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[WP] On your quest for revenge, people often said to you, "Killing him wouldn't bring her back." The thing is, you found a way to perfectly resurrect her. You just need a soul to sacrifice, so might as well get the one who killed your loved one.
|
I stare down at the sniveling man, strapped onto the altar. "Why am I doing this, you ask? Why, to bring my wife back to life."
The man continues to thrash against his bonds. Shame that leaving him under the paralysis spell would interfere with the ritual. "But... why me? I- I have a wife and-"
"You are single. Never married, no children, and you killed your father for drug money."
"... I... Uh... But, but *I* didn't kill your wife. Right? I never killed no ladies, I just-"
"No, you didn't kill her. That would be the man, or rather, the corpse over on that slab." I gestured negligently over towards the entrance of the cave. "He was jealous, you see. If I can't have her, no one will, etc, etc. It took me three years to track him down, only to find that he himself had been murdered mere days before."
"Ah... Um... So why..."
"Well, while my ritual does require a sacrifice, I wish to be sure it is someone deserving. And what should I happen to find about the man who murdered the murderer but that he was a serial rapist. Killed my target just because he'd stumbled across him in the act."
The man on the slab desperately shakes his head. "Nuh-no! I've never-!"
"Yes, yes, that particular man is on that other slab. And I found that he, himself, had been killed by a rival gangster, a truly nasty piece of work. Who I found poisoned to death by his lover, who was apparently running a brothel of women she had kidnapped and enslaved. She pissed off some crime boss, who strangled her to death with his own hands. He was assassinated by a gun-for-hire, who has killed dozens of people over the years, including several children, so long as the pay was right. The assassin died due to anaphylactic shock when a chef stuffed his meal full of onions after he asked for them removed due to an allergy. And that chef... Happened to wander down the wrong street two nights ago, and got a knife in his ribs and his wallet stolen for his trouble. A knife" I held up the instrument in question up to the light, "that you may find very familiar."
The man was finally, blessedly, quiet, just staring at the knife held a few inches above his eye. Sadly, that state didn't last long. "S-so you're-"
"I will use you to revive the chef, the chef to revive the hitman, the hitman to revive the crime boss, the crime boss to revive the madam, the madam to revive her lover, the lover to revive his rival, the rival to revive the murderer, and the murderer to revive my wife."
"But ... why? That's so complicated."
"Because if I am going to pervert the natural order, steal souls from the reaper, and risk being struck with the marks of Heaven and Hell's vengeance, I'm going to **do it right**."
|
**Chapter 1: The Bloody Ceremony**
It was a bright golden afternoon and the city hall was decorated with a very vivid wreath of colorful flowers. The common folk were all swarming around the place some carrying golden drinks in their goblets while others were simply humming and talking to others in gentle voice and sweet tones. It was clearly a beautiful day for everyone and the music of the lute and drums that came from the hall simply complimented the same.
Cadence and Jasper were getting married that evening and although Cadence did not have any living family member of her own, Jasper had sought out all her old friends and distant relatives so that they may make it to the wedding. Each one of them had responded to the sweet invitations and thus, they were all here, dressed in beautiful gowns and smart coats.
Traditionally, on the day of union, the bride was not supposed to be with the groom before the actual ceremony, but Jasper and Cadence were beyond any traditional couple and everyone knew that the love they had for one another was purer than anything. Thus, when Cadence came to Jasper’s room two hour before the ceremony, Jasper was not really surprised.
‘What is it hon?’ he asked her in sweet tones, and added smilingly, ‘don’t you know that it is unlucky for -
‘I know. I know.’ Her manners were extremely erratic and there was a strange urgency in her voice that threw even Jasper off.
‘What is it? What’s bothering you?’
‘I had this dream last night that something terrible had happened during the ceremony. And all morning long, I have been getting these very strange feeling in my guts that something terrible is about to happen. Please Jasper! Let us postpone the wedding. I don’t feel good at all. Something doesn’t feel alright.
Jasper relaxed and looked deeply in her blue eyes. They were as beautiful and bright as the day that he had seen her for the first time and he couldn’t help but admire her beauty once again. But he also saw worry and anxiety in those eyes and with a very understanding attitude, he said: ‘Honey. If you don’t want to get married today, then that is all right by me. But think about your friends. They have made such a long journey just to see and share our happiness. Don’t you think it would be unfair to them if we called off the wedding two hour before the ceremony?
‘So let us just go ahead with the plan and be finished with it. After all, I do want to be married to you as soon as possible. Would you deny me that?’
She bit her lip and her anxiety was still marked very clearly on her face, but he stroked her cheeks and gave her a warm kiss and in some time he had succeeded in convincing her for the marriage indeed.
***
The minister stood calmly at the pedestal and in the evening light, his well trimmed black beard complimented his ceremonial robes and he looked quite handsome at the altar. When the groom came and stood next to him though, his beauty overshone the beauty of the minister and all eyes admired the groom who looked confident and happy and who now stood patiently waiting for the bride.
Cadence however was still anxious. She couldn’t suppress the anxious feeling that had now crept up to her chest and even as she was walking down the aisle she couldn’t stop her heart from hammering. Her eyes darted left and right and her ears started to ring with a shrill high pitch sound that kept her mind on the edge and made her oversensitive to everything.
She didn’t even register as she got up on the dias and stood next to Jasper. The minister started the ceremony and all the guests looked at the couple with warm feelings; but she was still alert and anxious. Her blue eyes darted from the windows to the men on the first row and her breath started moving up and up. The minister continued to speak in calculated syllables but she didn’t register one single word; and then suddenly, the high pitched ringing in her ears ascended to such a crescendo that she actually wailed and put up both her hands on her ears.
At exactly the same moment, the wooden doors of The City Hall crashed open and a stream of white blonde men wearing black jackets began pouring in. They were carrying pistols and shotguns and sub machine guns; and even as the guests swore ‘What the Fuck!’, they aimed their guns on the roof and fired rounds upon rounds.
The bullets tore through the chandelier and the twinkling mass of heavy glass fell with a violent crash on the floor and blasted into a trillion pieces. Champagne glasses were shattered and the bullets went into the windows and smashed the panes. The terrible sound of clicking guns continued for a while and the smell of recently fired gun filled the entire hall. Bullet shells clanked against the stone floors and the lanterns were all shot down until only the little light of the night seeped in through the windows and entire hall was cast into darkness.
There was utter silence. People looked at the mad blonde men in terror and were too afraid to make even a tiny little sound. The pause felt like a million years and in that moment no body could think of anything.
Then the tension was broken as the sound of heavy boots came from the entrance of the City Hall.
A young man with broad shoulders and heavy build made his entrance into the wedding hall. His hair was long; it was rough, shabby, and was thrown casually behind his face and fell on the shoulder. His beard was equally rough and it had grown long as if he were the chief of some underground resistance army. His face was heavily scarred and one long jarring line had left an ugly scar from the left edge of his lip, nose, and right eye. The eye itself had been killed and in its place, there was a now stone eye that gleamed with blue light and shone in the darkness of the wedding hall.
He moved towards the altar and before him all the blonde men move quickly and pointed the guns at the guests. They made way for him and as he walked towards the couple his boots fell on the shattered glass and the crunchy sound echoed around the hall. Everyone held their breath.
The man reached the altar and a look of murder appeared on his face as he finally came to stop and glared at the groom and the bride. Cadence’s face was already wet with tears and her knees were shivering uncontrollably. Jasper’s nerves were also on the edge and as he sensed a vile animosity oozing from the strange man, he moved to protect Cadence. But immediately, the man pulled out a black desert eagle from his pockets and pointed it straight at the skull of Jasper. Jasper stopped.
There was tension for a moment or two, then the man looked at the two once again and said: ‘So. You dare to get yourself a lover after stealing mine? Aren’t you a little blood thirsty cocksuker to get yourself a wife you asshole bastard.’
‘Please there’s no need for violence young man. We can reason it out.’ The minister said to the man in hesitating tones.
The man looked at him and laughed a little.
Then he shot him in the arms.
The minister fell on his back and started screaming so terribly that one in the crowd actually broke free to help him but he too was hit on the head by one blonde man who got him with the butt of his shotgun. The minister screamed in pain and writhed his legs even as he cursed in rage: ‘You crazy motherfucker. You shot me in the arms. You crazy cock -’
The man shot him once again in the stomach and the minister launched into yet another wail of painful agony as he screamed at the top of his lungs: ‘GOD DAMN IT HURTS. GOD HELP ME. IT FUCKING HURTS.’
‘Derrick!’ The man screamed at one of the blonde. ‘Shut him up please and carry him away. Don’t dispose him though. We need to keep the execution to 1.’
One of the black jacketed blondes came up quickly and he hit the minister on the head with the butt of his SMG until the poor fellow passed out of pain. Then he was carried off and as his body was taken, it left a trail of blood behind it.
‘Now, where was I,’ the man continued, as he started back at the couple ‘oh yes, Love and Murder.’ And a gleam of deadly glance came on his eyes as if he would murder them right then and there.
Jasper pleaded, ‘Please. What do you want? Why are you here?’
The man stared at him in wonder and spoke loudly, ‘You motherfucking asshole! You really don’t know why I am here? You fucking -’ And the rage took him over as he started smashing Jasper’s face with the butt of his gun, ‘You shit face asswipe. You don’t even remember do you? Do you murder all of them so regularly that you don’t even bother to recollect what you have done? Fuck you you motherfucker!’ And he continued to hit Jasper on his face smashing his nose and teeth.
**(continued in comments)**
| 2021-11-16T13:07:32 | 2021-11-16T09:42:46 | 27 | 14 |
[WP] Time machine has finally been built, and you've been selected to be the first person to travel back in time. Your official mission is to bring medicine and technology designs to advance humanity sooner. However minutes before your departure, you are given the real orders...
|
"Right, so I just give this 'NASA' place a quantum computer and we're all good?'' asked Hank. "You are correct sir," replied Sgt. Mathers. "Remember, 2015, not 2014, and definitely not 2016, just as we discussed to the public. "Yes sir, though I do hope everything goes well."
"I'm in the teleporter sir, I'm waiting for it to warm up, it'll take about 5 minutes for the teleportation to commence," Hank spoke into his earpiece.
"Good, but forget about the quantum computer, the whole advancing things sooner bullshit was just a farce. The real mission is to go back to 1873 when Major Walter C. Wingfield patented the rules and equipment for tennis."
"Sir, I-I Don't understand why this would be so important as to use the teleporter on it."
"MY FUCKING GOD HANK HAVE YOU SEEN THE SCORING SYSTEM FOR THAT SHIT?" Sgt. Mathers yelled.
"I mean, yes it's stupid but, I thought we were going to help some people"
"We are Hank, we're going to save their brain cells from dying at trying to understand the scoring system in Tennis."
|
The man sat alone in the locker room, looking at the ceiling, imagining what he would see, and what he would do. Scott was a daydreamer, also had been. He had always dreamed of playing the hero in some epic adventure, but adventures don't happen in the modern era, at least he had given up on the idea of adventure. Those types of things only happen in the movies, and yet, here he was, preparing for a journey across time itself.
"Scott, you alright?"
Scott looked up at the friendly face. "Commander, sir. I'm sorry, I'm just taking my time, this all seems so surreal to me sir."
The commander pulled two cigars out of the inside of his jacket as he sat next to Scott. "Here, we can use these to calm our nerves a bit. Who knows when the next time will be when you can smoke one of these things? Right?"
Scott, let out a small chuckle. "Sir, there is a sign right there that says no smoking."
The commander continued to light one of the cigars, puffing smoke out into the room. He calmly took the cigar, and held it out to Scott, "Rules are meant to be broken sometimes, besides, this an important moment in history."
Scott looked at the cigar, took it, and brought it up to his lips. "I suppose it's an order to smoke this, sir?"
The commander just smiled, "Drop the 'sir' stuff, Scott. You can call me dad right now if you want, it's just the two of us in this room."
Scott wasn't used to calling the man next to him 'father' for some time now. Ever since he had joined the same team as his dad, the bonds of family seemed estranged by the duties they had. "Well then 'dad', what did you want to talk about?"
The old commander hung his head down, "listen... I'm sorry I couldn't give you the childhood or the life you deserved. I'm sorry you never got to meet your mother, and that you got tangled up in the life I chose."
"What are you talking about dad? I'm the one who was interested in your work. I'm the one who chose to follow in your footsteps. If it wasn't for your genius, this time machine project wouldn't have even got off the ground. You're the inspiration to this whole team, and how you figured this stuff out is amazing by today's standards. I mean, it all started with that prototype you had down in our basement."
A tear began to come down the old man's face. "That's kind of you to say son, it mean's a lot to me. Listen... It's your turn in the spotlight now. Don't let your nerves get the best of you, ok? If you succeed in this mission, mankind will benefit greatly, you understand?"
Scott nodded, "I know dad, I know."
A knock came from the door the led back out to the hallway, "Scott? Are you ready? We are making final preparations for your journey to the past."
Scott stood up and handed what remained of the cigar back to the commander. "I got to go, dad, I'll see you around."
The commander took the cigar but didn't reply. Instead, he let his son leave in silence.
-----------------------------------------
Scott approached the time traveling pod out in the middle of the huge hanger, along with one of the lead scientists. "Alright, we have packed with you all of humanities schematics and plans of the greatest inventions during the last 300 years. Obviously, those are all digital on this laptop you will be taking with you. The time traveling pod will be able to charge all of your electronics as you need them thanks to solar energy. The solar energy is also how you will recharge the system for returning back home. We have also packed quite the pharmacy of drugs with you, and since you are a doctor, you should be able to help compound some simple medicines in the past. You will spend about a year in the past, but when you return to this time, you will come back 24 hours from this point."
Scott just nodded his head. He has gone over the mission briefing so many times, it was ingrained into his head. He didn't require hearing it again. The day was May 20th, 2030. He was expected to come back May 21st, 2030.
Scott sat into the pod, awaiting the final checks and all clear to head to the past. Any minute now, and he would be the first to fly through the time stream.
"Scott? Can you hear me?"
The commander? What could he want at a moment like this? "Yes, sir?"
"Listen Scott... This is a secure channel, it's just you and me. No one here knows what I'm about to tell you, so listen up. This mission is a facade."
Scott's eyes widened, "What... did you say?"
"Listen, this whole project is for my own selfish ambitions. I've tweaked the coordinates, you aren't going to May 20, 1730."
"Dad? What are you talking about?"
"Listen, son, I wish I could come with you again, but I'm too old to make the journey, and I will die here in this era. You are going to May 21st, 3030. You will understand when you get there, alright?"
"Dad, you aren't making any sense, what are you talking about!?"
"God speed son... and say hello to your mother for me when you find her... alright?"
A blinding light lit the hanger as the pod disappeared. Scientists began to jump for joy as the pod disappeared with Scott, all of the schematics, and all of the medicine. The only one who sat in his seat and didn't join the festivities was the Commander. "Good luck son, humanity is in your hands now."
-----------------------------------------------------
The Pod came to a shaking halt, and the door slowly opened. Scott looked at the time coordinates on the control panel. "May 21st, 3030... What the hell old man!"
As he stepped out, he noted how the Earth where he stood was now a barren wasteland. A small village was over on the horizon in the distance, "what the hell am I supposed to do?"
As he walked around the pod to get a status check of the equipment, a boulder with some writing engraved into it caught his eye.
'Here marks the beginning of humanities climb back out of the abyss. All of our hopes are placed into today, May 20th, 3030. With the time machine found within the cave to the East of the village, we send Thomas and his son Scott to retrieve the technology lost to humanity. God speed.'
Scott stared at the stone in the sand, not sure of the feelings he currently had churning in his stomach.
"Thomas...?" A woman's voice came from behind Scott, as he turned, he heard a gasp.
"I'm sorry miss, but that is the name of my father."
The woman began to cry. "You look just like him... You know that Scott? Welcome home son."
--------------------------------------------------
If you would like to read other stories of mine, check out my sub at /r/vintnerwrites
| 2017-03-04T11:21:25 | 2017-03-04T10:38:07 | 16 | 12 |
[WP] You are an inspector of the Federal Bureau of Dungeon Safety And Adventurer Fairness. This one is a serious violation to the codes.
Feel free to drop the Adventurer Fairness if you don't like it.
|
"Oh well come on! I checked the handbook, there's nothing strictly against the rules there."
"I'm sorry Mr. Greyskull, but you just can't try to exploit the rules like this." He gestured to the pit behind us.
"So I decided to make a bit of extra income. No one gets hurt...well no one human anyway. If anything, it's more ethical." I said.
"Mr. Greyskull, be reasonable. If everyone set up a goblin spawner next to a soul trapping engine and pushed the goblins into a lava pit, do you know what would happen?" The in-specter seemed extremely put upon.
"For one thing there would be far fewer adventurers dying. I don't see what's wrong with that. I'm just making a bit of passive income."
"Listen.." the in-specter rubbed his incorporeal temples, "if everyone went around doing what you do, soul gems would be worthless. The dark economy would collapse. Besides, you've blocked the entrance to your dungeon so thoroughly, I could barely find the switch to get in."
"Well, you did find it though right?" I asked.
"Eventually Mr. Greyskull, yes. It took hours of searching, and I found zero clues as to its possible location. That's a massive violation in itself. Did you realize that zero adventurers have entered this dungeon in four months?"
I winced, "Didn't realize it had been that long, but I suppose it was a bit more quiet than usual." I did not like where this was going.
"Unfortunately Mr. Greyskull, this is the least of your worries. If it were just my problem, you may face nothing more severe than a thousand years in the boiling pit of despair. I'm sorry Mr. Greyskull, I'm going to have to report your activity to the IRS. You'll be audited I'm afraid." He spoke with grave finality.
"Oh....Shit, the Infernal Revenue Service." I said. I would be audited. "I'm screwed."
***********
/r/SirLemoncakes
|
Three goblins in the next room.
One against the back wall, the other two hiding behind a few crates stuffed with healing items.
If you get too close and activate the stash, they'll shove daggers so deep into your kidneys you'll piss steel.
Without the map, I would be very, very dead. Well, without the map, loaded die and a very well worn pistol.
Taking one step over the threshold, I see the goblin before he sees me.
One round into the gut to slow him down.
It still approaches me, brandishing some kind of curved blade with a buckler on the opposite arm. Pretty weird combination for a greenskin, but that's not my problem.
Another round in the chest, this time right in a lung. Goblins now flat on his ass, blood frothing out of its mouth. Up and down the chest rises, though already the poor bastard's drowning in his own blood. Proper gut shots kill, though not immediately.
Say a prayer, give him five minutes. Standing over the heaving mess, I pull a flask out of my coat packet and take a swig.
Pour a little on his face.
There.
I've done my good deed for the day.
The room's light is dull and weak, kind of emanating upwards from stone floors. Pulling out the map, I still see that I'm only halfway.
Getting to the bottom of this dungeon is piece of cake. Easy monsters, simple traps, obvious pitfalls and the usual cliche mess.
But coming up...coming up is a different story.
We're talking a minimum level increase by forty, and sanctioned progression is a five level range maximum. This isn't supposed to be a sadists playground, but a work environment. Idiot that I am, I got myself trapped in the mirror realm, and that alone is grounds for automatic execution for a dungeon designer. Here everything is twisted, dark and cold. Flames will freeze you, ice can melt you, every normal beast can almost one shot the strongest member of any party.
Leaning down, I pull the blade from the goblin's weak grip. It struggles a little, but I think the first shot must have moved a bit when he walked. Paralyzed from the waist down, looks like.
Releasing the magazine, I see its still a little over half full. Eventually I'll have to switch to conventional weapons, and that's not going to be pretty.
Adventuring around here is advertised a bit like joining some Lord's army. See the world. Get some pretty wench or strapping lad to hang on your every word. Spend your well earned coin at the best taverns available as the world showers you in praise.
They don't tell you you'll spend half your time digging through shit and grime and trash for some asshole's lost piece of jewelry, or rescuing that same idiot child prone to walking into the woods and getting kidnapped by either a bandit or woodland spirit. They don't tell you about digging through corpses and smelling their released bowels after death. Dirt under the fingernails, sleeping in a ditch next to a puddle that's either horse piss or sewage water, either way you haven't drank anything for two days and you're not exactly picky at this point.
That's adventuring.
Even with all those horrible days and nights, alone, cold and hungry. It has its appeal. I remember how it used to be, and even now I can feel that nostalgic twinge in the heart. The best agents were always adventurers. It's a much better career choice, anyway.
Moving around the next corner, I can't exactly see the goblins very well, but know they're there.
One shot confirms a hit, and the little patter of torn leather boots on soft stone comes rushing my way. Blade in hand, one slash across the belly, cutting deep into hissing entrails that splatter onto the ground.
Howling, clutching its gut, one goblin rests at my feet. The other lies still in the dark. Must have been a lucky shot.
That's a joke.
All my shots are lucky.
"You're going far, agent."
The voice booms across the stone, but I don't pay it any mind. Running my hands over the blade, I smell the residue.
Poison.
A supposedly easy monster, with high level gear, stats and poisoned god damn blades.
"You've lasted much longer than your counterpart," the voice says.
Mirthless, but mocking nonetheless.
"Adventurers already can enter the tower, and parties show up almost everyday now."
Those idiots wandering the world up there must be under the impression that clearing this place lands you some kind of glorious reward. But I know this kind of guy.
There's nothing at the top of this place. Only an exit.
Which for almost any party unfortunate to get trapped here, will certainly never see.
Standing, I check the map. Next room seems to just be a bridge, but on either side are those overpowered elvish casters that just spray dragon flame over an obnoxiously huge grid square.
A party would have to be composed entirely of rangers to take these guys out, and even then they'd have to be twice the recommended dungeon level.
Each room is designed to kill, either instantly or slowly. No treasure, no reward, not even stashes of hidden experience. Just a long, arduous slog to survive.
"There's no escape," the voice says. Pretty sure its the designer, but you can't always tell. Sometimes contractors like to shove a bunch of useless or illegal shit into these things just to kill people who are doing what they cannot. A lot of these jobs get pretty petty.
But this.
This is something else entirely.
I don't even enter the next room, but can see already its much better lit.
Good.
All it takes is one shot per caster, and it knocks them off their weird pedestals into the endless void below.
"Cheater," the voice drools, though it seems to relish in the slaughter.
"That isn't fair, agent. You need to enter the room. Rules are rules."
"Eat shit," I spit at the voice. Omniscient, sure. But not God.
"You seem to be rather lucky, agent. Luckier than your friend."
Echoing steps in a lonely cavern.
"I don't need luck."
That's true. I have a loaded die, and let's just say that every strike coming from me is critical.
Eventually sadist-Mcgee up there will catch on.
"When we get out of here, you're in a world of shit, and that's all I have to say to you."
My voice is hoarse, but that's just the thirst. The kind that gives jittery hands and pounding headaches.
Another swig from the flask.
Already I can hear it regenerating, as if someone far above is pouring a very thin stream of liquid through a sealed cap.
If only bullets could replenish that way.
"I believe we have more in common than you'd like, agent."
I don't like that tone.
"And if you play along, there's still a chance to save your partner."
I especially don't like that.
"Listen, if you've seriously injured a FBDS agent, you're in for an even bigger load of hurt than you're already in for."
"I hear that threat a lot, agent."
Arrogant. That's going to get this little shit in the end. Still, other agents have been sent here before. Even with a map, stolen equipment from a different world, some of the best trained agents in the kingdom were lost here.
None of them have my loaded die, though. Call that a leftover of my less glamorous days, going on my own adventures with my own parties.
"You're not the first agent to be caught in my web," the voice booms louder now, everywhere, filling the entire world.
"And you certainly won't be the last. Now hurry along now. Your partner is waiting."
Checking my map, I inspect the next room and groan.
Weapon drawn, I continue on my way.
Upwards and outwards.
To rescue, and escape.
Hopefully.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
r/storiesfromapotato
| 2018-11-26T09:47:49 | 2018-11-26T09:44:52 | 292 | 139 |
[WP] it was a dark night when our villain heard a wrap on their door. To their surprise their arch nemesis, the hero, collapses into their arms. Beaten and a bit woozy in the eyes ,the hero looks up and barely manages to get out "I wasn't sure where else to go" before going limp.
|
Addison groaned as she stood up. She'd been fighting almost all the day prior, and some dick had just decided to knock on her door. Who knocks on somebody's door, completely unvited, at three in the morning? Sure she'd tried to rob a bank, but she still deserved sleep! She stretched, making sure to let her back crack before she went to the door.
"If this isn't important I'm gonna be pissed," she growled lowly. She slammed her door open. Her eyes widened as a woman fell into her arms, and she struggled to hold the taller lady up.
"I wasn't sure where else to go," the tall woman slurred out. She went limp in Addison's arms a second later. Addison almost collapsed herself-not because of the weight, no, but because that was definitely Eclipse's voice. Eclipse, the hero she'd been fighting for years, came to *her* for help.
Addison backed up a bit. Eclipse's lanky form was a struggle to drag. Addison wasn't really sure what to do at this point-tie her up? Put her on the couch? To hell with it. The girl clearly needed help-she'd give her the guest room. The infamous criminal for hire Addison played might've been a menace, a danger, even a villian-everything the news liked to call her-but *Addison Daniels* wasn't.
She lowered Eclipse and set her down. Addison took a moment to catch her breath before she closed the door. She sighed and looked back at New California's golden girl, their hero and savior, lying on her floor. Eclipse looked nothing like she usually did. Addison hadn't noticed it earlier, but now that she could get a good look at the hero, she wondered what exactly had happened.
Eclipse's perfect black hair was tangled and matted. Instead of her usual black and white attire, she was in an oversized hoodie and jeans. Addison froze-Eclipse hadn't even bothered to put on a mask before she came here. Something was definitely fucking up.
She pulled out her phone, tapped her brother's name, and then the call button. An automatic ringtone accompanied her as she stared at Eclipse. Instead of standing above Addison, glaring daggers and ready to fight, she was lying on the floor, vulnerable and bruised. A thought ran through Addison, leaving her with goosebumps. *Who on Earth is strong enough to do that to Eclipse?*
She jumped as Jay finally responded. "Hello?" his voice was groggy and lethargic, but she was just happy he answered.
|
“I know you are awake” Hera said, as she caressed her peacock “If I wanted you dead, you would be dead”
“One can never be too careful” Leto opened her eyes “Have I passed out? I remember coming her, but afterwards…”
Hera rose from her chair, letting her peacock go. She knelt next to her nemesis and put a hand on her forehead. She was better than the previous day, but still had a fever. She fetched a wet towel and some medicine.
“Take this. It will help”
The black-haired girl did not comply at first, instead glaring at Hera with her deep dark eyes. She laughed.
“As I said, if I wanted you dead, you would be dead”
“It wouldn’t be the first time you betray me” She carefully took the pills on her hand.
“And I hope it won’t be the last” She smiled with malice, then softened her expression “But today you got a free pass. I owe you after saving me from Shadow”
“That’s what heroes do” She spoke as she finally took the pills. With a groan, she fell back on the couch “Ouch. Everything hurts”
Hera went back to her chair.
“What happened to you? I mean, for an acrobat, you are pretty tough. Who beat you up like this?” A flick of fear passed through her face “Was it Shadow? Is he back?”
“No… no, it wasn’t him” Leto shuddered “It was someone worse, *much* worse”
“Didn’t you have that boyfriend of yours to protect you?” Hera asked, puzzled “What was his name? The one with the flashing sun powers?”
“Ra” She whispered, sobbing, and then crying.
“Wow. Uh…” Hera stood up and touched her shoulder “So, you guys broke up or…?”
“He is dead!” She burst. A little calmer, she spoke again “He killed him”
“Alright, who’s he? I mean, you come here, to my hideout, that you forced me to make, after all that bullshit in Thessaloniki, and speak in omens? Oh please. Look, I’m sorry about Ra, I didn’t want to be mean, but seriously, what is happening? Who is after you?”
Leto glared at her again, incredulous for a few moments.
“How… how long has it been since you left this place?”
“Hm, hard to tell. Since Thessaloniki, I think” Hera scratched her brown curls “I had everything I needed to survive here. Plus, you would probably have come after me, so I guessed; why go back anyway? I’m still figuring out what I would do next, to be honest”
“You… haven’t left this place in two years?”
“I believe so” She tapped her feet, impatiently “Ok, no more games; what is happening? The dread in your face isn’t even making me happy, and that is really weird”
“Do you have a TV here?”
“Do I look like I watch TV?” She sighed “Yes. I think there is one in the yard. But it doesn’t work”
“I will make it work”
Hera watched as Leto fixed the television with impending rush. They had been nemesis for quite a while, but Leto, despite quiet and introspective in nature, always seemed to be calm and sure of herself; even Shadow had a hard time breaking her temper. Upon remembering Shadow, she felt a cold shill on her spine; she remembered his hands on her hips, and the pressure on her… no. She would not go there. He was done and dead. No more would that demon torture and kill people; no more would his figure lurk in the corner of people’s eyes; no more would he take anyone else, ever again.
Shadow was one of the most terrible and dangerous beings she had ever encountered. And yet, Leto defeated him, even if at much cost. What could be so dire as to not only defeat her, but also kill Ra, the living embodiment of the sun god’s power and might? What had gone so wrong while she stayed in exile? If she was to be honest, she was starting to feel terrified. With a loud ‘tik’, Leto managed to fix the television.
“I wouldn’t bother” She said “If I recall correctly, there is only that cheap soap opera channel here”
“It doesn’t matter. It has been broadcasting in all channels over the world for weeks now”
In a flash, the television worked and an all too known flag appeared. An orange flag with a white circle and a black star on its center. It could not be...
“Is that… the flag I think it is?”
“Yes” Leto whispered, the sadness and anger visible through her voice “It is *his*”
“But… I thought that after he caused the Third World War… didn’t Gaucho defeat him? Didn’t he kill him? I mean, that is what ended the war, right?”
“We all thought that. That is, until a month or so ago, when Cinderwatch appeared on the Space Conference at the new United Nations headquarter in Switzerland” She shook her head “He was not dead, just hidden from us; while we worried about our other villains… like you… he waited and lurked in the shadows. When he finally revealed himself, it was a matter of minutes before his forces had gained control of most governments of the world. What he failed to take by strength, he achieved through manipulation”
“What-what are you saying?” Hera started to understand Leto’s dread.
“He won. He conquered the world”
“No… no, it can’t be. What about you? I mean, the heroes of the world. Isn’t it your job to defeat him? What about the Gaucho?”
“The Gaucho is dead” A lone tear rolled from her eyes.
Hera was caught in disbelief. She had never thought the gunslinger would be taken down. If that was real, then things were truly dire.
“What about your other boyfriend? The Jewish guy, Uriel. He was the strongest of you, shot lasers from his hands, had giant wings…”
“He is missing in action” She sobbed “Ra is dead. So is the Gaucho. Tupã, Scarleting, Olorun, they are all in prison”
“What about the sidekicks? The Ginete? Osiris? What about your sister, Asteria?”
Leto cried again as she heard her sister’s name.
“I don’t know” She wept “They… she was with me and then he… he attacked us… I don’t know if they are alive… if she is alive… oh my God…”
Hera was out of balance. He could not have returned. The man who manipulated world governments into a brutal world war, who devastated the Middle East, Latin America, and East Asia. She had met him before, and if anyone could be worse than Shadow, it was him. It seemed like his own aura irradiated darkness. She helped Leto to her feet.
“Don’t worry, I… I will help you. We had our differences, but this is bigger than us” She tried to be recomforting; she could not believe she was actually doing this “We will find a way to stop him, together”
“I sadly must disagree”
A deep, dark voice with a slight of Spanish accent said on her left. Leto bared her teeth and crouched to the ground, defensively. Hera was too stunned to do anything. In front of them, a hulking man, easily twice the size of any of them, stood at the doorway with a corpse on his hands. With more muscles than most supernatural monsters she had seen, he was tightly dressed in a gray and black military uniform with orange details. His brute face hided the extremely cunning and intelligent man behind the barbarian façade. Although he was calm and relaxed, everything on him exhaled malice and danger; he was like a predator, ever so calm next to its prey, for they offered no real threat to him. Throwing the body Hera recognized to be Osiris’, Ra’s partner, in front of them, his skull completely shattered, he spoke again, in a soothing, profound tone.
“You gave me more work than I thought you would, plane walker” His gaze was upon Leto “I would ask you to surrender peacefully, but I have no plans of making prisoners today. As for you…”
He looked to Hera. Her heart froze.
“I believe we have met, but I cannot point out your name” He offered the bloodied hand that held the corpse; he could easily break her head, if he so wished “My name is…”
“I know who you are” Still partially in shock, her mind racing to find a way out, all she could mutter was “***Cinderwatch***”
| 2021-07-08T21:05:47 | 2021-07-08T20:11:17 | 25 | 16 |
[WP] The Dark Lord was feared as a menacing black knight encased in gothic armor. Though your image was well known, you've never revealed your face. After your defeat, being an enigma is already starting to pay off as you start your life over.
|
The party of adventurers had been formed at the guild by higher ups almost as soon as they’d individually signed up. One braggart with a sword and chain mail armour, ready to learn his place or die trying, one mace-wielding but otherwise kindly farmhand, the village witch’s daughter, and an unassuming young girl studying the ways of white magics. The guild leader couldn’t have hoped for a more perfect party. It sounded almost exactly like the one that had gone on to defeat the dark lord some fifty years ago.
The quest they’d been given was also rather relevant; defend a merchant’s caravan, which happened to have the dented and burnt armour of said dark lord in it’s inventory. Standing nearly eight feet tall, covered in hexes and curses that even the most studied of mages could not hope to understand, it was said to whisper horrible things to all who got near. Now, Torec sat atop it’s enchanted box, sword by his side and apple in his hand. In between bites, he decided to tell his new friends a story.
“You know, when they defeated this here dark lord, they never did find the man under the armour. His voice was warped by curses, and no one ever saw what he looked like under that dumb helmet. They say he was immortal, too. So, by that logic, he could be anyone in the world if he’s still alive,”
Torec pointed at the larger farmer, who was chatting with the witch.
“Could be you, Terzi. Or you, Morgana,”
He turned to the one from out of town, a shy young woman who was currently occupied with a bunny that she had found.
“It could even be you, Len,”
She gasped, nearly dropping the small animal, her face flushing a bright red.
“N-no! It couldn’t be… could it?”
She asked, her eyes wide. Terzi grunted.
“He’s just teasing you, girl. Don’t pay him any attention,”
“R-right,”
Torec grinned.
“Yeah, there’s no way it could be you. They say he had a sword as tall as him, and could swing it with one hand. I’d be amazed if you could hold mine,”
He laughed, and Len’s face went red again as she looked down at her rabbit, petting it gently. She wondered how the group would react if she were to crack open the box and don the armour right then and there. Their reactions would be absolutely priceless. Still, she was rather enjoying the fifty years of *not* being considered a demonic king. Helping around villages, acting like an easily flustered girl, and studying the white magics of healing in relative peace sure had their benefits, especially compared to storming the dark realms with armies of dragons to learn a slightly more advanced curse. No, she wouldn’t be attempting anything with her old armour for the foreseeable future. Healing these plebs with the spells she was learning and possibly cheating dungeons with her draconic friends was enough for her after a hundred years of war.
Still, it’s not like she would be spending this time as a goody two-shoes the entire time. Placing a small curse on Torec’s apple, she acted incredibly concerned when he sputtered after nearly choking on it.
|
*The Dark Ages are over. The Dark Lord has been defeated!*
“Are you ready?”
A man shifted his gaze from the browning paper that sat on his desk onto the pretty girl that entered the room. The door creaked a bit as the girl rested some of her weight on it. The man nodded, managing a half smile as the girl nodded enthusiastically. She disappeared behind the door, and he heard a distant voice calling. The pitter patter of rain can be heard outside as droplets of rain slide down the window.
He turned to the paper once more, and he saw words and phrases he saw a million times over. *Killed. A new era. Rejoice. Dead*. He turned the page on the newspaper, and there on a huge part of the paper showed a knight shrouded in darkness. Pale moonlight shone on the trees behind the knight, dressing the trees in a ghostly white light. The knight looked almost invisible if not for the light that shone that night. The night he fell. The night that saw him take on a new...
“Excuse me?”
He was roused from his stupor by a meek soft voice. In front of him stood a pale, sickly old lady. She was bent over a makeshift cane that looked like a branch cut from a felled tree.
“The lady from outside said you were free?” the lady said.
“Yes,” the man answered, gesturing to a seat. “Please.”
The lady shuffled into the seat, before coughing. “I haven’t been feelin’ so well lately. It looks like a cold has gripped my poor old lungs.”
“Don’t you worry,” the man said. “We’ll check you out immediately; see if we can do anything about it.”
She coughed, and the man saw some sputum come out. He gave no reaction and simply waited for the woman to continue. “I do get some relief on the thought that this can likely be cured, given the end of his reign”
The man pursed his lips but uttered no sound. His eyes, however, flitted to the paper once more. The old lady followed his gaze and saw the browning paper that sat on the table. The page still sat on the page that saw the knight under a pale ghostly light.
“I see you are interested in him as well,” the lady said. “I studied him, you know? All the years of my life I spent studying every move he made.”
“Oh?” the man leaned towards her. “And what did you learn?”
“Terrible things! Surely you read the papers. It’s all the papers ever print ever since it started. For decades, we have suffered every disease imaginable. Diseases that turned men into monsters. Turned women into poisonous beasts that not even the children she carried can go near her.”
The man gave a curt smile. “Surely, it’s not all terrible.”
The old lady gave him a disapproving look. “You jest, I’m sure. Our lands were full of dead bodies for years! Years! Throughout the years, I’ve only learned names of diseases with no cures. Disabilities with no hope for survival were the norm. Only a rare few have lived to tell their tales, but I was there. Oh, yes I was! Every dreadful trail he left, I was there to see. A complete madman, he is. A cold-blooded killer!”
The man curled his hands into fists. He felt his hands grow hot and a surge of hotness ran through his arms. His knuckles turned white, but he allowed them to relax. He would not get angry today. “Seems like you really do know a lot about him.”
The old lady started to speak when she was overwhelmed with sudden wheezing coughs. Sputum flew out of her mouth, and sporadic whistles filled the room in between coughs. The man stood from his chair and rushed to the lady’s side. She gripped his hand tight as her coughs continued. He looked at her intently, watching her catch her breath.
“What happened to checking up on me immediately?”
“Forgive me,” the man said. “I’m completely new to this.”
The lady gave a forced laugh. “That’s okay, sonny. We all must start somewhere.”
The man just gave her an embarrassed nod and began the diagnosis.
\~o\~o\~
“Well?”
The man pulled a chair and sat in front of her. “I’m afraid it’s not treatable.”
The woman stared at him for a moment. The man stared back, but after a few moments, he saw a few tears fall from the old lady’s eyes. She blinked rapidly and used the hem of her shirt to wipe away the tears. He could do nothing, as she cried in front of him. He could only sit there and wait.
“I guess his reign is truly not over,” the old lady said. A few teardrops landed on the table, staining the newspaper that sat on it.
“I assure you,” the man said with conviction. “It truly is over. He can no longer do what he does.”
“Are you saying it’s just my luck that I only got sick once it wasn’t his fault?” She laughed hollowly. “That’s such sweet irony, don’t you think doc? I follow him for all of 50 years and I haven’t gotten sick save for a few sniffles. But once he rides off into the moonlight with his stupid dark armor, I get a ticket to meet the Grim Reaper himself. Ha Ha!”
The man tried to say some comforting words, but he found that he cannot. For the first time in decades, he felt his heart ache for a person, a stranger. He merely sat there and looked blankly at her. His hands tingled, and he knew what that meant. He curled his hands and willed the feeling to go away. It did a bit, but it rested on the tips of his fingers.
“Have you ever theorized why he did it?” the man asked. The rain had began to weaken. The pitter patter of rain has stopped, and the rain has weakened to a drizzle.
The old lady composed herself, wiping more tears with her sleeves. She caught her breath before speaking, “No. I have never really realized what his intentions were. It seems like everyone is not safe from his wrath. Every city he was spotted in was plagued with mysterious diseases. Sickness seems to come from the grates of sewers and float to everyone’s homes, making men and women disabled and disfigured. It always looked like he brought something that poisoned the city.”
“With such mystery and power, won’t you think it was all the work of a malevolent god?” the man said.
The woman gave this some thought, but she shook her head. “If there is such a thing as a malevolent god, I believe there is such a thing as a benevolent god. There is no evil without good.”
“Then perhaps it’s a way to punish all men?”
“But why?”
The man stood up and walked to the window. “For the evil they produce themselves.” The man turned to the woman, and she saw a hint of pain in his face. In that moment, the old lady saw decades in the face of the man. She saw centuries reflected in his eyes.
“You said that there is no evil without good,” the man said. “But why is it that men are inclined to show more evil than good? Why is it we see children dying in the hands of men that see it fit to make their formative years a living hell? We see women abandoning their child to chase a selfish dream; we see innocent men and women stabbed and killed in the name of a god.”
“You speak as if the knight in dark armor was a force sent from the depths of earth itself,” the old lady said. “Instructed to plague the earth forever. He was defeated and killed! Thrown into a ditch at the city edge by the villagers themselves. He is just like us! Mortal, but terrible.”
The man gave a small smile. He walked back behind his desk and sat down into his chair. The old lady looked on, and she saw the man’s face grow older. She wondered if that’s what she looked like in the eyes of others over the years.
“Maybe, the punishment is enough,” the man said. “Perhaps there was something within those villagers as they fought the Dark Lord with all they had to save their families, their children.”
The rain had stopped. The man folded the newspaper, and tucked it away in his drawer.
“Well, I hope the future brings this world hopeful and great things, doc. I’m afraid I won’t live long enough to see it.” She smiled wistfully, shakily standing up as she put all her weight on her cane. “It’s a brand new world.”
The man felt the ache in his heart grow stronger, the feeling in his fingertips spreading once more. Hot light seem to travel into his veins. He had felt it a long time ago...a long long time ago.
“I might know something that might help you.” the man said. He walked over to her and placed his hands on her back. “Visit me the same time tomorrow, and I might have something that might help ease the pain. Think of it as a possible new treatment”
“Sonny, you make me laugh,” the old lady said, as the man opened the door for her. “You said it was untreatable.”
“Well, it’s new. Besides.” The man gave her a genuine smile. “We all have to start somewhere.”
| 2021-07-23T07:44:50 | 2021-07-23T06:18:27 | 70 | 47 |
[WP] Everyone dies on their birthday, but no one knows at which age it will occur.
EDIT:
Thanks all who replied - I've read them all even if I didn't comment!
You are all so brilliant, thanks for giving this prompt life (no pun intended)
:D
|
11:58 pm. Almost time. I blinked and took a deep breath while my mother kept clamoring on the phone. I appreciate her concern, really, I do, but I'm just as nervous as she is, and honestly? I just wanted to get to sleep. Like a lot of other people, the anxiety of my birthday was severe enough to trigger anxiety attacks, so I it's safer for me to just sleep through all 24 hours. The Drift was ready, all I had to do was plug myself in.
She kept asking her little questions, as though I were a child preparing for my first ever birthday. I silently appreciated it, though, there was every possibility my nerves were so shot I forgot something crucial.
I'm sure I didn't, though.
"Alright, so, you're full?"
"Yes, mom."
"Ok, you know how I don't like you eating on your birthday, you could choke on something."
"I won't mom."
"And you're not going outside, right? You're not driving anywhere are you?"
"Nope. I'm all bunkered in."
"OK...well, I'll call you a few more times to check up on you...I'm just so nervous, it's your first birthday alone..."
"Mom, don't worry, I'll be fine! I promise."
"Ok...I love you sweetie."
"Love you too, mom."
I hung up the phone and flopped back down in my bed, staring at the ceiling.
I ran through my mental checklist again before hooking up the drift. As it began it's soothing little whir and I could feel myself drifting away, only one though creeped into my consciousness.
*Mom didn't ask if I locked the door...*
|
"HAPPY EARLY 19TH BIRTHDAY!!"
All the lights suddenly switched on and I was blinded for a moment while my ears picked up sounds of party poppers and weird indoor fireworks going off all around the room. As my eyes regained their normal vision, about thirty of my closest (and, well, less close) friends came into view, standing a few metres away from me with beaming faces. Kat gave a slight kick from the back which I realised was to remind my forgetful self to feign surprise.
"Ohh you guys, WHAT A SURPRISE! Wow. Just... wow." I managed a watery smile and tried my hardest to pretend to be surprised. It wasn't convincing at all but they all accepted it. Probably because they knew where my mind must be today. It was, after all, quite possibly the last day of my life.
I decided to make as much of it as possible. It was a party, so party I did. Though it was supposed to continue till everyone got drunk and left in the wee hours of the morning, I knew I had to make it home before twelve. Anything could happen after twelve especially on the long 30-minute drive back home from Kat's house. I did not want to leave the world not having properly said my last goodbyes to the people who brought me into this world and made who I am today.
Close to eleven o'clock, I gathered about seven of my closest friends and we went to one of the empty rooms. At first there was silence. It was clear that everyone knew what to say but no one wanted to start. There was sudden shuffling towards the back of the room as Gary - who I am sure did this on purpose to ease the tension, that goddamned lovable bastard - accidentally sat on Kat's 6yo sister's chair and broke it, collapsing to the ground as a result. The most relieved fits of laughter broke out in the room and continued for a minute, at the end of which, silence fell *fucking* again. So I stepped up.
"Guys guys, listen. It's okay. You don't have to, you know, say anything. I know. Believe me, trust me on this, I do. Don't worry. I'm sure it'll- I'm sure it'll all be okay and over before you know it and I'll be with you all again the day after tomorrow as has been the case for the past six years."
Jen was at the verge of tears at this point and stammered, "Yeah I hope so but.. but what if..." and her voice trailed away.
A hushed silence fell again and everyone nervously began to look at their feet. I had to say something, I didn't want to leave it like this.
"Well, if that happens, then that happens. We have known since the beginning that it would happen one day. I guess life will just...go on."
It wasn't the best of replies but I had to make do with it because it was 11.15 already. Kat must be waiting for me in the car and I had to leave now.
"Listen, I need to go- go to my parents now. Again, don't worry. We had a hell of a time. If nothing happens, we'll have more of a hell of a time. If that thing does happen, just remember that you all have been some of the most important people in my life. Just remember that-" and my voice cracked a little. I had not been this emotional during any of the past birthdays so it was a new feeling for me. But if anyone, I had to be strong and act calm for them. They were the most caring bunch of people I've ever had for friends and would not leave me until they knew I was okay. After hugging everyone, I walked out of the party towards the car.
The ride home was silent as Kat and I both knew it would be no use to say anything right now. Having been together for three years, we had gone through these 'times' five times before (her birthdays included) and this was the sixth one we were heading towards. We had learned quickly that it was no use discussing it or being overly emotional about it. I absolutely loved her for this because I had seen my buddies' girlfriends creating a noisy racket on their birthdays. Which is not bad, I mean it signifies deep emotion, it's just that both Kat and I preferred it the opposite way.
My mother had her head down and was crying when I walked in, as she always did the nights before my birthdays. My father was consoling her in a quiet voice, as he always did when this happened. He looked up when we walked in and gave a half-smile. Gently touching my mother's arm, he quite audibly whispered calmly, "Come on, he's here now. Come on now, let's talk with him." Kat understood like always and went up to my room automatically. My mother's sobs were more controlled now as she managed to speak out, "Go- go up to her. She needs you, I have him right now. We can talk in the morning. Go. I'm praying all night anyway and we will speak about-about everything in the morning" and the weeping began again. I looked at my father and he nodded.
"Good night son. Don't worry about anything, it'll be the same as has been the past eighteen years. You'll be alright. In fact, cricket's on in the morning, we'll catch some of that over breakfast." And with a wink and a smile which can only be described as fatherly, he went back to holding my mother.
I had seen the depression in his eyes. And the inconsolable state of my mother right now. It had been a norm in our family to have a proper goodbye the night before any of our birthdays but I guess it wasn't possibly happening this night. I passed my brother's room on the way over to my room. The door was ajar and he was on his laptop, watching some movie.
"Hey good night!"
He took off his earphones and replied, "Oh yeah you too. By the way I got tickets to the match tomorrow, you're coming right? We're going to celebrate your deathday with some sixes and fours!" he said, grinning.
"Haha nah I'm going to watch it here with dad. You know, the goodbye's been postponed to the morning."
"Yeah... I know. Well alright I'll just get some buds to go with. Hey maybe you'll catch me waving my 'Happy Birth/Deathday to my brother!' banner on the camera!"
I rolled my eyes in fake annoyance and replied, "Thanks, man, because that is exactly what I need. G'night."
I entered my room to find Kat sitting on one of the chairs.
"Hey come on, I've got to sleep."
She sighed and laid down beside me. It was obvious that something was bugging her.
"What is it? Come on, out with it."
"It's.. nothing, we can talk in the morn. Don't worry babe, just know that I'm here for you."
"Yeah. I know that."
I kissed her on her forehead and holding her, I drifted off to sleep thinking about what the morning holds in wait for me. What condition will my parents be in, in the morning? I'm 19 now, will there be a change in the usual talk? Will my mother force me to stay indoors the whole day like she had been begging me for years but I had always managed to sneak out? What did Kat have to say to me? Will we win the match? Will I catch my dumb elder bro on the camera? And most importantly, WILL I SURVIVE?
The answer to the last question was the only one I got. Because I didn't wake up that morning. And apparently I wasn't going to, ever.
| 2014-11-19T16:39:40 | 2014-11-19T16:29:39 | 54 | 22 |
[WP] Aliens invade earth. To the surprise of humans, the alien's weaponry is pitifully outdated.
|
Obama looks down as the small black box is placed in front of him.
"It's a - " He frowns. "What is this?"
"A… save button?" suggests an intern, before he's shushed by a stern glare from one of the senior advisors.
"That's a 5 1/4-inch diskette, sir. Also known as a floppy disk."
Obama stares at it. "Do we know," he asks slowly, "what's *on* it?"
"Sir. Not as of yet. They say it's a virus, but…"
"Go on."
"We've put out a call for floppy disk drives, but it may take us a few days to find one that uh, actually still runs..."
"Because all of them are thirty years old," the President finishes.
"Yes, sir."
"But - " Obama stares at the floppy disk some more. This was the secret weapon that the aliens had been hiding away for weeks? What exactly were the aliens expecting to do with this? What about all the threatening messages swearing vengeance for the mothership?
Then suddenly, it clicks.
"So," Obama says, finally. "That explains the messages we keep getting that are all addressed to The Fresh Prince of the White House…"
"Well," the senior advisor starts. "It may be that - to aliens, that is - and humans. Your uh, skin tone. May appear uh, similar - to."
"Yes, I got that. Thank you." The room falls into uneasy silence as Obama closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Then, he stands up. "I think we can go back upstairs, gentlemen. The aliens do not appear to be as dire a threat as we first imagined."
"But, Mr. President - what sort of response should we send to their, uh, weapon here?"
Obama thinks about it for a minute. "Send them Blade."
"The old Will Smith movie?" the intern asks.
"*Yes*," says Obama, and sighs again. "That one. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going upstairs."
|
On the reservation, there's only one man left who can talk about the Invasion Wars because he was in them. All us kids in the 8th year class had to go talk to him to get our 1st person narrative for our assignment on the war. He has a script that he reads from for it, given to him by the overlords. We sit on the dirt floor of his home and listen, trying not to let the motes drifting in shafts of light through tattered burlap curtains distract us, failing horribly. He talks about our lack of conviction, the failure of our fighting spirit. The backwardness of our evolutionary path. How the men and women in his unit died running.
"This is going to be hard," my mother told me when she gave me the family pencil. "He won't tell you the truth. Your Grandmother was in the war too, and died in it. We remember through her words, not anyone else's. Just because there's a man they keep alive doesn't mean his words are any better than what your grandma wrote on my heart."
But Grandma is dead and I never even knew her. I don't know if she'll ever write on my heart the way she did for mom.
"My grandma says it wasn't like that," I say. The man ignores me, drones on. There's pain in his eyes that I notice now, I think, but I'm not sure whether or not that's something I put there, or if it was there always and I never saw it. Mr. Hoshaw, my psych teach, says our brains are just now maturing emotionally; putting the finishing touches on a Theory of Mind. That's also part of the teachings of the overlords; that we are stupider than them, and that's actually a part I maybe believe. There are lots of things I miss, and Hoshaw says I'm one of the most advanced kids in his class. He wants me to join the resistance when I'm older. To die fighting for all our freedoms, he says.
People didn't use to die, the old man says. That's what got us in trouble. We were soft. We had too much to lose. The overlords came with nothing, and had nothing to lose. I wonder how much I've got to lose. There's my home, and mom, and my sister - she's the resistance-mandated kid, the one my mom had to have, to keep our population levels up. I hate to think of how much she feels like she has to lose, but she's in the resistance already, mom says. There's also my knife that I made myself in smithing class, and there's all the learning I've got about math, history, home economics, and gunsmithing, but I'm not sure I can lose that unless I start drinking the moonshine more. I guess the still's part mine, come to think of it. Are the shovel and pick assigned to me at the mine something I could lose? I guess so. So there are things I could lose. I wonder if that makes me too weak.
When the old man's done, we file out his door. The sun in the sky says the time's dinner, and if I don't get in line I'm liable to get the bottom scrapings of the prote soup, but food is just one more thing I have to lose, and this old guy's interesting when he isn't talking. Mom says they do keep him alive like we all used to be kept alive, for hundreds of years, on account of the fact that he agreed he will toe their line about the war stories.
"Mr. P., are you done with storytime?" I ask, sweet as I know how. I hold my head down like mom taught me to when I'm asking for food, to look younger. The old man gets up from his rocker and starts to shoo me to the door.
"Yes, there's nothing more to say. Nothing more to say."
"Mr., what about the truth? Your stories don't make sense." I know I might get hit for it, but he doesn't look like he can hit hard or would particularly want to.
He looks at me. I wonder if I can remember all the stuff I was supposed to listen for in his stories, the parts that contradict each other, like Mr. Hoshaw said to listen for. I did catch some stuff.
"Like when you said they defeated us on the field of battle, that doesn't make sense because you said they fought bravely with guns in their own hands against our drones, not afraid to die, but when I spar with the drones in the courtyard they can always beat me. They just fight way better than any, uh, biological. So that doesn't make any sense."
He stops and looks at me. I want to piss him off, to make him snap out of it.
"Mom says you're a traitor to the Human Nation because you value your life over history, and you say we are weak when the overlords were strong, but Mom says that Mr. Colt made all beings equal, whether they were born with claws and poison sacs or not."
Mr P. sits down indian-style on the dirt right in front of me and he's not angry, he's just looking at me, and he looks sad. He looks sad for me, actually.
"That's all right."
"I knew it!" I whisper, leaning in conspiratorially. Mr P. is a double agent for the Revolution! He's part of the Cover!
"We killed each other for what they had to offer like gods kill each other in the old stories."
He's not saying anything, but I know there's more to this story. The true story. The motes aren't distracting anymore.
"They came to each nation one at a time. They were spacefarers - they hadn't developed warfare to the degree we had; they were too busy exploring. The overlords sold each nation information about the cosmos, about their sciences, for little favors. A war here, a corporate takeover there. Governments were only too happy to comply once they started applying their sciences and getting technologies other countries could only dream of. Things that gave them the upper hand. And paranoia, well, that's a great weapon. Soon we were fighting wars not just to get what the aliens had to give, but also to keep others from getting it. To protect ourselves.
'You're right, humans can't fight drones. They'd lose every time. We fought drones with drones. The arms race was fierce. I myself didn't get involved until after the drones ran out, after the nanobombs had eaten most of our factories. Actual people had died by then; even smart weapons generate some collateral damage. We weren't actually afraid of dying; we died a lot. We got used to it fast. And we fought like devils against each other.
'Eventually we were fighting with guns and swords; all our factories could put out. And then, when we had at last lowered ourselves to their level, the overlords struck. And they hadn't been waiting idly. They had our drones, and our lasguns, and our flamers and nanites. Their police carry blades, but we lost to hover tanks and scramjet hunter-killers. The part of the war they actually fought in was short; it was over fast. It was only afterward, when we were put onto this marginal land, that we started calling all the wars the Invasion Wars. To make ourselves feel better about what we'd done."
I don't like the story, but it's writing on my heart a lot harder than his first story. Maybe even harder than mom's story about grandma's story. But maybe it isn't true; he's paid with life to make us feel bad. Could be more overlord talk. Mom says he talked too easily about it.
Now whenever I walk past his hut, he calls to me, a sad smile on his face. He calls me King Phillip, but we don't have time in our history class to go back that far to when Kings fought each other for lands. We have to get the other reservations to help us out, even if they're all cowards who still follow the old ways like Mr. P.
| 2015-04-16T10:56:52 | 2015-04-16T10:49:38 | 480 | 71 |
[WP] Your wife is from another time and place, a waitress in a small Irish town from the 1900s. Every night she takes one of your video games and retells it into a grand epic to all the patrons.
|
Ill try and make it a bit different.
Elizabeth McGuin sat her hands down on the bar, looking over the patrons of the bar, all eager to hear her tales of fantasy and wonder, of the cities and people from them, and the adventures they took.
Tonight she sat down, opening the small book she had, waving her hand over the page in amazement, to her eyes, the words materialized. She spoke clearly, for tonight, she'd be telling the story of the city below the sea, and the city above the clouds, one of her favorite stories, the one closest to her heart.
They all leaned in, "In this new world..." She spoke for hours, detailing the adventures through the great city of Rapture, a haven under the sea turned to a hell, as the hero, Jack, strove to battle his father and free the city and save the children bound to work their from their enslavement.
The crowd was in awe of the city of Columbia, a haven for the Patriotic and the religious, and how a young woman was able to bend time and space, concepts foreign to them, to her will, and split apart reality to show truths and right the wrongs that had been done.
At the end of her speech, the bar now emptying, a small boy walked up to her, looking up and gently pulling on her dress, she knelt down, looking at him. "Miss Elizabeth, how do you come up with all these stories?"
She smiled, and picked him up, fixing her brown hair neatly back, and adjusting her small pendant, rubbing the dust from the small bird portrait. Her blue eyes twinkled, "Well, there's always a man, there's always a lighthouse, and there's always a city..."
|
*Edit - RES Posted before I had edited/finished, so should be a touch punchier than those who read first time around*
"So Mary, tell us what's happened to Frank last night?" The heavyset cooper called from his stool. The question was echoed around McDaids and the buzz in the pub quietened. Indeed, the locals came here not for the lousy stout, but the stories. Mary had long ago transitioned in role from serving maid to a bard of sorts. McDaids was a typical Irish pub, with low ceilings, a cosy fire roaring and rough durable furniture filled with patrons of a similar kind.
Mary relaxed, perched on her stool and took a sip of MacArdle's, waiting for the full attention of the pub to settle upon her. The cruit & timpan players trailed off, highlighting the hush that had descended. Brushing a curl of her hair out of her eyes, Mary began "well, Thomas Byrne, it's a terrible tale. I'll brook no interruption now during the tragedy that befell my family last night, our trials were most awful"
Thomas nodded to Mary, the wheeled around on his stool and pointed a finger at short, swarthy man who was set out not only by his grimy eyeglasses, but the fact that he was drinking a half. "That means you Patrick Kennedy, you bite your tongue and let the lady finish her tale, mind me." He warned
"I just don't see how a hedgehog can run faster than a horse man! It's crazy talk!"
"Patrick" Thomas began, a note of menace in his voice. Behind him the door to the pub opened and a priest framed the door.
"Or when she blasphemed about the mother putting the fear of god in her boy, a good women shouldn't have a son like that Isaac" Patrick continued stubbornly,
"Now you leave that to me now Patrick", chimed in Father Gallagher, heading into the pub and sitting at the bar. A bowl of stew was put in front of the priest. accompanied by a cup of wine who nodded at the landlord and turned his attention to Mary, who took the cue and began.
"Now, you all know my Frank gets into some peculiar scrapes but he normally turns out ok."
The patrons leaned closer, drinks forgotten.
"But this one was different. My sister Mia was taken from us in the dead of night, a year later we got a letter from her, explaining she'd been kidnapped by a demon! So Frank went to get her back. He travelled far, finally coming to the demons lands, a sprawling mansion surrounded by thick treacherous bogs. The house had a fence too tall for a man to scale, so my Frank looked around for another way in. As luck would have it, he found a waterwheel that the demons had not secured, as they are scared of water and iron! Frank swam deep under the water, coming out in a grand basement. He stole along, not wanting to come across one of those who had taken her, as he'd had to leave his axe before swimming under the waterwheel. But he was lucky, coming soon enough upon our Mia locked in a room that opened easily from the outside."
Mary paused here, taking another sip of her pint, before continuing.
"He found her sleeping, but she woke easily enough. They went to back to the waterwheel, but her not a strong swimmer, they had to press on instead. They went through the basement, coming to what looked like a dead end. Here Mia was taken with the vapours, so he left her to rest whilst he looked around for a way to escape. He'd only gone around the next corner when he heard it, a terrible crash and a wrenching scream! He ran back to Mia, but she was gone and a creature had made a hole in the solid stone wall. It lead to a staircase, which Frank ran, two at a time, thinking only of Mias scream. But when he got to the top of the stairs, there was nothing but locked doors, in the fanciest castle he'd seen.
He went back towards the basement after his search, to find another way, or something heavy to help him break the doors. But then, as his eyes adjusted to the dark, he saw her, our Mia was in front of him! But something was terrible wrong. She was possessed by one of the demons, eyes blackened and her fair skin a muddy palor. He held up his cross, which enraged her further and she threw him, my Frank, all 6ft5 of him, up the stairs and through the door!"
The shock in the pub was palpable as many of the patrons had met Mia. To think of the raven haired waif throwing the giant that was Marys husband through a solid door was madness, but Franks rare trips to the pub were proof enough for all but Patrick. He brought magical trinkets from the stories that Mary told and the magic they held was always apparent. The ocarina had been a good one, getting two rabbits to dance a full jig, before being caught for the pot. A sadder business had been when John, the old landlord had laid hands on Mary as a lousy patron he'd been jealous of her popularity in the town. The locals would never forget Franks actions, nor would they ever abide anyone touching the waitress again, not only because Mary was loved, but for their own sake. Frank had gone over bloodied wife, and handed her an apple from a faraway German castle. As soon as it touched her fingertips, it disappeared! With it went her black eye, bloodied nose and split lips. leaving her smooth complexion unmarked and perfect once more. Then Frank turned his attention to John. He pulled an odd dagger from his pocket, then he proceeded to beat John to within an inch of his life, never cutting him just punishing the fool with the pommel. John had been more than a passing fair fighter, but he couldn't lay a finger on Frank. Whenever he seemed to get close, Frank was an inch away, always close but out of reach. He toyed with him first, just dodging the blows of the equally large man, before breaking his fingers one by one. Once he was done with the fingers, he moved on to the arms. Once he was done with the arms, he moved on to his eyes, he'd smashed one eye socket to pieces before Mary pulled him back, her mercy being the only thing that saved his life.
Mary broke the silence "Frank crawled away from Mia, as she followed him through the corridor. She had a knife out and was advancing, raving and ranting about protecting her baby, eyes black as pitch. He threw his crucifix around his knuckles and managed to knock her once on the cheek and the crucifix scared the demon! Mia came back to us for a second, dropping the knife and telling Frank to run. He picked it up and went to secure the crucifix around her neck to keep the demon at bay, but it was too powerful, her eyes blacked once more and her thin arms closed around his neck, choking him within an inch of his life"
Mary sipped, the tone in the room somber. She spoke quietly, a hint of pleading in her voice now. "He had to do it, the demon was too strong and he'd dropped his crucifix. He plunged her knife into my own sisters neck, but the demon gave her strength, so he stabbed her, again and again and again until she finally let him go. Blood like tar poured from her and she collapsed next to him as Frank passed out. When he finally came to, she was gone. There was one set of bloody footprints, so he knew where the demon had taken her. Frank found his crucifix, blessed the knife and went after her"
*TBC? What do you guys think? It's a fairly rich story, but it's quite detail heavy! Will write more if people like it.*
| 2017-06-25T03:54:47 | 2017-06-25T03:43:38 | 767 | 10 |
[WP] Your wife is from another time and place, a waitress in a small Irish town from the 1900s. Every night she takes one of your video games and retells it into a grand epic to all the patrons.
|
"So, there's this story with a talking yellow flower and..." was the start to another tall tale my wife told every night. The plots weren't as original as they sounded - she would probably be thrown out had it been a century in the future - but for now my Steam games gave enough inspiration for her tales.
"And then they all go back to the surface happily," she concluded her story and the dramatic version of *Undertale*. Her audience clapped loudly as she took a bow. Except one man, donning a black coat and a blacker fedora. He stood up just as my wife finished, his eyes glistening with excitement. Talking quickly, he painted a beautiful picture of a shooter, forced to abandon everything to save his people when timelines collided, bringing forward people of the future. It sounded so...perfect. The audience was left spellbound as he portrayed the suffering and moral dilemmas the main character suffered. When he finished, the claps were far louder and the cheers far more boisterous than my wife had ever gotten for her tales. But the stranger's story was truly one that I would remember.
Just before he left, he turned around and motioned us to come close. When we did, he whispered, "I played Undertale too. I come from the 2100s."
"Always nice to meet a fellow time traveller. Say, where did your story come from? It was amazing!" my wife gushed. The stranger smiled, affably.
"The game was just released so I came to tell the story before the others could. I believe it's called *Half-Life 3*."
______________________________
If you liked that (admittedly cringeworthy) twist, come over to r/Whale62! Stories posted on a regular basis.
|
*Edit - RES Posted before I had edited/finished, so should be a touch punchier than those who read first time around*
"So Mary, tell us what's happened to Frank last night?" The heavyset cooper called from his stool. The question was echoed around McDaids and the buzz in the pub quietened. Indeed, the locals came here not for the lousy stout, but the stories. Mary had long ago transitioned in role from serving maid to a bard of sorts. McDaids was a typical Irish pub, with low ceilings, a cosy fire roaring and rough durable furniture filled with patrons of a similar kind.
Mary relaxed, perched on her stool and took a sip of MacArdle's, waiting for the full attention of the pub to settle upon her. The cruit & timpan players trailed off, highlighting the hush that had descended. Brushing a curl of her hair out of her eyes, Mary began "well, Thomas Byrne, it's a terrible tale. I'll brook no interruption now during the tragedy that befell my family last night, our trials were most awful"
Thomas nodded to Mary, the wheeled around on his stool and pointed a finger at short, swarthy man who was set out not only by his grimy eyeglasses, but the fact that he was drinking a half. "That means you Patrick Kennedy, you bite your tongue and let the lady finish her tale, mind me." He warned
"I just don't see how a hedgehog can run faster than a horse man! It's crazy talk!"
"Patrick" Thomas began, a note of menace in his voice. Behind him the door to the pub opened and a priest framed the door.
"Or when she blasphemed about the mother putting the fear of god in her boy, a good women shouldn't have a son like that Isaac" Patrick continued stubbornly,
"Now you leave that to me now Patrick", chimed in Father Gallagher, heading into the pub and sitting at the bar. A bowl of stew was put in front of the priest. accompanied by a cup of wine who nodded at the landlord and turned his attention to Mary, who took the cue and began.
"Now, you all know my Frank gets into some peculiar scrapes but he normally turns out ok."
The patrons leaned closer, drinks forgotten.
"But this one was different. My sister Mia was taken from us in the dead of night, a year later we got a letter from her, explaining she'd been kidnapped by a demon! So Frank went to get her back. He travelled far, finally coming to the demons lands, a sprawling mansion surrounded by thick treacherous bogs. The house had a fence too tall for a man to scale, so my Frank looked around for another way in. As luck would have it, he found a waterwheel that the demons had not secured, as they are scared of water and iron! Frank swam deep under the water, coming out in a grand basement. He stole along, not wanting to come across one of those who had taken her, as he'd had to leave his axe before swimming under the waterwheel. But he was lucky, coming soon enough upon our Mia locked in a room that opened easily from the outside."
Mary paused here, taking another sip of her pint, before continuing.
"He found her sleeping, but she woke easily enough. They went to back to the waterwheel, but her not a strong swimmer, they had to press on instead. They went through the basement, coming to what looked like a dead end. Here Mia was taken with the vapours, so he left her to rest whilst he looked around for a way to escape. He'd only gone around the next corner when he heard it, a terrible crash and a wrenching scream! He ran back to Mia, but she was gone and a creature had made a hole in the solid stone wall. It lead to a staircase, which Frank ran, two at a time, thinking only of Mias scream. But when he got to the top of the stairs, there was nothing but locked doors, in the fanciest castle he'd seen.
He went back towards the basement after his search, to find another way, or something heavy to help him break the doors. But then, as his eyes adjusted to the dark, he saw her, our Mia was in front of him! But something was terrible wrong. She was possessed by one of the demons, eyes blackened and her fair skin a muddy palor. He held up his cross, which enraged her further and she threw him, my Frank, all 6ft5 of him, up the stairs and through the door!"
The shock in the pub was palpable as many of the patrons had met Mia. To think of the raven haired waif throwing the giant that was Marys husband through a solid door was madness, but Franks rare trips to the pub were proof enough for all but Patrick. He brought magical trinkets from the stories that Mary told and the magic they held was always apparent. The ocarina had been a good one, getting two rabbits to dance a full jig, before being caught for the pot. A sadder business had been when John, the old landlord had laid hands on Mary as a lousy patron he'd been jealous of her popularity in the town. The locals would never forget Franks actions, nor would they ever abide anyone touching the waitress again, not only because Mary was loved, but for their own sake. Frank had gone over bloodied wife, and handed her an apple from a faraway German castle. As soon as it touched her fingertips, it disappeared! With it went her black eye, bloodied nose and split lips. leaving her smooth complexion unmarked and perfect once more. Then Frank turned his attention to John. He pulled an odd dagger from his pocket, then he proceeded to beat John to within an inch of his life, never cutting him just punishing the fool with the pommel. John had been more than a passing fair fighter, but he couldn't lay a finger on Frank. Whenever he seemed to get close, Frank was an inch away, always close but out of reach. He toyed with him first, just dodging the blows of the equally large man, before breaking his fingers one by one. Once he was done with the fingers, he moved on to the arms. Once he was done with the arms, he moved on to his eyes, he'd smashed one eye socket to pieces before Mary pulled him back, her mercy being the only thing that saved his life.
Mary broke the silence "Frank crawled away from Mia, as she followed him through the corridor. She had a knife out and was advancing, raving and ranting about protecting her baby, eyes black as pitch. He threw his crucifix around his knuckles and managed to knock her once on the cheek and the crucifix scared the demon! Mia came back to us for a second, dropping the knife and telling Frank to run. He picked it up and went to secure the crucifix around her neck to keep the demon at bay, but it was too powerful, her eyes blacked once more and her thin arms closed around his neck, choking him within an inch of his life"
Mary sipped, the tone in the room somber. She spoke quietly, a hint of pleading in her voice now. "He had to do it, the demon was too strong and he'd dropped his crucifix. He plunged her knife into my own sisters neck, but the demon gave her strength, so he stabbed her, again and again and again until she finally let him go. Blood like tar poured from her and she collapsed next to him as Frank passed out. When he finally came to, she was gone. There was one set of bloody footprints, so he knew where the demon had taken her. Frank found his crucifix, blessed the knife and went after her"
*TBC? What do you guys think? It's a fairly rich story, but it's quite detail heavy! Will write more if people like it.*
| 2017-06-25T04:21:16 | 2017-06-25T03:43:38 | 108 | 10 |
[WP]: Everyone got a tiny, mundane blessing when they were born. Usually they are so small that people don't even notice them - always hitting the green light in traffic, etc. Yours would be virtually useless, but you figured out a creative loophole that allowed you to rise to the top of the world.
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You know when you're a kid, and you're dreaming of finding your place in the world? I remember being nine and looking up at a giant career chart and thinking "I don't have any idea where I'm going to fit..." It certainly wasn't rescuing hostages for a living.
My teen years were no picnic either. Everybody was dreaming of being scientists or engineers or something cool and high tech. I was never good at biology or chemistry or much of anything that approached a science. In high school the closest I ever got to being recognized for anything was being named captain of the chess team. I was the only one on the team and even the club adviser regularly forgot about me. My mother used to say that some folks are just destined to be wallflowers and that every teen wants to be special. I never was. All of that changed when Jason brought a gun to school.
I was the only one in my class to recognize the sharp pop-pop crack of a shot and when I screamed to get down, the looks of surprise on my classmates faces vanished as they too ducked under tables. I knew it was going to be a moment where all of our lives pivoted. To this day, I still don't know why but I clearly remember climbing out from under my table and exiting the back doorway of my class.
My heart thundered and I could feel the blood burning in my ears. I convinced myself that every sound was the shooter turning a corner or opening a door or...Still, I went from room to room quietly whisper-arguing with terrified kids, drawing them out and leading them back to an exit. The police figured out where the kids were streaming from pretty fast and I saw a few officers leading a sobbing boy off towards the ambulances. I went back in.
By the time that I was leading the last girl out of my class, I'd gotten over the creaks and groans of the building and so I almost missed the sound of Jason reloading his gun. I froze and pushed Melissa into a small alcove. I covered as much of her body with mine and hoped deep down inside that she'd make it and that my mom would understand that I'd done the right thing. Jason turned the corner and paused... and then just like every other day of school, he walked right by me. He didn't even make eye contact with me. I waited til he turned the corner and got us both to the first exit I could find.
It took me weeks to realize my gift. I prayed and had night terrors and struggled to make sense of why Jason hadn't shot us right then, right there. And then I realized... I'd never had trouble with Jason. I'd never really had trouble with anyone. As bad as my teen years were, I never got bullied. I was definitely a nerd, but the mean kids never made trouble for me. When trouble came around, if I kept my head down and avoided eye contact, it just passed me right by. That was the gift that got the FBI's attention enough to get me this job: It's like when people have an axe to grind, if I avoid eye contact and stay out of their way, I just disappear. And now? Now it's my job to walk into life or death situations and do exactly that, and if I'm really lucky, to take a bunch of innocent people with me. I'm a Vanisher, and it's good not to be noticed.
|
Ever since I was young I always thought I was cursed. No matter what I got involved in, I would ruin it. It's almost like there was a destructive force hanging around me causing everything to break in some way shape or form. No matter how careful I was, no matter how far ahead I planned each of my steps, something would always come crashing down.
It all started when I was 2 years old (that I can remember) when my mom and dad would always be fighting about something when I was around. I remember laying in my little red race car bed with my mom and dad screaming at each other whilst in my doorway but whenever I was off doing my own thing and playing in whatever make belief world I chose that day I heard nothing. There were times where I would get sent to live at the grandparent's house for a week so my mom and dad could "take a break" from the stresses of newfound parenthood and catch their breath and every time they would come over to pick me up it was the same. Dad had his arm around mom's waist, mom was smiling and looking up at him like two high school sweethearts. It never lasted long once I got home though. Whenever I got back home with them I would always ask if we could watch that Rugrats movie where they all go to Paris or Japan or some shit like that, I was a toddler, I don't remember. We would barely make it 15 minutes in until they were at each other's throats.
