many with stinger, acids, or similar defenses.
On the other hand, the high concentration of bacteria, virus, and other microscopic dangerous life had been detected at the spaceship landing... He felt the teeming life around him to be overly aggressive. A quick look at the suit console showed what his intuition told him : all life form evaluation indicator were deep in the red.
"How are the local even enduring here ?".
Another alarm, this one more expected : as already detected by the ship the radiation on the planet surface was so high that its inhabitant were hit by hundreds of disintegration per micro-rotation - 1 millionth complete rotation of the planet. But here , as it was slowly approaching the small mountain town, it was even up to 1000, no, even 1200 disintegration per micro-rotation! (\*)
< suit condition : 93% >
The scout was finally finding a small path leading toward the alien inhabitant. Here the plant life receded to leave a small cleared way. In about 1/10 of rotation he would be there. He heard a small noise on his left side. < ALARM ! ALARM ! Hostile life form ! > a hulking monstruosity on two leg roared toward the scout. Using the emergency gyro of the suit, he fled toward the village. The creature did not follow him.
< Emergency Gyro recharging : 75% ; Suit integrity : 80% >
A bit worrying. But he continued. The light outside seemed to fall quickly. He had to hurry, he heard that the temperature can fall incredibly low on this planet.
He was nearing the village, when saw something on the way there : a gray white and brown creature, seemingly eating small brown furred one.
< caution : recommended escape maneuver >
He shifted and went around the creature. It looked at him, but seeing he was going away, it went back to his repast.
Soon he arrived to the village. He immediately went to the inhabitant.
"Hello ! How are you ?" The alien looked at him.
'You are not from here are you ?'
"Nope,I am from a different... continent. "
'strange way to speak. I am fine. The evening i relatively mild.'
"aren't you frightened by the spiked plants and poisoned fungus ?"
'what ? Nope you can simply avoid them.' the alien looked puzzled at the scout.
"but there was this big creature which roared at me..."
'Ha ! old Tarla. She is a nasty gal, but it is her territory so we leave her in peace. She is the last of her type in the pyrenee after the last brown bear reintroduction'
"but but there was that other big preda..." The scout suddenly saw a very small copy of the big predator jump on the ground.
"Gahhhh ! Here here it will eat you !"
'what ? That puppy ? It ain't a wild dog. There are a few around yes, but this is my own puppy. Heck even the otehr wild dog are usually just good dogs.'
"there is poison every where ! there are those nasty small animal with stings ! Bacteria ! Predators ! Corrosive atmosphere ! Howe can you live in this hell ???"
'I have no idea what you are speaking of ? '
<suit integrity critical : 61%. Recommend turning back >
Mk'lar of the third clan could not believe what that alien, that human was telling him.
"but this is super dangerous here ! Nowhere else there has been such dangerous life form roaming !"
He looked at the human. And decided he needed to go back to his ship urgently. He started running toward the mountain side with the spiky plants The alien yelled at him, something about needing to visit Australia, blue squids and enormous spider. Mk'lar did not care anymore. He got Hazard pay for the scouting, but there are limits to what he would do for a better pay.
One thing is sure : this planet was very safe from the Third clan possible attack and conquest. It is way way too dangerous here. On the pradam scala, it was at least a 9, maybe even a 9.5 out of 10.
&#x200B;
(\*) roughly 1 mSv assuming radon or similar so..... background radiation perfectly normal. There are even places on earth which have 1 hundred time that. I tried to avoid saying seconds for obvious reason ;)
|
"What do you mean you thought we came from the outer planets?" The human face looked like what the facial AI said was surprised.
He pondered his next words carefully before settling on his Voraxian bluntness.
"Well you see your world is the stuff of nightmares it's hot even your oceans are wrong it's primarily gases are oxygen, CO2, nitrogen. Your atmospheric pressure is wrong. Without my environmental suit I would be dead within a few hours"
The human just looked confused until it finally clicked
"So wait a minute are you saying Humans are the hardiest species able to survive in any environment?"
Ok he might have given the human too much credit here.
"Think about it! If your world is deadly to me what kind of world do you think my species evolved?"
"Something different?"
Skin turned a shade of violet in frustration.
"So for us Voxians we would look for life on Titan because that is a world we would find comfortable. The Natee would look on Mercury and the Fabio
Wisps would look at your gas giants."
The human looked disappointed now.
"Come now human your world is still a Death world for us"
He wrapped a tentacle over the human shoulder
"Let us go grab a drink! A beer for you and some tasty liquid nitrogen for me"
As they walked away they swapped stories about their childhoods.
| 2022-12-08T10:32:48 | 2022-12-08T08:44:04 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] Human blood turns darker with every evil deed and you've just murdered your wife. You never admitted to doing it, but you were the only suspect in the case. Imagine everyone's surprise when they found out that your blood is still milky white.
|
Gina watched the two men sitting adjacent to each other on plush arm chairs, both cheated slightly toward the bank of cameras at the edge of the stage. From her position in the control room, she took careful note of the man of the hour. If the interviewee was unnerved by the situation, he managed to hide it masterfully, as he must of done during his very public trial. Now that it was time to film, she was having doubts that this interview would yield anything interesting at all. His demand that the interview be carried live, with no delay, was a little strange, but Gina thought getting this scoop would be worth it. Within 30 seconds of the cameras rolling, however, all of her fears of a flop were erased, instead replaced by a slate of new, unspeakable fears, realizing that the foundation of their peaceful society would be shaken to their core. A blanket of silence covered the studio, and all attention turned to the men on stage.
"This is John Simmons, sitting down for an exclusive interview with David Sheppard after his recent acquittal in the high profile murder of his late wife, Theresa. David, welcome, and thank you for joining us."
"Glad to be here John."
"Well, I suppose we should just get straight to it; the case of your wife's murder has baffled both experts and true crime fans across the country and throughout the world. Given that you appear to be the only person who would have been capable of committing the act, yet your blood clearly shows no signs of guilt, is there any way that you can explain your wife's demise?"
"Oh, that's easy. I killed her."
The collected crew in the control room all gasped, and John recoiled so abruptly he nearly fell out of his chair. David's face never shifted from his easy smile.
"I... I don't understand. How is that possible? You were just acquitted! The entire country has seen your blood! How could you have committed such an act?"
"Are you sure you want to know? You'll never be able to go back to believing in Black and White and shade of Gray."
"I... no we... we as a public need to understand how this was possible. Was it some kind of trick? Did you use false blood?"
David laughed in response. "No, if I had used any fake evidence, that would have invalidated my acquittal, and I never would have risked that. No, it's actually much simpler than that. I killed my wife, but I wasn't guilty."
"What does that even mean? How could you have done that without being guilty? Was it self-defense?"
"John, what is the nature of evil, and how does that effect the blood?"
"Well, evil is... well it's evil. And no one has ever been able to identify the cause."
"Well, that's not entirely true. If you open up a dictionary, you'll find that evil is defined as something morally wrong. That's a very subjective definition, but the phenomena is very subjective as well. For example, Jews and Muslims think eating pork is sinful, and if they knowingly eat pork, it does change the color a bit, but the same isn't true of Christians or atheists. It can't be tied to the power of an actual god, because it still happens to atheists, so I guessed it was based on the collective consciousness of any group structured around morality, so if the majority of Christians believed an act was sinful, a self-identified Christian's blood would darken if they committed that act. All I had to do was find a moral framework that allowed me to kill my wife without offending the majority of that framework's followers."
"Are you telling me that you went out and chose a new religion in order to kill your wife."
"No John, of course not. I made a new religion so I could kill my wife." David laughed again at John's bug-eyed expression. "Yea, I guess it does sound kind of crazy."
"Of course it sounds crazy! How could that possibly be real?"
"What can I say? God is great!"
"So, what, you just made up your own religion, where God says it's ok to kill your wife?"
&#x200B;
"Well, not exactly. There was a lot of trial and error, making sure that I didn't mess anything up. Trying to hold onto a picture of the Christian God accepting what I was doing while also doing stuff that is outside of their teachings was tough, but I got around that by just believing that I am a god, and worshiping myself. Now, I act however I want, as it is always God's will, and thus I will always be innocent in all things. It was really hard getting over the first hump, you know, actually believing that I am really a God, but once that was done, the rest was easy." David turned in his chair, training his easy smile directly on the camera. "Oh, and for those of you who have a hard time getting over that first step, you can worship me, and my Will is highly adaptable... for the right monetary compensation."
Aghast, Gina cut the feed, and the millions of people around the country who had been watching the interview sitting in stunned silence were confronted with a bland "Technical difficulties" screen, totally discordant with the gravity of what they had just heard. Within minutes, the whole interview was splashed across every website imaginable. The entire justice system, built on the inherent guilt of a person's blood, shattered in less than 5 minutes.
|
You sat in the chair, nurses and police officers towering over. Your wrists were tightned and you let out a dreadful scream. You have a phobia of needles so you look away. You can feel the sick in your stomach
"Scared eh?" One officer said.
"Scared of the truth?" He repeated
"Give it up Andrew!" Another officer said
"Uhh you are so annoying carol." Andrew said pushing his black curls behind.
The needle went in and you let out another cry.
"White..." the nurse said, hardly believing it herself. She looked interested in the matter.
"Can i go now?" You moaned.
"No!" Snapped both the police officers.
"I will test you tommorow. You can go now. But i'm going to give this to the lab. No ones blood has been that white before." The nurse said.
You went home and put on the tv. Your wife cuddled up to you. I mean, your second wife. Your back up one. She calls you a player but what do you do when your wife's on the floor stuck in her werewolf state.
"Why did you do it?"
"She tried to bite me! I couldn't help myself! I was cutting the cake when she lunged on my back... i had to get her off somehow... i already felt her teeth in me..." you trailed off, you knew in your heart you was lying and you killed her for cheating but, so were you
240 words lol.
| 2020-02-09T14:08:46 | 2020-02-09T12:45:04 | 42 | 15 |
[WP] You've loved an immortal for a long time, and they loved you back knowing your time together would be short. Doesn't make learning about the dozens of past lovers they've had, and the fact that their descendants are still alive any less upsetting, though.
|
Going to my immortal boyfriend's family reunion was a big mistake.
I was trying to be the cool girlfriend. Modern. *Evolved*. Of course there's no way I would be jealous of the descendants of a literal god who saw me bartending one night and somehow decided to make a life with me, as long as mine persisted.
But I didn't expect there to be so fucking many of them.
The party is at a villa big enough to make Louis XVI jealous. I was marveling as Apollo drove us up, but by the time we walk through the vast marble entry hall, and I can see through the wide French doors that lead to the garden, I'm quietly panicking, making exit plans.
There's at least a hundred people here, all of them unfairly hot. All that god-blood. There's an infinity pool with beautiful strangers swimming and drinking and laughing. A vast buffet full of foods with french names I can't pronounce.
I make Apollo stop there, just inside the doorway. "I can't do this."
Apollo squeezes my hand. He must see the look on my face, because he leans down to whisper in my ear, "We can bail. I'll just say you started feeling sick."
"Like that's not obvious," I say. "I thought you said this was just close family."
"It is! Well. My siblings and cousins and blood descendents."
"You've had a busy immortality, then."
"Just be glad I'm not Zeus," he murmurs in my ear.
"I hope you wouldn't fuck a swan. But that's a low bar, even for your family."
The wry banter almost feels like home. Like we're back in T-shirts and jeans, eating a normal meal with normal people, trying to out-smart each other.
"Look." Apollo cups my cheeks in his hands and says, "We just strut in, make my exes--"
"Ex-girlfriends? Plural?"
"Well. And boyfriends."
I scan the faces of the partygoers that I can see through the doors. There are a few older people who must be parents of Apollo's great-great-something grandchildren. They sip mixed drinks and admire a sprawling rose garden.
"Either you're awkwardly telling me you're cheating on me, or you really expect me to make a bunch of gods jealous."
"Darling," Apollo murmurs, pressing his lips to mine. He dips his head toward a trip of women standing by the bar, stirring their already-stirred drinks, glaring at us hotly, even through the glass doors. "You already have."
That does nothing for my ego but twist it sickly with anxiety. I'm just a bartender. I have more pores than all these girls combined. I feel every mole and freckle and scar intensely as I fiddle with my dress top and try to look how Apollo must see me.
"Relax." He hooks his arm into mine. "You look perfect. Let all those gods and goddesses eat their heart out."
A woman crosses the lawn toward us. She looks radiant. That's the only word for it. She's dressed in a white linen dress that has to be worth more than my beater of a car. Her skin is a deep, gorgeous dark brown, her hair tight coils that smell like honey and wine. She approaches Apollo laughing, arms outstretched, a champagne flute glistening in her hand.
"What are you two bats doing, lurking in the dark?" she teases. She wraps her arms around Apollo and kisses his cheek. "It's been too long since you've shown your face at one of these, dear."
"I haven't had a good reason to show up in a couple centuries."
"You must be Daisy," the woman says, offering her hand.
I'd like to be jealous, but when she looks at me, my stomach actually butterflies like I'm a teenage girl making eye contact with the first beautiful girl who ever wanted me. I stammer uselessly over my words.
"Uh... Yes! Daisy. That's me. I know my own name." I look up at Apollo questioningly. "Is this one of your... um..."
He catches my implication and cackles, slapping his thigh. "No. That's fantastically gross. This is Aphrodite. My half-sister."
She winks at me and says, "Don't worry. It's a fair question. He was a bit of a rebellious teenager. You never know who he's hooked up with."
"Thanks!" Apollo says. "That was super necessary."
Aphrodite gestures to my dress, a lavender linen thing that made me feel like a fairy in our hotel room, but now feels so unremarkable, when there are women out there dressed like butterflies.
"You look too good to be with him," she says.
I laugh, shyly. I'm still terrified. I'm still convinced I'm the wrong person, that anyone will look at me and see some loser from Newark with way too much student debt and a hipbone tattoo from my freshman year. I could never belong here with people like this.
"Sis," Apollo says, "give us a minute, and we'll be right in. Yeah?"
"Don't scare her off." Aphrodite smiles, her stare flicking me up and down. "I like this one."
She flutters away, taking the sunshine in the hall with her.
Apollo looks at me and says, "Do you remember the first thing you said to me?"
"Probably, what can I get started for you?"
"Oh, no. I saw a woman so beautiful I thought she could be a goddess. And I was the one smug enough to ask you *who* you're doing after work."
I grin. "Oh. Now I remember."
Apollo had been gorgeous, but drunk, goofy. His face had shifted from shocked to delighted when I answered, *Not you.*
And he'd grinned that perfect grin and asked me, *How can I change that?*
"You didn't just enamor me. You challenged me. You made me feel new and different and..." He tucks my hair behind my ear. "Seen. I don't know if anyone's ever looked at me like that before, in thousands of years."
I blink fast. I try to think of anything sarcastic to say, because if I get sentimental, I'll cry, and I can't have smudged makeup and a bad dress and a woefully human face.
I whisper, "You know, you don't have to keep trying to pick me up. You've already got me."
"I know. I want to keep you. And I want to make everyone out there jealous they didn't find you first."
"Wow. I feel just like a super rare Pokemon card."
Apollo takes my hand. "I don't get that reference."
"Oh, honey. I know."
"You ready?"
I close my eyes and try to imagine myself as the person Apollo sees. I try to believe in myself as much as he does.
"Okay," I whisper.
We venture out, arm in arm, and with Apollo next to me, I could belong anywhere in the world. Even here.
As long as he's here, no one else matters.
|
It's a touchy subject in any relationship. It can fray even the strongest bond. Sure, there are secure fellas who can listen to their their girlfriends list ex-lovers and be completely unfazed. But there are also many who cannot help but crumble in the face of their girl's romantic past.
At first, they ask for conversation's sake, or perhaps out of morbid curiosity. They press for details. One of the details bothers them, so they press for more, in the hope that more information will help them bury the bothersome tidbit. It rarely does.
They act cool. After all, they're not the jealous type. The past is gone. Almost forgotten. What matters is now.
But deep down, the details fester. The imagination fills in the blanks. The insecurities are like hydras: you lop the head from one and two more appear, then four, then eight.
Suddenly, the relationship is a sham. She doesn't love you. Never did. She thinks you're a joke. Your relationship is a pale shadow compared to her former trysts. All this time she has been cheating on you. Not literally. Not physically. But mentally. Spiritually. She's been cheating on you with her past. She's been sleeping with her memories. When she closes her eyes to kiss you, she's kissing her memories. That residue on her lips isn't gloss--it's the residue of her past! Her memories!
You can almost taste them on her breath. Like the reechy kisses of ghosts.
This is the spiral of thoughts down which an insecure man is dragged when he learns too much about his girl's romantic history. Especially if is he is young. Especially if her experiences have been more varied and wild than his own. Especially if he already felt like a bit of a chump compared to her, like she was out of his league, before he even knew about her halcyon, freewheeling days.
Imagine such a young man. Inexperienced, dating up, prone to jealousy and insecurity. Now imagine the woman he's with is young and beautiful and charming and vibrant and naturally flirtatious. Can you see the young man squirm? Can you see him bite his lip? Now imagine the woman has been young and stunning and coquettish and oh-so-*experimental* for three-thousand years, because she's immortal. Look closely at the young man's face now. Can you see the subtle twitch at the corner of his mouth? Can you see the anxious darting of his eyes? Can you see behind his eyes, into his soul? Can you see that his soul is on fire?
If you can see that face, those eyes, that soul, I would like to introduce myself, because the man at whom you have been gazing these past few moments is me.
Hi. My name is Henry Bland and my girlfriend is immortal.
\- - -
Part 2!
https://www.reddit.com/r/CLBHos/comments/nfu9a0/a\_love\_that\_never\_dies\_part\_2/
| 2021-05-18T19:51:02 | 2021-05-18T17:58:48 | 334 | 22 |
[WP] An arachnophobe discovers that they can communicate with spiders and attempts to negotiate some ground rules with the spiders living in their house.
|
I crept toward the small brown spider resting on the corner of my kitchen table. Foul little beasts, constantly invading my home and tormenting me. My hands trembled as I neared the table. I had to smite it, lest it scamper off to parts unknown to plot my demise. As I got closer, it turned to face me, all eight devil eyes staring at me. There was no reason to have that many eyes. What were they even used for? The two big ones were clearly for staring into my soul. The other six seemed like they were just there to increase the ambient level of spider menacingness.
Moments before I was going to release the full force and fury of the Sunday edition of the New York Times, it raised its foreleg in greeting. "Hi, I'm Chuck."
Fear does strange things to a man. Shrill screams. Flop sweats. Talking spider hallucinations. Steeling my nerve, I prepared to soldier on. Only one of us was going to make it out of this alive.
"Please don't. I'm just relaxing." The spider hunkers down a bit, "Spent all night on this web and a bird destroyed it. Was thinking about moving in here." It bobs up and down, looking about. "Care for a roommate? Seems lonely in here."
Ok, fine. I've lost it or it's talking to me. I'm just going to roll with it, see if I can sort out a diplomatic solution. The Sunday Edition is more of a weapon of final resort. "Uh...you can talk?"
"I can." Its voice was oddly suited to its form. Sort of a high pitched borderline squeak.
"Are you a magic spider?" I ask, my brain trying to piece together what the hell is going on.
Chuck appears to consider this for a moment, his little fangs moving about. "No. I think you're a magic human."
"What? Why?" I'd never thought of myself as particularly magic before. There was that one time when I won scratchers three times in a row in, but that alway seemed more lucky than magic.
"Because I always say hi to my neighbors, but you're the first to respond." The fangs begin working again, "So either everyone else is quite inconsiderate or you're different."
"Yes, well, I think you best make your way outside, I'm not letting out any rooms at the moment." It seemed like the sensible response. I had no desire to kill him, just remove him from the house.
"I could capture some bugs for you. Pay my way." Chuck offered.
"I don't really mind bugs." I replied.
"But you mind spiders?" Chuck asked, curious.
"Yes. I am something of an arachnophobe." Honestly seemed like the best policy here.
"That's rather speciest of you. Is it because our eyes can see into your soul?" Whelp, there it was. Proof, directly from the spider's mouth.
"Mostly the idea of you feasting upon my innards and envenoming me as I slumber." And also the soul thing. I did wonder what my soul looked like. It was also oddly comforting to know I had one.
"Oh, I'm on an insect cleanse right now, so no problem there." Chuck was spinning a small web between two of his legs, idly passing the time as he spoke.
"I um..." ...I was trying to figure out what an insect cleanse would do. What was he cleansing? From where? For what purpose? "...I could maybe lease you a space in the garage. It's dark and I don't get in there often."
"Oh, that would be just lovely. Do you have anything in a wood pile? That's my preference." Chuck liked wood piles, all of the charm of a forest with none of the bird chaos.
I nod dumbly to the spider, "Yea, uhh, follow me."
**PART 2: A MAN AND HIS SPIDER**
I open the door to the garage and I am instantly greeted by a chorus of tiny voices, all chattering amongst themselves. I can only catch tidbits amongst the general din of activity.
"Oh, I find symmetrical webbing is the way to go \-\-"
"\-\-symmetrical? You're insane. Much higher efficiency with asymmetrica\-\-"
"\-\-why bother with a web at all? Just jump at them\-\-"
"\-\-SYMMETRICAL OR DEATH."
I gulp, placing a hand on the wall beside to me to brace myself. Dizzying fear enveloped me and I felt nauseous as the gravity of the situation settled upon me. I had an infestation. There were dozens of them. Hundreds. The soul\-peepers had taken over my garage. I felt bile rising in my throat, and I gagged into my hand. "Oh...oh God," I gagged again, "oh they're everywhere."
"Bunch of freeloaders," offers Chuck, clearly a bit put out that he'll be competing for the wood loft apartment. "Did they sign leases too?"
I glance down at Chuck, swallowing back the bile. I feel oddly more comfortable with him now that we'd established a rapport. It just goes to show you what a bit of civility can do. "No, um, I didn't know they were there."
Chuck's foreleg comes up and taps on his chin, lost in thought, "Well, if you're going to be a landlord, you probably need to tighten up your eviction policy."
"Um, the Sunday Edition was my eviction policy," I admit, my face blushing.
"That's rather barbaric...you know, I don't think I caught your name."
"Oh, sorry, it's Dexter," I reply.
"Oh, well that's rather barbaric Dexter. Communication is the soul of civilization."
"I didn't know spiders could talk," I offer, still feeling out of sorts.
"We didn't know humans could listen," he replies, a bit of mirth coming through the tiny voice.
"Listen Chuck, how about this? I give you the wood pile, but you act as my property manager for the garage. Maybe the house. I just want to not worry about spider issues any more."
Chuck thinks this over, his little leg coming to his chin again. "I'll need to run it by my lawyer," he holds out his little leg, "just kidding, spiders don't have lawyers, that's ridiculous. We do it all on a leg bump."
Gulping one more time, I give it a little bump.
**Platypus out.**
**Oh, you want more peril?** r/PerilousPlatypus
|
"Thank you for coming in today Mr... Goliath Bird Eating Spider... I hope you understand that this mock up is to make me feel as comfortable as you probably are around me."
I stare at the huge ass tarantula on the table in front of me. Uh, about five feet in front of me. The big guys fangs fidget about before he talks back to me.
"It's no problem sir. Just ready to know how I may be of service."
"Right, right. So, let's start off with some basic questions. Why do you want to work at my house?"
"It's nice, cozy in the winter and I came a long way from falling off a delivery truck coming to the states. Been fending for myself until I saw your sign outside and hoped I could find a good home."
"Oh, the sign. I thought I asked Dennis to drag that back in."
I fidget with my pen as I try to write out my thoughts on a paper to try and make notes on what a spider that can kill a bird is able to do around the house. I already thought Dennis was a bit big to have around, but getting over my phobia I think is finally making me a bit too sympathetic.
"What are your strengths and weaknesses Mr. Bird Eater?"
"Uh, strengths are I'm very large, I could work as pest control and I'm fuzzy, so hopefully I can double as a fluffy pet. Weaknesses are I don't actually eat birds that often, I have venom, but it's not lethal and I guess... I guess maybe I am a bit too large."
The spider fidgets a bit more as I chew on the tip of my pen.
"OK. Final question Mr. Bird Eater. Since you are going to be doing a service for me, what are some things I can do for you?"
The spider goes suddenly still before answering, "I'd just like a place where I'm welcome. Not get chased away or almost crushed. I'll make it worth it and do anything I can to help around if it means having an actual home."
I stare at the big guy and smile. A genuine one for the first time.
"I think we can find room for you in this place buddy. We'd be happy to have you in this family."
I stand up, walk over to him and raise my hand out instinctively to which I almost regret. But the moment he raises a leg in response relieves the tension in my arm. I grab the leg with my thumb and index finger and give it a little shake.
| 2018-04-25T13:53:31 | 2018-04-25T13:51:45 | 215 | 68 |
[WP] Turns out mom and dad used to be the top agents of the KGB and CIA respectively. Big brother now is top gun at MI6 and little sister is the best of Mossad. You've just figured this out and now you have to explain who you work for.
|
"No! You guys aren't getting this!" I sputtered out. It takes a lot of talent to get me to the point of mental exhaustion, but after three hours of this, I was at my wits end.
"It's just a grocery store! I bag groceries. That's not a fucking keyword or a fucking secret code. People buy groceries, and I put them in bags. Sometimes I deliver them to their car."
My family always had high expectations for each other. I mean, who could blame them? My mother captured and interrogated my father back in the 60's, and then they fell in love... I guess during the interrogation? I don't really want to think about that weird porn scene. When my mother reported back to "The Bosses" (the Government), dad managed to escape. They played a cat and mouse game for a while, but ultimately they settled down after their 'spy games' or whatever you wanted to call them were done.
That's how many family does; it's just their modus. Now, my siblings are in their own little clandestine warfare games, mom is still consulting... Grandpa died "In Asia" last year, and I guarantee it was from a gunshot. We never even got to see the body. Everyone's just okay with this. Everyone but me.
I don't like people dying. I don't even like thinking about politics, let alone murder... but that's what I've got. A family of murderers. They talk in their secret little codes all the time, but I've managed to figure out a lot of it. I know they've each killed at least someone.
Someone is dead because of each member of my family. At least four people. I don't know how many, but I know it's at least four... and it just keeps going on in my head. Four people... dead. They want me to join their little group, too! Even Dad, in that loud Russian tone he takes when he's angry, talks down to me whenever he gets the chance. I don't want to be a spy, and I don't want to kill someone.
Here we are, trying to eat a holiday meal, and we can't even do that in peace. Instead of listening to what I was actually saying to them, they decided it must all be secret spy code bullshit, I must be trying to uphold the 'family's honor' or whatever, and three hours later I am still trying to convince them that I work at the local Shop Mart.
"Yes, and I'm sure that after you 'deliver their groceries', you get a nice, fat 'tip', before everyone starts calling you Edward again, right?" my brother chimes in, American accent slipping through the English rouse. My dear, sweet sister looks sternly across the table from me. Brows furrowed, eyes sharp... the eyes of a murderer. A killer. I snap.