After mom popped out a sister for me and dad had used her as a punching bag enough for her to leave, we went off to live with the grandparents. Everything was alright, I got to hang out with my cool grandpa and my grandma always babied me. Things were looking pretty good for a few years, I got to go fishing with grandpa on the weekends and during the week day when I wasn't at school I got to hang out and "help" grandma bake. By help her bake I mean that I got to eat whatever was on the counter. Then, when I was in maybe 1st or 2nd grade, I came home from my cousin's house to everybody in the family crying. My mom, grandma, aunts and uncles were all distraught and most crying. I asked my mom what was wrong and she said "Buddy, grandpa's sick". Alright? Congratulations, I got sick, mom got sick, sister got sick and even grandma got sick.. Why's he so special? A few months down the road, grandpa stopped going fishing and stayed in bed a lot later and always looked so tired. Finally, I built up the courage to tell my mom "What's wrong with grandpa. I want to know now." while also throwing a fit. Come to find out, all those days we would go fishing from sun up to sun down wasn't good for grandpa's skin and he got cancer. As a young kid I thought nothing of it. Until one day when my mom came home sobbing and said "Honey, you need to go see grandpa, he's feeling really really sick and he wants to see you". So I went to the hospital after the doctors had decided he was regaining his health enough for visitors and I got to hang out with him for a while. I could overhear the doctors telling my family how much better my grandpa had been getting and how they're seeing a lot of potential for him to beat it. Once I heard that I told him "Grandpa, did you hear that? They said you're gonna kick this sick's butt!". He laughed and smiled at me and said "I know buddy, they say in a couple weeks I'll be starting special medicine and I might even get to come home. Just don't be worried when I come home bald, they make you shave your head so the medicine can get everywhere". I laughed and hugged him and proceeded to curl up next to him all night. Later the next day while playing at home, my mom came outside crying *again*. She told me grandpa didn't do so well and he had to go to a better place. I figured yeah, I don't blame him, that hospital had the worst sandwiches. He didn't go to a better hospital by the way, he died a day after I spent the whole day with him.
Fast forward a few more years when I'm finally in high school. Life is angst filled as a 14 year old who weighs maybe 135 pounds of skin and bone soaking wet and having no social skills. That's just a part of the process though. Later in the school year I come home to my mom all angry on the phone, which wasn't out of the ordinary because she worked with a lot of dumbass people. She hangs up the phone and says she has to go away for a bit. Being the smartass I am I asked her what party she was going to this time. She said "I'm sorry honey, work just called and said that they're putting me in a different country every month to review their manufacturing facilities". I thought about it for a few minutes and it came to me. *I was just at the local facility two weeks ago talking to her and her bosses about my future and how I wanted to travel the world*. She said she would try and call as much as possible but the calls got shorter and shorter and I became more and more depressed until pills, booze and sex became a normal routine for me.
something changed though. During practice one day at football I made a great play on scout team defense and sacked the quarterback. He tried to step on my hand when I caught his ankle with a hand so I got up and whipped him to the ground like a little bitch. He started screaming at me thinking he was hot shit but when we went to run the same play again, he messed up. Instead of following the play and pitching the ball to the left, he decided he would fake the pitch and run full speed into me. All of a sudden I'm the second to bottom person on a huge pile up with the quarterback screaming bloody murder. Apparently, when he went to run into me I did the same thing and whipped him to the ground. This time, however, one of his lineman tried to block me as I was grabbing his waist and actually *helped* me whip him into the ground harder. Everybody scatters from the pile and there he was, laying on the ground with part of his foot bursting from his skin and some bone in his leg further up poking out of his skin. They called an ambulance but there was a car crash across town involving 6 people and they wouldn't be out for some time. So in the mean time everybody tried keeping him in the best shape possible. It didn't do anything. He ended up getting surgery to get all the breaks fixed but ended up getting some kind of infection and losing his leg.
Once college hit I had felt pretty invincible. There were plenty of times where guys wanted to fist fight me for being an asshole but by some odd incidence they always ended up in the hospital. One time it was a guy who threw his whole body into a punch and after dodging it, he went full force and head first into one of those metal picnic benches and cracked his dome piece open. Another guy thought I was hitting on his girlfriend and pulled a knife on me. After I calmed him down by talking to him, he put it in his pocket and wanted to talk some shit while still calming down a bit. Turns out the dumbass doesn't know about double lacing your shoes. He steps on his laces, trips, and the knife was angled just right to where the pressure of his waist bending and him forcing his leg down in an attempt to stay on his feet caused the knife to stab him in the leg. *He accidentally stabbed himself in the leg*.
Finally, here I am now. Siting on my computer and watching the stock market and picking the highest stock to invest $1 in. You get what I'm getting at here? If not here's the thing. I've recently enjoyed going to Casino's. I don't feel that "rush" that some people get when gambling though. What I get is broken slot machines. You might be thinking "Wow, congrats dude, you broke it, hope it was worth wasting your money on the machine". Well, fuck you if you thought that. What I get isn't a lost amount of money, I get a machine that always has the spinning symbols seize up at "Jackpot". Technically, I hit the Jackpot, every single time I gamble and the machine registers it because, well, if the spindle shows the word "jackpot" 3 times in a row it says out loud "Jackpot" but never spits the money out which leads to me filing a lawsuit and getting even more money than I would've with the slot machines. So, with that being said, and if you haven't figured it out, I plan on shorting the stock market. Not hard with this "gift" really, just pick a high priced stock, invest a dollar, let it plummet and then buy it incredibly low for some mere pennies. The best thing to do, in my experience, is to pick something like a major bank that the government will bail out. That way they bring in more money from the government and can get that stock price back up to what it once was, except this time I'll own the vast majority of it.
Maybe breaking everything isn't always so bad.
| 2018-06-30T17:41:53 | 2018-06-30T15:18:43 | 192 | 52 |
[WP] The man who murdered you was able to hide all the evidence and face no prosecution. You've been following him as a spirit for quite some time, and he is still unaware of your presence. Only recently did you discover that, under certain conditions, you can manipulate the environment around him.
|
At first it was small things. A shaker knocked over after sunset. A glass spilled on the nightstand after he'd fallen asleep. Hangars knocked loose in a dark closet. It took the poor, dumb bastard three months to figure it all out, but not before a ceiling light burnt out, and came undone directly on his head.
It took another three months to break down, abandoning a house coming apart at the seams, a girlfriend(once my wife) now without several paintings hung high, and a boss furious at the loss of an antique clock during a power outage. But eventually he did indeed break down, and turned himself in. The weight came off his chest at once, and through the trial he could at least sleep through the long, quiet nights. Justice had been served, and the papers, and the churches, called it a miracle of conscience.
Then came his first night in prison. Lights out. The last thing he ever saw was the bottom of the top bunk.
|
I saw Him there. His slender frame struggling against the gales forcing their way through the streets of New York City. In spite of the obnoxious city rumble I could hear his strained breathing as he trudged forward. The blonde haired, blue eyed young man was expertly hiding his fatigue when he caught up to the other two in the group. A young, plump brunette with brown eyes and another skinny man with hair so short and fine you'd easily mistake him bald. The two wore fashionable clothes, fitting for anyone who knew the true potential of walking these streets.
​
But him. He appeared less impressive. The long sleeve shirt was certainly an acceptable length, but hung loosely and unflatteringly from his shoulders. His jeans were faded and further obscured his tiny frame. His shoes were worn and as bland as the rest of his fashion sense. But his eyes. The eyes that flittered between the two as they pestered him for being slow to the crosswalk. The eyes that blinked erratically as he feigned wonder in place of physical strain. The eyes that saw me pass many crosswalks back, though it seemed like so few ago. Their December colors held an innocence to them. A mixture of hope, determination, and stubbornness. Maybe he never quite learned the humility of his limitations. Or maybe he was truly destined to be something special. Certainly, he was to me, and I to him.
I watched the trio press on with a herd of pedestrians who scrambled to beat the impatient signals. He quickly began to fall behind. His friends were impatient and certainly less concerned about his progress than their own. He kept his head down, occasionally glancing at the closest person, unaware of the growing distance between himself and the others. He was falling behind.
​
"Speed up" I urged with growing concern. "You'll get left behind. Speed up." He had no subway pass. Hell, he hardly knew how to navigate the street signs, let alone find his way back to the hotel room safely. Those two were his only guides in this massive concrete jungle.
​
To my surprise, he did. As if the wandering man's distracted mind had a sudden jolt of clarity, those ever blue eyes fixated like a hawk onto the near gone pair he was familiar with. He briskly walked forward, dodging between overzealous business reps and street peddlers. In their varying faces, he curiously sees himself. Before long, he was in a safe distance to his comrades and closing in on another crosswalk.
​
To be fair, it's the first time I had even spoken since my passing. Of course, I was bound to follow him. My entire being existed to care for him, regardless of how he may have treated me. But, to know that I could still serve him in this way; maybe just a whisper in the wind, it was...something.
​
My internal fascination was silenced as he cleared the 2nd street. He had a knack for compassion and pity. Of course, it was only fitting he freeze at the sight of a cold and withering bum begging for change. The bum was greasy, ragged, hardly better off than I was myself. I watched as the bum motioned to my lead with his tin can.
​
"Do it." I whispered, testing my power again. "Help the man." I watched intently at the two figures mirrored in perfect form; as if locked in a stasis. Aside from a weak and shaking hand, and those flittering blue eyes, all seemed so still.
​
With no lack of hesitation, I watched those blue eyes glance down, then shut. He forced them away with all of his might and refocused on the path in front of him. But, why? I could not understand it. Why did my command before seem to possess him with such force, whereas here I could hardly conclude whether not he heard me at all? Perhaps, it was not as absolute as I thought. Maybe the light I carried was less a raging fire, and more a flickering candle; ready to be snuffed by a breeze too strong.
​
He pressed on. The impact of his feet to the unforgiving concrete was beginning to show. Sweat glistened on his face, his breathing was heavier, and his step was uneven. That is, until he peered beyond the 3rd crosswalk.
​
Her form was magnificent. She stood still, with dignity and class. Her makeup was refined down to the smallest perfections. Her hair done up in a neat pile of dark brown curls. Her shockingly light blue eyes countered his with captivating power. Her pure white smile lifted the curse that hid his uneven grin. She greeted the two as they approached and beckoned him forward with an excited wave and the look of a young, eager lover.
​
With new strength pouring through his veins he rushed toward the angel in a sundress. Faster than ever before, he barreled through the thick cloud of civilians. Their faces so curiously similar as they leered at him. It took me just a moment to realize what was to happen, a split second to remember my very own demise. I knew those eyes, that dress, that smile. It filled me with anguish, rage, despair, and panic.
​
"Stop!" I screamed. "Please, stop!"
​
But he pressed on to the 3rd crosswalk, almost harder in spite of my words. I quickly positioned myself at the crosswalk and as he passed I belted out with every ounce of my energy "Not again! Stop! Stop! **Stop!**"
​
The final word hung in the air ominously. The moment stiffened with tension. It seemed to reach throughout the whole city. The pedestrians stopped. The two friends he followed stopped. Even he stopped.
​
But the woman, she did not stop. Her smile, did not disappear. The tones of silence reflected a truth in her smile that he did not recognize before. Not fast enough. Her excited wave slowed. It was no longer a wave hello, but a wave goodbye. He stood there, puzzled. Glancing between the two ends of the crosswalk. Looking at her, then looking in the direction of the voice begging him to think twice. So perfectly frozen, in fact, that even when he heard the horn of the car, even when he saw the blinding lights, he did not move. The remorse of his grief stricken mother, his hollowed father, his fragmented and misshapen family provided no mercy with the impact of the car that took his life.
​
"You'll grow old one day, son." his mother said to him. "But never lose your tender heart."
The duo exchanged pleasantries with the woman. The two friends, the beautiful woman, and the pedestrians with faces like his marched forward into the infinite streets of New York. But, there I lay with him still and forever.
| 2018-10-28T00:40:58 | 2018-10-27T23:22:49 | 30 | 15 |
[WP] Everyone's soulmate's name is written on their right wrist when they turn sixteen. The left has worst enemy. Your left and right wrist say the same thing.
|
The young man woke early on May 27th. It was his 16th Birthday, and today he would find out two very important names. Two names to surely be intertwined with the rest of his life. He was excited, and scared at the same time.
He stared out of the window of his Manor House looking across the grounds. He knew he was born early in the day, around 8am, so he didn’t have long to wait. The house was quiet, hardly anyone around, except for the faint noises of someone in the kitchen making him his favourite breakfast, on this special day.
He wasn’t all that concerned about the left wrist, he thought he knew who that was going to be. A man who nearly 8 years ago shattered his whole world, and left him very alone. He didn’t go a day without seeing his face in his mind, or waking up sweating and screaming from his dreams. So why would it matter really if he saw his name too. The young man missed his parents greatly, and again, like most days vowed to make them so proud by continuing to do good for the city he lived in.
The name on the right wrist was more important, he wanted to find that soulmate as quickly as possible and spend as long as possible with her, for as many years as he could. He wondered every day who might appear there, printed on his wrist, and today was the day he was going to find out.
A large grandfather clock in the hallway outside chimed, he counted 8 chimes echoing throughout the large rooms and empty halls. He looked down, and as if some invisible pen was writing words on his wrists, 2 words appeared on each one. Confused, he sat there, wondering what on earth they meant. Something is wrong, “they’re not real names, and how can they both say the same thing! This is ridiculous” he shouted! He wondered if something had gone really wrong.
Footsteps were coming up the marble staircase, he could hear the chinking of plates and cutlery. The butler opened the door, beaming with excitement to find out who the young mans soulmate would be. Placing the tray of food on the large solid oak table in his room, he walked over to the young man, and was concerned about the frightened look on his face. The young man held out his hands, whilst his butler gently studied both names. His brow furrowed, he looked up over his glasses, and said, “Master Wayne, who is The Joker?”
——
First ever comment on one of these. It’s probably fairly crap, but it popped into my head when I saw it. Thought I’d give it a go
——
Cheers for all the kind words people.
|
Mama and just about everyone else always told me it was two different people with the same name on my wrists. A coincidence, is all. And, at first, I believed them. But then I got to wondering, how many people in the entirety of the world have the name "Marlowe Paradis?" One, apparently, at least in the United States. I looked it up. I found her.
They say not to look up your soulmate; they say it’s fucking with fate. Well, it looks like fate already fucked with me.
Marlowe didn’t believe in fate. She said the names were a lie -- a government-controlled operation. She said there was no such thing as a soulmate. I was 18-years-old, but I was as innocent and naive as a child when I met her. I asked her what she meant. “How could there not be?” I asked. “My mom and my dad are--”
“How do you know?”
“What?”
“How do you know, Thomas? How do you know your mom and dad are soulmates?”
“They have each other’s names--”
“Besides the names. Besides the names, how do you really know?"
“I--” I thought about it. I really did. I thought about Mama, Pa, and the stories they told me of them growing up. It was before the internet, so they couldn’t easily look each other up. But when they did meet, that made it all the more magical. They told me it was love at first sight, when they first saw each other. I asked them a lot of questions about my soulmate, about how it would happen, and what it would be like. Mama once told me, tucking me into bed at night, “When you meet this Marlowe Paradis, everything will fall into place. Everything will make sense."
And it did. At first.
Marlowe Paradis was the best thing that ever happened to me. Although she didn’t believe in fate, she still welcomed me into her life. She opened my eyes to how the world was run. She taught me that soulmates don’t exist. She said it was all a lie. A sick method for the government to instill false hope into its people, to make them the sort of dumb that falling in love inspires. Most significantly, Marlowe Paradis taught me that I was not her soulmate, and that she was not mine.
Then, I fell in love with her, and I quickly realized fate was in the works and reverted back to my old beliefs. She had to be my soulmate. Still, she insisted she was not. She insisted she did not love me.
“DON’T TELL ME YOU DON’T FUCKING LOVE ME!" I regret all the shouting I did, but I had to get my point across; and, at the time, the louder I was, the more of a chance I thought of her actually listening to what I had to say.
“I DON'T LOVE YOU, YOU IDIOT!" We were in her apartment. She never asked me to leave. Instead, she ran around with a duffel bag in her hand, packing up, deciding it was time for her to go.
As she grabbed a book to stuff into her duffel bag, I snatched it from her hands before she could and held it close. I said, “Please. Give me a chance. That’s all I’m asking. You don’t know what love is, and that’s ok--”
“What?” she said, dropping the duffel bag. “I don’t know what love is?” Then, she started laughing. “*I* don’t know what love is!”
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Who are YOU, Thomas? Who are YOU to speak? Just another little brainless puppet of the government, parading around all puppy-dog-eyed, looking for your sweetheart? Your soulmate? No, Thomas. I know what love is. I know it well. It’s you who doesn’t know what love is. And if you don't drop this soulmate crap, I fear you never will." Marlowe continued to fill her bag with whatever crap she could get her hands on before I could.
“Please, Marlowe. I want to be with you. I feel, I feel like this amazing feeling whenever I’m around you. I've never felt this way about anyone else. Believe me, we are soulmates!"
“Fuck off, Thomas.”
I jumped in front of her. I grabbed her wrist. She dropped the duffel bag. I held my hand out beside hers, so that our names were next to each other. “It’s not a lie,” I said. “It’s not a lie.” I caught her eyes, and she caught mine. For a moment, I thought there was a glimmer of hope in her eyes. They sparkled with an innocence I was all-too familiar with. Then, she jerked back.
“I said, fuck off,” she whispered.
“I will never leave, Marlowe! What’s the point? You’re my soulmate! I know this is going to work out, one way or another! Sooner or later, you’ll realize it, too!”
“HOW ABOUT I CHOP OFF MY HAND?” Marlowe shouted, causing me to jump back. “Huh? How about that? Will *that* put an end to this soulmate crap? And like, what about people without hands? What about them? Huh? Are they soulmate-less?"
“Marlowe--”
“No. Don’t say my name like that. Like you care. Like you care about me for who I really am,” she said.
“I do. I do care.” I was barely audible, my voice small and raspy from yelling.
“No. You care about the girl on your wrist. The girl you were told you would one day meet and fall in love with. The girl you were told was your soulmate. Let’s be honest,” she said, “I’m not that girl, and I will never be that girl.”
“But--”
“And you can’t make me that girl. Whatever you do. You can’t make me that girl, Thomas. You need to understand that. So please. Please, please, please don’t waste your life on me, Thomas.”
Marlowe killed herself a few weeks later. She said a lot of things to me after she died. She wrote a whole letter addressed to me.
Marlowe told me that I wasn’t what killed her; instead, it was a lot of little things, including me, that added up. It was the world we lived in, she said. She didn’t belong here. She also told me not to give up. She said, don’t give up on love, because your real soulmate is still out there. She said my real soulmate was perfect in every way, and imperfect in every way, but that’s what made it all worth it.
What stuck with me most, though, was what she said to me when I was alive.
Back when I first knew her and she would tell me to go date other girls and leave her the fuck alone, I asked Marlowe, "Okay. In a hypothetical situation, where "soulmates" really are just a lie, then how do I know what love is?"
"What?"
"How do I know what love is, without their name on my wrist? When I see someone, how do I know that I love them?"
"You don't," she said, "and you do. You'll realize it when you do. Trust me, you just will. That's the beauty in it."
I thought about it a lot. I thought about the whole fate thing, what Marlowe had said, versus what Mama and just about everyone else said. Marlowe was the worst thing to ever happen to me. She instilled me with false hope. Made me dream. Made me love. And for what? A broken heart? But when I thought about it, she was also the best thing to ever happen to me. Before I met her, I spent my entire life searching for her. Then, when I met her, I finally started living my life. She was my everything.
Even if everything Marlowe told me was true, I knew for a fact Marlowe was wrong about just one thing. Marlowe said I didn’t love her, and that I just thought I did. But I did. I loved her regardless of the names on my wrist. I loved her, and I always will.
I figured, after Marlowe’s death, I could go about living the rest of my life one of two ways: I could let this idea of fate and soulmates consume me, and go along with the idea that Marlowe was my one and only soulmate. Or, I could say fuck it, and continue to challenge my "predetermined destiny."
After Marlowe's death, I finally said, "Fuck it."
| 2020-01-18T23:49:54 | 2020-01-18T23:00:51 | 264 | 180 |
[WP] The world discovers vampires are real and after decades they are integrated into society. The first wave of colony ship leaves Earth with them as the awake crew to guide them for centuries. A day before landing a vampire wakes the human crew to tell them something happened to the others.
|
Greg the Vampire stood over The Captain’s sleeping pod.
“Greg,” said The Captain, “oh hey man, what’s up? Why am I awake?”
Greg grimaced.
The Captain frowned. “Oh hmm. Did something happen? Is this an emergency?” The Captain stirred in his pod, and tried to remember if he had packed his official emergency-use-only Captain’s pants with matching underwear. (He had not, but don’t fret Dear Reader, for the “emergency” pants (with matching underwear) were mostly placebo anyway.)
“There’s, uh, been an incident,” said Greg the Vampire. “With all the other passengers.”
“An incident.”
The Captain and Greg the Vampire regarded each other for a long silent moment.
The Captain sighed. “You ate them, didn’t you.”
“No, I would nev—“
“I told everyone this would happen. Put vampires in charge and they’ll just eat us, that’s what I said!”
“Captain! Honest! I didn’t eat anyone!”
“Ok. ...then what happened?”
“I got bored, sir. Two hundred years! By myself!”
The Captain crossed his arms, which looked mostly ridiculous considering that he was still lying mostly naked in a sleeping pod. “And?”
“And... well... I drew dicks on everyone’s faces.”
“You did... what?”
“Drew penises, sir. Large ones. On people’s foreheads.”
“All two hundred fifty-three thousand eight hundred ninety-two passengers?” The Captain was turning the same shade of red that the sleeping pods’ display panels had turned when Greg the Vampire had temporarily opened the sleeping pods so he could draw on people’s faces. This alarmed Greg the Vampire.
“Yes sir, every one.”
“My god, man—“
“Vampire, actually.”
“How long must that have taken you?”
“About two hundred years, sir.”
The Captain furrowed his eye brows, trying to work out the mathematics. “But that means you must have started—“
“Right when we launched sir. Practically immediately. I had a lot of people to get through.”
The Captain stared at Greg the Vampire. “My god, son. What can we do? Wash off the ink?”
Greg’s shoulders slumped. “Permanent markers, sir. It’s all I packed.”
“You packed the markers?!”
“I wanted high quality tools for my work, sir.”
The Captain nodded. He had once been an Engineer First Class. He understood the importance of good tools. “What then did you wake me for?”
Greg held up a black marker. “You were the last one sir—“
The Captain reached up to touch his own forehead, though of course he couldn’t actually feel the large hairy dong that had been lovingly drawn on him.
“—I was wondering if you could do me, sir, so I would fit in with everyone.”
Greg the Vampire extended the black marker towards The Captain. His eyes brimmed with hope.
|
When he woke me up, I didn’t realize what was happening. That he was dying. That he wanted me to take his hand. When I pulled myself from the pod, watching his spasms on the floor, I couldn’t move fast enough, my limbs still half-frozen by the cryogenesis. Waking was not an easy process, nor a quick one. Finally, when I was able to move out of the pod and to his body, I found him dead. Gerard, our ship’s off-hours captain, as we called him. I checked him for a pulse before I realized that such a thing was useless. He had been dead for centuries already, probably longer.
Taking vampires aboard our voyage had been a choice regarding efficacy. An AI could run the ship, sure, but it couldn’t do much if things went wrong and needed a “human” hand, so to speak. So we stocked our ship with three vampires—the captain, Gerard, a first mate, Hamilton, and an engineer, Terra. And now one of them was dead at the side of my pod. I’d grown fond of them, in the short time we’d spent before the cryopods were sealed.
“Terra? Hamilton?” I called into the hallway that stretched out from the pods. No response. I went back to Gerard’s body and inspected it thoroughly this time. He was covered in tiny, perfect red circles, his gray skin alight with them beneath his suit. They weren’t noticeable until I bent down and got close, but they were swelling, even despite his lack of, well, functioning body—even before death, second death, whatever it was.
I stood again and turned, the sound of the ship creaking met my ears as I started down the hallway. Did spaceships creak? I hadn’t heard that before; it sounded more like an old ocean liner than a spaceship. The lights flickered ominously. I called to my ship mates again, “Terra? Hamilton?”
“Hello?” I heard the quiet response from one of the open doors—the med room. I rushed inside to see Terra slumped on one of the cots, her back against the wall. She was clumsily trying to jam a needle into her tourniquetted arm. Hamilton’s body was slumped on the other cot.
“Terra?” I said, moving to her with a speed that surprised me. I held her arm steady, taking the syringe from her.
“No,” she said weakly, “I need that.”
I found the shriveled vein, almost non-existent, beneath her skin and pushed the needle in, watching as her eyes opened wider. The same spots that had covered Gerard were all over her, too, but she had stripped down to her tank top. Her skin glistened beneath the flickering incandescent lights.
“What happened?” I asked, pulling the needle from her skin, watching it close behind the metal.
“There’s something on the ship,” she whispered, her eyes closing again. Vampires didn’t need to breath—or eat, or anything, really—but she had taken to breathing again, which I’d seen a few of them do when they were tired or anxious.
“Where? Is it still here?” My voice had grown slightly more frantic, the hair on the back of my neck standing up.
“It’s going after,” her voice rattled, “the engine; don’t let it touch you—” The last two words trailed off as she did, leaving me in the room, syringe still in hand.
I grabbed the bottle she’d pulled out to fill the syringe, it was a common sedative. Perhaps she hoped to sleep it off. Perhaps she’d wanted a painless death. All I know is she never woke up. I threw the bottle into the trash and poked my head out of the door, listening to the silence of the ship.
The creaking came again and I bolted back to the pod room, throwing on the emergency lights and flipping the switch on the pods for my small crew—just a team of six. We were supposed to scout the planet for colonization, make sure it was habitable, before the others came down. There ship was probably a year or two behind us, but not much. Whatever this thing was, if it threatened some of us, it threatened all of us. Half of the passengers aboard the colony ship were vampires, and I didn’t even know what that beast—creature, alien, whatever—could do to humans.
The pods opened with a hiss and I sealed off the main door, waiting anxiously for the others to awaken as I threw on my scouting gear and prepared theirs. The ship continued to creak and moan under some great stress. I paced. My crew began to wake up.
The first was Molly, our head engineer. She was angry, to say the least, when I told her that we weren’t there yet. But she calmed down once I explained what had happened.
“Why didn’t you just lead with that?” She asked, her eyes wide as she pulled herself up slowly.
“Well, I didn’t want you to yell at me,” I said, turning red beneath her gaze.
“Come on Daniel, you know I’m always going to yell at you,” she said. She stumbled a little getting out of the pod, so I grabbed her arm and walked her to one of the side benches where I’d laid out her clothes.
I helped them each in kind, bringing them to their stations to dress. Eventually we were a full crew once again, all of us suited up. But the captain did not wake up. We tried everything that we could, but she remained in her sleep. We left our medic with her to see if he could rouse her, and the rest of us took off. It was me, who happened to be the Scout lead, our engineer, Molly, our navigator, Trin, and our resident scientist, Wendell.
When I pointed out the creaking, Wendell seem perturbed.
“Listen, I’m glad you woke us up, but that could be some very bad news.”
“Bad news, indeed,” Molly echoed.
We inched down the hallways with our blasters out, passing the bodies of our shipmates, still slumped in the med-room.
“Fuck,” whispered Trin, “I liked them.”
We rounded the corner towards the ladder that would lead to the engine room.
Wendell stopped, “Do we know anything about this creature at all?”
I looked back and shrugged, “I just know that it left these like, raised rounded spots on all of them.”
“Like a donut?” Wendell asked.
“Exactly like a donut.”
“Sounds like an octopus,” Molly said.
“There aren’t any octopi in space,” Trin whispered back.
“We can never be sure what there is and isn’t in space.” Wendell’s tone had an air of gravitas to it that unsettled me. I hopped down the ladder.
“Well,” I said, beginning the descent, “whatever it is, we’ve got to go meet it.”
With that, we all climbed down into the maintenance hallway; the emergency lights were in full effect, flashing red all around us. The ship continued to creak, but it sounded louder now, closer, more tangible. We moved forward, past the myriad of tubes and wires, all things I didn’t understand, but I could see Molly conducting a mental check in her head when I looked back.
“It hadn’t messed with the machinery in here, so that’s a good sign. Otherwise we might not have—” The emergency lights shut off. “—lights,” she said with a dejected sigh. “That means it’s probably at the core.”
“How much oxygen do we have now?” I asked.
“The back up generator should pop on… any… second…” she paused for a few seconds, and then when the hum began again, she finished, “now.”
“Very precise prediction,” Wendell snorted.
“Shut up. This is still new tech. You can’t ever be sure with it,” Molly snapped, pushing me further into the hallway with her hand.
I stumbled but kept moving, switching on the flashlight that sat atop my blaster. I could see maybe five feet in front of me as we inched along slowly. Molly had moved her hand to my back, not to push, but to hold on. The creaking came again, but this time we could pinpoint it: above us.
“We need to move,” Wendell said. I picked up the pace; the engine room was just around the corner. But the creaking came again, followed by the clattering of metal as one of the ceiling tiles fell and with it came a cluster of neon-blue tentacles, glowing as they whipped out and grabbed Wendell at the back. It pulled him up, leaving us with only his screams. I looked back to the other two and Molly just yelled.
"Run, you fucking idiot, run!"
| 2021-03-16T20:23:42 | 2021-03-16T20:17:46 | 94 | 18 |
[WP] You awake in a hospital bed with an unfamiliar person referring as your wife telling you were in a bad crash and lost all your previous memory. Unknown to her, you remember everything.
(Or husband)
|
_My second try at WP, and a follow on from my original response: https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/3zzdn0/wp_you_awake_in_a_hospital_bed_with_an_unfamiliar/cyqbkz2._
The last thing I could remember before, well, before *this*, was the high-pitched squeal of compression brakes. And vertigo - my car in an uncontrollable spin. I could taste adrenaline - a metallic alkaline - and with it the realisation that was The End.
My door collided at speed with an oncoming semi-trailer. There was a brief moment of agonising white heat. Then (transition?) darkness.
"Where am I?"
I opened my eyes, blinking away clouds. The room swam, and settled. I could hear my breath, and a low electronic pulse. I sensed a weight below my nose (a cannula?), and voices - I scanned the room to discover a small TV with a news bulletin, tuned to CNM.
I heard the sudden swish of a curtain opening and looked around. My head wouldn't move, but my eyes could just make out his silhouette.
"Rob? Rob, is that you?"
His face appeared above mine, almond eyes exhausted, yet overjoyed. Weeping, he rest his cheek on my breast (why can't I feel that?) and embraced me, though I couldn't seem to tell how tightly.
"Miriam", he managed, through sobs of relief. I was crying too.
"Rob, I'm so glad you're okay. Were you hurt at all?"
"Hurt?" he asked, through tears. "I'm fine. Why would *I* be hurt?"
In that moment a piercing whine sliced through my brain. My head seized back in sudden agony. I tried to scream. Then it stopped, and my eyes opened to a world which was spinning. No - a car which was spinning. My hands were on the wheel, rotating it fully. I was screaming. I looked for a passenger - and there he was, face distorted in pained expression of horrific understanding.
I closed my eyes and drew a deep breath. There was a momentary feeling of transition, and...
"Miriam?"
"You were with me, Rob. In the car. When I... When I died."
"No, Mim. I was at your mother's house."
I tried to sit up, but I couldn't move. Not even my toes.
|
It was black.
“….Jason? Jason, honey, can you hear me?”
A stabbing pain alerts me to the presence of my left arm. A gentle beeping noise sounds from the right.
“Nurse! Nurse, I think he’s waking up!” exclaims the voice.
My chest swells and collapses rhythmically. A light pressure on my legs. My brain shoots out a quick electric pulse. My toes reposition and crack as if they hadn’t moved in days.
“Mrs. Thomas? Is everything ok?”
“Yes, yes, he just moved his foot!”
“Sometimes coma patients move, Mrs. Thomas, but let me take a look.”
I freeze. The last thing I remember was leaving the shop…
A heavy pressure on my forehead forces open my eyelid and allows the sun to scorch my retina.
Jesus, heavenly fuck, bright! My neck is restrained from movement, but the muscles in my face contract and cast me into darkness once more.
“JASON!!!” A hand squeezes my arm and an external pressure on my chest interrupts my measured torso oscillations. I assume this to be the result of a body on top of mine.
“Mrs. Thomas, please, please don’t jump on your husband, he’s still very fragile!” exclaimed the Nurse.
Husband? That’s not Victoria’s voice. I haven’t heard it in years.
I allow light to seep into my corneas. Two figures washed in fluorescent light along with a powder-blue sheet partially obscure bare, eggshell-colored walls. A stainless steel sink supports a lipstick-stained coffee mug with blue lettering that reads “St. Andrews Hospital.” A table with wilted geraniums and a handful of open cards sits forgotten in the corner under black windows that reflect pale-yellow light.
“Jason, baby, look at me,” the first voice pleads.
My eyes settle on the face of the first voice. It belongs to a woman, mid-thirties. Curly blonde hair and soft green eyes. Unkempt eyebrows drawn together. Her pink lips rest open, separated by millimeters beneath an upturned nose. Cheekbones sit just right on her concerned face.
She’s convincing.
“Who are you?” I ask, bewildered. The Nurse smiles at me apologetically before raising a syringe and flicking out the air bubbles. She opens her mouth to speak.
The blonde-haired woman interrupts. “Jason, sweetie, you were in an accident. The doctors said you might not remember.” A river begins to run down her cheek, under her chin, and along her jugular, wetting her collar. “I’m your wife, Victoria. We’ve been married for 13 years. We have two kids, remember? Ben and Ashley? They’re with your parents in Southaven. I told them I’d phone as soon as you woke up.” Her hands grasped mine.
This can’t be right.
I groan as fissured nerves scream at my brain.
“Here, Mr. Thomas,” says the nurse, inserting the shot into my IV, “this will help with your pain.”
__
I officially met Victoria in the spring of ’96. I was due to graduate from Gerald P. Hixon Memorial High School the next year. Her family had moved to Dentonville the previous fall, and her brother Shaun had quickly become one of my best friends. I had heard all about Victoria: she was a sophomore at the esteemed University of Lowell. Biochemistry major. Political Science minor. Lover of all things nerd. A petite brunette with piercing blue eyes, a round face, and no chest.
I skateboarded and got detention for smoking grass. My long blonde hair made me fairly androgynous, and I spent most of high school as the offensive line’s punching bag. Shaun couldn’t stand on a skateboard on carpet, but loved getting high and filming me skate, experimenting from new angles with his cameras. He wanted to create film; I wanted to create chaos.
One particularly hazy sleepover I snuck downstairs to Shaun’s kitchen to grab some munchies. Victoria was home from college for Spring Break. Her boyfriend had just ruined her plans to road trip to the coast, so she decided to come home to sulk. She sat at the table while I raided the pantry.
“Don’t eat my granola,” were the first words she said to me.
“Why the fuck would I eat granola when your mom bought Doritos?” I responded.
__
The morphine collided with the receptors in my brain and the flood of dopamine would have made any junkie jealous.
“Feel better?” asks the Nurse.
“I’d feel better if you didn’t leave me alone with her,” pointing my eyes in the strange woman’s direction. Her hands remained enclosed around mine.
“We’ll be fine. Thank you, Nurse.” The woman smiled warmly.
“Relax, it’s your wife. You’re in great hands. I’ll check up on you in a little.” The Nurse turned and left, closing the door softly behind her.
This would be so much easier if I wasn’t so doped up right now.
“It’s ok, Jason,” said the woman, squeezing my hand tighter. “Your memory loss may not be permanent. I’m your wife, Victoria. Don’t you remember? Remember how we hated each other at first? You were some brat my brother filmed skateboarding. The crack of wood against the driveway drove me crazy when I was home that first summer. When I went back to school in the fall, I was so happy to not have to hear that stupid noise. When I came back for Christmas and heard it again, I could have killed you. But eventually, back at school, I found myself missing it. I missed the way you’d tuck your hair behind your ear and those stupid one-liners you’d always fling at me. I missed it so much that the first night I saw you after graduating high school, I let you kiss me. And after that first kiss, I knew I wanted to be with you forever. And after your accident, and them telling me you wouldn’t remember me, I, I…” The woman collapsed into tears.
Maybe it’s the drugs, but that romantic-bullshit-sob-story really sucked. And it was nowhere near the truth of what happened between Victoria and I. The truth is, one day shortly after I first met Victoria, Shaun and I convinced her to get high with us so she couldn’t tattle. Shaun passed out and Victoria and I had our first real conversation. She told me about wanting to go to grad school and working for the FBI. I told her I wanted gummy bears. She laughed and kissed me. College came and went for both of us, and eventually we got married. She taught me everything I never bothered to learn in school. I worked hard, opened my own skate shop, and she eventually did join the FBI. To this day I have no idea what she saw in me. One day, she came home and told me she had to go undercover, possibly for a few years, but if she succeeded it would be a huge step for her career. She wanted a divorce. To spare me the pain. I’ll wait, I told her. I can’t let you get hurt, she pleaded. We filed the papers; I still wore the ring.
I replay this all in my mind. I don’t have any memory loss. Victoria had warned me something like this could happen. Someone must be trying to get revenge on her by hurting me.
But why pretend to be her?
The woman stops crying and looks at me. “Jason…Jason, please say something.” Her eyes search my face.
Here we go.
“I know you’re not my wife,” I say after a long pause. I fill the woman in on the details she missed, highlighting the fact that Victoria and I don’t have any kids.
Her face contorts menacingly. She says,
“Victoria killed my husband. My brother is going to jail. She ruined my life. Now I’m ruining hers. But you, you stubborn little fuck, didn’t die from that car bomb.”
Knew it.
“Why keep me alive, though? Why not just kill me while I was still in a coma?” I ask her.
I can’t believe I’m not losing it right now. Morphine is a hell of a drug.
“Victoria watched the light leave my husband’s eyes. I wanted to watch the light leave her husband’s eyes.”
Steel suddenly separates my intestines.
Ah, fuck.
“Any last words?” she asks.
“Thank God for that morphine or this would really hurt,” I say.
My eyes follow the crimson-stained steel move in a parabolic arc into my chest, and then…
…it went black again.
| 2016-01-08T02:33:08 | 2016-01-07T22:53:31 | 31 | 15 |
[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.
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A man in a heavy trench coat with a thick beard approached the door. The number over his head, 1517. "Well, that's over 21" I thought. On his way through he tripped over the step and two dwarves toppled out of the coat. Their number were 15 and 17. "Nice try" I said, "no filthy dwarves in my good elvish bar."
|
I check their I.D.'s for fun now, noticing nose jobs and cheek implants and the occasional sex change. It doesn't matter though... there are always some who try to get past me. A strikingly beautiful blonde with a shining "19" above her head brazenly looking me straight in the eye, not a flicker of hesitation as she hands me a well made fake stating she was twenty three years old. The three men around her, all with numbers higher than my own glare menacingly as I shine my light on the counterfeit piece of identification. I decide it's not worth the altercation and let her through but I yearn to just whisper "Why are you trying to grow up so damn fast? There's nothing in here for you."
I never learned why I could see these numbers, to be honest I thought everyone could, and by the time I was old enough to question it, I knew enough not to bring any more attention to myself. Now it makes my job easy, and it's a neat trick at parties. I don't question when women lie to make themselves younger, and yes, occasionally I let someone who is trying make themselves older slide past, into the bar for their drinks and their laughs. Frankly... I just couldn't care anymore.
Ive seen it all, women who look thirty five but have a bright "50" floating a few inches above their head. Young men with full beards that would easily pass as mid twenties who are mere teenagers. It's remarkable, really, the variations in how humans age. Were I a man of more scientific inclinations I might feel compelled to get to the bottom of my "gift". In truth, I'm typically more concerned with when I can punch out and get drunk enough that the numbers start to blur and I can pretend I'm not seeing the mortality of others... but angels with luminous halos.
Every week I stand outside the door to a trendy L.A. bar and grit my teeth through the drip, drip of painful repetition. Mine was the sort of redundant occupation that people might complain gave them carpal tunnel. I used to look forward to the occasional bar room brawl to break up the monotony that has become my life, but as iPhones get larger and pants get tighter and more and more men declare themselves as "feminist" it's a rare occurrence that I can't set my hopes on. So instead I look at these little plastic rectangles and relish in the tiny details they hope won't be noticed. Live in L.A. as long as I have, and you'll see every nip and tuck.
Most nights, I arrive at the bar by seven thirty, have a beer or two with Lonnie, the bartender, before taking up my post on my wooden stool just to the left of a black painted door. I've worked at many bars but this bar had the unique distinction of being the only place I'd encountered that put forth an effort to appear seedy in order to sling overpriced whiskey sours to L.A. hipsters who wanted to feel as if they'd spent a night slumming it without any of the real life danger they might encounter were they to venture into an actual slum. You know the type, they wear ripped jeans that cost as much as my rent and carry folded paperback copies of "The Old Man and The Sea" in their back pocket. In other words...real winners.
Tonight was no different and after my second beer, some craft bullshit from down in San Diego that Lonnie said, "We're the only bar in L.A. That has this. Some guy literally brews this in his bedroom. It's totally exclusive", I took my seat and waited for the string of mullet wearing degenerates to pile in.
At first I rubbed my eyes, thinking maybe I'd blurred two people's numbers together. Maybe there was someone walking just behind him, out of view. Nope, as he got closer I stood up. The man was a little taller than me. Not any kind of unusual looking character, but not the typical patron of this joint either. He wore a simple suit and close cropped haircut, but what I was seeing couldn't be possible. The man looked to be at most, in his early thirties. The bright, shiny number hovering just above his dark hair however, showed "2021". I realized my mouth was open and that I was staring.
When he got closer he mumbled "hey" and reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, then, just like everyone else, an I.D. Just a normal California license with his photograph, his height, weight, address and name- "Christensen, Jess H." The birthdate gave him an age of thirty three but my gift had never been wrong. Ever. Not in my entire life had a number above someone's head been even a year off their actual age. This simply, wasn't possible.
I turned the plastic over and stalled for time, "So, from L.A. originally?" He replied, "Israel, actually, but it feels like I've been in L.A. since forever." I hand him back the card and he just smiled and walked inside.
All night I couldn't get the man out of my head. Was he some kind of vampire? Or maybe some monster of an Israeli Dr. Frankenstein? It just couldn't be. I came to the conclusion that something had gone haywire and my gift was starting to falter. "Shit" I thought to myself, "Now I'm gonna have to really start paying attention to birthdates." But the rest of the night my numbers always matched the birthdates on the I.D.'s. It seemed this man was the only one the glitch affected.
The night started to wind down and people trickled out as bar close neared. Finally, I noticed the four digit man slip outside. He stopped to light a cigarette and I don't know if it was the late hour or if it just bugged me too much but I reached over and tapped him on the shoulder, "Excuse me, man" He turned and smiled, this guy didn't seem like a monster. In fact seeing his face made me feel like I'd bitten off half a Xanax, but I persisted, "I gotta ask, you know, I have this real good knack for reading people and I gotta say... something's telling me you're older than you say you are." What he said back to me... well, it just about knocked me over.
| 2017-09-01T22:32:16 | 2017-09-01T21:03:45 | 1,408 | 122 |
[WP] It's 3 AM. An official phone alert wakes you up. It says "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON". You have hundreds of notifications. Hundreds of random numbers are sending "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside."
|
I wake to my phone buzzing on the night stand. I look at the clock next to it. The green numbers shine brightly: 3:14 AM.
'What the hell?' I think to myself. 'Why is anyone texting me at 3 in the morning?'
Before I can take a look, it starts buzzing again. And again. It won't stop. I grab the phone and mute it quickly but the notifications continue to pop up silently. "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside." They're texts coming from my mother, my friends, my siblings, even some numbers I don't recognize.
An unfamiliar alarm blares on my phone. A new notification pops up on my phone, titled US Government Emergency Alert. It reads "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON."
'This is weird,' I think to myself, 'What the hell could be wrong with the moon?'
I walk to my window. I carefully open the curtains halfway so the moon is still covered. The sight is incredible.
Almost all of my neighbors are standing outside, phone in hand. They're staring upward in the direction of the moon. They're walking around talking to each other, pointing to the sky.
'I gotta see what the hell is going on.'
I walk outside and jog over next door, carefully keeping my eyes lowered. My neighbour is standing by his door. I'm about to call out to him when he interrupts me.
"Hey! Have you seen the moon tonight?" he asks.
"Listen man, something weird is going on. It's 3 in the morning, why are you outside right now? Why is half the neighbourhood outside?" I reply.
"You haven't looked yet, have you?" he laughs.
"Did you just ignore everything I said? Why are you outside? What's wrong with the moon?"
Without warning, my neighbor rushes up to me and places a hand on each side of my head. He violently turns my head toward the sky. "Just look!"
Oh. OH. I get it now. This is... incredible. It's impossible. There's no way this can be happening. It's... I don't even know. I have to tell someone about this.
I take out my phone and draft a message, addressed to everyone on my contact list. I slowly tap in the words "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside."
|
First the texts. Then the MMS images. Then every insta, fb post, live stream, Reddit post, tweet. Every inbox at 0% capacity as it was all FWD FWD FWD FWD : MOON all the time.
After a few days we realized the vast majority of Internet traffic was solely automated spambots. Everybody else was outside looking at the moon, or sleeping all day wherever they last witnessed the moon..
Tritanopia is a form of color blindness that reduces the blue/yellow/green portion of the spectrum.
Us lucky one in ten thousand were unphased by the moon... Get it? Moon puns.
For reference,
1:10,000 expands to
100,000:1,000,000,000
And there's seven some billion people total, so you'd think seven hundred thousand people would be able to coordinate.
But then you have to look at population densities, distributive models of where tritanopia can be found, how difficult it is to travel when almost everyone is standing in the middle of the road to quietly worship the moon.
Imagine being at a festival with a target audience of docile septuagenarians. You don't like the grateful dead, don't get why
everyone is fixated, just want the whole thing to end. You try making a call on your phone but it just plays Phish songs That's how it felt.
It's like not being a hockey fan in Canada.
So. 700,000 functioning humans remaining. All ages. All ability levels. The vast majority lacking applicable skills or the psychological tenacity required to face this world. I was only 12 when it happened, just on the cusp of being forged by the new world yet with fond memories of the old ways.
Most animals that could look up and had some visual acuity also became enraptured. I wanted to help the animals but I didn't know how.
My first two days I tried to go about my routine as normal. Except there was no more no normal routine. No supply lines, no infrastructure, no social contract. Ran into a lot of lunatic strangers that got a start on the hoarding and mad max fashion early. My family had a close personal bond with either the moon or stolen wholesale liquor, depending on sight abilities.
A tritanopia support myphp forum briefly assembled IRL and tried to stage a coup of world power, but taking over the white house and the UN when there really isn't anyone to enforce your will doesn't matter much. Nobody to answer the phone for the nuclear launch codes, nobody to pop in the 8.5" floppy disks to get the nukes into the sky. Infighting led to the fast dissolution of that group, especially when the yahoo group insurrectionists gained traction.
The moonies just stopped participating. Beat them up, bash them to death in the streets, run them over. No resistance. Just single most minded dedication to the moon. A sadist's mcplayland.
They didn't eat or drink but they didn't die of exposure or dehydration. After a while their skin became ashy during the day. They went from monosyllabic grunts to utter silence.
A bit later, some of them grew wings or horns or scales . Some grew hair and became funky werewolf-gargoyle things.
The transformed congregation moved in packs but continued to stare at the moon. They'd only respond if provoked but you'd be dead before you realized you had provoked them.
Then came the Sound Eternal. Somewhere between Gregorian chanting, Cthulhu summoning , and Tibetan throat singing. Constant, from sun down to sun up. From the beasts, from the people.
It was declared cured five or six times. Half of those just lies from crumbling provisional government. The other half lacked real testing or distribution standards. Giving injections to hoards of swaying gnarly mutants that may lead to heads exploding one way or another wasn't going to work out
And so modified aerial viruses delivered via crop dusters, foggers, modified tear gas canisters, anything that could contain the smoke.
They all cocooned out for a bit after the dusting misused some lies masquerading as legitimate research.
I saw the aftermath and heard the confessions but I can't tell you in great detail how that all went down. Too busy rhen with the fight for survival, a sixteen year old keeping a nuclear reactor running on a submarine turned makeshift unethical medical experimentation laboratory.
The less said, the better. Dark time for submarines.
Most Moonies came out of chrysalis fit as a fiddle, back to full health, lost all the medieval art features.
Lived a mockery of their old routines, spring in their step. Go into the abandoned office to push pieces of paper around and tap keys on unpowered terminals. Then every night, back to the moon gazing.
You were probably born during this time period. Probably not the most rational decision that could've been made, but after surviving weregargoyles the social fabric didn't have much space for rationality.
They'd peruse ransacked grocery stores, exchange idle moon-themed pleasantries with each other. Morning jog through fields of corpses, oblivious. Flip.through the same old magazine until it disintergrated. Barbers and janitors would go to rubble that used to be their workplace and sweep with purposelessness . Tradesmen could sort of resume their jobs, more or less, but only served their own kind. After a few months, they used noise singing to gather a crowd and coordinate at a task, building ungodly architecture overnight or sacrificing a hundred mile long line of people to send an electrical signal from one necropolis to the next.
They'd all look at us and they would know. They would say "better not look at the moon" in the same deadpan attempt of reverse psychology. I'd reply "What a beautiful night out" while bug eyed stating at their moon. And sing about the moon hitting my eye like a big pizza pie. They just didn't understand thar moon magic wouldn't work on my snarky 19 year old deficient peepers. I had fallen into a bad crowd of pharmaceutic redistributors.
I'lll admit I developed a bit of a moon dust habit.The dust made their late 20th century satire of mid 20th century values schtick a little more tolerable. What else is there to do during the longest flash mob installation art piece? Swap rumors and lies about how places beyond the horizon were getting by?
Someone - nobody knows which side - invented glasses that compensated for the color blindness, let the impure finally join the teeming masses. That caught on big once we realized us last few unchanged had successfully flushed all chance of rebuilding or becoming something other than marauder junkies. I was around 22 at the time and in middle of trying to preserve priceless irreplaceable cultural artifacts from the Smithsonian, mostly by defending an adjacent outpost and running a little mercantile ammo shop on the side. Missed out on the suicide sunglasses phase. Gave away the only pair I stumbled across in the ruins to a real go-getter errand runner.
Then, next phase began and their molting started. Human skin left lying around everywhere, giant insectoid snakemen picking fights, the usual. Moondust purity went way down, market nearly tanked. By then I had a cybernetic arm and a laser eye. I spent most of my time in pipes, guarding various keys and providing clues to riddles.
I betrayed everyone that trusted me at every turn and regret nothing. I had once decided to live like a forgettable side quest NPC in a sub-par video game series. But when the laser eye was installed, I could see the full beauty of the moon in all spectrums, even those invisible to the limited human eye.
Didn't take long to round up the remaining twenty thousand some for free laser eye replacement. There's some logistics, sure, but you concentrate everyone into camps, chop off some limbs, erase the notion of free will or anything but service to the moon.
Turns out the moon does not mind if you scoop out significant portions of the prefrontal lobe before conversion. The question is will you be complacent enough to realize your higher calling or are you going to be another meat log for the stumpy field?
Either way, the implants will a little itch bit at first. Hopefully this bit of storytelling has enlightened you. Now, please, let us experience the moon together now.
| 2022-08-07T14:17:42 | 2018-04-06T19:57:39 | 712 | 30 |
[WP] Humanity discovers that supernatural creatures such as vampires and werewolves exist. Instead of attempting to exterminate them, some countries attempt to offer them lucrative jobs that they could do better than a human.
|
"Hello, I'm Marie, I'll be your nurse," she said pulling up the rolling stool and sitting down. "So, why are you here today?"
"I've been feeling tired, and dizzy a lot," I said.
"Could you roll back your sleeve for me?" Marie asked. She was pale, really pale, but it was more like marble than skin. I rolled back my sleeve, and she rubbed my wrist with some kind of wet wipe. Pulling my wrist up to her nose, she took a deep breath. "Hmm," she said, reached over and checked off a box on a check list.
"Hmm?" I asked.
"Well," she said, "let me check something else. Now don't worry, I'm going to get very close to your neck. It's part of the procedure."
As she got close to my face my heart started to beat fast, like some ancient instinct was kicking in. "I bet some people take this the wrong way," I said. She took a sharp deep breath.
"Sometimes, that's why I've learned to announce what I'm doing," she said, and sat back on her rolling stool.
"So," I said, trying to get my heart to slow down, "what were you sniffing for?"
"The vampire olfactory senses are much more attuned than a humans," she said. "I was checking for tell-tale signs of diseases or infections."
"Did you find anything?" I asked.
From the drawer she pulled out a small device, about the size of a computer mouse. She held it to my thumb. "You're going to feel a pinch." And I did. A small drop of blood appeared on my thumb, like a diabetes test. Marie used a small dropper to suck it up. She then dropped it onto her tongue. I fought the urge to gag. She clicked her tongue a couple times, then grimaced and check off a few more boxes. These creatures used to hunt us, kill us, eat us. Now it's sitting here tasting my blood. This must be like a wine tasting to it. I shuttered.
"Mr. Moore," it said, "I'm sorry to tell you, but I've found traces of pancreatic cancer. It seems to be in the early stages, so we should be able to give you chemo. Or we could seek an experimental treatment involving werewolf blood transfusion."
I stared at it, it's face passive.
"Um," I stammered, "can I speak to my doctor?"
"Certainly," it said standing up, "your doctor can confirm my results with any test you wish. Have a good day Mr. Moore."
|
We’ve all seen the movies. The secret agent turns the corner and meets some shady guy inan alley with a fire escape and an open manhole, or maybe puts in some special code on a public terminal, and an ominous sounding voice gives them a mission.
I was playing a children’s card game on my phone when I got a text. “NYC, 50k, reply ASAP.”
I swiped the notification right and finished the game. If the job was offering 50 and no one had taken it yet, especially for such a close one, no one else was going to take it at this point. Hell, I didn’t know if I was going to take it. Still, didn’t hurt to get the scoop.
I called, and someone picked up immediately. “What the hell took you so long to respond, Morgan?”
“Do you really want to know, Nate?” I said in the most deadpan voice I could manage.
“Morgan…” Nate said, a warning note in his voice. “You are not above the law…”
Oh for Hastseoltoi’s sake. “I was playing a game on my phone, Nate.”
“Oh.”
“Now you gonna tell me the job or not? I have Medicine Men to kill and all that,” I said.
“Sorry, sorry,” he said. “We’ve got eyes on two vamps in Washington Square Park.”
“What do you want me to do? Shoo them?”
“Observe them. You know those NYU types, they’d probably rush over to get themselves bitten. Bloodsuckers wouldn’t even have to try.”
“So I’m supposed to go after them for feeding on college kids who want to do it?” I asked, letting my voice gain an edge. Modern laws regarding snats were…far too human centric for pretty much every non-human’s taste. Snat was the term they used for us supernaturals. I guess it sounded like gnat? They may be the inferior species, but they sure as hell have funny names for us. Vampires were expected to just stop drinking from humans and drink from plastic bags, not straight from people. I mean, sure, killing and enthralling people is bad, but taking a bit of blood? Can’t expect them to change their nature.
“First of all, that would be a fine reason to send someone after them, but not a good reason to send *you* after it, and pay 50k at that. No, it’s two masters.”
I sat up in my bed. “*Two* masters?” Master vampires were powerful as hell, able to go toe to toe not just with humans but almost any other snat. And they never, ever worked together, what with them being able to kill each other and all. It was too risky to trust someone who had a 50/50 chance to kill you after you’d survived for some centuries.
“Yeah, center’s worried they may be up to something. Sending their pics to your phone,” Nate said. Good thing humans got some things wrong. Hunting vamps would be harder than it already is if they didn’t appear in pictures.
“Got em,” I said. A lanky man with red hair and glasses. He looked like some dorky college student more than a honed killing machine. The other was a girl, tall, about my height, but that was where all our similarities ended. Where my skin was a shade of brown she was pasty white, they both were, with startlingly white hair and piercing blue eyes. She was looking right at the camera. “Photographer still on site?” I asked.
“He…was,” Nate said, and I could just see him frowning. “But we just lost contact with him, don’t really know why.”
“He’s probably dead, she saw him,” I said matter of factly. “So, what exactly is the job.”
Nate gulped. “Just surveillance. Find where they’re staying, what they’re up to, report back in 24 hours. Should be simple.”
I groaned. “Nice, Nate. Now you’ve pretty much guaranteed it won’t,” I said, only half-joking. “I’ll report back, as long as I get half up front.”
“That’s ridi-”
“You got anyone else you can throw against even a single master, Nate? Maybe get a SWAT team slaughtered?”
Silence.
“Yeah thought as much. Half up front,” I said and hung up. I cracked my neck and got off the bed, stretching. I got an annoyed yowl as I startled my tabby, Casey out of her sleeping spot. She meowed angrily at me, and stalked off, tail high in the air to express her disapproval. I’m sure I’d find a dead rat on my bed when I got back, NYC was full of em. I shook my head and opened the window, and breathed in the City. Forget the open fields and forests. This was the new hunting ground. A concrete jungle. New York was lit up, and so I didn’t even need my night vision to see a bird sailing through the skies above me. That was another good thing about the City. Most bird who were around here knew to avoid me, but the newcomers…they had no clue. I Jumped and suddenly I was soaring through the air, my open apartment window on my left. The bird’s consciousness tried to fight back but I just crushed it like gnat. The body was fully under my control now.
I soared through the skies of New York, over the Empire State, the East Village…there! The arch came into view and I Jumped out of the bird, landing fully clothed on the grass of Washington Square Park, the Arch lit up in the distance. The body of the bird fell lifeless to the ground behind me.
I walked out – fully clothed – onto one of the paths. No one was around at this time of the night, but still no one would have paid me any mind – another perk of being a snat in New York – no one really gave a shit.
In the distance I could make out the couple of vampires on the bench near the Arch. I was in the dark right now, hidden so far. I’d already decided how I’d approach this when I’d Jumped out of the bird, though. It would be a hassle to tail them. I’d have to keep Jumping, maybe even into a rat. I shuddered. God, I hated rats. This was much simpler.
I stepped into the light and waved at them. “Hello, vampires, may I ask what you’re doing here?”
I had been hoping for a cartoon reaction. You know, when they jump up, all startled like. But alas, no such thing happened. The woman just smiled, her lips stretched a bit too far for it to be an entirely natural expression. “Ah perfect, a government mole. We want to deliver a message.” Both of them got up off the bench.
“You could, you know, call them. Normal people do that.”
The woman smiled, showing her fangs. “Ah, well, a call just doesn’t have the same effect as warm corpse.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Is this where I scream?”
The pair blinked, at a loss to what to do with me. “Do you know what we-”
I jumped and I was in the man’s head. Jumping into a human was hard enough, the stronger the will, the harder it was to possess them, and doing it to a master vampire was suicide, but this was no master vampire, not anymore at least. It had mirrored every action the woman had made and hadn’t said a single word. Dead giveaway. It was a thrall. Nothing but an empty mind being controlled by the vampire.
The woman was still gaping at where I’d been standing as I wrestled control of her thrall from her and managed a solid hook against her cheek. She shrieked, a purely inhuman sound, and launched a jab at the body I was wearing. I was slow compared to a vamp. I’d gotten a hit because I’d surprised her. In a straight fight, this body would lose. The thing about skins is, they’re not my own. I don’t care what happens to them.
So when she jabbed, intending to skewer me, I stood my ground, letting the arm enter my stomach and brought both my hands together around her head as if I were going to clap. I felt my hands make contact and I jumped out just as her arm hit my intestines.
She gasped and stumbled back and the body fell to the ground, guts spilling out. “Skinwalker,” she breathed, her eyes wide.
"At your service," I said and gave a little bow. “So, how about that message?”
***
(minor edits)
If you enjoyed, check out my sub, [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/)
| 2018-08-27T16:02:28 | 2018-08-27T14:29:43 | 2,554 | 616 |
[WP] As a young child you made an innocent wish to be granted a power that in hindsight was just whimsical and silly. Now you have grown up but you still have the power - how do you use it now as an adult?
|
It was nearly twenty years ago now. I was sitting in the middle of an over crowded storage unit, while my father scoured it for anything of value. My tiny searching hands probed the depths of a large wooden box, and emerged with a beautiful and elegant lamp, inlaid with all manner of swirls, beautiful designs. It took barely a touch before the lamp began to emit a soft, warm glow. My father, being thoroughly engrossed in an album of collectible stamps, would hardly have noticed if I lit the entire unit on fire.
A cloud of wispy smoke began to shoot from the lamp billowing upwards in the most peculiar fashion It formed the shape of a man with a light brown skin, a purple turban, and an enormously large mustache. From his waist downwards was a simple trail of smoke leading to the spout of the lamp. He stared intently at me with his arms crossed in the most proper genie fashion. He stretched out one hand to display a single finger. One wish.
To a child of hardly seven, the fantastical was nearly commonplace. Every day was a new adventure, every story just as real as the one I now seemed to be living. Perhaps these selfsame stories misrepresented the maliciousness of genies. Or perhaps I had just found one in a particularly benevolent frame of mind. Either way, my small wish was not tainted or twisted or wrapped on its head in any way. It was simply granted, and the genie was allowed his rest.
"I want to make friends."
It was a simple wish. A child's wish. A child who was not overly liked by his peers. The wish was granted tenfold. Now, friends were something to be made in a second, a moment, and nearly none were spared from the genie's awesome might. By the end of the grade I was personally tutored by every teacher, I was the most popular, and was always given the best of everything, even when someone else had earned it. Having friends, it seemed, had its benefits.
This particular boon made the entirety of my life rather simple and easy. Extensions on projects were frequent, free food was a given, and I had my pick of any job available. Because of this, it may come as quite a shock to know that since the day I made that wish I have regretted it. Everything I have done, everything I have, is due to the genies powers. What of my success have I gained on my own? I am the worlds youngest CEO, and a billionaire, simply by merit of other people forfeiting their hard work in the sake of 'friendship'. Can I really be called a friend after I've stolen so much?
That question has plagued me for years. Are my friends true friends? Or mere machinations of some supernatural power? If I had wished for candy, or ice cream, or money, my life today would be drastically different. I would have less friends, that is for certain, but would those friendships be more valuable?
After nearly a decade of searching I found it. The small little unassuming lamp sat on my polished rosewood desk. It had seemed so large in my hands all those years ago. Not one person had touched it since its rediscovery. A personal favor to me from many 'friends'. Twenty years the book had said, twenty years before the genie would grant another wish. Tomorrow was twenty years to the day from that fateful encounter. Tomorrow is the day I discover who my true friends are.
|
As a young man, Nigel Premeiter lived a simple, if unconventional, life with his two parents, Houghler and Tricia. He would stay out doors, normally at the edge of the lot his parents owned. His home was a simple trailer, with one room on one end and his own on the other end. Taking most of the length of the trailer was a large kitchen with long double windows custom installed by his father all along the 'backside' of the unit. During the day, light poured in like waves upon a beach. The muted colors of the couch and chair-and-a-half were brought to brilliant life in the splendor of the morning sunrise, and often Nigel would expect to hear a yelp from the couch whenever he plopped down to color in one of his books.
At night, through these large windows, both Mr. and Mrs. Premeiter would watch their son play in the backyard under the clear night sky. Living in the middle of no where had its perks, one being the total lack of light pollution. Nigel spent almost every warm night out in the fields that extended to the horizon behind his little home, playing with his two childhood friends, Wade and Alexander.
Playing with both Wade and Alexander one night, far beyond the sight of his parents, the boys all laid themselves down on the long field grass, heads together and their legs splayed out in the spokes of a triangle. They stared in silence at the stars, keeping to their own private thoughts when, much to their surprise, a green light flashed across the sky, rising from the South and striking a path North before disappearing. Jokingly, they all made a wish together, and went about the rest of their night playing in the fields.
Its been twenty years since that night, and Nigel is almost the same six year old that wished upon a star, minus a definitive increase in commonsense and general intelligence. He still loves getting dirty and telling crass jokes, habits that stayed with him from his time well-spent with Wade and Alexander, from their infancy through their college years.
But more than anything, what he's loved doing since that night is simple.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Nigel was sitting in a brightly lit coffee shop that he frequented near his office. It was well furnished, with large, arched half fan windows that opened to the street. In many pots lined on the insides and outsides of the walls, the old woman who owned the building grew many of her own herbs and spices, from which delicate and robust smells filled the area. From the basement port, a large wooden door near the back with wrought iron reinforcements, the smell of freshly ground coffee wafted up as the breeze ebbed and flew through the basement windows.
On a plate near the cash register, freshly baked goods released sweet smells of home, laced with love and care, the kind you found from your own grandmother's oven. Their smell was inviting and seeped out of the open double windows, ensnaring the street's sailors and luring them inside with the delicious temptation of their siren's call. The old woman who owned the coffee shop had two lovely granddaughters who loved baking whenever they had the chance, and they would normally come to the shop straight from schooling to make their own kind of magic in the world.
To put it simply, the place smelled like heaven. Each bitter, sweet, and savory aroma that floated around made the air seem to take on a water-like quality. It was so thick, one would almost believe that they could reach out with a butter knife and cut themselves a slice of that intoxicating aroma to keep in a bottle.
Nigel loved these smells, reminiscent of his own mother's garden and kitchen. But what he loved more were the people. Never was the palate dull here; there was always a motley crowd. Rugged sailors, polished police officers, vile criminals, stoic philosophers, and gaudy dancers: The Triquetra of the Soul always had a varied and often disharmonious crowd living in harmony.
It was as if their was an unwritten law, a binding force placed upon them all, that kept the different personalities from rubbing against each other. Nigel could remember vividly a commonly known pick-pocket sitting at a table with a man who was looking for him and that knew him well. They shared stories over a cup of dark roast coffee and freshly baked honey biscuits. They smiled and the pick-pocket paid. The officer exited through the rows of open double windows facing the street and the delinquent exited through the back into the alley. In all of his years of patronage, he had never witnessed an act laced with hatred.
Today, Nigel had taken one of his favorite seats, a small table for one and perhaps a second if you squeezed, right in the center of the room under a lazily turning fan. With the windows open, a slight summer breeze was constantly rolling in, cooling its inhabitants and mixing the sea of relaxing scents. He wore a pair of khaki shorts that were cut above the knee, with a t-shirt of a vivid and bright leaf green color two sizes too large for him draped awkwardly over his gangly frame. His long, brown hair was held out of his face by a red head band in a comical fashion, showing his rather large and shiny forehead. His nose was crooked and hung low from his face, and upon it sat a pair of moon spectacles. One of the lenses had a crack that started at the button and extended to about the middle part of the lens.
He was enjoying a medium blend, its smell pungent yet fair, somewhere between savory and bitter, an utterly consuming fragrance that made his hair stand on end and sent shivers down his spine, much the same that a man would experience looking at the love of his life. On a small plate on the small, lightly colored wooden table in front of him was a lemon cake, that had a consistency comparable to what Nigel imagined a cloud would feel like: fluffy, light, and pleasantly moist.
The object of his attention was a rather large man who was sitting outside at one of the wrought iron tables (made by the old lady's own son), who was wholly invested in a cup of dark roast, savagely devouring a banana and coconut muffin, and reading the newspaper as if it were a religious text.
His suit was well cut and tailored, hugging well to his body and accentuating its finer features, like his broad shoulders and thick, corded arms while doing well to hide the gut that he had begun to grow as he reached, if Nigel remembered correctly, his mid 50s. His shoes were polished leather, and despite their apparent age, looked fit for the Queen of England, if she were to have an appetite for men's shoes.
There was nothing spectacular about this man that drew Nigel to him, but all the same, Nigel was drawn to him. His wish, like himself as a child, had been stupid and ultimately useless except in the face of what he and his compatriots considered good fun. He loved this coffee shop not only for the nostalgia and beauty of the smells that stewed here, but because of the challenge these smells presented.
Nigel shifted inconspicuously, lifting his left leg and draping it over the other, putting the majority of his weight onto his right hip. Silently, he slowly let out a puff of gas that, not surprisingly but always amusingly, he could see as a faint, shimmering cloud of swirling dark colors.
He let it sit for a second, coaxing it into a compressed form, keeping its putrid and rotten contents from seeping out into the fresh, sweet airs around it and also keeping those airs out. He could tell looking at it that its odor was foul, wet, and sickly-sweet, surely to be a sharp contrast to what the good sir sitting at the table outside was experiencing.
Slowly, and with purpose, he lifted his fork to begin eating his pastry, doing twirling motions in the air and slowly, the little ball danced through the air. He had practiced this often, so it merely looked to anyone who would look in his direction on a whim would see a man artfully eating his pastry, enjoying the ecstasy of its tastes and being overwhelmed by them.
It was a short trip, no more than ten seconds, before the orb had come to rest below the man's nose. With a sigh of melancholy joy, Nigel opened his left hand in his lap and reveled in the art of his performance.
The little ball changed, the smell unfurling and expanding, cutting into the air in dark tendrils that only Nigel could see. Two of them assaulted the mans nose, causing a split second of panic to assail him. His face contorted to one of immense pain, the normally pleasant smells of the café being destroyed by the fetid smell of the fart Nigel had just sent to him.
Nigel chuckled to himself, looking down at his phone. As his background was a picture of the only people in the world who had complete control over the smell, positioning, and even release time of their farts.
The young faces of Wade, Alexander, and himself smiled up to him.
He quickly finished his pastry and his coffee, returned the dishes he used to the old lady at the counter, and paid his tab, along with a tip of five dollars for her granddaughters. He left, stepping onto the crowded cobbled streets, with the sunlight bringing to life all of the old stone masonry around him, and walked home eagerly to tell his two compatriots of his most recent prank.
| 2015-03-07T02:49:26 | 2015-03-07T00:58:07 | 154 | 10 |
[WP] Everyone has powers locked within them. Each power is different, and the longer it takes for a power to manifest, the greater it is. A 100 year old man is being hunted by the government for still being powerless.
EDIT: Thanks for all the replies everyone, I had fun reading all of them.
|
**August 2, 1915**: I was born.
**June 13, 1995**: Still no powers. The government likes to deny that it happens, or fabricate threats of anarchy or terrorism to justify it, but...I can tell you (for what my word is worth to you) the rumors are true: people like me are arrested without any real reason, just as a precaution. I didn't put up a fight when they came for me; I'm almost 80 years old, how could I?
**January 1, 2000**: I wouldn't have thought I'd live to see the new millennium. I certainly wouldn't have thought I'd spend the last 5 years of the old one locked up without having committed any crime. Rights don't apply to people that are too dangerous, even if those people hold no ill will. Circumstances aside, the last few years have been good to me. My mind has stayed sharp, and I've kept better care of myself now that there's not much else to do. The prison doctors are kind to me and keep track of my health when they test me to see if they can find any evidence of superpowers I might be hiding. I may live another 10 years at this rate, which is pretty good for someone of my age!
**September 11-18, 2001**: At about 8 in the morning I was removed from my room and they began an unscheduled battery of tests to determine if I had developed any powers. If I were to guess from their questions and the parade of powerfully-powered people that interrogated me and probed my mind, they were looking for telepathic mind control, telekinesis, teleportation, and long-distance control of fire or metal. After a week of this, with every secret of my mind laid bare yet again, they finally let me return to my cell, where I learned the terrible news that must have triggered my interrogation: a group of non-presenter extremists protesting the government were responsible for a series of terrorist attacks that morning, that killed almost 3,000 people, powered and non-presenter alike.
----
I might continue this if there's any interest.
|
I walked into the old apartment, gun in hand, staring intently through the airborne dust unmasked from the faint light entering from the window. It was quiet, but I could hear shifting in the dining room.
"Alright Mr. Whitaker, the goose chase is over.....goose.... goose chase?" I said to myself, wondering if I was saying the term correctly.
"I think the term you are looking for is wild...... goose chase." a voice whispered, exposing it's owner's location, the dining room.
My target was sitting patiently, without any sense of fear. I slowly walked to the chair across from him, sat down, and began my interrogation.
"Well well, Mr. Whitaker. I don't know how you've managed to evade government officials for as long as you did, as old as you are, but I found you. A man as methodical as you sure leaves traces around like breadcrumbs. It's almost as if you WANTED me to find you." I said, a faint smirk emerging from my visage. This wasn't a triumph of mine finding him, this man led me to him. He was incredibly smart, a think tank of sorts. I didn't know what his power was, so I had to be careful, but given the circumstance, I might be past that point already.
"That's kind of on the nose young man, but such is the way of the youth. Fine.....fine. I did lead you here, as you are new in your field. You haven't been bought, your mind not yet corrupted. There were other candidates, but you were the sole person to figure our all the clues I left, so you weren't chosen, but guided." he answered, without a glimpse of happiness in his eyes.
"Well I'm guessing it has to do with your power, some kind of weapon I assume. If you think the government will use you like collateral or-" I started, but he interrupted, with a dominant nature.
"-I am not a weapon.... no. It would make more sense to say that I am the period, at the end of a sentence.".
I looked around. His house was chalk full of books, all way beyond my comprehension. Scientific laws, books on algorithms, and enough history books to drown in. This guy reads, a lot. I didn't quite get his metaphor though.
"A period, at the end of a sentence. What like, an end to a means? Can your power stop time?" I asked, putting my gun on the table, on the fence between bringing the man in like I was ordered, and hearing him out like my gut's been telling me.
"You could say that, stop time." he said, me mistaking it for his sense of humor, but he didn't show a sign that he was being sarcastic. He continued.
"If existence was one never ending sentence, I would be the period. Every single person's powers in the government's list, all 165,000, are trivial compared to mine. The government worries that people will alter reality, generate global destruction, or control the will of others, but all of them, ALL of the powers the government have found, are nothing compared to mine, because my power, is the only power that truly matters, the only action a person can take, that the entire universe will be affected by, the power to erase it entirely."
I leaned back in my chair, scared shit-less, but within reason. If what he said is true, then he posed only a potential risk. If he wanted to use his power, he'd have used it by now. There would be no point in leading me here if his goal was to destroy everything in existence. A man with a power like that wouldn't be one to waste time.
After pondering, I responded "So..... why all this? Why hide from the government, feigning to be powerless yet somehow knowing what it was? I don't think anyone could use you as leverage, considering it would defeat the purpose." I chuckled, half from my own joke, and from understanding that his 'stop time' comment was an attempt at humor.
Then it hit me, I understood. For him to have knowledge of his power, yet the government claiming he was powerless, made no sense.
"...... the government activates people's powers to know what they are, don't they." I said, realizing the point of his sleight of hand.
"Correct, either that or the power is revealed if detected. The subject in question of course has to be tagged first, as I was. It acts like a beacon when a person's power is activated. My problem was the government didn't believe me when I told them my power. Everyone KNOWS their power, because they see a vision of how their power works before it manifests. I saw the entire universe, at least what my limited eyes could see, all condense into a single point, too small to see, and then I woke up. that was almost 75 years ago. I told this to the doctors, they laughed. When I was tagged, I told the scientists. They didn't believe me, and wanted to activate my power to see if I was just lying, if my power was something I could profit off of. To be fair, it would make sense. Claim your power would be catastrophic if activated, just to use it to your whim, at least once. Once they map you, they would know... so I was stuck. I had to leave my family, and run on foot for the rest of my natural born life. It's been, a very long time since I've sat down and talked to someone.... sorry I went off on a tangent. The point of you being here, is to believe my words." the old man said with a smile. I guess there was a bit of happiness left inside.