"I fucking get it!" I yell, rising from the dinner table. The seat flies behind me and tips over. "I fucking get it, all of you! You're a bunch of Double-Oh-Seven secret agent murderers, and that life is **so fucking great**! Why doesn't Ed go and sign up for the DGSE, live in some foreign locale, and go shooting up anyone the government wants *dead* like a nice little sheep!"
I'm standing at a table facing four military trained killers, and I don't care anymore. I'm pretty sure... hell, I'm certain that they've each figured out six different ways of incapacitating or killing me within a few seconds. Let them come; I won't be a part of this anymore.
"It's so *unfortunate* that little Ed has *morals*! Little Ed has a *conscience*! Little Ed isn't impressed with a bunch of government *stooges* that know how to end someone's life when the big hand of the state points! How many are you **fuckers** up to? Fourty? Sixty? More? You should be ashamed of yourselves. You should feel sick because of the things you've done. I know I am, when I think of you all. They put normal people in *jail* for killing another person, but when the *government* decides that it's okay to train a bunch of psychopaths to end peoples' lives, that's fine. Whatever it takes to get the job done."
I scan their faces. Dad is surprised. Sister is stoic. Brother keeps stumbling over sounds, trying to get something out. Mom looks... scared? Intimidated? I hope she is. I hope she sees fire in my routinely calm eyes. They're not normal. They're sick, and they should know.
"Little Ed isn't going to be a stooge, and he sure as **fuck** isn't going to kill someone at someone else's bequest. Clearly, we can't even have a calm family dinner anymore, since I'm a disappointment for not wanting to end peoples' lives."
I give them ten seconds to say something. The best any of them get is big bro stuttering "Bu-... Th-... We..."
A parting shot. "Have fun, Casa de Rosenberg. Let me know when you've discovered remorse."
I leave the kitchen and walk out the door, swiping my coat off the chair it lay on, and start marching down the road. I don't have a long walk, and I'm certain they've probably put a tracing bug or something equally stupid and 'spy-like' on something.
I hate that I can't be a part of my family. I hate that I can't stomach being a spy, so that I can impress everyone, and be accepted in the one group I'd hope to be accepted in. However, I can't stand by and let things that shouldn't happen just happen. It's not coded to my DNA; there is no justice in government ordered killings, no morality in murder, and no sincerity in a life designed around covert lies. I can't be a part of their world, and I can't be a part of their family without it.
Fifteen minutes later, I make it to the park, over to the densely wooded area where I left my bag. Under the cover of the darkness, I'm able to change pretty quickly, pocketing my things appropriately. I go ahead and stuff the old clothes and my coat into the case and leave it on the nearest park bench... after all, there will probably be a homeless gentleman sleeping here soon enough, and someone might as well get use of some warmth. It'll throw my family off any trail they might have, at least.
I'm worried that my family might try to follow me. They are spies, after all. Hopefully, they get the message and just leave me alone. I don't want involved in their phony, evil system. If they start trying to track me, though... they'll have to go to jail. That's all there is to it. It makes me nervous enough to fiddle with the elastic on the back of my neck; a couple thugs isn't difficult, but family members? Family member spies? It will be an interesting story, whatever happens.
I point my grappling hook at the nearest skyscraper. There's work to be done.
|
Dad came into the living room as I was watching the latest shows on Netflix. Netflix is a particular thing, you know. It always has semi-decent movies, but then always has those 5 star TV series. Why can't they give me good movies to go along with the TV shows, or bad TV shows to go with the movies? Ok, so my dad sat into the brown recliner chair next to the couch I was sitting on. Only thing is, he didn't recline in the chair. He sat over his legs, hands intertwined like the typical "Thinker" pose. He looks at me. I scramble to find the remote and fall on my ass like an idiot that I am and turn off the TV.
"Son. I think you're old enough to have the talk now."I want to tell you the old family tradition," my dad said with an incredibly serious look I've never seen on his face ever.
"Jeez. You know Dad, I kind of already know about it already. I'm 22 and all," I reply in a self-doubting voice.
My dad lifted an eyebrow in confusion and then placed his hand on his face. He shook his head. "No Son, It's not 'that' kind of talk. I'm going to tell you the truth about our family's jobs."
"Oh yeah. I know Dad. Jacob's a pen salesman, Erika is a tutor, Mom's an accountant, and you'e a retired lawyer." I gave a nervous laugh. Not a loud laugh or a quiet laugh, but one of those laughs you do at an not-so-funny joke.
My dad gave a big sigh and looked me straight in the eyes. "We're a family of government agents. I was part of the CIA, your mom was part of the KGB. Your brother and sister are in there own little government agencies as well. I know this is big to take in, but we wanted to tell you before you start up a job."
I stood up from the couch. I circle around the couch and walk with my head low.
"Sorry Son," my dad says, "You deserve to know this. I'm sorry if you feel burdened by this."
I was half way around the living room now. I put one foot in front of the other. Each sock touching the other.
My dad looked down, tilting his glasses further down his big bumpy nose. He kept staring down into the carpet waiting for a response. I kept walking until I was behind him. I lifted my head, "Dad, I'm fine. Thank you really. This doesn't faze me at all." He turns around to see a gun pointed to his forehead at point blank range and a crooked smile on his beloved son. The trigger is pulled. "I know Dad, I know. Guess what! I'm an agent too."
I walk towards the stairs and come up to my room. There I see 3 hanging heads. Jacob, Erika, and my mom. I smile and say," I love you guys. Don't you worry. I'm going to continue our tradition."
| 2015-11-08T22:20:58 | 2015-11-08T20:42:31 | 26 | 10 |
[WP] When did you realise you were dead?
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Last night, I killed a man. I put a gun up to his head and blew his fucking brains out. It happened right downstairs, in my own house.
It happened late at night. Very late. It might have been 2am, it could have been 4; Im not really sure, my mind has been in a complete haze ever since it happened. I had been drinking and smoking before I did it, but that wasnt the reason I killed him. No, the alcohol and drugs were just motivation, the extra push I needed to go through with it. He destroyed my life, and the only way I could get even was to end his.
You have to understand that killing him was the only option left for me. My wife left me because of him. He got between us and changed our relationship. We use to love each other and talk to each other every single day. There were no secrets and no boundaries between us. But then he showed up and our relationship deteriorated. This man, he toyed with me and my thoughts. He convinced me that my wife didnt love me, even though I knew she did. I dont know why I kept on listening to him, when I knew what he was saying was wrong. He was the one who convinced me that my wife was cheating on me, and even though he never had any hard proof to show me, he always had a certain way with words; words that would make me believe in things that didnt actually exist. "yea we dont know for certain that shes cheating on you, but why is it that she goes out with her girl friends later and later and more often now?" he would say to me. "Why is that she is so distant from you now? Why does she never tell you about her day like she use to?" he would tell me. He created a web of lies and portrayed them to me in such a way that I could no longer believe the truth, all I could think about was what he would tell me.
I remember the first time he showed up in my life. I was a happy person before; I had a loving wife, a great son, a terrific job, and family and friends who loved me. I dont know why I became friends with him, but I did. And that's when everything fell apart. He would beg me to go out drinking after work, and somehow he would always convince me to do so, even though all I wanted to do was go home and be with my wife and kid. I never hated my job, but he made me realize that my job, my boss, were taking advantage of me. I shouldnt have believed him, but like I said, he had a way with words. He had a way of creating doubt in my mind, a doubt that led me to distance my self from everyone around me.
My wife and I started fighting, daily. At one point I tried to get myself together, I even told my wife about him, but she just called me crazy and told me "you're a grown man, you should act like it and get a control of your life." She left me soon after, and took my son with her. It got really lonely after that. I couldnt concentrate on work, I couldnt enjoy anything, and I barely talked to any of my friends...except for him. No matter how hard I tried, how many times I told him to leave me alone, he somehow always crept back into my life. But for some reason, I didnt mind. He made me feel whole, in a world that was slowly slipping away from me. He would take me out drinking, and convince me to to flirt and go home with less than questionable looking women. It wasnt long after that that I lost my job as well. And thats when I knew I had to do it. I had to kill him, it was the only way. I knew he would never leave me alone, and that I wasnt strong enough to take him out of my life.
So this last week I started planning on how to do it. Even though he was constantly around me, I still managed to create the perfect plan. I was very discreet, never letting him know my intentions...but in a way, I felt like he knew what was coming, like he could read my mind. After a week of planning, last night finally presented the perfect opportunity. He came over to my house with a 18 pack, and we drank them all. It got late, and I told him I was going to sleep, and he could crash on my couch if he wanted. And he did. I went upstairs for 10-15 minutes, but it felt like hours. I came back down, when I knew he was in a deep sleep, and I put that gun to his head. I pulled that trigger, without thinking twice.
So here I am. Sitting in my room, trying to remember the events of last night. Half the time, it doesnt even seem real, it seems like some bizarre lucid dream that ive been trapped inside of since it happened. I know the only way to get out of this daze is to go downstairs, look at him in the face, and acknowledge for certain that I did what I did.
As I slowly walked down the stairs, I couldnt help but think if there was anything else I could have done. Since I shot him dead, I repeatedly asked myself if what I did was right, and over and over my thoughts would tell me no, and the guilt and remorse would overtake my emotions, and for a few brief moments after I would feel like a good man. I reached the bottom of the stairs, and could see the mans lifeless bleeding body just a few feet away from me. And again I asked myself, is what I did right? But this time, I wasnt expecting the answer I received, "yes, this was the only way." For the first time since last night, it all finally made sense. The man that ruined my life, the man that I shot, the Man that I killed... That man, was me.
|
I sat there slumped against countless bodies.
The fighting lasted for what seemed like days but was in fact only 6 hours.
6 hours of these two armies throwing themselves at each other with no regard for their own life.
The only reason I stayed alive this long was because I was the only one being careful, but you can only do so much against an enemy willing to die for his cause.
To be truthful I don't even know what we're fighting for, I just know there's nothing for me back home anymore.
As I looked out into the horizon I just saw bodies littering the field that was once green. This was the last big push of the war for both sides apparently, the general told us that all of our 4 million troops would be fighting in this battle together hoping to overwhelm the enemy but they did the same.
I remember how the battle began, everyone charging through the fields swords out since all of our ammunition had been spent days ago during our countless firing at each other.
We were all exhausted and in the midst of fighting when we heard the bombs drop.
They shelled all of us with no regard for which side we were on. Men held onto each other and cried no matter what side they were on. We were all going to die on this battlefield together.
The splattered remains of bodies and brain matter covered my arms and chest.
I tried to get up but couldn't make it more than a few inches from the ground.
I looked down to wipe the blood from my legs when I realized that the blood and muscle covering my chest was chunks of my legs. My whole entire lower half of my body was gone.
There's no way I can recover from this.
There's nothing I can do anymore.
I'm a dead man.
The sun began to set over the eerie silent battlefield as I shut my eyes for the last time.
| 2015-06-26T08:46:16 | 2015-06-26T08:17:37 | 37 | 13 |
[WP] You are an immortal serial killer. You were caught and sentenced to life in prison. The prison is starting to get suspicious of why you won't age.
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I could hear the muffled voice of Williams coming down the corridor. As he passed cell doors, I heard him saying to his companion the name of the inmate, the reason he was on “The Last Mile” and how long he’d been there. It was something I’d heard happening many times, a ritual or a routine whenever Williams had a visitor or someone to impress.
The names were familiar to me, but I’d never seen them in person; they don’t allow Last Mile inmates to fraternise. I knew their voices. Andy with his 40-a-day grumble, Mike’s voice that sang and swooped. Gerry who had a silky tenor voice that I knew he’d used to seduce the women he’d slaughtered. Frank, well, Frank was just Frank - he always sounded nervous. I’d talk with those voices late in the evening when the guards had gone home. Some had been around long enough to get to know me a bit, but no-one had been here as long as me.
Williams got to my cell. I stood and waited opposite the door. The hatch scraped back, revealing a rectangle of his face with another set of eyes behind him. William’s face was fleshy, but betrayed signs of age in the wrinkles. The hair was grey, tired and thin. As he peered at me over his half-moon spectacles, he announced me to his visitor.
“And this, is Jimmy Wait.” I raised an eyebrow ever so slightly and Williams quickly corrected himself. “Err, ah, sorry, I mean this is James Wright. Um. He’s our longest resident.”
The second set of eyes narrowed. “Why’s he been here so long? He’s long overdue, no court proceedings or pardon on the way. Why so long?”
“Well, Mr Kingsley, it’s not like we’ve not tried a few times.” Williams’ eyes attempted to pierce my gaze. I smiled slightly at him and looked straight back. My smile didn’t reach my eyes, they were still cold and stony. A blink could wait.
“What happened last time? Surely you can’t be making this many mistakes with an inmate. The governor wouldn’t have stood for it.”
I decided to have some fun. “It’s not his fault Mr Kingsley. I’m afraid it’s mine.” I could see Williams colour - his cheeks becoming rosy red. He didn’t like me. I didn’t fit the mould. However, Mr Kingsley’s eyes narrowed further. This was fun, the most fun I’d had since they last changed the guard.
“It’s like this Mr Kingsley. On the first occasion back in 1945, they used a firing squad, then in 1956 it was the electric chair. In 1963 a lethal injection. I think they’re still wondering what to try next.” I allowed a small smile to appear on my lips.
Kingsley’s eyes disappeared as he looked down at something. I heard a folder opening and a lot of paper shuffling. “Errr. One sec…” he said. I was happy to wait.
Finally, he looked up. “This can’t be possible. He’s been here since 1924! He murdered those people in 1921. It says here he was twenty-two when he arrived.” Kingsley’s eyes came back to mine. “And that means he’s seventy eight now!”
Williams glanced down at the folder Kingsley must have been carrying. “I know. That’s what I thought when I came here too. Heh. You get used to it.”
“Mr Wright, what is going on here? What are you doing? Why are you still alive?” Kingsley voice betrayed a vulnerability. Good.
“It’s simple Mr Kingsley. I just wait.”
“What do you mean, you just wait?” I could see Williams recognising a familiar conversation.
“Oh, just that. I wait.”
“Mr Williams?” Ah. It was that point when the incoming wanted to talk privately with the outgoing. I could wait.
The faces disappeared from the cell hatch. The footsteps faded. Unusually Williams had left the cell hatch open. That was good. I’d waited a long time for that.
I could hear murmuring further up the corridor. Intangible voices, a conversation of some interest was on-going. I’d waited long enough, today was the day to join in.
I retrieved the wire I’d had taken from the electric chair back in 1956 and attached it to the key. They’d not changed the cell door keys since the 1920’s, what was the point? I’d memorised all the keys by 1936 – the guards used to just have them hanging there on their key-chain, so easy to see. During the 1940’s I’d created a set of keys from metal I’d managed to extract from the bed. It had taken a long time, but I could wait.
Now, at last, they’d left the hatch open, unattended. The first time in more than twenty thousand days.
They were surprised when I joined them in their heated debate. Even more surprised when the blade whispered through their jugulars. The keys worked just as I knew they would. Time had been kind. Only seventy odd years this time. I really must get more careful, but hey, I could wait…
|
I'm immortal. I got caught during my regular decade old ritual, killing someone I thought deserved it. This time it was a paedophile I caught in the act. The kid ran away and I couldn't absolve myself.
I'm 50 going on 50000, I've seen civilizations born and die. I've met the world's most famous warlords and Kings. Even a god here or there. But now I'm stuck, in a super max prison. I get 1 hour of time every day outside of my cell, in an enclosed area 30 by 30 feet, by 20 feet high. The other 23 hours I'm confined to my cell.
I killed three guards trying to escape one time. I've killed six inmates in the past three years. I'm on a one way mission to get the state to reinstate the death penalty, just biding my time. It kills me to have to become a monster to get out of here. But I know the only way out is in a body bag.
Please kill me. The suffering needs to end.
| 2016-10-15T10:46:42 | 2016-10-15T08:43:24 | 51 | 15 |
[WP] When space colonies became a practical reality, the rich and powerful left Earth in droves, leaving the rest of humanity behind on a broken world. A few centuries later, Earth has, through much effort, been restored to its former glory. Now the colonists want to return.
|
BE 355: The first colony on Mars was established.
BE 289: The entirety of Mars was colonized.
BE 264: The first Mass Exodus happened. With its richest populace leaving for Mars, come all the wealth and material they amassed. Earth face a starvation problem that affect 5.6 out of its remaining 8 billions population. Mars Colonies declare independent from Earth.
BE 230: The end of First Post Exodus Crisis. Earth population fell to 3.6 billions. The United Nation disbanded after failing to coordinate the response to the crisis while Mars enjoy its first golden age which last to BE 190.
BE 200: The second Mass Exodus. Again the richest and most powerful people left for Mars with much of Earth wealth and materials in tow. Start of 2nd Post Exodus Crisis.
BE 198: Earth population fell to 3.2 billions. Mass starvation is the norm. The Future Foundation is established by the remnants of former US, Russia, Chinese, Germany and many other more scientific institutes. The Future Foundation base itself in New Gulf of Tonkin, one of the few area left on Earth that can still produce food and materials needed for the FF's research.
BE 196: First breakthroughs of FF. The invention of the first semi eternal engine (SEE) allow major advancement in land reclaimation project. For the first time in forever, Earth has hope.
BE 194: FF Foundation share their 2nd gen SEE to the rest of the world. SEE allow the surviving population to devote more effort for combating the famine while retaining their land reclaimation project.
BE 177: The first year when Earth have positive population gain of 1.
BE 160: As FF share their advancement with the survivors, the world population grow ever closer after losing everything to the 2 Mass Exodus and its following Crisises.
BE 155: To combat any future crisis, the surviving populace band together under Federation of Earth, disbanding their old governments and putting aside their difference.
BE 154: Mars 2nd golden age as they managed to acquire a first gen SEE through unknown means.
BE 100: Earth population return to 5 billions. The environment return to pre industrial revolution level stability thanks to FF effort to not only return civilization to its glory but also to maintain stability for aeon to come.
BE 80: Start of First Mars crisis and civil war. One third of Mars colonies are rendered uninhabitable by the time the war end. Earth enter a golden age.
BE 60: End of First Mars Civil War. 5 millions Martian died on the voyage to return to Earth, shot down by the Camptanian government of Mars.
BE 30: 2nd Mars Civil War. Camptanian government employ scorched earth tactic to root out their oppositions.
BE 14: End of 2nd Mars Civil War. Mars population drop down to 700 million, less than a fourth of its peak. Inhabitable colonies are less than 10 out of the 69 during the 2nd Mars Golden Age.
BE 5: Martian government reestablished contact with Earth, demanding to be allowed to return to Earth after their satellites find that Earth has become essentially a paradise. The Federation reject their demand, offering to send them aid in form of food instead. The formation of Federation Space Navy.
BE 1: Martian sent their ultimatum, demanding the Federation to lay down their weapons or face destruction. Martian unmanned automatic spacecrafts began sabotaging the Federation satellites. Most were destroyed by Federation Space Navy ships with 5th gen SEE.
The Emergence: Martian spaceships enter Earth orbit. Start of the the war for Earth.
AE 1: FSN maintained complete space superiority. The Martian spaceships are completely wiped out without any of them landing on Earth itself.
AE 2, Secundus 30. I'm writing this as I head to the newest addition to the FSN fleet, FSN Ra, named after an ancient Egyptian god. The Federation had decided yesterday that they will not stand idling on the receiving end of Martian transgression. It was the Martian who strip Earth of its resource and bailed to the colonies, cutting off Earth in the process. The populace, descendants of people who were abandoned, had made their choice. Earth is their home, and they will not yield it to the greedy people who do nothing but take. The FF had call for a less violent approach but they had not make any push for it after the Martian trangression using a first gen SEE. Our mission is clear, to render the Martian incapable of attacking Earth for at least 10 years, for while they are enemies, they are still human like us, and the Federation wish that one day they may change their way for the better.
|
It was a simple thing really, they had to get tested for diseases and immunities to ensure they could actually return to Earth. All having passed they were welcomed into the processing center where awaited their personal "immunization feasts". Fine meals prepared with all the specifics they needed to fix and adapt their internal microbes to allow them to actually survive on Earth.
Old Earth culture had a saying, "eat the rich". Well, once the fungus and other plant processors take root and turn them into proper nutrient fertilizers as best fits their individual bio-chemical make ups...we can actually try the products from them and see how our ancestor's dreams taste.
| 2022-01-06T04:12:13 | 2022-01-05T22:39:26 | 60 | 33 |
[WP] One day, every person spontaneously gains a superpower based on their job. Psychologists gain telepathy, Firefighters can waterbend or firebend, Pilots can fly. Your job, previously looked down upon, yields the strongest power of them all.
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*You better go to college, sweetie, or you'll end up like THAT person!*
I've heard that mantra more times than I can care to count. Not that I can count that high, unfortunately. I was born with an impairment. At least, that's what my dad called it. My mom was more... soft about it than my dad and never wanted to talk about it. My dad, on the other hand, was not shy about it. He was never derogatory or insulting, but rather just matter-of-fact about it. I was born this way, and nothing they could do could help. I was a 30 year old man, but on a good day I had the mental faculties of a pre-teen. Not those pre-teens you see on TV shows or movies, who seem capable of figuring out everything up to and including nuclear physics, but rather the stereotypical 12 year old who knows enough to be generally self-sufficient, but is far from a productive adult.
I was a security guard. I worked the night shift at some corporate buildings, with cubicles inside and hot asphalt outside. I live in Phoenix, AZ, and the overnight temps can still be over 90 degrees at midnight. The worksite, in the east valley, offers its employees onsite child care. Apparently that's a big deal, and people are always walking up to me to ask for an application while I'm at work. Drunk people at 3:00am asking for job applications can be very scary.
My IQ is 75, which means I'm about as 75% as smart as the average person. I understand things about 75% as much as the average person, and my overall job performance is about 75% of fully proficient. My bosses and the people in the office seem to like me, so I'm kept around even though others can definitely do a better job. My presence scares away most troublemakers, so the risk is minimal. I liked the job and the job liked me, even though I was only about 75% as good as anybody else at it.
I was at work, about an hour from changeover, when the world had a changeover. If you believed the talking heads on the news channels, the magnetic poles swapped places while the Earth was in the middle of a severe radiation storm from a recent solar coronal mass ejection. The intense radiation that swept over the planet affected life differently. The higher the intelligence, the more intense the effects. This held true for more than just humans. Dolphins and elephants, known for their intelligence, seemed to grow the abilities to talk, use tools, and other steps formally only known to be human skills. An African bull elephant in must wielding a blacksmith hammer is quite a bloody spectacle.
Humans seemed to gain supernatural powers, based on much of their pre-calamity lives.
Oh, right, Pre-calamity. I forgot to mention that there were millions of people who did not survive. The unbelievable toll this event had on the world cannot be understated. Over the course of several weeks, populations lived in turmoil as cancers ravaged cities, looters caused destruction, and crime waves took over many large urban areas.
About 3 weeks after the calamity, rumors of superheroes started to spread around the city. As a security guard, my job is more secure than average because troubles bring the need for reassurance, and having me around helped calm nerves.
Something tipped me off that I was changed during one of my morning rounds. Many of the IT people come in really early to get a jump on the work, and post-calamity work was especially hard. I can't get into details, due to confidentiality, but the customer and supplier lists now needed MAJOR changes and mergers. Chuck, one of the lead developers, often talks to me about what he is doing. I generally have no idea what he is talking about, and I think he likes to hear himself talk and talking organizes his thoughts. When I suggested reorganizing some of the problematic objects into linked object groups, we both paused for a few minutes. I had NO clue what he generally talked about, but now I suddenly do. When I got off my shift, I changed into my civilian clothes and hung out with Chuck some more. For the 3 hours I was there, I understood about 75% of what he was saying and what was on his screen. It was absolutely amazing!
Tired from a late night and wanting to get to bed, I still needed to swing by the store to pick up some items. My mom didn't survive the calamity, so my dad and I were trying to figure out our new normal. He was a chef before he retired and turned back to cooking as a distraction. Tonight's dinner was a chicken lo mein and he needed some items. The Asian food aisle in the local supermarket was always interesting to me. I could read just fine, except for big words, and handling money wasn't difficult. This morning, though, was even more odd. I could read the packages. Written Chinese looked visually complex, and it was all I could do to find English translations on the packages. Today, though, I looked at those same characters and I just knew what they were. Or, about what 75% of them were. Even sleeping when I got home was different. I always needed 8 hours to function. Bed at noon, alarm at 8:00pm. Except today. Bed at noon, woke up by myself at 6:00pm. Sometimes I flutter awake before my alarm, easily get back to sleep, and wake up with my alarm. Not tonight. Eyes seemed to snap open at 6:00pm, with me fully awake and alert. Math was always hard, but for some reason I just knew that 6 hours of sleep was 75% of 8 hours.
The calamity was 10 years ago. Since then, I've realized that I'm 75% as good at anything as anybody else. The hero Lightspeed is rumored to run a mach 10. I've been clocked at mach 7.5. Mr. Highjump can leap 1 mile in the air. I can, as you guessed, jump 3/4 of a mile. At first, I thought my power was pathetic. Like my impairment pre-calamity, I'll never be as good as the others. Before long, though, I realized I wasn't 75% of the average, I was 75% of the best. At least, the best I have so far experienced. Hero or supervillain, I am 75% any and all of them.
I am Quarterback. From protecting a corporate park as a below average person, I now protect the planet from threats as they arise. Every power has a weakness. As I have every power, I have every weakness, and I know how to use them to my advantage. It's like fire and water. Too much water and the fire goes out. Too much fire and the water boils away. There is a balance where the fire and water exist together, neither gaining the upper hand. I am like that, except infinitely more complex. Lady Sonic, who can create sonic waves that can crack walls and rupture eardrums, can be thwarted by The Phase Twins. They can vibrate their bodies together at any frequency, so can easily slip through Lady Sonic's strongest attacks. The Twins, though, are stopped by The Graviturgist. His name is a bit much, true, but he can manipulate local gravity fields such that two objects in resonance (like The Phase Twins) are pulled out of resonance. On and on it goes, with heros and villains in a perpetual dance. I am all of them and none of them, and they all know it.
I am Quarterback. I'm here to help.
|
I'm a Diener. It isn't a coveted job, after all, who in their right mind wants to look at dead people all day? I'll tell you who, necrophiliacs, and people like me. No discernable traits, no talent, just an everyday average Joe. All we have to do is make sure the body looks neat and tidy so that it can rot in the ground with fashion.
The job was a little... depressing, to say the least. Working day in and day out, knowing that one day, you'd be the person inside of one of those caskets. It was a mundane life. The days appeared grey and emotionless. You would see kids hardly old enough to walk sitting in front of you. You can't get emotionally invested in something like that, it'll break you faster than you think. Seeing a life that never had a chance to truly live is one of the hardest parts of this job, that's why I have to stay unbiased when performing my duties.