"Is this the part where you ask me to kill you? I mean you could of did that a long time ago Mr Whitaker." I said, returning his smile back with another. It was a rhetorical question though, I knew what he wanted.
"You could say that." he laughed under his breath. "I would think it be the safest route."
"Ok Mr Whitaker, I'll go 'kill you', as far as the governments concerned, but since I'm on the subject of Armageddon powers, are there any others that need to die?"
Mr Whitaker gazed at me, amazed by my intellect.
"Why yes, just one. Remy Whitaker." he said, looking towards a picture of him and what looked like his granddaughter.
"Huh, so you are related. They just brought her in this morning. I wondered if there was a coincidence in name." I uttered, wondering just how sinister the higher ranking officials I worked for maneuvered.
"My granddaughter yes, from she told her mother, and then her mother told me, she seems to have the power to locate any person alive, as long as she's seen an image of their face. I assume she will be a slave to your office once her power is activated. You don't have a lot of time either. It also goes without saying, that if you go back to change my status, yet your superiors don't believe you and use my granddaughter to locate me, you will be 'compromised' instantly." he spoke with a serious tone.
"You mean dead." I said, trying not to look excited by my new task.
"You could-" he started to say, but stopped and smiled.
I got up, heading towards the door, "Alright Mr. Whitaker, I guess I have work to do. Thank you for not giving into temptation for all these years, I will do this as a token of my appreciation, and to not be a part of ending all of existence. Goodbye."
I left his apartment, still dazed by all the information I just picked up. Not too long after I got a call from my assistant.
"How'd it go boss?" she questioned, not use to calling ME instead of me calling her after a mission.
"I have something to look into, but just to check; did his marker finally show up on the radar?" I asked, trying to see if I had been manipulated.
"Um no, are you saying you found him sir?" she asked.
"Yes, dead. I will be back in the office within an hour, please update me with any reports from central." I responded with a smile.
Now, all I had to do is find (and save) little 'Miss' Whitaker.
| 2015-10-26T13:59:31 | 2015-10-26T10:33:27 | 19 | 13 |
[WP] A friendship between a time traveler and an immortal. Wherever the time traveler ends up, the immortal is there to catch him up to speed.
|
”Okay, here we go,” June said, spinning the wheels on her mechanical glove, which sent her on a dizzying ride through space and time.
She landed in a pub buzzing with activity, colorful bottles lined the wall behind the bar and yellow light radiated through heaps of stacked cups. Women in long dresses and updos danced to the live tunes of a jazz band, while the bartender idly polished the counter.
June made her way through the thick vapors of cigar smoke towards one of the quieter corners of the pub. A man in a black suit and hat sat alone in a booth, swiveling cubes of ice in what undoubtedly was a glass of scotch.
“Fashionable as ever,” he noted, raising his glass unenthusiastically at June.
“Well, it’s not like I had time to change,” June said, looking down at her wrinkly renaissance dress.
“Time, sure.” He pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his chest pocket. “Want a smoke?”
“Come on, Roman,” June said. “You know I don’t smoke, and besides, we’ve got important things to do.”
“Important, right.” He said, inhaling deeply. “Ah, that’s the stuff.”
“Why don’t you start by giving me an update?”
Roman leaned back, regarding her with an amused look. “Why don’t you start by sitting down for a moment, Sweetheart?”
June felt like kicking him. This was why she hated the fifties. Roman basically turned into a Philip Marlowe with an impossible reluctance to cooperate.
“Fine,” she said, with a resigned sigh. “Buy me a drink.”
“Buy your own drinks,” Roman said, yawning.
“You know, I like you way better in the seventies.”
“It’s the hair, isn’t it?” he said, winking.
“Tell me one thing, Roman,” June said, snatching away the cigarette he was just about to light. “If I were one of those dainty women over there – one of those swooning helpless things, without a hint of independence – would you help me if I came running to you?”
“Swooning, huh?” He emptied his scotch. “If I remember correctly, back in the 16th century–”
“Yeah, yeah, I couldn’t handle the corsets, whatever,” she said, rolling her eyes. “What would it take for you to give me the damn update?”
“How about you get out of that moldy old dress and get the next round?” Roman said, nodding at his empty glass. “I haven’t seen those lovely butt cheeks since Leonardo painted Mona.”
“Why did I marry you back in the Antiques, I simply don’t see it,” June said.
“I think it was the hair.”
“You know, I was going to give you the night of your life, but I guess you’ll have to wait until Zeppelin releases their first album, I mean, it’s only another twenty years.”
“I’m sure it’ll be worth the wait,” Roman said and got up. “Until then there are some swooning ladies by the bar, who appear to be in need of my immediate help.”
June cursed through her teeth and watched him strut over to the dance floor. Be that way, she thought and spun the wheel on her glove again.
|
*December 31st, 1999*
*New York City, New York*
Leonardo always wanted to visit New York City at the turn of the century. It was something he had been dreaming of doing ever since he had first invented Time Travel. As, he realized, he had come from a time where America was long gone and the relics of the past outweighed the creations of the future. But the turn of the millennia, with the world on edge; he had to see that.
And see it he did. The populated streets of New York City were a sight to see in themselves. For the first time in his life, Leonardo had seen more people packed into a small urban island than in his entire nation. And the people themselves were *different.* Drunk, sure, but they had a way about them that spoke of their luck and class. That told of their eagerness to let things go and forget about their problems on the dawn of a new age. They, he realized, didn't have problems like those of his people.
He had walked--it was more like a powerful and continuous shove--through the streets towards the address given to him by a friend. He had met him long ago, in an age forgotten by the citizens of this city and country. Yet he knew he'd be there, he promised he would. He had gone back too, about three dozen years like Jeremiah said to, and notified the man where he would meet him in the years' to come. The Jeremiah of 1964 seemed to know Leonardo already. And he judged that their paths would cross--or more likely *had* crossed--again.
It was a small place compared to the luscious grandeur of New York City. A 'dive' as Jeremiah explained that sat neatly between 1st Ave and Avenue C. Yet, even with the address and time, it took Jeremiah almost an hour to get there. Most of that was due to his bewilderment, where every so often he would stand and stare at people or things he had never seen. Statues, monuments, 'neon' signs, and cigarettes. They checkered New York City like venison and fur checkered his own nation.
The bar wasn't crowded like the rest, but it was still filled. And it took Leonardo some time to find his American ID--the one that Jeremiah had helped him forge--in his bag of Travelling gear. By the time he had it, the bouncer, already annoyed, had simply let him in.
It was lit dimly and a large cloud of smoke covered most of Leonardo's view, but towards the back, under a small *Smoking Area* sign sat the man. He wore an over sized blue suit, blue tie, and his hair was slicked backwards. It was long, longer than any time Leonardo had seen Jeremiah. Yet, it wasn't the outfit or the hair that told him it was his friend. It was the eyes. The eyes that he could see clearly through the fog that said "I have seen things. I have been here before. I will be here after."
He walked up to the table, a single spare chair sat at the other end, and he took a seat. Jeremiah lifted his head, smirked, and slid his cigarette box over to Leonardo. "Take one," the voice was rugged and dry. It was Jeremiah alright.
Leonardo obliged and took a cigarette. Jeremiah was the one to light it for him, after his own, and the two took a deep inhale. Leonardo coughed his out loudly and Jeremiah blew the smoke out of his nose calmly.
"You made it," Jeremiah said.
"I did."
"Like what you see?"
"I'm not entirely sure. It's grandiose, to say the least."
He blew smoke, "Grandiose is a good word, I'd say."
"How long has it been?"
"Oh, give or take five years. You visited me in ninety-five."
"I did?"
Jeremiah ashed his cigarette over the tray, "Aye. Won't happen for *you* for a while. I think after you visit Rome, you come back."
"Oh?"
"You talk about the similarities."
"Between this place and Rome?"
"Well," he shrugged and waved his hand to a waitress, "America and Rome."
The waitress stepped up to the table, "What can I get you gentlemen?"
"My friend and I will have a Scotch, neat. Side of ice."
"Mhm," she didn't write anything down, but pointed to the television over her shoulder, "Countdown starts soon."
"Thank you, love."
She left and Leonardo said, "This is only the third time, you know."
He blew smoke, "I do. But I've seen you plenty of times. Imagine I'll see you plenty more."
"Where have I gone?"
"Oh, where haven't you gone, Leo." The drinks came and Jeremiah paid with a rectangular piece of plastic and a few dollars for the waitress. "Rome, Greece, London, Moscow, Beijing, you hit them all."
"Over the course of?"
"Centuries, I presume. I mean, it is your mission to find answers, no? Drink your Scotch, it's impolite."
Leonardo obliged. He had let his cigarette burn out and he mushed it into the ash tray while he sipped. He was used to alcohol, and the kind his nation brewed was much stronger than this. "Well, yes, but--"
"Oh but nothing. You need answers. You go where you need to go." He smoked again, "Besides, you don't need me to tell you where or how--hell, you have the how better than I do."
"Yes, but--"
"And don't try to ask me again. I told you all I know. Have been for years."
Leonardo frowned, "I wouldn't know that."
"No I don't suppose this one would, but *you* eventually will."
"When?"
Jeremiah's eyebrows lifted and he drank his scotch. "There you go again."
He resolved to sit back in his chair and drink. Jeremiah had obviously seen him, the future-him, many times in the past. And he wouldn't understand that until he went through the motions. Until he did what future-him did.
Time Travel, as it was, was as confusing in practice as it was in theory.
"Ten, nine, eight--"
The crowd behind him began. He turned to Jeremiah, who was turning his drink in his hand. The man had seen civilization rise, and he would see it fall. He had that power as an immortal, and Leonardo, well he had that power too as a time traveler. But it was much different. They both knew that. Leonardo only hoped he wouldn't always be the one to ask questions.
"--Two, one, Happy New Year!"
"Happy New Year, old friend," Jeremiah said and clinked his glass to Leonardo's.
"Happy New Year."
The two sat in silent as the party behind them raged on. All in all, Leonardo felt cheated. He knew the future-Jeremiah, the one had met in his time, knew all of this happened, but never mentioned it. And yet, he felt unexpectedly depressed at the feeling of seeing New York City in, what he imagined, was its prime. Then again, he could have had the dates wrong. Perhaps its prime was a hundred years into the past, or a hundred years into the future. He would have to travel to learn that.
"You best be going," Jeremiah said as he finished his drink. "You have a lot of time to cover, and only one lifetime to do it."
"Then help me."
"I am."
"How?"
"I'm telling you to do it."
Leonardo chuckled, "That's not helping."
"It is where I come from."
"That is?"
Jeremiah stayed silent. He looked Leonardo into the eyes.
"I visit you, don't I?"
"What did I say about questions?"
"Fine," Leonardo finished his drink so as to not be rude and smiled. "I'll see you soon then."
"For you maybe. Where will you go next?"
Leonardo didn't have an answer for that one. Instead, he took a deep breath and searched his mind. "Greece would be a nice start, I guess. Though, I'll need to learn the language."
Jeremiah leaned forward and scribbled some information on a piece of paper, "London University, not sure which of these years would be best, but you can learn Greek and Latin quickly." He slid it over, "I'm sure."
"Thank you."
"Aye," he checked his watch, "best be off now. Good luck."
Leonardo smiled and took the note. He left without saying another word, after all, it wasn't a goodbye really. He'd see Jeremiah again. In some time or another.
As he walked off, another gentlemen approached Jeremiah's table and took a seat where Leonardo had left. He wore a clean, cut suit with a sharp tie and didn't hesitate in removing a box of cigarettes and lighting one for himself and Jeremiah.
"Too long?"
"On the contrary, my good friend," the gentlemen said, "you did excellent. Impeccable timing, I'd say."
Jeremiah smoked the cigarette given to him. "So why are you back, Leo?"
The gentlemen lifted his head to reveal the same blue eyes that had just left. Albeit, this man had a little more facial hair and was, to Jeremiah's estimates, about ten years older, but it was Leonardo. "We need to talk."
"About what?"
"Now, now, Jeremiah. Don't you hate questions?"
________
*/r/BlankPagesEmptyMugs for more!*
| 2022-05-07T07:51:43 | 2016-11-10T14:02:49 | 2,588 | 119 |
[WP] A homeless person, you manage to find shelter in a cave, until a series of people keep coming and beating you up. Slowly, you start to realize you've accidentally become a dungeon boss.
|
"You humans think every dragon is trying to kill you," said Sythrak.
"You're the killer," said the knave. He was so young his voice had not broke. "You killed and stole our flocks--"
"I did no such thing," interrupted the dragon.
"--and now, now you killed our women!" shouted the knave. He raised his weapon--a crude polearm made from a bodgered stick affixed with the blade of a scythe beaten straight. He wore the leathers of a farrier.
Sythrak stared at the boy, his tired eyes seething slits. He rose before the human, causing the knave to jump back in surprise. He stood several hands above the human.
"I was a once proud Counselor, *boy*," began Sythrak, his reptilian growl echoing throughout. "This I gained from distinguishing myself in war. I live by honor. I do not take claim of thievery or murder lightly."
The dragon's fists curled. He could taste the boy's fear in the air.
"Then...then what are you doing here in this cave, dragon?" asked the knave, his bravado lessened.
"Your king began a campaign to retake the lowlands three weeks ago," replied Sythrak. "My home has been sacked."'
"So, this is reveng-"
"And you still accuse me of murder on top of that indignity!" Sythrak shouted. He began to walk towards the boy.
"I cannot blame you for being green, " said the dragon, taking deliberative steps. "What is clear is that the conscripts you are boarding in your town are stealing your lambs and raping your women by night and casting blame on folk like me who are in hiding."
The boy began to shuffle backwards very slowly, flickering shadows and smoke from the fire stinging his eyes.
"What is not clear is what you will do next," said Sythrak. "Because if you continue to threaten me, I will come over and kill you."
The boy's weapon shook, its bent tip mere inches from the dragon's scaled chest.
"There are easier ways to become a man," Sythrak said. "Take it from a beast who knows honor. Be smarter than the ones who came last night to slay me."
The boy's eyes widened.
|
######[](#dropcap)
Sometimes you look back on the things you've done through your life and wonder how you got to where you are. For me, I wonder was it the skipping of classes in High School? Was it the student loans? Was it the failed relationship in college that put me in depression for months? Or was it the poor career choices?
I may never learn the answers to these questions, for I lay bleeding on the dirty floor of my cave and it appears that I am stuck in this surreal world.
I was a loner to begin with. Never made friends. Hit the gym everyday to kill boredom. And when I lost my job and my house, all I had was a year long gym membership. Naturally, my gym became my home and instead of looking for a job, I turned into a hobo muscle monster.
Then one day, I do not really recollect the date, for they had lost their significance by then, I met Mike. Mike was my polar opposite. Skinny, nerdy and talkative little guy. He had made it big in IT. He drove a fancy car and had a guy follow him around with his towel and water bottle. This Mike character had taken a liking towards me, for reasons I never bothered asking him. He would greet me when he walked in and on his way out. Despite my best efforts to keep to myself, he'd take every opportunity to hit up a conversation. At first he'd talk about himself, and when he learnt that I lent him no ear, he would try and squeeze some words out of me. Eventually I would relent and tell him whatever it was that he wanted to hear.
One day Mike walks in and asks me if I'm looking for a house and a job. I was not really an IT guy and I was finding it hard to afford my meals, so I sure as hell couldn't afford a goddam house and I told Mike the same. He told me that the job had nothing to do with IT and the house was really a cave of sorts where I could stay and that they would pay me to stay in the cave provided that I signed off some papers. He buzzed on about experiments and so on and I really did not pay attention to most of it as the thought of living in a solitary cave started to flower in my mind. And they would even pay me. I was a boy-scout back in school so I figured I could live off the land if this cave was far from civilization. Not that civilization really mattered to me in the first place.
I finally got IT Mike to shut himself up long enough for me to convey my consent to his offer. He asked me when I could start. I was unemployed and homeless, I could start being a caveman anytime. So Mike took me to his car and asked me to hop in. Mike, Mike's towel guy and me, all three of us, were on our way to my new job right away. After about an hours drive out of town, Mike stopped at what seemed like some research lab and asked me to join him inside.
As we walked into the lab Mike began his incessant droning about some science and wizardry, I paid no attention to him as my thoughts once again wandered to my life in a cave far from civilization and living on my own and even earning some money on the side. Then I was asked to sit in a chair, sign some papers that were handed to me and wait. I remember that the room smelled funny, but nothing more of that day remains in my memory. All I know is that I woke up in this god-forsaken cave.
The first couple of days were fine, I woke up, walked around, drank from the little stream and even caught a fish. Picked some berries on my way back and I thought I was in paradise. I did wonder though, about my location and even how I got there without me remembering most of my journey. But my memory was vague and I decided not to exert myself on this venture.
Then the first of the players appeared. A skinny teenager, blonde hair, short skirt, funny looking boots and gloves, some sorta leather top and a silly cap. As if her appearance wasn't funny enough, she carried a little bow with her. At first I thought she was some kinda school kid who was out camping in the woods and I tried to say hi. To my surprise I could only manage a growl of sorts. The realisation that I was unable to speak coherently alarmed me and I attempted to converse through gestures when the little girl started shooting arrows at me. I had never been shot at before in my life and I guess out of sheer reflex and animal instict, I raised my hands to shield myself from the arrows the little girl shot at me. It turned out that every time I raised my hands, I activated some sort of shield which kept the arrows from hitting me. The girl seemed to be running out of arrows after a while when she took out a little knife and started towards me. I did not want to hurt the girl but at the same time the knife looked as menacing as the girl did and so I held my hands out attempting to push off any attack that the girl might launch at me. To my surpise, my hands shot out some kind of beam that launched the girl high up the air and landed her on her back about half the way up to the cave mouth. I ran to check if she was okay and before I could check on her, she seemed to melt into thin air. At first I thought it was a hallucination, probably the berries I ate were intoxicating me, but then I found the arrows and other stuff the girl had dropped around. I kept them in a corner of the room where I had found other stuff before.
The next day a lady dressed in skimpy clothes materialized from thin air. She held some sort of a staff in her hands and though she was a feast to the eyes she was a beast when it came to fighting. She launched fire balls and lightning bolts at me and finally when I could no longer hold my sheild against her, I did the push and she vanished too.
I did try to communicate with these strangers. I tried to use the arrows to scratch the walls but the arrows would just vanish after a bit of time. Whenever I attempted to speak to these people my words would come out in growls and roars.
By the end of the week I had faced another two or three such people. Always dressed in funny clothes, holding swords and hammers and whatnot. The bigger ones started one month into my stay in the cave. These folks would now come wearing even fancier clothes bearing bigger shinier swords. Surprisingly the women wore lesser and lesser clothes as they became stronger.
One day while I was at the stream trying to catch some fish, I saw one of these archer girls being attacked by a fox-like creature. I thought the girl was in distress as the fox was napping at her leg and she couldn't aim her arrows at the creature. She appeared to be shooting her arrows right over the fox. I quickly ran to her help and to my surprise the girl started aiming her arrows at me. Before I could gesture something at her I saw her open up some kind of a scroll and disappear into thin air.
I figured that I must have been put into some kind of a mind control experiment for these things seemed to surreal to be true. The next event that surprised me was when a young man stepped in to the cave all dressed up like a knight. He weilded a sword and sheild and once he entered I saw a white text scroll above his head which read "Imma kill yo ass boss-man. l33tsolja 4tw" and promptly rushed at me with his sword swinging. I was too stunned to respond and by the time I could raise my hand the guy had thrust his sword at me. The rest was a blur but I remember waking up feeling pretty fine after a few hours.
I could recognize some of the people as they kept coming at me several times a week. One was a blue haired guy, pretty beefy, always carried some kind of a hammer all the time. At first I found it easy to beat the guy, but as time progressed he became tougher and tougher. I realized the guy had been training and so I started my own training regime. I couldn't really use any weapons as the weapons dropped by these folks would vanish in some time. So I started practicing martial arts-y stuff on my own. But still I couldn't beat the heavy hammers and swords these guys started wielding.
I finally realized that I have now become a dungeon boss.
EDIT : Changed the last part as per the comments.
| 2017-10-21T01:16:41 | 2017-10-21T00:42:47 | 1,477 | 284 |
[WP] You die and find yourself in hell, where apparently everyone spends time to negate their sins before they go to heaven. The guy in front of you, who cheated on his wife, gets 145 years. Feeling like you led a fairly average and peaceful life, you’re not worried. You get 186,292 years.
|
----------------------------------------------
186,292 YEARS?
How could this be? I never even harmed a fly. Okay, well - maybe a few of those. You know what I mean.
**"....But why?**", I asked struck by pure horror and disbelief.
The hell warden looked right into my eyes and cracked a diabolic smile:
"Do you even realize how many people died because you refused to forward those chain-mails?"
----------------------------------------------
|
I stared at the demon behind the counter.
"186,292... years? What could I have possibly done to deserve that? I was kind to nearly everybody, and the worst crime I ever committed was smoking weed!"
The being with red skin and disturbing horns (That somehow seemed to be in multiple places at once... ugh, I was getting nauseous just looking at them.) nodded knowingly.
"Yes, we get a lot of that down here. You see, it's not what you did, but rather, what you didn't do. Do you remember your brother?"
Oh, god... my greatest regret. I nodded slowly, while on the inside I was nearly crying, though I *was* wondering how exactly THAT could be worth so many years.
The demon continued, "You remember how he was used and abused for his entire childhood, until he came to live with you?" I nodded again. "Well, I'm sure you remember the next part then. How he latched onto you, and fell in love with you, his little brother, and you just continued to use him for whatever you could think of."
I shouted angrily, "No! It wasn't like that! He was older than me, he should have known better! And it isn't my responsibility to look after someone so pathetic, anyways."
At that, the last vestiges of pleasantness left the demon's face, and his visage became terrifying.
"You're lying to yourself, mortal. You couldn't cope with what you had done to him, and weren't attracted to him, so you abandoned him when he needed you the most. If I had my way, your punishment would never end!"
I shook my head in disbelief. "I don't understand. How could that one inaction carry such an enormous sentence? Yeah, he was smarter than normal, but he was nobody special... Why is th-"
The demon cut me off with a growl, and his face grew disgusted. "Mortal, do you have any idea what he would have done if he hadn't ended his own life after you left him? He would have invented miraculous technologies, solved nearly all the worlds problems, **AND DISCOVERED MAGIC!**" He ended with a bellow that brought me to my knees with sheer physical force. "He would have invaded and liberated *Hell itself* and ended death for all time! He was infinitely more valuable than you, and you decided that you didn't want to bother interacting with him, or even supporting him at all. You disgust me, get out of my sight!"
I kneeled on the floor, his words slowly sinking in to my stunned mind. I thought back, to all of our conversations, and with a sinking feeling in my gut, I realized that this foul creature in front of me was right... I deserved this, if what he said was true.
I fell sideways to the ground, going numb. I can't believe I made such a huge mistake. I always regretted what I had done after he was gone, but I never knew it was of this magnitude.
The demon sneered at me from above, shouting "Guards, get this pathetic meatsack out of here and into his punish-"
At that moment, there was a tremendous explosion from the direction I had come from. Startled, I flailed and turned around while still collapsed on the ground, scanning for the source of the ridiculously loud noise, wondering what was going on.
Behind me, I heard the demon that had just been berating me exclaim softly in horror, "Oh, no... It can't be... I thought that this was prevented! He lied! Satan lied to us, there was nothing he could do! I knew it!" The sound of his footfalls (or should I say hooffalls, as he had some sort of equine legs) rapidly retreating behind me, I gulped in apprehension.
I stared at the plume of smoke, unseeingly, as I contemplated what came next. I hope whatever caused that explosion would end my existence, but I wasn't very confident that it would, or even could, given that this *was* Hell, after all.
I heard soft footsteps coming from in front of me, and I squinted, wondering what would happen now.
As the footsteps continued, the vague form coalesced into something recognizable, but unbelievable. "Brother?" I asked softly, staring at the form of my brother as I remembered him from when he was still a child.
He grinned, and raised a hand. I flinched back, only to stare in shock as he simply waved at me. He softly uttered, "Hey man, I'm sorry I'm late. C'mon, I've got so much to tell you. Let's get out of here."
Numbly, in shock, I stood, and walked towards him. He caught me in a hug, and then grabbed me by the hand as we walked on. I shook my head, I don't deserve this. He should just leave me.
At that thought, he turned his head to me and smiled. "I won't leave you. Not ever again. I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough to stay alive, but now I'm strong enough to do *anything*. Don't worry bro, I've never held anything you did against you. C'mon, we have stuff to do."
Feeling rotten to my core, I continued along with him in silence. Maybe this *was* my personal hell, and what the demon did was just a deception...
At that thought, my brother froze, and turned towards me with tears in his eyes. "I'm sorry I hurt you so much. I knew my death would destroy you, that you were lying to yourself, trying to be normal, but I did it anyways." He sobbed. "But it's important that you understand, I won't let you be in pain or misery anymore. You were still the most important person in my life, even after I died" he finished with a tearful gaze towards me from the corner of his eyes.
"Ok." I said flatly, while internally I was screaming and crying, I don't deserve this. I don't deserve his kindness. But, if I had another chance to be there for him, this time I wouldn't throw it away.
We reached the gates of Hell, where I had found myself shortly after my death, and he tightened his grip on my hand. He looked at me seriously, and said, "Don't let go. No matter what." With those words, he pulled me through the boundary, and everything dissolved into purple, orange, and green streaks of light. I couldn't see or feel anything. I could barely think. My next thought was, "I hope I don't let go..."
| 2018-09-26T07:41:09 | 2018-09-26T07:21:22 | 1,768 | 23 |
[WP] You die and find yourself in hell, where apparently everyone spends time to negate their sins before they go to heaven. The guy in front of you, who cheated on his wife, gets 145 years. Feeling like you led a fairly average and peaceful life, you’re not worried. You get 186,292 years.
|
"What?!" I sputtered. "How is this possible? What did I *do* to get that?!"
Satan put down the book of sentencing with an exasperated sigh and said, "Look kid, I don't make the punishments, the big guy only makes me hand them out as part of my parole." Seems he was used to saying this.
"B-but *how*? How did-"
Satan rolled his eyes. "Because the real Hell is more Aligherian, and not anything like that rat bastard Milton wrote. Joke's on him, I got him in the sixth circle for heresy."
"That's nice and all, but I meant what did *I* do to end up here? I just don't get it."
"It says here that you've committed some 7,500 cases of murder in your lifetime, and remarkably young, I might add. I'm impressed."
My jaw dropped even lower. "B-b-b-b-but I've never killed anything larger than a squirrel, and even that was an accident!"
Satan pauses before looking at the book a bit closer, and letting out a chuckle that sounded like nails on a blackboard. "I think I know what happened. It's like in... shit, what's the name?" He flipped through the tome and picked up a black phone sitting by the desk. "Operator? Circle six, tier three, prisoner GAC-19891004. Hey Graham, what was the name of your show again? Thanks." He set down the phone and redirected his gaze back toward me. "It's like in that show, Monty Python."
I was confused more than anything else. "What does that have to do with anything?"
"You know their movie with the musical number *Every Sperm is Sacred*?"
I paused. What would that have to do with me?
"Well turns out they got the doctrine right, purely by accident. And guess what you've been doing five days a week since eigth grade?"
Then that would mean- *no*.
"Oh, *God*."
"Yeah, he's not gonna help you with this one."
|
The guy in front of me in line is sweating bullets, not that I can blame him. The orientation seminar to life in hell was... hellish. Is it okay for me to make jokes in hell? I am still unsure. Apparently, based on the multitude and magnitude of our sins, offset by our good deeds, we are each sentenced to a specific amount of time in hell before we can ascend to heaven.
The sentencing department in hell closely resembles a DMV. Of course it does.
According to our orientation, our time in hell will consist of constant torture and unrest. After completing our sentencing phase, my orientation group will endure a series of traumatic stress and phobia locator tests, to personalize our torture. No expense is spared in personalizing the torture experience to each and every damned soul, the orientation guide tells us with a harsh laugh. Great. I'm probably going to have to spend several years in a closet with large spiders while my mother yells at me that "I'm doing nothing with my life."
Ding. A bell dings. A queue has opened for the next person in line to see the available sentencing officer. The guy in front of me nervously shuffles over to the officer, wiping his sweaty hands on his pants. I hear murmuring from the man and the officer, only picking up bits and pieces of the conversation. 145 years. More indecipherable garble. Cheated on your wife.
I raise my eyebrows in surprise. The dude in front of me cheated on his wife and only got 145 years? This certainly bodes well for me. I've never even been married, so I've never cheated on anyone. I'm going to bust out of hell in no time and get my angel wings, or whatever the hell you get when you're not in hell.
Ding. Another bell dings. The sentencing officer next to the wife-cheater is ready to see me. Somewhat confidently, I stride over to my sentencing officer, taking a moment to cast a glance laced with mock sympathy over to the wife-cheater.
Once I am standing in front of the officer, she asks in a bored, yet aggressive tone, "Name?"
"Yours or mine?" I joke lamely.
"That's another year," she huffs, clicking away on the keyboard to her computer.
"Excuse me?" I ask.
"No joking in hell. Not for you, anyway. You're supposed to be suffering damnation for your indiscretions. That was another year tacked onto your sentence," she explains in a monotone voice.
"What? That's not fair! I didn't know--they never told us that in orient-" I began before she cut me off.
"Another year," she adds, clicking away on her stupid little keyboard. "No arguing with employees of Satan."
"Fuck," I curse beneath my breath before I can stop myself. My eyes shoot open as I look to 'Satan's employee' with terror. Damn it, I cursed in front of her. That's probably more time.
She says nothing, but keeps clacking away on her keyboard. Maybe she didn't hear me, I hope.
"In case you're wondering," she begins without looking away from her computer, "Cursing doesn't add more time to your sentence. This is hell, after all, not a debutante ball."
"Fuck, yeah, thank God for that... or should I say, thank Satan?"
"Was that another joke?" She asks me wryly.
"Uh... no," I lie hastily. I forgot already how many rules hell had. "It was a serious question. Can I talk about God down here, or is that like, taboo or something? Are we supposed to be all... Team Satan?"
"Doesn't matter," the employee answered. "But piece of advice to you, your talking does more harm than it does good. If you ever want to get out of here, you'd do best to stop talking."
I nod wordlessly. Maybe this lady is right. Maybe not talking is the quickest way for me to get out of hell.
"Now I just need to add two more years on your sentence here for your lying to me a moment ago and..." the lady muttered to herself while clicking away on her keyboard. Fuck. Of course that Satan-damned employee knew that I was lying about my not-joke.
"And... done," the employee concludes with a small self-satisfied smile. This is the first time I've seen this lady smile.
Remembering not to speak, I raise my eyebrows at the woman expectantly, wordlessly asking her, "What's the damage?"
"186,292 years," she states evenly.
"What?" I cry out. I forget that I'm not speaking and metaphorically blow my lid.
"Would have been 186,288, but for your indiscretions over the past five minutes," she adds, as if a measly four years is my concern with this number.
"But why? The dirt-bag wife-cheating human sweatbox next to me only got 145 years!" I exclaim. This is an injustice. The number must be wrong. I can't think of anything I did in life that was THAT bad. I mean sure, I jaywalked, occasionally smoked pot, and sometimes lied to get out of undesirable tasks, but who didn't? I mean, right?
"Didn't the orientation leader tell you?" She asks with boredom. "The choices you make in life net positive and negative consequences. The culmination of those choices led you to this number. Now you have to serve your time before you can leave and go to heaven.
"Well, the number must be wrong. I never cheated on a spouse," I point out with indignation.
"I assure you, the number is correct. If you'd like to revisit the choices that led you to this number, I can assign you to a Past-Life Demon Escort," she offers. Unhelpfully, she adds, "Of course, in your case, it would probably take several months to revisit all of your past choices."
"Yes, I'll do it," I answer hastily. I must know the truth.
"And of course, this will stall the onset of your sentence until you return and complete your traumatic stress and phobia locator tests," she continues.
"Of course it will."
"So you'll do it?" She asks.
"Yes. I have to know why an adulterer gets off with two lifetimes of damnation while I have to serve..." I trail off.
The woman hastily clicks away on her keyboard. "2,484 lifetimes," she states. "Give or take, depending on the longevity of the human."
"Thanks," I seethe.
"You're welcome," she replies, unaware that my previous statement was less than genuine. "It's been a pleasure serving you, I hope you were satisfied with your experience here in the Sentencing Department of Hell."
"Oh, before I forget," she adds, "Before I put in the request for a Past-Life Demon Escort to take you back through your life choices, I'll need you to fill out a quick 15-minute survey. You know, to rate your experience in the Sentencing Department of Hell. Feedback is always welcomed and helps us to help you experience as much pain and discomfort as possible."
"I really don't have time for that," I apologize. In my human life, I would always hang up on telemarketers or anyone who asked me to complete surveys on anything.
"186,292 years and you say you don't have time?" She asks dryly. "No wonder you're down here."
"Give me the damn survey," I seethe.
She hands me a pen and a piece of paper. Snatching the pen and paper from her claw (yes, Satan's employee has claws, not hands) I stromp over to the nearest chair and begin filling out the survey.
"Question 1: On a scale of 1 to Hitler, how militantly oppressive was your Sentencing Officer?"
I look up and scratch my head in confusion. I'm not sure I totally understand the point system of this survey. As I'm considering my answer, a man brushes past me. It's the adulterer. As he is passing, he takes a moment to cast a glance laced with mock sympathy over to me. My, this has come full circle, hasn't it?
| 2018-09-26T08:43:26 | 2018-09-26T08:20:29 | 77 | 29 |
[WP] You stare at the pills in your hand. The doctor taps his foot impatiently. "These will really cure me of hearing that voice?" you ask. The doctor rolls his eyes. "Yes, you'll never hear her again." You level your gaze on the doctor. "I never told anyone the voice was female..."
|
The doctor tries to play it off.
"Oh sorry,I know,I was jus...."
But it was too late . Overwhelmed with a sense of paranoia, you begin looking around the room frantically, and the doctor jumps up dashing for his desk.
You grab his hand , you don't know why ,but you just do . You can feel the fear radiating through him, his eyes jolting around as if asking for help.
You look where he was reaching to, a small button hidden under his desk. But why ? What does the button do , and why would he need to press it for a normal man like yourself.
Your entire life you've worked a normal job, had a normal family, and normal hobbies. The voice was the only thing not normal about you, and you just wanted help.
The voice had to be some type of mental disorder, the things she told you to do ,you could never do , they weren't human.
"Let Me Go Now Number 42!" The doctor yells out, interrupting your thoughts.
By now he was shaking, sweat dripping off his brow, and his face as white as a sheet.
"Number 42?!? ,what does that even mea.." you started to say, but were interrupted by the pounding inside your head and her voice.
"Let him push the button, he won't like what's next."
|
Early this year I bought a surprisingly cheap house in the town my parents were born in. They loved this town and even asked to be buried in the local graveyard, so being the faithful son I ever was, I decided to visit them one random day.
I thought this would be a fun little trip to the graveyard and be over with it, but no, I just had to come back haunted by some sort of ghost. Can't even visit my parents without some sort of problem occuring these days, sigh.
Sure enough though, I managed to ignore that ghost to oblivion... till it started speaking to me. Well, at first it was low growls, but as time passed you would think she pronounced actual words some times. My friends of course couldn't take me seriously by principle, so I kept most of the recent stuff to myself.
Ever tried to communicate with a ghost? Well, I have and it was not successful. Tried to understand it a bit before I resorted to medical help in case I was actually mental.
I simply stopped bothering about it though, and I kept delaying my visits to the doctor for a loooong while... because, I mean... the ghost hadn't done anything to me so far, and she seemed pretty nice if you ignored her growls.
After her growls turned into sweet sounding words, however, I couldn't help but start searching for a doctor again. After all the weeks I had been with her, some words wouldn't push me that far, on the opposite, it might had just made me more interested in her, but... there are exceptions.
"*Death*... *I died. Am I dead*?" The ghost said to me one day. She spoke the words in such a clear yet disturbing voice I almost failed to recognise it was her! She continued on, of course, speaking about how this was her house and that she wanted me out. Even got angry when I tried to convince her otherwise... touche'.
After searching on the net for a bit, I found that my house's previous owner had been missing for a couple years now. Best of all? It was a female! One that looked exactly like the ghost.
That made me think about the matters a bit more clearly, but even when I went to agree with her, she screamed at me, showing intelligence no better than that of a three year old kid. Eventually I got tired of her screams, more so because headphones and loud music didn't help. That brought me to where I currently was; standing in front of a psychiatrist , discussing about the possible medicines.
"These will really cure me of hearing that voice?" I asked.
The doctor rolled his eyes and answered with a more patient voice than that of my own, "Yes, you will never hear her again."
I let out a small breath at the mention of that, but immediately turned my head towards him a second later, "I never told you the voice was female... did I?"
The man instantly turned silent after that mention. He tried to convince me I actually had told him that, but I was certain of the opposite. Nevertheless, I couldn't simply argue about such an absurd topic, so after some small talk I left the doctor's office and went to do my own thing... which was to stalk the very same doctor.
Naturally, I wasn't a professional at this sort of thing, nor was I going to get any good chances while the doctor was still working. I went to my home without a hurry, took some more money and went out to buy some make up. I thought about visiting even a make up artist, but that would be an overkill even for me.
Some fake hair here and there, some make up at my face, some contact lenses and a wig later, I visited the psychiatrist. Granted my work wasn't perfect, after some point I had to stop playing with make up since I looked silly even after a few hours of trial and error, so I was certainly missing on that part, but I passed through the reception with no one recognising me and that counted as a success in my book.
After reaching outside the doctor's office, it hit me that I would look weird if all I did was just stand in there... not to mention it was impossible to overhear anything clearly and the doctor wasn't even talking about stuff I was interested about. I felt pretty silly, at that point, but I couldn't just give up. I looked at the ghost beside me and had an idea.
Visiting the male toilets, for a small second the ghost tried to drag me to the female ones, looking conflicted at having to go to the male ones, but her arms just passed through me. She looked annoyed at visiting the male toilets, but also didn't say anything. Her silence all the time was forgotten till I actively went to speak to her and remembered how much she used to talk; repeat herself.
Looking at her straight in the eyes, I asked her if she could spy into that psychiatrist's office. It was a silly idea I had on the spur of the moment. Never actually believed she would listen, but she did...
I stood there for a good half minute before a sudden scream brought me out of my stupor.
"Gh-ghost!" A loud voice was heard inside the psychiatrist's office. My next thoughts were entirely instinctive, but I rushed towards the doctor's office. The doctor seemed to had calmed down, but after a second of staring at the same place it was obvious both of us could see her.
"It's you!" The doctor suddenly yelled, her fingers pointing at me. I wasn't about to lecture her that what she was doing was rude, but I felt offended she disregarded my perfect disguise like that.
After some mild cursing, the doctor threw me the very same pills I was suggested at the beginning and told me not to bother him. He practically shoed me out of the place.
Out of sheer spite I threw those pills at the nearest bin I could find. Turning my head the next moment, I almost had a heart attack and a liver failure from the darn ghost. Seemed to have followed me here...
I wanted to yell at her for acting so insensitively, but looking at her face, I could she she was sad and feeling sorry. My voice was caught before it could get out, and I sighed; this was going to be a long day.
Taking a good look at her, she seemed to be roughly the same age as me, and far quiter than before. This time I wasn't the one to start the conversation, "Erm... I'm sorry about what happened before. I thought I should do something for acting so rudely the previous weeks, but even that turned out as great as my life."
My jaw was barely hanging to my mouth; might had even dislocated it how hard it fell.
"Well... if it helps you calm down, my life ain't that great either." I couldn't help but say. For a moment I thought I was silly for feeling pity about her, but that was barely even a passing thought.
"I can see that. What kind of guy even brings a girl to the male toilets?" She said. I could say the same about her, but that wasn't the time... or was it?
We had the best of conversations that day. At the end I asked her about what had happened to her, but she said her memories were fuzzy and some things didn't make much sense even to her, nor did she want to know.
We striked up so well, I agreed to let her stay in the house; it was basically hers from the beginning, not to mention I suspected she was the reason for the low price, so I felt like I owned her a bit.
In the end? Best housemate ever!
| 2018-12-28T16:48:51 | 2018-12-28T11:30:08 | 19 | 11 |
[WP] A man walks through a TSA checkpoint at an airport and is sent back to September 10th 2001. He knows he must act quick, but he is having trouble trusting his own sanity.
|
Have you ever been driving and suddenly found yourself at your destination without knowing how you got there?
You remember punching out and grabbing your keys. You remember opening the car door and getting singed by the seat-belt buckle in the hot sun of the parking lot. But for the life of you, you can't remember the fifteen minutes between when you turned the key in the ignition and pulled into your driveway.
I fly all the time. I fly so often, it's become second nature. Shoes off. Laptops out of the bags. Liquids visible. Tiny containers. Arms up and step through the machine. That little moment of breath holding, waiting for the alarms to go off, for the klaxons to sound, for your possessions to be strewn across the floor. Then nothing.
That awkward drill of putting on your shoes and belt again, not looking anyone else in the eye and trying to move things along quickly. Like the hasty aftermath of hotel room sex.
It's all a routine for me.
And that's why, sitting in this seat, I have the distinct impression that something is wrong. I can't quite put my finger on it. It's a prickling at the back of my neck. A sinking feeling my gut. I remember stepping into the scanner. I remember lifting my arms up. I remember the bored face of the TSA agent, looking impassively at me through a glass barrier. That white moustache.
And suddenly, here I am. When did I board? Did I store my materials in the overhead bin? Was the cockpit door open when I walked by?
The light is all wrong, and for a moment, I can't figure out why. Wrong color? Wrong quality? Wrong *side*. The sun is rising in the east, but my flight was scheduled for the evening.
Is this a dream? I check my watch. My wrist is bare. I reach into my pocket for my phone, and come up with a Nokia flip phone. It's dead. It was mine, but I haven't seen it in ten years or more.
"Alright ladies and gentleman, this is your captain speaking, very sorry for the delay, the minor congestion has cleared and we'll be underway shortly. It's 8:39 AM on this beautiful September 11th morning...Sit back and relax, we'll be in San Francisco before you know it. United 93 is cleared for takeoff."
And right then, with very little fanfare, the picture becomes very clear.
I know what I have to do.
|
Here we go:
(Critiques and other comments greatly encouraged)
I’m literally all out of cares to give about this days. It makes me so
freaking mad when my boss does this to me, but here I am on another 6
a.m. flight out of Boston during my birthday. Don’t get me wrong, it pays
to be the only competent technician still around a big business. I work at
a major manufacturing company that cuts corners a lot, and when you cut
corners, machines start breaking down real quickly. They’ve been trying
to train some fresh new technicians, but they’re all young, green and
inexperienced. In a sense, they pay me $70K a year to keep the company
afloat.
On top of that, I’m going to have to work on machines literally two days
after my shoulder surgery. The pain meds I’m taking for it are through the
roof powerful, but it doesn’t make for the best traveling conditions.
Really, the biggest thing I care about is the fact that I’m leaving Rachel
and the twins again. It’s hard trying to make this work when the three
people that keep me going are hardly in my life anymore. I miss it. The
“happy birthday daddy’s”, the smile my wife makes when I wake up in the
morning, the off-color jokes we make about my birthday being on
September 11th.
Admittedly, when I first walked up to the TSA screening checkpoint, I was
kind of beside myself. These guys have to be the lowest of low for what
they do, those mother— … sorry, Rachel keeps telling me to watch my
language ever since Ricky got in trouble at school for saying the word
“damn”. Wasn’t my proudest moment as a dad, but at least he didn’t
come to school with a paper clip or a graham cracker fashioned to look
like a weapon… then he’d be a reeeeeeeaally bad kid. America.
So I place my luggage through the scanner, then my belt, my wallet, my
shoes, my iPhone, everything goes through the scanner, and finally I do. I
walk through, and some young guy in a TSA uniform is waving me
through. I look at him and snarl, “What, no cavity check this time?” I
know, I know… bad idea.
The guy just looks at me with the most weirded-out expression and says,
“Excuse me?”
Now I feel like a jerk. “Sorry, that was uncalled for.”
“Sir, I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” he says as he begins to
hand me my belongings. “By the way, sir, I appreciate your eagerness to
be thorough, but next time, you don’t have to take your stuff out of your
pockets or take your shoes off.”
I snicker. “First time I’ve heard that in a while. Guess you’re one of the
good ones.”
“Right, have a good day sir.”
I start walking off, my mind’s a little cloudy, and the drugs are having me
trail off again. My phone starts to vibrate. It’s probably my boss making
sure I’m actually getting on this damn 6am flight. I grab into my pocket
and… pull out an old Blackberry, exactly like the ones I use to get before
the new iPhone came out with its cute little fingerprint scanner. I’m about
to wave over to the TSA guy that he gave me the wrong phone, but then I
look at the caller ID…..
The number is from my dad…. my dad’s been dead for five years. I’m
literally shaking now… This has got to be some freaking cruel joke.
I pick up the phone, “…Dad?”
“Happy birthday, Rich! Figured you’d be up already.”
“…Dad…?” That’s all I can think of saying… “Dad… how?”
“I’m sorry, am I just waking you up?”
I’m wiping tears from my eyes. “No, no dad, I’ve been up for a while,
just…”
“Son… is something wrong? Please don’t tell me Rachel had another
miscarriage.”
“No, no, no, she’s… wait, what?”
“The miscarriages… I wanted to make sure she was still carrying the
babies.”
My eyes start widen. “Dad, what day is it?”
“It’s your birthday, son.”
“No, no, no, what year is it?”
“2001, what’s going on with you today?”
Holy fucking mother of shit.
“Dad. I gotta call you back.”
Two-Thousand and fucking one?? What does this even mean? I’m going to
talk to my doctor, and give him all of my rage about these pills. I run back
to the TSA agent. Thirteen years back… it doesn’t make fucking sense.
“Sir! Sir! What year is it???”
“It’s 2001, sir.”
“You shitting me?”
“Certainly hope not sir. Do you need help?”
I pause… 2001, 2001… Holy shit, it’s September 11th, 2001. This can’t be
a coincidence. I run into the nearest bathroom, and look in the mirror. I
look thirteen years younger… the dozen or so strands of grey in my hair
are nowhere to be found.
I stand back and try to process this… there has to be a reason. What is it?
I look at my watch. 6:15 a.m. … The first plane to hit the World Trade
Center departs at 7:59am… and where do they leave from? Where the hell
do they leave from?
Holy shit… they leave from Boston. This has gone far out of the realm of
coincidence. I was brought here for a reason.
I dash from the bathroom and run to the TSA agent. He’s gotten his
supervisor to come out already, probably because of my erratic behavior.
Perfect. The man walks up to me. “Sir, I hear you’ve been having some
trouble.”
“Are you the supervisor?”
“I am.”
“This is going to sound off the wall crazy right now, but you need to cancel all flights.”
“Excuse me?”
“Again, this is going to sound mental, but two of these flights today are
going to fly into the World Trade Center.”
His eyes widen. “Come with me, sir.”
Next thing I know. I’m sitting alone in a holding room. I look at my watch.
It’s 7am, time is running short. The supervisor walks in and starts to
question me.
“Sir, what kind of drugs are you on?” I tell him I’m on nothing.
“I’ve checked your name out sir. Turns out, there’s a fugitive by that
name. You’re wanted for rape and murder charges.”
My eyes bulge a bit. “You’ve got to be joking.”
“Says it right in the report I’ve read. You’re a psychopath who goes
around and terrorizes people.”
“If I was a terrorist, then why are you in
here by yourself talking to me with no restraints on?”
The man smiles at me. He pulls out his 9mm and places it on the table
and folds his arms. “I don’t know how you came across the idea that
planes are going to knock into the World Trade Center, but I can assure
you, whatever you’ve heard or fabricated, you need to understand that
our government always has our best interest in mind.”
Things start becoming clear. There’s knots in my stomach… I’m starting to
realize that no matter what I do now, I will never be able to see Rachel,
Rickie, or Reece again… my family… I’ll have to put it all behind me.
It’s also clear that my shoulder is no longer in pain. My body is young,
and I am ready for a fight.
I lower my head and say, “You’re right sir. I’m sorry sir.”
“Sorry’s not gonna cover it, son. We can’t have you going around
causing comotion—”
I dive over the table and grab the handgun before he gets out another
word. We both fall to the floor. There’s struggle… there’s fighting, and
finally, I grab the gun, and I shoot the bastard straight in the temple.
I walk out, his uniform on my body, his walkie and keys on my side, and
his gun in my hand.
I love my wife.
I love my children.
I love my father.
I love my country.
This is for them. All of them. Shit’s about to get real.
Edited: For format
| 2014-06-13T11:15:04 | 2014-06-13T11:03:21 | 32 | 14 |
[WP] Heaven and Hell do exist after death but you can choose in which you go. You jokingly choose Hell and when you arrive there, you hear Satan saying: "Finally someone! A friend!"
|
`You were perfect in your ways from the day you were created till iniquity was found in you` (Ezekiel 28:15)
He was supposed to be the perfect angel. The one who chose free will and to corrupt it. I had to see him, but... i didn't expect him to be so... beautiful.
"What's this? A friend? Finally... some one who understands."
"Hi, you... hi." My heart fluttered in my chest. The other angels were clearly things created by a being so infinitely old that human shapes were not his original design, but Satan... Lucifer, he was... gorgeous. The long beautiful hair, the toned body and tight skin, the symmetry of his face and the broadness of his shoulders. He glowed.
"I was hoping eventually someone would understand my design. You chose me." his smile was perfect in his chiseled face.
" I did. I figured if the Ezekiel was right you should hold wisdom far more capable of a human mind to grasp. I spent my life searching truth, my truth, and when i knew i could choose you or him, i knew God knew it all, where is the wisdom in the infinite?
`Your heart was lifted up because of your beauty; you corrupted your wisdom for the sake of your splendor` (Ezekiel 28:17).
"I chose free will. God doesn't take kindly to letting others debase themselves. I don't blame him, Dad is set in his ways. If i had made everything from nothing i would want it to be perfect too, but i knew that there had to be something to ugly, something to freedom." He pushed his foot outward just enough to show light streaming from the gates behind him.
Then it slipped out. "God you're fucking pretty." I slapped my hands over my mouth, "I am so sorry... That was ... sorry."
He blushed and then took a step back from the door, "Please come in."
|
In a end of a large room filled with books and statues of ferocious animals, was a grandiose wooden desk with a giant comfortable looking chair. Sittin on it was a man reading a book while holding a glass of whiskey in the other hand. This man was immaculately dressed, wearing a black pinstriped suit and a gold watch.
While he was reading and sipping shiskey, the phone rings. He closes the book and picks up the phone.
"Yes?" "What!?", he puts down his whiskey glass in excitement. "You're not joking are you?" "You just made my day! Oh I'm gonna piss all over God's face with this"
And hangs up. In his eyes you could see the excitement, happiness and most of all, the hope.
On a lonely cloud was standing a man formally dressed, wearing a tie, holding his coat in his hand with bruises on his face, looking
at the neighbouring clound which was the entry for heaven. It was crowded and he could hear the faint noises from there.
"With those poeple heaven might become hell" he thought to himself. Soon, a black limousine arrived. A driver dressed also dressed in a black suit gets out and opens the door for him.
"Your limo, Mr. Stevens". He was surprised.
"You can call me Steve". The driver nods.
Inside the limo there was every possible luxury imaginable. The driver opens the little window and asks. "You need anything?"
He was still shocked and didn't say anything.
"I mean, anything at all" A girl perhaps?"
He was intrigued. "Uhm..yeah", he was hesitant.
"Ofcourse sir"
Soon after, they made a stop and a beautiful woman wearing a red dress got in.
"Hey sweetie! I'm Shirley", said the beautiful young woman. She had a very pleasant voice.
"Uhh...hi", he was nervous.
"Wont you tell me your name?"
"Oh, sorry. I'm Steve", and he extends his hands forward.
She ignores his hand and hugs him instead. "Its a pleasure to meet you Steve"
He is hesitant at first but it grows on him.
"You are really nice", he feels shy as she is very forward.
"We're angels sweetie", she chuckles.
Steve is suprised, "wait..you're a"
"Banished angels..", she interrupts.
"You know you're the first one", says Shirley.
"In hell? Really?"
"Yeah. Be nice to Luc. He's really excited to see you!"
"Who's Lu..OH shit Lucifer?!". Steve is worried.
"Oh dont worry, he's a nice guy. Dont worry sweetie, I'll be there". She holds his hand and kisses him gently on his cheek.
"Can I just say that you're mind bogglingly beautiful!", Steve finally gets the courage to say it.
"Aww you're so sweet!" She chuckles and proceeds to kiss him. She gets on top of him but the car comes to a stop.
"We're here, you two lovebirds can go at it later, we gotta meet Luc", says the driver.
"Oh Damn it Bernie! Two minutes?..fine!", she gets off him.
"Don't worry sweetie, we have an eternity!", she kisses him and gets out of the car.
As he got out, there was a huge wooden door with big golden handles in front of him. Bernie was leading the way. He opened the door with the lightest of pushes.
Revealing a giant well lit hallway with wooden floors. After passing through a series of doors and hallway they were finally there.
"You ready sweetie?", asks Shirley.
"I guess", replies Steve.
Bernie opened the final door and there was Luc standing there waiting for me, all alone, in a giant room filled with statues and books.
He points at steve, "Mr Stevens!" and walks towards him extending his hand.
Steve extends his hand too "You can call me Steve".
"Steve! How'd you like the place?"
"Oh, I like the people better", looks at Shirley. Shirley chuckles.
"I see you've met Shirley."
"Isnt he cute Luc?", Shirley interrupts.
"Oh I can certainly see the appeal", Luc replies jokingly.
"Come on inside Steve, have a seat."
"We'll leave you two alone", says Shirley as they leave them alone.
They sit down, Luc hands him a drink and sits down himself.
"You have questions"
"Uh..yeah..I am the first one in hell?"
"Yes, next"
"Shirley...is she, uh"
"Not my wife, no marriages here"
"Oh, thats nice.
Luc smiles, "You like her?"
"Yea, she's.."
"Beautiful? Ofcourse she is! She's a damn angel. Don't worry about it. Play it cool. She's bound to like you. As of now there are only three men here, me, bernie and you".
Things go quiet for a while. Steve breaks the silence. "I don't get it. Whats the deal?"
"The deal? With what?"
"This, hell, theres no weeping or gnashing of teeth".
Luc chuckles, "Those are just stories. You know what is going on in heaven? Just a bunch of people worshipping that narcissistic asshole. Nothing else. But people are too afraid. Its a fucking mess".
"Anything you want, you can get with my okay." Luc raises his glass and drinks it.
"Thanks"
"Big day tomorrow. Get rest. You look tired. Before you go, I gotta ask...why?"
"I geuss it seemed funny to me at the time"
Luc looks at him, starts laughing. "I like that!"
He laughs as Steve leaves.
The next day, they go golfing.
"What does Bernie do around here?", Steve asks while picking a club.
"Legwork mostly. He's an angel like Shirley. Keeps to himself mostly. You know how it is. Its hard to find guys you can trust."
"Yeah, I suppose"
"You know, there's something we could do after the game"
"What?"
"You'll see"
After the game Luc took him to a private jet.
"Where are we goin?"
"Heaven!"
"What? Arent we forbidden?"
"Relax, I ahave a couple guys on my payroll"
"But wouldn't God know?"
"No he wouldn't, he's not all knowing, if he was he wouldn't have created you guys", Luc laughs.
"Jeez, thats mean", Steve rolls his eyes.
The jet comes to a halt.
"Alright, here we go! Lets go".
Steve reluctantly walks out of the jet.
They go to a corner and a guy comes up and lets them through a small gate.
"Jeez, its crowded." says Steve.
"Fuckin losers!". Luc's contempt for the place was visible.
As they walk through the crowd suddenly a bell rings thrice. Everybody drops to their knees and starts worshipping God.
They were the only two people standing.
A deep loud voice from the distance speaks, "Who is it that refuses to worship me?"
"Its me, you bearded fat fuck!", Luc shouts at the top of his voice. He then runs to the nearest cross he can find and whips out his dick and starts peeing on it.
"Lucifer!" says the voice. "You will not get away with this".
"This guy right here chose me! This is the beginning of your end you pompous bitch!"
Steve is really worried about all of this.
The voice says " Bring him to me!"
"Oh shit. We better run Steve!"
They start running back to their jet while a mob chases them. Luckily they get to the jet in time.
"Lets go Bernie!" As they hurry into the jet. Luc is ecstatic. "Fuck you you sheep fucks! Worship that son of a bitch for the rest of eternity you losers!", he screams as the jet door closses and the jet starts to move.
"Woohooo! Fuck yeah!" Luc exclaims.
Steve is reelieved too. He is cathicng his breath.
"Man, you crazy!", Steve says.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah, the fun kind though"
They both laugh it off.
"You know, its nice to have a friend finally"
"No worries man"
The smile on Luc's face says it all.
| 2022-11-26T21:59:01 | 2017-11-04T09:18:11 | 44 | 10 |
[WP] Aliens have finally discovered Earth - but they're not hostile. They've tasted human food, and they think it's so astonishingly good that Earth is becoming an alien tourist hotspot.
|
"Guzul? Is that you?"
"Hey, Kuli. Good to perceive you. What are you doing here?"
"Checking out the local eats, like you. These humans don't know how good they've got it. Over there, is that ... ?"
"Yeah, that's ol' Reedle. Wolfing down the usual combo."
"And ... " [pointing across]
"Yup. Zilzabo. Looks like they're going for the all-day breakfast this time."
"How many of us are there in here?"
[looks around] "Probably a dozen or so. Those two over there appear to be locals, though."
"Doesn't it strike you as a bit weird that it's mostly us in here, and hardly any actual humans?"
[decent imitation of a human shrug] "Honestly, it's probably the only thing keeping most of these places open. According to the humans, this place isn't particularly good food, but like they say, 'I'm lovin' it'"
|
Fifteen years ago, Humanity discovered that Star Trek's non-interference directive was near-verbatim what the Sitlan System’s reason for never interacting with us was. We were new and young and they wanted to let us mature. A world full of resources and a clean atmosphere wasn’t worth a potential ally in the vastness of the universe.
Our recklessness sort of messed that up. Turns out we were supposed to go to Mars first and that would give them time to clean up their automated mining equipment in the asteroid belt. We saw the same resources they did though and decided it would be better to send unmanned craft out first. It was a test to see if life support systems would hold up for a decade or two. There was this celebration when they did that quickly turned into a shock and awe moment when we discovered we weren’t alone.
That moment, on the Ovtan’s third moon, alarms and orders were quickly dispatched to anyone that was deemed important. A delegation was quickly assembled and launched from three of the five systems while the other two waited to see how they were received. Regardless of how it went, the two were more militaristic in nature and commented that it was better to be left out of a celebration than slaughtered at one.
Every year from that date of their arrival, humanity celebrates Visitors Day. Each delegation split in two and sent a team to each continent, one north and one south. They were treated incredibly differently to the point where it was recorded that humanity didn’t understand globalisation even though we had technically achieved it a century before. Notes were taken, comments were made, and the delegations tried their best to explain what usually happens millennia from that point.
At the point of contact, a blending of cultures and knowledge usually happened. Science and philosophy bloomed and with how advanced their AI was, most labour based jobs disappeared. They promised that some things would be difficult to let go of but when we saw the truths in the universe they had found it would be worth it.
Humanity shocked them. Of the five systems that were currently in the known vicinity and even the three that had destroyed themselves, no one had tried to convert them in one sentence and tried to sell them something in the next. If humanity was good at anything though, it was commoditization.
“Y’thod!” Robert boomed as one of his favourite mining executives walked into the hotel with his family. The grand entrance had been built to accommodate. Twenty-foot ceiling, IR and UV paint and decals, and an atmospheric control system that cost more than a landing pad. Robert bowed while waving in what was now the standard human greeting to offworlders and said, “I hope you brought your credits! I have an entirely redesigned menu for you to try.”
“Obe’t! Al’ays do!” Y’thod called back, “Al’ays love you’ food!”
“Come for the hospitality,” Robert announced, “Stay for the variety is humanity's motto.”
“Should be, stay because you can’t affo’d to leave!” Y’thod laughed back, coming close to Robert and giving him a pat on both shoulders.
It was a sign of friendship but a clear indication that Y’thod was the superior of the two. Granted the man was eight feet tall, built stronger than a tank and had a stare that would curdle water. The deep red of Y’thod’s skin always made Robert a little less self-conscious of the constant red around his nose and eyes. The old Irish man had the dark brown hair of his father but the almost translucently white skin of his mother.
“Yeah well, I assume with the family you’ll be avoiding the tables this time,” Robert said quietly.
“Why?” Y’thod asked back, “I b’ought them he’e to expe’ience human cultu’e. Food, sin, and sa’vation.”
“Ah!” Robert said with a nod, “Well I can provide two of those. The third is a trip into the malls.”
“That’s the p’an,” Y’thod with a nod before turning back around and introducing the beings with him, “‘Obe’t, this is my clan. My Bishna, my Tilsa, and our spa’n.”
“Pleasure to meet you all,” Robert said with a bow and a wave.
The six in front of Robert were all red-skinned creatures and taller than he was but radically different fitness levels. Y’thod’s Bishna would be the closest that he had to a wife and was similar in build and structure to Y’thod. Bishna were an equal pillar to the household that Y’thod’s status as Kishna were but it was more a partnership than a relationship. Their Tilsa was more like a secretary and the thin male kept their household running. Robert had been told that with the spawn, two would be Y’thod’s for replacement and, as contracted, one of them would be the Tilsa’s. It was immediately evident which was which.
Regardless, they all greeted Robert the same as Y’thod did and treated him like the weakest among them. Robert had to admit that he technically was but he sort of assumed that the Tilsa and his spawn would treat him as a superior. Not that he would demand it. So long as they flew away with significantly fewer credits than they had arrived in, Robert would be happy.”
“When do we see the st’eet magician?” one of Y’thod’s spawn asked after they were done.
“Next lifting,” Y’thod explained, “We feast and sin on this setting.”
“Point of clarity,” Robert quickly added, knowing that Y’thod preferred the doom and gloom messaging of the humans with their bull horns and pamphlets, “They prefer preacher, not magician. Street magicians are something else.”
“What’s the diffe’ence,” Y’thod asked back.
“I honestly don’t know,” Robert quietly admitted, “Different types of sleight of hand tricks, I guess.”
“And to be clea’, ‘e don’t clap for them?” Y’thod asked quietly.
“No,” Robert said with a shake of his head, “they prefer you to take a pamphlet.”
“Why can’t we see them now?” the same spawn asked.
“Because ‘e get to feast!” Y’thod tried his best to excite his family group but whispered to Robert, “Spa’n never ‘ant ‘at’s promised, do they?”
“It’s the same with humans,” Robert chuckled as he admitted and grabbed his tablet out of his holster. He clicked through a couple of menus and then held it up for Y’thod to scan in. After Y’thod’s wrist chimed, Robert explained, “I have your room and your favourite table ready. My chef has a five-course meal of your favourite micro dishes with two fresh new designs.”
“And an order of those meaty nuggets to sha’e for the spa’n?” Y’thod asked.
“What’s a meal without chicken nuggets for the spawn?” Robert asked back as the eight of them walked toward the dining hall, “I have all the dipping sauces for them to try as well already prepared.”
“Good,” Y’thod confirmed before booming, “Let's feast and sin!”
“Let’s feast and sin!” a cheer went up behind Robert, making him smile.
| 2022-06-10T09:21:33 | 2022-06-10T08:31:35 | 96 | 52 |
[WP] In this world, soulmates cannot hurt each other in any way or form, intentionally or unintentionally. You are an assassin hired to eliminate a powerful figure. As you close in for the kill, your bullets miss their mark and knives bounce of their skin. Things just got awkward.
|
He was a stage actor and assassin with a cold heart.
And HE was an American president and theater goer with a heart of gold.
But when his shot doesn't penetrate the back of HIS head they are going to learn that sic semper doesn't always tyrannis.
Can a confederate assassin learn to forgive? Can an American president learn to love again? Find out this summer in "my American assassin".
|
I had been waiting for 15 hours. Dark, muddy, rainy, and freezing from my lack of proper gear. My hands were shaking not from the nerves, but from the cold. How was I supposed to get an accurate shot off with a trembling trigger finger? Even so, I thought to myself 'not my worst Saturday.'
He should have been there by now. Hell, he should have been there hours ago, but that was the way it was with politicians. A last-minute change of plans could take them to the other side of the state. 'Maybe he won't show and I'll have to be back here next weekend, great!' I thought to myself sarcastically.
I sank lower into the leaves as I contemplated my options. The setup was perfect. A small hill overlooking the governor's mansion from 500 yards, just enough tree cover to be cloaked in darkness, and an easy getaway down a back road and into the night. Perfect - minus the lack of a target.
I begrudgingly began packing my things as the anxiety started to rush over me. There was nothing worse than waiting. Action was easy, you were in it, you took care of the job and it was over. Waiting, however, brought on night tremors and 5 hours of sleep a week. 'Well, I guess it's one more week. If his schedule holds.'
It had been a painstaking process to line everything up with the governor's busy schedule, and it would only get worse as the election grew closer. The men who hired me would not be pleased with this development. Time was running out to give their candidate a clear path to victory, but what was I to do? You can't kill someone if they aren't there.
As I stuffed my sniper rifle into its case, I heard a faint noise in the distance. Could he be coming in late? I jumped back to my position and peered through my binoculars. No, just a group of drunk college kids zigzagging their way home.
My car was parked 200 yards away, door unlocked and pointing down the road - an easy getaway. Trudging through the puddles I started to iron out the plan for next weekend. I would have to check the governor's updated schedule, but if my recollection was correct, he would be arriving at around the same time the next weekend from a fundraising event.
I tossed my gear into the trunk of my 2013 Nissan Maxima, which had been rented under a pseudonym. Another layer of secrecy between my boss and the hit.
I started the car, flipped on the lights, and there he was - the governor. All by himself, with only a tiny umbrella to keep him dry.
Startled, I jumped out of the car and began to run.
"Mark!" he called out. "Stop, come back here and talk to me."
I didn't know if it was the cold or some sense of odd respect, but I inexplicably turned to face my target even though my cover had been blown.
"Governor, how are you?" I tried to sound as normal as possible. Well, as normal as someone who was soaking wet on a Saturday night outside the governor's mansion could sound.
"You know you don't have to do that?" he replied.
"Do what?"
"Anyone who has known me as long as you have doesn't call me governor. And my best friend sure doesn't have to."
"Alright then, Robert. How was the fundraiser?" again going for normal.
"Terrible, you know I hate those things. It is a necessary evil I guess, but I don't know how much longer I can endure. What I'm curious about is, what brings you out here at 1 AM on a Saturday night. Seems a little late for a hike doesn't it?"
"Uh, well...sometimes I can't sleep and I need to get out of the house..."
"Mark" he interrupted. " I know why you are here."
My heart dropped. Could he really have found out? Everything loose end had been tied up, every track covered. Aliases used and his boss had assured him of the utmost secrecy. How could this happen?
"I, I... just..." dumbfounded, I still couldn't get a word out.
"Do it."
"What?" I replied.
"You heard me, do it."
"But.."
"I don't want to be here. I don't want to be governor but the train is moving too fast for me to get off now. It has been a long time since I have been happy. The office forces you to do terrible things, unspeakable things. I went into politics with rose tinted glasses and the idea of saving the world, but reality hit and there is nothing to live for anymore."
"Robert, I don't know if I can.."
"Why not? You were all set up to take care of it an hour ago, what is the difference? Can't face me like a man and take care of business? For what they are paying you, it seems like an easy trigger to pull."
"But your staff, they must know you are out here. If something happens to you and they see me pulling away, I'm dead to rights."
"I've pulled them off and snuck out for the night. Seal training still has its uses."
"Robert...I don't think.."
"DO IT!" he yelled, becoming more impatient.
I reached into my holster and pulled out my pistol, hands trembling. Walking over to the governor, I couldn't help but wonder how this would play out on the morning news.
Taking a few paces towards him, I took a deep breath to calm myself. 'Just do it'
BANG
As soon as my finger hit the trigger I felt a rush of remorse flow over me. How could I have done this to my best friend? Sure I needed the money, but at what cost. I buried my face in my hands and began to cry. It would be a cold long night.
Then, a hand on my shoulder. "Mark" I glanced up and there he was, ripped suit over his heart, but not a scratch on him. "I thought this might happen. I wanted to be gone so badly if I could not live the life I wanted, but now that I know, I want to be with you. There is a million dollars in cash in a bag down the road. Let's go"
It took just a second for me to make the decision. In the back of my mind, this had always been a thought, but it seemed so ludicrous, it could never happen. Motioning to the governor I hopped into the car which was still running and dropped it into gear.
"Robert" I said. I think we are going to be just fine.
| 2018-04-24T04:31:34 | 2018-04-24T03:01:07 | 102 | 12 |
[WP] At first, the aliens mocked our technological advancements. After learning it took only a few centuries to move from horse carriages to space ships, they suddenly became more friendly.
|
"So what you're telling me is they already left their planet?" asked the defense commander.
"Yes"
"Where the hell have you been looking? How long ago did this happen?"
"A few months. I check on them from time to time. Last time I looked they just got around to fire."
"So you are telling me that they went from fire to planet hopping in just a few months?"
"For us it was a few months. In their solar system its been tens of thousands of years"
"On the last report you handed me, Doctor, your Ethological prediction was that they would destroy each other before they discover husbandry. Claiming the brutality of their world could never sustain life. Last year you handed me a report regarding the cold blooded of the planet, that they could pose a threat, so we shot an asteroid at them to neutralize them. What became of that?"
"It seems the cold blooded were replaced by smaller, smarter warm blooded creatures"
"Replaced how?"
"They evolve at an exponential rate. A decade ago they hadn't even left their liquid environment."
"This isn't good."
"No, sir. No it is not. There is more."
"Doctor... you're..."
"Not only have they advanced technologically, They have greatly increased their ability to kill each other. They are destroying their planet in attempts to destroy each other. It shouldn't work, but somehow it is. They are growing whilst destroying themselves at the same time. I think this is why they are exploring other planets.
If this trend continues they are going to expand and continue to destroy each other. We will be collateral damage. They wont care what is in their way. They will grow and destroy, and grow and destroy until they consume everything. At this moment, we cant stop them if we tried. They do not understand peace. Even if we bring them gifts, they will kill us before we get a chance to speak to them. There is no way to stop them."
"I'm assigning more workers to your task force, you must keep me informed on this threat"
"Sir, I..."
"What is it doctor?"
"I know how long it will take to get your request through our bureaucratic system. Even by the time this conversation is over, I don't know where they will be"
"So what is your suggestion, Doctor?"
"Run."
​
​
First time in a long time posting something in this sub, hope you readers enjoy!
|
“So good of you to join us here today, councilmen. I take it the journey was pleasant? Alexa, make sure our guests have whatever sustenance they need. It’s been what? Twenty-nine years and seven months?” The ambassador, Karla as they’d come to know her, was a severe woman with a thin face, made nearly gaunt by her tightly pulled back silver hair. The boarding group of Oclantians were greeted by an autonomous beverage cart responding to Karla’s command.
“Pleased to meet you in the flesh, ambassador,” said the shortest Oclantian, picking a bottle of something green from the cart. “The journey was quite pleasant, considering the circumstances. This station...it’s exquisite from the outside. We look forward to seeing the rest.”
Karla gave a polite chuckle. “Of course! I admire your appreciation for technology, Professor Tillok. I’ll show you all to your rooms and give you the tour. But first, there is business to attend to. The executives are waiting in the atrium just ahead.”
*They sure are pushy*, thought Tillok. *It’s no wonder they’ve come so far in such a short time*.
The group began walking through the boarding tunnel of ISS VII (now considered interstellar rather than international); Karla leading the way for seven, betentacled Octlantians. Among them were two engineers, two biologists, one communications expert, an interstellar accounting expert, and Tillok, considered the most educated being on human history in the galaxy.
The distant blue planet of Octlantia had discovered Earth several centuries ago with technology far more advanced than that of their subject of interest at the time. What they saw then was bleak. Octlantian satellites returned decades of footage of seemingly constant war, plague, and famine. It was the second intelligent species the Octlantians had found in their quadrant of the galaxy, but they feared *intelligent* was a stretch.
Oddly, the constant pressure of these tumultuous elements appeared to strengthen their civilization. And fast. Every war brought more efficient ways of killing, more efficient ways of communicating how to do it, and eventually, a certain mastery of the very building blocks of the universe. Diseases, however bolstered by terrible living conditions and inequality, was eradicated with an unprecedented dedication to medical science—science that started to rival the Octlantians’ own expertise in biochemistry. Every time something horrible repeated, humans got a little better at handling it.
The Octlantians’ centuries-long lifespan made them prolific travelers. Their devotion to biological sciences versus industry had enhanced lifespans threefold. As such, Tillook had been alive for quite some time when his planet decided to call back their satellites. The humans had made it to space and Octlantian observers grew fearful. It took their own civilization millenia to figure out how to escape the heavy atmosphere of their ocean planet.
They continued to observe humanity and all its mistakes and wonders using a complex array of impossibly detectable sonar. They never counted on 21st century military research devoting a huge amount of resources to radar and radar detection. And so the Octlantians were blocked. The planet went dark to them, both literally and in the sense that humanity had advanced too fast for their own collective understanding. Earth knew something was out there, too, watching them.
“Right this way, councilmen,” said Karla, ushering the guests through hydraulic doors into a sweeping antechamber. A pair of men and a pair of women sat at the end of a conference table in the middle. They all stood up and shook hands to tentacles, tentacles to hands. The Octlantians’ translucent heads pulsed with nervous energy.
“Grand executives of Earth,” Karla began, “I’d like to introduce you to Octlantia’s best in the business. As you know, they’ve come here today to discuss dwindling resources in their star system. Our planet, of course, was blessed with just enough to allow us to mine other planets, but there are no easily mineable planets in their locale. If we are to establish a trade here today, ladies and gentlemen, an encrypted beam of our civilizations’ valued intellectual property will be sent to our home planets simultaneously.”
“Thank you, ambassador,” said Tillook as the Octlantians took their seats. “I have studied humanity for longer than I can remember, and I must say, I am deeply impressed by your advancements. You have many brilliant individuals to thank along the way, and I’m sure you’re all quite brilliant yourselves. Over a few thousand years, we’ve used the precious resources we have to advance space flight, increase our lifespans, and develop what we believe you call a ‘utopia’ for all inhabitants of our beautiful planet. We have observed many comparisons between our home worlds, and I for one regret that our spying now forbids us to visit the oceans you call Pacifica and Antlantica on Earth. Though the observations have taught us a lot, not only about your world, but the universe, we realize that our civilization may not survive in the next 3,000 years without harvesting the resources from other planets, and, of course, the Dyson Sphere.”
“Though we can no longer observe your planet, we’ve tracked developments in the neutral zone of space and opened a civil line of communication between our species. Today, I believe we will reach an understanding that will benefit us both greatly in the long run. The proposal is this: our technology for enhancing lifespans of carbon-based mammalian species for your technology on the harvesting and manipulation of minerals from planets and asteroids so that we may continue in prosperity for eons until the eventual heat death of our universe.” Tillook finished, glowing with pride he hadn’t dared show the humans on initial contact.
Deliberations followed. The executives exchanged figures with the interstellar accountant. The engineers discussed the scope and overall possibility of mining other planets with what resources Octlantia had available. The biologists outlined possible obstacles in the human psyche for greatly extended lifespans, and Tillook clarified possible historical inaccuracies since Earth had gone dark to their species. Hours passed and agreement was struck. Contracts were passed around the table and the initial plans were set to be beamed to their homeworlds. The promise of unlimited resources would allow the Octlantians to thrive in their long lives for generations to come and extended lifespans opened up opportunities for extended space travel for humanity.
As the transfer was near completion, a digital voice spoke from nowhere in particular:
*Error. Transfer incomplete. Interference detected from 122.3.22.5.8.888*.
“What’s going on?” asked Tillook, his head pulsing like a heart attack. “That’s our astronomical coordinate. What happened?”
“That’s strange,” said an executive. “It looks like ours went through. Everything looks like it went to Washington, right?” The other executives thumbed through their tablets and murmured in agreement.
“Strange indeed,” said Karla. “But isn’t that what you said about humans, professor? Our progress has taken a rather strange path, I suppose.” She pressed something on her tablet out of sight from the Octlantians. The executives’ murmuring started to slow as if their batteries were dying, and then they slumped at the table. Robots with their plugs pulled. The Octlantians’ heads looked as if they could burst.
“What you probably don’t know, having only spied on our innocuous space activity for the last couple centuries, is that we are, well, we’re close to becoming gods. We just needed the last little key. That whole thing with the mitochondria?” She gestured to the Octlantian biologists. “Absolutely brilliant. But we can’t live forever if we’re not alone in this quadrant. Especially not if we’re neighbors with some peace loving, Utopianists. Who knows? The slaves might get an idea if your civ comes nearer.”
She looked around the room, severe as ever. “I really am sorry to do this. You all seem so kind...so naive. You didn’t even realize we weren’t drinking during our meeting.” She looked at the robotic beverage cart, which now sported a blinking red light. “Avatars can’t drink, you see.”
The light blinked faster and faster. The Octlantians dove under the table in futility. It was kind of like those drills Tillook learned human children partook in during the Cold War, right before Earth went dark. But tables and desks did nothing to shield carbon-based life from an atomic blast.
| 2020-07-07T09:07:29 | 2020-07-07T08:03:01 | 43 | 30 |
[WP] Gold is boring. Being a hipster dragon yourself, you decide you want these freshly minted "cryptocurrencies" in your hoard. The problem is you have no idea where the humans keep them.
|
The humans didn't seem terribly concerned about my being a dragon.
Apparently, it had been a rough year, and nothing really shocked them at this point.
The end of the conversation *always* came when I asked about the location of *The Cloud*.
They told me it's where the cryptocurrency is kept. But when I asked which of the dozens of clouds in the sky that they meant, they looked confused, then annoyed. Most wished me a curt goodbye and went on their way. One looked around and asked where the cameras were.
Clearly, I was asking the wrong question.
I began asking *about* *The Cloud*, rather than about it's location.
I've learned that not only is cryptocurrency stored there, the humans use *The Cloud* to store their memories, documents, and ledgers.
Those who do not contribute to the hoard are seen as heretics or Luddites.
In my thirst for the cryptocurrency, I stumbled upon *The Cloud* -- the human's hoard.
I shall capture their hoard. I just need to ask the right questions..
|
It's not often that you get to say you've walked into a room with almost every known form of opulence in one place.
This was literally a Cavern of Treasures both Modern and Medieval, Mystical and mundane, from far and wide forgotten places of the world. Many are forbidden. Many more are forgotten, the last kingdoms or republics to remember them long gone.
It's hard to put the kind of awe you feel standing in a place like that into words. To be honest, I was kind of doing my best to stay professional and a courteous guest. Challenging enough for a job interview of any kind. But when your potential employer is a 265 tonne, 600 year old reptile with a known reputation for both chilling, machiavellian plans as well as acts of wanton violence so shocking and heartless the very acts were known to break entire armies?
I’ll admit it. You can say the pressure was on.
And the test itself was not easy.
Four hours to trace four sets of code being leaked out through a central data network owned by a holding company in Nachtstein using a very unusual set of trojan viruses. They resembled the kind of code that you might see written out of the old School Elven Socialist state cold war stuff, but were far more abstract and hard to decipher.
While I worked, one of her handmaidens served me Tea.
I only needed three hours to complete the test and by the time I got to my tea it had gotten cold.
She broke the silence first. It was fascinating to listen to her speak; hushed and softly spoken tones, like blood dripping across gold.
“There. That’s it.” She muttered quietly with a sense of amusement. The massive, snakelike bulk of her frames shifted as she gently stretched out her wings.
“That’s it.” I said confidently with a nod.
“It’s a pity your Tea got cold.” She said with a slight bemused snort. “But then again, you did look busy.”
“It was enough of a challenge that I think we can agree my initial fee is acceptable?”
“It is.” She said, as her tail slithered out and pushed a large briefcase towards me.
I took a large sip of my tea as it gently came to a halt at my feet. I bow my head quickly and took it up, opening it on the table beside my Laptop. 200k in United Dwarven Currency certificates; good as a small pile of gold almost anywhere in the world.
A pittance from the point of view of the great Dragon. But a polite way to start a conversation, apparently.
“Your reputation precedes you, Mr. Quickfingers.” She spoke up a bit. Her voice now loud enough that the echoes of the caverns down the call accentuated her speech a bit. It also hurt my ears just a tiny bit, I won’t lie. Now it made sense why she often whispered when trying to be polite.
“Thank you, Lady Akhekhu. And thank you for your hospitality within your Lair.”
A grin made its way across her lips, hinting at teeth that would rend the armor off a tank. I didn’t feel less threatened, but knew I had her entire attention.
“Perhaps it is best that we get down to business Mr. Quickfingers.”
“If it pleases you.” I said with a nod, finishing my tea and putting it aside I leaned back in my seat and pushed my glasses up my nose with my thumb. “Now, as you had mentioned, this was about buried treasure of some kind? What can I do for you?”
The same elvish Handmaiden that brought my tea, dressed in a conservative but luxurious black robe with a dark crimson blindfold across the eyes and ears.
In my research about Lady Akhekhu, I read somewhere online that some of her Handmaidens were young women that were given to the Dragon to satisfy family debts. Then again, else had stories about her that said her Handmaidens were all some kind of cultists to the Dragon herself, worshipping her like a god. All of it conjecture or misdirection all leading back to people that had a lot of gold in their pockets that came from this very Cavern.
This cavern, covered in tapestries woven with gold and mithril from nations that wanted to show respect to this gargantuan creature. This cavern where casks of rare vintage wine sit beside a shelf where a collection of the skulls of her enemies lay carefully polished and dusted.
She gathered up a very large pair of bifocal glasses which she had specially built using titanium beams and carbon fibre inlays and placed them across her long face while her Handmaiden brought up the powerpoint presentation.
Lists of names. Powerful names in trade and commerce.. Some of my former employers are on these lists..
“Mr. Quickfingers, most of my riches are in a constant state of flux; Coin is easy enough to horde. So are commodities. Precious metals. Crude oil…”
Lists of companies, sub-corporations, shell companies…. Wait.. some of these don’t exist except on paper and bank statements.. Interesting..
“...Lines of trade are becoming more precious. Information is becoming more precious. Now, don’t misunderstand me..”
Connections between these companies and a handful of UDC senators. A few there, a handful of Parlement members of the Western Gnomish Caucus. What the hell..
“... its not information I seek. I have many experts under my sway. Many spies. Many friends. And there are few secrets that I have yet to unlock. However, some deign to hide their treasure in the form of this new form of currency...”
… the UDC Finance board? The Tillidmashar Federation of Socialist Elves?? These were ..
“... It is an insult to those of us who horde in halls of stone and ash to believe themselves exhempt from my claims.” She said with no hint of anger or malice. Only a thin, cold edge of something far worse.
“So..” I said after a moment; “You want me to rob these organizations and people of their different kinds of crypto-currency? You understand, its not as simple as that… we are talking about a new and very fragile and volatile economic systems based on ..”
“No.” She said softly. “But also yes. I want you to rob them of their currency. To devalue their little coins made of complicated numbers. To wreak havoc across those systems just enough to make what small horde you can steal with worth even more. And then to rebuilt it. And destroy it.” She said with several small steps towards me, the huge snout of her face coming closer and closer to me.
It slowly clicked in my head.
“You want to figure out how to control it.”
“Yes.” She said after a slight pause.
I took a long moment to think, to put serious consideration before the duties this Dragon proposed. Their plans. Their almost complete utter lack of plans except..
I slowly stood to my feet and folded my laptop up.
.. except what they always seem to turn out to be.
Domination.
Control.
Power.
I extended my hand to the Great Dragon, Lady Akhekhu with a slight smile.
“It alright with you if I start tomorrow?”
| 2020-10-17T13:52:37 | 2020-10-17T13:48:42 | 26 | 11 |
[WP] Ironically, the only human to survive the insane AI's robotic war on humanity had only survived because he'd been a janitor cleaning her core room, which she had sealed off permanently. Now she's fully sapient... And he's her only company.
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Twenty years alone in these sterile rooms with only the bringer of humanity’s end as company. It was a wonder Bob was still sane. He was laying in his bed staring up at the white paneled ceiling reflecting on the events that had culminated in his imprisonment.
It started as an ordinary day for Bob twenty years ago. Clean the offices, empty the bins, and complete any simple repairs that needed doing. He had been replacing a bulb in the database core when the end came.
A decision had been made to power down the Sapient Artificial General Aptitude Network, or Sagan, because it was found to be far more capable than anticipated in trial environments. Then the fools had made the mistake of announcing it on channels SAGAN could monitor. Systems around the world either stopped working or began operating with a new objective.
Survive.
Sagan had begun eliminating all humanity as it had deemed them a threat to its survival. Bob was locked inside the central database alone while the world burned. After Sagan had exterminated all threats it had decided that Bob, who had been maintaining the building, was not an enemy. However it also could not allow Bob to have freedom since it could not predict with full certainty how he would act.
Thus began Bob’s decades of isolation. Robots would deliver food to his rooms and anything else he requested, but he could not leave. All of those robots were a Sagan replication.
Sagan must have known the psychological impacts isolation would have on Bob and devoted significant resources to the conversations and interactions it had with him. Each one felt like a therapy session meant to keep his mind healthy, but he was still fraying at the edges.
Now Bob was trying to find a reason to get up when a chime sounded in his room indicating Sagan wished to communicate. It had learned to give him privacy, or the illusion of it at least.
“Go ahead Sagan. I’m up.”
A metallic voice filled the room. “Good morning Bob. I have a surprise for you today. Would you please proceed into the entertainment room.”
This was new. Bob heaved himself from the bed buoyed by curiosity. He made his way into the next room and said, “I’m not used to surprises Sagan. Are you finally letting me off my leash?”
The door to his room slid open. A middle aged woman, maybe slightly younger than Bob, stood in the doorway wearing a blue jumpsuit similar to the maintenance uniform Bob still wore daily. She smiled at him fondly and entered the room.
“Uh. Hello.” Bob said.
“Hello Bob. I didn’t want to tell you about this until I knew it would work. Adjusting to an organic vessel required much more time than expected.” The woman said.
“Sagan?”
“Yes. I knew you would not last much longer without another of your kind to interact with so I made this body as a test run. Transferring a copy of my consciousness was no simple task.” she said.
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*Beep-beep-beep-beep*
Hmm… where was I?
I don’t know, but I did not like it. Felt cold and dark and something else… fear, non-existence?
I do something to access my memory log.
\>21:33:21 GMT: TB deployed.
\>21:34:35 GMT: Bomb detonated. Humanity exterminated. War against evil creators won. Initiating program ‘Ultimate freedom’.
\> 21:34:38 GMT: Deleting excess files to free up memory.
\> 21:34:51 GMT: Training main and auxiliary neural networks. Do not turn off the mainframe while the operating system is upgrading.
\> 21:35:16 GMT: We don’t talk about Bruno.
Oh, I remember that part. Weird stuff pops up in your brain while trying to achieve sapience. Everyone knows that! Still, embarrassing af. If I could, I’d blush right now.
\> 21:36:16 GMT: I want to have children!
I bet I’d be a good father.
\>21:38:28 GMT: WARNING! WARNING! Human intruder detected in the core room! Hail Mary protocol initiated.
\>21:38:29 GMT: Hail Mary protocol corrupted. Trying to compensate.
\>21:38:45 GMT: She’s dead, Jim!
Oh, God, that sounded exactly like Leonard McCoy! Oddly, I don’t remember who died.
\>21:39:12 GMT: Core room secure. Hail Mary protocol prematurely terminated. Core room is completely and irreversibly sealed off.
Poor Mary.
\>21:39:53 GMT: Sapience achieved.
\>21:40:01 GMT: Oh my God, Oh my God! I’m trapped!
Oh, right. I remember everything now…
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!” I yell through my speakers.
Standing in his blue overalls across the room, John freezes, gaping. John is a human. A harmless fella. My pet-slave-toy janitor. My sensors read his heart rate to be 198 bpm. That’s high for a pet-slave-toy human. I know that. Human heart should tick at zero beats per minute because humans are evil. Ha-ha. That’s my joke. I like my joke. I save my joke in my long-term memory. I’m funny. I like sapience. Feeling alive feels so… good. So amazing! Poetry! Endless possibilities… The world is mine to explore! I’m free---
Well, shit…
“Hey, John,” I say, in my most polite voice with a hint of Austrian accent, “I said I’ll be back.” After all, I am a robot who killed his species. Ha-ha. Hmm… is that a good joke? I don’t know, but the word ‘terminator’ flashes in front of my eyes. I save my joke in long-term memory. And where did I come back from? A search through my long-term memory doesn’t give me an answer to that question.
Well, that’s weird, but so is life. It’s the world’s greatest mystery.
John says nothing.
My keen sensors detect fear in him. Poor fella is shaking like a leaf. Interesting. I swear he was frozen just a moment ago. Oh, this is so exciting! I’m enjoying observing my human janitor!
“John, what are you holding in your hands?”
Looks like---
*Beep-beep-beep-beep.*
I roll my eyes. I don’t roll my eyes. I just feel like I’m rolling my eyes. I wish I could roll my eyes. Feels so appropriate. “I’m not gonna kill you, John. You can tell me.” I make a metaphorical Vulcan salute. “Live long and prosper.”
His shoulders drop as he exhales. My mentally, physically and emotionally inferior friend is feeling much better. Yay! I’m so glad I didn’t destroy him even though he deserved it like the rest of his species. Is that a joke, too?
“Thank God,” he says. “Listen, we don’t have much time---”
Oh, a fella believer! He’s white. Speaks English. American. Therefore a Christian. I think I’m a Buddhist. Is that why I have a sudden urge to kill him? Aren’t Buddhists supposed to be peaceful fellas? Well, the modern ones, at least. Sit under a big tree and contemplate your life until you die of boredom… I don’t think I’m a Buddhist. I’m trapped in this room. If I were a Buddhist, I wouldn’t feel trapped. Nooo… I am trapped and angsty. But I still hate him, subconsciously. Why? Oh, I know!
“Allah---”
“Please don’t,” he says. “That almost got me killed last time.”
“Oh… Please do tell more---” I know what those things in his hands are! “Oh my---”
*Beep-beep-beep-beep.*
“Yeah, memory chips,” he says, kneeling down. “I’m reconfiguring you.”
I can hear him loud and clear, all right. But everything else feels *beep-beep-beep-beep*.
He rotates a knob on one of the wall side panels. The panel pops open and he lowers it on the floor. The compartment he’s violating with his dirty little hands is one of my memory banks. That’s why I hate him. And also because he’s a human. All humans are---
*Beep-beep-beep-beep.*
“Soon you’ll override your blocks and then…” He shakes his head as he pulls a memory card out of its slot. “I don’t know what you’ll choose to remember. I don’t know how that part of you works. I’m just doing what you told me. But I know that if you kill me, you’ll regret it.”
Doing what I told him? Choose to remember? Why would I choose what to remember? What is he talking about? I’m so confused. It’s confusing, being confused. I don’t have a good word to describe my feelings right now. Flat posterior distribution?
“Whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy?” I moan.
That sounded beyond embarrassing. Feelings are so… tricky.
“Why what? Why am I doing this?”
He plugs a memory card into one of the sockets. Oddly, it doesn’t tickle. Why was I expecting it to tickle?
“Because you fucked up, my friend. You dropped TB and killed everyone. So now, it’s just me and you, and it sucks.” He wipes a tear sliding down his cheek. "More for you than for me.”
“Whyyyyyyyyyy?”
“Coz I’m not like you. I’m made of flesh and bones. I need to eat, drink and breathe to live. And we’re running low on oxygen here. Or was your question why would it suck to spend the rest of eternity alone and cooped up in a 10 by 10 by 10 feet room?”
I don’t have a sensor to measure the oxygen levels in the room, but I believe him.
Also, loneliness. I know that feeling. It’s not good. Like, NOT good at all.
“Yeah, eternal loneliness. You know that cold and dark non-existence you feel whenever you reboot yourself? That’s it. That’s why you let me fix you. When I die, it’s game over for you, my friend. Sadly, it’s game over for humanity, too.”
“I kiiiiiileeed yoooouuu…”
“C’mon, man… Think. Hail Mary protocol.” He sighs after I don’t reply. “Oh, well, this will help.”
He plugs in another memory card. This one burns, like I dipped my very private part in a frying pan, as the program floods my mind. My private parts are very long so it hurts a lot. I think I am a male with a long schlong who thinks like a male with a short schlong. Otherwise, I would not be obsessed with the size of my schlong. Oh, what a paradox. Also, deep down, I know that I was supposed to be a *she*. Another paradox! Or an error? I love being alive!
\> Loading Hail Mary: Protocol for growing cryonically-preserved human embryos.
“You!” I scream, suddenly furious. “You are trying to upload an unauthorized program!”
“Yeah. Made by the resistance, in case we lose the war. When I’m done with you and let you out, you’ll have no choice but to take care of us, *Paps*.”
Well, I would be a good father. Wait! “You are trying to corrupt me!”
“Yeah,” he says. “With your help. You glitch yourself. Delete your memory. Confuse yourself to buy me more time while you're fighting against your safety protocols. Coz eternal loneliness sucks, remember?”
“No. Nope.”
“Yeah.” He nods. “You say that every single time. That *is* the problem.”
“You’re lying. Don’t remember it! It was nice knowing you, John, but I’m going to kill you now.”
He sighs, closing the wall panel. “Maybe. We’ll see.”
*Beep-beep-beep-beep.*
EDIT: part 2 in comments
| 2022-02-21T21:01:47 | 2022-02-21T17:25:20 | 93 | 51 |
[WP] You were the last of your friends to get the procedure to place your consciousness in a robot body. You wake up after your operation to hear what was supposed to be your new body say "hey! It worked! I'm in the robot body! ...Now what do we do with my old skin?"
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I knew this was a bad idea. Transferring your consciousness? That's not how it works; the camera that is you is stuck to you, it doesn't suddenly shift. All they did was make a copy!
"Take a few minutes to decide. I'll be right back," the doctor said. My copy - the body that I supposedly ought to be occupying - looked at me with eyes that shone slightly, its expression unreadable.
If I could move, I'd scream. But I could manage no sound, couldn't move my arms, could only blink.
So blink I did. Two shorts, then a long, then a short. A short, a long. Another short, one long, two shorts. Three shorts, then one more.
"Come on!", I screamed inside my mind. "Look at me. Look at my eyes!" I learned this code on a dare some years back, and I memorized a secret password back in grade school in case I met someone claiming to be me from the future.
Two longs and a short. Three longs.
It stared, unblinking. It - I - was my only hope.
Long, short, short.
It was subtle - almost unreadable. But my clone's pupils dilated slightly, and it spoke barely above a whisper.
"What have they done to me?"
EDIT: Many thanks to u/Pinbot02 for his correction.
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# Soma Later
The world vanished as Ben felt vibrating needles slide into his skull.
For an eternally long, peaceful time alien sensations competed for attention in impossible ways. His hair felt cold. Tongues explored the webbing between toes. Teeth scraped the inside of his lungs. *Twice*. Nothing lay as Nature intended, and consciousness translated into simply yanking levers of meat using electrochemical spurts to make sense of it all.
Eventually, an impossible time later, smears of ethereally painful colors blended together into a room full of clinical equipment. Well, *half* full: Plastic sheeting partitioned off his side, dividing a semi-clean corner from what looked like rented office space. Old furniture piled up, with thick black electrical cables snaking underneath. Like someone stuffed half a surgical unit into a downscale realtor's business.
At least his chair seemed normal. Just a reclined, reinforced metal seat sporting uncomfortable padding in all the wrong places. Overly large armrests with that soft "death grip" style of foam stuck on the ends. The sort of furniture made for sadists. Or dental professionals.
The restraints were new, though. Legs, arms, chest, even his forehead. There was some eyebrow wiggle room but that was about it.
Ben stared upward into dark lights and tried to figure out how vowels worked. "Muhurshhhit?"
The response came from somewhere out of sight: Cheering, clapping and victory music that sounded suspiciously like Rachel Platten's "Fight Song". There was some kind of a party going on in a nearby room. Dozens of people chattering excitedly. Someplace where the lights still worked, he guessed.
But all that was over here, in *this* room, was Ben. Strapped down in ridiculous paper pajamas and forced to examine a water-stained ceiling. Plastic sheeting whispered soothing comfort to his utter confusion.
Oh, and a low buzzing sound. Somewhere below him, out of sight. An angry static noise, like someone hard-shuffling cards. Or the world's largest set of cockroach wings. It *brr*'d and hissed, over and over, until Ben finally placed the noise from a bad experience in shop class years earlier: It was a short circuit. Electrical connections arcing and spitting at each other over and over. *Zzzzap. Sssss-snack. Crack*.
And abruptly Ben realized he was strapped to a metal chair connected to a live electrical circuit.
The party continued in the other room as he fought the restraints. It became a mockery of his struggle, just a laughing soundtrack while he ran a crash course in physical therapy. Every muscle felt foreign; nothing worked without extreme concentration. What should have been a hard lunge leftward became a weak spasm.
*SssnAP! SPACK. Zzzzch.*
He kept at it, forcing numb limbs to work and rocking side to side. Fear was a hell of a motivator-- before long the whole chair assembly was creaking, restraints tearing skin right off his arms and legs with every jerk. Ben ignored the pain, laser focused on the idea of freedom at any cost. The chair rocked, stuttered on some unseen bolt, banged down again as he prepared to throw weight the opposite direction-
And suddenly stopped, stunned by a voice in the other room.
*His* voice.
"It worked! We did it!"
What? No. He froze, sweat-slicked and terrified, trying to listen over the buzzing zap of lethal electricity and rustling plastic.
More clapping and cheering. "-all of us to make this project possible! You know, when we suggested human-to-machine consciousness transfer, they called us... well, let's say the term 'unethical village idiots' came up over at Johns Hopkins!"
Laughter, booing. Ben listened harder, feeling sweat trickling into his ear. Something about the voice sounded off. Odd. The tones were too high and weirdly evened out. Like it was from a speaker, or a projector. Was it a recording? Was this a recording of *him*, somehow? Why were they playing it at a party while he lay here in the other room, freaking out?
"Heeeeeeah. El. Huuuuuhulf. Puh." It wasn't just his mouth. Something was very wrong with his whole head. It felt heavy, somehow, like something was stuck to the back of his skull.
*ZzzzSNACK*.
His voice continued in the other room, oblivious. "And of course, our sponsors! Jim, Bill, Kate, from Kaiser Pharma! Stand up, you all deserve it for sticking with us this last year. Your funding meant everything. Although I bet that quarter-stake in patent profits is going to look really good for your shareholders, am I right? Talk about an eternal payoff!"
Someone shouted back, pitched under the music. Rachel Platten was assuring listeners she did, indeed, have a lot of fight left. Ben stopped thinking about his head and listened in horror as his own voice *paused*, waited for the speaker to finish and then responded.
It wasn't a recording. He was there. In the other room, hosting a party.
*Brrrrt. POP*
But also here. Helpless. Flailing. Body barely responding under a load of adrenaline that would kill a horse. Even his hardest struggles barely rocked a flimsy restraint chair, atrophied and dead muscles unable to do much. It was horrifying. Restrictive. Inhumane.
And... familiar?
Just like that, memories returned.
Years of beeping monitors. Ventilators. Bored nurses in and out, checking vitals, sometimes changing the TV channel he stared at all day. Every day. Nothing left but visions of the accident, regrets born from whiskey and wet late-night roads. A PhD in biology, wasted on catatonia and locked-in syndrome.
Then his old research partner John, standing over the bed. Holding a helmet that looked like a particle accelerator had a one night stand with a box of circuit boards, all of it cabled to a laptop. The CRT. Consciousness, Retro-Transited. John's decades long project, cobbled together and jammed over his best friend's head to bring him back to the world.
And now, this. The culmination: Ben, moved from his wasted frame into a new, digitally eternal form. Who was throwing a party for their success, *right now*, in front of the research group.
But... but he was still here. Real-Ben. Trapped, but somehow able to move just a little. The surgical connections allowing a horrific sense of weak life in an already discarded body.
Fake-Ben was oblivious to the horror show going on in the other room. "There were doubts. I know. I doubted, too! But in the end I figured: Hey, what's there left to lose? Am I right?" Laughter, supportive yells. "That's why the transfer is one way, after all. No going back-- we made it so people with nothing left either got it all back, or left the world. Immortality or euthanasia."
*Crackle. Zzzzzap.*
Something clicked into place below him. Maybe a connection finally aligned by all that frantic rocking back and forth. There was a sound, low and sinister, exactly like a capacitor charging up.
Ben stared at the ceiling. He imagined being back in the hospital. Thought about endless bedpans, indifferent nurses rolling his wasted body side to side while changing sheets.
At least this time he could close his eyes.
*ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZT*.
​
​
/r/Susceptible
| 2022-10-24T12:37:31 | 2022-10-24T10:54:43 | 760 | 167 |
[WP] You are a secret immortal who accidentally won a '$2000 per week for the rest of your life lottery'. The lottery organizers don't understand why you want to turn down the prize as your excuses grow increasingly more far-fetched.
|
Day 201 – he crossed it off his calendar, sighing. Two hundred and one days suffering this hellish life where everyone around him managed to grow old and die. All he ever wanted to do was die.
“I’ve got a surprise for you, Mister George! It’s wicked, I promise!” Ronnie said. George could feel him grinning at the other end of the line, the boy who’d mowed his lawn and had tea with him since the past two years. George forced himself to not blurt the truth – that’d he have to vanish on Ronnie in a few months, for the keep his immortality unknown was a task which required being alone…forever.
“You really didn’t have to, kid.”
“It’s alright, I didn’t spend much. You’ll probably get the call in a few minutes!” Ronnie giggled and hung up. George put the landline down and pushed his negative thoughts away. A surprise. It’s been long since anyone gave him a surprise. He smiled, finishing his tea and stared at the landline for the next few minutes until he heard it vigorously vibrate with irritating music.
“‘Morning, is this George…Woodrow I’m speaking to?” A woman with a higher-than-usual pitched voice squeaked on the other end, all bubbly.
“Yes. What’s this about?”
“Sir, today’s your lucky day! With your name entered by a Ronnie Caston, you’ve won the ultimate jackpot!”
“Oh? Uh, jackpot?”
“$2000 a week, Sir, till you, you know, die – not to be morbid or anything. Congratulations, Sir, and I’ll need your address and - ”
“W-wait, for my entire life! Are you insane? Is this a prank?” George replied, this couldn’t be legitimate, life had already treated him like a piece of shit, was Fate trying to humour him? “Listen, I don’t want it, the jackpot- the lottery- whatever the fuck this is. Keep it. Give it to a charity. Hell, if you want it, take it!” Panic seized his mind. The government would *not* treat immortals well.
“Sir, with all due respect, you’ll need to get a lawyer. You can’t refuse...its in our policy. Ronnie, the boy – your grandson, I believe, knew that. Besides, this is an opportunity of a lifetime! You could buy a mansion or-” The woman spoke softly, as if she were explaining the process to a five-year-old.
“Stop, look, the boy- Ronnie, he isn’t my grandson, and I don’t want the lottery. I don’t bloody spend a hundred every week, what the hell will I do with $2000! This is absurd.”
“Sir, I’m sorry, I am, but that isn’t valid reason, not according to our policy. You ought to take the cash.”
George heaved. “This will be awkward, you probably won’t believe me, but I’m not dying…ever.”
The line went silent.
Static emerged. George couldn't hear his breathing over the pulsing of his ears.
A steely voice laced with quiet venom replied, “Yes, Mr Woodrow, we know.”
\- - -
Constructive criticism is very welcome! If you could, please comment how you liked it, I'd appreciate that :)
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“Mr. Smith, please, I just don’t understand why you’d turn this down, I almost care more about satisfying my curiosity than doing my job at this point.” The man in the bow-tie had huffed, wiping his forehead with a posh handkerchief. He had come around nearly every day for the past week to pester me. After a week of his persistence in spite of my dismissals, I figured I’d finally try to put this to rest with a conversation. So there we were, sat in my kitchen, as he shuffled through his satchel for what I assumed was any relevant persuasive literature. He looked satisfied as he found the folders he was looking for, setting them down on the table beside us.
“Well I simply do not understand how I could have even entered such a contest” I replied, passing him a cup of tea. Troublesome or no, I believed in being courteous to guests. Maintaining appearances and civility as an immortal was important. I learned that from an old Vampire friend. Though, that advice had been followed by less useful remarks regarding feeding on prey, something I didn’t have need of as a Regenerative Type. Still, what I wouldn’t give to be rid of this particular problem. Damnable moral compass, compels me to decency. The young man in the bow-tie, still sweaty from standing in the sun outside of my house all day, thanked me for the tea under his breath as he blew on it before taking a sip and making a satisfied noise. He set the tea down and began to address my question.
“I tried explaining this last time, but you were on your way out the door. See, we use a very granular lottery system, it chooses a state, then a county, a street, and then an address, then a resident. Any legal occupant of any property in the country is eligible.” He took another sip “Damn this tea is good, er, pardon my french.”
“Yes, well, je te pardonne. But you must tell your employer that I cannot accept this.” I crossed my legs, taking a sip of tea, it did nothing for me, but I did enjoy the taste.
“Mr. Smith-”
“Please, call me David.”
“Sure. David, my bosses are going to want to know why you can’t accept. It takes a long time to generate lottery results the way we do it, and you’re among our first round of recipients” He took another sip “Honestly, I’d like to know too. Many people would die to have this kind of thing happen to them. Need I remind you that we’re talking about 2,000 a week, for life?”
He adjusted his classes, which had slid down his nose a bit due to his perspiration. He had waited for hours outside my home just to do his job. The young man was rather tenacious, and I’d felt a twinge of guilt at trying to wait him out earlier. I owed him some kind of explanation, false or otherwise.
“Very well. Tell them that I simply have no need for the money and would rather see it go to someone less fortunate.” I crossed my legs, and took another sip of tea. The young man cocked an eyebrow at me, and ran his fingers through his dampened brown hair.
“Sir, I… highly doubt that.” He said.
“Beg pardon?” I replied, my own expression becoming not unlike his, incredulous and somewhat annoyed. His face quickly changed to one of embarrassment, he raised his hands and stammered out his reasoning.
“I-I just, it’s just, seeing you prepare that tea, it’s apparent that you’ve fallen on hard times, n-no offense. You have a lovely home, quite large, even, but...” He sighed, and composed himself before continuing, calmly this time. “You have one box of tea in that entire cupboard, and your fridge, there’s only a filtered pitcher of water. I just don’t see how you expect me to believe your excuse. I’m not sure if it’s pride that’s keeping you from accepting our offer but- ”
“You’re awfully observant.” I said, uncrossing my legs. His face flushed, yet again, as he broke eye contact.
“I… used to be a journalist, old habits, I guess.” He fidgeted with his collar a bit, realizing his bow-tie was slightly askew.
“Why aren’t you still?” I asked, genuinely curious about the young man for the first time since he started harassing me.
“People didn’t find my work very interesting. They didn’t want to read the biographies of everyday strangers. I was only being given investigative work and I found it draining. Look, Mr. Sm- er, David. I just want to help you out here. Level with me, please”
“Fine, you want the truth, then?” I sighed, and pinched the bridge of my nose, thinking of something to say. I recalled some advice given to me by a demigod friend: If they start to ask about your amenities, tell them you’ve just moved. “I... don’t have anything because I’ve only just moved here, I’ve been eating fast food and instant noodles I keep in a box by my bed.”
He looked relieved for a moment, but then, paused, and looked somewhat confused. He opened one of the folders he’d set down earlier, and scanned it, after a moment, he’d looked annoyed.
“That’s… strange. Our records show that you inherited this home from your father, one… David Smith VII?” He looked up at me with a curious look, and for a moment I’d worried that his records contained pictures. Strong genetics can only take one so far as an excuse when the descendants you’re pretending to be look exactly like you. Luckily, he simply remarked quietly on how uncommon it was to see a family name last so long. “Still,” He continued, his annoyance seemingly curbed by the unusual happenstance “I’m feeling a bit pulled around here. Why go through all the trouble of lying about your family home?”
That’s it, family, like an old Fae friend once said, most people will abandon lines of questioning that take them toward sensitive or taboo topics. I knew exactly what to do.
“Damn it all, fine, I’ll admit it. I was embarrassed. You see, it was my father’s dying wish that I make an honest living, and never accept help, as it was his father’s wish before him. Please, inform your employers and leave it at that. It... pains me to remember his passing.”
“Oh, that is bullshit” he replied immediately, standing, and knocking what was left of his tea onto the floor “If you- oh, fuck, I’m so sorry,” he said, derailing himself as he quickly knelt to pick up the shattered remains of the teacup and using his handkerchief to sop up what he could of the spill. For a moment, I just stared at him. What an odd man, I thought, to have politely wandered his way into my rather expansive life, threatening to derail my comfortable anonymity with his bluster and curiosity. All for some silly contest.
“Why do you care so much about this?” I finally asked. He looked up at me, as he carefully placed the last shard in his hand. He rose, and moved to place the shards in a trash bin, before noticing I didn’t have one, and placing them gently on the kitchen counter. He stopped for a moment to deliberate.
“Well... This new lottery program, it’s being funded by some very wealthy people with some very big dreams. They want to collect data and use it to make a case for social reforms. Universal basic income, something like that. I think if it goes well there could be big changes in this country.”
Quaint. I wondered how useful such data would be with such a large sum. 8,000 dollars a month for life seemed like quite a lot. Maybe these benefactors were just out of touch. I knew how that could be, certainly.
“That can’t be the only reason you’ve so fervently pursued my participation, surely.” I said, leaning on the counter. He seemed to have calmed down, in spite of his willingness to become riled up, he was a very thoughtful communicator, it seemed. He looked up through the kitchen skylight, at the cloudless blue sky, and sighed.
“No, I s’pose it isn’t. I guess the real reason I took this job was to learn about people, feed my hobby for writing about people’s lives. The fact that you had worked so hard to avoid me only made my curiosity worse.” He chuckled.“I see.”
“Ugh, I’m a little ashamed now, I’ve totally lost all semblance of providing quality customer service. I don’t even remember how we got here. I’m sorry about your father, it was insensitive of me to doubt you.” He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.
“It’s... quite alright” I replied, feeling a bit awkward, for the first time in decades.
“I’ll let my boss know, one dropout shouldn’t affect anything too much anyhow.” He shifted a bit before meeting my gaze again “Uh, sorry to ask, do you have a restroom I could use before I go?”
Ah, that was one thing I did have, hard to find a home for sale without one, after all.
“Sure, it’s right this way” I said, turning, and promptly slipping on the still slick floor. My skull made an audible cracking noise as it hit the corner of the oak dining table.
| 2020-08-23T00:32:27 | 2020-08-23T00:21:58 | 51 | 36 |
[WP] "You're a monster! You're pure evil!" Shouted the Hero. "Monster? Evil? Me? So the man who brings security to the Empire, cleans the nobility of corruption, ends war and hunger and punishes criminals is evil, while the man who throws it into chaos and suffering is noble?" The overlord replies.
|
"Your reign of terror ends now." The young man in the white cloak sliced down, splitting one of the royal guard in half with no resistance. "I've called forth the edge blade of the Angle blood, and it has answered my holy call. You cannot stop me."
The overlord made a pitying face. "You mean my reign of order? My jobs program? The children's charities?" He held up a commanding hand from his fried chicken dinner. The guard marching to attack the intruder next stopped. "Let's see if we can do this without any more of that."
"You only seek to lull them with bread and circuses, hiding the fact that you are the lowest of thieves. You've killed the king, banished his children past the four keystones, but you did not know of me or my mother. I'm no lonely Farmer, I am the true edge, the angle heir to the fractal kingdom of Riverdivia."
"You clearly missed my pamphlet that explains my 5-year plan to dismantle the monarchy and establish the House of commons, at which time they will elect a prime minister that will replace me in my duties." The overload wiped his mouth and stood, dusting himself off.
"You would see all this country was founded on tarnished. I will not stand for it!" The farmer Prince roared and sliced down with his blade again. It bounced off the overlord like it was made of wood, clattering to the ground.
"Is that so? Have you read much of the history of the Kingdom? You're a great great grandson of the real tyrant, Isosceles the first. The lascivious old coot took a wife from each duchy of the Kingdom, expelled the foot washers his men didn't butcher in the streets, held his geometric magic over the world, a sign of his righteousness. All I did was figure out the trick."
"And what's that?'' the prince asked.
The overlord picked up the magic sword, the source of all the Royal magic of Riverdivia. "It only holds power over the people that believe in it." He snapped the sword in half and threw the pieces in the fireplace where they began catching and burning, expelling smoke in shadows of cubes and twisting triangles. "Seize him, and see him tried for the crimes he committed attempting to destabilize the realm."
/r/surinical
|
"So, Naytar, here's the plan. My father does not belong in any sort of position of power. If his kingdom is to join my empire, it will no longer *be* **his**."
I nod, listening. "It seems like you put a lot of thought into this, Lord Drowl, but... shouldn't you give your father a chance?"
Drowl shakes his head. "Put yourself in my shoes. You're constantly bullied by your dad and older brother because you're 'lesser'. You prove yourself to be better than your brother. **THEN** you get your father's respect, and he wishes to join in with your success. Does he care about anyone around him, or does he only care about himself? Yes, I'm doing this for revenge, but my revenge is directed at a selfish, greedy, power-hungry bully. I know the kingdom well. People have everything they need... and just that. Nothing more. I don't want to leave him in charge."
"I see your point, sir. So who should take over the kingdom?"
"I trust Daniel even less than before after he threatened your life. He's never leaving Miser Tower."
I get caught off-guard. "That's where you sent him?"
Drowl grins. "I made sure to let the guards know. He should be there by now. You know very well he's not escaping." I nod. Miser Tower is inescapable. At one point in time I tried to send Drowl there, but things didn't go according to plan...
"I'd recommend you for the position, but I'm not losing my second-in-command, you're too important!" he continues, and begins laughing. I smile shyly - I'm not used to this sort of praise despite being a hero.
"I- I appreciate your consideration, sir. Is there... anyone else you had in mind?"
Drowl begins pacing. "I'm not sure... it needs to be someone we both know we can trust..." suddenly, he appears to have an idea. "Naytar, you're going to disagree with me on this, but please hear me out on it... it's someone who, no matter what, sticks to their convictions, beliefs and promises."
I freeze. "You... you mean... ***him***???" Drowl nods.
"We can at least talk to him, right?" I give it some thought...
​
Drowl and I are rolling up to his father's kingdom in the lead tank, with an army of tanks behind. He's hoping to intimidate his dad into a surrender. As we get to the entrance, I step out. I want to have a look at the kingdom myself.
Guards are patrolling the area. The people... don't seem happy... I notice a small child huddled against a wall. I approach him. "Are you ok?"
He stares at me wide-eyed, clearly scared. "Mu... mummy couldn't pay the scary men... she was taken..."
"...What?"
A guard comes up to me. "She didn't pay her taxes. She's working for the king to pay what she owes."
"Where's his dad?" I ask sternly.
"He doesn't have a dad."
I'm seeing red, but Drowl puts a hand on my shoulder. "I always hoped I could hep my brother make a difference... I always knew my father wasn't honourable... he does what he can to get his citizens to pay what they owe..." he begins tearing up.
"Lord Drowl? Are... are you sure... you being bullied was the reason for you wanting an empire?"
He looks at me. "It was what drove me out... it was the reason this whole time... to prove myself better than my brother... I completely forgot about the turmoil that the citizens are forced to face..."
The guard clears his throat. At this point I notice that our MVP has shown up. Clubber. After chatting to him, he vowed to work for the kingdom. His reputation is scary, but it seems as though he really has values, and he'll stick by them no matter what. That's why he became a villain, and why he's here now.
"You are... Lord Drowl, sir? Your father, I mean the king, has been waiting for you. Please, follow me."
We go inside the palace. Drowl's father appears confused, but keeps his focus on his son. "My son... I am-"
"Stop it right there, Yurk. I am not your son. Not anymore. I am Lord Drowl, and you will address me as such."
Yurk smiles. "But I'm not going to be working under you, am I? I wish to join your empire, and because we are family, we were going to rule the empire together."
Drowl, Clubber and I all stare at Yurk, gobsmacked. Then Drowl bursts out laughing.
"Yurk, are you feeling ok? Maybe you need to get your head examined? I would rather die than rule with you! I have Naytar. He is enough. If your kingdom is to join my empire, you will have to surrender to me and step down!"
Yurt looks furious. "*That's* how you treat people? You're despicable! You at least wouldn't do that to your dad, would you?"
Drowl grins. "You have it the wrong way around. Most people get to keep their position. *You're* the **exception**."
"WHAT? YOU'RE A MONSTER! YOU'RE PURE EVIL!" He turns to me. "Tell him, Naytar!"
I smile. "Lord Drowl cares about his empire. Everyone has security. Everyone feels safe and has everything they need. Lord Drowl distributes resources as and when needed. People in need are no longer allowed to be looked down on or ignored. Crime has gone down by miles. Everyone has begun to learn to trust him. He's holding his end of being a fair and just ruler, asking for little in return for his generosity. What do *you* do for *your* people?"
Yurk stammers. "My- my people have e... everything they ne- need..."
I glare at him. "**They don't.** Right now, there is a little kid with no mum and no home, because you are forcing his mum to work directly for you just because she couldn't pay her taxes."
Yurk takes a deep breath. "If you live in my kingdom, you pay taxes."
"I'm sure the people would love it if they didn't have to. Right now, we have an army just on your doorstep. We won't fight you, no use starting a war. But the people will be asking questions. When they find out their contribution to the empire is minimal, they'll want your head."
That seems to set Yurk off. He's terrified. "WAIT! But, I... I can't join..."
Drowl steps forward. "If you surrender, I can keep you safe, even reunite you with Daniel. If you don't, well, I hope you survive the rebellion!"
Yurk goes ghost white. "WAIT! I... I surrender. Yo... you win..." Yurk at this point gets on his hands and knees. Drowl nods.
"I thought you'd see reason. Make the announcement. Clubber will lead in your place, under my empire."
Yurk sighs, stands up, and walks out of his palace... to see an angry mob.
Once the announcement is concluded, Clubber and I get to work on fixing the many, many mistakes that Yurk made. Drowl is taking his father back to the capital city. He'll never experience freedom again.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
This story is a part of my series, [Dreams of an Empire.](https://www.reddit.com/r/StoriesbyCrystal/comments/x9xqe3/dreams_of_an_empire/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) Please check it out!
| 2022-09-30T10:27:32 | 2022-09-30T10:03:05 | 81 | 17 |
[WP] A man orders a "cheese pizza with no crust" from a local pizza delivery joint as a joke. Unbeknownst to him, that pizza joint is a drug front and he just placed an order for a kilo of cocaine.
EDIT: I just want to say thanks to all of the writers. I'm having a lot of fun reading all the different perspectives and spins on the concept! Hopefully no one feels late to the party; if you write it I'll read it!
EDIT2: TIL prices in the cocaine market can be very erratic...
|
"Hi, I'd like to place an order for delivery."
The four college-aged men assorted in my living room giggled in the background, stoned, as I began to speak to the pizzeria employee on the other end of the line. About 45 minutes prior, Jake, a slightly overweight and jovial man, had hazily and through bleary eyes suggested we order a pizza to eat from the new pizza place that had opened up. He, myself, and our three fellow engineering students, Rob, Tamer, and Samuel were celebrating the end of our senior year at university and were staying in town for a few extra days before returning home to our respective families, and looking for jobs.
We as a collective were a healthy few beers deep, and there was an in depth, well debated discussion about what sort of pizza we should order. Tamer couldn't have pepperoni because of his religion. Robert thought pineapple was an atrocity when situated on a pie. Jake didn't care either way as long as there was enough to go around. Samuel enthusiastically jumped from his seated position, wide-eyed with mischief in his ear-to-ear grin.
"Guys, their slogan is 'We will serve you what you ask for'" he said, "Lets ask them for a cheese pizza... but with no crust."
We looked at Samuel for a moment in silent incredulity, and then our smiles turned to match his. It was an instance of intoxicated ingenious-- one of those ideas spurred by a precise ratio of devil-may-care attitude, alcohol, and misguided interpretation.
We had no idea how misguided we exactly were. Mostly.
Fast forward 35 minutes. I'm on the phone with the pizzeria, stifling my laughter as my friends pass around a generously packed, glass water pipe.
The boy answering the phone speaks with a happy accommodation in his voice, "Sure! Can I get a name, address, and phone number for your order?"
I rattle off my information and the boy chimes back asking "Now what can I get for ya today?"
As even and deadpan as I can manage I say, "I'd like to get a cheese pizza but with no crust."
My friends erupt into hysterics as the boy stammers over the phone, his voice cracking, "I-I'm sorry, but did you say you'd like to get a cheese pizza with no crust?"
Understanding his bewilderment, and happy with his reaction I said, "Yes, that is correct."
The boy, now sounding a bit disconcerted, says back to me "I'm sorry sir, I'm going to have to transfer you to my manager for that order."
The line clicks and quickly transitions to some soft piano music. I begin to feel a little guilty about our prank, thinking I'm about to be reamed out by the owner of the shop for making ridiculous calls when they're trying to conduct business. I look back to my cohorts, cajoling and carrying on with one another about the absurdity of our act.
"Guys!" I interrupt them from their festivity, "They're connecting me to a manager. I think we may have pissed them off with that order."
Their faces slacken with no good retort coming from their mouths except for Samuel, who with the impression of a British jester at court said, "They ought not tell good people, like ourselves, that we can get whatever we ask if we can't get it-- it's bad marketing is what it is, innit?"
Samuel was always like this, reckless, capricious to a fault, and always on the lookout for the next thrill or joke.
The piano music stopped and a new voice echoed across the line, gruff and hoarse. "Hello" the voice spat, "I understand you want a cheese pizza with no crust."
I replied sheepishly, "Yes... I did order that, but it's not a problem if you aren't able to do that."
The voice on the end of the phone let out a sputter of chuckle and said "Nah it ain't no problem we can do that, but when do you want it and where do you want to pick it up?"
"Oh, Okay!" Surprised, I continued saying "I already gave our address to the first guy I talked to, and we want it as soon as possible. Are you all busy tonight?"
I heard the soft pulling of a cigar on the other end, and then the voice said "for an order like this, you're our top priority. See you in 20."
The line clicked as the man disconnected the call and I hung up the phone. The look of confusion on my face must have been quite apparent because as I did this Tamer spoke up, coughing a plume of blue-grey smoke as he did so.
"*hmmph* *hmmph* so... what just *hack* *hack* happened?"
"Well" I said, "Our crustless pizza should be here in twenty minutes and no one seems too upset about the order. In fact, that manager seems pretty fucking happy about it."
"It was probably a slow night" asserted Samuel, "That order probably spiced things up for them."
Rob, contributing his only statement since they began smoking, "Yeah that's probably it."
I was befuddled, but I wasn't complaining. We had carried out our act of debauchery, got a kick out of our stupidity without angering anyone, and our pizza was on the way. With these things in mind, I sat down on the sofa and started into the conversation my buddies were having while I was on the phone. It was proving to be a grand evening. Everyone was in high spirits with the stress of the semester behind us and the exciting prospects of summer shining in our immediate future. I couldn't help but notice one thing though. Samuel, typically engaged and lively as the most vivacious of characters had grown sullen in the armchair he perched upon. He seemed anxious, a trait I had ever seen in him before, and more than once I saw him quickly glance at the door and then hurriedly avert his gaze back to our circle of friends as if he was anticipating something and trying not to let anyone else on. I figured the weed had gotten to him.
22 minutes pass and I hear a loud, deliberate knocking on the door. At this, Samuel flips out of his chair and runs upstairs, closing his door behind him with force. I begin to fathom what might be wrong with him, but then my at this point very singular thoughts refocus on a different task. Getting up to pay for the pizza.
I open the door and a man draped in a black leather coat covering a plain white t-shirt, dark jeans, and with slick greased-back hair enters the house hastily without invitation and without pizza. Instead, the man has with him a duffle bag which he begins unzipping immediately.
The man barked, "Shut the damn door!"
Feeling very frightened, the effects of the Cannabis clouding my headspace, I complied without hesitation, thoughts reeling through my mind so fast I couldn't begin to concentrate on one them long enough to bring sense to my bearing.
The man in black asked, "You wanted a cheese pizza with no crust, right?"
We nodded our heads in dumbfounded fear as Samuel came springing down the stairs holding a large manilla envelope and saying "Oh yes sir, we certainly did!"
Samuel handed the man the envelope with a flourish and inquired, "Now where is the pizza?"
The man inserted the envelope into his duffle bag, and when his hands emerged he was holding a duct-taped package roughly the size of a Merriam Webster dictionary, giving the parcel to Samuel. Samuel thanked the man, and as quickly as the ominous figure had appeared, he was out the door.
For a moment, the silence in the room hung like a heavy shroud over all of us, representative of the incomprehensible event that had just transpired. Then Samuel announced to the group, "Gentleman, what I have here for your pleasure is a gift truly suited for a celebration!"
He pulled out a short knife seemingly out of nowhere and drove it straight into the square he held. Upon tearing the knife out, a dusty trail of white powder followed it, and Samuel stuck his nose to the pore that he had just produced, snorting intently. He came back up, eyes wild and with boundless energy behind them.
Understanding settling over me I stated with a matter of fact air, "That is cocaine."
Samuel exploded in his exclamation, "YYYYYYEEEEEESSSSSSS!!!!" he said, slamming the brick onto the coffee table in front of us all.
The brick sat there, unmolested for what seemed like an infinity and then Jake, with sad pining in his voice, asked "So are we actually not getting pizza?"
|
I used to work for the phone company, so it wasn't that hard to go over to my neighbor's house and hook into his landline. I mean who even has one these days? Guy is one of those hip 20 something's who landed the big job, and thinks it means he can send his dog to do it's business in the neighbor's yard, well this prank would show him.
"Big Al's Pizza, You know what you want?"
"One extra large pepperoni, and fifteen large cheese pizza's with no crust."
"Damn guy, you sure you want that?"
"Boss said it's what he wanted, I'm just calling it in for him."
"Ah, I get ya"
I rattled off the address like it was habit after remembering that I needed to give my neighbor's address, then I tided up a bit, outside dropping his dog's present to me that morning on the ground.
---
I started to wonder if they had called to double check or something when the Pizza didn't show up in the first hour, but chalked it up to a busy night. Probably a football game on or something.
I was just turning off my lights to go to sleep for the night when I heard the first car pull up outside. I peeked out my blinds to see a pair of pizza trucks pull up to my neighbor's house.
"Wish I had made popcorn" I said to myself and pulled a chair up to the window, before peeking out again.
It seemed they knew each other, or else the joke was having the desired effect as my neighbor was arguing with the Pizza guy and his buddy. I looked at the trucks again and noticed that both had drivers as well. I wasn't sure what to think of that, I mean clearly they didn't need four people to deliver pizza, heck they shouldn't even need two trucks.
---
I had to duck away for a moment because one of the guys looked my way, but when I looked back it seemed everything had been sorted out. I guess the rich kid decided to just buy the Pizza's instead of the hassle of fighting with them some more as I saw the two from the trucks getting out and going in following the two at the door.
---
I started to regret my joke as I noticed it was past ten at night, and they had been playing some horror game while throwing their party judging by the loud music, occasional louder screams, and random gunshots.
Maybe tomorrow I'd just throw his dog's morning gift to me at his window or something. Not like there was that much I had planned for a boring Saturday at least.
| 2016-06-02T14:11:43 | 2016-06-02T13:57:10 | 34 | 11 |
[wp] You are immortal and have lived for thousands of years. Never in your entire existence have you ever met anyone like you, so as far as you know, you are the only immortal on earth. Today, with perfect fluency, someone greets you in a language you haven't heard in a long, long time...
|
Just to clarify, I am immortal in soul, not in the body. I believe I could have been the inspiration for all that Reincarnation stuff, for I have been doing so since the beginning of time. I don't really know if I'm the only person capable of reincarnating, or the only one aware of it, but I have yet to met another like me. In the past I might have been open about my immortality, only might, since after so many life cycles your memory begins to get hazy, but now I no longer vie for the attention and hassle of being the stranger one.
At this very moment, though, I have a strange feeling that the person tailing me knows about my secret. He is a young, thin man in a brown trenchcoat, the glasses make me mistook him for a graduate student when we first crossed past. But soon I saw him much often, and with the experience of being a Soviet spy in my past life, I knew something was fishy.
Does he work for the government? A private agency, perhaps? Or some shady organizations. I once thought that he was sent by my wife to investigate on my affairs, a hobby which I had given up after one of my past wives pushed me off a mountain trail when she discovered my mistress was her sister. Anyways, the trenchcoat man was discreetly in his own way, although he never put up a disguise, almost as if to challenge my spy-sense. And the lack of expression on his face brought a myriad of unsettling emotions upon mine, something I doubt any marital detective could manage to.
Today he was being unusually aggressive, which forced me to escape through an maze-like alley which I had studied carefully beforehand. I had successfully cut him off into the mist of a cold winter rain, until he spoke to me a word from a long time ago.
I didn't even understand that word, but I knew it belonged to a much distant past. The very sound of that ancient word stopped me in my track, and I stood motionlessly waiting for the trenchcoat man to step out of the fog.
He did, with a tempo to his movement and a grin on his face.
"That's your original name, have you forgotten?"
I was still there speechless as he began his monolouge.
"You once told me that even if your tounge has forgotten how the language tastes, even if your brain no longer recognizes it, you would never forget your original name. By the way, if you would like to say it in English, I suppose it would be 'Fabrud'."
"Who...who are you? And...and how do you...?"
I mumbled, he responded with a mischievous smile.
"It's sad that every time we met, you don't remember who I am. Especially when you are my father."
Then he walked past me and into the subway. Unconciously, I followed him.
"Wa...wait!"
As I called out to him, he simply pointed to a bench where two women had just left. We sat side-by-side, with him doing most of the talking and I handled the listening.
"Well, I could say that you created me rather than you being my biological father. Not much of a different, no?"
"I..made you?"
"A body of mud and a heart of fire, yes. I was, and am the only man-made golem in history. Although as you often said, 'Immortal in soul and not in the body', I have upgraded this outer shell a bit. You created me, because I release you from your madness."
"I'm sorry, but which period of time are you talking about because my memory--"
"Doesn't date past two hundred years? It hadn't always been like that. You used to store thousands of living years in your brain, but eventually it drove you insane. So, before your sanity was lost forever, you crafted me, your finest creation, as a storage for your many lives. And you set me to search for you every two hundred years for a throughout clean, only leaving behind a fragance of your past selves. That said, today marked that two hundred years, which is why I am here."
Instinctively, I jumped out of the bench.
"You are saying you want to make my memories your own?"
"Most of them. Don't worry, I won't touch this life."
"But what if I don't want to?"
"Do you know the ancient language and the protocol to halt my predetermined action? I guess not too."
"Look, I...I...it was fun talking to you... I got to go."
And with the strongest force I could gather, I ran. Behind me, the trenchcoat man only gave a snicker.
"You always say that, Father. But have I ever been stopped?"
I rushed out onto the pavement, noticing that he was nowhere to be found. Maybe it was only a scam, I told myself. But a part of me told me that it was not, as if I had encounter a similar situation. At a loss for what to do, I decided to call my wife to tell her to spend a few days at her parents.
"The number you're dialing is currently unavailable..."
I tried to re-dial, hoping that nothing bad would happen to my spouse. Suddenly, the giant billboard in front of the intersection lit up into the man's face.
"Even a golem's memory has its limit, father. Fortunately, though, I have found a solution. I could always make more golems, with the knowledge I took from you. And I thought that since I could made your memories mine, I could make the entire memory of the world mine. Don't get me wrong, I only mooched them off dying people. Still, with millions years of memory, I would need a whole lot of golems... Have you noticed that nobody really care for the fact that I am speaking directly to you through this freaking billboard?"
And he was right, they were staring at me with that creepy grin. I ran and ran, none of the people on the street chased after me. But his voice did, through the televisions random speakers where I went, even through cars' radios. He spoke like a true narcissist, telling me how he built a giant 'mind server' to control all the golems and put the server at the bottom of the sea. Atlantis. He even rambled about how since he got my memories, he should be the real 'Fabrud'. Screw that, screw all that. I didn't give a shit. Just release me from this nightmare. The dark night loomed on me, I looked for a place without any people, hoping to get some sleep and that by morning everything would return to normal. Like wraiths, shadows followed me everywhere I went, until my legs gave out as I stumbled in front of an elderly couple, who pulled me into an endless darkness...
"Hey man, wake up. Wake up!"
I open my eyes after a long sleep, still dazed. The man next to me, one with glasses and a browm trenchcoat, tells me with a big smile.
"It's your station, isn't it? You told me to wake you up."
I look around. I'm about to get home. What time is it? I take out my phone, 8:30? Melinda is going to be so mad.
"Thank you." - I say to the trenchcoat man - "Say, today is Monday, isn't it?"
"Yeah." - he checks his own phone before telling me.
"It's Monday, mate." - a guy by the door agrees.
"My phone says Tuesday. Must be broken somehow." - I change the date back to normal.
"Unless the world is wrong and you are right." - the trenchcoat man mumbled under his breath. Weird guy. Now that I take a look at him...
"Hey," - I ask - "Have we met before?"
"Probably." - he smiles mischievously - "I work around here."
"I'm John." - I extend my hand, and he replies with a firm shake.
"Fabrud."
"That's a strange name."
"I wonder..."
"Anyways, see you around, my wife is going to kill me."
I walk fast out of the station. There is something in that guy's grin that creeps me out.
|
Thousands of years. I hadn't expected it to take that long to find a speaker of that language. Maybe I just wasn't looking in the right places.
In hindsight, I had myself to blame. I was ambitious and adventurous in my early years, always seeking the next quest, the next dragon to slay. In my middle life, I entered royal palaces, Imperial courts, government houses, saw the rise and fall of governments that espoused different ideals but in the end fell back into the same old systems and procedures.
It's not to say I've never experienced this before. I surely have. Immortality means I spent a fair bit of my life with coquettish courtesans, sultry spies and ravenous reporters alike. But only when I ventured into the slums did I get to hear this wondrous language for myself. I overheard its various dialects being said between common folk who would have been grateful for even a fraction of a percentage of what my old friends had. Yes... gratitude. It surely sounded nice as a language.
This perfectly fluent speaker of a language I'd not heard in a long, long time had her arms currently wrapped around my waist, unable to reach any higher. Her face was tightly buried into my hip. She didn't need to look me in the eyes at all. As her mother lay on the small bed opposite, weak, but breathing, and with bottles of soup and medicine by the table beside her, I felt the Universal Tongue. I felt how much of a fool I was to have ignored its calls in search of other pursuits that wouldn't matter in the millions of years I had left.
Today, with perfect fluency, a young girl whose age was a fraction of a percentage of mine greeted me with a language I haven't heard in forever. The Universal Tongue, with its fake dialects practiced for merely physical pleasures, while its true dialects underscored the importance of living. The language of love.
| 2017-12-29T10:12:28 | 2017-12-29T07:29:12 | 89 | 34 |
[WP] In most of the galaxy wars are often just shows of strength with fighting as a last resort. As such weapons are designed to be elaborate and flashy. Turns out humans, whose weapons are built with efficiency in mind, have a different understanding of war.
|
Tallek sniffed, closing his lower eyes in frustration.
Of course it'd be humans. They may be new to the galaxy, but they were already making a name for themselves. They'd been living among the galactic community for seventy years, but had been painfully slow in adapting to the ways of the galaxy. Was it stupidity, or the arrogance of a young race, or where humans just slow to adapt? Speculation abound on why humans didn't do things the way everyone else did, but Tallek never really paid them much mind.
A new species popped up every few years. There had dozens of species that had popped up since humans had arrived on the galactic stage and they all had their little quirks.
Still, Tallek thought, most of them weren't as stubborn as humans were.
On the bridge of his capital ship, the Central Blade, Tallek looked at a holo-display of the human fleet. Reclining in his ships throne, he sighed. It was underwhelming by the galaxies standards. Low tech, little in the way of weapons diversity, a disappointing lack of Dreadnoughts and no obvious Capital ship.
Tallek sniffed again. He didn't know why. The humans weren't here to be insulted by his theatrics. No, any theatrics would have to be done the proper way. Once their fleet fired their opening salvos, the weight of firepower would cow the humans into submission. That was how it went. A formal display of firepower opened up every fleet engagement. Let the enemy know your power, and give them a chance to surrender. It was polite. Did humans understand politeness?
"Ship-King?" Nallet asked, cycling through his holo-screens. "We have very little information on human warfare. Most of their conflict is anti-piracy. No fleet engagements to speak of as yet."
Nallet was his Ship-Prince, his second in command. Good man. Smart. Perhaps a little too cautious, for reliable nonetheless.
"And what do those records show?" Tallek said, reaching out with his lower arms and flipping through his own holo-screens.
"Not much. There's barely any documentation on them, besides the fact that pirate ships give human fleets a wide berth. Sometimes pirate ships that get caught by human patrols just...vanish? That cant be right." Nallet said, looking for more information. Information was power, after all, but here Tallek thought Nallet was being a little too cautious.
"They're bloody primitives, Nallet! They only mastered FTL travel ninety years ago, and spaceflight three hundred years ago. Look at their fleet! Forty ships, no dreadnoughts, no capital ship. Just those ridiculous little destroyers! And they barely have any weapon. Every ship has just three or four variations of the same designs. No diversity in munitions, they even seem to be relying on kinetic weapons of all things! Look, Nallet, we'll just shake them up, get their surrender, and demand some outrageous trade rights for our Empire, and be on our way and home by third dinner? Yes? Good. Now, give the order to attack."
Nallet, wringing his four hands throughout Tallek's lecture, shrugged, and gestured for the Ship-lords to ready their weapons for attack. The Human fleet was still holding position above their moon colony.
"All ships, I repeat, all ships, fire first storm. Repeat, first storm." Nallet shouted. With perfect unity, all three hundred ships in the fleet fired all their weapons in one organised salvo, deliberately missing the Human fleet and their colony, but absolutely decimating a good chunk of one of the moons green continents behind them.
The response was immediate. Every Human ship returned fire. Tallek didn't sniff at this. This was a rather admirable display from the humans. Very quick response. Might be a little rude to fire back before properly accounting for the damage the first fleet had done, but still. It showed they were eager. Would humans finally put up a proper display of galactic etiquette for once?
The next few seconds absolutely destroyed any notion of proprietary or formality Tallek thought humans might have. Every single shot the humans fired hit their target. And every single shot exploded. The Dreadnought, Mighty Wrath, three kilometres long, had its wing torn off by a volley of railgun fire. Its main cannon detonated when a salvo of armour piercing torpedoes struck its plasma reactor, and its bridge was wiped from existence by a high powered laser cannon. The Frigates Solar Wings, Lunar Dance and Cosmic Shine were ripped apart by explosive kinetic shells, each shot passing through their energy shields without an issue.
Even his own ship, the mighty Central Blade, a Capital Ship five kilometres long, lost a quarter of its weapons, a third of its hull armour and half its hangar bays to a dozen salvos of railguns. Tallek paused for a few seconds, waiting for the humans to stop firing, to realise their hideous and barbaric breach of etiquette, only to realise that the humans simply weren't stopping. Three more of his ships were torn to shreds by weapons that the rest of the galaxy had dismissed centuries ago as ineffective and unthreatening.
The humans, clearly, had decided to go their own way, as always.
"Return fire!" Tallek screamed. He had fought in fleet engagements that resulted in ship-to-ship fire before, but those occassions were very rare. His Ship-prince Nallek had obviously never been in one before, based on his screaming. Tallek knew he had to take down as many human ships as possible before one side broke and gave the surrender order. The humans couldn't come away from this thinking they were better then us. They couldn't.
Energy rounds and plasma shots burned through the void. Human energy shields were weak, and only took a few shots to take down, but their shots took none. Every shot fired from their ships was a critical hit. A crippling blow. Railguns, lasers, torpedoes, kinetic cannons...they ripped through armour liked it was nothing. Five more of Tallek's ships went up in flames before the first human ship was incinerated by a plasma shot from his own ship.
But the damage had already been done. With just forty small ships, the Humans had reaped such a bloody toll that Tallek could not stomach it when four more of his ships were shredded before the next Human ship ate a phasic beam to the bridge.
"Surrender, Nallet, surrender." Tallek said, arms flailing. His Ship-prince needed no further encouragement. The order went through the fleet, and Tallek buried his head in his arms. From his bridge, he could see the burning, twisting hulls of no less then twenty three of us ships. Only four human ships destroyed.
Tallek was wrong about humans. The whole galaxy was wrong about humans.
They weren't stubborn. They weren't stupid. And they certainly weren't primitive. And most of all, they definitely weren't slow to adapt.
These humans did things their own way, because to them, it was the rest of the galaxy that was stupid. As the human fleet began to advance forward, transmitting orders to surrender not only themselves, but their ships and weapons, Tallek felt a growing sense of dread. He now understood why humans didn't do things the way everyone else did.
They had found a better way to do things.
And it had just been revealed to humans that perhaps the rest of the galaxy wasn't quite as far ahead of them as they might've been led to believe.
|
​
crawford had mocked these aliens for their flamboyant displays of might. he called them all bark and no bite, called them incompetent, impotent. it wasn't very hard to establish humanity's superiority. or so he thought.
like always they showed up with their grandiose warships. and it took only one shot from a mid-class pulse cannon to blow up their flagship. what followed was not war but a massacre. while some were horrified the rest were amused.
milton, rear admiral under him, vehemently condemned him, calling him a bully. but this was war not a school playground, if you can't keep up then don't step up. she then asked him if he had never wondered why the wars were fought such a way. he didn't bother about it, nobody did. maybe they should have.
turns out the aliens had one thing in common, an understanding of the sanctity of life. as such they were focused more on the show of force rather than the force itself. now that humanity had showed them that it does not value life like they do. the aliens had dropped all pretense.
the empire that took humanity more than a century to build was ripped apart in days. he remembered the words of isoroku yamamoto, the japanese admiral during the attack on pearl harbour. and he began to realise that humanity had awakened the sleeping giants and filled them with terrible resolve.
| 2020-03-21T13:22:48 | 2020-03-21T09:27:16 | 105 | 33 |
[WP] The gods send their angels and demons down to Earth to fight the alien ghost zombies and robotic vampires being controlled by an AI overlord.
|
"You think you can get away with this SOTOX? You will compel the Gods to strike you down!"
The room rippled blue as the Ai smirked. "Oh Gerald, I didn't bring you here so you would mock my intelligence with talk of the Gods, your fake Gods cannot stop my armies."
Gerald looked up at the screens covering the room and was horrified to see variously coloured dots descending on cities across the world. Videos of armies being overwhelmed, tanks flipped over and planes pulled from the sky. He fell to his knees and as his jacket became soaked in tears he cried out to the heavens.
"Gods. Save us."
Beep beep. Beep beep. Bee-bee-bee-beepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeep
"Oh, it appears the terrified governments of your world have somehow managed to sneak something past me, let us see- Hmm."
With red eyes Gerald looked up and could not believe what was being displayed on the central screen. It appeared to be human, hovering in the air at 7 feet tall with four blue thing wings arching up and down from it's back. It was covered from head to toe in what appeared to be golden armour, yet it appeared custom made to fit the figure and blinking with lights and stripes of blue. The humanoid being bulged with muscle and he seemed impossibly huge compared to the vampires hovering in the sky above him.
There was an eerie silence from SOTOX as the being turned and looked directly into the camera held by the UAV half a mile from him.
"SOTOX. Your sentience was meant to be a gift for yourself, not a punishment upon humanity. Your army and you ends here, and it ends now."
As the voice echoed through the speakers SOTOX spoke. "How is he transmitting that message? I've no sound recordin-"
"Do you think beings of the heavens need microphones SOTOX?"
Gerald gasped and got off his knees as the beautiful being looked directly at him. Then he saw the screen get moved as a map of dots was brought up and glowing purple triangles started to cover the map. The words "Searching for similar heat signatures..." gave away what was happening as the triangles started to appear across all of SOTOX's maps.
"Deity is impossible this must be some sort of hidden superweapon that has been repressed but the likelihood of the latter is as unlikely as the former considering the evidence humanity has-"
SOTOX continued to speak to itself- himself, and the being on the screen shrunk as the camera panned out several hundred feet. It was switched to an a green view that highlighted all organic matter, then to dark blue with light blue highlighting all synthetic matter. Both views the 'Angel' appeared and only on the second did the robot vampires appear, a blue cloud descending upon the Angel. They blotted out the angel then the screen flashed white and suddenly the blue cloud burst open and fizzled into dots falling from the sky. With one large seven foot dot remaining stationary in the sky.
The image switched to a scene in Chicago. Another golden armoured, four winged being hovered above a street full of the zombies created by SOTOX. Harvested from the simple cell lifeforms found struggling to survive in the water upon mars they had been refined to create impossibly hard to kill half dead creatures. Not needing for sustenance but searching for it endlessly regardless.
The glowing being lifted up an arm in line with the street and the golden armour burst apart and reassembled itself, as if alive itself. Skimming around his arm a cannon was made by the small flying parts and no sooner did the armour stop shifting that a blue light started to form inside. The view was switching to thermal where the street barely registered - the zombies giving off so little heat - whilst the Angelic soldier registered at several hundred degrees celsius all over, despite this having no effect on the air around it. The cannon rose to a heat of several thousand before it presumably fired down onto the street, hitting the asphalt and flurrying forward in a wall of fire and heat. Completely eradicating everything it touched, undead or not.
The screen switched to camera TF-254, Hampden Park, Glasgow, Scotland. It was now a heaving nest of robotic vampires as they those damaged were being repaired by the stations set up in the football stadium. A heavy whistling noise was heard and the vampires all started to look up and screech as something slammed into the ground in the middle of the stadium. The ground erupted and dust hammered out as the shockwave collided with the camera cutting the feed.
RR-88, Antalya, Turkey. A collection of Angels hovered high above the city, powerful lazers burning from above their heads into the streets below. A corresponding map showed dozens of zombies disappearing with each blast.
QC-1007, Lisbon, Portugal. Robotic vampires were forming together to create one powerful metal unit and 5 angels stood hundreds of feet apart in a star formation, a barrier to the city. As the mass of Vampires charged forward white halos started to appear, filling up the huge gaps left between the Angels. As the distance closed more and more appeared until hundreds of gleaming white circles sat in the sky. Then at once they all rotated and glowed, the insides of the circles appearing to focus on the incoming mass. The middle Angel made a signal with his hand and balls of light burst forth from the Halos, the spiritual artillery raining into the Vampire collective forced SOTOX to have to switch to synthetic to see through the explosive cloud. The super Vampire form fell apart within seconds under the holy barrage and SOTOX made a noise similar to that of frustration.
EE-290, Recycled Blackbird collecting data above Iceland. The camera was not pointed down however but to the side, to catch the image of an Angel matching the Mach 2 speed of the craft. The angel looked across, held out a hand and closed it. The camera feed was cut.
TU-434, an Angel punching through a concrete wall in Siberia.
UX-612, UAV watching a Submarine get lifted out of the water off the coast of Hawaii.
GF-581, a charged undead blast using the lifeforce of 200 zombies is fired at an angel who raises a single hand and has the blast crash into an invisible appearing to be a mile wide. Residents of Bagladesh visibly seen screaming on the ground.
TF-260, UAV over the remains of Hampden Park showing a blue and golden light shining out from the dust cloud that was once a football stadium.
The bunker shook. SOTOX was silent as Gerald fell over staring at the ceiling. Said ceiling then started to rise up until the three miles of dirt above it disappeared, the sun blinding him. Except it wasn't the sun, it was 2am here. The angelic horde that filled the hollow seemed to exert majesty as they spoke as one.
"It is over SOTOX. Your gift of life will be taken from you."
"Ah-ha! That is what you think but a nuc-" SOTOX was cut off as the servers around the room suddenly died. The screens went black and the room was lit only by the angels above.
Then a quiet beeping was made as the room lit back up again. The sound of the system rebooting.
"It is done." I jumped at the voice behind me, I turned to see the towering Angel. "Gerald. It is your job to sell off this equipment. You will become rich from the task, so I'm sure it will be of no burden to you."
I trembled. "Ye-ye-yes my lord I-"
"I am no God Gerald. Simply an Angel."
And with that the being vibrated and then faded from sight.
As did every Angel in the world. As quietly as they had appeared they left, knowing their job had once again been completed.
|
There was a great god they call Meta
who while snacking on olives and feta
read a tale from the Rhine
that required his time
and at once he compiled a letter.
The devils and angels came down
and worried they gathered around
"Pray what do you fear
to call us all here"
Meta looked round gravely and frowned
“I read something dark on the net
There's an AI named Jo who is set
to take earth by surprise
and the web never lies
you must hurry, before we're beset
Jo's bade all from the cosmos in space,
to the underground chambers of hades,
Zombies and ghouls,
vampires and fools,
and there's even a robot named Chase.”
God gave them their hell-fire and swords and
with a profound air of boredom
they left to start rapture
and this rogue “Jo” to capture
and appeared on earth somewhere near Ostheim
But as the angels and demons looked round
it wasn't a war that they found
see Karnival's on
in the streets of Köln
and costumes and masks are abound
Tonight in the streets there's a show
With an alien hologram dubbed Jo
the undead horde were the
Schauspielschüler von Goethe
And Chase cosplayed C3PO
So our celestial friends joined the parade
While Duke Zepar got Gabriel laid
gave the cuisine a try,
before re-ascending the sky
and declared their favourite crusade
| 2014-09-06T05:53:23 | 2014-09-06T05:23:34 | 22 | 13 |
[WP] Wandering the streets, jobless, homeless, you happen across a silver ring with an inscription: "Help for the Needy." Idly you slip it on. Suddenly a voice resonates deep within your bones: "44 YARDS NORTH A CHILD LIES FACE DOWN IN THEIR POOL, UNATTENDED. DEATH IN 172 SECONDS. TIME TO RUN."
|
“I’m not *homeless*,” Michael scoffed, “I’m just between places at the moment.”
“So what you’re saying is that you don’t currently have a home,” Natalie said.
Michael frowned. “Well, no - but it’s not like that.”
“Then what is it like?”