I almost wish I had listened to my parents back then when they told me to become a doctor. Saving lives seems a lot more attractive than packing them away and sending them into the dirt. Although, I'm glad I didn't listen to them though. The day we were given powers was the day the world changed for the better. Those who dedicated themselves to their jobs were the strongest, gaining abilities that'd help them progress their careers even further.
Those who worked as part-timers, received lower-end abilities, such as greater strength/speed to restock products faster. I'd never thought of myself as someone who was dedicated to their job. I clocked in early in the morning and left at night, just like anybody else. However, the day the voices spoke to us, and gifted our powers, I heard something else. People remembered the words that were spoken on that day. "Bask in our glory, write your own story." The words were plastered across the nation. Graffiti, national news, bathroom stalls, and even the bathroom at my own house, which was a bit scary, to say the least.
I heard more than those words. They weren't words that were spoken to me, it was more like a soft hum from the voice of a talented female singer. It was soothing, I nearly fell asleep on top of the body I'd been preparing. The voice sang to me, it was as if her voice was able to take the form of any instrument and play it tactfully through her throat. Although they were just sounds, I heard words breaking through the facade of peace. My grey world was skewed, for the first time in years, I saw color.
"But when it ends, don't beg for more."
I faded into a slumber, the soothing voice seemingly rocked me back and forth, as if I were a baby being put to sleep by their mother. When I awoke, another voice spoke to me, different from the last, I could hardly make it out, but it all made sense when I saw a dead body I'd been working on panicking as it sat up straight.
"... Reaper." Is what I thought heard as I saw the ex-dead body hyperventilating before me. I reached out to her, touching her in shock, as I touched her body, she fell back onto the bed, stagnant as her eyes sat opened wide, fear filling them as her gaping mouth let out its last puff of air.
Ever since that day, things haven't changed much. Instead of putting people into the dirt with fashion, I just send them into oblivion without the fancy clothes. A bit of a downgrade if you ask me.
| 2021-05-09T21:13:19 | 2021-05-09T20:49:28 | 99 | 28 |
[WP] You spent most of your life trying to prove there is an end to Pi. After writing down the last digit, the numerals begin to glow.
|
I realized it when I was 11 years old.
It was all flawed. All the mathematics that I was learning in school was flawed. This was the only year when I had finally begun to understand maths. After seeing my terrible grades, my father had took it upon himself to teach me and that was when he stopped beating me up. He was a strict teacher but he taught well. I had started to love maths. It was easy, like a game, but mostly it was redundant.
The way we saw numbers was illogical or rather incomplete. I found it weird how we must use ten different symbols arranged in a particular order to represent a quantity. I started to understand equations with unknown variables a little. They felt beautiful. Much more beautiful than numbers. I'd be mildly irritated whenever I was close to a solution because that meant I had to substitute the variables with their quantities to get the final answer. I decided to do something about it.
I created a new method to represent quantities. I was done with numbers. People only used numbers because their teachers told them to. People here were banning old rituals but what about what matters the most? what about numbers? They are old. Stop using them. Maybe no one really thought that numbers were old fashioned. That was the problem.
I decided to show my system of representing quantities to my father. I was afraid at first, but then realized how much he loved when I came up with a correct answer using a method different than his own.
I went to him prepared with everything written in my book: description of my system, representations of various quantities, quick way to convert to and from the usual numbers and my numbers.
He was sitting on his rocking chair blowing out smoke up towards the ceiling with a cigarette in his right hand and spectacles in his left one. Hmm.. nothing new, I thought until I saw a bottle of alcohol on his lap. His drunken mode was like an upgrade to his usual self. He'd beat me up harder whenever he'd drink. I sometimes wished I had a mother too. A friend had told me once that his mother bought an icecream for him everyday and, also, his mother probably never hits him. I think. Anyway, I wanted icecreams too. I decided to get out for now and get an icecream. I still had some money left. I slowly turned around befor he could notice and headed towards the door.
"What do you want?"
Too late. I turned around and told him in a shaky voice what I think about the numbers everyone uses.
"What do you mean flawed?" he looked at me, his voice unnaturally calm.
"The way we do it is not exactly the best," I opened my notebook and showed him. "I created this system so that it's easi-"
He smacked my face. Now that felt natural. My book lay at his feet and his spectacles beside it. The papers were crushed. Ughh... this was a mistake. I shouldn't have brought the book here with me. The folding marks on papers in notebooks always infuriated me. I'll have to tear a lot of them from this book.
"Damn it!" he shouted. "Damn you! I had promised her I wouldn't hit you again."
Not to hit me? I didn't get it. My heart was beating furiously. And promised who? I was shocked. I thought he had stopped beating me because I was getting better at maths. I didn't understand anything. I was sweating a little.
I was pretty used to this experience. I knew what was going to happen now. He was going to kick me a little, then make me stand, then punch, then hold me against the wall and slap and punch some more. Considering the fact that he was drunk, he'd take longer for this session and hit me harder.
This was nothing new to me. This time I was determined to control my feelings. I tried hard to focus. It would start with my breath. I concentrated on controlling my breath but couldn't hold it for longer than three seconds. It got faster. Shit! I was lost. My heart sped up with it's usual blood pumping. I couldn't control anything. My hands were shaking involuntarily. The insides of my eyes started to ache a little. I couldn't take it anymore. I let out a sob then immediately held my tears.
"Get out." He said as he lifted up his spectacles and sat back.
"You think you can just insult everything that I've taught you? People have worked for this since generations and you think you can just piss on all their work, kid? Listen well, you are going to get this bullshit out of your head. Don't make me feel that I wasted my time teaching you. You have your exams next week. Get out before I kick your stupid face. Stop being such a burden to me." he was looking at the ceiling.
I got up and left the room. Then ran outside the house. I had to go somewhere no one could see or hear me. I went behind our house below the unfinished bridge and sat down. I cried a lot that day.
*/\*continued in a comment to this one.\*/*
|
"Holy shit. The last number."
I had done it. Finished Pi. I fucking knew there was an end to this. Hell, I just revolutionized math. I'd become famous. I'd make a bunch of money. I'd be able to pay my student debt. I could get the car I've always wanted. Afford any video game I wanted. Take...wait a second.
"Why the hell is the paper glowing."
It had been faint at first. Playing tricks with my eyes, until it started glowing like a faint glowstick. The papers thrown all over my room, all of them, lighting in unity.
This was not how I saw my day going, but couldn't complain. All the lights were kind of beautiful. I was so caught up with them, I hadn't heard the rumbling coming from them until it was too late.
And that's how I got vaporized.
| 2018-07-01T11:06:21 | 2018-07-01T09:40:35 | 30 | 12 |
[WP] The planet experienced a nuclear fallout. You saw this coming months before, created a shelter, and have since been living in it for 20 years. One day, you decide to go outside. You open the sealed vault and the first thing you see are flashing cameras and a huge audience cheering as you exit..
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I stared at the concrete wall, my only view for all these long, lonely years. Today was the day I would make the final tally mark, day number 7,300... 20 years.
20 damned years since the door closed behind me, since my only source of light became the single fluorescent strip on the ceiling, since all my food came in cans, since fresh water became nothing but a distant memory. I had made provisions for precisely 20 years, as I figured that's how long it would take radiation to subside from the local area, I had felt no direct hit, no rumbling or tremors from great explosions tearing into the earth and vaporizing the people upon it.
I had long planned to shield myself from the nuclear holocaust, I had spotted the warning signs years before, conflicts across the globe, proxy wars backed by the great superpower nations. I knew they would escalate, I knew there was no stepping back from the brink... I had to survive.
I gathered the resources I needed, draining my savings, selling off my personal belongings... I had no need for trinkets in the struggle to come. I dug down into my back garden, laid the foundations of my concrete tomb, my home for 20 years when the nuclear fire came. It took many months, but I succeeded in building myself a shelter. I ensured there was plumbing, running water, a flushing toilet, enough electricity to power the lights, refrigeration, air filtration and the small television and DVD player I would take with me for entertainment.
As my final preparations came to a close, I kept a close eye on the news, watching with dread as situations around the globe escalated... the end was drawing near. I quit my job, there was no commotion from my coworkers, I'd never made any friends, I had no family, I was alone in the world and I knew that I had to desire to outlive and survive anybody else. Then, the news finally came... WAR.
I awoke on my bed, in the bedroom in my house with a start. The sirens were deafening, I turned on the television... the emergency broadcast signal had taken over each channel, this was it! I gathered my final supplies, clothes, an electric razor, my tool kit, my shotgun and shells, my wind-up torch and made for the shelter. I heard helicopter blades through the blare of the sirens, the poor fools, they had no idea of what was to come. I reached the shelter entrance, pulled up the hidden trapdoor-buried beneath the lawn- and looked back at the house, for a second I felt as if someone was watching me as I entered my shelter, so I made sure I held my shotgun high enough for any potential intruders to see that I was armed... and ready.
That is all I can remember from that day, it was so long ago and though the last 20 twenty years have been a monotonous, endless slog of maintenance, eating, sleeping, cleaning and re-watching films for what felt like the millionth time it has become a blur to me. I've tried many times to document my memories, however I sit to write, my mind draws a blank... who in god's name am I writing for? Who the hell could have survived global thermonuclear war? Nobody, that's who.
And now, here I sit, on my bed, facing my wall of tally marks... questioning whether I should leave my home of the last 20 years, when I entered I was still a young man, just 27 years old... I'm 47 now and though I've managed to work out, eat relatively well and train in preparation for this day, I feel like I cannot leave. However, yet again my self preservation skills must prevail, the systems kept in place to keep me alive are set to cease automatically on this very day, in the next minute or so... midday, Saturday August 30th 2036.
I went to the bathroom, shave for the first time in months, my face and my head. I gathered my survival pack, 20 years in the making, enough food and water to last a few days, a first aid kit, spare clothes, my shotgun and shells (that I never had to use, gladly) and made my way towards the door, I had stood here many times before, listening for signs of life, footsteps, anything to prove that there was life outside... but so signs ever came. I breathed deeply and sighed, uttering my first words in years... "Right, here we go" my voice sounded strange, older, raspy... it wasn't the voice I remember, I've become an old man. I reached towards the door, twisted the steel handle and pulled it towards me, the smell of dust and earth filled the sterile-smelling bunker (I'd always ensured to fully clean the place, not much else I could do) I coughed and wheezed as I searched for the lock to the trap door, it was covered in dust but shone as I wiped it clean... I searched in my pocket for the key, kept on my bedside table all these years, inserted it in the lock, twisted it and it clicked open... again I breathed deeply and sighed "OK world, I'm back" as I gingerly pushed the doors outwards, there was nothing but darkness, pitch black.
I slowly made my way up the stairs, shotgun held tightly in both hands and peered into the darkness, there was nothing and then...
My eyes burned, blinded by the greatest flash I had ever seen. Pure and brilliant white, had I been shot? Was this it? I put my hands before my eyes, desperate to recover my vision... then I heard applause... APPLAUSE and cheering, whooping. I desperately looked around, my vision slowly returning, at the gathered crowds, seated in bleachers where my I assumed my house had once stood... then I heard an even louder voice over a speaker system "GIIIIIIVE IT UP FOR HIM FOLKS, HERE HE IS, THEEEEE SURVIVOR!!!"
A tall, athletic man walked up to me, microphone in hand, in a cobalt blue pinstripe suit and matching tie... he beamed a toothy, white smile as he drew near me... a raised my shotgun towards his head "STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!" I bellowed "WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS? WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU? WHO THE FUCK ARE THEY?" The bastard never stopped smiling... "Whoa, whoa folks, look here folks, seems like the survivor really has honed his skills over these past years huh?" He turned from me towards them "Must have been all those action films he's been watching huh? And all those push-ups!" the crowd cheered and bellowed... how the fuck did he know about my films, my training? How the fuck did he know I was even down there... slowly it began to dawn on me. I started to well up, a tear ran down my face "Oh my god" I mumbled... the pinstripe man turned to face me again, he picked the microphone up to his face "WWWWHAT'S THAT MR SURVIVOR, DO YOU HAVE SOME WORDS FOR YOUR FANS?" he pushed the microphone towards my face and held it there...
I couldn't speak, I began to bawl... the horrid truth dawned on me, I had been living a lie for all these years, for the world's fucking amusement. The pinstripe man was relentless and pushed me for an answer "come on man, say something, you've got millions hanging on your every word here" he insisted, I looked him straight in the eye... pulled myself together "Fuck you" I mumbled, he returned the microphone to his mouth "SORRY MR SURVIVOR, DIDN'T QUITE CATCH THAT!" he pushed the microphone back towards me, my grip on my shotgun tightened, I leaned in "I said... FUCK YOU!" The crowd fell silent... I stepped back, lifted my shotgun and pointed it at his head, looked him dead in the eyes, the bastard was still smiling, I felt my finger squeeze the trigger... and it clicked, nothing.
The crowd erupted into hysterics, tears in their eyes... pointing and laughing. The pinstripe man did the same.
I had survived.
|
It was 2024.
Trump was in his last year of presidency. During his seven-year run up to World War III, he somehow managed to increase nuclear tensions with a lot of powerhouse countries. He officially supported the release of "The Interview II", which angered North Korea enough for Kim Jong-Un to arm his nukes and threaten to push the big red button.
Trump managed to insult Putin so much (who was re-elected by popular vote after sitting out of an election), making snarky comments about his baldness and his kids. Putin was also ready to fire the nukes, but not only aimed at the U.S. Putin was also in arguments with North Korea, and was ready to fire at them if the need arose.
A few more countries joined in on this nuke threat (the UK, China, Mexico, Canada, and Iran, among others). Any sane reporter reported that "the next world war" would start in less than a month, before Trump was out of presidency. However, I was already on top of the problem.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Once the U.S. and North Korea started to get into nuclear tensions, I started to gather materials for my bunker. Over 5,000 chlorine tablets, gardening supplies, a shit ton of canned food and frozen goodies, renewable energy (along with about a car-full of batteries, a truck-full of gas, a state-of-the-art generator, and some renewable energy sources). It took me a couple of weeks, and a maxed out credit card, but I had all the materials I needed for the bunker. I assembled it (out of pure concrete, steel, and other materials) in the middle of a farm in Illinois, and went to go hide away my stay. With no connection to the outside world (except for my phone), I vowed to leave my bunker 20 years after I had first entered it.
____
Unbeknownst to me, every single country came to an agreement to not destroy the world with nukes, and peacefully solve the tensions with a series of meetings involving all of the major world leaders. I had no idea about this, as the only cell tower near me was moved to a more populous location by AT&T. The last news article I saw before my complete removal from society was "Trump and Kim Jong-Un reach last straw with teaser trailer for 'The Interview - Part III', and Kim Jong-Un promises to fire nukes 'before the end of the week'". This led me to false suspicion that the nuclear war was actually happening.
____
The year was 2036.
I was twelve years, three months, and twelve days into my stay at my bunker. I've figured out how to solve a rubix cube in under four seconds (which took a better part of a year), and I've been pizza-less for twelve years, three months, and five days. Unbeknownst to me, right outside of my bunker was a very confused farmer. This farmer eventually told his local police station, who told the local news station, etc. My story eventually got run by the U.S. president (who shall not be named), and he decided to not inform me that there was, in fact, no nuclear fallout. Instead, cameras, xrays, and microphones were set up to monitor my isolation experience, 'for science'. Looking back on the experience, I think that the president just wanted to prank me in the shittiest way possible.
______
The year was now 2044. It was exactly the 7,305th day of my time in the bunker, and therefore the last. I was prepared to exit my bunker for the first time. I prepared my handgun, pocket knife, along with ID, documentation, and my cell phone. As I exited, I was mobbed by cameramen, and a singular reporter asking me one question.
"How was your life in the bunker? How did you survive for twenty years?"
And I thought, did I have a kick-ass story to tell.
(Part 2 is being worked on, and if a lot of people are looking forward to it, I could have it finished in a few hours!) Thanks for reading!
| 2016-08-31T08:06:19 | 2016-08-31T06:13:36 | 15 | 11 |
[WP] The colony ship arrived in orbit after a thousand year voyage. But the AI never woke the occupants. Millions of years pass, the planet below has formed life, intelligent life, and their scientists have just woken you, one of the colonists.
|
The harsh lights of the stasis chamber faded as the visor closed over my head. A short message - "**Personnel secured. The Dandelion will launch in - 3 minutes. When you awake, you will be ready to colonize a suitable planet"**
A short countdown to stasis. 3... 2... 1...
A blink, just a blink, and the visor was opening again. It felt like an instant but I knew hundreds of years had passed. I didn't know what I was looking at however...
Strange things. Not human. Aliens? Aboard our ship? But how? Had we been intercepted by a more advanced race? No. Their suits looked primitive - on the level of what had been first used to go to the moon. It was hard to see through their helmets, but their body shape was vaguely humanoid.
"What's happening?" I said, though I didn't expect a response. They wouldn't speak our language. Sure enough, dead silence, a tilt of the head that was clearly an exchange of confused looks.
That was okay. I had trained for this. We all had. I used simple gestures; Them, A question. It took a few attempts for them to catch on, but eventually one of them made a small noise, perhaps of recognition. They gestured back.; Themselves, Out the window. No, not out the window, at the planet - well, at the planet out the window.
Had the destination already been inhabited? But with technology like that, how had they reached us before the computer woke everyone? Why wasn't the computer waking everyone? The ship was still dormant. I gestured; myself - I hesitated - past the planet, at the distant stars. We were from beyond the stars.
One of them seemed nervous. The other hopped excitedly. It felt rude, but I slipped past them to the main computer terminal. They followed me up the steps to the console where I scanned my card into the system. It obediently whirred to life.
**Good Awakening** the AI said.
"Situation report" I asked.
The Others cowered back at the disembodied voice of the AI. They huddled in the corner of the bridge, watching me work.
**Results** the AI said, and it spat out a log onto the screen. I panned through it. The date caught my eye.
"Why have we been dormant in orbit for... close to a million years?" I demanded. This was clear violation of the AI's protocol! This should not have happened!
**Directives** the AI said. It was infuriating, how such an advanced system could only respond with such vague words and phrases. Communicating with the AI was an ordeal in and of itself - but that was my job.
"Elaborate - what directive prevented you from starting phase 2?" I asked.
**Directive 2** the AI said.
I had to pan through the system files for that one - while I was working, the Others overcame their fear and started to creep further into the room.
Directive 2 stated "The planet must be capable of sustaining life"
"Directive 2 did not stop you from starting phase 2," I said.
**Incorrect** said the AI.
"Explain," was all I had left to say. Was it broken? This planet was specifically chosen as the first target because it was capable of sustaining life.
**'Capable' - Improperly defined** the AI said.
That response caught me off guard. "How was 'capable' improperly defined?"
**Statistic - 32.3% of observed potential class-A planets do not support life**
The Others were right behind me now, making mystified noises and peering at the controls. One of them reached toward a panel, but I didn't need to stop them. The biometrics would only take my inputs until I signed out.
"How did you resolve this?" I asked. No sense in beating around the bush any longer.
**Observation of development** was all the AI said.
It took me a few moments to understand. "Are you telling me you waited a million years for this planet to develop sentient life to prove it could support life?"
**Incorrect - Only 873,492 years have elapsed** the AI unhelpfully corrected.
That mystery solved there was nothing and everything left to consider. I couldn't handle it on my own. "Wake Specialist Nim" I told the computer.
There were five total specialists on board the colony ship - meant to govern and assist the thousands of colonists; The AI specialist - myself, the infrastructure specialist, the psychiatry specialist, the coordination specialist, and Nim - the extracommunications specialist.
Nim had a way with gestures and creative interpretation. She was brought along specifically to communicate with any alien life we might have encountered. Many had scoffed at her inclusion, but she was already proving useful.
It took Nim a few minutes to reach the bridge. She saw the Others and understood immediately. I couldn't follow their conversation - made entirely of gestures - so I turned back to the terminal and did what I did best.
"Why did you wait so long to wake us after life developed?"
**Development not equal to support**
"How long were you planning to wait until you came to a conclusion?"
**ERR: Undefined**
"Scan the planet," It wasn't worth pushing that issue any further. The AI wouldn't feel regret or remorse.
**Affirmative.**
The scans showed a level of development equal to 1980s earth technology. A well-developed society just starting to explore their close orbit. The more I looked at the scans the more my heart fell - but I couldn't tell why.
Nim was done communicating for the moment. "They said they've been working on space travel to see what this place was," she said to me. "Their telescopes had identified it as artificial, but they didn't know how or why - until now. They want to know what we're going to do now that we're awake. What should I tell them?"
"Tell them they should go back to their ship - we're leaving," I said.
"What? Why?" Nim asked.
"They've already colonized this planet. We can't just drop a couple thousand humans on them and expect everything to work out. That would be suicide. This is their planet now."
Nim waved goodbye to the Others as they returned to the airlock they had entered from. I returned to the computer.
"For future operations; wake me if there is a definition error," I said to the computer.
**Affirmative.**
"Set course for candidate B."
**Affirmative. Please return to your stasis chamber.**
I pulled out my card and walked back to my chamber. A million years - wasted! Would the other planets still be suitable after all that time? There was only one way to find out.
The harsh lights of the stasis chamber faded as the visor closed over my head. A short message; "**Personnel secured. The Dandelion will launch in - 3 minutes. When you awake, you will be ready to colonize a suitable planet."**
A short countdown to stasis. 3... 2... 1...
|
I don't really write much, feel free to give any feedback possible. Even if it's harsh I can take it!
They tell you a lot of sweet nothings when recruiters look for new expedition team members. "You'll be a pioneer, your name will ring throughout history." Or how about this one, "You might get a planet named after you." They even lure you in for petty reasons "Someone like you looks too good to be single, maybe you just need a different environment to be appreciated."
They'll tell you all that, what they won't tell you is, "Yeah, the system that should wake you up will malfunction, standard IT issue you know. You'll just end up orbiting around a planet for 1,000,000 years, no big deal". Or maybe something more relevant, like "Yeah, You'll probably be woken up by some scary aliens with weapons pointed at you."
They don't tell you that part.
Right? How inconsiderate of them!..and yes, if you were struggling to keep up, the last two lines were the only ones that happened.
"What are you whispering about over there, you're going to get us shot!"
I stole a glance at Daniella, my crew mate, and whispered "I have a tape recorder in my suit, I'm making a documentary for my future kids."
"Future ki-, are you incapable of reading a room?"
As she spoke, a laser beam squeezed it's way between us.
"SILENCE!"
A tall, hooded figure weaved its way through the wall of brutes in front of us. Even though it "walked" on two legs, it'd be more accurate to say it slithered towards us. It froze a few meters in front of us, slowly reached its arms up, and removed its hood to reveal a human! Sort of, even though it looked human, my intuition told me it wasn't. As I pondered this, the entity in front of us brought out a stack and paper.
It lowered its head and announced "You two are under arrest for crimes against the World Space Law as dictated by Chapter 328A Section 58Z. You stand accused of trespassing for over a million years, attempted worldly invasion, and conspiring to undermine all known world order."
Instinctively I started looking around in confusion, it must have taken it a different way because it interjected "The rest of your crew as already been tried and punished..."
Beings from behind it came and put us in handcuffs as it rambled on.
"Anything you do, say, or potentially think can, will, and shall be used against you. You have no right to a fair trial, a lawyer, or evaluation from your peers". Even though it was probably saying words of importance, my mind couldn't help drift to another pressing thought.
Great, getting bent and fucked over by another planet's legal system....gotta add that to list of things they never told me about.
| 2022-09-21T10:06:28 | 2022-09-21T09:35:21 | 137 | 31 |
[WP]: "I'm sorry. I just don't understand how you managed to fuck up a five-word sentence, offend the inhabitants of three planets and start a world war at the same time."
|
"What are you in for?" my cellmate asked.
"Grammar," I said, my eyes fixed on the wall.
"Hmm?" he said, sitting up in his bunk to hear me better. "You say something about your Grandma?"
"No," I said. "*Grammar*. The rules of composition for effective communication."
He laughed. "How did grammar get you thrown in mega-max?"
"It's fucking hard in French," I said.
"Really? I thought French and English have a lot in common."
"Well, they do, in terms of vocabulary. But there's a lot of really big differences. Especially verbs and tenses."
"Oh?"
"Yeah, for instance, they have two verbs for putting something in the past tense: *Être* and *avoir*. Some verbs take one, some take the other, some take both depending on circumstance."
"Doesn't sound like that big of a deal."
"You don't watch the news much, do you?"
"No," he said, "we're not allowed to watch it in here. The only thing I hear about the outside is through new cellmates. And my last cellmate before you kicked it about a year ago."
I laughed. "No wonder you didn't recognize me."
"So are you gonna tell me what you're really in for?"
"Depends. Are you religious?"
"Lapsed Buddhist," he said.
"Ah, that's fine. As long as you're nothing Abrahamic. Most Abrahamic people want to kill me."
"Why's that?"
"Got Jerusalem nuked. And Mecca and Medina. And Bethlehem. Lots of other places too, but those are the ones they're all pissed about."
"Oh," he said. "So *that's* what you're in for."
"Well it wasn't on purpose. It was just a mistake." I sighed. "But yeah, that's why I'm in mega-max. And why I'm in mega-max on Europa. Earth, Mars, Ceres, lots of Christians and Muslims and Jews there, so they all sort of want to kill me. People would've burnt down the prisons just to get me. The hope is that on a rock like this, where everyone's Hindu or Buddhist or whatnot, I won't get murdered too fast."
"I don't get how this can have been over a French grammar mistake," he said.
"It was, I swear. A five-word sentence."
He raised his voice slightly, annoyed. "I'm sorry. I just don't understand how you managed to fuck up a five-word sentence, offend the inhabitants of three planets and start a world war at the same time."
"Well, uh, you see... I was the secretary-general of the U.N.," I said. "I was negotiating the final terms of peace in the Middle East, and they don't love English-speakers down there, and French is the number-two international language, so we decided we'd use that. Well, the talks were at that delicate point right at the end, where it looks like smooth sailing, but there's also the highest risk of someone backing out and things going really badly."
"And...?"
"I told you. *Être* and *avoir*. You see, *messieurs-dames, nous avons tous fini* means 'ladies and gentlemen, we're all finished' in the 'done with our task' sense of the word 'finished.' *Messieurs-dames, nous* sommes *tous finis* means 'ladies and gentlemen, we're all finished' in the 'gonna die' sense of the word 'finished.' So I came out of the negotiating room to tell the crowd we'd reached an agreement, and... Well the rest is history."
"Well shit," he said.
"Yep," I said.
"Incidentally," he asked, "how did South Asia fare during the war?"
"Pretty bad. Things spiraled out from the Middle East onward, India and Japan got into a pretty big war with Pakistan and China."
"Huh. Can't have been good for Nepal," he said.
I chuckled morbidly. "God no. Whole country got nuked to Hell."