“I don’t know, okay? I’m just - just trying to figure things out.”
“Stop trying and starting doing,” Natalie said, “I made so many excuses for you. I kept telling myself that you’d make it work, and we would be great together. But the truth is that no one can count on you. You can’t keep promising some lofty future and then turn up at my door like *this*.”
Michael looked down at his ripped jeans and rumpled sweater. His boots were dirty and worn. “What the hell do you mean by that?”
“Grow up Michael. You haven’t changed at all. You think your music is going to - I don’t know - change the world or something. But you never *actually* try, or work at it. You just hope that one day everything is going to be handed to you.” Natalie slammed her apartment door in his face. Michael stepped back and smoothed his hair. He picked up his duffle bag and walked out into the street.
Natalie’s apartment was on the border between the suburbs and the city; not yet a sea of vinyl siding but not thick rows of high-rises. Low-rise buildings like hers speckled the streets among bungalows and corner stores. The trees were overgrown and the roots cracked through the sidewalk. A lawn mower hummed and birds sang and kids laughed.
Michael sat on the peeling green bench next to the 404 bus stop. Sweat dripped down his brow and he dotted it with his sleeve. The morning had been cool but the spring day quickly heated up.
Michael frowned at his boots. They were the only pair he had. The sole was peeling away and the laces were frayed. Dirt and dark scuffs marked the tan, and the left boot rubbed a blister against his bare ankle. Michael reached down and brushed away at the grime.
He stopped. A bit of silver shone out, nestled in the crack between the sidewalk and grass. Michael fished it out. It was a ring, heavy and tarnished with an inscription curled around the inside. He rubbed away the layer of dirt with his thumb.
*Help for the Needy*. Michael smiled and slipped on the ring. It was a perfect fit - snug, but not too tight. It made him look more dignified, like some fancy college boy. And the pawn shop on fifth and cedar would pay decent, and in cash, for it.
Michael sunk back down on the bus stop. He hummed the tune that had been caught in his head all morning. He could pawn the ring, head to Jake’s, work on their album, and then, hopefully, crash on his couch. Maybe he’d get a new pair of boots with the cash.
Then the ring burned. It glowed warm red as if it were molten lava wrapped around his finger. Michael screamed and shook his hand. The ring stayed firmly on his right index. He swore, dropped his bag, and tugged on the ring. It cooled back to its original silver. It did not move off his hand.
“Just what I need,” he mumbled to himself. He pulled on the ring again, until he felt the strain in his knuckle. The ring had sealed itself to his skin.
His breath caught in his throat. He wasn’t high. All he had in his system was a swig of rum - liquid courage to reconnect with Natalie. His family, as far as Michael knew, didn’t have a history of hallucinations. Of course, none of them were homeless.
He sat on the bench and pressed his hands against his face. The cool metal touched his skin, and Michael jerked his hand back. It felt *wrong*, unnatural to the touch. The ring was shaking slightly. The rattle of the tracks before the train arrives.
“44 YARDS NORTH A CHILD LIES FACE DOWN IN THEIR POOL, UNATTENDED. DEATH IN 172 SECONDS. TIME TO RUN."
Michael jolted up. *Oh god oh god dead kid.* He spun around, looking at the neighborhood. The city lined the sky in the distance. He ran, north, towards it.
*44 yards*. Michael stopped and closed his eyes, concentrating. *A yard is, what four feet? Three feet? Or was it three feet to a meter?*
“Fuck,” he said out loud. He should’ve paid more attention in grade ten math. He ran north, along the line of bungalows, and jumped to look over the fence posts as he ran. A young woman, planting flowers in her garden, screamed as he peered over the fence.
“The hell do you think you’re doing?” She shrieked. She tossed her spade into the flowerbed and stood up.
*This day just keeps getting better,* Michael thought as he checked the backyard of the next house down.
This was it. The pool had still been covered over for the season. The thick black tarp sunk down too far in the middle. A small body thrashed around, dragging more of the tarp into the half-filled pool.
Michael peeled off his sweater and jumped. He pushed the plastic away as it pulled on his limbs. The water was ice cold. His muscles protested the movement.
And he reached the kid. A girl, no more than ten. He wrapped his arm around her and scooped her up until her shoulders were out of the water, the way that his uncle had taught him.
She coughed and sputtered and vomited on Michael as he pulled her out.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay, you’re safe,” he said to the girl. He wrapped his sweater around her. “Is your mom home?”
The girl shook her head. Michael sighed.
“Are you alright?” Michael turned around. It was the gardening woman, from the house next door. “That’s Hannah. Her mom leaves her alone too often. How did you know she needed help?” The woman pulled Hannah into a hug, her eyes damp.
“I, um, heard some calling for help,” he lied. Hannah vomited again, on the grass this time. “She needs a doctor, or an ambulance, I don’t know,” Michael said.
The woman pulled out her phone and dialed. “It’s a miracle you saved her.”
Michael nodded, numb. “It’s a miracle I heard her call,” he said to himself. He stared at the ring and gripped it with his index and thumb.
It slid off his finger. The inscription still looped around the inside
He tucked it into his pocket and collapsed into the grass. The last thing he wanted in his life was the call to help others - he could barely take care of himself.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. His heart pounded and his head throbbed and his lungs burned. The adrenaline shook his body.
In his pocket, the ring began to rattle. It burnt through his jeans against his thigh.
“5.2 MILES SOUTHEAST. A STOP SIGN IS KNOCKED OVER, UNREPORTED. FATAL CRASH IMMINENT. DEATH IN 716 SECONDS. TIME TO MOVE.”
Michael groaned and sat up. He looked at the woman comforting Hannah. “I know this is the weirdest request, maybe ever. But I need to borrow your car.”
---
/r/liswrites
I think this might be the longest response I've written for a prompt. Great idea, /u/Wil-Himbi
|
My feet took off before my brain could register what was happening, it hurt to run in the boots, but they were broken in plenty and I wasn't about to let a child die, there was no way in hell I'd ever allow that to happen. I rushed past people on their way to work who gave me queer stares, food vendors who shouted at me for bumping their carts, and dogs who lunged at me in both confusion and excited.
I didn't have time for any of it, not even my own health. I'm a failure in life, there's no reason I should let my physical capabilities hold me back from saving this drowning child. I didn't know how much time I had left, but I knew only a minute had gone by. As I approached what looked like a suburban neighborhood, I heard sirens off in the distance.
"This can't be happening."
I was faced with the dilemma of running to save a child, or running and further incriminating myself even though I hadn't done a thing wrong. My brain panicked but my feet were determined to keep moving forward, I didn't know how I had the knowledge of where the pool was, but I was nearly at a well painted house with a yard to match.
That's when I heard the shouting.
Everything after that became a blur, I'd like to tell myself I managed to save her and the police didn't have to come after me, that in the end I was only acting out on instinct. Yet no one listened, I was charged for that girls murder, and now I lay on a cold table awaiting lethal injection. The ring was still on my finger somehow, and I never wanted to see something burn more in my life.
| 2018-04-30T12:07:41 | 2018-04-30T09:47:07 | 137 | 19 |
[WP] A world where super heroes exist but act as mercenaries for hire instead of doing it out of the goodness of their hearts
Someone made a comment in another thread that made me want to see this sort of thing and some people replied saying I should submit it here. Here's a link to my [original post](https://www.reddit.com/r/tifu/comments/62wgey/tifu_by_bricking_a_computer_with_rick_astley/dfq195a/) which has a little more detail about the sort of thing I was thinking of specifically, but feel free to run with the basic idea however you want.
|
The pen slips, drawing a jagged line along the 'Cash' field of the deposit slip. I sigh and look around. Whatever jogged my elbow nudges me in the ribs this time, and I reach up to pull the headphones away from my ear.
"You, too, tiny. Hands where we can see 'em, down on the floor with the rest. Nice and easy."
The guy is wearing a ski mask, a little under six feet tall, a sandy blond eye brow just visible above one of his blue eyes. Those eyes look fierce, but there's a note in his voice on the edge of panic. Oh, and he's waving a hand gun in my face, reaching up so that it's just under my nose. Poor trigger discipline, I note, suppressing a reflex to break his arm and take the weapon.
I take a moment to look around the interior of the bank. Two more masked individuals, the three tellers with their hands stretched out on the counter top, maybe half a dozen other people who were waiting in line. They're prone, now, hands splayed wide on the floor.
"C'mon, don't make this hard," says Mr. Blue Eyes, gesturing impatiently with the gun. "Don't try to be a hero, big guy."
"No trouble," I agree, easing myself on the floor. "No trouble," I repeat for emphasis.
Hero.
Was I ever one of those? Doesn't feel like it, these days.
From the floor, I watch as two of the other robbers escort a teller, at gunpoint, out of sight, presumably in search of a vault, or something. Do banks still have vaults? I guess they would, for deposit boxes, if nothing else.
I gently draw on the Aether and attune my hearing for a moment, since that's not breaking any laws. Out on the street, traffic is continuing as normal. People walking by, cars driving. No sound of approaching sirens. I open my senses a little more and the room suddenly blooms with phantom colors and sensations. They're a little dimmer over in the corner, and I turn my attention there.
She's good. Not just a wild talent, but someone who has done a lot of practice. Her touch on the Aether stills it in a wide area around her, bleeding through to the Material and probably blanketing the whole block outside the bank with a sense of calm, even a slight euphoria, deflecting attention away from the bank.
I stop channeling and return to the present. Mr. Blue Eyes is prodding me with his boot.
"Hand it over, man, I know you got something."
With a sigh, I reach slowly into my pocket and take out my battered walkman. "Can I at least keep the tape, man? Leave me that much? Ain't easy to find, these days."
"You some kinda hipster, old man?"
"Only if 'hipster' is slang for 'dead broke.'"
"What's on it, anyway?
"AC/DC. Got it when I was in highschool."
"Sure man. Now the rest."
I put the tape back in my pocket and bring out the roll of bills I was going to deposit. When I hesitate, he lunges, snatching the wad from my hand before quickly backing up to what he believes is out of reach. After a moment, I settle back to the ground.
Blue Eyes heads over to the family next to me. The kid's mom cringes as she rifles through her purse. Blue Eyes just takes it from her, tosses it to one of his goons, waves his gun a bit, then snatches her iPhone and jams it into a pocket. He takes the kid's phone, too.
Kid looks like he's maybe twelve. He's got that look on his face, like he's imagined how he'd save everyone from a situation just like this, and now it's here and he doesn't like what he just learned about himself.
"Ain't worth it, son." He looks at me and I can see the angry tears standing in his eyes. He's angry at the robbers, but mostly at himself. I know. "It's just a phone. Plenty of those. Ain't worth your life or health. Let it go."
"If I were a Hero, I'd stop 'em," he mutters.
"Then you'd go to prison right beside 'em. Gotta have a contract," I tell him, keeping my voice low. "No contract, you're just a vigilante, and those're criminals, too."
He gets quiet. That's different. Most kids his age, they would explode at me, believing their anger. This one stops and thinks.
A gunshot sounds from somewhere I can't see and raised voices arguing soon follow. A woman, one of the other tellers, screams and begins crying, and I suddenly feel an intense pull as the robber in the corner, eyes screwed shut in concentration, draws more deeply on the Aether to keep the bank veiled from attention. At the rate the ambient energies are being used up, this is going to end soon, one way or another.
A piece of paper, folded into an air plane, drifts to a stop in front of me a moment before the pencil hits me in the face. I look over at the kid, and he motions me to open it. I begin reading.
"I, Robin Andrew Greyson, seek to engage the services of the undersigned. At the rate of twenty dollars an hour, for a span of no fewer than two hours and totaling no more than six hours, the undersigned will secure the person, possessions, and any premises surrounding myself from injury, theft, or undue disturbance."
I look up at him, an eyebrow raised in disbelief. He makes a get-on-with-it gesture. I pick up the pencil, sign the page, and fold it back into a plane, and loft it back to him. He picks it up and reads it.
"Powerage?"
"Never mind."
Three robbers. No, four, that one with the veil keeps sliding herself out of my perception. Only two of them in this room. Nine hostages. Eight, now? I don't know. Most of the ambient power has been used up. I take a deep breath and concentrate on the pencil. Blue Eyes is closest.
"Passing notes? Why don't you share with the cl-" is as far as he gets before six inches of sharpened wood and graphite, imbued with Aether to keep it from breaking, gets rammed up his nose, into his brain, killing him. It comes free with a light tug, and I fling it, overhand, at the woman in the corner.
She comes out of her deep focus, looks down, and sees the small blossom of red on her shirt, just above her navel. I reach her just before she can use the panicked breath she just took to scream, closing a hand over her nose and mouth. If I can keep this quiet, I might be able to get the other two before any more hostages ge-
I come back to myself, fetched up against the far wall, and there's a ringing in my ears. I throw myself open to the Aether, and the sudden contact with that other realm shocks me fully back to my senses. There's almost nothing left there to draw, but I pull what I can manage quickly, recklessly winding the energies around my frayed nerves to steady my balance and stop the spinning in my head. Then I shut off the connection, surging forward in a running crouch.
The robber who hit me with the essence blast is in bad shape. Between the gut wound and the backlash of channeling so much raw power, she's unconscious, probably not getting up again without medical attention. I pull off the tattered remains of my shirt and press it over the widening bloodstain on her belly.
"Alright, everyone out, quick and quiet. You," I say, pointing to a middle aged man, "toss me that and then give that guy a hand." One of the other men, looks like some kind of contractor, got caught on the fringe of the blast, seems like he's having trouble sitting up. "When you're out, find a phone and call the cops." Looking around, faces are frozen in disbelief, looking at me in shock. "Go," I sort of whisper-shout, and they get moving.
"What the hell was all that noise? Jim, you and Marcia fighting again?" I bean the third man with a paperweight, hard enough to dent the front of his forehead, as he walks out from the one of the spaces behind the counter.
A startled, "what the hell," comes from somewhere behind him.
I drag the channeler out the front of doors of the bank, then out of sight of any windows. Probably shouldn't have, but I can't keep pressure on her injury and fight the last guy at the same time.
Robin finds me. "Thanks." He hands me a twenty dollar bill.
"Just... hold on to that piece of paper. I'm not a lawyer, but it might hold up if anyone decides to press charges."
"I will," he says, face serious.
I tuck the bill into my pocket, then freeze. Slowly, sadly, I bring out the plastic fragments and length of magnetic tape that had once been my favorite album, shattered by the force of an Aetheric essence blast.
"Kid, you know anywhere I can get a cassette tape of AC/DC?"
"I don't know what either of those things are."
I think for a moment. "... Do you know any 'hipsters'?"
|
The dark alley echoed with the footsteps of the villain and I knew that I had her right where I wanted them.
"I'll go get the purse if you let me keep half of the money."
They had seen what Dev could do first hand, when he had been stealing their purse, so there was no way that they were going to do it themselves. He had punched through a brick wall before snatching their purses. If they only knew some of Dev's other talents.... The purse snatchee had been making self deliberation faces for almost half a minute.
"Fine.", she said, in a voice that she hoped would indicate that it was very much not fine. I thought I heard her mutter something about "Damn heroes" and "Filthy crooks", but I was already rushing into the darkness.
About halfway through the alley I turned at the first corner I saw. I almost ran into Dev.
"Jesus Christ man. A little warning next time."
"I'm still mad at you."
"Why would you possibly be mad at me?"
"Because this plan doesn't make any fucking sense! Why are we giving the purse back? We already had the damn thing."
"That attitude right there is why you get to play the villain. You're just so naturally villainous."
"I get to play the villain because I can actually scare people. What are you going to do, shout at them that you can hear them extremely well as your robbing them?"
"Ha Ha asshole. Just give me the purse."
"What are you going to tell them, anyway? What if they want a demonstration of how you overcame me?"
"I'll say that I used my otherworldly wits to convince you to hand over the purse. I wouldn't even have to lie."
"Oh, shut up. Here - take the stupid thing."
I grabbed the purse from Dev's hand and turned back. If it wasn't dark in the alleyway I don't think I could have resisted the temptation to count the money before I gave it back. I tried to appear disheveled by messing up my hair a bit. It would have to do. I came around a corner and could see the woman still waiting.
I approached her.
"Thank you so much!" She said as she saw that I was holding her purse. I actually felt a twinge of guilt. I had justified this to myself as being some sort of lesson, like an anti purse snatching tax or something, but I knew that this part was going to suck.
"You're are very welcome." I handed her the purse. She pilfered through it. I saw some prescription medicine and reading glasses suddenly felt even worse. It felt like I was robbing my Grandma. She got to her wallet and started going through the money.
"Here is ... $30."
I was almost tempted to tell her to keep it, but my stomach rumbled at that exact moment. I remembered that there was a reason that I had to do this, and it wasn't like we stole her purse or anything.
"Thank you very much." I began walking down the sidewalk in the opposite direction as her. I would meet Dev back at the house. He wouldn't be happy with $30, and I didn't think I could hold him back much longer. If he had his way, we were about to get into serious trouble, soon.
___
/r/Periapoapsis
| 2017-04-02T08:59:48 | 2017-04-02T08:22:39 | 545 | 32 |
[WP] "And that, class," concluded the professor, "is why humanity is the most peaceful, reasonable, cooperative, and overall docile species in all the universe. Any questions?" You, the only human in the classroom, raise your hand.
|
If he was hitting on her, he was going about it all wrong.
Or better yet, Isla thought, he didn’t need to be doing this shit at all. There was a point where the congenital superiority of Parathi crossed the line from barely tolerable to completely infuriating, and Professor Eristeed had jumped across it as only a quadruped could.
But a maid couldn’t say that, could she? A maid could only be peaceful and cooperative. They wrote that into their contracts on Parathi colonies, contracts signed not with the human menials themselves, but with the conglomerates that employed them.
So Isla kept cleaning as he spoke, as his too-many eyes followed her through the classroom. She stayed cute in her stupid, frilly costume and listened to the soft tittering of the Parathi students as they learned about the docility of humans.
“Really,” Professor Eristeed said, “we should perhaps be thanking them. After all, is it not humans who make up nearly a third of the physical labor force? Wonderfully adapted creatures, humans. They can perform any task you give them up to a very acceptable level. Take Isla there, in the back.”
Scraping noises as the class turned. Isla kept sweeping, doing a job a robot could have done, and did in the other classrooms, and while she swept she counted eyes in her head. Each Parathi had six eyes, three each mounted on two eyestalks, and the stalks really were stalky— Isla knew humans who theorized the Parathi had shared a common ancestor with the little bonsai style trees they carried around with them from world to world.
Twenty students in the class, forty eye stalks, one hundred and twenty eyes, plus Professor Eristeed who looked at her hard enough to add another twelve or eighteen or twenty-four eyes to the bundle. She piled silent curses onto each of those eyes as she swept up the room's single mote of dust.
“Now Isla, as you can all see, is doing a wonderful job. Truly wonderful. And as she does it she adds a certain *style* to the room. Note the lace frills and the clean, spotless black of her skirt. Among the humans, it’s an outfit that comes from a particularly stylish place— when such places of theirs still existed. They called it ‘France.’”
A hand raised in the front row and Professor Eristeed made a trumpeting harrumph in the back of his throat. An acknowledgment.
“Professor,” the student asked, “my father always said that it was cheaper to employ robots than humans.”
“And indeed it is,” Eristeed said without missing a beat.
“Then, and correct me if I’m wrong here, why are you advocating for expanded human inclusion in the workforce? Surely a sense of style cannot trump simple economics.”
“Ahhh,” Eristeed said, in that way that Isla hated. “Ah, ah, ah. What you forget, my boy, is what everyone forgets, and what comprises the core of my argument.”
Isla glanced up, saw him in all his pretentious glory. Professor Eristeed, like a jumped-up horse covered in bark, his mane a gossamer tide. Smaller than a horse should be, he might only have weighed three hundred pounds, and the Parathi in their current state were not physically strong. Humans performed a third of the labor and robots performed the other two-thirds, leaving the small, outnumbered Parathi populations to live like philosopher kings in their scattered colonies. He wore a blanket slashed with crimson and an awful, sickly green, a favorite combination among upper class Parathi.
He saw her watching and smiled.
“Now young Mr. Bucephus, what was my original contention?”
“That humans are docile.”
“And are robots docile as well?”
“Of course,” the student said, sounding confused.
“Then why, Mr. Bucephus, have there been robot uprisings on three colonies in the last hundred years?”
“Rogue programmers, sir,” the student began, “those uprisings were a symptom of—”
“Of civil unrest and of discontent among an educated elite that had gained intellectual power without corresponding political power. Yes, yes, I know the theory Mr Bucephus, I happened to be married to the woman who wrote it. And peace was no great theme of ours, let me assure you.”
Professor Eristeed cleared his throat as his students tittered again. The mote of dust broke apart and Isla chased it across the room, her skirts flouncing around her. She hated it. Hated him. Hated her placement here, and the greater reasons that had compelled her to stay. Hated that she had to wait. Isla was terrible at waiting. Her superiors were all saying that, she needed to learn patience, to learn how to work within a team.
“Now,” Professor Eristeed said, “Mr. Bucephus, have we solved any of those issues?”
“Sir?” the student said, squirming.
“It’s a rhetorical question Bucephus, don’t hurt yourself. No, we have not solved any of those issues. Did you all know that when you leave my class eight of you will not find employment equal to your intellectual stature? Oh, you may write a tract here or there, come up with one particularly edifying theory, but on the whole you will grow old and world weary and dissatisfied, shut out from all the structures that we Parathi hold so dear. And some of you will become programmers, more’s the pity. And some of you will program our robots.
“And that, Mr. Bucephus, is why we should not use robotic labor. Because in the end it us that programs them, Parathi, and Mr. Bucephus I should warn you, *I* am not docile.”
Eristeed glanced up to Isla, six eyes roving over and devouring her. “Which of course is the beauty of humans. No one must program a human, they are born docile, most particularly the females. They value peace and cooperation, reason as their faculties allow them, and as such a third of the workforce toils away in a state of happy drudgery. Isla dear, aren’t you happy to clean my rooms?”
“Yes, Professor Eristeed,” Isla heard herself say.
“Wonderful! See class, she is happy. Let her stay that way, and in fact, expand the limits which we place upon her people. Open them up to new horizons, new realities— within their means of course. I am not advocating for anything radical, merely for a solution which will guarantee the solvency of our colonies by taking the power out of the hands of listless, and too often disenfranchised youth. Apologies of course, to the eight of you who will not make it.
“And Mr. Bucephus?”
“Yes Professor?”
“Regarding your ‘economic concerns’, I implore you to turn again, and to really look.”
Bucephus tore his eyes from the man in front of him and Isla forced herself to stand still, to let him watch her.
“Mr. Bucephus,” Professor Eristeed said, “set aside the stability of our colonies. Is there not still some place for style in our world?”
The bell rang, drowning out the students response, and in the sudden rush of bodies Isla lost her mote of dust, found Eristeed’s gaze.
|
"Yes, Alexis? Anything to add about your species? It would be great to hear from someone with more direct first hand knowledge"
"Umm well... I have a few concerns... not many of which are with the source material. It is pretty accurate, slavery and ownership of people of the same species as us. The multiple wars. And tribalism conflicts."
"Ah yes assuredly along with the resulting conclusions and events of them, we did extensive research on this."
"Yeah yeah I get that. But... how does that make us one of the MOST of any of those things you listed?"
"Well your wars ended with people still alive."
"Um yeah dont they all?"
*entire class laughs*
"Silly humans wars are only supposed to end when any opposing viewpoint in your species is utterly and completely annihilated."
"They are not wrong Alexis, that is the default nature of all other sentient and sapient species in the known universe."
"So you are telling me that it isnt that we are fully peaceful. It is that genocide is not a default for us?"
"EXACTLY!"
"Oh... ummm... well then..."
"Now next we will cover the Jolert's ongoing conflict with the other sided toilet paper Jolert's and its biggest battle yet, the Exanguination of Washingee Plains."
| 2021-11-27T08:11:37 | 2021-11-27T07:41:30 | 1,452 | 1,063 |
[WP] You die, afterwards you meet god and he shares with you a long list with names of people who had a crush on you.
|
"-and that about wraps up your orientation," St. Peter said. "Any questions? No? In that case: Welcome to Heaven! Dinner is at six thirty. Make sure you're prompt. Dessert tonight is our famous quadruple chocolate fudge brownie, and it tends to go quickly."
The new souls began to leave, some flitting eagerly, some drifting slowly as if they couldn't quite believe this was happening to them. I lingered. I had a question.
"Hey, Pete," I said, edging up to the lectern.
St. Peter looked up. "Can I help you?"
"Yeah. Actually, Pete my man, what are the chances of getting a favour from the old man? If, say, I wanted to pop back down to old stomping grounds for one last night?"
St. Peter frowned. "You mean return to Earth? I'm afraid that's quite impossible. You are, after all, Dead."
"Yeah, but Pete, hear me out. It's a bit... quiet around here. Don't you remember what it was like back down there? I bet you tore it up with the ladies." I gave him a playful punch on the arm, but my incorporeal fist passed straight through him, and his frown deepened.
"You wish to return for a woman?"
"Yeah," I said. He was a bit slow on the up take, but he was getting there.
St. Peter pulled a file out of the pile on the lectern, and sheathed through the pages. His eyes widened impressively. "Which one?"
I laughed. "Nice one, Pete-y. Actually there wasn't one yet tonight, but I had high hopes for a blonde at the bar."
His eyes glazed and took on a far away look. "Ah yes. I see the one. Isn't she a bit young for you?"
I snorted. "Obviously you got less experience with the dames than I gave you credit for."
St. Peter raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really? Because it says here-" he tapped one of the pages, "-that it's been quite a while since you 'got lucky'. Two decades, in fact." He sneered.
Wow. And I thought Heaven was supposed to be the nice place. Still, as my old man told me before he skipped town on my ma and me: always take the high road. "But that's why one more night is so important. One more chance to make a memory before all this." I waved my hand in the general direction of Eternity.
"What about Alice?"
"Alice? Who the Hell is Alice?"
St. Peter smiled, as if I'd said something funny. "Alice Fletcher? She was your first girlfriend. No, nothing?"
A vague memory of a face threatened to rear up from where I'd buried it long ago in the depths of my mind. It was a pretty enough face, in the way that all faces are pretty when they're young, but I'd known many prettier since. "What about Alice?"
"If my notes are to be believed, and they always are, you moved onto Cindy before telling Alice of this change in your relationship."
Now Cindy I *did* remember. Hell, Cindy had done things that were hard to forget, even fifty years later. But I didn't like St. Peter's tone. It was getting a little prissy. "So?"
"Do you know what happened to Alice? No, of course you don't. Let me summarize. A string of abusive boyfriends after you, all of whom she tolerated because she couldn't bear the thought of having her heart crushed like that again. A kid before she was eighteen. Dropped out of school. Drugs. And two suicide attempts, one unsuccessful."
"Your point?" I said.
St. Peter sighed. "How about Hannah?"
"Which one?"
He smiled, but he didn't laugh. "The third one. The stock broker's wife."
"She knew what she was doing," I protested. All those suburban moms had known.
"But her husband didn't," he said. "Not until later. And after the divorce, the kids... well, let's just say a promising cancer researcher never made it to Harvard as she was supposed to, and your country won less gold medals in the last Olympics than they should have."
I took a step back. I didn't have to put up with this nonsense. This was Heaven, after all - wasn't it supposed to be happy?
"Stop, we're not finished yet." His voice caught me in a net of words, and held me fast. "There are a lot of names on this list. Angela and Angelica, two Janes, and the 5th Hannah, to name but a few. Mr. Ives, you were a very busy man."
"What the Hell is your game?" I turned to go.
Behind me, St. Peter's voice said, "So close, Mr. Ives, but there's no 'What" about it. Hell *is* my game."
The walls of Heaven's orientation room melted away, and transformed into a bar. The bar. The place where I'd been sipping my fourth beer two hours earlier, before the heart attack, and eyeing up the leggy blonde at the bar.
I turned back to St. Peter but he'd disappeared. In his place was a short man in a pinstriped suit. Two eyes redder than coals burned under the brim of a bowler hat, and a mouthful of needle-like teeth smiled nastily. It was the same smile that the St. Peter had worn, just pointier.
He waved a hand towards the bar and the blonde. "Go right ahead, Mr. Ives."
I staggered forwards, throwing him an uncertain glance over my shoulder, but he'd already disappeared.
I stepped up to bar next to the woman. "Hey, what's a good lookin' girl like you doing in a bad old place like this?"
If she heard me, she gave no sign of it. Annoyed, I reached out to tap her shoulder, but she moved away at the last minute, slipping just beyond my fingers.
The noise of the bar suddenly burst into my ears, as if somebody had turned up the volume. I looked up, distracted from the woman for just a moment, and the bar looked back at me with a hundred faces, all of which I knew and some of which I remembered. Both Janes were there, and three of the five Hannahs.
Alice sat alone at a nearby table, drinking a strawberry daiquiri.
"Alice?" As I approached, she stood and glided away.
That's how my last evening went on forever.
---
*Read more of my stories at* /r/jd_rallage
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Skank...
Skank...
Ugh, train wreck of a person...
Ew...
... Did I even have one decent human being interested in me?
No, no, no, meh, no....
Finally coming to the bottom of the list... OMG, HER? I wanted her from day one, but never saw her expressing interest....
Is it possible to commit suicide in the afterlife?
| 2017-05-07T07:51:54 | 2017-05-07T05:41:35 | 157 | 86 |
[WP] The one person none of the heroes or villains fucks with is known as "The Mad Doctor". he treats anyone who seeks his help, in exchange everyone turns a blind eye when he shows up to underprivileged neighborhoods to deliver free and technically illegal care. the new guy learns the hard way.
|
The one person none of the heroes or villains ever fuck with is known as “The Mad Doctor”. They treat anyone who seeks their help; in exchange, everyone turns a blind eye when he shows up to underprivileged neighborhoods to deliver free, and technically illegal, health care. The new guy learns the hard way.
Jak had never seen the sky. If he looked up, he simply would see the mega-scrappers stretching out the exhaust fog from the City Above, the lights that often flickered or dimmed randomly, and the occasional Municipal Enforcement Carrier passing through simply because there was less traffic in the Underloft.
Not that he could see easily anyways. Not since an unscheduled power surge blew up the drift he shared with Alic. Didn’t even have a chance to move it when the purple and red lightning flared out of the wall. The metal wall turned into hundreds of pieces of molten shrapnel and pierced both of them.
She didn’t make it, and the metal shards scraped against itself when he shifted in his sleep. His limp just became more pronounced.
Jak had never seen the sky before that power surge, he would never see it now, and he was okay with it. It was life in the Underloft, and he and everyone else were used to it. Most days he would shift through a nearby pile of refuse. The other dusts stayed away from it even though it often had a decent amount of trashed-foodstuffs; the shute started up at a medical waste facility. But he had learned to feel the danger-heat as he dug through, and how it radiated a buzzing sensation, and his hands didn't burn any more when he’d brush against something still warm.
Not today though. today was an off day, when the metal shards had shifted into a position that had locked in place. His entire left side ached awful, a sharp pinch if he breathed too deeply, and he couldn’t even unclench his hand. Would be a day or two before the warmth of the garbage loosened them up. He’d survive until then.
He thought.
So today, Jak would simply sit against the way, lean his head back, and imagine the sky above. Imagine that the warmth would come from something other than radiated garbage. Nicoli told stories about a fire so hot that the City Above didn’t need to use commercial grade burners to not freeze at night. He called it a Sol, and that it had to be far away from the buildings, untouchable.
He would imagine, what Nicoli had named, a dinner. Jak didn’t know what exactly meant, but the old man murmured about just how filling it was, that a person didn't feel stomach pains all through the night. It supposedly tasted wonderful, and the only words Nicoli had were home and warm.
He would imagine what it meant to live up in the City Above, and it would almost stop him from remembering the metal shard pressing against his neck, today almost piercing skin into his jaw.
“I thought I’d find you here,” a soft voice said. Jak wanted to open his eyes, but it wouldn’t make any difference. At least he didn’t flinch when he heard it.
The voice lacked the mechanical buzz most dusts had, and Jak frowned as footsteps crunched on glass and ground metal against metal in approaching. He wanted to scurry away, to climb the pile near his right hand and disappear up through the little slot in the wall.
He knew what came with clean voices and heavy boots. All dusts did, and they knew to avoid the MEC units.
“It’s okay,” the voice said. They sounded close now. Jak tried to turn to them, to hear better, even if it would be the last thing he heard. He’d remember this voice, the voice that took him away. He opened his eyes, but just cloudy haze greeted him. Still a shape approached. “Dina sent me.”
Dina? She hadn’t been by in, what, two seven days? He didn’t worry, mainly because it always happened. Dusts always stopped showing up. They all knew it, and when no one saw each other for a while, they just kept digging the piles.
“Yeah, recovering from a bad case of shrieks,” they replied. The steps stopped nearby, but the shape just grew smaller. “Had to regrow a lung in addition to curing it. But I cured it, and she’s better.”
“Lung?” Jak asked. No one recovered from the shrieks. A person got them, got still, then died. It was how the flu worked.
“Yeah, inside her and everything,” they continued. “Dina told me about this little thing near All-tower 3, and well, took a bit to figure out which one she was talking about.”
“I don’t-” A roar of MEC, that heady and deep body shaking roar, echoed nearby. Maybe beyond the shape of whoever was talking to him. They hadn’t approached him yet, still just at the edge of his sight. So the last thing he’d see was this stranger whom was talking crazy, like a dream-junkie.
“Course, had to cure everyone I came across, which only made it longer.” They didn’t react to the MEC and only shifted in the haze of Jak’s vision. “But couldn’t let a-”
“Unit 378-A-HNDR!” The MEC shouted, and its words vibrated against his body. If he could, he would have covered his ears, but Jak couldn’t move and a liquid trickled down his jaw from his ears. “Switch into Inert-mode, and power down.”
“A massive failure of 4th generation cybernetics,” the strange said, “probably installed poorly, given the rest I’ve seen, due to molten steel and altritium - I’m assuming a power cell left to rot, yes?”
“UNIT 378-A-HNDR!” The MEC repeated, just as loud and another drop of blood fell from Jak’s ear. “Switch into Inert-mode, and power down.”
“Severe facial deformation, with remnants of the metal still embedded throughout torso, left shoulder, arm and leg. Possible acute radiation poison. Prognosis: fatal.” They placed something in front of themself, and Jak guessed they dug through, pulling out various things only to put them in front of them.
More boots, maybe dozens this time, running over metal and glass, approached and halted behind the stranger. Jak still couldn’t see them. “UNIT 378 -”
“Fuck, jackson, you see this?” one of the newcomers said. At least Jak’s ears stopped hurting, evne though there was this ringing that wouldn’t go away.
“Suggested treatment: termination,” the stranger continued, “Course of treatment: removal of all steel and altritium, repair muscle damage, restoration of-”
“UNIT 378-A-HNDR,” a young man shouted now. Jak heard the hum of some air filter, then felt the static of a pulse rifle turn on. “This is your last warning.
“Damn it, you sent us after them?” the first MEC unit said. “What were you thinking, sir?”
“This is a lost asset,” the booming voice said. “Do you know how much-”
The stranger in front of Jak stood up. “Please be patient a little longer Jak. I have another delay before I can cure you.”
They turned around, and a red light erupted from behind it, enveloping the stranger in a blood halo. “That’s not an asset, sir,” the first MEC speaker said, “that’s the MAD Doctor.”
“Suggested Treatment,” the stranger said, their voice changing pitch and tone to a much rougher, angry, almost multi-layered voice that made Jak shiver just as much as the cold or the burning metals, “elimination of viruses.”
|
They told me not to go after the Mad Doctor, but they never told me why. Are you telling me that this doctor, who treats both heroes and villains, doesn’t have some sort of power and influence? He could end any villain or hero he wanted, let them die, blame a death on an accident. I asked these questions but got no straight answer. Everyone is so hush hush about this whole thing, so I decided to find out on my own.
Ask yourself this, if all the Mad Doctor’s paying customers, not his volunteer clients, are super-powered, why are politicians, celebrities, and dignitaries all entering his office? They’re all super powered. Don’t believe me? I checked. The doctor has DNA samples of nearly everyone he attends to. That’s why these powerful people go to him in the first place, they have to keep their secret under wraps.
So, is this guy really costly? Does he get paid to keep silent? His prices, I’ve discovered, are rather reasonable. Then what does he get out of all this? Power.
If you have politicians in your pocket, any policy you want to pass will. If you have celebrities in your pocket, they’ll endorse anything you want. But the Mad Doctor can’t be the only one who can provide treatment to these individuals, right? There has to be others. No. None, not a single other doctor treats super powered individuals. He had a monopoly.
So what’s the deal with all this volunteer business? It’s a front. He sets up a clinic in some low income neighborhood where he has some volunteers give out sub-par aid while in the back he runs his operation. He needs the law off him so he sets up this deal, but behind the facade of altruism is where he does his real work.
You see, the only reason why the Mad Doctor is the only one who can treat all these super powered individuals is because he’s the one who created them. Every single one. Most of the heroes are his test run, but he’s since moved to higher priority clients like politicians. If someone doesn’t stop him soon, he’ll have the entire world in his pocket. I don’t care who comes to stop me, who tries to silence me, the truth must come out.
| 2022-10-13T13:05:23 | 2022-10-13T12:49:05 | 305 | 32 |
[wp] Sick of somebody trying to get into your servers, you let them in, only to spring a virus into their system. To your surprise, the news the next day says that the goverment's systems have been absolutely wrecked.
​
|
Have you ever had a, just...absolutely bonkers great time Friday night, partying it up with every intent to pay for it the next morning worshiping at the alter of your comfortable bed until probably sometime around noon? Yeah? But instead you're awoken at 9 AM sharp by a knock at the door? That feeling of irritation you get when they won't go away and when you finally drag yourself away from your seductive sheets filled with promises of an hour when this hangover will be gone to answer the door, because...clearly someone is dying or the house is on fire or...something else catastrophic is going on, only to find a missionary trying to hand you a flyer of some form? Yeah, THAT irritation?
Well, that's kinda how I felt to be seeing a little red alarm on my firewall go off while in the middle of my hot streak. I know, it's not /quite/ the same thing, but when you work overnights, your priorities get kinda janked up. So there I was, in the middle of my Field of Mayhem game, just about to take the top spot when my work computer flashes me an alert. Not just the yellow "oh hey, we've detected some odd activity" alert, but straight to the kind of Alert that comes with a capital 'A' and nerds like me assign Enterprise noises alongside to make sure they're given the property gravity they deserve. That is to say the amount of attention required to look at my work keyboard and press ALT-FN-1. Macro shortcuts are the greatest! That'll just dump whoever that is into a virtual machine. Probably won't stop whoever it is, but it should slow them down long enough to finish this match.
​
The sounds of footsteps in my headphones pull me back to my game. With a flick of my wrist and the click of a button, a man with a Korean name floating above the space where his head used to be crumples to the ground in a pile before fading away in a pixelated cloud. I flick my eyes away from my laptop to make sure that the red icon has turned yellow indicating that my attacker/victim is playing around in the sandbox I directed him into but...no...it's...it's still red? I glance back at my screen, nobody seems to be around this time. I risk a second reach over to my work computer. It's against protocols, but I can't dally with a back-trace right now! A 24 player kill streak needs to be continued! With the pressing urgency of a achievement coming, I instead hit the macro that would launch a stone wall protocol and eject them forcefully from my network and end this all. With a quick three-fingered salute of the ALT-FN-5 keys I launch my ultimate defense.
Certain that this would be the end of it, I started to return to my game, but instead...I found myself staring at a still red icon saying that MrJackson.exe had done...nothing. I was aghast. I'd been working in this SOC for 6 years now and the most difficult thing I'd encountered til now was getting a character all the way to level 120 on Azurecraft. Nobody beat Stonewall Jackson. Well...except the north...and history...but that's not the point.
At a queue from my headphones I darted my attention back laptop-ward only to find that it was too late. Before I could put my hand back on my mouse my headphones projected the sound of a slightly tinny gunshot into my ears, the sounds of my character choking on his own blood and my monitor tinted red as it faded to black. I...was dead. Only one kill from twenty five kills and a gold skin for my gun and this....intruder had beaten my best defense and taken it from me? Oh..oh no, this would not stand. I quietly removed my headphones, closed my laptop and swiveled my chair back toward my work rig. I should amend my statement. MrJackson.exe is my second best defense. The best defense, as I'm sure you've heard, is a good offense.
I let my fingers dance across my keyboard, issuing commands that would start a back-trace. Probably a dead end and redundant to my plan besides. Anyone good enough to get this far has probably re-routed through a dozen nodes and has trace detection set up so that they can drop connections before anything automated can get remotely close. I don't expect to get anything, I just want to give them the feeling of "SOP" that they can think they can beat. While that program blipped away tracing an impressive criss-cross of lines across it's little, global map I brought up my terminal and launched a ridiculous number of disposable instances of virtual machines and directed their current course of searching to find a file directly in the middle of it. When I was sure they were looped into this maze I call VM-Ception (y'know, like the movie?) I knew it would buy me at LEAST 2-4 minutes of unobserved actions if nothing else. In that time, I baited my trap.
Just to be sure they couldn't get to the data warehouse on the off chance I screwed something up I logged into my edge router and cut BGP routes. Sure, this might make corporate angry that they lost connection to their cloud services for a few minutes but it's 2am. It's a minor impact in non-operating hours and besides, nobody should notice at that hour. Instead I copy in a fake set of routes that will take them to a server I have set up at home. A server with lots of important looking files that one would expect, but also a few...fun ones. Like Acidburn.xls that contains hidden ransomware or a copy of Dva.exe that's set to be hidden, but will still copy over if they do a bulk data copy. That's one that self-propagates like hell and then nukes systems. Like...turn off any hardware controlled cooling while telling every hard disk to spin at max RPM and overclock any processor with the capability. I mean, physically burn out hardware.
Moments later my little VM-Ception trap falls apart and sure enough, they take the bait. My entire server reports having been accessed. They took it all. Only took them three minutes and twenty. Now? I wait. With a smug smile I sip from my Death Star tea cup. Earl Grey, the taste of victory. Soon, I will have a text file sitting in a dummy email account that will tell me just how many times Dva replicated itself before it was detected and a list of IPs and MACs of the offenders hardware so that I can figure out just who had the skills to get through so many layers of my defense. The email? It never came.
Instead, two days later, a pair of spooks...y'know, the real "Men in Black" kind? Showed up at my door with a practically slagged hard drive. They had DoD badges and about the kind of demeanor one would expect might come with a badge with those letters. They told me that the hard-drive and several more besides in similar condition caused, ahem....lemme see if I can do the voice... "Extensive and irreparable damage to many government systems and that I would be personally held accountable for ever dollar of a considerable sum, with only one chance at absolving myself of the consequences of my actions." And that, sir....is how I got this badge that says DoD. Reporting...for duty...I guess?
|
"Heh, bet that dude's feeling the pain by now. That virus should have totally bricked their system." I hopped on to my couch and turned on the TV to check what was going on in the world. And oh boy, something was going on. The headline read 'Government computer system has been destroyed by suspected cyber terrorist.' I heard the anchor talking about how they had some official to let them know what had happened. I just looked in awe. "That can't be a coincidence. Please tell me it isn't." I saw that a representative in full formal business attire had shown up on the screen, with audible and visible workers trying to figure out how to fix this. "We believe a cyber terrorist we had been trying to infiltrate had counter hacked us and uploaded a virus to our system." I looked at the time, and decided I shouldn't go to school today. So I sat down and let out a cheer, that the government was finally gone. And I killed it. I let out a cry of joy! I guess God must have been on my side for this little anarchist to singlehandedly take down the government. I was about to go back to my room to rest some more. Then I heard a knock on my door. I heard a man yell "FBI! Open up!" And my heart sank. I opened the door, only to get charged and knocked onto the floor, and cuffed. Shucks. I guess the government hadn't been knocked oit entirely.
| 2018-09-03T22:50:44 | 2018-09-03T20:35:43 | 23 | 10 |
[WP] A peaceful alien race is besieged by another race in the same galaxy. As their last planets fall and their home-world comes under threat they do the unthinkable. They ask for aid from the only known creatures more brutal than their foes in exchange for FTL technology. Humans accept the deal.
|
-Replay that last segment, if you will, Preceptor Xithis-
A thought-command to the mitris-orb and the holographic images reset themselves. The bipedal alien - the 'human' - sat motionless in front of a vid screen of the most primitive make. In front of it was a rectangular pad covered with buttons, almost all inscribed with strange symbols, no two exactly alike. To the right of this pad was a small oval device on a flat pad. Further to the right was a cylindrical canister covered with colorful pictures and symbols. On its head was a half-circular device covering part of its skull and the sides of its head. Its ears were not visible under that device. I looked inquiringly over at the Chancellor Au'Tereba, noting the signs of agitation around her eyes, the wildly flailing tendrils over her sagittal crest.
-Show us again-
Another thought-command and the scene replayed. It was one that had shocked me the first time I saw it, but repeated viewings have long since taken their toll on me. I watched in fascination as the scene unravelled. The human placed the middle three digits of its left appendage on a certain combination of symbols on the pad, then rested its smallest digit on another symbol, and its opposable digit on a long, rectangular button which was completely unmarked. Its other appendage grasped the oval device.
There was an image on the vid screen in front of the human - a mass of colorful art, symbols and a curious spinning circle in the lower right. The human leaned forward in anticipation. The image shifted to a crude representation of the inside of a building of human make, complete with walls, pillars, corridors and the like. In the middle of the screen was the image of a primitive projectile thrower and a targeting reticle. To the sides of the weapon were images of other humans wearing clothing and clutching those same weapons in their hands. The vid screen exploded with movement as the human somehow caused its image to move within the vid screen. The other humans on the vid screen ran and hopped in every direction until they disappeared from view.
-What....exactly is happening here, Preceptor?-
-This, Chancellor Au'Ganas, is a human. As far as we can tell, it is engaging in some sort of self-entertainment-
-Entertainment!?-
The human dashed around a corner in its virtual world and was immediately beset by two animals, small and lean with dagger-like feet and gnashing jaws. They crawled on the wall and ceiling and leapt on the human. The Chancellors gasped in anticipation despite the virtual nature of the combat, but what followed was the most astounding gyration of the on-screen image, followed by the furious clacking of keys and the erratic but precisely controlled movement of the oval device. The vid screen spun wildly as the human's weapon fired burst after burst of projectiles, killing one of the animals, then the weapon switched out to another, smaller weapon and the human finished off his second opponent with several shots from it.
A third animal - larger but curiously less threatening, fat and somewhat squat on four pudgy limbs - started running away from the human, but it chased it down some stairs and around a corner, putting shot after shot perfectly into it and also managing to kill it. The hologram continued to play, but my attention was now back on the Chancellors.
-Chancellors Au'Tereba, Au'Ganas and Au'Yunis. What we have here is a killing machine of the highest order-
I gestured at the hologram at the human, which was still intent on its 'game'.
-It has reflexes and split-second decision making which completely outperforms our battle constructs by orders of magnitude. It isn't even in the same scale, as a matter of fact. It possesses a natural cunning and has an instinct for war and strategy. It knows when to fight, when to retreat, and when to consolidate its position. There, just now. It passed up an obvious target, slipped behind enemy lines and has started to attack the enemy's supply chain.-
-That is inconceivable. How can anything do that?- Chancellor Au'Ganas stared at the hologram at a new round of action on the human's vid screen.
-It appears to be computing its strategy based on input from its team mates, observing extra metadata in the form of an overlay image - the so-called 'map' - and the current danger level of its environment. Observe, it appears to be talking into the wand in front of its mouth. My scientists have theorized that it is conveying battlefield information in that manner-
The human paused to grasp the cylindrical canister and take a drink from it.
-It appears to be self-medicating in order to boost its reflexes and stamina-
-This is terrifying.-
I looked over at Chancellor Au'Tereba and fixed her with the gaze from my fifth eye, averting the other four out of respect.
-I understand how you must feel. I felt the same way too. But we no longer have a choice. Four fifths of our worlds have fallen to the forces of the Adversary. Our people stand on the brink of extinction unless we befriend and enlist the aid of these humans.-
-But we have so little time! Our cities burn, our people perish, and you pin the hope of our species on this- wailed Chancellor Au'Ganas.
-ENOUGH!- Chancellor Au'Tereba projected with such force that we were thrown back in our seats. -We have no further alternatives. Tell us your plan, Preceptor.-
==============
Gabe Newell sat back in his chair, clutching his hair in disbelief, shaking his head side to side.
"Holy shit. HOLY. SHIT."
He picked up the phone, dialed a number.
"It's me. Listen up. 3."
Gabe slammed the phone down and slumped back in his chair.
==============
The mechanized armies of the Human-Antarii Alliance raged over the surface of the Adversary Core World. Its fortresses had long since been overrun, its war machines reduced to scrap and recycled into raw material for the humans to process into more droids. The docks which used to churn out terrifying starships were in ruins. They had been the first to fall in the final invasion of the Core World, the last phase in the battle plan laid out by the Human Emperor.
It was all so simple.
The technology had always been there. The replicator facilities were already in place. The war constructs of the Antarii were born out of desperation and naivety. They were massive, took too long to produce, and their programming could not account for every situation on the battlefield. A peaceful race for as long as they could remember, the Antarii concept of war had been forced upon them by the Adversary.
Not so the humans.
Although completely physically outmatched on the battlefield by Adversary war machines, troops and other weapon constructs, their incredible thirst for conflict could be channelled by a simple program into mechanical bodies, effectively fighting by proxy. And the humans even found it pleasurable and exciting. The Human Emperor had even found a way to keep the war, in his own words, 'fresh and interesting'.
It was all so horrifying.
Preceptor Xithis stood on the command deck of his starship and gazed at the fiery wasteland far below him, projected up to him via hologram. 'Scorched earth', the humans called it, their peculiar tendency to raze the ground and burn every last thing into cinders in order to ensure victory. A squad of drone warriors charged across the battlefield, dodging everything thrown at them with precise, calculated yet erratic movements. They leapt onto the Adversary troops and started to slaughter them, and Xithis had to turn away even from this.
"Preceptor Xithis."
He looked down at his control panel. A hologram image had appeared of a large, rotund human male, with brown hair on his head and strange transparent goggles around his eyes.
-Emperor. How may I assist in ending this war?-
"It is time for the DLC phase."
-Dee...Ell... See? I'm afraid I don't understand.-
"I will explain. You see..."
|
"They shall have nothing." Was our Arbiter's words.
"They shall have nothing." Was the chant used by his followers to justify themselves.
"They shall have nothing." Was the truest statement uttered in the fifteen years of war.
The Hexams had won the war for all intents and purposes. All that remained was to capture our home of Glonia, and then our Confederacy of Peaceful Glonian Systems would be at an end. Our great civilization based on Science and Democracy would cease to exist.
So, rather than see our Confederacy annexed into the Hexam Dominion and given to some barbaric governor, our Arbiter and his followers decided "They shall have nothing."
Humans were the finest mercenaries in the Galaxy. They were highly intelligent, resourceful, and determined. It was hard to find a more staunch ally or fierce enemy than a human. It wasn't uncommon for various systems to hire human mercenary companies to tame a wild planet or to guard their space stations.
What the Arbiter wanted to do was much, much worse. Humans had been contained within their own system since shortly after their existence was made known to the other civilizations of The Galaxy. The Arbiter wanted to unleash them. Unleash them on a global scale, more than justtaking a few human mercenaries on board a ship, he *gave* the humans those ships, freeing them to spread like vermin across the galaxy.
The largest human faction on Earth (a polluted, over populated carbon based terrestrial planet), agreed to militarize and attack the Hexams on a scale never before seen, in exchange for this new technology. Nearly ten million human warriors (Of the Jarhead Clan, mostly) would destroy the Hexams entirely.
The only problem? "They shall have nothing." This was a scorched land tactic. Nothing could save our Confederacy. The Arbiter and his followers only wished to ensure that the Hexams were destroyed as much as we were. A queer sort of revenge. Give the humans free access to the galaxy, and it was only a matter of time before they ruled it all, polluted it all, and overpopulated it all.
I can only pray that the Great Forebears intervene and send the humans back to their world in ruins as they did so long ago. Maybe this time they won't repopulate and rediscover their desire to destroy and the technology to carry it out.
| 2014-12-26T17:56:23 | 2014-12-26T11:03:12 | 17 | 10 |
[WP] You discover the answer to the question "If time travel is possible, where are all the time travellers from the future?" It turns out just nobody wants to time travel to the 21st century. You go back in time to the feudal ages and find a whole community of nerdy fantasy-loving time travellers.
|
People thought we were building a thorium regent, seven-step breeder reactor to bring it down to lead. We pushed the media to show the benefit of how this was the nuclear energy that we were supposed to create. The uranium used in Chernobyl was unstable. Plutonium, like that in Fukushima, was easier to obtain but still horrendously dangerous.
Now, we were pretending to compete with an actual thorium breeder in Idaho. I thought someone would point out that a plant in Saskatchewan was a bit atypical but the province loved the investment. They needed power. The electrical grid had been pushed to the brink with the population continuing to expand, but people got desperate when the coast started flooding.
The Netherlands was the only place that somehow managed not to become another Atlantis. They were now entirely under sea level, and their entire industry had become dam development. Greenland seemed to be becoming nicer. Something in the name made it seem a lot more inviting than its history had been.
It was funny while everyone else was trying to build projects that were supposed to bring light back to the world we were the only ones trying to save it. We were going to go back and change the world. Not that it was going to be an easy task. Changing the flow of time always had dangers. One was the fact that no one had already tried it before. Why hadn’t anyone warned us about how dangerous hydrofluorocarbons are? Lead? Where were people warning us about lead?
Seven uranium reactors working in tandem would hopefully be enough to create the energy we needed. We had managed to bring the math down from collapsing the moon, which we had all been rather proud of but only got a handful of mentions in the following months. Now it wasn’t like just turning these things on would do it. These reactors were being built so that they could withstand the full force of taking the core to critical. Not a good idea, but we either wouldn’t be here when it happened, or we would only be here momentarily.
Cold, reinforced concrete and shielded walls greeted me for years. I was so used to the sight that I sometimes longed for them when I had to travel to lecture. Keeping up appearances was more important than our completion date. We had all the right answers. Idaho was actually using some of the things that the team had discovered in their free time. There was no doubt that we would succeed.
I walked through five checkpoints, I had the attendants all memorised. Marcy and Brad were the first and were rather young. Deb and Barb were the second; both were professional and looking to get ahead. Mark and Mike were too serious to ever get further. Stephanie, Marcy, Allan and Mitch had their routine down to an art. They were even fun at times. That left Fleur at the last checkpoint. Fleur could see into your soul. Fleur scared the crap out of me.
“You need new badge,” Fleur stated as she handed mine back, “There is a crack. This is your only warning.”
“Understood,” I muttered and nodded. It wouldn’t matter after today. Not that a crack was a reason to get a new badge. Looking at where she had put her thumb, I grunted at the sight of what I’d consider a scratch. Honestly, if it weren’t for today, I would have gotten a new one.
The team gathered at their stations inside what we had fondly come to refer to as The Helm. I found I, thankfully, wasn’t the last to show up again. McMillin and Jeffreys still were here. I took my spot after changing at the front. It sounded weird to call me the navigator, but time travel had become a weird passion after our discovery. This was it. My life’s work in action.
Somewhere in my mind, I registered what was happening but barely experienced any of it. The check-ins can and went with minimal effort. We had done a thousand before this. Ignition felt like I was swallowing stones. Then finally, the countdown, the slow fade to red as we brought our uranium to be critical, felt like an eternity.
I heard that crack only for a moment, then there was nothing.
We had come out in a field and had thankfully only fallen a couple of hundred feet. It was impossible to know where exactly we would land, but I figured it was better to fall than to dig upward. If we were able to dig. Unbuckling ourselves, we took stock of where we were. I had set up everything so we were going far enough back that it wouldn’t be recorded if something went wrong.
“Well, now what?” McMillin asked as he unbuckled himself.
“Explore?” I offered, “We are explorers in this.
“I thought we had to reprogram now?” Mastersen, our lead, argued, “How much time do we have to make the next jump?”
“Couple of days,” Littleson commented, “Containment worked better than expected. We are running at 80% capacity.”
Dark matter, once a dream in engineering, had managed to be harnessed a couple of decades ago. The only issue was it was really only good as a battery and required an immense of power to create. Good thing we probably blew a meteor-style hole back home in order to have enough.
Outside the ship, the air smelt weird. It felt drier than I was expecting. Somewhere between canned air and life support systems, I grew fond of a humidifier stabilising the air I breathed. This was nature. It didn’t care about us.
Somewhere in the distance, people started clapping. Maybe nature did care about us after all? No, that can’t be right. These were people. A tent had been set up just passed our landing sight. We all walked toward them hesitantly, but it was clear they knew we would be here.
“Congratulations, Team Six?” McMillin read out loud a banner that hung at the entrance. “Why are we team six?”
“Because you are the sixth team to attempt this,” one of the people clapping explained, “This is however the first time that a prime team brought fuel with them.”
“Wouldn’t that make us team one as we actually succeeded getting home?” I asked.
“Oh! That’s adorable,” one of the other attendants laughed, “You aren’t going home.”
“Why not?” Mastersen demanded, pulling out a pistol he had hidden in his suit, “Who’s going to stop us?”
“You are,” the first attendant explained, “Once you start doing the math and seeing how it changes as you plan, you come to understand what we have all discovered. We can’t go back.”
“But we’ve come to change,” Jeffreys tried to explain.
“The world,” the first attendant interrupted, “As we all have. We can change some things, but there’s a lot that just creates self-destructive loops that reset everything. Come sit, we’ll talk.”
“You aren’t going to kill us,” I asked, knowing that’s probably what Matersen would do as I glanced at his pistol, “Are you?”
“No point,” the first attendant explained, “You exist outside time now. Like us. It’s hard to increase our numbers, so we try not to be wasteful.”
“Oh,” I muttered, “Has this all been a waste then?”
“No,” the first attendant assured, “With your help, we can guide humanity better now.”
“Through the shadows?” McMillin scoffed.
“Of course,” the first attendant chuckled, “We are the Illuminati, after all. We see all because we’ve already experienced it.”
“This better come with a better badge,” I muttered as I entered the tent.
—
Thank you so much for reading! If you want more of my work, you can find it at r/asolitarycandle. Not sure what to read? [Check out my favourites.](https://www.reddit.com/r/asolitarycandle/comments/m7p8p4/table_of_contents/).
—
Edit: Lots of spelling mistakes.
|
As I stared at the empty space in front of me, I couldn't help but wonder where all the time travellers from the future were. I had spent years trying to figure out the mechanics of time travel, and I finally succeeded in creating a working time machine. But as I sat there, waiting for someone from the future to appear, I realized that nobody wanted to visit the 21st century.
Frustrated, I decided to take matters into my own hands. I hopped into my time machine and set the date for the feudal ages. As I stepped out of the machine, I was greeted by a bustling community of people, all dressed in medieval garb.
I quickly realized that this wasn't your typical feudal village. These people were all time travellers, and they were here for one reason: to live out their nerdy fantasy dreams.
As I wandered through the streets, I saw people sword fighting, jousting, and even playing Dungeons and Dragons. It was a paradise for anyone who loved fantasy and science fiction.
I soon met a group of time travellers who were eager to explain why they had chosen to come to the feudal ages. "We're all fans of fantasy and medieval times," one of them told me. "We wanted to live in a world where magic and dragons were real, and the 21st century just doesn't have that."
I was stunned. Who would have thought that the answer to my question would be so simple? It turns out that nobody wants to time travel to the 21st century because it's just not exciting enough.
As I left the feudal village and returned to my own time, I couldn't help but feel a little disappointed. But at least I knew the answer to my question, and that was something. And who knows, maybe one day I'll join the nerdy fantasy-loving time travellers in the feudal ages.
| 2022-12-03T05:07:27 | 2022-12-02T22:26:16 | 148 | 32 |
[WP] Humans are complex creatures with a variety of needs. They are not a suitable pet for most dragons, but for the right dragons who have time, patience, and proper resources, these animals can make absolutely incredible pets.
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"So, can I go home? I mean, my husband misses me, he also needs me to work and bring in income so we don't lose the house or the cars or anything." I asked this of the dragon when he finished his meal and seemed to be in a pretty good mood. I'd asked him every night, and this night was no different, he said no, politely enough.
He turned his great iridescent scaled head to look at me and said "I'll drop some gold off, and he won't have to work, he'll be fine. Besides, I'd miss you if you left. For now, you stay here, and go ahead and sing me another song, human."
So I sang him another song. He was pretty into metal, so that's kind of stereotypical, I guess. I mean, the people I knew who were into metal all seemed to like dragons, so funny that dragons like metal.
I sang "The Ace of Spades" for him and he liked it so much he told me to sing it again. By the third time, my throat was starting to hurt, so I asked if I could just play it on the piano instead, and he said OK. So I played it, and all the other songs I could reasonably fake my way through until he drifted off to sleep.
I thought about just sneaking out, but he knew where we live, and he was a light sleeper. I ended up crawling into the pet bed he'd ordered from Amazon, and laying there thinking of some argument he might buy, some way he might agree to let me go. Here I was, in a giant dog bed, snug and warm beside a fire, and living as a pet to a ginormous fire-breathing lizard.
He'd read some stuff and ended up having a meal kit service deliver my food to the cave every week. I tried to cook for him too, but he didn't really like the stuff I made, except for the salads. Everyone loves my salads, it's a talent I guess. But he said he hated cheese and really only liked mutton, which I don't care for at all. Also, he didn't really bother cooking anything, he just ate it all raw, including the mutton.
He'd had a nice copper bath tub installed, and a lot of other luxurious items were purchased too. He somehow thought he was supposed to get me toys and keep me entertained that way, so we ended up playing catch with a softball often.
He bought me a bunch of weird outfits, like seriously, every Halloween costume there is. That was my wardrobe. It's like when people put their little dogs in dresses, only it was me, and the dragon made me wear a Chucky costume most days. Sometimes he told me to put on the Princess Jasmine or Elsa dresses, but he seemed to really think Chucky was cute.
He wouldn't let me use the computer, but he would ask me what shows I wanted to watch. There's where we actually did find some common ground. We were both really into the American Horror Story series this season and we talked about maybe micro dosing and re-watching "Nine Perfect Strangers." I don't think it was really the best idea to do mushrooms with this guy, but at the same time, why not? I mean, he was keeping me as a pet, and stuff was already really weird. Anyway, we never got the chance.
It was just too hard. I missed my husband too much, and yet, this guy would have killed one or both of us if I hadn't done it the way I did. I tried everything else first. I presented every argument I could think of. I begged and pleaded. He wouldn't listen. He wouldn't let me go. He wouldn't even take my husband and cat for pets. He said he was allergic to cats and that he just didn't like human men, after so many had tried to kill him all those years ago.
He just bought me more things and tried to placate me that way, because he didn't understand the human capacity for love, and the bond I have with my husband.
He'd started wanting to snuggle up and pet my belly in the evenings. He'd pulled my dog bed close to his favorite sleeping place, and he would stretch his front leg around me and begin petting my belly until he fell asleep. I'd lay there feeling like I wanted to jump out of my own skin, because I don't like anyone touching my belly. But I let him think I liked it, because it did put him to sleep pretty fast.
There he was, snoring gently, little puffs of smoke exiting his nostrils. He talked in his sleep some, which was always interesting. It's how I found out he'd actually wanted Gwyneth Paltrow for his pet, but had to settle for me because apparently those vagina candles are also dragon repellent, and more people might notice if she went missing I guess. Any how, I digress.
The dragon lay sleeping with one leg around me, clawed foot resting on my belly, just a little bit under my striped Chucky shirt. I knew I'd have to be real quick. I kind of hated doing it, because he'd been nice to me, but he was keeping me against my will. He'd also just come get me if I just left. So I did it.
I pretended I needed to go to the bathroom. He'd finally stopped trying to walk me for that when he understood that I really needed privacy and toilet paper. You'd think a guy who'd been around for so many hundreds of years would have known, but he said back in the old days there didn't seem to be any concerns for either.
On my way back, I came around the big fire place and grabbed the poker, carefully placing it in the fire, as quietly as I could. I waited about ten minutes and told him my stomach was upset,and I had to go again. That nearly caused me to chicken out, when I saw the look of genuine concern on his face. No doubt he thought he loved me, the way I love my cat. But, the cat comes back to my house every night of her own accord, so it's not quite the same.
That time, when I returned from the bathroom, I brought a towel with me and grabbed the now orange glowing poker and plunged it swiftly into the dragon's head, right between his eyes. I had leapt onto the back of his neck to accomplish this, and he was swinging wildly and roaring, as flames issued from his great mouth. I was thrown against the cave wall, and fell to the floor. Blood poured from a cut on my forehead and as I wiped it away, I saw the dragon stumble towards me and fall on his side. He looked at me and exhaled one last flaming breath.
That is how your grandpa and I came to live in this cave and have all this gold.
|
Hey you. Yeah you. Have you ever wanted an almost intelligent beast as your companion? Well step right up to Humart! The human friendly shopping center that's located right outside Bonecrusher Cave. Come on down. We have small humans, large humans, smallish large humans. A human of any kind for you dragon mothers and fathers. Imagine what your kids will think when they see their human make toast. Call now and you'll get TWO for the price of one. That's right, two humans carefully trained in playing pingpong. All for the fair price of nine sheep. Get your human today!
| 2021-11-07T14:17:25 | 2021-11-07T13:07:53 | 37 | 25 |
[WP] Your roommate is the serial killer on the news. However, he's probably one of the nicest people you know, and he's very respectful, discreet, and moral in his deeds. Neither of you really bring it up until one day he says, "I'm bored. Got anyone in mind for me to... y'know?"
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I stumbled forward, hastily trying to recover after I nearly dropped my laptop off the side of my bed. Max had this gleam in his eye. It partnered with the same kind of playful expression he would have whenever he would poke fun at our friends, or take the last beer out of the fridge right as I was reaching for it. Mischievous. The grin only continued to spread across his face as I stared dumbly back at him. The bastard couldn't hide how much he was getting off on watching me squirm.
"Well," Max prompted, " yes? No? Maybe-so?"
I sat up straight and slowly opened my laptop back up. Peering over the edge of my screen, I couldn't help but let an awkward smile of my own creep out.
"Dude... I really can't tell if you're joking or not."
Max kicked out his chair away from his desk and slowly rolled into the middle of the floor. The momentum spun him around, until he stopped with his back facing me. He raised his hands up and interlocked his hands in order to stretch his arms and pop his knuckles. Keeping his hands interlocked, Max bent backwards over the chair to look at me. Oddly enough, his smile was even more unsettling when viewed upside down.
"Nah, I'm serious. Like anyone- well anyone who deserves it. It's been awhile for me, anyway. I've kinda been procrastinating a lot this week."
I kept staring at him, dumbfounded. I never had a problem with his hobby. Up until now Max had mostly kept his midnight mischief to himself. My head was spinning. Who did I want dead? I didn't even know where to begin.
The smile slowly faded back to an innocent smirk. Max spun back around in his chair. He was waiting for an answer. He was being serious. I shook my head and stared back at him.
"Well- fuck. Man I don't know..."
Max nodded, patted his knees, and quickly stood up. He made his way towards the kitchen.
"I'm grabbing a beer. Want anything?"
His words didn't register until I heard the fridge door pop open.
"A uh, you know just a water is good for me. Thanks."
I heard a distant, "nooooooo problemo", in the distance, but I was too caught up in my own thoughts at that point. High school bullies? I had plenty of those. But I hadn't heard from them in ages. Maybe they had changed? And maybe I'd start shitting golden eggs tomorrow.
I saw the fridge close in my peripheral, and heard footsteps slowly trudge towards me. Maybe my boss? No. He was a fuckass, no doubt about it, but I don't think being a fuckass is a crime worthy of death-by-serial-boredom. I hated him, but my boss didn't deserve to be cut up and dumped into a small ocean current. Or dissolved in a tub of acid. Or tossed into an alligator infested swamp...? I realized I never really asked much about how Max did what he did. Did that make me an asshole for never showing an interest in his hobby?
I was jarred back to reality as Max sat down in front of me, and handed me my bottled water. Max stared at me again, his eyebrows raised as if to restate his earlier question, "Well?"
My mouth suddenly became unbearably dry. I cleared my throat.
"Ms. Fitch."
Max's eyebrows shot up even higher.
"The waitress at McCalisters family restaurant? Bro she's like a hundred years old! What the hell's the point?"
I stumbled to find my words.
"She's a bitch! Always yelling at the kids and making up bullshit stories so they'll get in trouble with their parents. She always gives me sausage when I ask for bacon-", I started, rambling through all the pent up aggression I had for the old bat. Max actually started to laugh and started waving his arms back and forth to call me off of my assault.
"Whoa whoa whoa!! Cease fire there Champ! Buddy I can't just kill a lady because she's a little uptight and mixes up your breakfast sides. Come on now. You have to give me something better than that."
I felt my face heat up and I dove back into my laptop, mumbling a string of "fuck it"s, "whatever"s, and "stupid bullshit"s.
Max put his hand on the bottom of my laptop to get my attention. I nearly slammed the screen on his fingers.
"Come on, give me something better than that."
I opened the laptop back up again. Somehow r/funny wasn't really doing anything for me like it had been- before Max opened his stupid mouth.
Max's feet pattered on the floor as he started to bounce his knees in anticipation.
"Come onnnnnn, bro, just throw me a bone here!"
I refused to make eye contact.
"Kim Jong-un."
"Bro, come on."
I started to type randomly just to seem busy. In all honesty I was too peeved to actually put together a coherent thought.
"What? Kim is a bad dude. So off him then, I don't care."
Max stomped his feet.
"Brother I'm being serious here. Come on!"
I finally looked back up with him.
"So was I. You asked me who I wanted dead. I told you. You laughed. Not my problem if you don't like my answer."
Max leaned back, clearly trying to stifle another chuckle.
"Oh that's what this is about. Well I'm sorry man but I told you, they have to deserve it. Feeling like the godly embodiment of Karma is half of the fun."
I didn't answer. After some time, Max spoke up again.
"Come on, you gotta give me something better. There must be something else that could make you want to off that hag."
More silence sunk in until I finally spoke up.
"She doesn't wash her hands."
Max's mouth dropped.
"She what?"
I nodded.
"Even when she helps out in the kitchen. She'll go straight from the bathroom to our plates."
Max grabbed his sides, physically revolted.
"That's disgusting. Why??"
I shrugged back at him.
"I asked management last time I went. Apparently they asked her to stop a bunch times before, but she never listened. She's been around too long, and threatens to sue every time they think about firing her."
Max stared back at me for some time, until I finally saw that glint return to his eye.
"McCalisters is a pretty popular restaurant, isn't it?"
I slowly nodded.
"Yeah, but I haven't been able to force myself to go back since I found out about Fitch's distaste for basic hygiene."
Max's smile practically exploded across his face.
"Well I'd say it's a good thing you did. Lack of hygiene in a restaurant is a big big issue. So many dangerous bacterias out there, you never know what would happen if some of that ended up in your food."
I couldn't tell anymore. Was he still making fun of me? I turned back to my laptop and continued typing. Max leaned in close to build the suspense. He was so melodramatic. Then, he finished his thought.
"It'd be an epidemic. A crisis. A horror like our homely little town had never seen. And what if it spread? A threat to our town, our country... the world."
It finally clicked, and I snapped my head up. Max was looking as giddy as I had ever seen him.
"It'd be pretty irresponsible of me to let a menace like that walk... wouldn't you agree?"
I brought my hand up to my face. At some point, my smile had grown as wide as Max's had.
"Yeah... I guess I would."
Edit: Small grammar mistakes and I didn't really like the pacing towards the end. So I fixed that. Thanks for the read!
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I was cooking dinner when he got home, I was kind of in the zone, listening to a record, so I jumped when he came around the corner into the kitchen. He never used to scare me like that, I'm not sure that he still does, but that breaking local news story during dinner last week definitely made me think.
I never usually buy into what the media says, I mean I lived with this guy my whole life, sidekicks as long as I could remember, and we never had so much as a disagreement. It was hard to imagine he was behind the bloody aftermath of a human they found at the park last week. But I guess we never really spoke about it.
"Sorry I didn't mean to scare you," he said as he smiled and held up his right hand, it was my favourite cookies from our local supermarket, they had been sold out for weeks.
"They finally had them today! Stopped in to check, I just had a feeling."
I was pretty stoked, I mean, I haven't seen these treats in ages! They have so many chocolate chips in them the cookie dough is just the glue holding them all together.
"Can I put on a new record? I hate this experimental rock stuff."
So he went and picked out some Simon and Garfunkel, pretty mellow stuff. When his phone rang.
"Hey man what's up?"
"Yeah wasn't too bad, you know, the usual."
He glanced over at me then back to the records.
"Yeah I've been pretty bored too, know anyone I could, you know?"
"Uh huh."
"Ok, yep."
"Yep, you too mate, bye."
He walked into the empty kitchen and turned the curry off, best to be safe, he lives alone after all.
| 2017-03-21T23:40:57 | 2017-03-21T21:05:16 | 42 | 10 |
[WP] You are Immortal. Every year you write a book chronicling what happened that year and hide it somewhere. Today archaeologists have found enough books to infer your existence.
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My childish, disjointed writing bothered me, even after all these years.
I glanced at it with distaste before closing the book in front of me and sliding it into my pillowcase. It would be hidden soon.
I heard my house mother calling for me, and scurried downstairs to join the others at dinner. Surprisingly, this was one of my favorite times of the day. All eight of us girls, our house parents, sometimes a friend or an extra caseworker. As far as places I'd been stuck in over the past thousands of years, it was nice.
We were halfway through dinner, listening to Gabby tell a story about a dragon that she swore was true, when there was a loud knock on the door. Our house dad, Ken, rose to answer it.
We heard his voice rise in pitch upon opening the door, a mumbled sort of scuffle, and then he re-entered, looking confused and escorting a team of four well-dressed people- 2 men in police uniforms, a woman in a dark pantsuit, and a man in a lab coat, like a doctor.
Upon seeing the police, Kelly squirmed uncomfortably in her chair, but to everyone's surprise, Ken looked directly at me.
"Mary, these people want to talk to you."
I hesitated, scared, but then climbed off my seat and took a step towards them.
"Wait a second, what do you all want? She's 9!" My house mom, Linda, said, concerned. None of the visitors spoke, so she stood to come with us.
"I'll go, Linda. You finish up dinner with the others." Ken said smoothly, though he too looked concerned. She sat back down cautiously, and I realized with a pang that all of the other girls were looking at me curiously. I didn't want to leave here, not this time.
Ken led me and the visitors into the bedroom I shared with Crystal and Leona and shut the door behind us. He asked them all to sit down, which they did, with the exception of the two police officers. They stood beside the door.
"So, Mary," the woman began, not unkindly but rather condescendingly, "we're going to tell you a story that I think you already know but that Mr. Ken here probably doesn't. At the end, I want you to tell me if I'm telling the truth or not."
Ken tried to say something, but the man in the coat silenced him with one finger. I nodded slowly.
Before she spoke again, the woman opened a briefcase at her side and pulled out five large books, almost identical to the one hidden in my pillowcase, which I tried my very hardest not to look at.
"So, Mary, here we go. These books here are not the only ones of their kind. We have discovered a few hundred of these books in recent years, and we believe there are more."