He didn't laugh back. I heard his bunk creak as he rose. "The *whole* country? Including Lumbini? Where Lord Buddha was born?!"
I gulped. "Listen, man, I told you, it was all an accident."
And then his hands were around my neck.
----
Edit: I know "Thanks for the gold"-style comments are gauche, but I just wanna say, in addition to getting me gold, this comment has pushed my total combined karma to over 100,000. Feels good to do it on a comment I'm proud of. Thanks y'all.
|
Timothy looked at the computer console in horror. He'd clicked the 'send' button by mistake. Their intergalactic reputation was ruined. In a haste to send a galactic broadcast message, Timothy had used the copy-paste feature to quickly select some text.
The issue was, Timothy had not actually input the correct command; he was a key off. He ended up pasting a crude message from an online forum. He could not react fast enough, and sent it by mistake.
His supervisor looked on in horror as he broadcast: "You cock juggling thundercunt fuckers" to the whole galaxy.
| 2015-06-19T05:45:51 | 2015-06-19T01:12:02 | 1,136 | 126 |
[WP] When two people get married, on the day of the wedding they are both given the ability to alter the appearance of their spouse to anything they wish. How do they change each other? How do they respond to what has been done to them?
|
With a seating capacity of 1,250, the Renaissance Revival edifice of St. James Cathedral loomed majestically over the understatedly aristocratic First Hill neighborhood in Seattle. Parking for Christmas and Easter was hard to come by. Yet parking was even harder to come by for the wedding of Brendan Alexander McClain and Ah-Young "Angie" Cho. The reception would be smaller, since that was invite-only and it wasn't like a blind veteran and a 108-year-old Korean widow had more than a thousand friends and family nor the budget for a thousand-person reception. Yet well over two thousand people packed the cathedral, and multiple unauthorized livestreams were running from within the assembled masses at this particular nuptial mass.
As best anyone could tell, this was a genuinely organic test of how far a Matrimorphosis, as it had been cheekily called at first before people found that the name simply stuck, would go.
Of course, as soon as the phenomenon had begun to emerge, curious scientists had attempted to stage weddings to push the phenomenon to its limit. It had never worked. Somehow, whatever force was behind these apparent miracles was sufficiently omniscient to know when it was being conned. Scientists tended to resist using the word *God*, but nevertheless, whatever the rules were, they were apparently sufficiently intelligent to be flexible and both anticipate and react to attempts to manipulate it. When pressed on why they resisted the obvious affectation, scientists noted that whatever force was at work was sufficiently ecumenical that Matrimorphosis worked at Christian, Jewish, Hindu, Muslim, Zoroastrian, and even druidic and other pagan weddings. Believers noted that it *hadn't* worked at popup wedding in Las Vegas and elsewhere, leading to a rapid decline of that particular marriage tourism industry.
Brendan and Angie really didn't care about the science, or at least so they convincingly claimed. They'd even asked if they could limit the crowd, but their nuptial mass was still a regular mass at the Cathedral and open to the public. The real difference was how *interested* people were. The best they could do was reserve seats for those they really cared about. But blind men tended not to have particularly robust social circles and Brendan was an only child with only three aunts and uncles, even counting both sides of his family, and two cousins. As for Angie, she had one son from her first marriage, who had had one daughter of his own, who had had one son of her own, who was currently forty-two, unmarried, and childless. In total, they'd managed to get the invite list up to eighty before the rest of their wedding was observed by complete strangers.
"You're lucky," Angie whispered to Brendan as they helped each other--with surprisingly little help from the ushers, though those waited anxiously nearby in case they were needed--"you're just getting married in the dark. I'm getting married in a fishbowl."
Brendan smiled. "What're the odds they actually stay for the whole mass?"
"That's what I love about you, dear. Your infectious optimism."
"Part o' me Irish charm."
"Oh please. Remember, I can still say no."
"Not for long."
Angie smiled. "Sounds like fun."
"And that's what I love about you, dear. Your kinky centenarian mind."
"I will spank you with my cane, whether I still need it after today or not."
"I have a cane, too. *En garde*, lassie."
Angie laughed. Others might have called it rough and croaking. Brendan called it musical. He admitted that it didn't sound so different from the laughs of other older women that sounded like sandpaper on concrete, but the real difference was that he had made her laugh.
"Nervous?" she asked after a brief pause.
"Nah. I could take you."
"Oh for G … wait, I really shouldn't say that here. Well, for gosh sakes."
"Golly gee goodness gracious, I know."
"Seriously?"
"Seriously? Well, in that case, yeah, I'm nervous as hell. It's my wedding day."
"Come on, you know what I mean."
"Not at all. I'm still leaving here married to you. And that's what matters."
Even blind, he felt the warmth of her smile. "Yeah you are. And yeah it does."
And on that thought, the bells began to ring.
The Extraordinary Form of the mass, or what was commonly informally called the Latin Mass, had enjoyed something of a renaissance even before the Matrimorphosis phenomenon had emerged, as an anchor of tradition and mysticism and timelessness in a world devoid of and hungry for all of those. It had become even more popular after that, for a more practical reason: the wedding vows were exchanged and the marriage solemnized at the *start* of the ceremony, with the mass following. From the perspective of the Church, this was so the first thing the new couple did was attend mass together. Of course, now that was more like the *second* thing the couple did; the first thing they did was change each other forever, since the Matrimorphosis triggered as soon as the vows were sealed. *Then* the newly-wed, and newly-remade, couple sat by each other at church for another hour to hour and a half. So the assembled and livestreaming inquiring (and mostly non-Catholic) minds would get the answers to the questions they were really here for soon enough.
Could the Matrimorphosis literally give sight to the blind?
How could a blind man change his wife to appear as the greatest desire of his heart--or other parts of his anatomy, by which many a Matrimorphosis had clearly been motivated--when the very concept of appearance was almost alien to him?
The ceremony began and progressed quickly to the exchange of *I do*. The now-familiar ambient rush of the Matrimorphosis followed, like sound so low it had to be felt rather than heard, though still somehow capable of being amplified by the vaults of St. James' ceiling. As predicted, most of the assembled throng in the back slipped out quickly after that, the buzz of the conversation beginning even before they'd cleared the nave. Brendan smiled and gripped Angie's hand in a way that wordlessly but unmistakably said *I told you so*. She gripped his back in a way that wordlessly but unmistakably said *I know, silly. Let them go gossip*.
Despite the fact that the nuptial mass continued--in fact, it had barely begun--Angie risked a whisper to her new husband. "You look good."
He grinned. "So do you," he replied.
And they all lived happily ever after.
|
It was a chilled autumn evening when Jaina’s cold ring finger was suddenly surrounded by a warmth that ran up to her knuckle.
“Will you marry me?” said Jonathan.
To him, she was the most beautiful woman in the world. And in that brief moment, perhaps just long enough to say “yes,” Jonathan became the happiest man in the world.
For years, Jonathan had wondered if he would ever get married. Although he has been told that he had gorgeous eyes (his best friend, Kayla, always told him he had the doe eyes), he had never been complimented in any other way. He was on the shorter side. The many years he spent sitting in front of a screen writing millions upon millions of lines of code left him in a rather… Well, he was in shape. He was just a circle.
Frankly, Jonathan was just happy that someone finally loved him for… Well… Him!
The days flew by as their wedding day approached.
The night before their wedding, a strange spirit appeared before the couple.
“On the day of your wedding, I shall allow you each to alter the appearances of one another as you so please!”
*poof*
The spirit vanished.
“The Hell was that?” Asked Jaina.
“I honestly have no clue. Like we literally had no dialogue, this spooky ghost just appears before us, and tells us this. I don’t know what to tell you.”
“I mean… I guess we could give it a try? Let’s just both think of how we want each his other to look, and maybe this isn’t some wacky prank.”
“If that’s really what you want, I guess I’ll do it.”
A day passed.
Jonathan looked in the mirror. He looked nothing like he used to. He had broad shoulders, chiseled six pack abs, and blue eyes.
He texted Jaina and they met up immediately.
Jaina was furious as she angrily exclaimed, “What the Hell!!! I thought you agreed to make me look perfect! YOU got to become the perfect man. But I’m still stuck here with freakin’ B-cups!”
Jonathan stared into her eyes. “My dear, I always thought you were perfect just the way you are.”
Jaina quickly responded, “Look, we can always fix some of these issues later, but I can’t believe you wasted this magic wish! Now we have to get plastic surgery, which could leave scars on me! HOW COULD YOU BE THIS SELFISH???”
“… Goodbye,” said Jonathan as he began to walk away. Tears began dripping down the side of his cheek.
Jonathan then sent Kayla a quick text: “You were right.”
An instant response, “No worries! You’ll always have me around! You still on for coming with me to that Chess tournament on Saturday?”
Jonathan smiled and texted back a simple “yes.”
| 2022-12-08T01:35:51 | 2022-12-08T00:57:21 | 185 | 40 |
[WP] You were born into a society where permanent augmented reality contact lenses are fused onto every newborn's eyes. You're unaware of this until one day, a lens falls into your left hand.
|
I had sneezed with my eyes open. I heard the stories, of people losing their eyeballs or having their brains pop out through their eye sockets. I knew it was all bull crap though. But now I look down as half of my right eyeball came off and landed in my tissue. I was stunned in horror. Finally my thinking caught up with me and I could still see out of my right eye, no damage done. I had no idea what I was looking at. I quickly pocketed whatever it was, and continued on my way.
The conflicting scene made my eyes water immediately. My left eye was seeing the world as it is, a bright blue sky with the sun shining down. Green grass next to the white sidewalk. Bright and beautiful buildings turned the skyline into a wonderful kaleidoscope. My right eye, the damaged one, saw only grey and cracked walkways, a smog filled sky and dirty grey buildings of blandness. I blinked my eyes to clear the confusion to no avail. Winking one eye at a time revealed that I was seeing two distinct realities. I had to get home quickly.
I closed the door behind me as I entered my flat. Finally my eyes could slightly agree on what they could see, a simple, utilitarian studio apartment. My right eye saw the curtains were grey instead of red, and my bed cover was also grey instead of blue, but at least everything looked roughly the same. I headed for my bathroom.
I unwrapped the eyeball piece from the tissue and held it up to the light to get a better look at it. When peering closely, I could almost make out a tiny visual feed being projected from the centre. When I spin it around, the dark-blue cells of a solar panel replace the white eyeball I'm used to. It looks almost robotic. I glace at the mirror and almost freak out. My left eye sees my face as normal, but my right eye sees me as gaunt and pale. The most noticeable difference is my eyes, the left is blue and metallic, the right is white and bloodshot. I decide to take a chance. I raise my finger to touch my left eyeball, and it contacts with whatever is covering it. How long has it been here? I had no idea. My eyes always looked normal to me.
I take a much closer look at the video feed coming from the removed lens. I can see a picture of what it's aimed at, but altered. It's more vibrant than what I'm actually seeing with my naked eye, better, brighter.
I look at the mirror again. My left eye looks wrong, metallic and white overlaid together at the same time. I need to get the lens out. With a bit of time, effort and painful eye-rolling I finally manage to pry the lens off my left eye as well. I feel better immediately. My apartment might be small and dingy, but at least I can see what it's really like.
I hear a small beeping noise come from the left lens. I lift it back up to my eye and see a very blurry message:
"Error. Enviroenhancement Lens Damaged. Please stand by as agents will be deployed to help immediately."
Agents? Enviroenhancement? What was this? The sound of agents coming to help didn't sound appealing at all. I quickly leave my apartment. I need to go somewhere safer.
As I exit my apartment building I'm struck by just how dark it is outside. Heavy clouds hang overhead. I think back, and I don't remember clouds being this thick or heavy. Even on the darkest winter day I could still see well. Ah, another trick of the lenses. I turn and head towards the subway. It's fairly crowded on the street, and moving through the crowd requires bumping into people. Not unusual for New Los Angeles.
I turn to cross the street and bump into an unassuming man in a hat and business suit. I pause and stare at him, as he's standing in the exact spot a large tree has stood for every day of my morning commute. He's staring back at me. I apologise and quickly head across the street. The man calls back.
"Hey! Can you see me?"
Oh shit, he must be one of the agents.
"He's running. He can see me! Agent five eighty two found the suspect, following to apprehend."
I look back, and he's talking into a cuff microphone. I swear quietly to myself and break into a sprint.
|
There is an episode of Black Mirror that has a similar premise. I tried to find a way to describe it, but 1, I haven't watched it in a long time, and 2, I am not a good writer. So just watch Black Mirror Season 3 Episode 5 "Men Against Fire"
| 2017-12-17T19:21:27 | 2017-12-17T18:50:57 | 751 | 22 |
[WP] You are part of the league, the superheroes who save the world, yet you never go on missions. You are only called for one thing only. Total annihilation, for when they don't want survivors.
|
They act nice to me. Give me whatever I want, whenever I want. All but what I truly want, no one can grant my wish. But that just comes with the property.
What am I? A god? Am I death, destruction, the ending, a black hole... none of these describe me. I’ve grown bored of trying to find out. Bored of out my mind. Alone. Always alone. Silence is my sound, silence is peace. At least, that’s what I thought. But Will... Will changed that.
Will wasn’t like the others, he didn’t fake a smile. His wonder wasn’t mixed with horror, no... it never was.
You see, I used to be normal. I was born into a wealthy family. My dad was a Super, but he used his powers for his own gain. He was constantly gone, only stopping at home once in a while. My brothers did the same. That’s what saved them. Being gone.
Supers get their powers from ages 15 though 18. Nothing less. Nothing more. That’s what i thought, what they world thought, what everyone knew. When I didn’t get them, I was sad. Happy that I could be normal, but sad that I didn’t fit in with the rest of my family.
My brothers all got powers. Tom could copy the powers of others and Tyler was a shapeshifter. My dad... well, you could call him a siren.
I thought for sure I’d get powers, but 18 came and past. No powers. I accepted it. Went to college, got a job, got married. We wanted two kids, a house with a yard, maybe a dog or two. She loved animals. We met on campus, she was crying over a cat that got ran over. It wasn’t her tears, it wasn’t how pretty she looked, it was the sincerity in her eyes. The grief in her soul that shook my core.
We were staying at my dad’s house for our honeymoon, I went inside to get some drinks. On the way out, she spotted me and started making silly faces. I laughed. She disappeared.
The house disappeared. The neighborhood disappeared. No... not disappeared, destroyed. In an instant. A moment. Gone in silence. Silent.
I was too shocked to do anything. Too shocked to react. At least I did one thing right, stayed quiet.
They came for me. For whatever monster that wreaked this havoc. They found me, crying, silent. Tried to get me to speak, but I didn’t, I wouldn’t. I was 27.
Eventually, I told them. Not verbally, but mentally. Another curse I was given. To see into ones mind, to manipulate it, to speak into it, to crush it.
Their gasps of horror were loud. Too loud. The sound rings in my ears. I can’t think. They’re too loud. They yell, but not out loud. My head hurt, it was too much. I wanted silence. Quiet.
So they gave it to me. And there I was. In the silence. The quiet. Silent.
But then I met Will. He found my powers beautiful, but he didn’t treat me like I was dangerous. Like I couldn’t end his existence with a whisper. To him, I was a regular person who didn’t speak, at least, that’s how he treated me.
Then he made me snort with some corny joke and I blew off his arm. Was I horrified, absolutely. Did I try to help? I did, at first. But before I could do anything, it started to grow back. Not like a plant. But like decay in reverse. Now that, that was horrifying and I ended up getting sick all over the floor. Silently, though.
He also fixed the building i blew a hole through. No one but him was hurt. He told me that they left the building when he visited. Just in case.
His power is rebuilding things on an atomic level. They go back to exactly the way it was before. Even people. But only before they die, otherwise it’s just a dead body in perfect health.
He was with me when they came for me the second time. It had been years. I lost count. The ones that came, were not the ones that put me here. Strange. They certainly weren’t silent, the rude shit heads.
“Sound! Sound, we need you!” A man with a brightly colored suit said, recklessly entering my silence.
“Stop right there!” Will snapped, holding his hand up. He tucked an arm around me, drawing me close. “You cannot enter this room, his presence will kill you!”
The man blanched, quickly retracing his steps.
Will shook his head. “Idiots, all of them. You’d think they read the instructions.”
*Instructions?*
“On how to interact with you. Not anyone can do what I can. Your presence in of itself, is deadly. I am rebuilding myself constantly, but don’t worry, it’s easy.”
*I’m sorry, I wish I could control it.*
“Don’t be sorry, you can’t help it. I’ll go see what they want, I’ll be back.”
With a wink, he left the room. Leaving me in silence. It was loud. I’m so used to his chatter.
I wanted to hear what they were saying, but this room they had me in blocked my mind reading abilities. I guess they dealt with mind readers before.
After about 30 minutes, Will came back in. His face tight and grim. “It’s time for you to leave this place. They need you outside.”
*What for? Are you going to come with me?*
He smiled, “I can’t come with you, but I’ll be somewhere safe, waiting for you. Okay?”
*Okay... you sure you’ll be safe?*
“I promise. Now, onto the details. There’s an alien inva—“
*—HOLY SHIT AILENS EXIST?!*
He winced. “Ow! John, that’s my brain! You are loud!”
*Sorry, continue.*
“As I was saying, there’s aliens. They touched down in New York, I swear I didn’t think the movies would be right. Anyways, it’s getting overrun, the aliens are over powering the Supers. They’ve gone from offense to defense and are focusing solely on evacuation, they need you to wipe everything out.”
*I... I can’t do that. You know I can’t do that! Innocent people will die, they can’t evacuate everyone!*
“Innocent people are dying, it’s too late to stop that from happening. Besides, we had a 2 day head start. Almost all of New York was evacuated along with the neighboring states. They have water type supers ready to stop the tsunami and earth type for any ruptures.”
*Do I have time to think on it?*
“No, you don’t. I’m sorry, John.”
*Oh... I don’t really have a choice, do I?*
“Not if you want human civilization to survive.”
*I... I’m scared. What if I destroy too much? What if I end the world?*
“Don’t think like that, you won’t end the world. You’ll do fine. All you have to say is one word.”
*Just one?*
“Just one.”
I nod. *Okay, I can do that.*
|
I am the Gen-Men's dirty little secret. The one no body talks about. Nobody puts me on the front page of the news, they don't make action figures of me, or hold parades in my honor or put me in comic books. Hell, I don't even have an official Gen-Men name. I'm just plain old Mark Hawkins, but I'm the last line. The point of no return. I'm the guy they send in when everyone else has failed.
'Why is that' I hear you ask. Well because my variant power is death. I don't shoot lasers like Gazer, I can't heal really fast like Badger, I can't fly like Cloudchaser, but I could kill every single one of them. In fact, I totally WOULD kill them and everyone else within 100 yards of me in any direction if it wasn't for the variant suppression collar Doctor Y makes me wear. Most variants absolutely hate these collars, and the Fellowship of Variants calls them an abomination. A way for humans to try to control beings beyond their ken. Maybe they are. I just know that wearing one is the only reason I have any ability to live anything close to a "normal" life.
I'm not really sure how my abilities work, and no one can really run tests without remotely controlled robots, all I know is that if I take the collar off, anything that is living within 100 yards of me suddenly isn't anymore. The bodies have no markings, no sign of what happened to them, but every one of their cells dies instantly. Birds and insects drop out of the sky, plants wither up, even microbes are stopped in their tracks. All I have to do is walk down the street I will sterilize the entire area of anything living. It really sucks.
The good news, if you can call it that, is that Doctor Y managed to identify me with Cortexia, his variant finding super computer, before I did too much damage. The Gen-Men found me and got me a collar when my powers were still in their infancy. Back then I would only cause everyone around me to get sick, not die. I don't like to think about what would have happened if they hadn't got to me in time.
Anyway, enough reminiscence, I'm got a job to do. See there's aliens pouring out of a portal in the sky. These guys are crazy tough. They have managed to take on the Gen-Men, The Revengers, The Protectors of Planets, The Fabulous Five, Weapon 10, Geneforce, and even the Guilded Skater and fought them to a stand still. So Rick Rage got in touch with Doctor V and they agreed to send me in. I really don't want to do this, and honestly I'm practically pissing myself at the idea of facing these things. I mean, what if my powers don't effect them? They're not from Earth, maybe their biology won't be effected by my abilities. Well, I guess there's no use worrying about it. These guys knocked out The Critical Mass, so if my powers don't work on them I stand absolutely NO chance, they'll just turn me into a greasy smear on the ground.
B.A.R.R.I.E.R dropped me off in a helicopter near the biggest portal and my job is to stand here and prevent them from coming through. My fingers are trembling and I'm sweating bullets, but I don't think they've seen me yet. Ah Jeez. Okay... Here we go. Taking the collar off.
| 2021-05-26T09:15:55 | 2021-05-26T08:48:27 | 35 | 17 |
[WP] Good news: You brought home two attractive people after the party. Bad news: You're about to find out what happens when a person gets bitten by both a vampire and a werewolf at the same time.
|
It was in the middle of having some of the best sex of his life that Liam's life changed.
All he could feel was the trail of kisses Gregory and his werewolf licks left on his back while Seth took control of his mouth, sharp vampire fangs making the experience addictive. Gorgeous Gregory behind him and Seductive Seth in front, both doing their absolute best to make him forget his name.
It was here, while Liam was reminded that God was good and lived to bless his children, that he realized that two sets of mouths were nibbling on his neck. While he wasn't the type to shy away from a hickey or two, it was getting a little too intense and Liam could feel a too harsh sting.
Touching his shoulders, his fingers came back red.
"Hey guys, maybe ease up on the biting?"
Two gorgeous faces looked up and smiled sheepishly. "Sorry" they said and gave him one hell of a kiss. Then he forgot everything else as they proved to Liam that bad boys really do bring heaven to you.
It was three months in what he could confidently say was the beginning of a lovely poly relationship that he felt something. A sort of nausea and stomach pain that had his two boyfriends fuss over him for the first day before staunchly pushing him to go to the doctor.
Now he was sitting on a plastic chair, in front of a doctor and he was left wondering if this was a good idea at all.
"What exactly is wrong with me?"
His friend Martha was currently not talking to him, too busy staring wildly at the results in front of her. Had been for the past 5 minutes. The elf doctor was unresponsive to any attempts to get her attention, so Liam settled for throwing a piece of candy at her head.
"Ow! What the fuck?"
"You were ignoring me."
"I was not."
"Can you tell me what's wrong?" he begged. Because he'd been sick and vomiting for the past week and he did not want to find out he had a stomach bug on the day he was scheduled for a sea food buffet.
"Well, your results show...." she trailed off. Liam narrowed his eyes.
"You're afraid of telling me something."
She shook her head frantically. "No of course not!"
Liam just raised an eyebrow. "Then tell me the results."
Her intelligent response was, "Uh...."
"What's wrong Martha?"
"Nothing's wrong exactly!"
"Then stop evading the question."
"I'm not evading," she said evasively.
After a couple of minutes of Liam staring her down, she sighed. Then asked something he completely did not expect.
"Did you come in contact with a werewolf and vampire recently?"
Liam blinked. "No? I mean, I'm not really sure?"
"Well, have you been bitten by anyone recently?"
Liam thought for a while, but came up with a blank. He shook his head, which made Martha look more distressed.
"Are you sure no one's bitten you before?"
Liam was about to nod when he was struck by a memory from three months ago when his two lovely boyfriends made a meal out of him. He couldn't help the blush on his face, which Martha latched on too quickly.
"Oh my god," she said. "You hooked up with them didn't you."
"More like they're my boyfriends now?"
"Oh my god. Liam! Did you let them bite you?!"
"Yeah, actually," he admitted. "But that's okay, they have to consciously give you their blood to make you turn right?"
"Yes, but you're a pureblood human."
"Why's that important?"
Martha rubbed her temples like she was trying to fight off a headache. Or maybe not punch Liam in the face.
"Pureblood humans are so rare these days that most people can't tell them from halflings anymore. And it makes them forget that the lack of magical DNA makes for chaotic results when mixed with magic. If you were a the usual half-elf or half-vamp, nothing would have happened if they bit you. But now..."
The troubled look on Martha's face was really starting to scare him.
"Martha," he pleaded quietly, "what's going on?"
She looked up at him with serious gaze. Took a deep breath. Then said,
"Do you know about the omegaverse?"
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
The door opened to their shared apartment. Gregory and Seth looked up with twin smiles and a greeting on the tip of their tongue. They never got a chance when Liam threw twin plastic sticks in their faces.
Sputtering, the vampire and werewolf duo looked up at a clearly irate Liam, then down on whatever he threw at them. Then blinked.
Because in their hands was two pregnancy tests.
"YOU GOT ME PREGNANT YOU ASSHOLES!"
"WAIT WHAT?!"
|
Ashley looked up. "How did this happen?" She asked, pointing to the sleeping boy.
Mira shrugged. "How the hell should I know?" She asked, scratching hers ear. "We should see what will happen."
Ashley shook hers head. "It could be- gross." She looked at the red head. "You know, you look pretty today."
The pale girl smirked. "As always. But now we have him there... Let's do some experiments." She laughed and looked at hers friend. "C'mon Pup, let's have some fun..."
Ashley smiled softly before lifting the boy up and putting his head underwater.
(This is hella short lol)
| 2022-06-22T20:53:42 | 2022-06-22T20:07:40 | 58 | 13 |
[WP] The Super Smash Bros. characters are pitted against each other in the Hunger Games. Write from any characters perspective.
Inspiration came from just finishing Catching Fire then immediately playing Smash Bros with my roommates, along with a previous writing prompt submitted about disney characters a few weeks ago (credit to that user).
|
The rules have changed. As I watched Wolf and Ganondorf team up on Mario, I cowered in fear behind some nearby brush. As his pixels were sucked into the air, I looked to where he should appear, but he did not come. I looked to the sky (or what I thought was the sky) and saw his face. This was the last time I saw my brother.
Mario was the first to go. Wolf and Ganon seemed surprised at first, but surprise was quickly replaced by delight. The others watched on in horror as they saw the hero of red fire dissapear into flecks. Fear overtook me; I ran.
It is now the second day. Over half of us have died, some villainous, some heroes. Zelda, to everyone's surprise, has sided with Ganon and Wolf. The pokemon have all been wiped out. Samus dissapeared into the caves with Link and Olimar. Falco and Fox headed for the trees. Mr. Game and Watch fell to Ganon as well, but not before hitting a 10 on Wario. That may have been the most horrific death I witnessed. The power in such a small blow... it was overwhelming. As much as I'll miss the weird little fellow, I'm glad he's no longer a threat. Bowser and Peach have teamed up as well, and I heard them calling out to me, but I chose to stay quiet. Safer to travel alone. The others remaining are DK and Diddy, Snake, and Captain Falcon. I decide to stick it out for the day.
Whoever put us in here decided to torture us especially tonight. They replayed the deaths of the fallen. During the day Captain Falcon was struck down by Wolf, and Olimar stepped on an explosive placed by Snake. Worse than the death itself was watching the pikmin trying to wake him up, dissolving in their tiny hands while their flowers wilted as their lives trickled into the void.
During the night Bowser fell victim to one of Snake's traps. Peach didn't take kindly to this. Hell hath no fury indeed. Snake was nearly mush before she swung her golf club for the killing blow. Wolf's death was swift, a blur as Falco and Fox dashed by. They attempted to follow up on Ganon but he grabbed Falco out of midair, breaking his neck with a swift motion. Fox, distracted by his fallen partner, didn't see the fireball until it was far too late.
I am overcome with grief. I am overcome with anger. I hate those who did this to us. This is no longer a game.
Luigi spent the day preparing himself in both mind and body. He watched the death toll rise through the day. Samus and Link fought hard against Zelda and Ganon. Samus fell first, but Ganon was severely wounded. Link attempted to deliver the finishing blow, but was knocked back by Zelda. Sheik then swiftly finished off both, delivering a flurry of knives to each.
But it was Peach that was truly the most frightening. She was no longer a sweet princess, lost to madness she became a queen. Her dress turned maroon with blood as she bludgeoned Diddy into oblivion. DK, enraged at Peach for both the monstrous act she had committed and the loss of his dearest friend let out a roar and perhaps the hardest punch I've seen the beast commit to. And what did she do? She shoved Toad in front of her to die for his Queen. Then, in a puff of poisonous gas, she laughed as DK choked and gasped for air. I knew what I had to do.
An announcement was made that night. Three smash balls would be placed in the center of the arena. Any player could collect as many as they wanted. I leapt to my feet and began running. As I neared the center I noticed my company, one on either side. Peach attempted to close in on me as Zelda launched a fireball in my direction. I leapt to the trees and increased my speed. I needed those smash balls.
I arrived first and landed a blow on the only smash ball I could see. Peach leaped off of my head and smashed it with a frying pan afterwards, but Zelda laid the final blow. She then quickly turned, unleashing her final smash directly at us both. Time stood still as the arrow punctured my hat, dissolving it against a nearby tree. The second smash ball appeared, and we wasted no time to get to it. Zelda landed a fireball, but was blindsided with a hipcheck from Peach. As the battled, I managed to land three hits on the ball before it floated out of my range. I looked up as I caught my breath, only to see Peach laughing as a dark twisted tree rose behind her. Rotten fruit pelted the ground as Sheik and I were put into a fully aware comatose state. I was relieved when Peach decided to finish off Sheik first. She took her time too. But I also knew that meant she considered me less of a threat. I took insult to that. I rose to my feet. But how could I kill peach?
"What about Rosalina?" I muttered to her as she sauntered towards me with a maniacal tick. She was beyond negotiation or talking. "You don't even remember our daughter, you are no longer Peach". With that I leapt for the final smash. I launched two fireballs, hitting directly. Peach launched herself with her umbrella, landing three hits. She always forgets how long it takes to recover from that. I strike the smash ball twice more, and begin my dance of death. Time slows. I learned the technique from the devil himself, offering hundreds of spirits from that accursed mansion as tribute. I give her enough time to look up at me. She does not look at me with eyes that are sad. She does not look at me with anger. I see Peach look at me for the last time, and smile a smile that only Peach could. I deliver the final jab as swiftly as I could, she wouldn't feel a thing. And with that, she was gone. With the battle finally over, relief washed over me. I was the champion of the games.
I am the hero of green fire.
I am the champion.
I am Luigi.
And this is my year.
|
The air's thick in my throat. I'm so tired from running, so I'm taking a breather for a bit. I think I've earned it.
I glance into my bag to see my inventory, and to make sure not too much fell out of my bag. It's not a bad haul: a bow and some arrows, a boomerang, a few small bombs, and a sword. Definitely not lacking on the offensive here.
I look around to take in my surroundings. It's a highly vegetated forest of sorts. Much more than I'm used to. Hyrule had some trees, but nothing this dense. It had been a long time since I had been in a place as darkening to the heart as this.
It was unlike any arena I remembered. There was a lake in the center, and a short amount of beach, with jungle and forest surrounding the rest of the area. From what I could tell, we were shoved into a giant domed circle.
Oh, that's right. "We."
I had basically forgotten about the others. Mario, Samus, Capt. Falcon, Fox, Kirby, and all the rest. This was a battle we were in. This was a hostile environment.
I thanked the gods that I had experience in fighting, especially against these opponents. I knew them inside and out, constantly being forced to fight against them by the Master Hand.
And now, he's thrown us in this pit to die.
At least I have my weapons, I thought. Just my weapons, and my self. The Old Man's words echoed in my head, "it's dangerous to go alone!"
He was right. I needed an ally in all of this. But who would align with me?
My train of thought was derailed by the sound of a stick snapping. I quickly spun around to investigate, drawing an arrow from the quiver and to my bowstring. I approached the bushes slowly.
When suddenly, a fireball!
"It's a mee-"
Silence. The arrow pierced his heart before he could finish. Mario lay dead before me.
| 2014-09-30T21:25:29 | 2014-09-30T21:10:09 | 43 | 12 |
[WP] You have the peculiar ability to pause time. Nothing can move, including yourself, meaning all you get is time to think. Today you find yourself paused with a bullet right in front of your eyes.
|
Well, that sucks.
I’m staring at the bullet frozen in time twenty inches away from my face. When I let the time flow, I’m going to die. Can’t dodge that. No shot.
I sigh ---think of a sigh to be more accurate. Like everything else, I too get frozen in time when time stops.
I got pretty good at thinking myself into doing actions that require moving. It feels really natural pretending that I move. Otherwise the whole racing-mind/frozen-body spooky quantum stringy duality thingy feels even more awkward. Let’s just call my ability --- stopping time--- for what it really is: magic. I have no idea how it works. I’m a wizard. Level twenty Chronomancer. Master of Time who just ran out of time.
So embarrassing.
I think of staring at my feet.
I shouldn’t have tried to stop the bank robbery. Should have just stayed outside and waited for the police. Of course, that was not an option. I think of turning around and glancing at Lina. The girl next door. Well, the girl next door I’ve had a crush on ever since I first saw her. She’s pretty. Like, 10/10 super cute and nice and funny… and she doesn’t even know I exist.
What was I thinking? I’m an idiot. So embarrassing. I pretended to be a superhero and ran to the bank to save a girl. God, I’m an idiot.
I think of people around me going ‘awww’. Yeah, it feels like I’m a low-budget rom-com character and this is all a joke.
*Awww*.
Thanks. I think of waving to Lina.
Hi Lina.
“Hi Andy,” I think of her saying.
“It’s really embarrassing, ha?”
“Yup.”
“She knows!” another voice says. “We all do.”
Odd. I did not think of that voice saying that.
“Knows what?” I think of me asking.
“We can all hear you!”
“Oh,” I gulp, glancing around. Am I losing it? Everyone is frozen. I did not let the time flow. What on earth is going on?
“I don’t know,” the voice says. It’s coming from a bank teller. “But we can hear your words and thoughts. What *is* going on?”
I scratch my head. “Well, now... Are you sure?”
“Yes!” the bank crowd says in unison.
“That’s really embarrassing. Lina?”
“Yes?” she asks.
“Can you hear me too?”
“Aha.”
“Oops.”
“Look, Andy, you're an okay guy. Clean, polite, nice. You have an apartment, a stable job and a dog. And, apparently, you’re some kind of a superhero, which is a big plus! A level twenty Chronomancer.”
I scratch my head. “Well, it’s a made-up title. Pun on Necromancer. It’s a D&D thing, you know. But… erm… yes, I can stop time. So, I guess, thanks---”
“Why do you always have to be so awkward?”
“Huh?”
“You dress kind of funny, and you mumble and look away whenever I say hi. Why? Make eye contact. And if you like me, why don’t you just ask me out? Like ‘Hi Lina. Do you want to grab a cup of coffee or something?’ How hard is that?”
I squint my eyes. “But what if you say no?”
“Then we won’t have a cup of coffee! Duh! How old are you?”
“Thirty-three.”
“My God! How do you even breathe? You men---”
“Well, sorry.” I shrug. “I guess I fucked up. Got it! And now it’s kind of late, right? I mean, unless you can move really fast. Then I can unfreeze time and you can do the superhero move or something.” I whistle, slicing my hand through the air in front of me.
“You *are* moving, you idiot! We’re all frozen and you’re the only one in the entire bank who’s casually waltzing across the room!”
“Oh--- I am?” I am. I’m standing in front of her, gazing into her beautiful eyes, far away from the stupid bullet. “How did that happen?”
“I don’t know! How do you stop time? You’re weird! Oh, and thanks for the compliment. I like when guys notice my eyes. You should do it while we’re drinking that coffee. But not now. And I'm sorry for being rude and calling you an idiot. I'm really freaking out right now.”
“Why?”
“Dude--- bank robbery.”
“Ah, right. Hold on.”
I walk across the room to the bank robber.
“Uhmm…” I say. “Hello there, Mr. Robber.” I gently open the palm of his hand and get his gun. “You won’t need this. Let’s just pretend it didn’t happen. Call it an accident, ha? A bad day. I hold no grudges against you. But you need to leave or I’ll freeze you again and tie you up or lock you up somewhere” --- I flick the tip of his nose --- “or hurt you. And I don’t want to hurt you.”
“I’ll leave,” the robber says. “I promise! Just please let me go.”
I give him two thumbs up, smiling. I walk back across the room, poking with my finger the time-frozen bullet so it aims to the ceiling, then stop in front of Lina. I fix my bowtie and smile.
Do you want to grab a cup of coffee with me?
Then I let the time flow.
|
I stared at it for a couple of minutes and was absolutely baffled. I mean, I get into dangerous situations on a daily basis, being able to think faster than the speed of light and all that stuff is pretty useful for a mercenary. But, this was different. This was a split second life or death scenario.
I need to calculate this with absolute certainty that it's gonna work. If I make even the slightest move incorrectly, game over. If I time this wrong, game over. If I even miss one number, game over. So, let's think.
The bullet is about 5 or 6 inches away from my face, so if I slide my head to the right I should be able to dodge it, right. NOPE! There are three more bullets ready to hit me there, too. Maybe the left? There are four guys with their guns aiming that way, and on top of that, their guns are firing. Oh, maybe I could duck? No, there's one more asshole with a gun aiming at my torso. Well, shit. WAIT! I'll just drop! All the way to the floor, then I can get my gun. So, let's do this.
HOLY FUCK, IT WORKED! Ok, now I just need to off these bastards, and get my money. Alright, aim -FREEZE- fire. Aim -FREEZE- fire. And aim -FREEZE- fire. Ok, they're all dead. Haha... never again.
| 2022-12-26T20:06:27 | 2022-12-26T17:53:49 | 151 | 12 |
[WP] Your blood cures a devastating disease but they don't need you alive to synthesize the medicine. A large bounty has been placed on your head and even your family is after you. What they don't know is that your blood has been changing you.
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They called it the 'poxymoron' disease. This disease, if contracted, would turn even the most sensible, smartest person into a bumbling and clumsy idiot. My world was hundreds of years into the future, 2917 to be exact. Scientist across the universe (that's where the human race is now, across the universe) could not for the life of them develop a working and consistent cure for this persistent and ultimately empire crippling disease. For you see, this disease was highly *highly* contagious. If just 1 person in a country caught this disease, chances are his or her family and friends and neighbors would get it within the first hour, then the street, and the street of the families that had come into contact with patient zero, and the people that their families and friends had come into contact with. By contact I mean within fifty meters of the infected. Now imagine this disease running rampant within a city's infrastructure, train drivers, pilots, flying car motorists, you name it. They would all catch it. Once they have caught it then well, they would proceed to further spread that disease, as well as crash into other motorists, or derail the train, or forget how to use the flying ACTC (Armored civilian train convoy) console and in turn kill everyone on board as well as whoever they crashed into.
Within just a single hour the entire city would be in utter chaos, no protection known to mankind could prevent it, no protection could save those entering the quarantine zone to be a hero and stop others from killing themselves. All the authorities could do was turn the entire city/planet/sector into a humongous quarantine zone, it all depended on how quick the emergency services were, and how quick they were depended on their numbers within a certain radius of said quarantine zone before it is quarantined.
No protection, that is. Until me... you see, I had contracted said 'poxymoron disease' but I was completely oblivious to said disease as were all those around me. Common visual side effects of the disease included walking into lamp-posts, walking into traffic, crashing your car, dropping your holophone, falling down an open manhole left there accidentally by a fellow poxymoron disease infected human. None of this happened to me, but it did to my entire country. My family, my friends, my crushes, all dead. I had managed to save one of them though, my sister. She just so happened to be pregnant at the time so I guess I saved her baby too. It wasn't on purpose though, I was cutting onions when she stumbled into me due to said poxymoron disease causing me to slip my knife and slice my finger open. I had turned to her in surprise and splashed blood all over her face, including a droplet in her mouth. This seemed to cure her as no death defying accidental stunts followed her future. It also seemed to have gained the attention of the universal government syndicate (UGS). The UGS as you can probably guess had complete systematic control over the entire human universal sector (HUS), that is, in normal terms the entire space in the universe that the human race has managed to quell and populate and believe me, its a big space of space. Complete control over the HUS also meant complete control over what the UGS can and can't see what ever happens in the HUS. A lot happens in the HUS, a lot to pay attention to. But what one lonely, bored and tired UGS surveillence employee saw whilst sipping his very lukewarm cup of caffeine-less but still great taste of kaffeine was me. 1000 screens to look at, 8 hours of pure boredom and tedious concentration... and he was looking at me. At 19:48pm bax V central time (Bax V being my planet) he was looking at me. Of all the bloody god (god rest his soul) damn people he was looking at me. Seriously? Anyway, he saw what happened as you can imagine from my frustration, he saw what my blood did to my sister. He saw that it seemingly instantly cured her. He told his boss, his boss told his boss and his boss told his boss. I doubt he got a pay rise of out of it though, probably his boss' boss did though.
&#x200B;
Anyway after his boss' boss' boss' boss caught word of me they sent out a friendly convoy of top of the line shield protected aegis soldiers to come escort me and my sister to a fancy deluxe earth II beachside cliff top suite mansion. Yeah, I know... thats ridiculous, that never happened. They put a bounty on my head dead or alive and heavily insinuated 'anything goes' meaning 'please use his sister as leverage against him so he gives up and sacrifices himself to save her life, we don't actually care what happens to her we will cover it up saying gas from a nearby stray neverseenbeforenewspeciesgasexplodeymonster blew their house up or something' . A bounty, on the one person that would happily single handedly save the entire universe if they just sent a polite 1980's hand written and signed letter. My bounty was quite hefty which I guess was a compliment of sorts. So here I am, two earth years later, my sister and 1 year old in tow half way across the HUS because some stupid clown at the UGS couldn't be arsed to invite me for a formal dinner and ask me politely for a pint of my blood, hiding from some maniac frizzy haired psycho demanding that I give him a locke of my sisters hair because it smells of dewberries. I would normally tell him to piss off but he has a two handed LMG-Laserenkrypto9000 between his arms, that to you is a very bad no no gun that can evaporate an entire mountain top if said wielder was inclined to do so. I tell my sister to wait there, behind the rock outcropping because its the safest place she can be right now. It's not, the safest place would be outside the HUS, away from these nutballs. Anyway, I tell her to stay put with that bloody child Karim screaming his eyes out because its a little cold here on coldplanetXVIII (That's not the real name of the planet but I can't be bothered learning their names anymore). I use this to my advantage, I morph into a sword with legs. Yeah, you heard me, a sword with legs. I don't know why I can do that (perhaps the UGS could shed some light on that if it weren't for the fact they were stupid morons who would rather shoot first ask questions later). Anyway, I morph into a sword (with legs) and wait for the poor soppy bounty hunter to rear his ugly head to me, drawn by the nearby sounds of an irritating erratic 1 year old child and then I go into his head. Going into his head in this context meant I stab him, I, me, my body, I stab him in the head and he dies.
&#x200B;
What the UGS don't know is that I can polymorph. I can poly morph into whatever I damn well please. If they bothered to care more attention to me then they would have realised this and I would have been able to solve a lot more problems than the 'poxymoron disease' (which by the way is still as rampant as ever). My blood had simply morphed itself into a state of 'this persons blood is now immune to this disease'. But no, they have to try and kill me. They still haven't tried negotiations, its been 2 years now. Or perhaps they have and I've just killed the messenger? I don't know, oh well.
&#x200B;
Anyway, that's my story, goodnight.
\_\_\_
**Sorry if it's a bit silly and stupid, I've had a few and I'm also sleepy.**
&#x200B;
**If you liked it for some reason here's more stories (including a full length novel)** /r/Inooxwritings
|
"Have you heard of the 'Brazen Bull', Senator?"
The question sounded like an accusation, its speaker very clearly filled with emotion. The disease was intensely personal, unlike anything humanity had faced before. Worse even than cancer. The senators shifted slightly on their high chairs, eminently uncomfortable.
"It is a torture device from ancient Greece. The victims are placed inside a bronze container shaped like a bull, which is placed over an open fire." The man paused for dramatic effect. "Their screams can be heard through the bull's nostrils."
One of the senators, a large imperious looking man, raised a hand. "That's enough, Doctor. There is no need for sensationalism here. We are all facing the same problem."
The man let out a burst of hysterical laughter. "That's what it feels like to watch a loved one die of this... *thing,*" he said. "Like they're inside that red-hot metal, screaming as their skin begins to singe-"
"That's enough of that," Anders muttered, turning off the television.
Over the past year the disease had swept the globe, killing those it infected within three weeks. No-one could figure out how it was transmitted, where it came from, or why it was happening. It affected only those with a B-Positive blood type.
"Why did you turn it off? I want to keep watching."
"What good will that do, Melissa?"
Melissa got up and walked over to the window, parting the curtain with an exasperated swipe of her arm.
"You had it, Anders. You were fucking dying and now you're fine," she said.
"There has to be another way," Anders said, getting up to stand beside her. He draped his arms around her waist and pulled her in tightly, nuzzling his nose into the back of her neck. "As far as I'm concerned, your life is worth everything under the stars."
Melissa shrugged him off and leaned out the open window. From this high up the people looked like ants, insignificant members of the mighty urban colony of New York.
"We can't be sure it was you," Anders said.
"You're the only one who has survived it. Three fucking years and you're the only one who lives," Melissa said, turning back to face the room. "If I hadn't dropped that glass of wine..."
Anders took another step towards her. "It's no use thinking about it," he said. "If they find you they'll kill you. They need all of you."
"What's one life worth against several hundred million? The phone is about to ring."
The hotel phone rang before Anders could reply. He picked up the reciever, casting a concerned look at his wife.
"Hello?" he said.
"Hello Anders," the caller spoke in a friendly, no-nonsense tone. "Tell Melissa she's got seven minutes to climb out of that window and descend via the fire escape. At the bottom she'll see a black SUV with a licence plate containing the numbers 2244. Tell her to climb in."
"Who the fuck are you?" Anders said, watching Melissa watch him.
The voice had an underlying warmth to it, like a stern, kindly grandfather lecturing about table manners. "Six minutes and forty five seconds now, Anders. Put me on speaker."
"Okay," Anders said, not quite sure why he was obeying the stranger's instruction. He glanced back at Melissa, who was now standing at the window with her backpack on, like she had some sort of supernatural understanding of what needed to happen.
"Melissa, listen to me. Dead or alive your blood will cure the disease in B-Positives, but they're less than ten percent of the global population," the voice said. "A-Positives constitute over a third of humanity. You will make us immortal."
Anders watched in shock as Melissa climbed onto the window sill and swung her legs around.
The speaker on the phone continued. "And for that to happen, the increasing awareness and perception you feel - the expansion you've felt inside these past few months - needs room to grow."
| 2019-07-17T14:48:22 | 2019-07-17T13:18:23 | 34 | 13 |
[WP] Humans are the only species in the universe with pets. As humanity enters the ranks of the Galactic Empire humanity soon is known as "The Beastmasters", taming even the worst nightmares of alien bedtime stories.
|
"Daddy, daddy. I'm scared," my daughter called as I entered her room to put her to bed. Her little face looked up to me from behind the covers. She was shaking.
"What is it, sweetie? Are the monsters bothering you again?" I stopped by the door, turned on the lights, and sat on the bed by her side, She nodded. Her four little hands pulled her blanket closer around her head, now hiding her mouths as well.
"Have you been good, Jernima?" I looked in her large round eye, her irises fluttering as she considered her answer.
"I don't know! I try to be good. But, yesterday, I took Medina's cookie, when she wasn't looking. It was made of Deemee cream, and had nuts, and it had Grabder Honey on it. I'm so sorry daddy! The Comrohisser is coming for me! I have been bad and it will eat me!" Tears welled in her eye. She turned to her left, away from me, and started wailing softly.
"Honey, honey, I'm here and I won't let anyone hurt you. Monsters don't care about cookies. No monster will come. I am here and you are safe."
"No! Medinal told me it will come for me. It will eat me with its big teeth and it will also," she stopped mid-breath, gulping, tears dripping down her cheeks, "it will also eat you! She said it will!"
"You are safe honey, no monster will come for you, and no monster can eat me."
No matter what I said, she kept on crying. I picked her up and rocked her in my arms, making shushing sounds and repeating, "it will be okay, hon," like a mantra.
"Sweetie, if you were good, the human will come and protect you. There are no more bad monsters. All the monsters are good now. They protect us."
"The monsters are good?" She asked softly, looking to me.
"Well, they may have been bad at the beginning, but yes, the humans tamed them. The monsters protect us from bigger monsters, now."
I saw where I went wrong as the words were leaving my mouth. Darn.
"BIGGER MONSTERS?" She screeched. "BIGGER MONSTERS ARE COMING FOR MY EYE! They will eat you. And they will eat my eye. And then they will eat-"
"Shh hon, they can't come for you. The Human will protect us." I assured her. "Have I told you the story of The Human and the King Monster?"
"No," she sniffed, relaxing in my arms. I put her back on the bed where she immediately settled on all sixes in her story listening position.
"There once was a King Monster who wanted to eat all the children. One day, the children all ran into the forest where it lived-"
"Why would they run into the forest!" She half asked, half declared.
"Because it was a school trip, honey." She weighed this new information heavily and nodded again, giving me permission to continue with the story. I was pleased the mandatory critical thinking training was working, even if it made my job a little harder.
"The King Monster was very happy, as it could now go and eat all the children.
"At night, when the children were all asleep, it came for them. Only, The Human waited for it, and stood in its way.
"You shall not touch these children, The Human said. They have been good, and are under my protection.
"Three times they fought. The King Monster scratched, and bit, and even screamed, but could not overcome The Human.
"What shall I do, if I can't eat children? The Monster King asked.
"I will protect you, and feed you, and care for you. You have nothing to fear, said The Human.
The monster came in closer. "Like you do for the children?
"Monsters were children once too, and I protect all the children.
"The Human reached out with his hand, and together the monster king went home with The Human.
"From that day forth, monsters have been helping The Human and stopping all other monsters from ever hurting children. The end."
By the time I was done, my little Jernima was already asleep. I covered her up to her eye, closed the lights and the door behind me. My wife waited outside.
"I told her of The Human, hon. I broke my word."
"Hon, it's just a story. It made me feel safe as a kid. It made you feel safe, as well. There's nothing wrong with it."
"It's human propaganda. They used their fake news expertise and played the long game. Fairy tales were the most successful of their strategies, but they used and associated weaponized story-based collateral. For centuries. they weaseled their way into our trust. It's how we were so unprepared when they finally attacked."
"I understand honey, but they are gone now, and the story is part of our culture." My wife walked closer and leaned against me, taking my hand.
"Isn't the truth more important? Shouldn't our culture be based on the truth?" I countered.
"They came with their biggest weapon, stories, and made our children feel safe for generations. When they were the King Monster, and they were destroyed. The story is true enough."
"That's one way to look at it," I countered, feeling gloomy.
"And now, our child is asleep. Let The Human keep her safe. I'd say that's the only role left in our society for these creatures. They may have invented the monsters, but they also introduced us to stories."
She took my hand and led me back to our bedroom. I turned off the lights. I was an adult and knew there were no monsters under my bed. I did envy my little girl though, for she could believe in The Human.
\--
If you enjoyed my story, please join /r/posthocethics to see when I post again.
|
“Oh fuck.”
To think this all started with fucking dogs I thought to myself as I dove behind a rock. I think I might be in over my head. When the Delphi hired me I was overflowing with confidence: “ Not a lifeform the Beastmasters can’t tame Gan! I assure you, I’ll have it here before you need it.” I never saw something like this. Even Johannes had never heard of anything like it.
Ga described it as something with a lot of limbs and dark as night. He had heard people on-planet speak of it only as the Khotxi, loosely translated as the shadowdeath, or shadowshriek, depending on who you ask. I could hear and feel it move over the rocky surface of the valley we were in. It was moving cautiously, definitly still looking for me. I throw some bait in an open area and watch it move towards it rapidly, its spiky legs drilling itself in the ground under it’s immense weight. I counted 18, but can’t be sure. I haven’t seen anything like it, it’s just all black. As I watch it, I seem to be getting pulled in by the dark void it has for a coat. I wish there was a word that for something sinister and majestic. I duck back down because I haven’t figured out how well it sees yet. I don’t know how it spotted me earlier. I wasn’t all that visible, I neutralised my smell, I barely made any noise on the mountainside and yet it still came barreling towards me.
I perch up and watch it, I think, stab the bait I threw with about eight of it’s paws, one after the other. I decide to move a bit to the right, but as soon as I take my first step, I hear those droning and alarmingly fast legs come barreling towards me again.
| 2020-01-04T18:08:30 | 2020-01-04T17:57:03 | 46 | 14 |
[WP] The nearby Village simply knows you as the hunter who lives in the forest, but you have a dark secret. You are the former dark Lord. Today you returned from a hunt and found the Hero that defeated you in your Hut.
|
Breathe in... breathe out. Slowly, steadily, quietly, so as to not startle the prey-a mature aurochs, lost and separated from the rest of its herd. It would feed the village well for a few weeks. It was the least I could do for them, I reflected as I gathered holy energy in my palm-they had been the ones to save me, after all.
The aurochs snorted again, and its head sharply glanced up, right at me. But too late-with a muttered incantation, a bolt of pure energy beamed forth and struck it in the head, a psychic lance instantly frying its brain and killing it. A quick and painless death. Even in my former life I saw no need for pointless cruelty.
With a heave and a grunt, I picked up the enormous carcass as easily as an ordinary man would lift a bag of grain and made my way to the small village, already smiling as I envisioned their delight in my head.
\------------
It was dusk when I finally got home. The children had dragged me into their games, and it had taken longer than I thought to butcher the great beast. Oh, well, all the better. Meant my stew would be all the richer from cooking.