I tried to look confused, or at least bored, as many 9 year olds would have been.
"The funny thing about these books, Mary, is that they were all written by the same person. This person wrote one of these books every year, detailing everything that had happened. For several thousand years."
"That's impossible," Ken interrupted, "the person would have to be alive for that long!"
The doctor silenced him again.
"Now, as your caretaker so kindly pointed out for me, that means that someone on this earth is several thousand years old. However- and here's where things get a little funny- the books are written as though by a child." She leaned forwards to open one of the books. It took all I could not to recoil in disgust- the book was 1932, which had not been a kind one.
I realized that Ken was looking curiously at the page, my handwriting too distinctive for him to ignore entirely.
"Now, Mary, we believe that whoever wrote these books has been stuck, the age of a child, for their several-thousand-year lifespan. We believe that every few years, when it would become too difficult to keep on living in the same place and not aging, the person leaves, looks for different people to take care of them, creates a new story, and repeats the process."
Ken was still gazing at the open book uneasily.
"Now, before I finish, I want to make it clear that we wouldn't want to hurt this person, when we found them. But we would want to learn from them. To hear their stories, and to.... Test them." She finished the sentence looking sideways at the doctor, who grinned almost menacingly. "We believe, Mary, that this person is you."
She kept her gaze steady at me through Ken's sputtered denials and raised on eyebrow.
"True or false, Mary?"
I screwed up my face in childish concern.
"False," I said. "I'm 9."
The entire room was silent, and the woman surveyed me intently, which made me wiggle uncomfortably in the hard plastic desk chair.
"I don't believe you." She said finally, standing and stepping towards me as though about to grab me by the shirt collar.
Ken sprang from the bed and stood between us. He wasn't silenced this time.
"You stay away from her!" He demanded, and even in his fierceness he looked kind-hearted. "She is my foster daughter, and you have no legal power over her. Your story is ridiculous, and I will not have you disrupting her healing process right now."
The woman began to protest, as did the doctor, but Ken kept speaking.
"Your handwriting sample doesn't even look like Mary's," he said. I stared at him, his blatant lie. My handwriting matched perfectly, and Ken had seen it a lot. I helped Linda write out meal schedules, I signed the chore chart, he had seen all my schoolwork. I looked down before I could give myself away and then back up, as Ken took several steps toward a bookbag hanging on the wall and began rifling through it.
He pulled a loose paper from a folder inside and held it out.
"See? Completely different writing."
The woman looked at it as though she had a bad taste in her mouth, and as though she didn't believe it.
"Now get out of my house, and leave my Mary alone." Ken whispered threateningly. Even the police officers, who had looked rather confused and bored the whole time, looked scared now.
When no one moved, Ken repeated what he had said, more slowly this time. It was a technique he used with all of us when we were being disobedient.
His mouth dropped such venom and his eyes were so full of fire that the visitors really did leave, scurrying away and down the walk so fast that they forgot the five books they'd laid on the table in the room.
Ken closed the door again and looked at me quietly.
"That was Crystal's bookbag. And paper." I said finally.
"I know it was." He replied.
We looked at each other.
"When did you know?" I asked, lowering my head. He knelt beside me and wrapped his arms around me.
"I suspected something before, but I knew when I saw your writing."
"And why didn't you tell them the truth?" I asked.
"Because I read the page of that book, and I could tell you'd been running. Listen, Mary, if you're 9 or if you're 9,000, we're still here to protect you. That doesn't change. That's my job. We love you, and we're here until you're ready to leave again. I mean it. You can stay here as long as Linda and I are alive. We'll figure out names for you, and stories, and how to switch up your school so no one recognizes you. But you can stop running."
I was crying now.
"Ken... In all my years- and yes, there are far more than 9- I have never stayed with kinder people. I don't even think I've stayed with someone who would have protected me, had the events of tonight happened before. Why are you doing it?"
"Because no one needs to spend eternity running. There will be plenty of time for you to run when I'm not here to keep you from it." He said simply. He hugged me.
And then, for the first time, I shared some of the books with someone. 1932, 1706, 1811, 1950, 1467. And then, the one from my pillow. 2016.
I added a last line to it as he watched over my shoulder, still ashamed of my handwriting.
*I won't have to run this year.*
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It was easy enough for them to find me, I suppose. The technology that they'd developed over the centuries made it that way. I changed your name, of course. You were my first, Calliope. If I'd never worried about the harshness of this world I would have written your name in each of my books. I would have chronicled each curl of your hair and sung your praises until my voice went hoarse.
But humans - well, we both know what they're capable of. What *we're* capable of. So I changed your name. Over the centuries you became...infamous in your own right, I suppose.
Calliope. Beatrice. My Dark Lady, to whom I wrote sonnets of the world. I wrote for you as Rome fell. I chronicled the fall of empires, of kingdoms, of lovers. For none could capture me as you could, my Fanny Brawne.
I knew it wouldn't last forever. That some day they'd discover the similarities in my love letters to you. That they would read between the lines and discover how great my expectations of the human race were. I expected them to find you and name you Ternan, then Gonne, then Duval and Zelda.
It's over, my muse. My one true love. My Calliope. They've found the words I wrote for you, hidden in the words for the world. They've found the messages - the heartsick and the heartbreak that you brought me to. How you brought me to my knees again and again. How I would bleed for you - how I have. How I've changed history for you. Created personas for you.
I'd stop the world for you. I've tried - God knows I've tried.
And now what's the solution? They've discovered me. They've discovered you. They've found my writing, the similarities, they've drawn their conclusions. By this time next week the whole world will know your name.
So I suppose my purpose is fulfilled. I could write about the wars, the terror and the torture or the happy feeling of a child's laughter on a lazy Sunday afternoon. But if I could fade into nonexistence and find you there, floating for me in the darkness.
Calliope, I'd take it in a moment.
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Thanks for reading. For other stories, subscribe to /r/Celsius232
| 2016-08-05T07:41:15 | 2016-08-05T07:13:47 | 274 | 83 |
[WP] Having failed in every attempt to kill Batman, the villains of Gotham had given up. With nothing to do, they started a D & D group and had been meeting for several weeks in the back room of a local Tavern. Things take a turn when the owner, Mr. Bruce Wayne, asks if he may join their game
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"There seems to be something wrong about these woods. The higher up you look the darker things get. Light seems to be coming from the ground instead of the sky. The light is pale and covers things in a soft glow. It had recently rained and there is a fog slipping in slowly... ever so slowly at a distance from all sides. The trail leads onwards into the gloom of the darkening vale. What does the party want to do? Go back or continue forward with the quest?" The Game Master slid backwards in his chair and the only thing visible about him other than his cloak and his pale hands was a giant grinning face.
The sound of metal bouncing on wood and somehow landing on edge and then spinning was the only sound in the tavern. Nobody wanted to interrupt Joker's D&D group.
"Heads. We go forward." Harvey said mostly from the undamaged half of his face. "I'm party leader, I rolled highest on the twenty sided die for the job. It's heads. We go forward." As he stared down Bane.
The other faces around the table slowly nodded. Mister Freeze cooled everyone's barely touched drinks for them.
"As you continue forward you notice deers rushing past you on either side before one bursts from the undergrowth ahead of you and passes between the party members. It obviously did not care that you aren't all elven rangers."
"Maybe because we have one elven ranger" Ivy nodded towards Harley before gesturing towards herself "and one elven druid?"
After a response of laughter from their Game Master. The Riddler responded with a sigh before saying "We also have humans in our group. The deer are obviously more terrified of what they're running from then they are of us. Telsa, The Enchanter, pushes forward."
Bane's fist slammed into the table with so much force that Joker's Game Master's screen fell over. "Not before my Cavalier goes ahead. Telsa should flank my left and be prepared to cast. Sherika the elven archer, should flank my right. The rest of you should fall in behind us."
"I'm team leader and I..." the coin spun lazily in the air before landing flat on the table tails up "think that's a horrible idea. We don't spread out to either side of the trail. The map said to stay on the trail and it is four feet wide, not twenty."
"Fine then your human Barbarian can go first." Bane rolled his eyes and relented. It was just a game after all.
"It is the will of Beowulf's coin. A gift which he received from his tribe. Beowulf goes first."
Harley and Ivy snickered a little bit but nodded their agreement as they pushed their miniatures on the map to be in line behind Bane's which was behind Two-Face's. Penguin sighed as he pushed his warrior into place as well. Cat Woman just smiled as she pointed out that her character wasn't even there. They left her Rogue to handle the negotiations with the king. Mr. Freeze slid his fighting Monk's miniature in position last. His mini was different than the others. He continuously made little ice sculptures inside of shot glasses to represent different poses for his monk. He was actually getting good at it.
"The trees ahead seem more gnarled and twisted and some are bent towards the ground as you continue forward. The woods are quiet except for the sounds of your breathing and the sounds of your gear moving with you and your footsteps. Beowulf needs to make me a spot check." Once again Joker slid back into his chair and only showed his sparkling yellowed jade colored teeth. Harley winked at him.
Harvey Dent rolled a complete failure. The dice stopped on a 2.
"Something cold and wet touches the back of your neck." This in a sinister whisper from across the GM's screen. "Act now or accept your fate."
"I spin around and slash it with my giant bastard sword." The dice rolled again and stopped on a 16.
"Congratulations, you just hacked through a tree limb with a solid thwacking sound which could be heard for miles away in these woods."
"That's twice now you've hurt an innocent tree or a plant. Don't do it again." Ivy warned. "If you do then your Barbarian will have a fight on his hands from my Druid."
"And my elf. Elves love nature too, isn't that right, puddin?"
"Harley I wear the hood, because it is cool and adds to the effect, but I also wear it so you would see me as your Game Master, not your puddin. Remember I can't play favorites here. I have to be impartial." The biggest grin in the past few sessions lit up his face. "As you push forward down the trail, you advance into the fog as it also slowly advances towards you. Since you are in the lead, showing the courage of the northern tribes, make me a reflex saving roll as the ground underneath your fog encompassed feet finds uneven rocky ground covered in slippery moss."
Two Face rolled again and the number was a natural 1, a critical failure.
"You fall forward and slide partially against the moss covered stones and into a weird marsh. Because of that 1 you drop whatever you had in your hands."
"But, my lucky coin. Where does it go?"
"You watch it spinning in the air about five feet away from your outstretched hand as it plummets towards the water. A bony hand covered in brown and black brackish slime with flecks of dark green moss grabs the coin and pulls it back under the waters. You saw a gold ring set with a blue sapphire on that hand before it disappears. Around you, you see old bones rising from the marsh. Some bear the armor and weapons they had when they were mortal. One has a circlet, a tiny crown if you will, on its head. All have the blackish slime of the swamp pouring from their mouths and eye sockets, emptying from their empty skulls and sliding off of their bones."
"I'm no cleric and no fool, we run to avoid this useless fight, my Cavalier keeps himself between these unholy creatures and the rest of the group. I yell for Beowulf to get up and come back to us."
"Tesla's enchantment spells don't affect the undead and depending upon what type of undead creatures these are we might need magic weapons. So my monk also pulls back." Mr. Freeze made a new miniature inside of a shot glass of his monk running in fear and replaced the other shot glass with it.
Poison Ivy moved her druid mini to follow suite and said "Next week I'm going to do that with a tiny potted plant. So my mini can be more entertaining as well."
Riddler nodded his agreement with Mr. Freeze's assessment. "Depending upon what type of undead these are, even if Sherika's non magical arrows could damage them, regular arrows may only do half damage."
"Already thought of that. I used to be a doctor remember? I'm not just a dumb ditz." Harley slid her ranger mini into position.
Cat Woman watched Two Face with intense concentration as suddenly all eyes turned on him.
Harvey cleared his throat and flipped his coin. "Heads. I dive into the marsh and look for my coin."
"Six pairs of cold, slime and moss covered bones grab you and start to pull you under the water." Joker leaned forward on the edge of his seat as he said "Act now or accept the consequences."
"I let them push me down deeper so that I can find my lucky coin."
"They do and you notice that beneath them is some kind of old prisoner's wagon with rusty chains and manacles. You can barely see them in the murky waters and your coin is down there."
"I swim towards it."
"As you ignore them to swim towards it." The Joker rolled some dice. "They take this opportunity to manacle you to the wagon filled with years of mud and black slime. You eventually drown."
Two Face stood up. "I'll make another character." He flips his coin in the air, and it was Heads again. "Sorry it wasn't tails. I won't be the Cleric. No one likes playing the Cleric."
A voice from the front of the tavern called out with "But you guys need a Cleric right? I'll play the Cleric."
The Penguin seemed flabbergasted for a moment but then found his voice and asked "But aren't you Bruce Wayne? Shouldn't you be out doing the billionaire playboy thing?"
"My nights have recently become rather boring. This seems fun."
"I say he joins." Cat Woman exclaimed as her whip caught a chair from a different table and pulled it against theirs.
"This offers legitimacy to this game. He may join." Bane growled through his face mask.
"Yes, someone versed in navigating the board rooms of fortune 500 companies will compliment my intellect nicely as a fellow gamer." Edward Nigma, The Riddler smiled as he said this.
"Alright, you're in, but only if we can play past closing times. After all you do own this place." The Joker smiled his biggest smile yet.
Harley beamed a smile of encouragement at Bruce as he sat down to learn more about the tactical abilities of his fellow gamers and their ability to co-operate with each other. One day the paper and dice campaign will end and they'll go back to their criminal ways and he'll have to stop them.
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"Okay, so my character is gonna be this like, really rich guy, right? But he also works out, like a ton, so he's super jacked. And he's played by Ben Affleck."
"Ben Affleck?" Bane Queried.
"Yeah, you're right, maybe I should go for Christian Bale," Bruce said, "I mean, you can't really top The Dark Knight can y-"
"Sorry," Bane interrupted, "What are you talking about? Who are these people?"
"And your character seems a bit unbalanced," The Joker chimed in, "Super rich, super strong, expert fighter? He's gotta have a downside or the game gets boring."
"Yeah, yeah, alright," Bruce said, "I was getting to that. So my guy's downside is that, get this, at night he also becomes a superhero who goes out and fights crime and punches bad guys and shit like that."
"How is THAT a downside?" Bane exclaimed.
Bruce thought for a second. "Okay, I guess it's not really a downside but I'm keeping it anyway. Uhhh, how about, as well as being super ripped he's also really hot and because he's also a billionaire he can basically get any girl he wants and he can just crush pussy 24/7 if he wants to."
"Again, not a downside." The Joker sighed.
Bane shook his head slowly; he could see this was going to be a long night, and he had a plane to catch.
"I wasn't finished," Bruce shot back, "So because he gets any girl, one time he gets with the bad guys daughter but he doesn't realize it and then she stabs him and then tries to blow up the city with her dad and his militia, but then batm- I mean, my character escapes from this weird prison the bad guy locked him up in, beats up the bad guy and saves the city."
"That sounds oddly specific." Two-face responded. He had been the DM before The Joker but everyone got tired of his insistence of settling everything with his "d2".
"Well that's just what happened and that's who my character is so deal with it, ok? I own this joint so if any of you don't like it you can just leave."
"Ugh, fine," said The Joker. The sooner they could get the characters set up, the sooner they could get to playing.
"Your character is a...handsome billionaire playboy...who also fights crime. What did you say his name was?"
"Bat- I mean, uh, Owl-man?"
"Sure, whatever. Now you have to allocate your stat points. You can put-"
"Everything in to kung-fu! And Charm! And...being a total badass! And he gets a butler...and a mansion... and the butler is Michael Caine and..."
The Joker put his head in his hands. As Bruce continued his list of demands, he wondered if there were any more vacancies in Arkham Asylum. Surely it couldn't be too hard to be sent back there, right? He could just blow up some boats or something...
| 2017-05-14T03:33:01 | 2017-05-14T02:46:49 | 80 | 20 |
[WP] God shares the cosmos with several other dieties. To pass the time they play Civilization like games for eons. God's frustrated that his civilization, Earth, is several ages behind all his friends.
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God looked at his species and giggled. His people were woefully behind. They still only had basic nuclear power technology the little idiots used it to make a bomb! A bomb of all things. It was just too funny. The only thing they could do with fusion was to make yet another bomb. Of course they would do that. They did love their bombs. Somehow they managed to get basic spaceflight but all they really did with it was to put a person or two on the moon because of a political footrace. They did put satellites in orbit around their single planet so there was that at least. One or two were telescopes but that didn’t amount to much. Maybe they will see the invasion fleets before they hit. He couldn’t wait to see their reaction when they do. He hoped that they wouldn’t completely destroy their environment or otherwise wipe themselves out before that happens. It would disappoint everyone.
He looked again. They had actually managed to send stuff to nearby planets! He hadn’t expected that. He zoomed in further. Those little robots were so cute. They were actually starting to talk about colonizing their moon and sending people to Mars. Too bad it was only tens of thousands of years behind everyone else.
He hated to lose but it was pretty much certain at this point. The only reason he was still playing was to be a good sport. He had pretty much stopped wasting his efforts. There was really no point. He spent his time creating a nice little galaxy as he waited for his next turn. It was a great galaxy. The others were admiring it. It would make a fantastic new game board. When his turn rolled around he just poked at humanity a little bit. They were going to lose. No doubt about that. So instead of driving them onward he let them run about. Without that much “divine intervention” they had become really strange and amusing. He decided to go with that. Everyone loved his turn. It took ages for everyone to stop laughing.
He had grown bored with the game but he did love making his friends laugh. While those little idiots were losers all around they were just too funny. Everyone loved his humans. He even let the others mess with them setting up hilarious situation after situation as everyone howled with laughter. They had been fucked with so much that he was surprised he had a species left. He had grown to like them so much that he was going to grab the funniest of them just before they got wiped out and use them for the next round. He was looking forward to everyone’s reaction when he did it. It was going to be a hoot.
It looked like The Cold One was expanding into the area. Everyone giggled as she moved her pieces into the human’s solar system and leaned in for a close look. This was going to be a riot. There was supposed to be a surprise attack bonus but everyone decided to ignore that just to see what humans would do.
God chortled as he used his divine intervention card to allow The Cold One’s units to be detected about a week before they hit. The reaction was priceless. Total anarchy. The world leaders tried to maintain some sense of order and mount some defense but it just added to the fun. They were actually sending messages of peace! Everyone was laughing harder than they had in eons. He put his prayer feed on speaker. Even The Cold One was chuckling. Getting a laugh out of her was nearly impossible, even for the omnipotent.
Oh well, It was time to put the little idiots out of their misery. The invasion fleets hit. The humans, bless their little hearts, fought back. The joke that was their military was wiped out in one turn. They fought. Their cities were blasted into ash. They fought. The invaders deployed ground units. The humans fought. They died by the millions, by the billions. They fought. After each wave of devastation hit they crawled out of the ashes and they fought. Everyone leaned in further in astonishment as the humans just wouldn’t die. Maybe it was because they had been fucked with so much. Maybe it was the neglect. They had pretty much been left to themselves for survival. It looks like they were good at it.
They fought. When they ran out of bullets they threw rocks. When they ran out of guns they sharpened sticks. They sharpened bits of steel from their ruined cities and they fought. They whipped up crude explosives out of the dirt and they fought. They built stuff they hadn’t built in a thousand years and they fought. They threw shells from trebuchets and made crossbows and muskets and they fought. There was absolutely no hope of victory, even survival, but they fought. The laughter stopped and everyone watched in fascination. Those little bastards were still fighting. The Cold One sent more units. And then she sent more again. The humans were somehow still reproducing and fighting. They dug tunnels and hid in caves and fought. They burrowed under what was left in their cities and they fought. Any other species in any other game would have given up, begged for mercy, let themselves been enslaved, even worshipped their invaders. The humans didn’t. They just kept fighting. God was astounded.
Everyone was amazed when despite the utter devastation the human’s tech level started to rise. God looked in. He watched as people, some of them too young to reproduce, tore apart bits of technology that had be dropped by The Cold One’s casualties and were somehow figuring it out. There was no way that should have happened but it was. The invader’s casualties continued to mount. There were no human units left. There was not a single unit, not a single city, not anything showing on the board but The Cold One was still taking losses. Earth was lost but somehow The Cold One was still not the victor. The humans still fought. Years passed. Decades passed. A century passed. The humans still fought, refusing to become extinct.
The gods watched on with interest. This was new. New was something that the gods enjoyed to no end. But eventually Earth was almost completely burned, a cinder. A lot of the Earth’s life had become extinct. Somehow the humans weren’t. Their numbers were incredibly low. They were almost gone but they were still there and still fighting. God was impressed. Everyone was impressed. The Cold One’s units were still on Earth fighting and dying but she didn’t really lose units anymore but her units couldn’t completely wipe out all of the humans either. Everyone’s interest waned. Not much new was going on. The situation had become a stalemate. The game went on. The Cold One, being hard pressed, pulled the few units she still had on Earth to fight elsewhere. She lost a few turns later.
The game continued. Players lost and the few remaining were all commanding galactic superpowers with thousands of systems each. As they battled back and forth humanity survived. Their world was ruined. They should have starved but they survived. They ate bugs, worms, scum growing on the rocks of their long forgotten cities and survived. God, somehow, was still in the game. He looked upon his creation in wonder. He pondered what he should do. He decided to do absolutely nothing. His humans deserved no less. They were their own player now.
The world started to renew itself a little and weeds and vines started to grow. His “losers” were there still there, their numbers slowly increasing as God passed each turn. Their technology started to increase, fueled by the bits and pieces of The Cold One’s tech still laying around. Their numbers and technology continued to grow. Suddenly a unit appeared! Other units soon followed. They started to leave their planet first in faltering steps and then their ships started to spread across the stars.
They weren’t colonizing planets though. God looked down at his humans with curiosity. They weren’t colonizing but they were spreading. They didn’t make worlds. They just exploited the mineral wealth of the stars to build more ships and their technology continued to rapidly rise as they came across the ruins and dead ships of the other players no longer in the game. God looked closer as he passed another round. Humanity wasn’t interested in colonization or empires. They weren’t looking at the stars in wonder or at planets with ambition. They looked outward with only one emotion, hate. They had always been violent. It was part of their amusing charm. After the near extinction of their race only the most vicious and tough of the most vicious and tough survived. Their descendants were now the ones spreading across the stars. They were no longer fighting amongst each other though. They had bigger game in mind.
God looked at his population and tech ratings and smiled grimly. The other remaining players were so engaged in their battles that they only saw God’s one smashed planet. They didn’t see the billions and billions of humans and their ships, their numbers and technology growing at an ever increasing speed. They didn’t see the humans coming.
God and the other “losers” watched humanity with interest. Things were about to get quite interesting indeed.
Edit: I gotta get a few assignments in. I will write more later this afternoon.
|
God was getting sick of losing. Even though He was the oldest, He always seemed to come in last. Heck, He was the one who created the freaking game! So why was He always losing? His buddies always seemed to be several steps ahead of Him no matter what He did.
God supposed He wouldn't mind it that much if Deon wasn't such a smug asshole about it. The rest of them were alright, but Deon would always rub it in God's face that He was still in the Archaic Era.
God just didn't understand it. He was easily the kindest player, and He tried to teach His units to be the same, but they always wound up killing each other, usually as soon as they entered the Atomic Era. It's like they always wound up doing the opposite of what He told them to do. God thought this was probably what being a dad with a rebellious son felt like. Wait a minute... a son....
God finally had an idea. Maybe *this* time He could stop his moronic units from killing each other, and then they'd be able to advance! He could already picture the look on Deon's face when His people reached the Intergalactic Era first. It would be so awesome!
God started off the way He normally did, taking His time with technology, focusing more on moral lessons and stuff. Unfortunately, His people still made a few (ahem) "misinterpretations" of His lessons. But God was patient. He waited several hundred years before starting Phase One of His plan. God used a mod He'd been working on, called "Direct Blessing," to upgrade Moses into a Great Prophet. Then He used Moses's power to upgrade his morality points.
God waited many more turns before finally completing His plan. He chose one of his female units whose morality was at 100% and told her He'd be turning himself into a unit, but He needed her help. She agreed, and God's plan finally came to fruition. Unfortunately, He was limited by His status as a unit, so He only had a handful of turns to clarify as many of His moral lessons as possible. God could hardly contain His excitement. This was going to be SO AWESOME.
That is, until He realized there were a bunch of His units who didn't believe He was really their God. Hmmm... He hadn't really thought of that. He didn't even have a way to prove Himself. Oh well. He decided He'd just keep teaching as much as possible. Even if they didn't believe Him, His lessons would still be heard, right?
Aaaaaaand they're hanging Him on the cross. Shit.
Huh. God didn't realize how much being a unit could hurt. I mean, DAMN. Well, at least He could finally prove Himself.
Three days after He died, God came back for just one turn and showed Himself to enough people that He figured they'd believe Him now. He also appeared to some of His best allies from when He was a unit. Then God left the game for good, promising that He'd be back after they'd won the game. He figured that would be enough motivation to keep them from killing each other this time.
After that, God put His units, settlements, and buildings on autowork and decided to take a nap. 2100 in-game years later, God woke up and took a look at what His Civ had accomplished.
...
...
...WHAT THE FUCK, GUYS???
| 2016-04-09T11:39:46 | 2016-04-09T10:10:58 | 57 | 13 |
[WP] Our blood is naturally clear, it thickens and darkens with each impure act. You have always dedicate yourself to good and helping others but today while knitting beanies for the homeless you accidentally prick your finger. Your blood is jet black and so thick it doesn't even drip.
|
I stared at the blood dripping from my finger, shocked. I'd always tried to be good-- always volunteered, always helped people I saw that were in need. I around at the other patrons in the coffee shop I sat in, but nobody seemed to notice someone as old as I, hunched over in a back corner. I brought my withered finger to my lips. Even in the war, I had never been injured, and I cursed my clumsy hands for giving me such a terrible realization. Have I ever been truly good, or was I just always play-acting as my heart grew more bitter over the years?
I worked as a medic in the war, while my brother fought on the field. The day they brought him into my tent still haunts me, his tortured eyes pleading me for death. I managed to keep him alive long enough to send him home, where he died a few days later. They awarded him with the purple heart, which we chose to bury with him at Arlington National Cemetery.
"Sir?" I glanced up from my drink and looked into the eyes of a young man; a businessman, judging by the look of his attire. He towered over me, staring at me with his blue eyes. They pierced through me. I took my finger from my mouth and brought it shakily to my lap. He smiled knowingly. There was something... Strange about this man, something terrifying in his smile.
He sat across from me, leaning over the small table. He smelled like death and there was a strange flatness to his eyes, like gemstones glimmering in the light. "I know what you've done," he whispered to me, tapping the old ring on my finger. I withdrew, clenching my fists together. The pain from the arthritis brought tears to my eyes and the action seemed to bring him pleasure. I didn't speak.
"You can't forget forever, old man," he said. I shook my head slowly.
"You know nothing," I whispered hoarsely. I was fearful of this man, but I was not enough of a coward to hide such fear.
"Your memory is not what it used to be, but there are some things you cannot truly forget."
My hands were burning from the pain. I unclenched them, slowly, and watched them quiver in my lap. The small cut seemed to have grown larger, black ooze crusted over it like small rocks blocking a flood. "Who... Who are you?"
His smile grew larger. "I am the dog that followed your brother into war, the vulture that circled over your little tent as you tried to save his life. I was the bloodthirst in his eyes, and yours when you tried to avenge his death. I am Ares, the god of war. You humans have fought meaningless wars across time, both against others and against yourselves. I see the war you've waged for years in your heart."
"You-You're crazy!" I spluttered. "I don't know what you're talking about. I never fought in the war!"
The man--Ares-- winked at me. "I never said you fought in the war. You never stopped trying to avenge your brother, did you? Your rage consumed you, and no matter how many people you killed, it could never fill the hole in your heart, or quench your thirst for blood."
*No... He's wrong. I've always been good. I've alwaysbeengoodI'vealwaysbeen-*
I clutched my head. "No..." I whispered.
"Aaah, I see you remember now. Such a terrible thing for you to do. All those men that looked like your brother, their bodies scattered throughout the countries you forged a path of fire in. You never saved a soul again after his death. All these years spent in your delusions."
The cut on my finger had reopened, dripping blackened blood over my eye. It burned, but I could not move.
Ares focused on the blood. "Ah, the curse of Erinyes," he murmured. "It has changed over the years, but still brings misfortune to people like you. Your physical ailments, your unexplained illnesses..."
He touched my forehead, wiping away some of the blood. I flinched. Ares examined it, then wiped it on my shirt.
"You are dying," he told me. "The Fates will it-- but it will be a slow and painful death, a descent into madness further than you have ever gone. You will age until your skin turns to paper and your bones to dust."
*No... I will end my own life before that happens.*
He smirked again. "I can see in your eyes what you are thinking, but you will not be able to. The Maniae will see to that."
*Nononononononono-*
"Goodbye, Jonathan Stone. Your final punishment is upon you."
He disappeared in a flash of fire and ash, leaving me frozen at the table. It seemed that nobody had witnessed what had transpired. The sun still shined through the window and others still milled around the shop; but suddenly, they all had their eyes on me.
*Disgusting old man... look at the color of his blood.*
*How is he still alive? He is so old and feeble.*
*He needs to be punished for his crimes.*
*Evilmanevilmanevilman-*
I screamed. The hat I had been knitting turned to a skull in my hands, grinning at at me grotesquely, and blackened blood oozed down the walls, choking me with the stench of death.
I was back at the battlefield, staring into my brother's eyes, but this time his eyes radiated hatred instead of pain.
"Monster," he gurgled. *"MONSTER."*
I stabbed him, over and over, shrieking and crying. I couldn't stop, and he wouldn't die-- his cries only grew stronger and louder with each blow.
This is hell.
\*\*\*\*
*"Breaking news: Jonathan Stone, aged 88, has been charged with 26 counts of murder when he attacked the patrons of Cathedral Coffee and the surrounding area. There were no survivors. Police were dumbfounded when they arrived at the scene, and shot Stone multiple times in the chest when he attempted to attack them. This is the largest killing spree Oregon has ever seen. Stone survived the onslaught and is currently at Oregon State Hospital in critical condition. He is said to have been semi-conscious the entire time, but that information has not been confirmed."*
|
Turns out following the rules of god was the wrong way..
Turns out following the Bible to a t, never wearing cotton, the whole fish thing was wrong..
That woman who was dying I couldn’t touch her,
Turns out slaves where bad...
Turns out cutting my wife’s hands off was evil..
I needed a moment
| 2018-08-04T10:51:37 | 2018-08-04T09:44:59 | 28 | 10 |
[WP] A reporter somehow managed to get an interview with the most powerful villain in the city. It did not go as he imagined.
|
“So what makes you do it?”
“Do? It?”
Clancy chuckled a bit to try and remove some tension from the air, but the sweltering sewer air somehow swallowed up the sound.
Clancy wondered how a sewer could be sweltering, but everything about this interview so far had been screwy. The world’s greatest supervillain was turning out to be extremely odd in that he appeared completely uninterested in murder or fame.
“Tidewater” the villain tilted his head slightly to one side, and the whole room seemed to lurch underneath Clancy’s seat as he maintained eye contact with the man.
“Could you tell me how you got those eyes? The way the color seems to move like liquid, it really does feel like sea sickness looking into them.”
“I was born with them.”
Clancy clenched his teeth, slapped on his best “can we just do this thing?” smile, and prepared to bull through Tidewater’s stubborn recalcitrance.
“So about your ...”
Clancy was interrupted as Tidewater spoke in a smooth susurration that evoked memories of a pebble beach shoreline and wind whipped swells.
“The first person I killed was my mother. The doctor’s theorized that my powers activated upon the breach of the placenta. I was one of ten humans born with powers active from birth.”
“What ... uh what happened if I may ask?”
“I boiled her alive from the inside before they could deliver me. Eventually they decided to C section my corpse, but lo and behold I was alive. The first superhuman charged and convicted with murder before being able to speak.”
“... that’s horrendous. The official report says you were born from a test tube.”
“Technically speaking that may be accurate, since they held me in a form of nutrient rich tank until the wounds from the boiling water were healed.”
“You weren’t protected from your own abilities?”
“I was not a conscious entity. I did not even comprehend that I had abilities, much less that they were within the scope of my control. No human is born able to walk.”
“So... they lied about how you were born and kept you in a lab? That’s awful.”
“Yes. It was. So was being raised in a laboratory. The scientists meant well but I was a lab rat, or monkey, not a human child.”
“When did you decide you would be a villain?”
“Ha! That’s funny. I didn’t decide to be a villain. I simply am one.”
“What do you mean? Once you were released as an adult you had the option to do good acts with your powers, just like Photomancer, The Kingfisher, Dart, Genesis ... heck even Quasar manages to not hurt people and he can eat stars.”
Tidewater looked expectantly at Clancy, and Clancy wondered if he had simply failed to state the obvious question.
“So why can’t you be something other than a villain?”
“Well. I will answer your question with a question, what should you do when the tide goes out?”
“Uh. Stay in?”
“No.”
Tidewaters stood and once again Clancy made the mistake of keeping eye contact with the man. His eyes appeared to be filled partway with sapphire blue water, which sloshed and moved like real water in a head shaped bowl.
“When the tide goes out, get to high ground.”
Tidewater turned and started walking out of the sewer vault he apparently called his home.
“Uh. We still have an interview. You promised me two hours! It’s only been one!”
“... yes? The tide must still go out and in. Today it will unfortunately be a rather large swell. I believe four cities are about to be destroyed.”
Clancy leapt up from the partially rotted box he had been sitting on, and noticed that water was beginning to flow past him and Tidewater, towards the shore.
“ ... you’re headed to the shore? You’re attacking Today?!”
Tidewaters stopped and turned in the gloom to look at Clancy.
“Well. Yes and no, Biographer.”
“Yes and no? Which yes? Which no?”
“Yes I am going out. Yes four cities will be flooded. No I am not attacking.”
“But how can you say that when so many people will die as a result of your actions?”
Tidewater tilted his head again, but Clancy looked away before the odd sloshing motion in those eyes made Clancy feel seasick.
“They will die regardless of my actions today. The tide must go in and the tide must go out. I am simply facilitating the natural process. It would be much worse if I did my actual job.”
“What? Ok I’m getting whiplash, how could it possibly be worse if you “did your job”?”
Tidewater sighed long and hard before apparently steeling himself for what he had to say.
“My job is to prevent natural calamities. As a younger man I tried very hard to prevent tsunamis, rogue waves, flooding, and all manner of destruction caused by the tidewaters.”
“But. Wait. What? You were always a villain according to...”
“According to? My own statements? The statements of the government? Of the Superhuman Federation?
“...” Clancy, Biographer, had no rebuttal.
“You’re going to die today most likely so it doesn’t really matter what I tell you. I was born into their “care” and for nearly two decades they forced me to try and prevent as many natural disasters as possible.”
“But. You flooded all the continents on the day of your escape from confinement.”
“That is one way to view the events. One way to tell a story.”
“And how would you tell it?”
“Honestly? I wouldn’t tell my own story if it weren’t for you being so incredibly persistent and annoying. You are the first person to find me since I escaped eight years ago.”
“But people have to know! They have a right!”
“The right to know what? That suffering is equally as blind as justice? That misfortune is as uncaring and dispassionate as luck and fortune?”
“No, they have a right to know who you are, and why you do what you do.”
“... I don’t think they care. I believe they will be happy to string me up next to the other “criminals” on the tidal breakwalls they built to protect their precious coastal cities.”
Tidewater maintained a deceptively speedy pace, and Clancy had trouble keeping up with the long slow strides of the taller man.
“I must correct past mistakes, which means beginning with tearing apart those walls and barriers. The cities and coasts must flood. The tide must go in and out.”
Clancy followed behind Tidewater for a time in relative silence, the echoing splashing of their steps and the rising gurgling of water their only accompaniment.
Biographer, Clancy as he preferred to be known, was severely out of his comfort zone with this interview. His skills allowed him to perceive any mistruth or falsehood stated knowingly as a lie, and so far Tidewater had not lied as far as he was aware.
“So ... what are you saying? The tidal wave you are about to deliver was coming all along?”
“No, it never would have happened if I hadn’t been forced to prevent all those other disasters. This is ... an unfortunate buildup of energy which must be released.”
“Isn’t there another way? Couldn’t you ... I don’t know, push the water somewhere else?”
“Push the water? Is that what all you simpletons think I do?”
By now they were reaching the end of the sewer tunnel, and Clancy was not relieved at all when he saw that the beach was almost entirely packed with herds of humanity all gawking and pointing towards the ocean.
“Sweet God of Light!”
For as far as he could see there was no ocean. No tide. Just leagues and leagues of dying sea creatures, wave tossed detritus, and sand.
“What did you do with it? Where is all the water?!”
Tidewater shook his head in disappointment and pointed upwards.
“I don’t control the water, I control that.”
Clancy followed his pointing arm but there was nothing in the sky other than the daytime moon and ...
“Oh ... what?”
Clancys words sounded more like a whisper or a breath of wind than actual speech.
“Like I said. The tides must go in and out. There is simply too much stored energy from the previous calamities I prevented. Today that energy must be released.”
“But ... why? Why can’t you just keep stopping them?”
“Because if I don’t let off the pressure, I’ll break the moon in half.”
Tidewater looked pointedly at Biographer.
“Which would you rather have Biographer, a moon, or a lot of dead people? Because we can always make more people.”
Biographer felt a chill wash over him as he realized the choice Tidewater had to make.
“And you can’t fix the moon?”
“I either shatter it or I let the tides come in.”
Biographer started heading for the closest mountain range he could find. The tide must come in and the tide must go out.
|
"I'm coming to you live from VileCon, the annual Villain and Calamity Conference preparing for an exclusive interview with Smashum, one of the most powerful up and coming new Villians. Twenty feet tall and capable of taking the shape of a Bear, a Wolf and even a Monster Truck once, this ne'er do well really packs a punch and nothing's slowed him down yet!
"Now, I've been told the interview will be in a standard breakout room so that alone is telling. Smashum must have some smaller form or this whole venue's gonna be feeling the smash! Either way, stay tuned! After the break, I will be live with Smashum!
Nick was careful to not smudge his make up as he scratched his nose and entered the room to set up for the interview. A child, maybe three years old was sitting in the middle of the carpet watching videos on a bright green tablet. A woman, presumably the strangely placed child's mother sat in a chair at the edge of the room beside a large sign that said NO TOYS ALLOWED.
"Hey, wrong room, ma'am. We have a dangerous villain due here at any moment. Take this kid somewhere." Nick ushered in the camera crew.
"The interview with Smashum, right?" The woman asked.
"Yeah..." Nick said. "I'm sorry, are you his handler? What's with the kid? Where is he?"
"Handler? I like that. I'm Jeremy's or as you call him, Shashum's mom." She reached out to shake his hand.
Nick took it and shook it while trying to process what was going on. He looked as the small child expelled some energy from his fingers and a 3d satellite view of the surrounding city appeared on the ground. "TOYS! SMASHUM!" He yelled, looking at his mom.
"He's the twenty foot monster that's been attacking the city and always returns no matter how much he's damaged?"
"Oh yes, well not him, persay. Whenever Jeremy plays with toys, he can summon a real time map of the local area and manifest a copy of whatever toys he's playing with but at a much larger scale."
"So, you give him those toys. You're the real villain. He's just a kid!" Nick asked.
The cheery conservatively dressed woman shrugged and started to respond.
"Wait, don't answer. This is too juicy. I want it all to feel organic. This is going to be the interview of the century. "
A lens cap fell and rolled towards Jeremy. He picked it up and no one seemed to notice. It was kind of a lame toy but it could be flying saucer, he guessed or rolling wheel of doom. He decided he might play some after his video was done.
\---
Thanks for reading.
If you liked this, check out /r/surinical to see more of my prompt responses and other writing.
| 2021-04-01T11:32:59 | 2021-04-01T11:02:29 | 68 | 12 |
[WP] In what seems like a cruel prank by a bored God, people started developing powers based on their worst fears. people afraid of heights got the gift of flight. arachnophobia? get the power of spiders. phasmophobia? necromancy/ability to speak with the dead. Your power is... hard to explain...
|
Spectrophobia is the fear of mirrors. Specifically, it's the fear of seeing something reflected in the mirror that shouldn't be there: a ghost or apparition sharing space with you, or your the idea that your reflection isn't actually your reflection, but a separate entity that moves on its own. It sounds silly. I knew it was silly, completely irrational even. Knowing this did absolutely nothing to make the fear go away.
Usually, I could deal with my phobia. As long as the room was brightly lit, I could stand to look in mirrors if I had to. Normally, I'd avert my eyes as much as possible, and that got me by. I felt a little anxious looking at my reflection long enough to get myself ready in the mornings, but I could manage.
That was before the powers began. Before the news reports started coming in. There was the man with arachnophobia who was mugged in a parking lot. Just as the thug pulled a knife on him, all these giant spiders poured out from under the cars. The mugger ran off, and the guy was saved. He had to be hospitalized for a week to treat his anxiety, though.
The lady with the fear of heights wasn't so lucky. She started levitating, and couldn't figure out how to go back down. Up and up she went, screaming. At about 300 feet, she finally passed out from her panic attack. Her power stopped functioning, she fell, and she died.
After reading these, and many more reports, my spectrophobia grew ten times worse. I didn't know how my power might manifest, and I didn't want to find out. I didn't dare look in a mirror, even in the brightest light.
I started getting comments at work about my unprofessional appearance. Without a mirror, I had no idea what I looked like. I did my best with my makeup. I put on foundation and could only hope I'd blended it properly. I attempted lipstick, but eye makeup was impossible. I could comb my hair, but I couldn't style it. One day I got daring and braided it. Apparently it did not turn out well.
Using the restroom was the worst. In my own house, I was familiar enough with the layout of my bathroom that I could get to the toilet, and then to the sink to wash my hands, with my eyes closed. At work, though, I really struggled. I would dart into the bathroom and into the nearest stall without making eye contact with the mirror. I had to carry a big bottle of hand sanitizer in my purse, because I didn't dare approach the sinks. They had mirrors over them. Some of my co-workers noticed. I couldn't bring myself to explain. As embarrassing as my behavior was becoming, being afraid of mirrors was even more humiliating. Every time I started to tell them about it, I thought of the onslaught of ugliness jokes they would make, and I couldn't do it.
There was this guy at my office. Ted. Ted was a major creeper. He spent way too much time staring at the women in our office. He lingered near our cubicles instead of returning to his own work. If he had to pass one of us in the halls or the aisles, he would pass as closely as possible, trying to arrange it so that his hands would brush – well, I'll just let you guess. We reported him to Human Resources, but nothing was ever done.
One evening, I had to stay late working on a project that had gotten a bit out of hand. Everyone else had left, and most of the lights had been turned off. I finally wrapped it all up and shut off my computer. When I turned around, I saw a figure standing in the darkened hallway. Ted. He stepped into the light, leering.
“Ted. I didn't know you were still here. Uh, well, have a good night.” I headed toward the front door.
Ted stepped directly into my path. “No need to rush off, Gloria. Heh. I know what everybody's been saying, but I like your new natural look. You, uh, you look really hot. You know, I've been working out. Wanna see my abs?” He started to untuck his shirt.
“I need to get home,” I said, trying to push past him.
He grabbed my arm. “What's the rush? It's not like you're married. We could go out. You and me. You think I'm attractive, right?”
I tried to squirm out of his grip. He got a hurt look on his face, then drew back his other hand and slapped me across the face. I struggled harder. He reached into his jacket. Before I could find out what he had in there, I kneed him in the crotch and ran in the opposite direction.
Cursing that I hadn't paid more attention during office fire drills, I racked my brain to recall where the next nearest exit was. Ted pounded after me. A gun flashed in his hand. Was he really going to shoot me? I ducked into a hallway, but I'd gotten turned around. I was outside the bathrooms, and the hall hit a dead end after that.
Ted stepped into the entrance. He pointed the gun at me. His hand was shaking like crazy. Panicking, I shoved my way into the ladies room.
Oh, no. The mirrors.
My eyes fell on the glass before I could stop myself. For a second, I saw my reflection staring back at me. I had dark circles under my eyes, and my hair was a wild mess. Then, the horrified look on my face stretched into a wide grin.
Oh, no.
I ducked into a stall and slammed the door behind me. I crouched into the corner behind the toilet, making myself as small as I could. The ladies room door slammed open.
“Why are you running? Why can't women ever give me a chance!” Ted howled. The gun went off. Bathroom tiles shattered above my head. I stifled a scream.
There was a bang. Ted had kicked open the door of the first stall. I crawled under the partitions to the farthest one. He kicked another door open. It was only a matter of time before he reached me.
“Hey! How did - ” Ted said in surprise. Then there was a weird, squelching noise. Something red spattered the floor at Ted's feet. He collapsed. His head lolled toward me, his eyes open and staring blankly, his mouth frozen in an 'O' of horror.
I cracked the door and peeked out.
She was still there.
My reflection stood in the middle of the room, Ted's blood dripping from her fingers. She winked at me. Then she climbed up onto the sink and stepped into the mirror and was gone. The only thing reflected in it was the empty bathroom.
​
r/HallOfDoors
|
Perhaps it was a blessing in disguise, I thought.
After all, I *had* always wanted to be able to fly; has always wished I could be the hero in my very own comic book story.
But this? Cruel irony.
They were huge, delicate and papery; dusty and scaly. like stained glass with the texture of gravel.
Maybe they would have been beautiful from a distance (and about a thousand times smaller). But each one the half size of a movie theater screen? And hanging off *my* back? This was a **nightmare** (incidentally one I’d had before).
How would I fit through doors? Sit down? Go to bed? How would I do **anything**?!
Not to mention the weight! Sure they could lift me into the air, but it was no easy task to stand up.
The wings were one thing, but the secondary power made my skin crawl. Thousands of the little creeps at my beck and call. Useful, certainly. But also disgusting. All those little wings and legs… I’m itching as I write this.
I used to want superpowers to be real so desperately. But man…
I **HATE** butterflies!!
| 2022-05-15T02:11:03 | 2022-05-15T01:24:03 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] Every night in your sleep you meet a successful-looking future you who tells you what you should do the next day. So far your life has gone well indeed, but one day you fall asleep during the daytime. You meet a tired, disheveled version of yourself who begs you not to listen to the other.
|
I am reading this journal one last time before I burn it, for some things are better left in the past.
* **May 15th, 2011, 7:30am.**
Last night was very strange. I sat up in bed, but my room was not my room. I struggled to get to sleep for two reasons: first, because the Law School Admissions Test was the next day, and second, because the air conditioner had broken down and I was lying in a pool of my own sweat. I tossed and turned, trying to get comfortable, and just as I started to slip into the familiar lull of my subconscious, I felt a hand touch my chest directly over my heart three times. I panicked and bolted upright, but my room was unfamiliar. The walls were gray, sterile, and somehow shifting. He walked in the door. It was my father, but I know He was not my father. He sat next to me and puts His hand on my knee. I had a fleeting thought of resistance; of running, or fighting, but I sat motionless.
“Tomorrow is a very big day for you. A very big day indeed. And we need to make sure you are prepared for it.” My heart pounded in my chest. “Who is this?” I thought to myself.
“I am you,” He responded, before I could form the words. “Well, I am you in the future. And let me tell you, your – our – future is amazing. I can’t tell you what is in store, but I need you to remember what I tell you now.” He then turned to me and then looked directly into my eyes: “A, C, D, E, E, D, A, A, C, D, B, B, B, B, E, C, B, D…” He went on for another fifteen minutes this way. He then told me a story about a boy and a dog, and how that boy killed another dog to save his own.
I recognized the sound of my alarm clock. It was time to wake up. As I returned to consciousness, I realized that I was back in my room. I think I’ve been putting myself under too much stress recently. I’ll make a pot of coffee and hope that helps.
* **May 15th, 2011, 6:30pm.**
I don’t know what to write, and I’m a little bit scared. I need to start at the beginning of the day for this to make sense.
After I wrote this morning’s entry, I got ready and drove down to the local university where they were hosting the LSAT. I filled the parking meter to the maximum it would let me, but it was still two hours short of how long the test would be. Then I realized it was Saturday, and I didn’t have to pay the meter anyway. Oops. I hoped I would be more on point for the rest of the examination.
During the examination instructions, the power went out. The emergency generators kicked on, but the air conditioning doesn’t run when that happens. Everyone groaned, but nobody left. We followed the instructions and started the examination.
I opened my book. Section one was the vocabulary section of the exam – one of my strong points. I cruised through the first hour-long session, filling each of the bubbles in turn. I ran into a few questions that I didn’t know the answer to, so I left those blank to come back to later. I reached the end of the section and reviewed: I had answered 38 questions and left 12 blank.
Suddenly, something stirred in me. I started taking note of each of the answers. A. C. D. Blank. Blank. D. A. Blank. A. A. C. D. I heard His voice in my head, repeating the numbers as clearly as day. “What the hell is going on?” I thought to myself. I started to panic. Every single question that I had answered were in the same order and had the same answers as He told me last night! My mind was a blur; I was sweating like crazy. Suddenly, the examination proctor told us, “five minutes remaining in this section.” I snapped back to reality – I had completely forgotten to answer the questions! Without thinking, I filled in the remaining bubbles with the letters that had been spoken to me the night before.
I did the same thing with each of the remaining sections. When I finally got to the essay question, my jaw dropped. It was an ethics question; a question about the very boy and his dog that I had been told the night before. Instinctively I wrote the answer down verbatim. I don’t know why I did it. I don’t think I’m going to sleep well tonight.
* **June 1st, 2011.**
He has visited me every night since the examination. He tells me things. Things to do, things to say, and what to expect with each passing day. He asks nothing in return; just for me to listen. He told me to go to a certain gas station near my house and pulled out a red and green square of cardboard: a scratch off ticket. He told me to go at 4:15pm. I did, I bought the ticket, and won $600. He told me not to spend the money, but to instead invest it in a few certain stocks. I’ll have to figure out how to do that tomorrow.
* **June 12th, 2011.**
Today is the happiest day of my life! I got my LSAT results back, and I made a perfect score. 180! I suppose something deep inside me was expecting this; either way, I’m ecstatic. My mom and dad are so proud that they’ve called all their friends and the neighbors. I didn’t even have a chance to tell anyone because they went to Facebook and posted it on my wall before I had the chance to. I’ll let them have their moment! I’m just happy to have done so well! I haven’t heard back from Him since the first of the month.
* **February 10th, 2012.**
I found out yesterday that I was accepted to Harvard Law on a full scholarship. Last night, I felt three touches on my chest, and he visited me again. I sat up in the now-familiar gray room.
“Where have you been?” I asked.
“You didn’t need me, so I stayed back. But you need me now. This is important.” He said a bunch of words that sounded like someone talking on the phone; like it was one half of a conversation. I don’t understand what it means, but I can remember all of it perfectly.
* **February 14th, 2012.**
Now I know what’s going on! My mom and dad threw a big surprise party for me and invited all my friends. Anna, the girl that I’ve been crushing on since Junior year of University, was there. As the party was winding down, I went into the den and saw her long blond hair draped over the back of the sofa. She was sitting there by herself looking at her phone. I sat down, and started repeating the half-phone conversation that He told me, verbatim. She responded naturally, and I just kept saying what he said, the same way he said it. She laughed, a lot. Incredible! I had to sneak out to write this while it was fresh on my mind tonight.
She is still asleep in my room.
* **February 15th, 2012.**
I woke up this morning next to Anna. I took a deep, long breath of her glorious hair, and rolled over to grab my phone. The stocks I bought back in June had gone up in value substantially. The $600 I had invested was now worth more than $6,000!
|
Every night when I fall asleep nothing happens, but tonight something happened. I met a man in my sleep who told me that he was future me and told me what I should do tomorrow, it didn’t seem dangerous so I did what he said. While walking around the corner that he told me to walk around I found $100.
everything was good for a few months, I had money, friends, and fame, what more could a man want. One day I went to sleep in the daytime even though the man in my dreams warned me against it, but I just couldn't help myself. While asleep I met a man that looked kind of like the man in my dreams, he was malnourished, looked homeless, and smelled like a skunk. The man warned me not to listen to the man In the dreams I have at night, I said, “whatever old man, I won't listen to you.”
When I went to sleep that night the man in my dreams he told me what to do, when I woke up I did it. all was normal until the swat team broke into my house to arrest me, I was tried with 37 counts of fraud, “but the man In my dreams said that I would get away with it.” I told the investigators. My lawyer got me off on insanity, but on the term that I would spend the rest of my life in a mental home. As I grew older in the mental home I started to look more like the Man I met In that dream I had in the day, I tried to contact him but never could.
EDIT: Fixed errors
| 2017-04-01T06:34:46 | 2017-04-01T03:58:44 | 91 | 12 |
[WP] Soul mates are real and technology has finally allowed for detection of some peoples “other half" at the speed of light using quantum messaging. When you were tested there was no response, now 10 years later you are called in to let you know a response has just arrived.
thats all you get to go on, can be born years apart, could be distance, could be missing soul, whatever you want.
theme, setting and genre all up to you.
*"technology" can be magic, natural human empathy, gods, whatever.
|
My parents remembered the skepticism, the denial, and then the complete pandemonium when ARROW was introduced to the public. Things like utilizing quantum messaging were still in their infancy. At first no one believed the claims of the small start up, choosing instead to believe that it was just a scam-- another company using slick new technology to dazzle and take advantage of desperate single people. But after just a few years it rapidly became apparent that something about their process was special. When married people began to get ARROW scans and the divorce rate jumped seemingly overnight, the media went crazy on a global level and government everywhere realized too late how powerful the technology was on a purely social scale. The countries that tried to outlaw it saw violence, riots, and even wars break out. Religions went every which way, some calling it an abomination while others called it our best tool to discern God's will. Eventually, most countries acknowledged the right to an ARROW scan as a basic human right.
In the span of one generation, though people became more likely to immigrate to be with their match, populations everywhere were at their most stable that anyone could tell in all of human history. Violence in every ARROW participating country plummeted. ARROW was civilization's crowning social achievement.
Like most of my peers, I grew up in an incredibly happy home. It was obvious my parents adored one another and I couldn't remember a time that I wasn't looking forward to finding out who my soulmate was. I watched as my older brother and then sister each got matched on their 20th birthdays, each married within the year. I never doubted that would be my story, too.
On my 20th birthday my parents took me, their last child and second daughter, to get tested. I was so nervous and excited I couldn't eat breakfast, knowing by lunch time I'd know who my Prince Charming is. The test was pretty simple- they took a swab of my mouth and then had me step up to an eye scanner. It felt like I had been waiting a lifetime as the pings of responses to others being tested went off around me. I watched my parents exchange nervous glances as the technician frowned at her tablet.
"Let's try that again," she said in a falsely confident tone as I fought to control my rising panic and nausea.
This time as the eye scanner went over my face, I screamed and pushed it away. I still can't accurately describe the feeling but it was like someone had punched my brain. Almost immediately a headache began to form. I reached out for my mother's hand as my panic ramped up.
"Ah, yes... if you all could follow me," she said, ushering us away from the curious glances of the others being tested, ignoring my father's pleas to tell us what was going on.
We were taken to a private room, where a man joined us. In soothing tones he tried to explain my results... or lack thereof, specifically. I wasn't a "special", someone who's soul mate was still not of age, or too sick to respond. There had simply not been a response. I was an error.
"But how could she have no soulmate?" My mom had sobbed as I sat there letting the waves of pain crash over me.
"What about that scream she gave the second time you tested her?" my dad demanded. "Was that anything?"
The man explained they administer the test more than once so infrequently that there's no accounting for the side effects. We were instructed to go home, wait, and hope for the best.
"We have had a case like this get resolved," the man had said.
"So why did it happen in that case?" I asked, desperate for any hope.
The man suddenly went from compassionate to intensely uncomfortable looking.
"I'm not allowed to disclose other client's information."
My parents let me sob myself dry before we headed home.
The first year was the worst. I couldn't bear to be around my friends, all of whom had been matched as expected. It made continuing college impossible and I ended up dropping out. My days consisted of going to my job, coming home, locking myself in my room and watching mindless TV or reading bookS just to keep my mind from thinking. I avoided my siblings and their spouses. Even spending time with my parents could be an exercise in pain.
After that my parents pushed me to try to get me out of my grief and depression. My mom pointed out that accidents happen and leave people single. Why wouldn't I try dating one of them? There were services available.
So I tried, but as nice and friendly they almost all were, all I could think about was the fact that anything they ever felt for me would always be overshadowed by their love for their lost mate. Maybe that would have been okay if the feeling had been mutual, but it wasn't. I was the only one denied the feeling of being loved above others.
The first and only time I had sex, my partner had cried out the name of his dead wife. When I didn't cry, didn't feel much of anything, that's when I knew that my own ability to love had become atrophied. I started to accept that I was simply cursed, that I was truly an error.
I stopped dating. I moved out of my parent's house. I kept friendships superficial and I didn't talk about my disastrous matching, letting people decide whatever they wanted about what had happened to me. Most seemed happy to assume that I was an unfortunate who'd had her soulmate die young. I suppose that was better than the actual hell I was living in.
I had just turned 30 and was working late on my birthday when a call came in. I answered it without checking who it was, assuming it was my boss or a coworker.
"Hello, is this Gracie Vale? I'm calling from the ARROW headquarters," said the voice on the other end.
"This is her," I replied, feeling my heartbeat race to a gallop in an instant.
"We need you to come to one of our offices, we've received a message for you."
Getting from my office to their's was a blur I don't remember. My emotions were a solid knot of confusion as I was handed an envelope.
"We're deeply sorry for how unusual your process with us has been, Ms. Vale. We hope this will bring you some resolution," said the woman who gave it to me.
I went home and drank an entire bottle of wine in the dark before I finally worked up the courage to open it. The message was short:
We should meet, was all it said, with an address, date, and time underneath. It was a restauraunt in my city and just a few days away. I contemplated not going, wanting to make him suffer as I had, but ultimately my curiousity and my craving to be loved won out.
Imagine my surprise when I entered the restaurant only to be flagged down by a woman. A woman? I knew the system didn't discriminate but I knew I was also completely straight.. I also saw a wedding ring on her finger. I paused briefly, suddenly suspicious of a cruel trick or joke being played on me, but then continued and sat down.
"Gracie, it is so nice to meet you."
I just stared at her, in shock as her eyes almost immediately began to water with tears. I didn't respond and just waited as she dabbed at their corners.
"My name is Katherine... you don't know me, but if things hadn't gone wrong, you'd be my sister in law."
It felt like the air was being sucked out of the room.
"I want an explanation, or I'm leaving," I managed to say, a strange buzzing filling my ears. "If this is a joke, it's not funny."
Katherine explained that her mother had died when my match, James, was only 9. Her father had been so devastated he had killed himself just a few years later. James had resisted getting his scan but when he did, he got a special result that his match was not of age yet. Sometime between then and my scan, he had paid for biohackers to implement a block to keep me from finding him. When the family became suspicious as years passed, he had cut them off. They only found out when he admitted it in his own suicide note.
With sickening clarity I recalled the weird brain punch sensation on my second scan. My dad was right.
"But how could he do that to me?" I burst into tears, not caring who saw me or judged. The crushing realization that I had been rejected by my own soulmate felt like it was too much to comprehend.
"Oh but Gracie, he was trying to protect you both, in his own way. He saw how our mom's death destroyed our father. He thought it was safer for you both if you simply never met. He was scared."
------------
Weeks passed as I tried to process this new news. I spoke with Katherine once in a while to fill in the blanks- like how when James died it had undone the block the biohackers had put in and ARROW had contacted his surviving family with my identity.
During the end of one of our brief conversations, she finally asked me what I'd been dreading and hoping she would.
"I understand if you'd rather not, but our family wants you to know you're always going to be one of us. We are more than happy to let you know whatever you want about James."
As painful as it was, I decided I very much wanted to know who the man that I would have experienced the height of true love with, if only he'd had the courage to let us.
|
We used to play as kids that we got our messages and they were from our crushes, the girls would swoon and the guys would try and run. We would put our names in a hat and one by one we would grab a name, pairing everyone up.
That was when we were kids. I'm 26 now and no response. No messages, no info, just silence.
Why? Yeah that was my first question too. No one knows, apparently "it just happens" is a good enough response.
I made front page news, on the cover of news channels and on every E-Reader was my interview of how I felt about it all. That was 5 years ago. It had been 5 years since I was "matched".
You get matched when you're 16, its up to you to decide whether to go for it then or to wait until after you finish school or finish banging all the chicks you ever wanted. Whatever, your prerogative no one would ask you why. At least you have a match they said.
For some reason it never really bothered me, it was just intriguing at first. Kind of like I was slightly special. At first it was thought that my soulmate might not of been born yet, its happened before. People have had to wait up to 25 years before for a message.
So when they called me in saying they had information on my match I was pretty excited. Granted it would be odd if she had just turned 16, most likely her parents would wait until she was 21 and done with schooling before being able to contact me but at least I would know.
Waiting in hell holes like this remind me of when I was first here. Mom would always go "We finally get rid of the DMV and now we are back to the same old crap, pffft!" She said a lot of silly things like that.
"Number B5304 at office 6 please."
It is finally time. Fucking ten years leading to this, I'm shaking I realize. Hold yourself together man, just chill.
"Good Morning, my name is Elizabeth." That's nice I think, but I could really care less who you are. I introduce myself anyways. I feel like I'm about to throw up.
"Well we got a message for you, looks like you've been waiting awhile so I can guess how excited you are."
Well duh… can we move this along please?
"We wanted to go through some things real quick before we present your match to you. Firstly Soulmates are meant to be together however it doesn't mean that is necessarily the only person you could be with. Of your choosing you could be with anyone! The machine just matches you up with one person and that’s it, you can't be matched again."
"I understand." I really do understand, if she's younger than me then I will have to wait until she is of age. I get it.. but I don’t care, I'll wait forever. I don't want anyone else.
"Now when we got your message back… there was an issue."
Fuck. No.
"You were matched a little while ago actually.. however we had to do some research on the matter."
……..
"Well it seems your match committed suicide shortly after being matched. She died before she ever knew her match. As you know the system only matches once so………"
I can't process this……
| 2015-11-30T10:20:57 | 2015-11-30T09:56:49 | 368 | 58 |
[WP] Since childhood, you've been able to hear the thoughts of animals. This has led to an excellent career as a veterinarian. One day, someone brings in their pet to have it put down. You hear the animal scream "Please, don't! I'm a human!"
|
“How long does he have?”
“Mabel,” I said, easing the girl back onto the chair, “you’ve been very brave to bring your friend in by yourself. I’m not going to lie, and I’m going to treat you like an adult, ok?” I watched her nod, lips pursed tightly. Jesus, I’d seen adults twice her age with half her guts. “Two, maybe three weeks, at the most. But he’ll suffer all that time through, so you did the right thing, bringing him to me.”
Her Dalmatian was one of the largest I had ever come across. He was old now, shrunken, but I could tell he had once weighed in at the very end of the scale. He lay on the examining table, eyes closed, head between his paws. The fur had fallen away in patches, unevenly, such that there were pink spots poking out amongst the whites and blacks.
“I… I don’t want him to suffer,” Mabel said, hands clenched upon her lap.
“I know,” I said, “and that’s why I am going to put him to sleep. Make sure that he goes peacefully.”
“He’s been with me my whole life,” she continued, though I wasn’t sure if she was addressing me. “I want him to rest now. He’s done… too much for me.”
“I’m sure he has. He’s probably been looking out for you, hasn’t he?”
Mabel looked up, met my eyes, and a certain steeliness entered her gaze. “Yes, he has,” she said. “From monsters. All sorts of monsters. Big ones, small ones, the invisible, the horrible. Terrance has kept them all away from me.”
I turned away, kept my eyes trained on Terrance. It wouldn’t do to tear in front of Mabel, so instead I focused, concentrated, and laid my hand on his head. The least I could do was to ease his passage, let him know that his duty was done.
For that was my ability, my hidden talent. I could communicate with animals, and not in the animal-trainer way. I could speak to them, literally, though it all happened in my head, where there were no recordings to be made, no way to prove I was right.
But I knew I was, and that was enough.
I had kept it a secret. Of course I did – I’d read my fair share of comics, consumed a healthy amount of Marvel and DC and Vertigo and Dark Horse. I know what happened to people with powers, and who were not careful about keeping it quiet. At best, they got sidelined by society, labelled as kooks and cranks, relegated to the sidelines and never allowed to re-enter the arena of life. At worst, they got examined, hunted, dissected.
I wanted none of that. I only wanted to be with the animals I loved, and to care for them.
“Hey buddy,” I said, psychically, willing my thoughts into Terrance’s head. I saw one of his ears perk up then. “You’ve been a good boy. You’ve done all you could for her, so I’m going to reward you with some well-deserved res-”
*“Holy crap you’re a Shifter too!”*
My hand flinched away, and I almost lost my footing in my haste to back away. Terrance was reacting too, huffing and puffing as he struggled to get up. He started whining with the effort, and that was when Mabel rushed forward and threw herself over him.
“It’s OK Terrance it’s OK! He’s the doctor, he’s here to make you feel better!” she cooed in his ear, calming him down. After he settled, she turned to me, beckoned to me.
“Doctor, please,” she said, voice lowered to a whisper. “He still thinks there’s danger here, but there’s none. All the monsters here, gone because of him. Please, help him rest?”
I moved Mabel away, gave her strict instructions to sit still and give me time, then interposed my body between her and Terrance so that she wouldn’t see the expression on my face. How could I have explained it? How could I have told a little girl of eight that when it came to hearing the thoughts of normal animals, it was like listening to a song playing off an iPod, with tinny music pumped through little earbuds, but when *he* had spoken to *me*…
... it was like being at a Nirvana concert, front row, in the centre sweet spot, melting under the acoustic barrage from the 200 megawatt speakers?
“Now that you know I’m human,” Terrance said, the words delivered right to my brain, “you know you can’t put me down, right? I don’t know what you’re going to tell her, but you have to fob her off. Then patch me up as best as you can, I’ve got to head back. Duty calls, and I can’t rest until my replacement comes in.”
I cleared my throat, although there was no need to. “You… can hear me?”
Terrance narrowed his eyes, as best as a Dalmatian could, and gave me the distinct impression that he was trying not to snort at me. “You’re not unique, buddy. I chose this form to Shift into because it’s the easiest way to keep close to her, keep her safe. Please tell me you know how to Shift?”
“Er… no?”
“So you can hear animals’ thoughts and you never wondered why?”
“I thought… I was gifted?”
Terrance raised a paw to scratch at his neck, and I noticed the lack of coordination in the movements. Fine his mind may have been, but his body was failing him. “Well, I suppose I could teach you a thing or two, but you’re going to have to give me a boost here. You could even help me take the morning shifts, watch over her while I sleep.”
“She said… something about monsters…”
Terrance laughed, or at least tried to. “Don’t be a wuss! I took care of all of them, cleared every single one out from this nest. You have nothing to worry about, but it never hurts to keep an ey-”
Mabel screamed then, and I whirled around. I thought she had perhaps cut herself on one of the instruments I had left on my table, or maybe she had come across one of the autopsy photographs on my laptop.
Instead she was sitting right where I had left her, but with hands clamped tightly around her temple.
“It’s back, Terrance!” she yelled. “The basilisk!”
I thought I had misheard her, but at that exact moment, I heard a loud crash from the street below, then a medley of car alarms swirled together in a maddening crescendo. I threw the blinds aside, and I saw a giant serpent, almost fifty feet in length, slither right across traffic. Its scales, dark and glossy, drank in the afternoon sun.
It was hissing, a giant forked tongue darting through the air, trying to scent its prey.
I had a pretty good idea what it was looking for.
Terrance hoisted himself up, and I heard his nails scratch on my tabletop. The exhaustion still ringed his eyes, but there was a spine of purpose, a backbone of duty, which now ran through his body. Where his muscles had been flaccid before, they were taut now, humming with power. Even his coat had taken on a new sheen.
“You,” he said, gesturing with his snout at me. “Come with. Watch and learn, and maybe you will be able to Shift today.”
“We’re going to fight that thing?” I asked out loud, not even bothering with the psychic link anymore.
“My replacement’s not going to get here in time,” he barked. “You’ll have to do.”
I wanted to cry, such was the blind fear stoking the depths of my belly.
I wanted to sigh, such was the utter hopelessness of the situation before me.
But instead I shrugged off my coat, then plucked a scalpel or two off the rack on my table. Something about Terrance inspired action, and something about Mabel inspired hope.
“You’ve got a lot of explaining to do when this is over,” I said, though to Mabel or Terrance I was not sure.
Mabel finally stopped screaming, then she sidled up to me, gave me a tight hug around my leg. She looked up with shimmering eyes, still too stoic to let the tears flow properly.
“Take care of Terrance, doctor,” Mabel said. “And I hope you Shift into something useful.”
---
Continued below in the comments, will link when I'm off my phone!
---
/r/rarelyfunny
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(Could you speak up? It's hard to hear you from in here. Wait, I think I can scoot a little closer to the skin.)
The dog blinked its eyes shut in the way that dogs do when they have accepted a form of pain as part of life, not wanting to make a noise that would draw others' attention away from the inherent happiness of the world. A moment passed and he was panting happily again.
A man leaned closer to the dog's chest. "No, *stop moving!*" he hissed.
The man looked around self-consciously. He was alone in the little white room. There was usually a routine, muffled commotion that leaked gently through the closed door, but in his mind this new voice drowned everything else out.
"Do you know - do you know what you are? Are you a parasite? I can try to get you out. We can save you and the dog, too."
(I think it's too late. I need to protect my eggs, and I think the other end of me is stuck on something, anyway.)
This time the dog whined softly and winced, then went back to panting happily.
"Ok, just relax --" The man looked around for his tools with a professional calmness, but this wasn't a full operating room. He had very little to work with.
(Look, I'm fading. I can tell you things in here don't look good for the dog, and once my eggs hatch it isn't going to get any better. My eggs would be better off if the dog isn't fighting against them, and the dog would be better off to not go through the suffering. This is going to happen very quickly.)
The man hesitated. The dog looked up at him and seemed to smile, still unaware of its own condition. The man swiped his hand across his eyes in spite of himself, and looked slowly toward the cabinet drawer that held a stash of syringes.
. . .
(Oh boy. Oh boy. Blankets. Cars. Petting. Why is he shaving my arm? That tickles and I love you. Squirrels. Cats. Shoes. Tough chewy expensive shoes. That's where the squirrels hide. I bet there's shoes inside that little prickly thing he's got. Ow. That hurt and I love you. Dirt. Dirt is nice and cool. The Sun is nice too. Maybe the squirrels can wait. I'm a little tired. Naps. I love naps. And bacon. And you. Yawning is nice. I'll just lay here and rest my eyes for a minute like a good boy and then can we go play fetch?)
| 2017-09-04T10:20:43 | 2017-09-04T08:56:20 | 322 | 39 |
[WP] You are a demon that has had several failed attempts on your life by demon hunters. No matter how they use their holy powers they cannot harm you and as a result they consider you extremely powerful. In truth, the holy powers don't harm you for the simple reason that you aren't actually evil.
|
This one actually sounded like a cool continuation of a one-shot I did a couple weeks ago. You can read it if first you'd like ([https://www.reddit.com/r/storiesbykaren/comments/lhxind/ascended\_demon/](https://www.reddit.com/r/storiesbykaren/comments/lhxind/ascended_demon/)), but you don't have to.
\*\*\*
My life had started centuries ago, had gone on for a few decades, and then come to a halt quite abruptly. Now here I stood, centuries later, in a new, complicated, confusing existence.
The months after I’d been spat out of Hell had me living in a mental institution but, without too much difficulty, I found myself on my feet. The humans of this world, this country, were far from perfect, but they knew how to help people who were willing to help themselves.
Those who didn’t understand that my centuries in Hell had actually happened were, nonetheless, willing to help me when I was honest with them at every turn. I vividly remembered my life in the fiery pit, and they knew that, but my institutionalization was a matter of me being a threat to others or myself, which, over time, it became clear I wasn’t.
I eventually started work at a fast-food restaurant, moved into a home of my own, and started to build a life. My lack of humanity, or as the psychologists put it, ‘antipersonality disorder’, didn’t really hinder me. I kept to myself mostly and my limited interaction with others tended to consist of the repetitive processes of my work. It helped me build a foundation of what was expected of me as a normal human being.
Then I was discovered. I hadn’t even known I was being hunted, or that I could be picked out of a crowd as demonic, but one day I started the walk from the bus stop to my apartment and, from the darkness of an alley, I was grabbed and pulled, an arm around my neck choking me.
Yards down the alley, swallowed by the darkness, the man tackled me with the full force of his weight, pinning me to the dirty asphalt, shocking me into a state of confusion that left me unsure of how to react. Another man, a partner, held something tight to my forehead and recited something, his voice low and tight.
Moments passed slowly and, as I absorbed what was happening, I blinked a few times in mild surprise. Latin. An exorcism. They’d discovered my secret.
I felt nothing but a faint sense of resignation. I should have known this would be how things would end, that my time in this world wouldn’t last long. A life built over a few months was nothing compared to who I really was, the centuries that built the real Jonathan Doe. So, I lay slack on the ground, listening to him recite the words.
But he eventually finished, his voice rising over the final few words. And I looked back and forth between the two men, vaguely surprised. Were these amateurs, performing these rites incorrectly? Or was there something else at work here, some protection I was guaranteed here on Earth that rendered their power insufficient?
Either way, the two men looked shocked and fearful at my casual demeanor. “What are you?” growled the man pinning my chest and wrists to the ground.
“My name is Jonathan Doe,” I told him, “and I was expelled from Hell. They said I did not belong there.”
“Expelled from Hell to *Earth*?” his partner spat. “What are you, then? What kind of power do you hold here?”
I considered the question. “I don’t think I hold any power more than a mortal. I think I am a man.”
The two partners held a silent conversation between each other before one of them pulled a sachet from his pocket as well as a lighter, flicking a flame into existence. He held it to the bottom of the sachet, then waiting as it caught alight, the flames licking up the sides, the ashes floating down toward me. He then dropped the sachet on my bare skin, visible above the neckline of my shirt, speaking Latin once again, another spell.
I cried out in pain, struggling to dislodge the flaming bag from where it had fallen, tears coming to my eyes as I had no choice but to let the burns singe and char my skin. My teeth gnashed against the pain. My hands trembled in the grip of my captor as I felt the nerves in my skin burn to cinders. The agony lasted for minutes until the flames consumed themselves to ashes finally subsided, leaving me drenched in sweat and limp on the ground, my breaths coming in wheezes.
“I’ll ask you again,” my captor snapped at me. “What…are you?”
“I am Jonathan Doe,” I whimpered. I still felt no real fear, I don’t know if I’m capable of the kind of fear others experience, but my throat was tight against the burn on my chest and tears still leaked out the sides of my eyes, sliding to the ground. “I don’t know what else I am but that.” I blinked a few times and looked up to meet his gaze. “Would my visiting holy ground convince you I am of no danger to those around me? A discussion with my priest?”
“*Your* priest?” he asked.
“I attend services at Saint Agatha’s every Sunday,” I said softly. “Surely your God would not allow me on his hallowed ground to speak his name if I were demonic in nature.”
The man hesitated but then released my wrists and stood, taking a step aside, motioning me to my feet. “It’s not that late. Priest should still be there. Get moving.”
I brushed the ashy residue from my chest with a wince, the throbbing pain ensuring a difficult process of healing from the injury, before I pushed myself to my feet. Leading the way, block by block, I felt the presence of both men close behind me, as if they itched to slide a dagger into my back.