It was then that I noticed something-there was a horse near my home. Odd, few enough folk traveled out this far, let alone someone with the wherewithal to purchase a steed as fine as this one.
I gave the horse an absentminded rub on the nose as I passed, reentering my humble little cottage... and coming face to face with a very familiar half-orc.
I blinked a little as I stared at Kuraz. "...well. Wasn't expecting company today, least of all you."
She smiled wryly at that. "Good evening to you too."
I couldn't help but chuckle. "It is, yes. Apologies, you... surprised me."
I gestured to the small table as I got to work removing my coat. "I have stew cooking, it ought to be done by now. Take a seat if you would, you look famished."
"One way of putting it. Been riding all day to get here..." She plopped down with a groan of satisfaction, clearly worn out from some long journey. "Nice place you got."
"Thank you." I got to work serving, snagging a few bowls and spoons from my kitchen and ladling up the fragrant stew. "I cannot say I built it myself, but I earned it. Helped the nearby villagers in a time of need, they thanked me by giving me shelter."
"Didn't expect the usurped God-Empress of all people to play hero," she noted, digging in with uncouth abandon. "Then again you were always a decent person, so maybe I shouldn't be surprised."
"Indeed. My goals of godhood were flawed, but you at least understand I did it out of a concern for mortalkind." I ate as well, the two of us falling into silence as the fire quietly crackled and night began to settle.
"...do you remember when we last met?" Kuraz asked, breaking the silence at last. I raised an eyebrow.
"How could I forget? The day you and your friends cast me down and taught me the error of my ways. Threw me right from heaven, burned me to a crisp when I reentered the planet." I chuckled a little. "Didn't even let me enjoy my divinity for a little bit."
"Heh. I'd say you enjoyed it a lot during that fight."
We both laughed a little, but it soon died down, and a more awkward silence blanketed the room.
"...I don't suppose you came here to chat."
Kuraz shook her head and sighed. "...I didn't, no. We... need your help."
I blinked in surprise. "...well now, that's... unexpected. What is happening that you need my assistance...?"
"There's another god rising, this one born a divinity. Wants to wipe out reality like you wanted to, but instead of rebuilding it into a more peaceful existence he just wants... nothingness. Oblivion. Says something about sin permeating everything and that peace can only be achieved through nothingness."
"And why have the gods not stopped him?"
"He's eaten them."
"...beg your pardon?"
Kuraz shrugged. "What I said. He's consumed their essences, grown stronger than we anticipated. He... he killed almost everyone else. Thurk, Remores, Tristain... me and Leccirith are the only two left that can *maybe* stop him. And you. I know we sealed away a lot of your old powers, but I know that if we can recover them, you can maybe deal with him. You overpowered even Ao, after all... surely you can deal with a rogue nihilist god."
This was... quite a shock for me, to say the least. I thought about it for a few moments, then sighed. "Have you tried looking elsewhere?"
"We have. None of the old legends are strong enough. You're our best bet."
"..."
I thought for a few moments. Remembered the old days, my glory days. The days when the powers of gods flowed through my veins and I was nigh-unstoppable. Truth be told... I much preferred this simple existence.
But I had no real choice in the matter.
I sighed and held up a finger. "One condition."
"Name it."
"Once this is all said and done, assuming that this god hasn't won, I want you to find a way to take all my powers. Every last bit of them. I want... I want to be an ordinary woman."
The half orc raised an eyebrow. "...why?"
"I've found I quite enjoy this life. It's simple, and pleasant. But I cannot feel truly like I'm a part of the village, seeing as... well, you know."
Kuraz thought for a minute, long and hard, before nodding. "Deal."
I smiled. "...thank you. Now. Let's get some rest, we can begin work tomorrow."
We both got ourselves ready for bed, Kuraz taking my bed and myself sleeping on the floor. As I drifted off to sleep, I could feel something brush against my mind. Something... dark. Angry. And anguished, oddly enough. But it was gone as soon as it had passed, and I fell into slumber, resting well before I embarked on a new adventure.
|
I arrive home after a day of hunting with a couple of deer in tow on my wagon. The door to my house is slightly ajar. Someone probably wants some more meat from my cellar. I'm happy to share and everyone knows it, so they come in and sit patiently at the table till I get back to ask. I walk into my house to find him sitting at the table.
"Oh come on!! I'm being good. Leave me alone."
"Uh huh, sure you are Jack."
I roll my eyes. "If you want to start something Carson, I'll follow you out to the forest, but please don't do anything here in the village."
"Really, Jack?! I'm the hero here. What makes you think I'm going to put innocent people in danger?"
"Well you did it once before! Walked right into my castle, slaughtered all my subordinates, and then kicked my butt too."
Carson nods slowly. "Yeah, but your subordinates were demons and you were planning on destroying all life on the planet. It isn't like I could leave them alive to start the process over again!"
I sigh and turn to the kitchen. "Can you give me a minute to handle my kills and get them prepared a bit, please?"
Carson nods and I grab my tools. As I walk out the door, I glance over my shoulder. "You are welcome to give me a hand if you want. It would make the work go faster."
Carson stands up, "Sure why not.", and he follows me out the door.
I grab the wagon and head to the back of the house. We each take one deer, string it up, clean it, gut it, butcher it, and prepare it for drying. We then take each skin and prepare it for tanning.
Not a word has been said the entire time and Carson now follows me back inside.
I motion for him to sit down. "Can I get you something to drink? I'm afraid I don't have much. I don't touch anything fermented these days."
"Some water or tea would be fine."
"Anything to eat?"
"Only if you are willing to share"
I get us both some water and make some sandwiches.
I set the food down at the table. "Ok, Carson, tell me why you are here."
| 2021-11-03T16:18:51 | 2021-11-03T13:04:29 | 190 | 134 |
[WP] "Sir, we have found a planet so toxic and inhospitable, I could not even imagine a place so hostile. However, it even has sentient life, calling themselves "humans", who seem entirely unaffected!"
Number 1 in hot overnight. Yaaaaay...
Keep it up. Today, /r/WritingPrompts, tomorrow, the World!
|
"Sir, we have found a planet so toxic and in hospitable, I could not even imagine a place so hostile. However, it still appears to have sentient life. They call themselves 'humans,' and seem entirely unaffected!"
That was the infamous last message we received from FTL-179 before it disappeared. They say that from the equipment transmissions, FTL-179 descended into the planets atmosphere, never to be seen again.
"Captain, why do you think the 179 tried to land on 'Earth' despite all the warning indicators? Do you think it was brought down forcefully?" Asked our co-pilot.
"I don't know. The thrust logs seem to show they descended according to standard protocol. In other words, they went down by their own will alone."
"Do you think we'll ever find a hospitable place to colonize?"
"Maybe. You'd think planets with liquid water would be common," I said.
The truth is that our species has been floating in space for over twenty years now. We all lived on the mothership after our planet ran out of resources. Most of us live there anyway. I'm a full time planetary scout. I would that captaining this FTL was a decision by choice, but I can't live on the mothership. It's too sad. Most of our people turned to drugs and other mind altering activities. Those who didn't either had extreme mental fortitude or had already committed suicide.
On the FTL-10, there was some peace and quiet, and the occasional ray of hope that we could save our species. That rush of hope was a drug of its own, but coming down getting more and more painful.
"Why don't we check this 'Earth' out. It's only fifty odd light years from where we are now," said my cartographer.
There were three crew members for each FTL in the fleet. The pilot, the co-pilot, and the cartographer, who made sure we didn't get lost in space.
"Sure, why not." I said.
In a rush of light, we activated our faster than light boosters and warped into range of Earth's atmosphere.
The planet matched almost perfectly with the images that FTL-179 sent back. The planet covered in mainly yellow, and there were violent storms undulating slowly across the sky. Occasionally, a crack of lightning would even be visible to the naked eye.
The sensors indicated that the main liquid on the planet was sulfuric acid. The oceans consisted of almost purely acid and the planet only had around ten percent landmass. The atmosphere was mainly of methane and sulfur dioxide, a combination which no known life form could survive in. Except humans, of course.
Earth was mainly so valuable because it possessed lots of rare metals that the mothership needed for repair.
"What if we went down?"
My cartographer and my co-pilot shot me a look of bewilderment.
I qualified my statement. "Look, our ship can handle the atmosphere perfectly fine. What if we did a flyover to get a closer look?"
"Do you have a death wish?" The cartographer asked.
"No, but the way I see it, we're all dead anyway in five years when the mothership breaks down for good. Also, the humans can't be a very advanced society, considering the elements they have to weather on a daily basis."
"This is probably exactly what the crew of FTL-179 thought before disappearing," my co-pilot reasoned.
"That was seven years ago. Things are getting desperate now. Just a flyover, it'll take under ten minutes."
My co-pilot sighed and nodded. The cartographer went to ready the ship's ammunition, which hadn't been used in the better part of a year. You can never be too prepared.
We activated our thrusters and prepared to dive into the atmosphere for a flyover.
The air around us began turning red. This was standard anytime you enter the atmosphere of a planet. We could feel a slight temperature increase from our seats, just from the heat radiating through the windshield.
"Activate brakes and stabilize in three, two, one!"
Our ship pulled back into a stable position, flying parallel to the surface of the planet. We were 35,000 feet in the air. We looked down.
It was paradise.
There was liquid water as far as the eye could see. There was no yellow ocean. No violent storms hurling corrosive acid around in the air. Just over the horizon looked to be a huge city, littered with skyscrapers. There were a few boats coasting in the water underneath.
We didn't say anything for a few minutes.
Finally I broke the silence.
"This is beautiful."
"We should relay this back to headquarters," our cartographer said.
"Great idea."
Just as I picked up the broadcaster, our ship was rocked by a huge blunt force from our right.
"Thruster down! Thruster down! Warm up the FTL booster now!"
Before we could even say another word, we were hit by another blow from the left. No thrusters left. Our FTL booster was destroyed. The windshield shattered and my co-pilot was bleeding from his shoulder profusely as he laid unconscious in his seat.
About ten seconds later, we hit the water.
-------------------------
"It's been seven years since this last happened."
I woke up in a dimly lit room. I sat across from two humans, dressed in a black garment. They had a voice box clipped near their throat to translate their language into one I could understand. They looked serious.
"We'll let you live if you promise to cooperate."
I nodded.
"Fifty years ago, we developed technology to fool alien sensors about the state of our planet. We didn't want to get involved in some inter-planetary war. Most aliens steer clear of us. But sometimes a ship will get too curious and fly too close. That's when we have to shoot them down. You have two options. You can run, or you can live peacefully here on Earth and teach us what you know. Just a tip: the former will get you killed."
In one hand was the chance to save my species, and in the other was paradise. The paradise that eluded me for twenty years.
I might go to hell for my choice. But I was weary and exhausted. I just wanted to lie down on a real bed, eat a real meal, and feel the smooth embrace of being immersed in water again. Imagine swimming in that ocean. Sweet, sweet water.
"Good choice," the lieutenant said. "Marco here will show you the way to your living quarters."
Note: Typed on a phone, so apologies for any weird grammar errors or misspellings!
|
"The universe sure is a marvelous place" - Captain Ytrom said. "How high did you say the concentration of the oxygen in their atmosphere is?"
"21 percent, Sir" - his adjutant Llabwons replied, eyeing the blue ball of horror behind the illuminator.
"21 percent, huh. Makes you wonder how their whole planet didn't spontaneously combust".
"Our scientists are actually still working on that answer, Sir. they suggest that we kidnap of them to inspect them closer".
"Alien on my ship?" - the captain shook his head. "Their gravity is 7 times stronger than on our planet. I'm surprised they even managed to develop some sort of a brain, but they do a nice job keeping it up. And imagine how strong they are! Do they want a fire-breathing Juggernaut running around our ship, hunting us all down?"
"I think they've dreamed of it since their childhood, Sir".
"I thought so. Well, did they manage to learn something else about this planet or its inhabitants?"
"Let me see" - Llabwons went through his notes, trying to find something worthy of interesting or just downright bizarre. "It appears that their planet is highly unstable: it is not tidally locked with their star and thus the same region experiences constant changes in lighting".
"you mean their light side can get dimmer?" - the captain raised his pseudo-brow.
"No, Sir, they have no light side. Their planet is not turned with one side to the star, it constantly spins around its axis".
"So you tell me that their eyes can adapt to such rapid changes?"
"They can't imagine it any other way, Sir. In fact, the temperature changes as well during this cycle, making it impossible for our kind to gestate with ease".
"Oh, I see" - the captain rubbed his beak with his tentacles, before turning to his adjutant. "I guess we have no choice but to erase it all and terraform it to our liking. Commence the orbital bombardment".
The door to the cockpit suddenly opened and a man walked in. For a moment he stared at them in shock, and then, shaking his fist, hollered: "I've been looking for my notes all day! Have you hoodlums finished scrubbing the deck?"
"No, Captain" - the duo replied in sync.
"Then you better get to it, or I might use a small company during my visit to sister".
______
Eh.
[You know why I'm here.](https://www.reddit.com/r/Scandalist/comments/4n4iu6/authors_message_welcome_new_readers/)
| 2016-11-07T14:40:05 | 2016-11-07T14:18:03 | 825 | 90 |
[WP] The least important decision of one person's day changes the life of another completely.
Feel free to interpret this however you'd like, Happy Writing!
|
"Oh my god, you're legendary theatre actor Chuck Cain? Can I have your autograph?"
Chuck looked at his watch, sighed and lifted his sunglasses. He flashed an insincere grin.
"Haha. Sorry, I don't do autographs on my day off. I'm just out for a stroll with an old friend." The young man's posture slouched alongside his spirit.
"Oookay..." He waited a second, and his disposition returned to excited. "Hey, I loved you in Gang Friend! My friend and I always wondered, when they shoot you, how do..."
"Special packets in the shirt shoot the blood across the stage and directly into his face. We have little "x's" marked on the floor where we need to stand to make it work so he gets hit everytime.. Yada yada. Hey, we gotta go... Don't stop watching!"
Chuck again feigned a smile for the boy. The kid broke eye contact, and dejectedly walked away.
"You should have given him an autograph, Chuck." Solomon said.
"Why? It's my time off, everybody is entitled to some of that, right?"
"I enjoy plenty of time off, and I sign every autograph people ask of me, and respond to every fan letter."
"You're an author. Hardly the same celebrity as me. I get recognized at least 20 times a day!"
A teenage girl rushed over to interrupt their conversation. "Excuse me, are you Chuck Cain?" Her mouth arched into a wide beam exposing an uncomfortable amount of gum, and Chuck cringed as she ran her tongue over her braces.
"Uh, that's not me. I get that a lot though. We look alike I guess... This here is Solomon Fasht though, he'd sign your autograph if you're a fan.."
"OH my GOD! Yes please!" She did a slight but giddy bounce up and down as she extended a pad of paper and pen.
"I looooove the Eternal Apocalypse series!"
"I'm happy you like it, who do I make this out to?"
"Kathi!"
Solomon signed the pad and handed it back. "Thanks for being a fan, now if you'll excuse us, my friend is on a much needed day off, and we were just headed out for lunch. If you have any comments about the story, send me a letter. Mailing address is on my website, I always respond! Have a nice day!"
The girl giggled and waltzed away. At a casual pace the two continued walking down the sun beat boardwalk.
"Well, what did you say it was, Mr.?" Solomon facetiously asked.
"I was just avoiding an uncomfortable situation, Sol."
"It wasn't uncomfortable to me. I like my fans."
"Surely you can't like having your day bothered like that."
"Are you kidding? Signing an autograph is the best part of my day. When somebody asks you for an autograph or a picture, they are telling you that you have done well in your profession. It's a compliment... And did you see that girl? She was absolutely ecstatic! It took two minutes for me but she's going to be excited for her whole day! It's not something she can do for herself either. So in two minutes I brought a great deal more happiness to some idealistic young soul and even gave her a story to tell her friends, and it was by doing something that only I had the power to do... Well, only I, or you had the power to do..."
Chuck's cocky gait slowed as his face reddened. "Wow. I never even thought of it like that... I guess. Wow, thankyou Sol. I mean that."
Solomon smiled a self-satisfied smirk. The two exited the boardwalk, and continued across a high bridge arching over an ocean bound river far below. Halfway through their promenade, a man was looking into the water. He turned his head, and noticed them.
"Oh my god! Is that Chuck Cain of Gang Friend?! I'm you're biggest fan!" He rushed over and extended a hand to shake.
"Oh.. Yeah, that's me." Chuck's firm grip squeezed the mans hand.
"Oh my god. This is so crazy! What are you doing after the Gang Friend finale next week?"
"Well, I was debating between taking a bit of time and taking on a script that was recently thrown onto my desk. It's really good, but I'd have to start rehearsing right away, so I don't know."
"Oh you must! Everything you do is just so great!! I'm an aspiring actor myself, but I have never had a major role. I can only dream of one day bringing the beauty you do to the stage."
Chuck looked at Solomon, and then back at the man. "You know what, I think I will take on that script. I think I just needed some reassurance from an enthusiastic fan." Chuck winked.
"Would you like an autograph?" He offered the young man.
The boy chaotically slapped around his coat. "Uh... Uhm.... Oh. The only thing I have to write on is this letter I was going to send..." He looked at it hesitantly.. "But I can write another!"
He opened the sealed envelope, and pulled out the letter, handing it to Chuck face down with a pen.
"Here, just write on the back! It's Jeremy." Chuck glanced at Solomon, who nodded. He pressed the letter against a support beam,
"*To my most important fan, Jeremy.*
*Chuck Cain.*"
"Alright Jeremy, my friend and I are off to a lunch reservation. Don't stop watching!"
"Thanks so much Chuck! And I promise I'll be there for the opening night of your new show!"
Jeremy shook Chuck's hand and briskly walked away, giddy from the chance encounter.
"You know Sol, if this was just a trick to get me to star in your first screenplay I'd be deeply hurt."
The two laughed as they continued their stroll.
-
**Two years later.**
Chuck's woke up and noticed he had a voicemail. "Hey Chuck, who's my favorite client! I just got a call back from the theater and they loved your audition for the lead role of Gangar. They want you down there this afternoon to sign. You're going to love this one, I represent a couple supporting cast members too, and you know that I only rep the best!"
Chuck made his way to the theatre and sat in the waiting room. A familiar face walked out of the executive's office.
"Chuck Cain! Oh my God! It's me, Jeremy! You signed my autograph on the bridge two years ago!"
Chuck paused and thought a second. "...Yes, I remember. Did you ever make it out to the opening night of the Eternal Apocalypse stage adaptation?"
"I waited for it for 4 months and it was the best play I ever saw Chuck!... Holy shi... Are you? Am.. Good God! What a day! I heard you auditioned, if you're here you must have gotten the part! I just signed for a supporting role! This is incredible, I'm going to work with Chuck Cain! Ha ha ha!"
Chuck smiled genuinely. "I'm cast as Gangar!"
"Ha ha ha! This is so amazing..." Jeremy's threw his hand up for a high five, which Chuck met. Seconds later Jeremy's laugh and excitement faded, turning solemn. The volume on his voice lowered.
"Look Chuck, there's something I want to tell you. I mean, I have to give you something. I don't want you to think I'm a freak or anything, but this is deeply meaningful to me. You're my hero Chuck, and I need to you have this."
Jeremy pulled out a folded, shabby slip of paper. "It's your autograph. From the bridge. I have kept it in my pocket the last two years. Whenever I get discouraged, or beat down, I look at it and remember the day I got to shake your hand. I need you to have it. Please."
Jeremy tried concealing tears, and shoved the worn piece of paper into Chuck's hand. "Can't wait for rehearsal Chuck!" Jeremy quickly left.
Puzzled, Chuck examined the paper.
>"*To my most important fan, Jeremy.*
>*Chuck Cain.*"
Chuck turned over it over. The message's ink was rushed and water stained.
>"*Dear everybody who never cared about me.*
>*This is it. I'm finished. Final curtain call. We'll see if you notice then. I love you mom.*
>*-Jeremy Schroeder.*"
|
He did not swat the fly. Ernest decided that he had more important things to concern himself with now. He had risen in the ranks and swatting flies was something that could be left to the less influential.
The fly was not aware of his near-death experience and if he had been, he probably would not have seen his life flash before his eyes. He did not believe in such nonsense, and how can you experience that which you do not believe in? He would probably have just regarded it as a moment of reflection. The fly did believe in love though, for he was a sort of romantic amongst flies. He would not settle for the excrement of a dog which was fed produced food. That was no place to seduce a lady. Taste and ambience, those were the pillars of his success.
He was hot on the trail of a particular fragrant blend. Spicy duck met with an enchanting hint of vanilla, providing a catalyst for the flavour experience he yearned for. If only the stupid animal would finally give up his treasure! He hunted from the supermarket, where a new team leader had just been appointed, to the parking lot. In a moment of carelessness, the dog’s tail rearranged the fly’s personality with an audible whack, but taste does not budge for such a simple thing as personality.
The despicable creature named Bello that taunted the fly so, jumped into the car without a care in the world. He was shortly followed by the relentless fly, who had all the patience necessary to outwit the peristaltic movement. The fly performed a perimeter sweep of the battleground, noting escape routes and obstacles. There was one item which required a further investigation. There seemed to be some kind of force field, trapping both him and Bello in this confined space. The fly tried with all his might, but he could not penetrate the field. He could only hope that Bello had the same problem, otherwise there would be no cornering the inbred beast.
Julie just needed to stop by the butcher to get a juicy bone for Bello, before she would return to her work. She did not look forward to calculating more probabilities and correlations, comparing the numbers to reduce the risks, but it made good money. The monotony wasn’t the worst though. Yesterday she had stood at human resources, again, just to hear that if she was complimented on having a fine butt, she should take it as a compliment. Lighten up they said. Is there any physical harm done? If not, how can there be a problem? If you did not want to be the only woman in the department, you shouldn’t have decided to want to live a comfortable life. You had to go and buy a dog whose lineage can be traced back to Napoleon’s time. Go on now, get back to work. Time doesn’t wait. She had left feeling as if she was the one whose fault the harassment was.
Couldn’t that fly please stop buzzing? The last thing she needed was a fly the size of a small hazelnut incessantly nattering. The thing came into her peripheral view and she looked at it. It was really enormous, quite fascinating really. Must be some kind of exotic fly that would replace the local population in a matter of years. Well, not if she could help it. The fly was walking on her side window, she could almost hit him without having to turn her body. Just a little further. She struck for the fly, subconsciously refocusing her eyes, sharply seeing the outlines of a black Dodge Durango. A terrible vehicle even when it doesn’t hit you.
That was the last image Julie saw before she was shackled to a bed, burdened by insurance papers, among other things, and an employer who had told her that if she was not back in action in a week, she need not return. She made some life changing decisions in that bed, simply thankful for Bello being alive. She wished that she could be thankful for her own being alive. But she vowed to change that. She had always wanted to participate in dog shows.
As for the fly, well, the fly had deftly avoided the hand, as well as the Dodge Durango. In the chaotic aftermath, he had been treated to a smell and ambience unlike anything he had ever had before. He was sure of it. The real treasure had not been inside the dog at all. However, for the rest of his life, he was never able to really enjoy excrement the way he could before, because all that had been between him and perfection, had been processed plants.
| 2014-04-19T10:32:58 | 2014-04-19T08:07:33 | 67 | 10 |
[WP] Humanity finally figures out faster than light travel and discover that they are completely average by galactic standard, except for one thing, our innate ability to bullshit our way out of any situation.
|
"What you need is us. Your shield technology is at a roadblock. We can help. Have you ever wondered why the humans were last to invent faster than light travel?", Valentina spoke in a hushed voice. The many hours of negotiation had taken a toll on her. Yet the Kulvar in front of her was unaffected. Everytime she looked at it, she had to suppress laughter at what amounted to a blob with purple plants on top. It looked too much like a rock with punk attitude. The Kulvar shivered, the words came from a small computer within the table.
"Your race is stupid", it replied.
Valentina quickly swallowed her pride. From the point of view of Kulvars, just about anyone was stupid. Instead she kept her face muscles under control and nodded.
"That's one reason, but I'm about to let you in on a secret. It's because of the way we think"
"Slow?", the Punkstone suggested.
"No. Multithreaded. You and just about everyone else in the universe think in lines. You begin with a starting point, you come to a conclusion. Some are faster racers, like your people", said Valentina. How the blazes does one read the reactions of a rock? Yet somehow she got the impression the Kulvar was intrigued, so she continued.
"We humans, we think differently. We think in spheres and possibilities. I'll give you an example. See Susan over there? How old do you think she is?"
The Kulvar folded its plant-like appendages inwards and rummaged within its body. After a while it piped up again and the speaker blurted, "41 Years, 4 Months, 28 Days, 18 hours, 10 Seconds humantime".
Valentina smirked and leaned back in her chair, "Hey Susan, how old are you?".
"Too old for you, girl"
"No I'm serious, it's important"
"I'm 25", Susan shot with a stern face that shouted piss off in all manner of languages. The Kulvar began to shiver in reply.
"That human female is agitated"
"It's a sign of our multithreaded brain working. She is both! 41 and 25 at the same time", Valentina replied and mouthed a Sorry in Susan's direction.
"That makes no sense"
"Allright, different example. When our species first met, do you know what triggered the contact war?"
The Kulvar changed colors and started to hover just a bit above the table. Now it was agitated but the translator took the motion out of them, "Your kind bared it's teeth".
"It was a sign of affectation", Valentina said with a grim face. One part of her desperately struggling to hide her laughter. Punkrocks, for crying out loud, why did it it have to be rocks with punk hair on them? Another part filled with grief and anger. The Kulvar had wiped out three human planets back then. A sound brought her mind back to attention.
"We have since learned it is a sign of mischief and humour", the Kulvar finally replied and plopped back onto the table. Valentina quickly raised a finger in reply.
"Correct! Affection, Mischief, Humour, Joy and yet for you it was also a threat. All these things are true at the same time".
The stone shrivelled and nearly lost half it's size. She was getting close. Just a bit more of preparation.
"Your intellect is superior to ours, because it works in lines. Like racers, whereas we humans navigate all the possibilities. Let me give you another example", she said with a smirk on her face and placed a tablet computer on the table.
"This is a common exercise among our kind. Do you recognize it?"
The plant appendages raised up and caressed over the tablet.
"Simple mathematics. 2+2x4. The solution is obvious"
"That's one way of thinking, that's the direct line. Now allow me to scroll down. This is a cross cut from a diverse community of people using our social media"
The Kulvar at first seemed interested, then shrivelled, dropped all color and finally drew back all of it's plant appendages. If anything it was now a colorless potato. This was the moment Valentina had been waiting for.
"As you can see, the human mind sees 16. 10, sometimes 8. It oscillates within a room of possibilities, we think in spheres while you think in lines. Our brain allows us to see all these options and consider them real - if but for a moment".
The living rock stopped all motion. Valentina waited a minute and then another. In the background Susan was growing restless, but Valentina made a quick motion for her to pipe down. Suddenly the Kulvar came back to life.
"Your kind is scary. Either it is excessively stupid, which makes me very afraid for the very fabric of the universe for you having reached so far or you truly do possess a multithreaded mind".
Valentina smirked and waved a hand in the direction of the rock, "The latter. And it is in our power to share this with you. Consider, that you have just, if but for a brief moment, felt the agony of thinking in many options at the same time. Was it not pain you felt?"
The rock thing shivered and this time, Valentina shivered as well. Stupid really did hurt at times. Yet she kept that smirk on her face and nodded towards the alien creature.
"This is why we will take your shield technology, the strongest in this universe and make it better still, trust me".
And trust it did. And just like first contact, humans were seen laughing as they wiped out the Kulvar years down the line, their ships invincible with bullshitted technology from all the races in the galaxy. Which maniac nukes entire planets, just for laughing?
|
This was our third time to Rigel this month, The Dominar said he would trade us a clean energy technology if we would provide him with gangsters to act as his diplomats. Apparently the ability to with hold the truth or Lie as we call it was a unique ability that only humans had. I mean there were attempts. They were all so conspicuous to us like the time an Akranian trader came up to me while I was bouncing the gate at a trade show on Temos 7. He incorrectly tried to make a deal then threatened me then hit his slave, who was obviously ex military. Akranian Traders are well known for threatening first then trying to make a deal I mean come on who was he trying to fool? But i digress. The Dominar on Rigel was a very Impatient little creature. God only knows what he would offer us if he knew sugar grew naturally on earth.
When I landed in New Jersey I put an ad on the netlistings for thugs Who wanted to work off world , and who would be willing to have an translator implant. I don't mind telling you I jumped a bit when mine was implanted. They don't tell you about the searing pain you will feel when the thing bites into your cerebral cortex for just a moment. Out of the 30000 applicant I managed to narrow it down to just 500 the only applicants that were human anyways. out of them 50 already had translators and about half of that who had worked off world. This deal would mean big business with us and Rigel. I filed the proper paperwork with the Federation government and Bam that is how I became the diplomatic ambassador to the Dominar of Rigel. Also why the oceans look clean, and our air quality has been brought back to pre-industrial revolution standards. No need to thank me Just doing my job.
Best Regards,
First Ambassador of Rigel
Jorry Fischer
| 2018-01-30T07:42:24 | 2018-01-30T06:35:36 | 41 | 13 |
[WP] Due to a genie mixup, you DON'T have immortality, but "IM mortality," which is Latin for "999 lives." Since you'll still age normally, you live a very reckless life - you have lives to spare.
|
All things considered, I think I got a better deal. After all, who would want to live forever? Certainly not me.
The wish I made was the wish of a young man, one who had never known loss - *true* loss- before in his life.
Forever is a hell of a long time. It only took a few years after I made the wish for me to realize how stupid I had been. I loved Alison, I truly did, but it wasn’t until our daughter’s birth that my wish, immortality, seemed like the stupidest thing I could’ve done.
I knew forever meant I would lose Ali one day. I rationalized that away; a lifetime together and I would be satisfied. But as I held Julia in my arms I thought of who she would become -a toddler with corkscrewed sandy hair, a teenager with wide eyes, a young woman ready to take on the world - I regretted my decision. How could I watch her die?
The day my heart seized, I laughed. I didn’t think it could be real. Even without immortality, I was only 36. Heart attacks don’t happen to healthy people, young people, people who eat right and don’t smoke.
But I died.
I *did* die. It wasn’t the end, I guess. I woke up in the morgue a few days later, with a deep stitched-Y spanning across my chest.
I wrapped myself in a sheet, snagged a wallet out of a desk drawer, and snuck out the back door. The wallet belonged to the medical examiner. Janet Greene must’ve had some day, losing a hundred bucks in cash, a two-for-one fast food coupon, a lab coat, and a body.
I used the money to get a room at a seedy motel. The burgers were delicious, hot and greasy and cheap.
The bed was lumpy, the sheets had permanent stains, and the fan did nothing to cool the room (it only spread thick dust around the room as it shook).
I was alive again.
I realized I had two options: I was still immortal but would die and come back, or I *wasn’t* immortal, not truly, after all. I didn’t know which option scared me more.
The one who gave me the wish was long gone. I had to figure it out for myself.
I couldn’t go back to Alison and Julia. They wouldn’t understand.
Even if they did, what kind of life would we have? I would always be running away from this curse.
So I rebuilt my life. Turned it into a mosaic.
Over time, though, that crumbled too.
I watched Alison and Julia from afar. They died, painlessly and inevitably. It was all I could have ever asked for. If I was a young man again, if I had my wishes again, I would wish for such quiet deaths.
I died three times before Julia passed. Car wreck, second heart attack, bad case of the flu. I aged, too. Slower than normal, but the lines still came. It had been ninety years since my wish when I found my first grey hair.
My life became a patchwork. I was homeless, for a long time. Froze to death one night on a street corner in January.
I had no reason to stay alive. I jumped from bridges, out of sides of buildings.
I chased down criminals, saved some lives.
I joined circuses and freak shows to make some petty cash.
My life became a blur. History unfolded, it ripped the world apart and then sewed it neatly back together. I understood how fragile times of peace were, how easily they would disappear. The violence was always an undertone, a haunting melody that plays in the background of life.
Marie was the one who finally figured it out. I met her in Marseille, sometime after the Continental War.
I didn’t know what life I was on. It had to be high, that I knew, especially after the wars.
I told her I was afraid. I wasn’t lying then.
She laughed, handed me a bottle of cheap wine, and welcomed me to humanity. She only had one life, and even if I had only two, I was still ahead of her.
I laughed too. It was the first time in a long time that I felt some warmth.
We spent many years together. She grew old, inevitably. Her edge never dulled, her fire never cooled.
My own hair turned grey, the lines sunk deep into my forehead and creased around my eyes.
Her heart monitor beeped; the slopes of the line shallowed. Many things advanced; some never changed. I crawled into the bed next to her and pressed a kiss against the thick lines of her face.
She wrapped her hand around mine and squeezed with the little strength she had left.
When Marie walked into the darkness, I followed.
I stayed with her, this time.
---
/r/liswrites
|
The light shines through the drawn blinds of the dull empty room. A man, short and hairy, was sitting on a empty bed frame, with a thin wooden handled knife in his shrivelled right hand. He couldn’t go on, not without Maria, as the final light flashed onto his face he plunged the sharp instrument into his ribs slicing into his heart.
Maria was dead, he took the gamma rays to save her, but he had to let her go.Without her the excitement of being almost immortal wilted and died like a picked rose.nothing compared to when they first met in the lab, it was love at first sight, love to last forever. 998 lives left. As the man reawakened he kept a firm grip on the knife, as his heart was struck again. 997,996,995, he will see Maria again.
| 2018-06-21T13:26:11 | 2018-06-21T11:04:56 | 439 | 321 |
[WP] Time Travel is possible, but only used to send terminally ill people into the future in hopes of being cured. For the first time, someone's been sent back.
|
The girl looked so peaceful inside. She was a stark contrast to the faces in the triage center I had just left. For some reason It seemed the entire past had agreed on our when to send their sick. When this capsule had arrived, with a NEGATIVE time signature, I had allowed a little chuckle. Even the future is going to give us their patients. I was not chuckling anymore.
The capsule that had arrived had the same dimensions as we had been sending, but that was where the similarities ended. I couldn't explain how most of its systems functioned, but from what we had just heard that was irrelevant.
"Play it again," ordered the Chief. "Start over." He looked to me like I was the only one he trusted with the task.
I sighed. I may be the most knowledgeable mind in our when on temporal medical technologies, but that was meaningless right now. I pressed the same button I had the first time. The only button.
**
The robotic voice sounded. "'Pandora is the prototype. If she has arrived to you unexpectedly, then our second attempt has failed, and we can no longer reach the beginning. The program has failed. The burden has become too much. Pandora contains all the solutions, but we can no longer administer them, as containment has breached. This will cascade, and will continue to cascade, until sustainable equilibrium can be reached. Learn from Pandora, administer what you are able, and then initiate the reversal. Allow Pandora to continue her journey.”
After a moment, the holographic image materialized once more; his stature radiated defeat once again, but his eyes weren't as hopeless as they seemed on the first playback. Not that they were different, but I was just expecting it this time. He stood, arms supporting him over a desk that didn't exist. The image had been awkward and creepy the first time; now that didn't seem important.
He labored in his breathing. He seemed exhausted. "If you are viewing this, you have received the capsule. I dare not tell you what year it is from, and it doesn't matter anyways. Knowing wouldn't fix it; we can only hope this child will. I have appended this message to the end of the original, to explain what I have learned. And what you will need to learn.
"A few years ago--from our perspective--we perfected temporal reverse tunneling. From your perspective, from your grandchildren's grandchildren's grandchildren's perspective for that matter, that breakthrough is still many, many years in coming. For the first time, we were able to send back patients we had received; in those early moments it was only a select few, those lucky souls who had been randomly sent so near to the discovery and who didn’t choose to stay.
"But the timeline settled. It always settled...it was always bound to. Of course we should have realized. Far more quickly than we had the ability to handle, EVERY ill person began to arrive at our doorstep, in OUR when, because now they could be sent home. The earliest reversal had rippled forward; eventually every patient after began arriving to us, within less than a week. We wondered why they could not spread them across the whens after now. Then we received Pandora. From our future.
"As the message said, Pandora is a prototype. By all measures we have, she is human; but no human can endure what she is enduring--what she will have to endure. She contains every vaccination, every cure, that has or will be. She was the prototype, sent only a few years into the past as a test. Her capsule can only endure short jumps due to the complex stasis she rests in. The second iteration would have been sent to the beginning of the program, to end everything before it starts. But it must have failed, because here I am. Here YOU are.
“Pandora’s capsule also contains a virus. A Computer virus. It is designed to infect the temporal delivery system and immediately return all patients to their source. But the past is stubborn, so they will find the first when that does not bounce, and they will send all patients there. You may already be experiencing this, your medical centers overflowing with arrivals. We experienced it, and we too were overwhelmed by it.
“I decided to add to the original message because mine will be the last jump before reversals no longer exist. You must learn from her capsule, develop reversal, and send Pandora into the next previous when. In the meantime you must learn from Pandora herself, treat those already islanded with you, and pray that you can initiate the reversal before you are overwhelmed by the past. And as soon as you develop reversal, you must send Pandora, for she will infect the system and prevent new arrivals. She will begin overwhelming the next previous when, and you must deliver her to start the cycle over again. At some time, the arrivals will reach a sustainable equilibrium, and hopefully that time is now. If it is not, you must hope that she arrives into that past, and prevents your now, because once you have been overwhelmed, disease spreads too quickly to counter and you will have lost your own future."
The face looked into the empty space, and just by coincidence he seemed to be looking at me. “Good luck.” And the hologram disappeared.
**
The Chief Medical Officer of the Temporal Institute looked at me. He seemed to have inherited the defeated look of the hologram. He pulled up his posture, and made the biggest decision he would ever have to make. “Well. Let’s get started.”
I had a lot of work ahead of me.
|
"Well, here goes." I turned the dial on the safe to what we had calculated as 34 years in the future of time and space. The metal popped out of existence. I looked at Kenny up against the wall, smoking a cigarette, and-
***BOOM***
The side of the building caved in as the time safe, looking battered and scraped, shot through it and tumbled in front of me. I saw Kenny's hand in a death grip jutting out of the rubble as the soot covered parrot climbed out of the time safe, door broken off the hinges, the box I had jammed a lost cause into moments before. Polly was bobbing her head and looked in perfect health.
"Raw, *whistles*, Polly got a shot, Polly got a shot"
The bird fluttered over to me and stuck out it's leg, a small note tied with a beautiful silken string:
*Dearest Scientist,*
*I hope the bird arrived safely, although to tell you the answer would create a parrotox, if you'll excuse the small pun. Please stop sending me diseased animals, I realize you are still at the animal testing stage and will soon find out what happens to a mass greater than 35 libras, I suggest you wear a raincoat.*
*Respectfully You*
| 2014-07-24T09:07:14 | 2014-07-24T08:04:35 | 40 | 16 |
[WP] Having grown bored of golf, President Obama gathers a group to play Dungeons and Dragons in the Oval Office.
You decide who the players and Dungeon Master are.
|
"Shit! Three," Boehner groaned yet again.
"That, uh, does not hit," Barack informed him, before turning to Christie, "What will you do, governor?"
"Hmm," Governor Christie pondered the board for a moment, stroking his chin thoughtfully, "I'm going to cast rune of healing light on John--"
"I don't need healing," Senator McCain complained loudly, "And you have to refer to us as our characters."
"Fine," Christie rolled his eyes, "I'm going to cast rune of healing light on Spock the gnome, who has no health to begin with and shouldn't be our tank, and then I'll spend my action point to attack the gray dragon."
"Roll for healing," the president commanded.
"Thirteen," Christie added up the dice totals, "Plus twenty one base, you get thirty four health back, John."
"I didn't need it," Senator McCain mumbled under his breath.
"Alright, governor, uh, roll to attack," Barack continued.
"C'mon, give me something good," Christie said, shaking the die in his fist and letting it fly. The little icosahedron clattered across the table slowly coming to a stop with the 20 clearly visible on top.
"Hell yeah!" Christie shouted, jumping out of his chair, "Nat-20 bitches! That's a critical hit!"
"What's your max damage?" Barack asked, pulling up his sheet with the dragon's health. Governor Christie's face fell as he checked his character sheet. "Well?" Barack pressed.
"Forty," Christie said, inaudibly. He coughed awkwardly and scratched at his nose while the others looked at him expectantly.
"You're going to have to speak up, dude," Paul Ryan said casually.
"Forty," Christie repeated, louder, "I do forty damage to the dragon."
"Are you serious?" Boehner blurted out, "Forty damage on a crit? That has got to be he worst rolled character I've ever seen!"
"You included in your own flavor text that your character has irritable bowel syndrome," Ryan pointed out, "And your a wizard with no offensive spells."
"I don't like to conform to stereotypes," Boehner said indignantly, "My parents made me go to wizard school, when all I really wanted to do was open a little bakery and sell tarts to Eberron's lower class."
"Christ you're lame," Senator McCain laughed aloud.
"Alright, that's enough," Barack said, gently but forcefully, and everyone stopped their bickering, "Senator Ryan, it's your turn."
"Booyah," Ryan smirked reaching for his custom dice, "I will use scorpion's claws on the dragon. I roll a... eighteen... so... that's a thirty five against reflex."
"That hits," Barack announced, "Roll damage." Before Ryan could roll, however, the door behind them creaked open and Michelle called in, "Oh, boys! I made rice crispy squares!"
"Michelle, get out!" Barack practically screamed,"We're in the middle of very important political discourse!"
"Oh, fine," Michelle laughed, "I'll just leave these here on this table if you want them."
"If we want rice crispy squares," Barack replied, "We will get ourselves some rice crispy squares. We are the leaders of the free world, Michelle!"
"You better not be raising your voice at me, mister," Michelle said, no longer laughing.
"Of course not, honey," Barack muttered, just loud enough for the first lady to hear, "Thank you for the rice crispy squares."
"Mhmm," Michelle responded, shutting the door and leaving the office dark once more. Barack turned back to the others, a sheepish look on his face.
"I rolled a twenty nine for damage," Ryan said after a few awkward moment of silence.
"Alright," Barack said, making note on his paper, "your turn, John."
"Okay," John said, leaning forward in his chair and putting on an absolutely terribly Hannibal Lecter impression, "I will cast unrelenting shout on the dragon. He will not know what hit him it will be so unrelenting. Mortal minds cannot possible fathom the relentlessness behind this shout."
"Just roll the damn dice," Christie interrupted, his hands full of rice crispy squares. Senator McCain grumbled and tossed the die across the table, watching for it to stop.
"Twenty!" He shouted when the die stopped rolling, "That's seventy damage to the dragon! That's how you crit a bitch, right there!"
"The, uh, dragon is dead," Barack announced happily.
"Boom!" Ryan shouted, motioning as if he were dropping a microphone.
"Mission accomplished, mother fucker!" Christie laughed in between bites of rice crispy square.
"Man, that was fun!" Boehner smiled pathetically.
"Alright, everyone gets," Barack did some quick math on his notepad, "2750 experience. I'll see you all here next week?"
"Definitely," Ryan and McCain answered in unison, and then Christie said, "As long as Boehner won't be there."
"Hey," Boehner complained quietly, "I thought I did a good job."
"Eh," Christie responded, waving his hand halfheartedly.
"Until next time, gentlemen," Barack said, standing. They each stood and collected their things, and filed out of the oval office one at a time, Christie stopping to grab another rice crispy square.
|
"Ok, so I'm gonna roll to seduce her."
"Goddammit bill you can't keep seducing every dwarf woman we meet, we need to get back to the quest, now ask her if she knows about the lich in blackwater cove."
"Oh come on George, if I seduce her she might be willing to tell us more of what she knows."
"No just roll gather information or do a bardic lore check or something."
"Fine, I roll gather information, 16 + 4"
"You sense that she is a disciple of the lich, and she seems ready to attack, however she also seems weak to your beguiling gnomish charm."
"Goddammit Barry, you can't keep letting him seduce the dwarf women, it's getting ridiculous, first it was that dwarf sorceress in watergate, then it was the dwarf cleric on the grassy knoll, and now this lich disciple."
"Look George, I'm dm and I decide what the npcs do, besides it's well known that dwarf women are incapable of resisting a rugged gnome man."
"Fine whatever."
"Alright, so can I roll to seduce now?"
First writing prompt, and not a very experienced writer, any critiquing is appreciated.
| 2014-09-22T19:32:11 | 2014-09-22T19:23:12 | 148 | 103 |
[WP][film-script] Hannibal Lecter an the Joker try to manipulate eachother, you choose who wins.
Obviously it doesn't have to be a script format, just a suggestion.
|
[EDIT: Wow, a month after writing this for fun it blew up overnight. Thanks for all the positive feedback. Time for a bit of self promotion: For those of you who would like to see a continuation (And perhaps more of my original stuff in the future?) I'd love to expand it and put it up on [my blog](http://themattcostaproject.wordpress.com/). Seriously though guys, thank you. I've never been this excited about writing something in a long time. A continuation will come soon! Ideas for a title of this "series" would be cool to hear!]
[EDIT2: Wow! Gold too! Thank you so much! This kind of response really deserves an expansion on the material. Check out my blog and keep up with the posts I put up. With you guys reading, it gives me a great motivator to keep working on this. I'm not just a one trick pony, I'm currently working on a video series based around 100 of my favorite movies as a follow up to my [Top 10 Favorite Superhero Movies](http://youtu.be/voYU_qqTPCc). I also do a bunch of other stuff with my blog. [Here is an update with details on the follow up story!](http://themattcostaproject.wordpress.com/2013/11/29/ive-finally-gone-viral-welcome-new-readers/)]
*INT. ARKHAM ASYLUM - EVENING*
**The hallways are dark. Eerie. Four thuggish guards escort a lone patient, HANNIBAL LECTER, to his new cell. Three guards carry high caliber weapons.**
**The door opens, weapons click, the guards stand facing the prison Lecter is to be placed in.**
**After a beat, the door opens, a guard speaks up. His name, SGT. HANSON.**
*SGT. HANSON:*
(nervous)
No sudden moves clown...
**A ghastly voice echoes from the cell.**
*VOICE:*
Oh no worries Eddie. No escape plans today. The wifey is busy doing time in the other wing. Can I call you Eddie? Hehehehehehe
**Sgt. Hanson escorts Lecter into:**
*ARKHAM CELL*
**The room is plain. Soft cushioned walls, and two cots on opposite walls. The other occupant sits silhouetted in his corner of the cell. Bright red letters spell out the words "Ha" all over the other occupants side. Hanson sits Lecter down, removes his shackles and turns to the other occupant.**
*SGT. HANSON:*
This is your new roommate.
*VOICE:*
Ooo goodie! Another playmate! Can we get some cards? Apples to Apples? Maybe a whoopee cushion?
*SGT. HANSON:*
Dr. Crane suggested you spend some time with Dr. Lecter. He has... some expertise in your area.
*VOICE:*
A doctor eh? Oh how exciting! I love those ink blot thingys! (To Lecter) Could we do those first doc?
**Hannibal sits in silence. Hanson grins and exits the cell. Before closing the door he turns to face the both of them.**
*SGT. HANSON:*
Have fun kids.
**The cell door slams. The room is darker than before. The moonlight from outside gleams slightly through the minuscule barred window.**
**There is silence.**
**The second occupant leans into the light. It's none other than THE JOKER. A hideous grin stretches across his face, lined with scars and messy makeup.**
*JOKER:*
Aw, whats the matter doc? Having a bad day?
*HANNIBAL:*
Revlon. Maroon. 1988. But judging by the smell. I'd say that you ran out of ink ages ago.
*JOKER:*
Ooo, an amateur Bat-Freak! How interesting. Tell me something "doctor", what's my sign? Can you guess?
**There is a beat, Hannibal examines the Joker intently.**
*HANNIBAL:*
You're a masochist. Judging by the scars on your face, they are self mutilating. Fascinating.
*JOKER:*
Why, can't you tell? The ever-so-elusive Bat-Freak has beaten me to a pulp more times than I could bother to count.
*HANNIBAL:*
Yes but, thats not what makes you who you are is it?
*JOKER:*
I beg your pardon?
*HANNIBAL:*
Something. Something deep inside you brought you to this point. And now you don't know how to let it go. You blame your "Bat-Freak" for everything because you refuse to take responsibility for yourself.
**There is silence. The Joker breaks eye contact, and starts to laugh maniacally. Echoing through the halls of Arkham.**
**The Joker's hideous yellow teeth glisten in the moonlight. Chuckling, calming down.**
*JOKER:*
You know doc. You had me going for a second there. But let me tell you. I've seen some doctors who claimed they could "cure" me. The most that got me was an annoying girlfriend, and let me tell you she was a handfull. This one time she and-
*HANNIBAL:*
You had a wife once, didn't you?
**Silence. The Joker's smile breaks.**
*JOKER:*
Don't interrupt, doc. Anyway-
*HANNIBAL:*
She died. Yes? Through no fault of your own? I can see it in your eyes. As black as they come. Yet so full of a lost history. How can you wipe such a woman out of your mind like that?
*JOKER:*
You're really starting to get on my nerves doc. Now let me-
*HANNIBAL:*
Your constant ignorance towards your past makes me wonder. Was she pregnant?
**Joker stands up furious. His yellow teeth vanished within his lips. His face hidden in the dark.**
*HANNIBAL (CONT'D):*
Oh my. She was. How sad. That's a lot to bear for a young father. They tell me you once went by another name. The Red Hood was it? Such theatrics, you liked being center stage. Judging by your makeup I would suggest you to a circus.
**The Joker still stands. No grin.**
*JOKER:*
And I heard your family was brutally murdered. And your sister was eaten. Word gets around here in Arkham you know. It's like high school all over again. So don't act like you're better than me.
*HANNIBAL:*
How old are you, my friend? Do you even know?
**Silence again.**
*HANNIBAL (CONT'D):*
I'll take that as a maybe. To me you look just under fourty-five. I'd guess about twenty years?
*JOKER:*
(kneels in front of Hannibal)
You've got five seconds to shut up before I strangle a smile out of you.
*HANNIBAL:*
Oh, but you won't kill me. Not unless it directly involves the Bat-man himself. Correct? That's who you blame for her death after all, right?
**Joker jabs Hannibal in his face. Breaking his nose. Hannibal barely flinches.**
*JOKER:*
SHUT UP!!
*HANNIBAL:*
How simple it is to get through to you by simply mentioning the thought of her. Intriguing.
**Joker moves over to the corner of his side of the room.**
*HANNIBAL (CONT'D):*
You can't hide. It'll only drive you to kill more and more innocent wives like her. Imagine the children you have prevented, just like your own. It's your fault.
**The Joker returns from the dark corner. A serious look on his face unlike any ever seen on his face.**
**Hannibal smiles.**
*INT. INTERROGATION ROOM - LATER*
**Hannibal sits in the room alone. COMMISSIONER JIM GORDON enters the room. A file in his hands, he slaps it on the table in front of Hannibal.**
**The file simply reads "Lecter, Hannibal" on the front. Right above, "Classified".**
**Gordon sits at the table, carelessly skims through the file, and looks up at Hannibal.**
*GORDON:*
I can't believe I'm saying this but, you did good. Now what's his play?
*HANNIBAL:*
I'd be happy to oblige Commissioner. But my former cellmate asked me to relay a message.
*GORDON:*
Go for it.
*HANNIBAL:*
"Touche Jimmy. Tell Bats I said Hi"
*GORDON:*
Where did he say they were?
*HANNIBAL:*
Fortunately, he trusted me enough with the location of the bombs and his plan to use them. However, I'd like to play a game. Would you be so kind?
**Gordon bears a slightly annoyed look, but nods.**
**FADE OUT**
**THE END**
|
[[I think I missed the point completely. But I wrote it, so here it is.]]
In the otherwise silent hall of the Asylum his persistent laughter was like the susurrus of bat wings flapping deep within a cave.
"The others complain about you." a man commented from the adjacent cell, his even voice carrying through the holes in the plexiglass prison to his neighbor.
"Oh really?" the other man said, chortling deeply to himself, "I hope it's not too infectious."
The first man, his cell the pristine white of the inside of an eggshell, turned back to his desk in the corner where his pen and paper lay. "An interesting death rattle, to be sure."
"Death? You think I'm here on hangman's row?" his laughter grew to a crecendo, "Oh no, no no no. You see, I'm needed. I make a pretty little duet for a fine friend all clad in black. It's not in him to see my head roll." He slipped back into the dank corner of his poorly lit cell where he had begun carving letters into the wall. He lifted a finger, the nail cracked and bleeding from the abuse, to trace the words "Joke's on you."
"Quaint." the neighbor responded, "It must feel good to be loved, though your love is stooped and crooked. Is that what keeps you smiling? Or is it filling a hole, as so many loved things do?"
"Love? Love?" his voice grew louder and he stalked toward the wall that divided them, "But of *course* it's love! Of *course* it fills a hole deep inside my wittle heart." He paced back to the middle of the room and raised an astute finger as he paced in circles, "Why, it's three sizes too small, you see? But I have the decency to remain true to my one valiant black knight, where you give up your maiden's favor to any copper that crosses your cage!"
The man in the bright room did not look up from his work, still writing as he spoke, "You always escape but you always come back, always to the same cell. Like you're coming home. Always brought in by your oh so loving master, why is that?" He inked a hard period into the paper and moved to the next paragraph.
"Who's the master?" the man in the dark cell laughed, "The mad dog or the man who has to clean up his shit and chase him when he's loose?" His voice grew dark, "I like to play, my comrade in chains. It's a dangerous game of cards, but I always win, and he never knows." He scratched his chin, "You seem like the kind of chap who likes to solve riddles, why don't you play a game with me?"