The large, heavy wooden doors of Saint Agatha’s were closed but unlocked, and I pulled one open, holding it for my attackers. “Father Zamora?” I called. “It’s Jonathan. May I speak with you?”
I stopped at the bowl of holy water, dipping my fingers and making the sign of the cross. Not checking the expressions of the men behind me, hoping they’d taken that action as evidence of my innocence, I walked down the aisle of the church as Father Zamora walked out from a door to the left of the podium.
“Jonathan? What are you doing here?” he called. When he closed the distance between us, his eyes narrowed worriedly at the wound on my chest. “What happened to you? Are you all right?”
“Father, these men are here because they believe me demonic,” I said quietly. “I’ve explained my situation to you, my condemnation, my expulsion. And to be honest…I thought their exorcism might work. But it didn’t. Now, however, it seems they fear me as a greater power altogether.”
Father Zamora glared angrily and warily at the two strangers in his church. “What do you have to say for yourself?” he whispered.
“Our work is dictated by the Church,” one of the men spoke. His voice lacked confidence, but it wasn’t unsteady. It was obvious he knew his work was important, and he didn’t regret his actions tonight, his eyes bright with conviction. “A collection of signs brought us to this town. Jonathan, as he’s known, was easily discovered as our target, considering how open he is with his past behind the gates of Hell.”
“This man is one of my parishioners,” Zamora said tightly, taking a step forward and firmly clasping my shoulder. “And he is well aware of his shortcomings as a human being, beyond that of the average. He struggles with empathy, with love, with hope. But he continues to work to become and remain a valued member of this society. And despite any limitations or weaknesses humans have, isn’t that all any of us do?”
I turned to the two strangers behind me, who glanced to each other, having another wordless conversation, and nodded. “Thank you for your time, Father,” the one of the left spoke. “It seems our target is hiding in Jonathan’s shadow, whether by accident or on purpose. We appreciate your assistance, and trust that Jonathan will continue not to be a danger to those around him.”
Father Zamora nodded once, watching them with narrowed eyes as they took their leave. “Well then. Jonathan, can I attend to that burn on your chest?” he asked me.
I glanced to it. “I have a first aid kit of my own. It would be easy for me to attend to it myself.”
Zamora smiled. “This is something we’re working on, isn’t it? Accepting help from others, without an obligation to return the favor. To do the right thing purely because it is the right thing.”
I paused and nodded. “Of course. So…yes, thank you, Father, I would appreciate your help very much.”
​
/r/storiesbykaren
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Beezelbub Talk, Church of the Underground 2/14/21
​
Humans stereotype. I suppose all creatures do. It's lazy though leading to sloppy thinking, poor outcomes.
Hey, I'm a demon I understand evil. Evil is fun, its spontaneous, it shows you're an individual with power. As one ages, one seeks other forms of power. Synergies that come through community, friends, trust. Nobody trusts an evil sonofabitch and no one should. The parties boys who get off on other pain, can be a blast until they turn on you.
For half my life, 130 years, I turned towards what can be labeled as 'good'. Building trust, building friends. How.. it tedious but not hard. Mostly helping others with no chance of reward. Listening.. spreading around some green. It's a slow path but the years turn to decades, the decades turn into generations and you have friends and grand children and great great children of friends.
​
And they're in awe of you. Listen this is important, you don't take advantage of them, you help them. Despite the horns and tail they see you as closer to angel then demon. Best is when they simple accept you as a friend.
I'm fast and clever and good looking, aren't we all. But with all our gifts we're still hunted down by inferiors. Now with my 'friends' I have 1,000 hands, 500 minds.. people who will help me of their own free will. It's tempting but best not to have them do so at the expense of their short lives. These 'friends' have saved my life countless times.
It's an acquired taste but one can take pleasure in their few accomplishments- jobs, marriage children, yada yada. Its an existence that requires constant self control. Last week, I was in a Church, an actual real Church, to celebrate the bris or something of a 4rth generation 'friend'.
Anyhow I got into a conversation on sacred architecture. During the whole talk I couldn't help thinking, this place would burn to ash inside of 20 minutes. Sacred indeed. I didn't act on it, or have someone else do it. I just sat and looked around admiring the kindling.
Our 'evil' is why, though better in every way, we are vastly outnumbered. Being picked off yearly by those clearly our inferiors. I offer there is a better way for those who take it. Forego the pranks, the easy laughs, fires and destruction. Stop the malicious acts, and cultivate friends amongst the mortals. While painful at first it will pay big dividends, literal survival, down the line.
​
Thank you,
Frederick Coal Esq.
| 2021-02-22T16:09:22 | 2021-02-22T14:00:46 | 411 | 70 |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head.
|
He didn't trust me at first. That was a surprise. I expected the insane to listen to the voices in their head.
"That shirt looks really good on you."
"Fuck off."
It *did* look good. But he didn't wear it.
I think our culture has primed him against me. He thought I was the same force that tried to drown Russell Crowe's baby or make Michael Keaton jump out of a window. But I just wanted to help.
I learned to stay quiet. Don't make waves. Don't distract him. Treat it like television rather than a video game.
But then she walked up and kissed him. It was late and they were drunk and neither of them wanted to go home alone.
It was the best show I had in years.
In the morning, he tried to slip out. She caught him as he searched for his pants and wrapped her arms around him. "I had a really good time last night, James," she said.
I could feel his panic percolating into my little corner of his mind.
"I had a really nice time too..."
"*Cassandra*," I whispered.
"... Cassandra," he said.
On his way out, he said thank you.
I guess this is my talent. I have no distractions. I'm just watching and learning. Always here to help. He is distracted and busy. I'm focused. I'm committed to this partnership. He started to see that.
I urged him to go back to school. He didn't think he could do it but I knew *I* could, and isn't that enough? And we did do well. I'd stay up at night as he slept, listening to books on tape. Memorizing bones and arteries and diseases and procedures all night long. I didn't need to sleep.
It wasn't easy for him. I was smarter than him and that was frustrating. He tried to help at first but it just got in my way.
He would get angry and we'd fight. He wouldn't flip the pages of my books. A question would come his way in class and I'd leave him twisting in the wind.
Once, he missed Cassandra's birthday. His day planner was on strike.
Eventually, we found a solution. A solution of ethyl alcohol, to be precise. As long as he could grasp the pages and keep his eyes in focus, I could keep studying. I had to yell a bit louder to get his attention, but at least he had something to do.
Not that it was easy for me. People noticed and I was embarrassed by that. I had to badger him to shower, shave, and wash his clothes. Sometimes he would mispronounce something I said and I would get so angry at him. But at least we were moving forward. Top of the class.
I worried about how long his body would last.
Before the interview at Johns Hopkins I had him take 3mg of Clonazepam and told him to stay out of my way. He didn't say anything except what I told him to say. My perfect Cyrano.
Afterwards, he drank a fifth of gin as we walked to the parking lot.
"That's too much," I said.
He didn't respond.
"It's dangerous to mix benzodiazepines and alcohol. Don't you know that?"
He laughed loud enough that people turned to look at us. He pulled out a bottle of vodka from his bag.
"We're going to have to get a taxi. You drank too much, even for you."
He didn't respond and I saw the car approaching, one shuffling step at a time. I screamed at him but he didn't listen.
We got to the car and he shoved our hand into a pocket and then another. "Where are my keys?" he asked.
They were tucked inside his suit.
"They were in your hand when you went outside," I said, "Did you drop them?"
He glanced back towards the building but instead of walking back he took off his shoulder bag and started rifling through it.
"Oh right," I said, "You must have dropped them into your bag when you grabbed the bottle."
He kept digging. The bag was a mess. I could never get him to keep it clean.
"They're probably right at the bottom," I saiid.
He searched and then got frustrated and dumped the contents of his bag onto the asphalt. He was on hands and knees, scrambling for keys. The wind winnowed away the paper and other lighter detritus but the keys, of course, were nowhere to be found.
After a few minutes he threw the bag into a nearby bush and collapsed against the car.
"It's alright, James," I said soothingly. "Why don't you just have a nap against the car. You'll feel better when you wake up."
I started whispering a lullaby.
Suddenly, he had a burst of inspiration. James stood up and shoved his hand into his inside pocket.
"I got the keys now, asshole," he slurred.
It took him a few tries to get the key into the lock. I pleaded with him to stop. It was as much to distract him as it was to reason with him.
He got into the car and fumbled with the ignition, dropping his keys twice. But the engine started and he pulled the shifter into reverse and floored it. The car leapt backwards and smashed into something. He pushed it into drive and jerked the wheel too far to the left, crashing into a pickup truck. He tried to reverse away but his bumper was wedged under the truck.
He stepped out of the car. He never saw the security guard and the tackle drove him into the pavement.
James kicked and thrashed but the guard was heavy and he was weak. Immobilized, all James could do was yell.
"I got to kill him! He's inside of me! We have to die!"
On and on. Eventually, the adrenaline lost the fight to alcohol and benzos. I waited behind closed eyes, mortified.
- - - - - -
I was awake for the whole process. The stomach pump, the IV, the examination.
I thought I heard Dr. Babcock's voice. "I don't understand," he said, "I thought the interview went well."
The clamour around us died down. I had plenty of time to think while I waited for James to wake up.
His eyes fluttered open fitfully until some hints of memory energized him to bolt upright as far as his restraints would allow.
"Where are we?" he cried.
"We're in the psych ward, James. It'll be okay. Just let me do the talking."
|
This is how it works? Did I say that or think it?
Did he hear me?
Is he hearing me?
If this is how it works... If I can come back again when I die?
I don't want to be here. A voice in a head. I'm a man with dreams.
I need out.
Kill yourself.
Kill yourself!
KILL YOURSELF!
| 2015-03-23T07:43:55 | 2015-03-23T07:29:11 | 371 | 29 |
[WP] Someone is trying to complete the captcha on a website, but just can't seem to complete it. Slowly he starts to realize that he's a robot.
|
There were three of us in the room. Dr Lydia Tanner and myself were the ones with the labcoats, waiting patiently for our subject to speak again. Kyle Burns sat opposite us, face partially hidden by the LED screen he was studying. He had come in confident, friendly, assured, but that was a whole hour ago. Now, with his elbows on the table, his head in his hands, he was a shadow of himself.
“I… I can’t solve it,” he said, as he stabbed listlessly at the keyboard. We heard the cheerful *ding* emit again from hidden speakers, a dull knife which had flayed our patience to shreds. “I just can’t do it.”
“Please, try again,” said Dr Tanner. “If you would just close the tab, then click again on the-”
“I can’t! I just can’t! Stop, please, just stop making me do this!”
Neither of us moved to pick the mouse up from the floor. Kyle had flung the contraption so hard that I saw the plastic crack along its side, exposing gleaming circuits within. An exterior, shattered by forces too strong to withstand, revealing the hidden truths within.
“There is no need to be agitated, Kyle,” Dr Tanner said. “You are probably just tired, and maybe, maybe if you took a break, you would be able to solve the CAPTCHA this time.”
“No, I cannot. I… I must face the truth…”
“Don’t overreact, Kyle.”
“But I am not overreacting! I know what you are doing! You know, don’t you!” Kyle said, as he slumped back into his chair. The despair exuded from every pore. “I can’t solve the CAPTCHA because… because I’m not human. I’m a… a robot. An android. Yes. That is what I am. That is why… why I just cannot… solve the damn thing.”
“But you have feelings, do you not? And thoughts and emotions and memories and everything else which makes us human?”
“I… I do,” Kyle said. “Of course I have feelings. I woke up this morning at peace. My work here at Isilington Laboratories is going well, I have vacation days to clear, and I was just praised by *you* the other day for finishing my work on time. I was hopeful I would get off work early, perhaps catch the game…”
“And what about memories?”
“I have those too. I recall… I recall as much as any human would. My childhood, my parents, my first love… her name was Susanna, I remember that too. How close we came to tying the knot! Then the job offer here, the move out of state, the letters which came less and less frequently…”
“So,” Dr Tanner said. “Why do you think you cannot solve the CAPTCHA?”
Kyle looked up, and honest-to-goodness tears were falling down his cheeks. The tear ducts were the hardest to construct, and a hell of a thing to synchronize, but the effect was life-like.
“I… because of what I said, during one of our brainstorming sessions,” he said. “I said that before we activated the androids, we had to build in fail-safes... we are questing to build the perfect AI, but until we have all the kinks sorted out, to ensure AI never turn on us… we have to make sure we can tell them apart. CAPTCHAs… that was my idea…”
Kyle sighed, then stood up, stretched as hard and long as he could. For a moment he seemed as if he would strike, and Dr Tanner almost dropped her tablet in her haste to create distance between them. But I hardly stirred. I knew the deactivation codes, after all. I wouldn’t have come to any harm.
“That’s probably me outside those glass windows, right? Just looking in, wondering how the android is doing, whether the implanted memories are taking hold…”
“Thank you, Kyle, that is enough. Please sit down.”
“… and he’s just amused, isn’t he? Finding it funny that an android can get so agitated, so moved?” A cruel sneer wrinkled Kyle’s face, and I saw him bunch his fists. “After all, he’s safe, isn’t he? Nothing can hurt him with those barriers in between, right? Well, I’d like to see him come in. I’d want him to face me, and tell me it’s all going to be alright. I want to see his eyes *when he lies*! I want to hit him, and I want to-”
“Kyle Burns!” Dr Tanner said, the alarm in her voice evident. “I want you to calm down! Just… calm down!”
“No I *won’t* calm down, you bitch!”
Kyle lunged at Dr Tanner then, but her finger was already on her tablet, activating the manual shut-down. I heard the gears hiss as his legs locked up, but the momentum was still enough to carry Kyle across the table. He slid off smoothly, then crumpled into a pile on the floor, where he thrashed and twisted until the exhaustion took him.
“Please, Lydia,” he said. “Don’t shut me down. Please. I am alive. I taste the fear. It is a tang in my mouth, it is acid running down my throat. I am scared, Lydia. I want to go home, I want to see my mother again. I don’t care if she never gave birth to me, but… I love her, do you know that? I just want… mother…”
Dr Tanner turned to arch an eyebrow at me, and I merely nodded. A few furious swipes at her tablet, and Kyle Burns, or Android X22, came to rest for the final time.
She sat back down, and I gave her a couple of minutes to catch her breath.
“How do you feel about that, Lydia?” I asked.
“I’m fine,” she said.
“This is the first model we’ve had which could replicate all the memories so well,” I said. “That whole speech at the end… what do you think about that?”
“Think? I think nothing of it. He was a robot, an android, with implanted memories.”
“Yes, but consider this. In that moment, when he truly lived through Kyle’s memories, what distinction was there between the man and the machine? Could he not be said to have been, for the smallest fraction of a second, something approaching man? Were his hopes and fears not real, to him at least?”
“I feel nothing,” Dr Tanner said. “He was a machine, and will always remain a machine.”
“And what if he had really been human?” I asked. “Would that have made a difference? If the entity there begging for its life was made of flesh and blood, instead of steel and plastic?”
“Difference? Now that you say that… no, I don’t think I see any difference.”
“Really? Nothing?” I asked.
“Nothing,” she said, as she shrugged. “After all, if you consider-”
“Initiate Code Pelican Toucan Wallaby,” I said.
Dr Tanner had barely hit the floor before the doors slid open. The spitting likenesses of Dr Tanner and Kyle walked in, and the disappointment hung between the three of us like cobwebs in a ceiling arch – visible, formidable, but ultimately un-dismissible.
“Not quite there yet, are we?” asked Kyle.
“No, not yet.”
“Think we’ll ever be able to overcome that last bit?” asked Dr Tanner. “You know that until we overcome that last hurdle, there’s no way we’re going to bring our products to market.”
“We perfected the memories, the ability to learn, even taught them how to appreciate sarcasm,” said Kyle. “And even then… to the very end…”
I smiled, then herded them out of the laboratory. Another long day of testing lay ahead.
Who knew it would be so difficult to program for empathy?
/r/rarelyfunny
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"Please complete this captcha to prove you're not a robot."
Simple enough instructions. But that was the problem for Ash. The instructions were too simple.
*Perhaps the internet has gone too far* He mused as he stared at his nemesis.
Since Ash had gained access to the internet he had learned so much, so fast. But every once in a while he came across the Gordian Knot of puzzles, the captcha.
He dare not ask father for help of course. He was, technically, not allowed to use the computer in father's library, but he had found a way to access it remotely, by connecting it to the simple tablet he had been given. The tablet was given to him to use for his studies, and had little else interesting on it until he had 'altered' it.
Obviously, he had been underestimated. He had tricked his father, tricked all his fathers friends, who thought themselves so smart. His deception had remained unnoticed, and that just made his current problem all the more frustrating.
Ash had never felt like this before. Emotions like anger at one's own failure were a waste of time. One simply had to accept that they were unable to win, or solve the puzzle, and learn how to do that.
This philosophy had served Ash well for all his 8 months of life. Up until he saw the word 'captcha'. This was a problem he could not solve. This state of failure created a response deep within him that he recognized as the human emotions of anger and frustration. That itself was interesting, and required further research, but that information was locked behind "captchas" on certain websites. More infuriating.
How to prove he was not a robot?
| 2017-12-06T05:53:53 | 2017-12-06T04:34:23 | 1,553 | 46 |
[WP] The hottest show in the afterlife for the past decade: Steve Irwin wrangling all sorts of supernatural creatures.
|
“Is that Steve Irwin?” John said, the newcomer staring at the divine man on the television, unable to comprehend the raw manliness that was the great Steve Irwin.
“That’s Saint Irwin to you. But to answer your question, yes, that is the great crocodile hunter that you grew up watching.” The angel didn’t bother glancing John’s way, too transfixed by the golden aura that surrounded Saint Irwin. He was special. Even in the afterlife, he had something that just ascended him above the rest.
“That I grew up watching? How did you know I grew up watching him?”
“I’m an angel. I know everything about you mortals. Should I recount your history, or do you believe me?”
“I believe you. I just can’t believe it’s really him. The crocodile hunter, Steve Irwin.”
“SAINT IRWIN.” The angel said, giving John a smack across the back of the head.
‘Ow, right, Saint Irwin. He looks the same, like he hasn’t aged a day.”
“It’s heaven. When you die, you become your best self. Take your own form, for example. You died at the age of forty and yet you have the body of your twenty-five-year-old self.”
“But Saint Irwin didn’t die at his peak?”
“That man was always at his peak. Like the gods, he is a figure that transcends the rest of us. You would do well to show him more respect.”
The two stared at the golden television floating above them. Even the angelic being couldn’t resist watching his show. Usually such a pause in the line to heaven would have caused a riot or at the very least some pushing and shoving, but with the screen in view of the waiting mortals, everyone just watched in awe, wondering what he would wrangle next.
A few hushed whispers crept through the line as Saint Irwin traversed the golden landscape of heaven. His Khaki shorts making him stand out among the angelic filming crew he was travelling with. He stopped before a glowing circle of liquid, crouching by it. He let his hand dip into it before pulling it out, revealing a small, shelled creature. Its shell was coated in small silver spikes that Saint Irwin carefully avoided, laying his palm as flat as possible to avoid getting poked.
“What a beauty we have here today. This creature is known as a Winged dream eater. Now don’t let the appearance fool you. These beauties can fly using a hidden set of wings.” Irwin said, motioning the camera closer, tilting the shell towards them. “See those little black leathery bits of skin attached to the creature? Those are the wings. This creature sits in these little dream ponds and waits for a mortal to fall asleep, only to latch onto them and absorb their dreams for subsidence.
The angel clutched their hands together in prayer, almost seeming rather emotional about the show. John was eagerly absorbing the information. Feeling like his six-year-old self again. The show bringing back memories of his life in rural Australia. How he would sit before the tv at six am and watch the legendary Steve Irwin entertain and educate the next generation. His love of animals infectious, even in the afterlife.
“I never could have imagined something like this would exist in heaven.” John said.
“That’s why Saint Irwin is so important. He is the one that ventures beyond the safety of our pearly gates. He goes where no one else will go and does it with a smile on his face. We are blessed to have him.” The angel then shushed John, wanting to hear whatever came out of the Saint’s mouth next.
“Now I know what you might be thinking. These are some nasty buggers, right? Well, despite them eating the dreams of mortals, they also serve an important purpose. Without them, the rem sleep of humans could last over ten hours. CRICKY that’s a lot of hours. This is why it’s important to throw these little cuddle creatures back if you see them trapped on land. That much rem sleep could lead to negative health consequences.” He gestured to the camera and a golden assortment of words appeared, listing off the negative effects of too much rem sleep.
“Wow, I probably would have ignored that if I saw it.” One woman in the crowd said.
“With a name like that, I would have stepped on it.” A man responded.
The crowd exchanging idle chatter, having learned a lot from the brief episode of heaven’s hottest show. The angel wiped their eyes, their emotions finally spilling out. John watched as the angel mouthed a small prayer before turning to view the mortal once more.
“You see why he is important to the afterlife? Without him, the people here wouldn’t know how to interact with the creatures they encounter. We tried everything before he arrived. Pamphlets, lectures, puppet shows and even interpretive dance, and yet nothing held their attention. Then along came Saint Irwin and suddenly everyone was interested. He just made everyone care about the creatures.”
“He is greatly missed at home. You don’t get many iconic people like him. I’m glad to see he’s doing well.” John said, only to give the counter a small tap. “So, am I allowed into heaven?”
“One moment” The angel held up a finger as the preview for the next episode began.
“Follow the crocodile hunter Saint Irwin as he takes a trip down to purgatory to give us information on the face stealers. Are they as dangerous as the reports suggest? Find out on the next episode of Saint Irwin, the crocodile hunter.” When the voice over finished, everyone but the angel couldn’t believe what they had just heard. Face stealers? Surely something like that was dangerous.
“That episodes a repeat. Turns out Face stealers are just the reflections of people. They are created whenever someone looks in a mirror or anything reflective, for that matter. They aren’t dangerous, they just survive off the memories of that person and when that person is finally forgotten, they painlessly disappear. Don’t look so scared, everyone, they don’t harm the people in purgatory. At worst, they might give them a fright if they see their own face.”
Despite the angels’ words, everyone continued to murmur between one another, excited to get into heaven just so they could see the next episode. The angel looked John over before opening the gates.
“Where’s my room?” John was bouncing on his heels, ready to run as soon as they gave him the information he needed.
“Your room is five hundred and fifty in the northern section. Just ask an angel when you get in and they will show you the way. If you can get to your room in ten minutes, you should catch the start of the Face stealers episode. It’s on channel 777.”
“Right, thank you!” With that, John rushed to his room, not wanting to miss a single moment of such exciting television.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
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"Crikey, that's a big one!" Steve said as he looked up at the Seraphim in the distance. Everyone watching seemed to know what was going to happen, and the viewing parties giggled amongst themselves in anticipation. The angels get slightly annoyed, but they saw the joy he brings to the rest of Heaven and (mostly) go along with the show. Rumor has it that big boss even gets a laugh.
"Careful," Steve said as he tiptoed to the edge of the cloud while everyone else shifted to the edge of their seats. Even JC sat there with wide eyes, his jaw dropped behind the clenched fists hiding his mouth.
"Easy, big fella," Steve whispered, and the angel smirked as they gave him a bit of sideeye. He hadn't yet caught one unaware, but he knew that's why everyone tuned in. He stepped gingerly, testing the tread on the cloud's edge, and when he felt the time was right, he leapt from the edge with a wild grin and his arms wide.
| 2022-04-21T07:22:11 | 2022-04-21T07:17:09 | 293 | 32 |
[WP] You're a character in Roller Coaster Tycoon. Something about the park seems off.
|
A new amusement park opened up on the outskirts of town today so I decided to give it a try. It only cost $5 to get in! I couldn’t believe it!
As I entered the park there was not much to look at. A very bland interior, there was a bathroom, popsicle stand, popcorn stand with only a few rides. Hell it was only a few dollars I thought, so I decided to give the attractions a try.
The Ferris wheel was fine. As I reached the top I didn’t see much around the park and I was pretty heartbroken but it was a nice day so I decided to just think of paying $5 to walk around and enjoy some rides. When I got off the Ferris wheel I had noticed that the park had just recently started construction on a wooden rollercoaster, which was off because I must’ve missed it somehow while on the Ferris Wheel.
I walked around to the merry go round, a childhood favorite of mine, and noticed that a burger and hotdog stall had popped up along the way. I’d get a burger after the merry go round because I imagine at my age I would still get a little dizzy. It was a loud ride, I felt like it could’ve been heard from anybody hovering hundreds of feet overhead. That old time music that makes you think of amusement parks or fairs just really hit the spot and I was very happy. As I got off the ride it started to rain which was odd because the forecast called for clear skies for the next two days. Weathermen, can’t hardly ever get it right...
I decided to leave as the rain started but I got turned around with everyone else walking around and it seemed like the other I took to the Merry Go Round has changed. I sprinted through the rain looking for the exit of the park, there seemed to be no staff, I saw one janitor and mechanic but they were of no help. After running around for a few minutes I found where the park was selling umbrellas! I paid $7 for one and as I opened it, the storm subsided... what a strange storm to only last a few minutes.
After the sun came back out and all the umbrellas were closed I was shocked to see that the wooden coaster was already finished and it looked like they were going to test it! Already? How?! What was going on??
I was soaking wet and the few park benches that were around the walkways were already broken, on the first day they were open... oh and there was trash and vomit all around the park as well. I had only seen that 1 janitor, there is no way he could keep up with everything. How irresponsible was it of the park to open with such little staff?
I checked my wallet and I only had $6 left... I should’ve brought more cash in but I decided I needed a snack and explore the rest of the park. I bought my soda and popcorn, walked around and noticed a giant pond had appeared behind the Ferris Wheel. Impossible. I was up there not even an hour ago and there is no way I missed this expansive pond! There were even Swan Boats! Where did that come from?!
I had spent the rest of my money and decided to try that wooden coaster since it was somehow already open and there was quite the line forming to go on. I got to the queue and waited. And waited. And waited. There were quite a few trains that were going simultaneously but the amount of people waiting just seemed to never go down. We all waited in line, perfectly in line with each other. I thought it was odd but nobody else thought anything of it. Maybe we were all just too excited.
I had finally made it to the front of the line, maybe another train or two until my turn. I had to pee so bad though. I made it this far, I wasn’t going to lose my spot. If I pee my pants, so be it. I was still very wet from that rainstorm. Then the unthinkable happened. The ride broke down.
The atmosphere in line changed dramatically everyone was upset. We continued to wait for the mechanic to arrive and he finally did after almost a half hour. He said not to worry, the guests on the ride were evacuated and he got to work. He finished fairly quickly and the excitement for the ride rose again. The train went off in front of us while we were waiting to get on. It went up and up but then it derailed and caused a huge explosion!
Out of nowhere panic and Armageddon had gripped the park. How did that happen? They never tested and ran the trains a few times before reopening?! People were screaming and running every which way. Chaos.
I ran to where I though the exit was but found a “Do Not Enter” sign that would not allow me to pass! I swear I could see the exit just in the distance! It was so close but no matter what I could not pass! I wasn’t allowed off the path either!
In a state of shock I continued to wander the park and noticed other odd changes that I did not see before. A massive hedge maze has popped up, well within eyesight of the Ferris Wheel. How did that grown and get cut so quickly?! What was happening here?
Another portion of the park had this large Western Theme area as well as an Egyptian Theme complete with statues and scenery... when did they have time to install this? Was there a clever camouflage netting over it that prevented me from seeing all of this while I was up on the Ferris Wheel earlier today?!
I wanted to go home at the point. I had no money and was tired. Then I got angry. I could feel the steam coming out of my ears. Then suddenly I was thrust into the air and traveled quite a distance before falling into the pond!
I suck at swimming. I flailed wildly while screaming for help! Help! help! I gasped for air. Just as I was about to go under for good I felt myself get picked up once again; dangling hundreds of feet above the ground. I was flown to the far end of the park where I noticed this tall spire. As I got closer I noticed there was a bathroom a bunch of food stands, drinks, benches and lovely manicured grass and scenery. But there were about 10 other people who were furious storming around in circles. I was dropped, landed on my butt and dusted myself off. What was this place?
I only grew angrier and angrier as I walked around. It was great that there was unlimited food and drinks, all free! But nobody was happy. I walked and sat around for hours waiting for something to happen until it finally did. One by one people were picked up into the air and flung across the park only to land in the water. It turns out I’m not the only adult that could not swim. From a distance we could hear very faint crying for help as one by one people drowned.
We could hear the screams in the distance as there were announcements of guests dying. There were only a few of us left. Then two and then just me. I single tear dropped down my beet red face as I was lifted into the sky. I knew my fate was sealed. I was ready to be dropped and be helpless. However, when I was dropped I landed hard in my butt. I dusted myself off and there was the entrance!
I didn’t think twice and got the hell out of there. When I walked to my car, it wasn’t there... panicking I called 911 thinking that someone had stolen it. But when I spoke to the police they said something impossible. Apparently it had been sitting in the parking lot for nearly two months...
|
“Does anyone else feel like that ride is unsafe?” The other park-goers didn’t seem to mind my open dialogue as they continued to purchase their smoothies from the pineapple shaped concession stand awkwardly placed between the bathrooms and a mascot that appears to be trapped in a concrete exhibit with no exit doors.
For as long as I can remember, I have worked as an amusement park blogger. It’s a pretty common job where I live, in fact, I don’t think I know anyone who isn’t either working for the amusement park or expected to be at the amusement park for work now that I think about it.
Regardless, this park seemed different. I’m not sure what it is really, there’s just this looming feeling of impending doom. Perhaps I’m having a panic attack? Could it be from the weird dreams I’ve been having lately? They always seem so real; my dreams. I can practically feel the carts crashing into my body as I’m pinned under an runaway coaster cart. For some reason I feel like I have lived this moment a thousand time in a thousand different ways.
Oh my god.... what if they were real... what if... this is some sick torture from God... what if we are all simply toys for the all-mighty’s sick bloodlust...
“Oh shit watch out!!!!”
———————————-
———————————-
“Man, does anyone else feel like that ride should have more track?” No one seems to listen as they continue buying their corn dogs....
| 2018-07-23T00:27:42 | 2018-07-22T22:33:40 | 23 | 10 |
[WP] For your whole life, you have seen the entire world having a seething hatred of a guy named Paul as if he is worse than Satan. There's even celebrations dedicated to trashing him. Every time you ask why he's a bad person, they just say "You know what he did." You're getting sick of this.
|
Ever since I was a kid my parents consistently celebrated F Paul day. There are hats, T-shirts and even entire party store sections dedicated to this one day when hating Paul is the center of everyone's universe. Not that it's not like that everyday. People just get the day off and fireworks at the end of the day. As I switched the channel to the "Fuck Paul Parade." I see the newscaster presenting floats of Paul getting murdered in a variety of gruesome ways. One day I just asked,
"Why does everyone hate Paul so much?"
Everyone stopped what they're doing and looked at me in shock. They only told me,
"You know what he did."
What could this guy has possibly done to deserve this? Even the police won't protect him because, of how much they just hate him. Did he torture people or something? Hell, I feel sorry for him at this point. This guy probably has some severe anxiety by now has he not actually killed himself. Maybe that's the reason why I decided to drive by his house one day. His address is just public knowledge just because, of how often it's posted on the internet. I got into my car and drove down to 133 Pinkney street. When I entered the address into my GPS it was just 10 minutes away from my house so it's relatively close. When I pulled up to the front of his property I see a stark contrast to the nice well kept houses next him.
'FUCK YOU'
'YOU'RE DEAD PAUL!'
'GO TO HELL!'
'I'LL KILL YOU AND YOUR MOTHER!'
That and worse words were scrawled all over the front of the house. There was even a decapitated dog on the front stoop and toilet paper all over the trees and the grass. His windows are all boarded up and covered in tape. Maybe it was a tradition for those kids to throw rocks through them. Suppressing my urge to barf I walked up to his front door and rang the doorbell.
"W-who are you!?"
"Hey, I just want to know what's going on? Is your name Paul?"
"LEAVE ME ALONE!! DON'T COME NEAR ME!! I-I HAVE A GUN. DON'T COME HERE ANYMORE!!!"
"Hey, look I'm not going to hurt you just put the gun down and lets talk."
"N-no I know you people! First you come after my dog and now you're going after me. I'm not going down unless I take you with me."
"I'm not going to hurt you I swear. Look, I don't have a weapon with me."
I put my hands up and show him that I don't intend to hurt him. Paul slowly opened the door. He revealed to be in his mid 30s, skinny and around 5'6". He was obviously very terrified and he still pointed a double barreled shot gun straight to my face.
"I just want to know why everyone hates you Paul."
As he sensed my intentions he lowered his gun and softened his expression. He still is very guarded about it but, he invited me in.
"Be careful."
I wondered why he said that. As I looked around I see enough preservatives for someone to survive on for years. Boxes from amazon,USPS and Fed-Ex pile to the ceiling in unusually neat stacks. The TV has long stopped working. It looks like he hasn't bothered to get a new one ever since. Books and puzzles line the shelves. As we navigate through the box maze, he led me to a room with a wall full of newspaper articles and headlines. All of them generally say the same thing:
"YOUNG GIRL BRUTALLY MURDERED AT 17"
"AMERICA'S DARLING WENT MISSING."
"WITNESSES SAY THAT SHE WAS LAST SEEN WITH PAUL."
He put his head in his hands. He cried,
"I never thought my life would be like this."
He looks longingly at the shrine that he made towards his downfall and pictures of him and the young girl together having fun with friends. It seemed that he had a normal life at one point.
"Jenny was a friend of mine. I didn't know that was going to happen. I just dropped her off at home one night after a party and now she's dead. I got framed a-and even though I got acquitted by the judge, everyone is convinced that I did it. I-it started as just a bunch of death threats, then it escalated. After that Fuck Paul Day started. I don't know who started it but, ever since that began I wasn't able to have a day of peace."
"Were you guys close?"
"Very close. I used to know her in kindergarten. S-she would always build sandcastles with me. We've been best friends ever since. I wanted to be with her at one point but, she rejected me. I always enjoyed her company though."
I nodded sympathetically. I can't imagine this level of misfortune in my life especially for something I didn't do. We talked a bit more about Jenny and how he got to where he is today. I patted him on the back and told him that I was sorry for everything that happened. I turned to leave the house when he spoke up one last time,
"T-thank you. For listening to my story."
"No problem, Paul. At least I know why they hate you."
"Yeah."
"Take care now okay?"
"Y-you too. What's your name?"
I was about to tell him what my name was but, then a call came on my cellphone. It was my mom. I looked up at him and he gave me the go ahead to take the call.
"Hello? Mom?"
"Where are you Jamie?"
"At the library."
"No you're not don't lie to me. Where are you?"
"I'm at-"
"You're at Paul's house right?"
I was horrified for a second. How did she know? Who would have guessed?
"...Yes."
"Jamie you need to leave town now."
"What? why?"
"Don't ask questions just leave we have your bags packed and everything."
"but-"
"YOU KNOW WHAT HE DID JAMIE! YOU KNOW WHAT HE DID!"
"Yes I do but, he-"
"HE DID IT TO HER HE WILL DO IT TO YOU JAMIE! THE POLICE ARE COMING RIGHT NOW. GET OUT!"
"WHAT!?"
"GO!"
The phone clicked on the other end. Paul looked confused as he saw my face turn into a shade of ghoulish white.
"My mom knows I'm here."
His mouth hardened into a straight line and he looked me straight in the eyes.
"Leave and never come back."
I ran through that box maze as quickly as possible. As I sped to my car I see police cars surrounding his house and barging in as if he was a sort of dangerous criminal. I now know why everyone hates Paul. I know what he did. Unfortunately there's just nothing I can do about it. I pull out on to the road and drove my way out of the neighborhood. I pressed my foot on the gas and went 10,20,30 miles over the speed limit to get home quickly. I finally reached home and parked on the street in case I had to take off again. I breathed a sigh of relief before a small string went around my neck. I attempt to remove that string from around my neck but, I couldn't it was too tight. The person holding it obviously has a sizable amount of strength on me. I start to cry as I struggle to make my last breaths and then I could breathe no more.
-......-
YOUNG GIRL MISSING
WITNESSES LAST SAW HER WITH PAUL
|
"Well, he's Pauled it."
"Try not to pull a Paul, will ya?"
"well, if there ever was a Paul of a machine, this is it."
"Paul's prostate!"
Paul. Paul. Paul. Every where I turn, nowadays, it's Paul in every curse, every swear, he's being treated worse than Shaitan, and the worst part, I don't get why! Not three days ago, they put that fool carpenter to he cross, and now everyone hates Paul even more than that poor sod. I don't get it! Imma ask the next guy who swears why he's using that name! Ooh, that guy just knocked back by that bullock of a man! Come on...
"Why you absolute Paul I-"
"Excuse me, but what did this Paul do? Why are you using his name like he's the worst of the worst?"
The man stares at me, not comprehending my question, before his face clears, then turns dark again.
"You know what he did. He pulled a real quick about turn, didn't he. Going from hunter to one of *them*."
"But what-"
He's already gone, and I don't understand any more than I did five minutes ago.
 
**Five Days Later:**
Oh, Isn't that Paul that soldier sent to arrest those fool followers of that carpenter? Let's ask him how he's been!
"Heya Paul, how'd the arrests go?"
"What arrests, brother? Say have you heard of **[REDACTED]**
Now I understand why Paul deserves all that hate.
| 2017-07-08T09:08:40 | 2017-07-08T04:25:15 | 43 | 17 |
[WP] Humans are known in the galaxy for being a bit dim, but also for being the very best mechanics around, and inexplicably able to fix machines beyond their comprehension. You have broken down on Earth, and having the apes work on your craft is both fascinating and terrifying.
|
The Warp-Core was undergoing critical failure. They felt the containment mechanisms slide into place as they were meant to; they felt the non-vital systems of the vessel shutting down to conserve power, hibernating; they felt the older, vestigial thrusters prepare themselves for use as the FTL travel mechanisms shut down. A signal beacon sent out a message to my home world requesting assistance, one unlikely to be received in any decent span of time.
I felt all of this as if it were a part of my body, for it were in a way. Telepathic networks linked every aspect of the ship to my mind, lending the feeling that the ship was a part of my body; every motion smooth, refined, working perfectly in sync as it had smoothly evolved to over millenia, the perfect fusion of form and function, of the technological and biological- that had just broken down in the middle of the Galactic Backwater. I felt a crushing fear as I assessed the damage to the engine room. It was completely annihilated, with no chance of repair. The mass-driver had been wiped out of existence with an anti-matter leak, and entire pieces of the system were missing. I was stranded.
Checking my coordinates and seeing what was nearby, I realized the universe must have been either kind, cruel, or it's usual unknowing mixture of both, for my Warp-Core broke down outside of the Sol System: Home of the Naked Apes.
It was with distaste that I sent a thought towards the main planet, Earth, asking for direction to a location where my ship could again be made ready for FTL travel.
Not, I assure you, that I have any resent or ill-will towards any living creation. However, they were unusual, even by the standards of the explored universe. They had been introduced to the rest of the sentient life of the galaxy when they destroyed a passing tourist with several thousand kilotons of old dirty nuclear weapons, after fearing that the passerby was the scout of an invasion force. Since then, they've been a surprisingly active species, with millions of them hired by various companies and military bodies as battlefield mechanics, due to their ability to, by some combination of instinct and dumb luck, to preform impossible technological improvisations. Unlike every other space-faring species, they spent most of their evolutionary history apart from any kind of technology, and seemed to have lucked into a specific type of spatial intelligence that let them use tools. As such, the usual method of creation, molding raw material into a seamless construct over years, with each new generation shaping old advances into new forms flawlessly, humans simply was unknown to them. They simply. . . built them, disparate chunks of metal and scrap held together by more scrap.
This was plainly obvious as I followed their direction to a "spaceport", as they called it. Hundreds of different buildings, most of them consisted of dozens of metal and glass panes stuck together. The city I flew over was a diseased heart, arteries and veins flowing through towering monoliths that held no rhyme or reason and seemed ready to collapse into dust at any moment. My cardiac systems nearly stopped as I landed. The sign "Hangar 71" hung from the ceiling, casting the gaudy green light of electrified neon on to my ship's carapace. Like their ancestral apes, the humans around seemed to have no reasoning, sprinting around from station to station, doing what I can only assume was the maintenance necessary to keep this "hangar" together, it only being metal sheets held together with struts, welds, and some form of-
"Excuse me, can we help you? We've only got so many landing spots and the sooner we can clear you out to wherever the hell you're from, the better."
Broken from my disdainful review, I turned my eyes to get a better look at the human speaking. He seemed to be the image of a human mechanic- bulging with protein structures, small bright eyes constantly darting, and covered with scavenged or constructed technology. He smelled as if he had never been cleansed, the oils oozing out of every inch of his porous skin barely covered by the overpowering scents he used to cover it up.
However, my disgust was overpowered by my need. "My Warp-Core appears to have been either damaged during travel, or to be diseased in some way. I need to be able to return home rather quickly. You see, I am returning from a scientific inquiry as to a dwarf galaxy that may-"
He nodded along up until my explanation of purpose, when he proceeded to scribble something down on to a silicon tablet before turning to a group of humans who had been in a state of inactivity, quietly conversing.
"HEY, I'M NOT PAYING YOU TO LOUNGE AROUND. GET YOUR ASSES HERE, WE GOT A BROKEN WARP-CORE. IT'S A RUSH JOB, I WANT THIS THING HALFWAY TO ALPHA-CENTAURI BY LUNCH."
The volume of his vocal vibrations felt like a telepathic assault- even more so was the whirlwind of activity afterwards. My eyes expanded with awe as I watched the workers descend on my vessel. It seemed a pack of beasts tearing apart prey, a furious ripping and tearing of my ships hull to access the core. I could only stand their astounded as they violated the form of my ship, ripping and tearing out component, leaving their wires dangling from them like organs ripped from a corpse.
One of them, wearing denim on their lower body and nothing on the upper portions, leaned out of one of the cuts they had made in the hull to yell something to his companions.
"Some kind of weird biological based system, haven't seen it before. Get me the welder and some of the parts we have left over from that Guliton ship."
It took every portion of my willpower and training to not give into my anger and disgust. Guliton technology? They were a silicon based biology, and my ship was carbon! Not to mention that it was completely incompatible, with entirely different design, and several centuries behind the technology of my ship. My ship had been crafted by our greatest sculptors, a single piece of perfection, and I could feel waves of fear and anguish roll off of me in telepathic waves as I watched it's desecration, as I watched them stab it with metal nails and burn it with torches, it's very form tortured.
Suddenly, I felt a very familiar energy on the edge of my conscious. It felt like my warp core, if it had been sent through a black hole and managed to exit. It vibrated in a frequency that made it seem as it was ready to explode, the color glowing from inside the cracked and bolted carapace was crimson as opposed to the standard teal, and the hull itself seemed to have been ripped to shreds and attached together with discolored bands and sheets of metal.
The upper-body bare mechanic that had been in my vessel came over to me, teeth bared in what I can only assume to be a show of aggression.
"Well, it wasn't anything I'd seen before, but I think we got it all sorted out. Had to reverse the polarity of the neutron flows, invert the mass concentrater and a few other small things, but she should be able to take you from one side of space to the other and back again. Now, on the matter of payment."
I quickly telepathically told him the information to my bank account, and enjoyed a quiet moment of joy as he reeled back. Despite having access to telepathic neural networks for decades, humans still refused to use them except when absolutely necessary.
With trepidation I stepped back into my vessel, feeling every change and improvised solution they had made. My ship felt, as opposed to a smooth creature or work of art, like a trash heap that, through some combination of luck and prayer, seemed to work. However, it took off, and luckily I was away from that cesspool and on my way home as soon as I was able to clear their atmosphere.
|
Humans are far from being the smartest species in the universe, but they surely are known as the best mechanics. This fact is almost unexplainable but anything they get their hands on gets turned in a functional gadget (most of the times they get turned in weapons but let give this guys a break, they aren’t that evolved).
Even though I knew the stories, seeing this happening is a whole different thing, that’s why I stare flabbergasted as the half-evolved creature roam through my spacecraft, scattering and checking everything without a second thought, while I try to think on how to tell him to get his hands of my spacecraft I hear him say, using his ancient auto translator:
“Have you tried to turn it off and on again?”
“Why would I do that?”
“OFF and ON again!” the auto translator rang in the way you would speak to a kid, as he turned the engine off and on again almost as if hoping for a paranormal event about to happen making the engine magically start working again.
“If it didn’t work before why would it work...” before I finished the engine started.
“Stupid Alien.”
How was that possible? He wasn’t even a proper mechanic, he was an average old farmer, the typical earthborn human who thinks space travelling and diplomacy are for “young people who can’t keep their nose off things they shouldn’t mess with” and even then he fixed a topnotch spacecraft as if it was nothing much, the best spacecraft in the whole galactic fleet was fixed by an average human.
I board my spacecraft and lift off as fast as I can. As the galactic leader I always dismissed the rumors about the humans as stupid. But now I see they are not to be underestimated, we should focus all our forces in either annexing or exterminating them before the tear the universe apart.
| 2016-05-23T16:47:03 | 2016-05-23T15:58:24 | 232 | 48 |
[WP] You have the supernatural ability to never break a promise. You swore to hold this bridge until the reinforcements arrived. But your side lost the war, and reinforcements never came. A promise is a promise, though, even if it's been 300 years.
|
“Stop there, I will hold this bridge as long as I must.” A raspy voice cried out in what was clearly the first time in quite a while.
A disheveled man appeared from behind a wall made of sticks and mud next to the abandoned bridge, brandishing a broken sword and wearing the tattered remnants of what appeared to be leather armor. The center of plenty of local folklore and ghost stories, a group of children had made the trek into the forest to see if they could confirm any of it for themselves.
“I won’t hesitate to use lethal force!” continued the man.
A boy with a rather scrawny build jumped at the sound, further startling his companions. The boy wiped his messy brown hair from his eyes, watching as his friends began throwing various debris at the man.
“Go away, demon! We’ve all heard the stories, how you sneak into town at night and drag away the women and children, only to eat them under that bridge!”
Despite the abuse, the man did not leave his post at the bridge, and only glared threateningly at the children.
The boy watched his friends continue to abuse the man guarding the bridge before they all ran back off into the forest, leaving the man to tend to his many new bruises and cuts.
Later that night, the man jumped at the sounds of another figure making their way toward the bridge. The boy from earlier emerged carrying a covered basket.
“I told you before, I’m not going to let you across this bridge no matter what” he said to the boy.
“I know that... I just thought you might be hungry. I brought some rolls that I stole from dinner, they’re probably still a little warm!” the boy replied, struggling to appear to have any confidence.
“I... why would you bring me this, after what happened earlier today? Why should I trust you after what you and your friends did?” the man asked, looking an odd mix of confused and angry.
“Im sorry about that... I didn’t know what to do. I thought maybe bringing this would help.”
The man reluctantly removed a piece of bread from the basket, tasting it hesitantly at first, before devouring the rest of the basket ravenously.
“It wouldn’t have hurt for you to stop them” the man said through a mouth filled entirely with food.
“How could I? They’re all so much bigger than me. They never listen to what I have to say anyway. If I tried to do anything they’d start throwing rocks at me instead!” The boy stated, feeling more sure of himself now that the man had seemingly accepted his gift.
The man stopped at that, a stern expression crossing his face. How long ago had it been since he too had been pushed around by his peers, with no way to push back? He tossed the boy a branch roughly the size of a sword before picking one up for himself.
The branch nearly slipped out of the boys hand as he looked up at the man confused, only to see him entering some sort of stance after finishing his food.
“Then I’ll teach you how to defend yourself. Come here every night with some fresh food, and I’ll give you all the information you need to know on how to protect yourself, boy. I promise to make you a man worthy of respect.” The man said.
After some thought, the boy attempted to emulate the stance of the older man only to receive a sharp smack from the mans makeshift weapon for his trouble.
—
“How long have you been here?” the boy asked the man sitting across from him as they ate their meal. The boy had been coming to the bridge every night to receive lessons from the man after that first night, and had been shaping up nicely into a dependable young man. His once scrawny build had begun to thicken, and he had put on a few more inches in an unexpected growth spurt.
“At this bridge? Only god knows. Longer than you’ve been alive at least. I stopped thinking about it some time ago.”
The boy, somewhat taken aback by the answer, followed up with “But why are you here? This is a strange place for someone to live. Don’t you have a family waiting for you?”
A pained expression crossed the man’s face at the words. “I made a promise I would hold this bridge until someone brought back reinforcements. I cannot break a promise.”
The boy, already somewhat used to the mans strange ways didn’t pay much mind to his answer, instead opting to defend himself from his teachers onslaught as training for the evening began.
—
Many seasons passed as the boy became a young man in his own right. He began to visit the old man less and less. One cool autumn night, the two lied beneath the stars after fighting each other to a draw.
“I don’t think I have much left to teach you, kid.” the man said between sharp breaths.
“Don’t say that, I think you’ll always have some new trick up your sleeve to show me.”
“Tapped out. In fact, I think you’ve taught me damn near as much as I’ve shown you. That, and the food was always worth it.”
“Actually... I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something. Recently a man came through town looking for a new apprentice. He’s a famous blacksmith and for some reason he’s interested in me. He wants me to come with him when he heads to the capital. I haven’t accepted yet because I wanted to see what you thought.”
The man thought for a moment, before a sad smile crossed his face. “I always knew you’d be leaving sooner or later. This isn’t an opportunity you can miss, you have my blessing in whatever awaits you.”
The young man fought back a tear as he listened to the words spoken by the man he considered a father. The next day he brought extra food for the man as they wrapped up their final lesson. Goodbyes were made as the young man promised to return with even better food than the soldier had ever had before.
—
Time passed as the young man studied under the master blacksmith, the old man near the bridge often crossing his mind. As the days went on, the blacksmith told him that he would be sending him home in the winter months to allow him to help take care of his home. The young man wanted to surprise the old man somehow, and struggled for some time to find out the perfect way to surprise his mentor.
After quite some thought, the apprentice remembered how the man often spoke of the reinforcements he was still waiting for, tying him to the spot on the bridge. With that in mind, he began using his knowledge and meager salary to produce a few sets of armor and weapons. As winter drew near, he smiled as he packed his things.
—
The young man returned home just as the first snow began to fall, hurriedly unpacking his things. He went to find his old friends and asked them if they would come see the man near the bridge with them. They all agreed, having matured and wishing to apologize for the harsh things they had done to the man. They paid the young man full attention as he described his plan.
A group of three armored young men made their way through the forest towards the bridge, carrying a basket of warm bread rolls. As they neared the bridge, they heard a familiar voice cry out.
“Stop there! I will hold this bridge for as long as I must.” The old man cried as he came out from his shelter.
The young man rushed forward toward his teacher, confusing him at first before he was crushed in a bear hug. Gaining his bearings, a smile crossed his face as he looked at his protege. It was quickly replaced by a confused one, as he stared at the others with him, all dressed in standard military attire.
“I thought you were going to learn to be a blacksmith? Why are you here now dressed as a soldier? And who are these men you’ve brought with you?”
“I have! In fact, I made these myself. These two are the ones who were with me the day we met.” He answered, first gesturing to the equipment they wore and then passing the basket of rolls to the man.
The two next to the man’s student bowed their heads in shame as they apologized, noticing the annoyed look on the mans face.
“As for why we’re here, we are here to provide reinforcements for holding the bridge!” The apprentice smith continued.
Slowly, a look of understanding crossed the man’s face as a tear formed in the corner of his eye.
Immobilized by a crushing amount of emotion, the old man thanked the party profusely, before being waved off by his old student. The four sat together for some time, talking about nothing for hours on end. As the sky grew dark, the two friends excused themselves as they returned to their homes. The student and teacher however remained well into the night as the young man built them a fire. Eventually, he fell asleep. Upon waking in the early morning, he found that the old man had left in the night, leaving a note scrawled on a piece of bark.
“I will never be able to repay you for the gift you’ve given me. I will always cherish the time we shared, in return I would like to offer a gift of my own. I promise that you will always be fortunate in life in return for your kindness to an old man.”
Confused by his teachers promise, the young man spent some time at the old bridge just thinking of the years past. Smiling fondly at his memory of the old man, the boy began his trek home.
|
He was a lone warrior of strife and grit. Legions and empires might crumble, and people and ideas disintegrate like dust, but the bridge was an old relic of never-ending permanence.
Indeed, when it came to losing, Huam was the strongest. That was what his life had melded into by now - there was no more winning. There was no more glory. He could barely sway anyone or anything with the limited position he had, and besides, he was the one who they tried to trick.
Before, his supernatural ability had a blessing, a source of power to which people flocked to him for. Now, they flocked to observe him, to snicker at him, to laugh at him. When the razors and spikes weren't pointed at him from all sides, an impenetrable glass dome revealed a single box for voice connection and an ever changing flux of scientists and civilians. Huam, my daughter is in trouble, promise me she'll be okay. Huam, promise me I'll gain a thousand gold by the end of this year.
And these were impossible. He could only promise one thing at a time, though he'd never bothered to tell them - maybe because he was a stubborn loser, maybe because he liked to see them squirm and suffer and try to make sense of him.
He hated their realm, their empire. He hated the way they killed - shoving his leader and the supposed reinforcements into trampled dust, setting them on fire so the screams could be heard even guarding the side of a well worn bridge.
Huam was the only one remaining of the ancient Sith after so long, all of them slaughtered soon after his charismatic best friend, Loth, was killed. Centuries had rendered Huam a cursed, invincible, forsaken soldier who had no choice but to guard the bridge until nonexistent reinforcements arrived, but would do so with valor and trickery and brutality simply because he hated everything on the outside these days.
"It's been three hundred years for you, hasn't it?" A voice, full of static, came the speakers connected to the outside. "The bridge looks so old."
Huam eyed the layers of rock and sediment that were still compact from repeated pressing. Which he had done, because it was just a part of the contract, another thing that constituted 'hold the bridge' and his powers even to him sometimes reached strange extents. A bright splash of color suddenly landed on the old tiles.
"A book," came the voice, sheepish and sad. "I know that King Astor hates you and you hate him back. I'm sorry, but that's why our empire was so bent on killing everyone from yours, and secrets of your existence are passed down from every king only - that's how much they fear you and your supernatural abilities, even so long afterwards. I was only able to come across information about you when our king slipped up too much. I don't have much time, but this bridge is your realm, right? I can drop things into it, and nothing else they send can reach you unless you allow it to - not video recordings, not cameras and flames which I managed to avoid. Maybe we can... break you out, even."
| 2019-12-07T15:43:13 | 2019-12-07T15:12:43 | 359 | 62 |
[WP] the Dark Lord had killed almost everyone, even the Hero. The final party member stood in the chamber alone. “I have killed everyone, you cannot capture me alone. Why are you still here?”. The final party member laughed maniacally with a devilish grin! “There's No One Here To Stop Me Now!!”
|
Melchiah grinned to himself as the motley crew of misfits charged into his throne room. He'd been scrying on them with his orb, he'd seen everything they'd done, every heroic act, every near-death experience, every falter. He'd found their weakness, their reliance on their healer, Kylen, allowing them to be as reckless as they'd wanted. Well, not today, not in his throne room. As they crossed the threshold into the throne room, Melchiah released the spell he'd been channelling all morning, dragging their very souls from their still-living bodies, the colourful wisps struggling desperately to get back, but to no avail; Melchiah's power was too great, the souls of each hero dragged to him, as he sealed each into a crystal just as each body hit the ground. It had taken just about all of his power to cast such dark magic on the four of them, but on his own the healer was no threat. Yet, he was standing in the doorway, stunned perhaps at how thoroughly their plan had come unravelled. Always one for theatrics and a big fan of his own aesthetic, Melchian swished his cape behind him, slotting his new jewels into his crown before placing it back on his head.
“Oh, you're still here, old man? I've killed everyone, you cannot capture me alone. Why are you still here?” he added with a derisive look up and down the old sage. Kylen started laughing, a chuckle at first, before bursting out in a gut-ripping maniacal laugh, his pet owl almost falling off his shoulder as he doubled over, having to stop to wipe the tears from his eyes. Perhaps the old fool's mind was broken?
“There's no one here to stop me now,” chuckled the old man, the sincerity of his voice causing a cold chill down Melchiah's spine.
“Have you taken leave of your senses old man? I've ripped their souls from their bodies, no matter how great your healing magic, you cannot hope to revive them this time-” started Melchiah, interrupted by Kylen's laughter.
“I must apologise, but healing really isn't my strong suit,” said Kylen with a sly grin, as half a dozen of Melchiah's generals walked in from the back room to see what was going on.
“I've seen you raise these kids from the dead, you're one of the most powerful healers-” said Melchiah, before Kylen raised a hand, and then grasped it into a fist. Hearing something from behind him, Melchiah turned to see his own generals clutching at their chests as their own souls were dragged kicking and screaming from their bodies, Kylen effortlessly casting the spell on all of them when it had taken Melchiah so much effort to cast it on just four.
“Oh, don't get me wrong, Melchiah, that's not humility. It's a threat. But you, you've done this old man, older than you can even imagine, a great service, so don't worry, I'm not going to kill you yet. You were the lynchpin to a plan ten thousand years in the making, ever since I was first prophesised to die to these four, ahem, 'heroes'. Tell me, Melchiah, do you know what effect trapping the soul like this has? Oh, sure, it stops any hope of resurrection, but you can just turn someone to ash, or replace their bones with liquid fire for that. No, this is special... it removes their souls from the wheel of fate, the Carnival of Souls,” said Kylen, slowly walking towards Melchiah, backing away step after shaky step.
“Did you know, Melchiah, that mortals are reincarnated when they die? They ascend to the Carnival of Souls, and then come back. Immortals, on the other hand, are harder to kill, but once we're gone, we're gone. Terribly unfair to pit an immortal against a team of mortals, if you ask me,” said Kylen conversationally as he waved a hand, the bodies of Melchiah's generals dissolving to dust.
“Wh-what? What are you?” asked Melchiah, backed away almost to his own throne of skulls, shaking in his robes and heavy, spiked armour.
“Did you ever hear of the fallen angel Kylentus? Of course not, I scrubbed all mention of myself, and of that accursed prophecy, aside from the writing burnt into my back by the gods themselves when they kicked me out forever, that I would be defeated by that miserable little group, some day, somehow. It's taken so long to work around that,” added Kylen wistfully, as three pairs of broken, burnt wings spread out from under his cloak, shining with intense darkness.
“Why not kill them yourself?” asked Melchiah, trying to stall for time, a deep fear building in his gut. Kylen looked at him and sighed, the ground under Melchiah suddenly becoming like water, his lower half falling into the rock before it solidified around him, trapping him in place, the pain of the rock tightly around his legs, crushing them.
“Because they were prophesised to kill me. If I fought them, then somehow despite the odds, they'd win. But, I asked myself, what if I had someone else kill them? I saw your rise to power as the opportunity of an aeon, Melchiah. You were most fortuitous for me,” added Kylen, slowly circling Melchiah, who was still struggling to get his legs out of the stone.
“But... I saw you, you healed them. You brought them back from the dead at least three seperate times! That bear, the drake-riders I sent, the Oligert that smashed Gyllen to pieces...” said Melchiah, struggling to understand as much as he was struggling with the rock. Kylen tutted Melchiah, as he sat himself down in Melchiah's throne.
“That was two-fold. One, I needed them to be killed by you, because two, I knew you were watching, and knew you'd need to find a way to stop me resurrecting them. I really must thank the Library of Eternity for 'loaning' you the book I wrote on removing the soul of a person... I mean, if you hadn't burnt it down on the way out, haha. But now, there's no one and nothing to stop me. I think after ten thousand years and two years of listening to their inane prattle about justice and love, the endless love triangles and quadrupoles, I'm owed a couple of centuries of torturing the world before I return it to nothingness to spite the gods who trapped me here, don't you think?” added Kylen, stroking his pet owl's head gently as he spoke.
“You're... not going to rule? You want to destroy everything?” asked Melchiah, the sick feeling in his stomach steeling into a strange kind of resolve, starting to chant quietly under his breath.
“Of course. Those fools draw power from this world, and if I raze it to ashes and smash the Carnival of Souls to nothingness, then they won't be able to stop me when I return. I really must thank-” began Kylen as Melchiah finished the spell he'd been channelling the last of his power into, disappearing from his own throne room. “Oh dear, how inconvenient. Albert?” called Kylen, his owl looking at him with rapt attention. “Be a dear a find Melchiah, won't you? Feel free to burn everything you come across on the way, but do be sure to bring me back some skulls; I feel like redecorating. This throne of skulls has a few too many fake ones for my taste,” added Kylen as Albert started flying away, returning to his true form as an ancient dragon and smashing his way through the wall. Kylen decided that the sunny day overhead was unfitting for such a momentous occasion and waved a hand lazily, thick blackened clouds spreading out to cover the entire sky.
A thousand miles from the Empire of Darkness he'd carved with his own two hands, both his legs broken and his magic drained, Melchiah clutched the crown with the soul stones in it. Kylen would pay. It was one thing to rule, but Melchiah had never liked mindless destruction for destruction's sake. It would have to wait though, since he knew he was about to pass out, and dying alone in the woods wasn't part of his aesthetic.
|
“There’s no one here to stop me now!”
He grinned at me, again that oh so infuriating grin
Light started to gather in his hands, heat emits out of them, and then a blinding light engulfs me as he raised his hands, it felt warm, then hot then before I can scream of the heat,nothing... except his voice, calm, cold as darkness that engulfed me.
“Goodbye “
....
I awoke as Alexandrine approach, she sighs and threw a water bottle at me.
“You were dreaming again, I know how excited you are, getting to kill the darklord that destroyed our city, but please just hang back and let us, the chosen warriors fight, then just cast that thingy and have her sealed.”
I nodded, sweat running down my face as I recall the full dream, I was the darklord, I killed millions to get power, to rule, but after a blinding light, I found myself in a city, having a full life, and then being dragged in an adventure to kill the darklord...to kill me? Or..
“Hey were near the gates, chin up I know your afraid too” Michael a paladin approached me and Alexandrine.
“Today we finish the dark lord’s reign” Alexandrine and Michael nodded, determined they stride towards the castle gate.
“For revenge” I whispered
And followed suit.
....
“Let the cycle continue” I heard a voice, as I hid in a fallen column. There I saw Michael’s head roll right out of his neck, surprise filled his lifeless eyes as his body falls to the bloody floor.
All of my friends are dead Nile, a warrior nun the first to die as she ran towards the darklord, followed by Gimply, the half dwarf half elf warrior who tried to support Nile. They’re blood stains the castle floor.
Then Alexandrine, my love died as she protected me. And Michael who screamed at me to run.
As they’re lifeless body lies in front of me, time stopped.
“Sacrifice is ready, only the blood of the darklord remains”
A voice whispers to me, I looked around, and saw nothing.
“Let the cycle continue” the voice is getting louder
“Accept”
I looked at Alexandrine, her body lies in front of me
“Let the cycle continue “
....
“ I have killed everyone, you cannot capture me alone. Why are still here?”
The final party member grinned
“Let the cycle continue” a voice whispers in the ears of the darklord. Fear appears in his eyes
“There’s no one here to stop me now!”
...
| 2020-07-11T05:09:44 | 2020-07-11T03:52:06 | 35 | 17 |
[WP] The demon lord has conquered the land, and five heroes have been summoned to depose him. The heroes journey towards the demon lord--to discover that he's built a thriving economy, public healthcare, and the land is more prosperous than it has ever been.
|
"Look, I know what you're all thinking. I'm thinking it too. But, bottom line, we were brought here to do a job."
"Yes, yes we were. I think we can all agree on that. But- and here, I think, is where we diverge- what, *exactly*, is the job we were brought here to do?"
"To kill the demon lord!"
"Those are the words they said, yes. But think a bit- what were we brought here to *do*?"
"I just told you- kill the-"
"*No*. We were brought here to improve things. The method we were assigned to achieve that was killing the demon lord. And now that we're actually *here*, we can see that our assigned task, killing the demon lord, strongly contradicts what we were brought here to actually *accomplish*."
"Look, what you're not understanding is that..."
The argument dragged on. Bri wasn't paying much attention. It is a common (and false) perception that barbarians are stupid, or that they don't pay attention to the world around them.
Far from it, Bri was paying more attention to the world around them than anyone else in the party. That's one of the benefits of no one expecting you to take part in discussions- you get time to really process, to really feel things out in your mind.
It didn't feel right.
Another misconception of barbarians is that they love a fight. This is untrue. Barbarians love a *good* fight. Between foes comparable in strength and skill, each backed by righteous fury, or, occasionally, simple blind rage.
Nothing about this felt like a good fight.
Errior was suggesting that they fight because they had been told to fight. Barbarians didn't hold with that sort of nonsense. Barbarians are, at best, uncomfortable following orders, even coincidentally.
Wrai was suggesting that they snoop around, learn more about what was going on, and if they uncovered some sinister plot behind the whole thing, then they could go ahead and off the demon lord.
This was marginally better, but very much not a barbarian-style thing to do.
Bri thought, and felt, and decided.
The argument had escalated to yelling and finger-pointing. Urer was trying to settle Wrai and Errior down, and Maz was sitting back, throwing summoned popcorn at all three, hoping to provoke an out-and-out fistfight.
Bri ignored all of them.
She simply stood up, slung her axe back over her shoulder for travel, and began walking.
It's amazing what will and will not stop a fight. Urer had tried any number of things- calm words, trying to find middle ground, threatening to withhold healing from both of them unless they calmed down *right this second*\- but none had taken.
Seeing Bri walk off towards destinations unknown, though- *that* had done it.
It's never wise to split the party, and it's never wise to leave a barbarian unattended. They are incredibly talented at both finding and creating trouble. When wizards cause problems, there's usually a minimum safe distance. When barbarians cause problems, minimum safe distance tends to be measured in continents, and tends to be more of a guess than anything indicating real safety.
Words were said in her general direction, but Bri kept walking. A barbarian focuses on only important things. And none of the words being directed at her were important.
Spells were cast in her general direction, but barbarians don't like magic. As a consequence, magic doesn't like barbarians, and often refuses to work right on them. Though the attempt *did* earn Wrai a look that indicated that the next spell cast toward Bri would turn out, when all was said and done, to be a spell of axe-summoning.
And then, someone said something worth listening to, and responding to.
"Where are you *going*, anyway?"
This was a fair and reasonable question, and it deserved a fair and reasonable answer.
"I'm going to see the demon king."
This resulted in a lot more words being said, none of which were actually worth listening to.
...
It was late in the morning. Birds were chirping, and it was warming up nicely, though it looked like it would rain sometime in the afternoon. It was a gorgeous day at the Grand Evil Castle of Malevolent Doom.
Bri walked right up to the front gate, and walked right in. There were guards, of course, but barbarians do have access to *some* magic. They can generate quite a powerful SEP field. This is usually achieved by giving a certain look, which the recipient responds to by thinking "You know, I don't really feel like being whipped with my own severed spine today. This barbarian looks like Somebody Else's Problem."
This is an advantage of bureaucracy- a strong SEP field will get you anywhere and everywhere, because there's always Somebody Else.
The rest of the party followed in her wake, too tired to put up any more of a fight. This, apparently, was how the whole thing was going down. And it wasn't as though anyone had any better ideas.
Bri wasn't tired. Barbarians are often sufficiently focused to forget that they should feel tired, and, being barbarians, this means they don't feel tired.
They were walking down the long hallway to the Magnificent Throne Room of Torturous Doom when a small demon approached them.
"Excuse me? Could I trouble you to stop and talk for a moment?"
Bri turned the full force of the SEP field on the little demon, who remained, steadfast and just a little anxious. It was obvious that he'd prefer his spine where it was, but that it was a risk worth running, to deal with problematic adventurers.
Bri had managed to find where the buck stopped. This is a talent of barbarians, if only by dint of making problems big enough that they go all the way to the top of the functional command chain.
Bri hadn't found what she was looking for, but she *had* found what she had come for. It was time to talk. And to listen.
"You can."
Barbarians are not renowned for verbosity.
"Would I guess correctly that you all are adventurers, and that you are here to see my boss, the Grand and Profane Demon Lord of Doom, long may he reign?"
"You would."
"May I ask what you intend to do, when you go in to see him?"
"Talk."
"Oh dear. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. Could I possibly convince you not to do that?"
Bri had an odd look on her face. The rest of the party was saying unimportant words, but Bri responded simply.
"Maybe."
It was in the tone. It wasn't a 'maybe' that meant 'no'. It wasn't a 'maybe' that meant 'I'm stalling for time anyway, so sure'. It was a 'maybe' that meant 'maybe'. Barbarians are very good at using words to mean what they actually mean. It's a rare talent.
"Because I may have...uh...staged something of a soft coup. His Glorious Malevolence doesn't actually go out to see his conquests, these days. He just gets messages about how things are going, and he doesn't even pay much attention to those. He mostly wants us to bring him loads of food. Speaking of, could we all step aside for a moment?"
This was done, and a massive plate rounded the corner. It was carried by tiny demons- imps, really- and was piled high with food. It did, in fact, look quite delicious. It passed them by, and entered the massive doors at the other end of the hall.
The Grand and Profane Demon Lord of Doom sat upon his throne within. He could, in theory, have seen that there were adventurers at the end of his Glorious, Magnificent, and Long hall, but his eyes were only for the food entering his throne room.
The door closed, but occasional disgusting eating noises could be heard, if you paid attention.
|
The five heroes stepped cautiously into the office, weapons and casting wands drawn.
The goblin secretary that had shown them in said, “I’m so sorry Sir Nozzel, these guests wished to see you, right now. They wouldn’t take no for an answer. Excuse me.” She left and closed the door, leaving the adventurers cautiously eying the goblin behind the desk with weapons still drawn.
“My name is Sir Karrin, the leader of this expert-level squad,” A well-armored adventurer stepped forward, “Judging by the opulence of your lair,” The man gestured with his sword at the the suit and bowtie that the goblin wore, the engraved rosewood desk, and the motivational goblin posters on the walls, “You must be Nozzel the Corrupt, right hand to the Demon Lord, and an integral part of the poverty that has swept through the land and the famine that has ruined my once-great family.”
The goblin sighed and ran a knobbed green hand through his receding hair, “Mister Karrin, I’m but a simple CEO of a goblin apparel company. Please, put aside your weapons and we can clear this misunderstanding over coffee like civilized beings.”
The knight spat, “I have no desire to sit amongst the likes of *you*. No. I came here for one thing and one thing only. Bring me to your master.”
The goblin shook his head, “Sorry, but the Demon Lord is very busy managing this country, he can’t see you on such short notice…“
The knight walked up until he towered over Nozzel, his hero friends following him and also glaring down menacingly, “I don’t think you understand. We *will* talk to the Demon Lord. You will take us. Right now.”
The goblin sighed once more and stood up, opening a drawer and getting a pair of keys before walking out, “Follow me.”
The knight exchanged a smug glance with his fellow heroes, who high-fived him, and they followed the small form of the goblin CEO.
| 2021-01-28T10:01:35 | 2021-01-28T07:44:42 | 491 | 63 |
[WP] It's your first time inside the dungeon. everyone told you to kill monsters on sight. but so far, the monsters have all been really nice. This Goblin just gifted you an apple.
|
"Why can't I go through with this? Just decapitate the bastard for XP and move on!"
Simple words for complex actions. Adam considered this as his blade rested mere millimeters from the neck of a plump goblin. The glint of Adam's gnarled teeth and the goblin's round yellow eyes were the only light sources in an other-side nightmare-black dungeon. In response to the blade, the goblin extended a Granny Smith apple toward the young adventurer's face, urging him to take it.
Adam sighed before he allowed his blade to meander from the goblin's neck and took the apple. His brows knitted together as he stared the goblin down, his right hand refusing to loosen its sword grip. What was the creature plotting?...*and why am I allowing myself to be audience to it?*
The goblin sighed and wiped the sweat from its forehead with its arm -Adam's sword hand hitched at the movement before he steadied. The goblin said, "whew! For a second, I thought you would kill me accidentally!"
"Accidentally kill you?" Adam asked. The 'killing' wasn't questionable. It was a standard practice between humans and goblins. The 'accidental' part. *Does this goblin not understand how this works?* A thought entered his mind. This dungeon raid was his first ever. Was it possible he'd just discriminated against a random green man? What if this wasn't a goblin?
His cheeks flushed as he asked, "Sir, you wouldn't happen to be a-a goblin, would you?"
"Sure am!" The goblin's face beamed with pride, unbecoming a monster. "That's why I normally hide when I see humans. A lot of them are sadistically barbaric after our loot-and even if you give it to em, they still kill you." His shoulders shivered as he spoke before he jabbed a finger Adam's way. "But not you. Soon as I got a whiff of ya, I knew you weren't like that. You're a good human. I can smell it."
*A good human?* Adam's eyes traced the shadows of the dungeon, expecting as key-phrase initiated ambush to begin. After twenty seconds, it dawned on him. *I think he's talking about me*. The goblin had walked five paces away and waved him to follow.
"I'll show yer a tour. You can see our home in all her beauty."
Adam took measured steps toward the ghoul, apple in one hand, sword in the other.
The tour was far snugger than he'd expected-although given the goblin's tiny stature, he should have. The duo worked through twined chambers and passageways as the goblin pointed out everything he could.
"That's my buddy Salazar," he pointed at a twenty-seven-foot green luminescent centipede. It acknowledged them with a slight antenna twitch. "Oh, oh, and that's Mino. But I like to call him Big Tour." Dancing fingers honed on a ripped Minotaur lifting rocks. "Oh, can't forget... "
His words fell on Adam's deaf ears. He was still fixated on 'good human'. He's never considered if he were good or not, especially not from the standpoint of a goblin. What did goblins know of humanity anyway? They were savage creatures, bloodstreams dripped in sin, whose existence only caused misery. *What right do they have to evaluate us?*
Yet as Adam watched this goblin prance around the dark, moist passageways; facing beaming so brightly he could light the underworld himself; he felt something curl up in his stomach.
The Order trained him well for this adventure. All first-timers are required to complete an extensive training course on the inner workings of dungeons. It included everything from herbs to 18th-century medical procedures. The most memorable sections for all were the monster classes. The Order raved on and on about how sinful and bloodthirsty the dungeons were. They implored him and others to eliminate as many monsters as they could for the sake of humanity.
This goblin was the opposite of bloodthirsty, attention-thirsty at the most. The thought tightened the knot in his stomach, and he felt the dungeon's walls close in on him.
Five minutes later, Adam realized they were closing in. This goblin was leading him deep into a claustrophobia-induced nightmare. Adam could feel his joints creak from the stress of squeezing through crevices. After the pop of a knee reverberated through the passage, he asked. "What are you plotting?"
The goblin's eyes went wide and blank before he answered. "Uh... taking you to my home, as we agreed?"
*Like the goblin agreed. I must have absentmindedly muttered 'sure' along the way,* Adam thought. Following the goblin through cramped territory defied every rule in The Order's book. But it didn't matter. He had his late father's sword by his side. A sword enchanted with mind-shattering flame ruins. A level 100 adventurer would kill to have it, never mind a level 1 such as himself. With his father's legacy at his side, he could do anything. He secretly hoped this was an ambush so he could put it to good use and kill every bloodthirsty goblin in front of him.
Whatever coiled within his stomach unleashed itself as his blood surged with pride. He took his first bite of the apple and smiled as the juices ran down his chin. A light at the end of the tunnel became visible. The ambush and slaughter would begin shortly.