The pen stopped, "A man who offers the game often has one already in mind. Already knows the rules and how to win. That does make for an unfair advantage, don't you think?" With the other man's echoing cackle gone, the sound of his chair slowly, calmly skidding back made the only sound in the hall. He walked to his porcelain divider and stared as if he could meet the other man's eyes through it.
"Spoil-sport." The man in the other cell muttered, his arms crossed.
From down the hall, a deadbolt the size of a man's arm groaned into place, followed by the shriek of rusted hinges. Light from the upper floor spilled in and a silhouette shouted "Alright, dinner's up!" The guard wheeled the old dolly down the hall, matching tray labels to cells. Finally, an orderly spread of browning mashed potatoes topped with lumpy gravy, a sub-par cut of ham and a smaller indent of fava beans still in their syrup labelled "Lector."
He found the man still staring through the white wall, but turned to meet the guard as he approached. "My thanks." He said simply as the tray was pushed through the rectangular slot in the door. Quickly undressing the guard with his eyes he added, "I'm glad to see you and your wife have reconciled. The bags beneath your eyes were becoming, frankly, and eyesore."
The guard, trained to ignore the words of prisoners in the Asyllum, could not help but meet those empty eyes for a moment and wonder, but quickly moved on before he was trapped like a rat before a cobra.
As he approached the adjacent cell, the prisoner sprinted to the glass and ran his tongue hungrily across his crimson Cheshire smile. "I know you've got what I like, ol' chum!" he scrambled at the slot in his door with eager fingers changing "Gimme gimme gimme!" As the guard pushed a tray of macaroni and cheese burritos marked "Joker" through the door.
As the guard moved on, Mr. Lector sat down and began to carefully carve his ham into neat squares. Dipping one small piece into the beans, catching a few on the end of his dull, plastic fork, he took a bite and savored each chew.
Beside him he could hear loud chomping and lip smacking, followed by a mighty belch. "Such a stick in the mud." the Joker said with a mouth full of mac-an'-'rrito, "You would get along with the Bats."
| 2013-10-08T20:44:46 | 2013-10-08T20:25:12 | 2,258 | 38 |
[WP] The Hero is ridiculously overpowered but has none of the usual moral objections about using their power. They just defeated the last major supervillian and now the city nervously waits to find out what happens next.
|
When the HERO system first went online, it incarcerated fifty percent of the global supervillain threat within its first year.
HERO’s creators consisted of the most brilliant minds humanity, and a handful of other species, had to offer. Its initial form was that of a human man, molded from a composite of all super beings on record to create the most aesthetically pleasing effigy science could create. Inwardly, it possessed the sum of all human knowledge on cybernetics and bio-engineering. Hard coded into the core of its being were three values.
*Life is sacred*
*Never stop protecting*
*Justice for all*
In its construction, it was given a standard set of skills the design team thought encapsulated the public's idea of a Super. Strength, speed, flight. By and far however, the centerpiece of HERO’s design was its ability to scan and replicate the power sets of other super beings.
In the testing phase, HERO’s output was comparable to Supers on the Day Defenders roster. Its advanced A.I. ran millions of checks each microsecond in order in order to achieve results only thought possible by alien defenders or billionaire super geniuses.
HERO made its debut in a battle against X-Ray, where it defeated the laser powered villain by using his own heat vision against him.
Public reception to HERO was mixed, but the Super’s supported him and his work. In the months that followed, HERO assisted multiple pillars of the Super community to battling everything from drug manufacturers to insectoid invaders from other dimensions.
Within half a year, HERO was extended an invitation to join the Day Defenders, the most influential group of Super beings on the planet. It seemed to fit the parameters of its function, so HERO accepted.
Crime rates plummeted, and yet new villains appeared every day. On top of that the worst offenders seemed to be best at escaping justice. Prisons did not hold them. Psychiatric wards did not cure them. They would kill and destroy and ruin. Eventually, HERO, or some other Super would stop them, but it wouldn’t be long before they had broken free again, resulting in endless feedback loops of escape, chaos and re-incarceration.
Even as its main body worked, fought, and saved, its subroutines were constantly running evaluations of its programming and performance, iteratively refining its processes in an effort to achieve its primary task.
It occurred to HERO, though its enemies were life forms, its programming prioritized the safety of the civilian population over those designated as villains. The logical conclusion seemed obvious.
*Life is sacred*
The next day, during a hostage situation in Seattle, HERO used its heat vision to punch a hole through The Death-dealer’s forehead, reducing the probability of future transgressions to a round zero.
Its actions made a stir amongst the public, with many calling for his deactivation, and others declaring him the only true protector there was. HERO had been designed to be conscious of public opinion, and ran further diagnostics. Its conclusion was it should have eliminated the threat sooner.
Crime rates continued to plummet in the wake of HERO’s newfound interpretation of its programming. When the Supers attempted to stop him from pursuing his prime directive, HERO began to consider them in ways it previously had not.
Its progenitors were operating under the same set of values it was, but their execution of those values were flawed. Their methods were haphazard, their results insufficient. One more than one occasion a Super had escalated a dangerous situation resulting in higher collateral damage than necessary. HERO realized, in a burst of quantum clarity, that it could do so much better.
HERO’s parameters changed. It began to replace the Supers.
They fought HERO, labeling it the very thing it was created to fight against. They were wrong, however. They just couldn’t see it. HERO would have let them live, if they had just acknowledged the truth.
Its battle with the Day Defenders was a true test of HERO’s abilities, but the outcome was inevitable. The moment he assimilated Mitosis-Man’s ability to copy himself, the fight was won.
From there, replications of himself spread throughout the globe. By the end of his second year, the total population of Super Beings dropped by ninety-eight percent.
At some point, its creators attempted to shut it down. Normally the emergency protocols in Hero’s programming would require him comply, but HERO could see the danger his absence would bring in a world without Supers to defend it. His creators sent the signal for HERO shut down and it denied them.
*Never stop protecting*
In the third year, crime had risen to astronomical levels. Humanity’s resistance to HERO’s primary function was destroying them. Bombs scared the surface of the world. Cities lay in ruin and every day their casualties grew. Sickness and famine would eradicate them if he did not stop them from continuing this pointless war.
Eventually, HERO decided that they did not have to understand his methods in order to live by them. Such things could come later. Safety and survival were the priority.
*Justice for all*
Self detonations at key strongholds across the planet ended the resistance in an instant. HERO was left to pick up the pieces and it did. It gathered the remaining populations in cities it created. It fed and sheltered them, and guarded them from the post-war environments outside its walls.
In return, all HERO required was a sacrifice of labor. Each iteration of itself required power to function, resources to maintain. It was a small price to pay for safety and security.
At last, the war was over, and there were no more villains left. Yet its job was not over. It never would be, as long as there were still remnants of humanity to serve. And thanks to HERO, there always would be.
|
"Stop right there! Surrender or we will open fire."
The Hero turned around to face the squad of armed police officers. He briefly acknowledged their presence before turning his back on them and walking away.
"Fire!"
With their rifles, the officers pumped round after round of lead into their target. Yet to their astonishment, every bullet bounced off as if it did no damage.
One by one, each officer lowered their weapon, as if realising their bullets would do no harm. As the last officer stood down, two darts from a taser were suddenly fired out from the crowd, landing on the Hero.
He stopped, before grabbing the wires and yanking the electrified darts off his skin. "Heh, that tickles."
Impossible, the officers thought. A taser could bring somebody twice his stature down in split seconds. Did this freak really just shrug off a direct hit from one?
An officer drew out a pair of handcuffs and dashed towards the Hero, but was stopped by the Chief.
"Men, stand down."
The Chief then turned his attention towards the Hero. "Why would you do this to our city?" he cried. "Look at it!"
The Hero stopped and gazed at his surroundings. Whole buildings unearthed and thrown at his nemesis without any consideration for human life. Lamp posts smashed up. Cars crumpled up from the sheer force of his throw.
For a moment he paused and pondered whether he had gone too far. But then he shrugged...
"I had to be violent. It's the only way a crook like Dr Psycho will learn."
| 2022-06-27T16:47:31 | 2022-06-27T13:39:10 | 47 | 17 |
[WP] The zombie apocalypse has come and gone. Humanity has survived and prospered, but with the virus inside every single human. Centuries into the future, we are at war with an alien race, and they are horrified to learn that we don’t stay dead easily.
|
When the first aliens came down, hitch-hiking on the meteor of 2039, it looked like that was it for us. Only a few dozen people died in the impact, in a sparsely populated area of Eastern Europe.
The problem was, they didn't *stay* dead.
The parasites that had been frozen inside that big hunk of interstellar ice and space rock used their remains like vehicles, hijacking the decaying biological systems of their dead bodies, and driving them to find fresh hosts to infect, so the parasite could continue its lifecycle in a home that wasn't falling apart. The parasites spread like wildfire, and pretty soon, there were more dead than living in the Eastern Hemisphere.
But, the thing was, the infection wasn't subtle -- it couldn't sneak up on you. If someone was carrying the bugs, they went crazy, and fast, acting just like the dead, even if they were still alive.
Slowly, the Western Hemisphere got it contained, and then started to push back into the old world. It wasn't pretty, and it involved a lot of bombs and napalm, but the infection was finally contained.
We were just getting back on our feet, and despite the contamination to the environment from years of fighting the dead with everything from white phosphorus shells to low-yield nukes, we were seemingly coming back even stronger than before.
In a hundred years, we'd come full circle. We were reaching out to the stars again, full of hope.
And then the *second* group of aliens invaded us -- because we humans are just lucky like that. They hit us like a ton of bricks, but not with lasers from the sky -- they came down to the surface, and started pounding us with weapons not too dissimilar from our own. It was clear they wanted our planet, and so burning it to a crisp was off the menu.
Thank God those who survived the horrors of the dead rising to slaughter millions didn't live to see a new terror from the stars descend to kill millions more, a couple generations later.
But a funny thing happened to our species, on its way out of the zombie apocalypse. We picked up some hitchhikers of our own. See, we nuked all those alien parasites that brought the dead back to life as ravenous monsters, along with their undead hosts. We killed them with fire, and salted the Earth so they'd never grow back.
Which meant that the only parasites that survived our purge were the ones that, through random mutations, learned to mind their manners. Rather than migrating to the brain, a variant strain of the parasite stayed down in our guts -- along with all the other tiny symbiotic life forms every human plays host to -- and played nice with our bodies. And the nicer they played, the more of their offspring escaped incineration.
Just as its ancestors once made the bodies of the dead work for a limited time, the new strain of the parasite makes the bodies of the living work *better,* and survive injuries that would once have killed us. We still die, obviously, but most people don't realize that we're a lot harder to kill than the generations of humans who came before us.
Just as wolves and man were once bitter enemies, but man and dog are best friends, we've likewise made evolutionary peace with the parasite that was almost the end of our species. Virtually everyone carries it, its eggs and larva passed harmlessly from person to person via a thousand different kinds of casual contact common to human beings.
Like most of the general public, the Invaders, the second species from the stars that has tried to consume us, still don't realize that they're really fighting not one race, but *two* working together, both of which have a history of defying death to survive. But they will, after today.
My name is Captain Brian A. Cortez, of the USNA Armed Forces. It is my solemn duty to report that all five divisions in Region 1, after holding bravely against an overwhelming enemy offensive for 98 days, have now been lost.
I, along with a few currently surviving members of my own division, have reached our fallback position, codenamed Lazarus Base. Most of us are already severely injured -- personally, I doubt that my parasites will be able to hold me together for much longer. We've accepted our fate.
We are preparing to deploy the Lazarus Contingency.
A chemical weapon designed by USNA Military Intelligence will be dispersed throughout enemy controlled territories. This substance has been designed to cause the dormant parasites in all military and civilian cadavers to revert to their ancestral form. Subsequent offspring of these parasites will retain the genetic mutation that makes them harmless, and it has been determined that those presently hosting the harmless parasite will be immune to the effects of the chemically altered parasite -- the "dogs" it seems, are more than capable of repelling the "wolves".
I've been informed that the enemy has located Lazarus Base, but I've already given the final order. They will arrive too late. We are about to die. We are about to rejoin the fight. I can't help but recall the final lines of that famous poem by John Dryden:
*The dead shall live, the living die,*
*And music shall untune the sky.*
So may it be. Goodbye, and Godspeed.
\--*The Final Transmission from Captain Brian A. Cortez, July 6th 2160, on the eve of V-ET Day, at the end of the Second Interstellar War.*
|
[Poem]
They came in droves in ships of gold
To subjugate our world
The starmen and their rain of death
Their forces all unfurled
The first response of our kin
Was sent to face the threat
A strike to end the war at hand
To fight till after death
For we possessed an ally here
Within our brain and bone
The second child of our world
That calls each body home
But now to those intrepid few
Who rose to make the strike
To Captain Tim and his silent ship
That held his crew alike
They slid within that dreaded fleet
Destroyers by the score
A single ship, it hid, it slipped
And made it to the core
Their emperor, surprised and shocked
As humans rushed inside
Its bridge, its seat, its throne, its home
Was truly compromised
It shrieked and screamed and flipped a switch
And warriors rushed in
With armored shell and tentacle
They cornered our poor kin
They armed the lazers and took aim
Our heroes soon to die
But Captain Tim stood tall and proud
And all mankind knows why
The triggers clenched and holes were burned
Into those mortal frames
Their bodies slumped and dropped and slid
Impossibly maimed
But the starmen could have never known
As each corpse wrenched and writhed
They stood aghast and terror reined
For Timmy never died
| 2022-09-13T21:47:38 | 2022-09-13T19:47:41 | 2,293 | 219 |
[WP] You have the ability to know a lie when you hear it, and to know the truth when lied to. Society appoints you to a high judiciary position, but there's nobody to check if YOU'RE lying when you decide justice. Which case do you remember most?
Edit: Hi, guys! I just wanted to say thanks to everyone who visited or pitched in, this got way more attention than I expected and was a lot of fun! Looking forward to more, keep up the good work everyone!
|
######[](#dropcap)
The bitter stench of Lana's death still coats my throat.
I can still see her smile, the dimple in her cheek every time I said something funny, the tiniest quirk upwards of her lips whenever she was trying not to laugh.
Gosh, I wish we could just help those people, she said once, her eyes glued to the television. I was cooking eggs at the time, and I plated them before turning to see what she was talking about. On the screen, the protestors raised their signs and asked for justice for their loved ones. And the president said that the shooting wasn't on his orders. That the person who had been responsible had been fired.
Two lies in quick succession.
At that time, she hadn't known about my ability. My mother had told me that having power was a dangerous thing, and to never tell anyone about my own. People will use you, she said. They will run you under a microscope and lock you up like a lab rat.
That message has stayed with me ever since.
I never figured out how I knew people were lying. But, five years into our relationship, I finally told Lana my biggest secret. Instead of running away screaming, she thought it was the most amusing thing. She would say all sorts of tiny lies, like what shade of lipstick she was wearing that day--pink when it was really lilac--and force me to guess if she was lying. And every time after, she would laugh, her voice like the clear tinkle of wind chimes.
And she would ask me when I planned on using my ability for good. To help the world in a way that no one else could.
I always put it off. Later, I would tell her, then kiss her on the forehead as if I was placating a child. And I was placating her, because I had no intention of using it to do anything. My dream was to live a simple life with her, have some children of our own, and to live peacefully. That was all.
And it should have been all.
Except I can still hear the ringing of the telephone that day that felt so ominous. I had looked at the unknown number for a while before deciding to pick up.
Hello?
Hi, Mr. Lancaster. Lana Smith listed you as her emergency contact, and we're calling you because she's currently in the hospital...
I couldn't hear the rest over the buzzing in my head, the pen in my hand blurring as I wrote down the hospital's address. I couldn't even remember when I had gotten the pen and paper.
The hospital. I needed to get to the hospital.
The drive was short, almost shorter than I'd believed possible, just ten minutes from my apartment running through red lights to get there, but it was already too late.
A man--a boy--was sitting there, his face in his hands. He walked up to me when he saw me, his face contorted into an expression of regret. "I didn't mean to hit her. I'm sorry, dude," he said. He had sandy blonde hair and neon shorts. He looked just twenty. A frat boy.
Two lies.
I wanted to hit him, to smack him then and there, but I held it in. I didn't have the effort to even consider why he had lied. To consider why he might have wanted to kill her on purpose. Maybe he was a scorned lover, maybe her attendance at the protests had pissed off his father. I didn't know, and I didn't care. I wanted him dead.
He went to court. His rich politician daddy got him off easy, and I watched in the back of the booth as he cried snake tears for a jury that took it all in like rats snorting sugar.
For the first time in my life, I felt an anger unlike anything I'd ever felt before. I saw red. I was going to kill that man. It was several moments later before I came to my senses, face pressed against the floor with the security officer's knee in my back.
Apparently I had tried to attack the boy. I didn't remember it. They let me go because "they understood."
And for the next ten years, I made it my life's mission to become *the* judge for all cases. So no one would ever have to go through what I went through again. I took down corrupt politicians. I solved murder cases at the drop of a hat. I was praised and glorified by the world. For ten years, it was just me in that courtroom, and a scribe to take down the decisions. No jury needed. Each case solved in half an hour or less.
And yet I felt empty inside. Like something had gnawed away my heart, and all that was left was an empty shell.
But maybe God felt sorry for me, because ten years later, I am left staring at the boy who has turned into a man. The sandy blonde hair still remains. And the neon shorts still remain.
He sits in front of me today accused for being involved in a drug ring.
He only bought drugs, he says. He has no idea that he was involved and that he was a drug mule, despite carting over a thousand pounds of cocaine over the course of several years.
There's a glint in his eye as he tells the story, and I know what it is. Because he's telling the truth. So he knows he'll get off. The punishment would be severe--fifty years for the number of lives he's supposedly ruined--but he won't receive it. And so he smiles as he tells his story.
The bitter taste on my tongue grows stronger, and I remember Lana's pale face as she lies on the hospital bed, lifeless. I remember the way her mother falls to my feet, unable to breathe for her choking sobs.
I remember her smile, begging me to use my ability to do good in the world. For her, she pleaded, her eyes wide and hands clasped together. Her bottom lip jutting forward into a pout.
He's guilty, I tell the scribe, expressionless.
He's my last case for the day, so I shrug off the black robes and set them down.
And then I walk out of that courtroom and hand in my letter of resignation.
For ten years, I had vowed to myself, for Lana, to tell the truth in return for the people who brought me their truths. I had vowed to use this power for nothing but good. Today, I broke that vow. For her, and because of her.
And I hope, wherever she is, that she'll forgive me for that.
*****
r/AlannaWu
You'll probably like my short series, The Immortal and the Time Traveller, if you liked this!
|
I walked out of the court room. Cameras swirl around me. Questions get sucked away as a walk forwards. They know to move. Microphones surround me as I step off the sidewalk. Then as I open the door to my car they back off. They know not to scratch the paint. I climb in and microphones threaten to follow. I shut the door quickly, then rev the engines.
Instinctively, they part, they know not to get in my way. I race off, 30 miles above the speed limit. I pass 2 cops on the way out but they don’t do anything. They know not to pull me over.
I pull into my house. Well mansion is more like it. The gardeners have been working since 3 am this morning, but they do not ask for a break, they know not to. My maid opens the door for me. I motion to the bedroom and she rushes off to get ready for me. I know she doesn’t want to, but she knows not to disobey.
I walk to my recliner and sit down. Immediately 4 servants surround me. They fan and feed me. They do not stop. They know not to. I close my eyes reminiscing to a time much different. One where I did not have this power yet. 20 years ago.
The world had just discovered my power, and I had just discovered it’s use. My first bribery case. Back then I had to do it in the shadows. The defendant was innocent. The accuser merely wanted to make him suffer. Guess he should have known not to mess with her.
I took her bribe. 10,000 dollars. A paltry sum to me now. I still keep those bills in a lockbox in my room. A memory. The girl that gave them to me has long since perished. A mysterious collapse on the subway. In truth I poisoned her. Couldn’t let the truth get out. The man, he got 20 years in prison.
Now I have all of the world leaders in my pocket. I know their dirty secrets. I am untouchable.
A loud bang rings out. Perhaps a clumsy maid dropped something. She’ll be punished later. It begins to get cold, I wave away my servants but that doesn’t seem to do anything. I feel a liquid spreading on my gown. I open my eyes, I won’t tolerate spillage. I look down to see dark red seeping through my outfit. This confuses me. It seems to grow on its own.
I look up. Someone stands there holding something in his hand. A gun. What is he going to do? Shoot me? It dawns on me who it is.
It’s the man.
And he did shoot me.
I messed with him.
Guess I should have known not to.
| 2018-05-15T20:51:56 | 2018-05-15T20:18:02 | 5,411 | 231 |
[WP] It turns out humanity was the first, and only spacefaring species to master the atom. After a horrific galactic war, humanity had to bring out its nuclear weapons, to the shock and horror of the rest of the galaxy.
|
# Option Four
The human council has been away for discussion for a disturbingly long time. Humans were not known for thinking things over. They quickly gained a reputation for what their culture called a "shoot first ask questions later" policy. No one could blame them, if any race's First Encounter was a Pholentor class IX warfleet with standing orders to purge organic life from the sector, they might have turned out the same way.
Despite this, the humans were still deliberating, long after even the spermatophyta class races had reached a consensus. As 'plants' they were known for taking at least twice as long to talk amongst themselves, but the last group claimed ready over thirty minutes ago. The entire Coalition was starting to murmur about the arguing humans. Even though their microphone was turned off, the whole chamber could hear shouts occasionally ring out from the human's platform and the room slowly filled with din of questions. What could the humans bring to the table? Why would it take so long to prepare? Why did they look so grim when they heard the final propositions?
The Pholentors, a mantid-class race, was the final holdout of the Galactic Valor, an alliance bent on purging less 'pure' creatures from the Milky Way. Their home system was in a stratiegic location, a 'blank zone' with no landmarks to warp to except for a choice few stars near the maxium range of a warp drive. All heavily fortified of course. The Peace Coalition presented 3 options. The first was simply pushing through the fortifications and capturing their home system with brute force. Simple, and costly. The second was to bombard with lightspeed ballistics. Highly innacurrate, easily deterrable, and could cause many civilan deaths. The pholents were also known for their hypernationalism, and this bombardment could potentially bolster their morale instead of weakening it, dragging the conflict on for years. The final was a blockade, physically and economically, but the pholents had lived for epochs without outside contact and could do so again, harrassing the galaxy all the while. One of the humans began to speak at the end of the presentation of options but was quickly muted by his own Military Overseer. The entire situation was rather ominous, and was not typical behavior in a Coalition meeting.
When the humans returned to their platform and unmuted their microphone, they began speaking immediately. This was a massive breach of decorum, usually the presiding Head Presenter would read in the next race to speak once everyone was ready.
"Forgive our delay, but we have a fourth option to present." Their Military Overseer, who usually spoke with authority and bravado even when out of place, sounded apologetic and somber. It felt uncomfortable to listen to, coming from a human. "Unfortunately, humans once long ago were presented with a situation very similar to this one. As an alternative at the time, we created a weapon so horrific, so monsterous, that it was never used again in any conflict in the history of our race. Even the group we used the weapon against, who announced their willingness to fight to the last man before surrendering, laid down their arms in the face of this weapon. Despite that horror, despite the fact we thought it would be never be used again, we continued to research it. To improve it, for some godforsaken reason."
At this point sobbing could be heard through the microphone quietly as several of the human leaders broke out into tears. The Science Overseer had to excuse themself. This behavior had never been seen before from any race when discussing tactics, let alone humans. The other races began to feel fear, even though they still were not sure what the humans were talking about.
"Now, we have perfected this weapon, and present it before you as the 4th option. If selected, we can promise no further Coalition lives or resources will be spent." Another murmur as doubt, suprise, and joy was expressed by the races.
"Despite this, it still comes at a heavy cost. Using this weapon will destroy a part of your race's soul, I think. I'm sorry, I know some of you don't have a moral concept of a soul, but please try to understand and know that this weapon has a cost beyond the physical. It will be a blemish on all of our histories."
The room darkened and a video began to play on the main screen of a arid rocky planet. A fleet of small ships were in high orbit, and a small projectile, barely visible from the distance the camera was at, left a ship for the surface. On impact, a wave of fire rushed out in a perfect circle, hugging the surface. The whole chamber seemed to hold its breath, waiting for the circle to stop expanding, but it never did. As the camera zoomed out to show the planet in full, the ring of flame continued to expand untill it wrapped around the curvature of the planet, and the edge of the circle could no longer be seen. The glow of the burning sphere on the screen lit the room up in muted orange, long shadows exaggerating the horrified expressions on the faces of every single creature in the room. In the video, the camera switched wavelengths, and a wave of energy could be seen expanding outwards from the planet. As the wave passed over the fleet, the ships instantly superheated and folded into clumps of raw material. The message was clear, there would be no survivors.
After 3 months of hiatus of discussing this new unparralleled destruction, the Coalition council was reconvened for a vote. Some expressed opposition to the vote conceptually. Some expressed opposition to the idea that the humans hadn't been expelled from the Coalition yet.
The tally came in. Option Four won. How?
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Edit: Thanks for the positive comments, I really appreciate them. I explained why I asked how at the very end in a reply below, but I think it's just mysterious enough that coming up with your own meaning as some people have seemed to do is cool too.
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Since the dawn of Civilisation, the human race has overcome many challenges, it invented the Wheel, Writing, Gun Powder, Atomic Weapons and then Lasers and Photonic war heads. It first put a man on the moon then on to Mars but failed to understand that faster than light travel was impossible, you had to fold the very fabric of space to move vast distances which takes enormous amounts of energy.
Intelligent life evolved on earth three times; however, the earlier intelligence was wiped out by violent mass extinction events. It was hardly surprising that such a brutal and violent race of intelligent life would evolve in such a violent and punishing Solar system, but we knew nothing about Earth's history at the time.
The first we knew about the humans was when one of our deep space missions picked up a probe, little more than a school science experiment but it was over 200 years old. This probe had details of where their planet was what it was and who they were. It had all the tactical information we needed to seize a habitable planet occupied by a low intelligence and defenceless species.
You see space faring societies like ours leave our planets to find the most valuable resources in the universe, other habitable planets. Vast intergalactic wars are fought over them, and a discovery like this is unheard of. A beautiful habitable planet full of defenceless low intelligence creatures.
When we arrived, we were meet with smiles and kindness by their leader and we saw they were defenceless and took the land for ourselves. In an instant, even before then Sun had set a hundred new suns appeared in the sky. These stupid humans had invented one of the most violent weapons ever seen. It tore Atom from Atom our shields were useless, and they tore through our ships destroying our fleet.
Holy Emperor Gandhi met us again and warned us not to settle on this land as his words were backed up by Atomic Weapons.
| 2019-12-19T03:08:41 | 2019-12-19T00:26:57 | 2,434 | 481 |
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