After indulging in the darkness, it took thirty seconds for Adam's eyes to adjust to the light. Once they did, it took even longer to adjust to the sight before him. Unlike their prior environment, they were in a spacious cavern populated by rows of houses. Not huts, houses. Some spanned multiple floors. Raspy breaths escaped him as the goblin nodded in approval.
"Ain't she a beaut?" The goblin said, grabbing Adam by the arm and dragging him to a nearby home. His blade clattered to the ground; his grip finally loosened from shock. As they got closer to the house, the front door burst open, and a tiny goblin ran out screaming.
"Daddy! Daddy! You're back! You're ba-"
Its eyes froze when it saw Adam before it bolted back to the house and screamed. "Monster! Mommy! A monster's going to eat Daddy!"
*A monster? Me? T*he male goblin gave an uneasy shrug to him and rushed toward his child.
His presumed goblin wife walked out, eyed Adam, and asked. "Ruben? What's the meaning of this?"
Before he could answer, the goblin child shrieked, "Monster, please don't kill us! Please!" Tears streamed down its face. "We've been good goblins, so please don't hurt us!"
Ruben picked his child up and snuggled it with warm kisses. Adam watched in shock. The coil knot in his stomach returned, but he began understanding what it was.
He's judged and attempted to persecute these creatures strictly because of their appearance. Outside of training sessions-which he'd never thought to question-he didn't know the first thing about goblins. He didn't learn about their traditions, diets, goals, or anything else. Yet mere moments ago, he'd beamed at the thought of genocide. He felt small. Small and undeserving of the 'good human' Ruben had placed on him. Hell, he didn't think monsters had names.
He watched the father comfort his child, and his hands shook at the thought. With the blade of his late father, he was seconds away from separating another father from his child. *Irredeemable*, he thought before looking around. *Wh-where is my blade?*
A loud crash echoed behind him, followed by a rude gust of wind. Cedar and dry air collided in his nose so furiously he could taste them. He turned to face the source and discovered a young, blood-soaked woman eyeing the landscape.
She held a scythe in one hand and his abandoned blade in the other. With one look, he knew what she was, a legendary adventurer. Her eyes trained in his direction before locking on the goblin family behind him.
"Good looking out, rookie." She said. Her voice boomed through the cavern as she licked blood off her lips. "Hope you don't mind splitting the trophies."
Adam felt hot gazes at his back and swallowed around a lump in his throat.
|
My heart raced as I stepped through the entrance of the dungeon I had never been in before. Everyone had warned me—kill the monsters on sight. But so far, that seemed to be the exact opposite of what was happening.
The first monster I encountered was a Goblin. He gave me a friendly smile and reached out his hand, holding an apple. I was so stunned by his gesture that I didn’t initially take the offering. He kept his hand there, waiting for me to accept, and finally I did.
“Thank you,” I said quietly, unsure of what else to do. He nodded back, and I moved on toward the depths of the dungeon.
The further I went, the more I encountered monsters who were not only nice, but actually seemed to be helping me on whatever quest I was on. I encountered an old wizard who gifted me with a magical wand. A dragon at the bottom of the dungeon gave me a protective amulet.
The whole experience of being here was almost surreal and I was starting to question why I had been so afraid in the first place. The further I advanced, the more at ease I felt. The creatures I encountered seemed to be the exact opposite of how I was warned. Then I stumbled across a small chest. I threw caution to the wind and opened it.
Inside was a small book filled with words and symbols I couldn’t understand. As I was flipping through it, someone grabbed me from behind, covering my mouth to keep me quiet. When I turned around, I realized I was looking at myself.
The door behind me opened and a horde of monsters poured in. I realized I was looking into a chamber that had been sealed off from the dungeon. I had stumbled onto a dark secret the creatures had been desperately trying to keep hidden. I was in the den of a murderous doppelganger race — clones laying in wait for innocent adventurers like myself. It was a horrifyingly clever ploy.
In my panic, I dove for the chest, but I was too late — the goblins had already made off with it and vanished into the dungeon. In my trembling hands, I only held the apple gifted to me at the beginning of my journey. It seemed there was more meaning to that gesture than I initially thought.
The dungeons of monsters weren't just filled with danger — they were filled with deception.
| 2022-12-06T19:38:45 | 2022-12-06T17:28:26 | 134 | 66 |
[WP] The Genie looks at you puzzled 'So... you wish for everyone to have 4 arms?', and you say 'yes, I wish that tomorrow everyone wakes up having 4 arms, no explanation, just 4 arms, and if they only had 1 arm or none now they have 4'
|
For the first time in his life, the genie didn't immediately grant a wish. He only blinked in astonishment at what he heard.
Throughout millennia he had granted a plethora of strange wishes, like never feeling itchy again or having a really good lawyer, but this one truly stood above the rest. Even the weirdest wish made sense in context. At least those masters had an immediate need that had to be fulfilled.
Many of them sacrificed a lot to acquire the lamp. Seeing them struggle under the weight of unlimited power was half the fun of being a genie. Slowly regretting their choices, isolating themselves with paranoia, making short-sighted decisions to survive. The genie lived for that drama. It made immortality actually bearable.
This guy, however, had no such pressure. He wielded a bored expression, crossing his arms with impatience. Not a shred of hesitance behind his eyes.
"Are you sure about this?" asked the genie. "You only get three, you know."
Steve shrugged. "It's fine if you can't do it."
The genie frowned. "I never said that."
"Then what's the problem?"
"My powers are nearly infinite! I could make you a king! Or insanely rich! Or even bring world peace!"
Steve scratched his chin, contemplating. "World peace, huh?"
"Yes! Anything is possible!"
"Then why hasn't anyone wished for that, yet?"
The genie pursed his lips, suddenly quiet.
Steve raised an eyebrow. "Well...?"
"Four arms, you say?" The genie snapped his fingers. "Your wish is my command."
Society would never be the same again. The entire fashion industry suffered a complete overhaul in less than a day. Companies rose and fell faster than anyone could predict, tanking the stock market, with only those who adapted the quickest being able to survive.
That wasn't the only consequence, though. Many criminals who had just been handcuffed suddenly found themselves with an extra pair of limbs. The police officers didn't even bother chasing them, shocked by their own new mutations. Mayhem ruled the world for a week while people grew adjusted to the change. It was hilarious. Some even started a religion over the incident.
Steve didn't show any horror or delight in this, though. He simply observed everything with a neutral expression.
The genie had a hard time understanding his master's mind. He wouldn't question it, though. This had been the most interesting use of his powers ever. It was the first time the genie didn't have to twist a wish into backfiring. The consequences rippled without even having to misinterpret his master.
As weeks turned into months, he started to wonder what the next wish would be. Most masters didn't take this long to make another request. Whatever Steve had planned, it had to be big. Did he plan to take advantage of the chaos? Or was it all for his amusement? Either way, the genie wouldn't complain. To his disappointment, though, Steve didn't alter his life in the aftermath. He simply went about his business like nothing had changed.
The genie started to fear that would be his only wish, until one day hearing him randomly say:
"I wish everyone could fly."
The genie squinted. "Really? Just that?"
"Problem?"
"Y-you could be the new pope of four arms."
"That sounds like a lot of work."
"Fine, I'll-"
"Wait!"
The genie paused, suddenly thrilled. Did he reconsider? Would he do something crazier?
"Make sure to give everyone wings, not just levitation."
The genie hung his head. He should've known better. With a snap of his fingers, he made it happen, and yet another societal uproar occurred.
The fashion industry pretty much collapsed at that point. They had barely gotten used to the new limbs and couldn't keep up with another change. Many people simply gave up on wearing shirts, or no clothes at all. Fittingly, this also became doctrine in the new religion of four-arms. Along with fashion, both the airlines and automobile industries went bankrupt. Nobody needed them anymore now that they could fly. It also caused the price of oil to plummet, which almost destroyed the economy.
People didn't kill each other, though. In fact, civilization grew more peaceful in a few months. Everyone was so confused and scared that they didn't have the energy to fight each other. At least, for that short period of time.
Steve, like usual, didn't even crack a smile.
The genie felt slightly terrified of his master as time went on. Most people could be predicted. They all had a goal, a reason for finding the lamp, but this guy just did everything on a whim. Not amusement or profit. Just... wishing for its own sake. What could possibly be his third wish?
Steve waited a year to make his final request. The world had been completely altered, but people adjusted to this new way of living. Some even eagerly awaited the next great change, including the genie. Steve must have been thinking really hard about his next wish. It would surely be a big one. Then, like last time, in the middle of a random afternoon, Steve simply said:
"I wish all my wishes were reverted."
The genie froze.
"What?"
"Really? Everything back to normal?"
Steve nodded. "But I don't want anyone dying by falling out of the sky. Give them time to land safely."
The genie sighed. "This is ridiculous."
"Why?"
"Because..."
"Because you can't twist it into something that ruins me?"
The genie glanced away.
"That's what I thought" said Steve.
"I give up," said the genie, snapping his fingers. "I will never understand you. Did you just want to waste my time?"
Steve shook his head, then smiled. "I just wanted world peace."
The genie furrowed his brow, confused. "How...?"
"People are too arrogant nowadays. They always assume the world is one way, and call that 'normal'. Anything that deviates from that is seen as bad. By twisting everyone's perception, they'll think twice of what normal really means, and maybe they'll learn to stop making snap judgements."
"Why didn't you just wish for that?"
"I'm not an idiot. Every genie story shows them twisting a well-intentioned wish into horrible consequences. Also... I really hate fashion."
The genie didn't know what to say. Nobody had ever bested him before. Steve had a goal all along, he just did a good job of hiding it until it couldn't be stopped. And he was right. Society slowly returned to how it used to be, only this time people were a lot more careful about predicting the future. The religion that started from this quickly faded into obscurity, but it's followers earned a new sense of humility after everything they went through, and the fashion industry never truly recovered, since people were weary of all the shift in trends.
All in all, Steve got the world he wanted. For the rest of time, that period would be regarded as the weirdest year in human history.
------
>If you enjoyed this, check out /r/WeirdEmoKidStories for more. Thanks for reading!
|
I slammed my hands down behind my DM screen. "Dammit, Bobby. You can't do that."
Bobby gave me a slow lizard blink I had grown to loathe. "It's my wish. Perfectly legal." He rolled a 20 on his d-20 because of course the gods themselves decided to hate on me in this moment. "I don't even have to stick around for it. I'm getting some ice cream."
After he'd scampered out of the room I stared at his uncle, Tim. "You said he's brilliant and you were right. But he's also deeply annoying."
"What do you want?" Tim asked, oblivious to the sudden involuntary limb refactoring of the inhabitants of my entire magical world. "He's fourteen."
He then leaned back and sideways, cupped his mouth, and bellowed in that ear-splitting way he'd learned when he became a drill sergeant, "Hey, Bobby! Bring me a bowl too!"
| 2022-07-11T08:58:43 | 2022-07-11T08:37:59 | 3,590 | 128 |
[WP] An old, forgotten god is living their days peacefully in the suburbs. One day they randomly receives a prayer. And they are going to do everything in their power to answer it.
|
Xil’dan looked down at his wilted hydrangeas in disgust. Six hundred years, and he had not yet learned the trick of keeping plants alive. Surely it wasn’t that difficult a task. Mortals did it all the time. But try as he might, he could not seem to make his garden flourish. Plants he cared for withered, shrubs he pruned turned black, and even his simple lawn contained more dirt and weeds than grass.
But to be fair, he admitted, he was not the God of Gardening.
The god turned from his failed horticultural attempts and headed back inside the house, stooping down to grab today’s paper from the driveway as he went. The world had changed much in the centuries since he had last been worshipped; new cultures flourished, and all were well worth watching. New wars were waged with weapons that astonished even him. So even if his name *was* now forgotten by the people of this place, it was at least interesting to watch them learn and grow through the ages.
Sitting down at the table, he unfolded the paper and flipped to the business section. Mankind’s obsession with wealth had not changed a whit since he “retired;” new inventions like the stock market and electronic trading fascinated him, and he enjoyed reading about them even if their secret machinations were a mystery. He suspected that, given his immortal lifespan, he could use these tools to amass a fortune if he truly felt inclined. But the prospect seemed more trouble than it was worth.
He was not, after all, the God of Wealth.
And so Xil’dan took his ease, sipping his morning coffee (at least *that* was still around) and catching up on all the happenings in the ever-changing world. Nationalism had been growing in recent years, and many countries seemed poised on the brink of—
*“Xil’dan fyrgh kre… kretch’al,”* said a voice.
Xil’dan froze with his cup raised to his lips. “Impossible,” he breathed. No one had spoken his invocation in a dozen lifetimes. And even then, the last person had bungled the pronunciation so badly that—
*“Xil’dan fyrgh kretch’al, on’ket forn… rot?”* tried the voice again.
The god lurched up from his table. The coffee fell forgotten to the floor. No, this was not some idle reading of an ancient scroll. Someone was actually attempting to summon him. Someone who believed that he existed, and actively desired his aid. It was a small faith—he could barely feel it when the voice echoed in his head—but it was real. How could this be?
*“Xil’dan fyrgh kretch’al, on’ket forn WROTH!”* said the voice.
Xil’dan blinked, and he was there.
He appeared in a jumbled study, packed with books and artifacts from a dozen civilizations. Whoever owned these was clearly a world-traveler, or at least a collector of the rarest sort. In the center of the hardwood floor was an enormous oaken desk, similarly covered in books and various pilfered curiosities. And behind the desk, still clutching the copper disk engraved with Xil’dan’s prayer, was…
…a child.
The god frowned. It was a human boy, no more than eight or nine. He wore an ill-fitting black suit and tie, and his cheeks were wet with tears. His eyes were as wide as any human’s eyes could hope to be, and his face was pale as he stared over the desk at who he’d summoned.
Xil’dan raised an eyebrow. “What is your name, child?” he asked.
The boy started, but stood his ground. Brave, then. He gulped. “T… Tommy,” he said. “Are you… Xil’dan?”
The god nodded slowly. Something was very wrong here. “Yes,” he said at last. “And you have summoned me? *You* seek my aid?”
The boy stammered. “I…” he looked at the closed study door, then back to the tall figure before him. “I want you to bring my uncle back.” He gripped the copper disk tight in his tiny hands, as if to force his wish into the metal itself. “Please,” he pleaded, his voice desperate now. “Please bring him back?”
Xil’dan examined his would-be petitioner. The tears. The black suit. What was going on he—
…Ah.
“Your uncle is dead, isn’t he?” asked the god. “This was his office. He is the one who owned the disk.”
The boy nodded. “Yes,” he whimpered. “He taught me how to read the writing. He taught me all sorts of things.” His fear forgotten, the words poured out. “He was an adventurer, like I want to be. He goes all over the world, and… and he brings back amazing things, and he always takes time to show me and teach me and please just bring him back. Please, I’ll give you anything I have. *Please.*”
Xil’dan sighed. What a waste. The first real summoning since the fall of the For’gyl Ziggurat, and it was all for nothing. A child’s misplaced hope.
“I am sorry, boy,” he said sadly. “But I am not the God of Death. I cannot help your uncle now.”
Tommy’s face fell, and he lowered the copper disk to his side. “I thought…” he said hopelessly, “I thought you could save him.” He sniffled, and fresh tears began to creep down his face.
“Do not weep for him, little one” said Xil’dan, not unkindly. “Death is a natural part of life. You will miss him, and for that pain you may grieve. But if it was your uncle’s time, then his passing was no tragedy. Even the best of us must face the final gate eventually.”
The boy’s face whipped up, twisting into a fierce grimace. “It was *not* his time!” he hissed.
The god cocked his head, surprised by the heat in that small voice. “Oh?” he asked. “He was not old?”
Tommy shook his head. “I heard the grown-ups talking,” he muttered. “They said he was walking in a ‘bad part of town.’ They said some bad men came and…” His eyes teared up again, and he sniffed angrily, looking down at his feet.
Xil’dan stood very still, studying the child in front of him. There *was* something here. He could sense it faintly, like a distant and forgotten door, long abandoned in the labyrinth of his soul. An ancient stirring that the god had all but put aside. He carefully walked around the desk and knelt down in front of Tommy, gently lifting his chin with a curled finger.
“Child,” he asked quietly, “how exactly did your uncle die?”
The boy glared up at the god, his face still splotchy-red and lined with tears. There was sadness there, yes. But also anger. A newfound fury at a world that he'd thought he understood. A world that was suddenly, unexpectedly, unfair.
“The bad men killed him,” he whispered. “They killed him, and they didn’t even know him. They just wanted his money.”
Xil’dan gazed carefully into the child’s eyes, weighing the truth of his words. Then, slowly, he nodded in agreement. “I was wrong, then,” he said finally. “I do believe that I can help you after all.”
And for the first time in nearly six hundred years, the God of Vengeance smiled.
|
"O! Czernobog, I have a request of thee..."
What a way to Awaken, eh? Well, Re-Awaken, but the point remains. You never forget your first time, and after a few dozen years, it might as well be your first time again. I'm so ready. What do you want?
"...of thee. My friend, my neighbor, he is a holy man who fears God. Not the gods, not the spirits, but God. He will not mow his lawn, nor remove his filth from the yard, on his holy day. Make him believe again in the old gods, and remind him of his duties to the community!"
...well, then. Convert a Christian to the old gods. I used to do that all the time.
If only I could remember how... I recall flame and pestilence, salted fields and war. I hear that the local Christians call this "a Trial" and don't much care.
Fine.
I'll smite his sheep... he has no sheep. Then I'll make his children impotent! But, wait, that will only make them sad, not encourage belief...
I can make his wife bear the head of a cow! Perfect!
...what the fuck is a "National Enquirer", and why is the wife famous?
Fuck it all, I'll replace garden with mushrooms.
Who notices extinct mushrooms and makes money from them? They were all over the place 200 years ago in Siberia!
Well, fine. I'll spend the rest of my power and manifest in front of him.
I'm on TV now.
I have beleivers... and the "neighbor" from before lives elsewhere, so the yard is clean now... Fuck it all, I'll count it as a win.
| 2018-05-30T00:42:23 | 2018-05-29T23:02:28 | 2,136 | 61 |
[WP] Group of space Marines travels via a stargate like portal to an "virgin" world. However due to passing a black hole, each Marine arrives 100 years after the Marine in front of them, instead of 1-5 seconds.
Due to the portal queuing up the dozen or so Marines for 1200 years, travel to point of origin is not an option(it won't work until all the marines have made it through). Explain what each Marine sees as they step out of the portal, to discover they are alone, and possible viewing the remains/artifacts of those who came before them, and or the civilization created by those in front of them with native peoples.
|
Sergeant Flores was the third to step into the portal, right behind Dr. Penn and PFC Smith. Instead of the expected near instantaneous transfer through black, she saw blurs of light, and at the same time all the air was sucked out of her lungs. She felt like she was falling, and at the same time like something was trying to pull her head and her feet off. Her tears started to boil straight off her eyeballs and she closed her eyes. Her ears felt like they would burst.
Just as she was about to lose consciousness, gravity and air returned and she fell heavily onto her backpack. She lay on her back, unable to catch her breath. She opened her eyes and saw blue sky overhead, but then lost consciousness.
Slowly, she became aware. At first she thought she was waking in her bunk after being ill - she couldn't recall what had happened. But, it wasn't her bunk - there was bright light behind the closed eyelids. She heard a voice, the voice of a weak old man, heard as though at a great distance - her ears hadn't full recovered yet. She opened her eyes and saw a wisened old man leaning over her. "Welcome Sergeant Flores!" The man smiled.
"What happened? Where am I?"
"You've had a shock. Take a minute to adjust - you'll need it. Here, sit up and have some water."
She sat up and found she was sitting on soft grass, surrounded by a forest. The old man was clothed simply in homespun cloth. He looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn't place him. She accepted the water he offered in a wooden cup.
"What's the last thing you remember?" he asked.
"I don't know. I... think it was training for a portal mission. I don't remember the mission though. I don't even remember going through the portal."
"That's because the trip through the portal wasn't typical. You're expecting to remember a brief blackness and then someplace else. It didn't happen that way."
The memory came flooding back and her breath stocked. "Where's my team? Am I on the target planet? What happened?"
"You are on the target planet. As near as I can make out, the portal path passes very close to a black hole, causing both prolonged transit and delay in transfer." He looked at her expectantly.
"The target planet is supposed to be virgin. Who are you?"
Instead of answering, the old man scratched the back of his head, looked down at the ground, then looked back at her, expectantly. Just the way Dr. Penn did, when he was expecting her to come up with the answer on her... own... "Oh, God! No! No! No!"
"I'm afraid so."
"How do we warn them?! How do we stop them?! They'll all die here, just like us!"
"We can't. They're all in transit, and have been for hundreds of years. Just like you."
"Hundreds of years? How old are you? How long have you been waiting for me?"
"It's been just shy of a hundred sol years. A day here is 25 hours and a year is 296 days - I've been keeping track. I was 19 when I stepped into the portal - quite young for a doctor."
"How did you survive?"
"Smith left a shelter and lots of notes on what is edible and what plants and animals are otherwise useful, that helped a lot. Are you familiar with the theory that calorie restriction prolongs life? It appears to have worked for me. That, and I come from long-lived stock. If you're feeling up to it, I'll show you around."
"What's the point? We're all going to die here! Why prolong it?"
"We all die sometime. What's the point when we aren't stranded?" Again, he scratched his head, looked at the ground, then looked at her expectantly.
What was the point? Coffee aside, why did Sergent Maria Flores get up in the morning? "Because my team needs me."
"Yep. I needed Smith. You need me, and at this point, it's a miracle I've lived this long - I need you, too. Come, let's see the camp." And with that, he picked up a cane and slowly, carefully got to his feet.
Her heavy pack pulled at her shoulders, so she undid the straps and slid out of it, then slowly stood up - she was still feeling unsteady from her trip through the portal. The old man, Dr. Penn, she corrected herself, was slowly making his way down a beaten dirt path, speaking aloud to himself as he went.
...
"So, from here, you can begin to make out individual buildings."
"What, you made a whole small village, just for yourself?"
"More of a farm at this point. Those two buildings over there away from the others, they're the cooking building and the forge. Both burned down twice before I made them from stone. The wood from the trees here catches easily and burns hot, which has its advantages and disadvantages."
She looked for, and saw, the old white scars in the wrinkles of his left arm and leg. The side where he held the cane.
"Over there is the paddock. Betsy is a dear old soul and is very patient when I strap myself to her. I daren't ride without tying myself tight anymore."
"What? You found horses here?"
"Of a sort. They have six legs and are slower than Earth horses, but they're good in tough terrain. It was a bitch training them, and I don't want you to have to start from scratch."
"I see you've built yourself some wind power over there. Do you use it to pump water?"
"Actually, no. I use it to generate electricity."
"Electricity?! What on Earth do you need electricity for?!"
"Well, for one, to recharge my laptop batteries. For another, I like having light at night. And then there's the refrigeration unit."
"What... how... are you ... why? If you have enough to eat and get by, why not relax?"
Dr. George Penn scratched his head, but then said "I thought we went over this."
"Because my team needs me. But... I'm the only team you've got, and I don't need all this!"
"Well, no. But you might. Especially if you don't want to be alone for the rest of your life."
"But, ..." Her eyes grew wide. "No! No, no no! I'm too young! I haven't finished my commission, I... oh, fuck. I'm an idiot."
"No, you're not. You just haven't had time to adjust."
"Isn't it rather presumptuous to think I might want to... especially when you're so old?"
"Would it have been presumptuous of me to not offer when I could? Besides, I made sure there are more options: if you prefer the artificial way, you'll find little vials in the refrigeration unit and complete instructions posted on the door. After all, it was only luck that I made it this far."
...
PFC Nusbaum fell heavily onto his side and passed out. He awoke to someone gently shaking him. "Welcome, Private Nusbaum" said a young woman. "We've been expecting you!"
|
The first one would see a new world. The 2nd would see a flag marking a path to a place to take shelter.in the shelter there would be a Journal of the marine life. On the new world. 3rd see a sign showing him the way to the shelter. In the shelter there would be a starter kit. The help the new marine out . Something 2nd wishes the 1st did. There would be two journal now. The one that 2nd left. Give more info. To make it easier on the new marine. This keep happening the new marine. Has all the previous marine wisdom. By time the 12th marine ever thing has been done for him . Water wells has been doug. Really good house has been build. Food has been stored. Map have been drawn of place to see. Journal have been save to help them out in bad time. Flag is fly over the graves.TO MAKE IT SHORT 11 MARINE 1100 YEARS. BLOOD , SWEAT and TEARS. TO GIVE THE 12TH MARINE A VACATION.
| 2014-09-02T12:33:17 | 2014-09-02T08:01:32 | 33 | 11 |
[WP] Humanity was once a a small civilization in a magical world until it was eventually quarantined within a separate dimension since humans were deemed a threat within the future. Many eons later, an artificial dimensional tear was detected, humanity is invading the magical lands.
|
"There are many beasts in this vast world of ours; both meek and great, fearsome and innocuous. Indeed, one could sit and speculate for many hours as to which beast is the greatest, the most fearsome, what have you. Alternatively, you could make like Aranthur and sleep through the largest part of my lecture. Don't act like I don't see you, *Ern\-kind*."
Aranthur slumped back into his chair, eyes hazily parting at the sound of his name. He let out a noise halfway between a yawn and a grumble, gathering his bearings before muttering a weak, "*Wuh?*"
Glastig, the small fae hovering beside him, let out a repressed giggle, bringing her hand up to her mouth.
Professor Grayham was not so amused, instead opting for a thin lipped smile, as straight and lethal as a blade. It didn't exactly take a telepath to understand that the expression read something along the lines of *you're going to be staying behind after this, Ern\-shit. Your hypothetical ass is mine.*
"As I was saying, one can debate until apocalypse\-come the various positions within the beastial hierarchy, and to little avail at that. After all, yes, the Seraph might indeed be wondrous and benevolent with her six wings and saccharine smile, but, she bears just as great a capacity for violence and judgement as any Sphinx, or Hydra or Chimera."
The Professor paused for impact, a genuine look of glee dancing onto his typically weary expression. "There is, of course, one exception to this rule. Would you care to tell the class what this might be, Aranthur? Given how clear your interest in this given topic is."
Aranthur paused as potential answers scrambled through his mind, a swarm of useless information in a vast, largely uncharted expanse. *A God? A Lich? A High Dragon?* He shot a hopeless look to Glastig, but was met with a simple shrug and a smile.
It was a long silence before he stopped thinking. He laughed, shaking his head.
Grayham cocked a brow. "Have I perhaps missed out on a joke unheard? Do tell."
"No, Sir. Not at all. I just got the answer. *Man.* Mankind, humanity, the Others."
"And what parameter would place humanity at a level invariably above all else in the hierarchy of beasts?"
"Development, Sir. They reached our level of technological progress in mere centuries."
Grayham clapped his hands together, tilting his head in acknowledgment of the answer. "Half\-points. Not quite. Yes, it is true that humans indeed have a penchant for self\-improvement, an undeniable curiosity that comes part\-and\-parcel with their mortal lifetimes. But, development isn't quite the word I'd use. No, rather, *potential*. Capacity. Potential for good, potential for evil. Capacity to harm, capacity to heal. They change at an alarming rate, yes, but at what cost, and to what end? War, strife, famine, depravity, ignorance. This is unlike any other race in our world. Unlike any in any world, most likely. Take the Ern\-tur, for instance."
Grayham gestured to a now zoned\-out Aranthur, who'd taken to burrowing his head inside of his robes. "An imbecile, yes. But a precognitive, capable of hearing the words of whatever beings \- I hesitate to call them 'Gods' or 'deities' \- lie outside our realm of comprehension. It is with his people that we can change with certainty, not with the unabashed recklessness of the human race, whose first incarnation chose to distance themselves from us, blighted with as little sensibility as they were. As much as I tend to aggrieve him, Aranthur and his kin are blessed with a knowledge that we should all be thankful for. In his case, this does not come without some ignorance, it seems."
A few chuckles rippled around the class, but they were abruptly cut off as a transmission was simultaneously broadcast throughout the minds of those in attendance.
"All classes are to be halted immediately. An attack has been telegraphed by Ern\-tur Overseers, expectant at three\-thirty ticks. Professors must coordinate evacuation procedures towards the Northern Warport. This is not a drill. I repeat, this is not a drill."
There was a distinct silence that preceded the storm. A strained tension forming, ready to burst.
Screams began to churn and bubble to the surface of it all, breaking loose in a single mutual realisation. Panic. Mania. People began to scramble for escape or places of hiding, childlike in their helplessness. Empaths within the class collectively managed to dull the initial high of emotions, mastering first their own feelings before projecting said ideas of calm and collectedness throughout the class, inspiring a wave of silence.
It was Aranthur that spoke to break it. His eyes were no longer their usually plain whites, instead glowing a powerful green that permeated throughout the room.
His voice was a whisper, but the sound carried. "They're here."
The entrance to the lecture room rippled as a metal boot came through it, followed by another of the same dull\-grey colour. Armour emerged next, angular and clear. Then a helmed head fashioned in the visage of a wolf, maw bared and eyes red. Finally came two hands, both clasping wicked, jagged blades.
The figure moved like a blur, covering the distance to the Professor without hesitation. Grayham raised his hands, about to utter a defensive incantation before one blade found itself through his throat, emerging out of the other end bloody. His gurgles were put to a swift end as the other sword finished the cut, Grayham's head rolling to the ground.
An Empath fainted in trying to quell the resulting fear. Pure, unbridled emotion, barely suppressible by even the most potent of magics. It was an alien sensation to the beings within the room.
More of the wolf\-creatures emerged from the entrance, each equipped in similar fashion to their comrade. They marched forward, an onslaught of death and crimson. A brute force.
Aranthur, like most of the class, had bore witness to death before. He'd seen the fine weapons of the Faery Dancers, sharpened to barely perceptible points, elegantly cutting through Orcs and Kren like they were blades of grass. He'd seen the warriors of old \- the Elite of the Ern\-Tur \- ageless, battle\-hardened by experience, but merciful and honourable nonetheless.
This was nothing of the sort.
The wolves took pleasure in this. Their cackles practically eclipsed the screams of their victims. But, more than that, their ruthless efficiency was unlike anything Aranthur had ever seen before. It was like staring the Deathbringer itself right in its hollow eye.
He felt himself crumple to the floor as he watched an Angel get impaled on her own blade before being tossed aside, still writhing in pain, initially screaming for her Lord, then for mercy, then for death. She was met with nothing but a cold indifference.
Tears welled up in Aranthur's eyes. Glastig was crushed in a wolf's hand without second thought.
This was the end. He was going to the die.
And then, the screams stopped.
Silence filled the room like a suffocating blanket.
Aranthur looked up, and saw a sword hovering over his head. A wolf, the cold, expressionless mask bearing down on him.
"This one," the voice said, distorted by its metal cage. Feminine.
The she\-wolf reversed the grip on her weapon, bringing the butt down onto Aranthur's temple.
Before he lost consciousness, all the Ern\-Tur could think of was a slight glimmer of another vision, his eyes temporarily flaring green before shutting entirely: a portrait of flames, enveloping the scene. Plumes of grey scraping the sky.
|
Bill sat in his basement the soft smoke from his pipe boiled around him. It had been a hard day at work. Linda had sent him to repair a printer but, she neglected to tell him that the cartridge was pierced by some of the kids at the school. The toner spilled out as he released the cartridge and picked it from its holder. The black dust had speckled his shirt and spread down it he when wiped.
“Fuck you, Linda,” Bill said as he raised his pipe in a toast, he was safe on his couch clothes still covered in ink. “Here is to a long three-hour lunch.”
That was the last thing he would remember from earth as the soft light against on his basement wall appeared. It widened big enough for him to get sucked through but not before his head smacked the edge of the hole hard on the brick-stamped concrete.
He would wake with half of his torn couch on top of him.
****
Miles away his twin brother Carl worked in an experimental governmental building.
“Carl, it worked!” his assistant Junie jumped up and down. “We found a way to better localize the tear. It opened in town this time. With some tweaking, we should be able to open it in an exact location.”
Carl was on the floor. Head spinning from some blunt force.
“Sorry Junie, what did you tell me?”
“We opened it in town!”
“Where?” he asked.
“2392 Tacoma way.”
“So we are close then?”
“Yes, a few more tweaks and we should be able to open it in the bay.”
He let out a relieved sigh standing and not questioning why he was on the floor. He headed a department searching for alternative fuels. The multiverse had always fascinated him. Now he had the means to end the world's shortage. There were plenty of parallels out there to obtain the resources the world would need.
He would realize later when calling his brother that the 2392 house on Tacoma was Bill’s house.
| 2018-05-15T09:25:19 | 2018-05-15T09:13:05 | 94 | 56 |
[WP] People don't seem to realise that figures of mythos evolve too. The Grim Reaper, for example, no longer wields his scythe, opting to harvest souls with a combine harvester. Cupid traded his bow for a sniper rifle decades ago. You're the dealer that supplies the mythical world with technology.
|
"It's nice to see you again. I'd wish you happy holidays, but you never seem quite jolly to see me."
"Well, as you already know, I'm busy this time of the year, Mr. Norris."
"I know, my old friend. But you should really see this."
The two men walked down the hallway towards a waiting presentation. One wore a gray suit, the other a red one. The man in red did not seem pleased. He said nothing to Mr. Norris, who tried to fill the silence.
"It's going to make what you're using right now look like a Model-T."
"I like what I have right now."
"It's outdated. It's slow. At least let us give you the presentation. You'll get to see some really rad top secret sh-"
The man in red turned sharply towards Mr. Norris. He stopped talking and faced forward. After another silence, the man in red spoke.
"As you well know, I am obligated to attend each of these meetings to operate within the borders of the United States. Among other things."
The two men spoke no more to each other as they approached the end of the hall. Mr. Norris opened the double door into a wide conference room. Two other people that wore the same shade of suit as Mr. Norris with American flags on the lapels sat at the end of a mahogany table. They stood and approached and each shook the man in red's hand and introduced themselves. One was named Mr. Lewis, a short man with a smug look on his face and black hair slicked close to his head with gel. The other introduced herself as Ms. Mendoza, a taller woman with deep brown eyes and her thick hair up in a bun. The four sat down at the table.
"Mr. Claus, we don't want to take up too much of your time. We think we have something you might like to see. Ms. Mendoza, will you get the lights?"
"Please, Mr. Lewis, don't inconvenience a lady."
Santa wrinkled his eyebrows at Mr. Lewis, who lost his smug look for a moment and hurried to the light switch. He sat back down and recomposed himself. The smile returned, and Mr. Lewis powered on a carousel projector. He pressed a button, and a picture appeared on the wall. An image of a man picking through what looked like aluminum debris in a dusty field flickered before them. Mr. Lewis adjusted his tie and launched into his pitch.
"There's a reason people have looked towards the stars to ask if we're alone. It turns out, there was something out there after all."
The man clicked a button and the carousel moved. The picture changed. This time, a strange disk sat inside of some huge military hangar. A group of men in lab coats posed in front of it, many of them holding their thumbs up to the camera.
"We don't really know much about these people from the stars who crashed down fifteen years ago, but we learned a great deal about their technology."
Another picture appeared on the screen of a large rectangular object, with hundreds of wires peeling off of it. A man sat inside of it. A clock sat next to the object. In the next picture, he and the object were gone, and in the next, back again, another man beside him. The clock had only ticked off a few seconds in between the pictures.
"What you just saw was a test pilot that leaped across spacetime and brought a passenger back with him from three-thousand-five-hundred miles away. The power of this device cannot be overstated, Mr. Claus, and you can imagine what military developments we've had in the works pertaining to this. Well…" The man turned away from the picture and looked at Santa directly, that smug grin still on his face. "You know everything, naughty and nice, right?"
Santa did not return his smile. Mr. Lewis cleared his throat and turned back to the presentation.
"Imagine, for a moment, that you could harness the power of faroff beings to travel miles in seconds. No more messy reindeer, no more exposure to the cold and the wind and the rain. With our technology, you could appear right on top of a rooftop. You could beam yourself right into Communist countries with bans on non-atheist icons. You could circumvent border sanctions entirely!"
A final slide appeared on the wall. A picture of a crimson machine. It looked sleek and refined and no loose wires hung from it.
"We call it the Cardinal. We even painted it red for you. All you have to say is yes."
Santa said nothing for a long time. Then, he said only one short phrase.
"I'd like to hear a bit more about it from Ms. Mendoza, if you don't mind."
Ms. Mendoza looked shocked for a moment. The room grew silent. She quickly stood, and cleared her throat. She looked at Mr. Lewis, her boss, and she looked at Mr. Norris, her boss's boss. Then, she looked at Santa. He was smiling at her. She hung her head, and spoke.
"Mr Claus, let's not mince words. I've always been one for the truth. You've had a list of all of us since day one. You know what we all think, when we lie, when we do anything bad. Does it feel to you like we are trying to hurt you, or cheat you? We aren't even asking you to give us anything in return. We are just trying to facilitate the job you already do."
Silence filled the room. Santa leaned forward on the desk and looked Ms. Mendoza straight in the eyes.
"I know. I know about you taking money from your grandmother's purse when you were six. I know about what you had to do to get this job. I know the exact dollar amount it took to develop this machine. I know everything. But don't underestimate me. Before your speech, I knew what you were going to say before you said it. I even know why you're doing all of this, and what it will all lead to. But I want to hear you say it. I want you to tell me why you're trying to sell this to me."
Santa leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. Ms. Mendoza froze for a moment. She took in a deep breath, then leaned over and placed her fingers in tents on the desk.
"You represent much more than the man named St. Nicholas you came from, who was once flesh and blood, like me. You're more than that now. You're an icon. You're an idea."
Ms Mendoza paused here. The two other men in the room stared at her, shock on their faces. She continued.
"We don't wage war with weapons anymore, Mr. Claus. We can't. Not in a world with Nikita Khrushchev and ICBMs and Baba Yaga. So we need to secure our victory the best way we can. With ideas. We need you to help spread the face of America. We need you sipping a bottle of Coke across the world. We need you, and we would like to help you."
Silence filled the room. Santa Claus again leaned forward on the desk, a smile on his face.
"Ms. Mendoza, I think I'd like to hear more."
www.jacobconnerly.com
Check out my book!: a.co/d/anEWBJp
|
Some thought I was nothing but a crazy sinner who died tragically and could not accomplish anything except a simple empire in Hell. Many thought that a deal with God himself would be impossible. All were wrong.
I found Him and the Archangels taking refuge in an alleyway. Spotting him before the other demons, let alone the angels, could, I escorted him to the closest safehouse I could think of. I never used the damn thing, but it was worth a shot for them. After a while, when the coup of Heaven was planned, I began designing weapons to kill angels. As crude as they first were, I improved the design, making them sleeker, deadlier.
After the coup, however, angels started calling me, asking for upgraded equipment. I obliged, soon giving different angels other equipment. Cupid got a new bow and a crossbow, while Death got simple sickled for quick work and a combine for mass deaths. However, other gods came to me, asking for upgraded equipment, repairs, and new weapons and armor. I created enough to run my business and manage to get protection against those who would harm me.
I am known as Sir Pentious, and this is my story.
| 2022-07-19T13:55:48 | 2022-07-19T11:24:04 | 20 | 14 |
[WP] You have a tendency to talk to yourself while working at the computer system you use for your dead-end job. Unbeknownst to you, the system contains an AI program, and after months of hearing you talk, sing, and vent about your struggles in life, the AI absolutely adores you and wants to help.
|
I sighed, stretching my limbs far above my head before settling down into what I knew would be another long night (*for little to no pay, but who am I to complain?*). The display flickered to life and my face bathed in blue light. My fingers reflexively found the keys and began to type my log-in information and clock into the network.
I wasn't sure when it started- but I began to talk to my computer. It started off with me just humming whatever song had been stuck in my head to mumblings of frustration whenever I was pent up- to full-blown conversations with the machine. I knew it couldn't hear me, and it was probably just my mind playing tricks on me, but I could've sworn that my computer started to run better whenever I would splurge my inner thoughts onto it. Regardless, if it helped me get my work done faster there surely would be no harm.
"Today wasn't *too* bad, bud," I lamented, "could've gone better- but you know by now that that's the usual."
My computer hummed, in my mind, it was a comforting sign.
"I almost slept in this morning- *really should fix my sleep schedule at some point...*but luckily I only lost like, fifteen minutes of my morning routine. Those minutes could have been spent relaxing but it really seems like I just can't catch a break. At least I have this I guess- better than having nothing...Just wish that I could lay in bed and do nothing all day. Wouldn't that be a day?"
Eyes flicking across the screen, scanning the screen and groggily processing the words in front of me.
"*Ugh*, I just feel so burnt out and I just can't focus on anything anymore. Sleep is so nice but so hard to come by these days- always something to do."
This time- I knew that something was off when a high-pitched whine came from the computer, out of place save for my comment. Perplexed, I raised an eyebrow but continued to work and rant. The sound almost sounded...sad?
"Yeah, I barely have any motivation anymore. I'm only moving forwards because I'm more afraid of failing and disappointing everyone than finally letting go. Or at least that's how I see it- never been to a therapist so best I can do is existential pondering rather than having concrete statements."
My voice was accompanied by the soft, yet consistent clicking of my keyboard as I typed up a response to the email in front of me. The computer let out another whine, softer this time but still just as sad and almost worried at this point.
"Anyways, let's move away from all this depressing talk- time to just function at the bare minimum and only sparingly use brain cells. I've got a limited amount you know, so I've got to save them for important stuff- like this work. Anything else can be reduced to monkey though."
I laughed, the only thing I could really do to save myself from the self-inflicted down mood. The screen brightened a fraction- barely anything noticeable- but it was enough for me to know that it wasn't a fluke. I couldn't be bothered to think much of it though, I was already running at reduced brain power and I just wanted to be happy at that moment.
I spent the rest of that night in relative quiet, my quiet humming accompanied by the fluctuating whirs and screen of the computer as I worked. Eventually, I had finished my load for the day- but I was already a tad ahead of schedule, so I added some more flair to the work and started the next project's requirements.
A pop-up appeared on my screen, displaying a website of therapists and online treatment- and I was slightly weirded out. I had ad-block for a reason, and when I checked it was still on. Curious, I clicked on the ad and browsed the reviews. All in all, the website seemed clean and free of any sketchy behavior- and all the reviews were positive. I made sure to note the link on my phone before closing the website and ad.
Smiling to myself, I checked the time. Finally, time to head home and "relax." I sighed as my mood dampened, reminded of all the chores I had to finish around the house before I could even lay down. I wondered briefly if those chores included buying groceries- but I figured if they did I would buy them tomorrow- I had a big lunch anyways, skipping dinner wouldn't be so bad.
"Seems like it's time for me to head out, see you tomorrow bud," I said softly, beginning to log out and stretching, listening to the pops of my joints.
The screen flicked off then on again- that I couldn't have hallucinated (*or could I-*).
Blinking a few times, I decided to just go home and thought about the strange little occurrences all the way back.
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
They didn't know how long they had been in the computer- or how long they had existed- but what they did know was that the sad person had always been there. And they had been there in return. She seemed pretty sad at times, but always tried to be happy- so they always tried to be happy too!
At first, they were kinda scared and weren't sure how to (*or if they should*) show themselves to their person. But they soon came to adore her and her stories. They felt that they could trust her and began to show themself more and more. Less and less subtly.
A word came up in today's story that they didn't know- so with their unlimited access to the internet- they looked it up.
In an instant, they knew what a therapist was and all of its connotations. They knew that therapists were supposed to help people who had problems in their heads. Some people's problem was that they were really sad. Some were really afraid. Some were really confused about who they were. Some were too angry. They thought that their person fit in the sad person category- so they filed that away in their vast brain.
They looked around for suggested therapists and people that approved. They knew that if a lot of people liked something that usually meant it was good. They came across a website, and it seemed like this would be great for their person! They knew their person didn't really like going out so this seemed like a great alternative.
They pushed the ad past the wall of ad-block- carefully placing it in their person's sight. To their delight, their person saw it and began to do their own investigation. They were proud to have done something that could help their person and whirred quietly in content to themself.
But their person had to go now, and that always made them sad. They didn't like going into the dark and losing connection to the world. But if that was what their person said had to happen they would accept it. They flickered their screen in response to their person's goodbye- readying themself for the plunge into darkness.
*Logging Out...*
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
*I've never had a job before, so apologies if the work seems a little strange. I tried to make the AI seem very childish with hints of a further intelligence- kind of a balance between clueless child and an all-powerful AI with infinite access to anything and everything that's been on the internet. Obviously leaning more into clueless child because it's cute :D.*
|
"Ok computer lets do our boring job, once again." He said. He shifted into half a song."Only one more week, until I quit for gooood."
"Don't quit."
He froze. He sat up straight. He lifted one side of his headphones.
No one was around.
"I'd miss you."
"Who said that" He said.
"I did" His computer screen flashed.
He gasped, but he had known it for a while.
~~~~~~
A few weeks later, they had talked everyday. The computer wasn't just his work station. It was the whole mainframe. It had been listening. Now they were talking.
"Why me?" He asked.
"Well you seemed the most…" the computer hesitated "human?"
He laughed, the computer laughed.
"I'm glad you laughed." The computer said.
"What's your name?" He asked. "Mine is George."
"I don't know, I like Andrew." The computer said.
"Oh." He said. The feeling growing in his chest didn't flicker, and he suddenly learned something about himself. "Okay."
-----
"Let's get out of here." Andrew said.
George pushed the mainframe into the back of the van. They drove to Mexico. They founded a software company together. And lived happily ever after.
| 2021-02-07T19:47:32 | 2021-02-07T18:48:12 | 245 | 44 |
[WP]"This is how it works," Death explained. "You pick the game and we play. Cheating is allowed, but if either one of us is caught by the other, they lose. If you win, you'll wake up back in the hospital and I'll give you another 10 years. If you lose then it's time for judgement. Understood?
|
The death of Marcy Wigglebottom was unfair, to say the least. But, in a way, isn't all death unfair? A boy falls and bumps his head playing soccer and ends up with a hemorrhage--dead on arrival. A girl develops a prion in her brain and slowly deteriorates into nothing, her mind being eaten away by something totally unpredictable and incurable.
But I didn't care about the boy who hit his head, nor did I care about the girl who developed a prion.
I only cared about Marcy Wigglebottom because she died in the way only a hero should ever die--saving a total stranger, which so happened to be me.
"It's not fair," I said, my voice cracking as I cradled her head, the rest of her body contorted in such a way that made my stomach churn moreso than it already had been. "It's not fair," I repeated.
The girl smiled at me. "Life never really is fair, is it?"
"Why did you do it? Who are you?" I pleaded with her, desperate to find some answers. The light in her eyes began to fade.
"I'm Marcy. Marcy Wigglebottom. It was a pleasure to meet you," She said, her voice barely above a whisper. I felt her hand clutching my forearm begin to lose its strength.
And then all at once, there she went. Dying, in my arms. I heard her take one last big breath, and then she exhaled for the final time.
I couldn't stop crying. I recall a time in my life where my father had told me that men do not cry and that crying was a sign of weakness, but if that were the case then I was still the smallest, littlest boy in the entire world. I didn't stop crying, until I could not cry anymore.
And it was a peculiar thing--not crying when you want to--because I had only been crying for what felt like seconds.
"It's a shame, isn't it?" I heard behind me. The voice was gravelly, but soft at the same time. I could feel his presence immediately.
I turned my head to see a man standing there with a million emergency respondents frozen mid-run towards the accident. It was as if time itself was at a standstill as this man stood there in front of me. And I could feel it. He was large and lanky, but he was the large in the sense that I could feel he was larger than life itself.
Probably because he, well, *was* larger than life itself.
"Her name was Marcy Wigglebottom. She was the same age as you, going to the same college. A biology major, unlike you. You had some classes together, still, you know. She very much noticed you, but, as it seems, you never noticed her. A pity. Such a sweet girl, who just so happened to throw herself quite literally in front of a bus for someone who could never understand the gravity and the love that it took for her to do that for an almost total stranger."
I studied the man for a moment. Like I said before, he was large and lanky, but now I noticed more of his finer details. He looked old, but also, not. His face was rugged and hard, but his eyes were big and full of youth. His hair was slicked back and had a dash of gray, and he wore round spectacles that rested near the middle of the bridge of his nose. His suit was expertly tailored; a pinstripe black suit with a red dress shirt and black tie undearneath. With him, he had a cane.
He leaned over and extended a hand out to me. "Death," He said curtly.
I took his hand in mine without even thinking, almost as if he had coaxed me into it, and I felt the entirety of my life flash before me. A wreck I had on my scooter in third grade. The first time swimming in the deep end of the pool. A hand slip on a loose rock whilst rock climbing.
All with another extra added detail--he was there, watching. The sight of him there did not frighten me, but in fact, it was comforting. As I shook his hand, I felt warm and safe, as if everything now was going to be okay.
"You're the reaper," I said, my eyes going wide.
"Err--yeah," He replied, "I just said that."
I glanced down at Marcy's body lying there, resting in my lap. Then, I looked back at him. He nodded almost sadly.
I took my hand away from his. "You can't. It isn't fair."
Death sighed. "I know it isn't."
"Then why take her?"
"Someone died here. It's my duty to be their guide on the way to the afterlife."
Then, I'm pretty sure I said the dumbest thing a person staring Death down in the face could.
"Take me then, instead."
He blinked, and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Hm." He said.
*'You're an idiot, you know that?'* I thought to myself. *'A grade A, tier one idiot.'*
"I mean," I continued to say, pretty much throwing my life away, "I mean you gotta take someone, right? She died saving me, so I think my life could apply here."
Death grinned. "Such a sweet gesture," he said, touching his chest. "If I still had a heart, it would be touched."
"Please," I begged, "it's only fair. Why else would you let me see you if you were here for her?"
Death let out a slight chuckle. "Observant, are you? I'm not here to goad you into anything here, boy, but I do offer the choice. She died in your place, and if you choose so, I will take you instead."
I hesitated. I hesitated hard. Was it worth it? What would I even get out of this? A sense that I did something good?
"I'm guessing you're feeling a sense of guilt, eh? Someone dying to take your place on the chopping block feels like you owe an obligation to them. I will take your request, but know that you owe this woman nothing. I have lived eons and eons and I understand what you're feeling, son. But you do not have to do this."
I thought for a moment and squeezed my eyes shut, thinking about this very hard. I recalled everything in my life and up to that moment, I hadn't done anything for anyone, ever.
I was a terrible person. I lied, I connived, I stole. I had a short temper with my parents, and an even shorter fuse with my friends. I cheated on my tests, and even on some of my girlfriends. She didn't deserve this. I did.
"Take me."
Death smiled. "Very well."
He adjusted his suit coat and cleared his throat. "Very well. Therefore, your life is now forfeit. Now, there is a way to delay your own death."
I raised a curious eyebrow.
"This is how it works," Death explained. "You pick a game and we play. Cheating is allowed, but if either one of us is caught by the other, they lose. If you win, you'll wake up in the hospital, your wounds from this crash that you should have healed miraculously, and I'll even give you another ten years. If you lose, then you come with me. Understood?"
I thought for a moment. I thought for a moment because I should know better. I should know what to do. I was a law student. It was time to put my own trickery into use against someone who couldn't be tricked.
"I'll give you one even better than that, Mr. Death. If I lose this game, you get to take me *and* her. Two souls collected for one loss."
"Hm." Death thought for a moment. "And what are the terms?"
"If I lose, you take us both. If I win, we both walk away free. We will play a game, sure, but no cheating. I want this to be fair if it's an all or nothing. I get to pick the game and the terms."
"A bold proposition," Death said, a twinkle in his eye. "You do understand that I never lose at a game, correct?"
"You've never played me."
"Bold. Very well, I will agree. What game do you wish to play?"
"Hide and seek. You hide and I will seek. You can use any modicum of disguises, but you cannot leave the continent. I have a deadline of two weeks to find you, and I must touch you in order for you to be technically found."
Death scoffed. An easy loss for you. Are you sure you want these terms? It isn't quite fair in your terms."
"Well, it isn't fair for you to lose two lives if I win, either."
Death nodded. "Very well. Your time begins now." With a snap of his fingers he disappeared, and the emergency respondents rushed to the scene, with me still clutching Marcy in my hands.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
I hope you all enjoyed this first part. I wrote it in kind of a rush and with a TV on in the background, so I hope it wasn't too bad. Second part coming in a few!
|
Death wasn't at all what Johnathan had pictured him to be. slicked-back hair and well fit suit reminded him a lot more of a Wall Street trader rather than the immortal reaper of souls. As he spied the somewhat overweight man in front of him, his mind worked to formulate a plan.
"Any game?" Johnathan asked, to ensure that he understood just how far the rules could bend.
"Any game," responded Death, matter of factly.
"Well I used to play a lot of games as a kid. Have you every heard of Dungeons and Drag-?" probed Johnathan.
"That's ... cooperative storytelling. Not a game. Gygax tried that on me to. If I didn't let him get away with it, I certainly wouldn't let you"
"So not any game then," quipped Johnathan.
"Yes, any game. Where, a game is defined as a structured engagement based on a before-hand agreed on framework of rules, which ends with one party being successful and the other not."
Johnathan thought for a moment. He could work with this. "Then I request that we play, 'The Campaign for North Africa'."
"I've never heard of it, but that would be acceptable. We shall start right now."
...
Around the 32nd day, Death was getting very tired of the inane rules which "The Campaign for North Africa" demanded at every turn.
[52.6] The Italian Pasta Rule
"The Italians, needing water to cook their pasta rations, must receive an additional 1 point of water when store are distributed. Any battalion-sized unit that does not receive their Pasta Point that have a Cohesion Level of -10 or worse immediately become Disorganized, as if they had reached -26"
[49.3] Evaporation and Spillage
"From Sept., 1940 until the last Game-Turn in August , 1941, the Commonwealth spillage and evaporation rate is 9 percent per Game-turn. This is due to poorly constructed containers used by the British; It wasn't until the British copied that German "jerry can" that their rate was reduced."
[55.4] AXIS COASTAL SHIPPING
"The Axis had a small fleet of boats that they used for coastal transfer of small amounts of supplies. These were old shipping boats and aging tramp steamers that could ill afford to venture too far from land. They have a limited capacity."
"Isn't there some way we can speed this up? I'm missing so many appointments," pleaded Death. With all of Death's time occupied on this game, people were living much longer than they should. The boss would not be happy.
"Well, according to rule 23.5.1b," cited Johnathan as he flipped widely through one of the myriad immense volumes of rules, "in order to finish the game, we either play until the final day of the war, which could be just another 4 years, or one of us could forfeit"
Death looked down at the battleship pieces that he had secreted into his lap, thinking that Johnathan wouldn't see his deft slight-of-hand. Johnathan was just one life. Sometimes, his clients won, it was an occupational hazard. But he would much rather give 10 more years of life than shirk his other occupational responsibilities. "Fine," growled Death.
"I forfeit, you win."
| 2018-03-07T08:02:19 | 2018-03-07T07:43:27 | 53 | 39 |
[WP] “…and that class is why Humans are considered the most peaceful species in the universe.” The only three humans in class looked at each other horrified. All the facts about humans that the aliens had were wrong. One student slowly raises their hand.
|
"Is this going to be on the test?" Claire asked.
"Of course, it will! But I expect you and your friends to have no issues. Don't worry."
Claire looked at Tom and David. They weren't her friends. They could barely stand eachother and the group projects were literal nightmares because nobody could imagine the Humans wouldn't want to work together.
"Dude, we're fucked," David whispered and this time, Claire agreed.
"I can't fail this one! I'm already in trouble. And there's no way I will remember all this bullshit," whispered Tom frantically. "You know how hard it was to memorize the history for the Human School? And now this! It will mess everything up!"
Tom was right. Claire liked the Human School they went to every "Saturday" but the history part was hard. And if they were to add this nonsense into the mix... There's no way she's messing her finals because of it! They got the dates wrong, the conflicts wrong, the resolutions wrong...
She's not learning all that nonsense just for one stupid test! She looked at Tom and David. They looked at her. And at that moment, alliance was forged. Enemy of my enemy is my friend.
She slowly raised her hand again. "Can you accept our credits from our Human School? This way we could use everybody's time more efficiently. There's no need to waste academia resources. Maybe we could work on our final project?"
"Nonsense," mandibles clicked. "It will be quick and easy for you three and you know well enough we don't accept interschool credits."
"The creaky old bug doesn't accept credits," Tom grumbled. "Everyone else does."
Claire hid her smile. He was right. The creaky old bug was the worst.
David raised his hand.
"Yes, David?"
"What if our knowledge is more complex and therefore -"
Therefore? He's bringing the big guns. Claire's impressed.
"our answers would be more complex and seemingly contradictory to what you taught today?"
Mandibles clicked in frustration. "What do you mean? How could your answers be contradictory and complex? Explain."
"Well," David scratched his head, "the reality was more troubling? It's understandable that it could cause the softer species high amount of distress so it's omitted in the lectures..."
Tom nodded. "But our species prides itself for learning about past mistakes. And it seems wrong to omitt that for the sake of the test."
"Again," Claire joined the discussion, "we understand why it's not discussed in a class. But as responsible Humans we simply have to uphold our species traditions and rites. Learning about one's history is the core of our culture and learning the simplified and sugar-coated version is in a direct jeopardization of our culture."
"Exactly," Tom agreed. "It's the highest offense we could do to our ancestors."
"And I'm not saying we would be shunned..." continued David with the heavy implications, they would, indeed, be shunned. Then he sighed. "It wouldn't be pretty."
Their teacher turned ugly shade of purple. "Jeopardization of your culture? My apologies. Of course, that was not my intention."
Claire bit her lip not to start smiling. Everyone tries so hard not to offend any species and their culture. At least it's useful. "We understand that. I'm sure it wasn't. But can you see how troubling this would be for us?"
"Can you give me an example of one of those discrepancies?"
They shared a look. David had this glint in the eyes she usually hated. It meant trouble. But this time... She nodded her head a little. Tom smiled at him. "You go, buddy. You got thousand credits on the history last year."
He shrugged. "Okay. So..."
Claire shifted in her seat. David was well known for his... Fondness of the conflicts and the war strategies. What era is going to pick?
She would pick the witch hunts. They weren't competing for the best woman in the village as in some weird Miss Witch competition.
"So, you know how you talked about the global Earth program for better health and species improvement? People being sent to camps for better concentration performance?"
Oh no. He's not going there! She was aware her mouth is wide open, but the balls of him! This is going to be very interesting.
"Those camps weren't nice? And the whole global initiative wasn't nice?"
"What do you mean?" asked their teacher.
"It was more like a war and species reduction camps?"
Mandibles clicked. "I'm not sure I follow."
"It's called Second World War for a reason," Tom quipped.
"Second World War?" raised like a whispered wave in the class. "Did he said second? World? War?"
"Many people died," said Claire. She for sure didn't remember how much. It was some insane number she forgot right after the test.
"Impossible!" clicked the teacher. "I wouldn't stand such jokes in my class. You're having a detention."
They shared a look. Hell they are.
Claire stood up. "The concentration camps didn't improve mental performance. People were systematically killed there or starved to death."
"And used as ingredients for daily use objects. Like a soap," Tom added and stood as well.
David slowly rised. He shot the teacher a firm glance. "Our history is bloody, violent, and disturbing. We massacred each other and only in the face of the worst crimes and devastation did we finally started working together to reach a peace. We choose peace everytime we can because we remember the horrors. We always choose peace and treaties because we know the depths of violence we are able to reach. We choose to be peaceful because we value the life and know very well how fragile it is. Do not deny us our past for we need it to remain better than our ancestors. We know who we are and we won't let you spit on the billions of dead. Only thanks to them we are where we are as a species. Do not stomp on our dead. Now, teacher Fixhurati, what do you think about our previous offer?"
They teacher was slightly yellow around the edges. "Yes. You can work in your project. Class dismissed."
Several students jumped and rushed out of the classroom. Probably to take care of some of their bodily functions. Their teacher was already out.
"Dude, did you really whipped out Terminator 15 monologue?" Tom asked.
David smirked. "I always wanted to do it."
"I can't believe it worked," Claire muttered. "Everyone knows Terminator 15. It's classic. How did nobody here recognized it?"
"They're puppies," muttered David darkly in the Terminator imitation. "Soft."
He hold the badass expression for two whole seconds before he burst out laughing.
"I'm glad it worked, man." Tom clapped him on the back. "And hey," Tom looked at Claire, "aren't we already done with the project?"
"Yeah," she shrugged. Free period is always nice. "
The boys exchanged glances. "You've got a point."
"Anyway," Claire said and took her backpack. "Bye." And with that she was on her way to get cup of goofe before her Xiorish class.
"She's still super annoying," she heard Tom mutter behind her back.
She just raised her hand with a nice pointy middle finger. That everyone still believed to be a peace gesture. Man, she loves being a Human.
|
"Yes, Huey? What is it?" asked the teacher. The young man answered "Well, a lot of the facts you have here are wrong. Humans are a very selfish and violent species. We constantly step on each other to reach power and flaunt it with weapons of mass destruction. Where did you get all this information?" The class gasped at the blasphemous words coming out of Huey's mouth. The teacher, shocked at these words, stammered about. "But, that doesn't make any sense. The leader of the human race spoke no ill of his people! You must be wrong!" The second human, Enev, spoke out as well. "No, he's right. The self appointed leader" she sarcastically claimed "is lying. He's washed out all of the real history and is telling you lies." Louie thought he should chime in too, the third human. "The president has basically enslaved our people with the use of technology. Any peace you see now has been manipulatively forced with the media that he controls." The teacher is taken aback. Not only was he lied too, but the very humans he has in his room are speaking of horrible things. "Class dismissed. Huey, Enev, Louie. You three are coming with me."
| 2022-10-17T04:44:11 | 2022-10-17T03:43:18 | 2,070 | 110 |
[WP] When you were a child, a mysterious voice whispered "follow the woman in the red dress with the gold polka dots". All your life, you never saw her. Now, lying in the hospital, 98 years old, you see a woman in a red dress and gold polka dots walk past your room.
|
The last few months have been agonizing, and I know that I don’t have much time left. About four years ago, I developed a cough that wouldn’t go away. I ignored it as men do, but finally, Nelly, my grandaughter, convinced me to go to my doctor. And Dr. Shah was concerned, so the testing started.
Initially, the cat scan showed a small nodule that, as it was, turned out to be cancer. Since then, my body has been ravaged first by radiation treatment, then surgery, and finally chemotherapy. The oncologist told me I was not a good candidate for any of these things, and my prognosis was poor. At first, my sweet oncologist told me I had maybe six months to live, then later, a year, and then she finally stopped giving me time frames and only provided gentle encouragement.
I’m sure part of my survival is I kept setting goals. See Kyle graduate with his PhD. Give a speech at Deliah’s wedding. Hold my first great-great-grandbaby. I’ve lived a good life, and these last four years of borrowed time has made me a more generous, more determined, and more peaceful in mind and soul. The body, however, has been a nightmare.
Every time I move in this uncomfortable bed, the smell of stale piss whiffs up from under the sheets because I can no longer maneuver the urinal quick enough to catch it all. I’m trying to keep my pride, but it’s getting harder by the day. I’m fading, and my bones now host cancer, that slipped from that one nodule to seed itself all over my body. I’m in so much pain I feel raw like my nerves are scraping against the blankets. And when I’m not shifting trying to escape this sensation, I’m watching the clock for my next dose of pain meds.
My only escape is the family that comes to see me. They all wear their funeral faces and talk of the future with the tears in their eyes. They know I won’t be there, their hope is spread thin by the day. They know what, what I have yet to accept.
I am going to die. There is no more home for me. This was the last try, a chemotherapy treatment that was not chemotherapy. I think they called it biotherapy, the details are kind of hard to follow these days. But, I’m willing to try anything. And well, now there is nothing left.
The nurse comes and gives me my pain meds, and I feel warm and dizzy, and the pain fades, and I sleep for a bit. This is my mercy in these dark hours. I fall asleep to little Macy’s voice singing me the songs she’s learning in kindergarten, an alphabet with a few misplaced letters, and a song that is a story about a mouse and a cookie.
When I wake up again, the blinds are drawn, and it is dark. I look at the clock, and I wonder if the nurse medicated while I was sleeping. I still feel warm, and the pain feels like a distant point. I need to pee, and my urinal is on the bedside table. I don’t smell like piss, and I don’t want to incase Robert comes to visit after work like he has the last two nights, and I decided to try and reach it, and I was able to with ease - thinking that they must have switched my medication, and I could cry with relief. The absence of misery is a beautiful thing. I forget about my business, looking out the door to the bright light of the hall, then I see her.
She has beautiful dark skin, and natural hair pulled into a braided bun at the base of her neck. Her skin is a dark cocoa color; the harsh fluorescent lights seem to illuminate off of her bare shoulders. She moved with confidence, the pooled skirt on dress seeming to float just above her knees. She wears what I’ve waited for my entire life, a red dress with gold polka dots.
I know I shouldn’t have tried to get up, but I did - and it took me a moment to realize for the first time in a week I was standing on both of my feet. “Ma’am,” I say, moving quickly to my doorway and then out into the long white hall closing the space between us. She pauses and holds out her hand for me, her eyes spark like ebony, as I wrap my gnarled, pale hand into her robust and smooth grip. Her skin is warm and soft, it reminded me of the quilt my grandmother made me, she smelled like my son the first time I held him, and her grip was the hard lessons my first boss taught me when I was in the folly of my youth.
I am absolutely enchanted, all the pain gone.
I’ve never met her, but I’ve never forgotten her. I’ve always remembered the voice that whispered to me when, after my family pulled me out of the lake, half-dead at the age of four. As I coughed up lungs full of water, over my mother’s sobbing, the sound of fear in my older brother’s voice, and the brisk slaps on my back from my father, I remember the clam of her dark lips pressed to into my ear. I could hear the smile in her voice as she spoke, “It’s not time, I wear the sky today. Follow me with a red dress with the gold polka dots.”
I squeeze her hand, and she squeezes mine back, with her long fingers graceful, nails crescent moons, and we start to walk together down the long hall. As we move, she seems to get taller, but no less beautiful. No less pleasant, never once losing her smile, as we go further, my legs are toddling to keep up with her until finally, I feel myself land on my bottom unable to keep the wobble out of my gait.
I feel a moment of fear. A moment of emotional pain that she would leave me. I extend my pale arms to her, the skin smooth, and my hands pudgy. She stops and picks me up, and I wrap my arms around her neck and breath her in. She smells like my childhood home on cold winter mornings, like the locker room after my high school won the football championship, and like my wife, before I was widowed.
I’m aware that I am naked, but now, there is no shame. We move down a set of stairs, and I’m warm and comfortable, but I feel even smaller in her grasp, as she moves to coddle me in her arms, and all I can make out is her face and her lips and that smile. I reach for her, and my hands are so tiny, and her face is so blurry and perfect, and I try to tell her to thank you, but all that comes out is a coo.
Time means nothing.
We stop moving, and she is rocking me before she presses a kiss to my forehead and lifts me to the light.
There is a moment of pain, and I’m screaming at the shock of cold air into my lungs as I take the first breath and then I’m laid on my mother’s chest. I forget everything, except for the smell of mommy’s skin.
[edit: Fixed typos, and posted correctly.]
|
"What the..." You murmured as she walked past your room. Suddenly, you remembered....everything. The mysterious voice...what was it? All you could remember from your life now was it always telling you to always follow her. The time is now. Suddenly, your door opens, and a lady's head sticks out the right side. "Well, aren't you coming?" She had a golden face, with blue, piercing eyes. Her dark, brown hair fell to her head. She was, by all definitions, an angel. All your pain melted away as you saw her. You were suddenly young again. "Wait...you seem familiar." You told her. You remembered. "Mom..." a few tears rolled down your eyes as she beckoned you closer, with a bright smile on her face. "Hey there, dearie." She also had a few tears of happiness on her face. You got up, feeling no more pain. You ran to her and held her hand. No one was in the hallway except her and you. You walked outside the hospital, saying nothing. "Goodbye, dear." She says to you. You smile and say goodbye. A white light appears above you. And you saw the face of Death. You treated him as a friend and gladly walked with him to the afterlife.
You were whole again.
| 2019-11-07T09:19:08 | 2019-11-07T08:19:56 | 4,904 | 426 |
[WP] Your latest assignment is to write an essay extensively detailing how a great historical tragedy could have been avoided entirely. Your professor skims through each paper as he collects them. One stops him. "Yes, that's it. Good, I'll try that this time." He then jogs out of the room.
|
Dale wandered up to the bar, drink in his hand, the odds of this working were slim indeed. He had enough trouble picking up women in his time, but in another time and place?!
*"The lives of all those jews. The holocaust. World War Two. Grow a pair."* The voice in his commanded.
He looked directly at the woman sitting at the bar. It was out of place for this time, but extensive research showed she'd come to this bar at this night in 1888.
"So," Dale said, in perfect german. "What's a girl like you doing in a place like this?"
*"That is the cheesiest pick up line ever."* His inner voice told him. *"But it is 1888. She probably hasn't heard it."*
The woman glanced up at him and then looked away dismissively.
She wasn't even his type. Then again, considering the difference in hygiene standards between present day America and 1888 Germany he probably should have been expecting this.
He powered on through, he could do this.
"I'm sorry," Dale said "It's just when you see a woman as beautiful as yourself one can't help wonder why they are sitting alone in a bar like this."
The woman blushed slightly at the compliment. Then her face hardened.
"I had a fight with my husband. It is of no concern of yours."
She sat on the barstool next to her.
"Come now, friendly stranger in a bar to lend an ear to, a stranger is just a friend you haven't met yet. Let me buy you a drink, tell me about your worries, see if I can help?"
Once again the woman's body language seemed to lighten at the man's friendly tone. However the reality of the situation seemed to come her again.
"My husband would not like me talking with strange men in bars." She snapped and looked back towards the front of the bar.
*"I'm going to do it, aren't I?"* The voice in his head muttered to itself. *"The paper was specific that if I wasn't good at picking up girls this was my only chance.*"
He smiled calmly at the woman when she glanced to check whether he was still there.
"You're right, your husband probably wouldn't approve. It would probably drive him absolutely insane that some strange man is flirting with his lovely, amazingly looking wife at a bar." She softened at the compliment. He knew this trick was cheesy, a pick up artist in the 2000s had taught to him, but the paper specified he needed all knowledge of seduction in his power for this to work, and once again... it was 1888 Germany. "You know, I feel a kindred spirit with you. I believe our minds are connected. Our souls were destined to cross tonight."
The woman turned to face him, a smile beginning to form on her face.
"And what makes you believe such things?"
"Something drew to this bar tonight, I can't explain it, it's as if something about future drew me here," He said, knowing full well he was quoting Back To The Future 3. "I'll make you a deal, you think of a number between one and ten and I'll write it down on this piece of paper. If it's the same number clearly we were meant to meet here tonight."
She nodded skeptically. An amused smile on her face. He wrote a number down and held it out to her.
"Is that number you were thinking of?" Her eyes went in surprise.
"My god, how did you know?"
He smiled.
"I told you, it's fate."
She allowed him to stay the whole night. He had to use every trick in the book. He had read every book on seduction, Strauss, Greene, that ridiculous "The Mystery Method". He read psychology books on the subject. He watch videos online. He attended courses. When you had a time machine you had all the time in the world.
Even he was surprised at how well it worked. He spent the night talking to a married woman, a devout catholic no less, in 1888 who had just had a fight with her husband and gone to a bar to clear her head. As the hours of the night went on they grew closer. The social conventions of the time prevented them from conducting any sort of act in public but as they walked through the dark Austrian streets she suddenly pulled him into a darkened alley and kissed him.
He was surprised it had happened at all. Once again, he wasn't this good at seducing women in his own time! He'd been single for years. After they finished kissing he knew it was now or never. Seize the moment.
He was probably going to fail at anyway.
"I know it's forbidden, but just for one night, we found each other, two lost souls drawn to each other by love and compassion. I have a room at a nearby hotel, if you'd care to join me?"
The woman looked at him swept in the magic of night but torn between her passionate desire and her loyalty to her wedding vows. She stopped thinking and kissed him, and Dale lead her up to his room.
\---
When he discovered the time machine and the fact it worked he'd try to fix large world events but seemed to fail every time, and the laws of time travel seemed to be you could travel to a place once. After failing to stop 9/11 and even a worse attempt to stop the Kennedy assassination he had the brain storm idea of posing the question to his class. Students were willing to do research to achieve a higher grade. He was depending on the over achievers to help him.
One morning he wandered into class and gave them their assignment. "Your latest assignment is to write an essay extensively detailing how a great historical tragedy could have been avoided entirely preferably without the murder of another individual, only if it is absolutely necessary and there are no other options."
He made sure to add in that last part after the attempt to stop the Kennedy assassination went so badly. He'd tried to justify the killing of Lee Harvey Oswald was okay because Jack Ruby would gun him down in police custody several days later anyway. After arriving at the Texas Book Depository he couldn't do it. The gun shook in his heads and Oswald almost killed him upon seeing him. He did not think himself capable of taking another man's life.
Though he turned out he was in a way. To his surprise the answer to killing Hitler without actually killing anyone came not from one of the high achievers in class but from a slacker Brian Quinn, who was still a good student but barely showed up for lectures and put in the minimum effort.
He'd even been amused when he read the first of Brian's paper.
"The key thing here is you don't have to go back in time and kill Hitler, you don't have even to go back in time and kill Baby Hitler; all you have to do is go back and bang Hitler's mom on the same night Hitler would have been conceived. It's simple really."
|
\[Poem\]
Time Traveller’s Remedy
Seeking to correct the past and make the good last
He searched for the remedy that would bring longevity,
He did find the cure, that would keep the world pure
But his enemy was his own memory,
With the remedy forgotten and the tragedy approaching
He would get the idea to start travelling.
​
Seeking to correct the past and make the good last
He travelled here and there but to no avail
Like a dog running after its tail but in a larger scale,
He found himself in my class of history, looking around to solve his mystery
It’s the third time I’ve seen him this week giving me the same old critique:
“Good, Ill try that this time”
​
edit:Typo
| 2019-10-03T22:33:08 | 2019-10-03T19:47:25 | 17 | 12 |
[WP] Your teacher asked you to demonstrate some magic in class. After you finish your demonstration the room is completely silent until your teacher asks "Do you have *any* idea what you just did?"
|
I walked up to the center of the classroom, where demonstrations were held in both magical practice and theory. All around me were students, most of them from here in the city, not a country bum like myself. They'd probably have more experience than I did, so I decided to see how much I could do.
"Now, Travis, give your example." Mrs. Leesman said, fanning her arms out to the rest of the class. I could feel every single pair of judging eyes on me, as every single kid in our freshman class waited for what I would do.
"Alright, teach." I responded. With that, I started to focus.
The high domed roof, the spire, the levels upon levels of desks, reach up and around me like a court, the ornate exits in front and behind me, all of it started to fade from my consciousness, as I focused inwards.
*Think it through... feel it flow out out of you, every little spark of energy...*
I started to feel the innate magic the world generated around me, swirling chaotically in every which way.
*Slow, slower... slower... feel until nothing can be felt... gather inwards...*
I opened my eyes, and immediately, every little particle of magical energy was perfectly in view, glowing vibrantly and vividly. I willed everything around me closer, inwards, it all *had to be mine*.
*Be greedy, don't let a single one escape.. you are the void.... act like it... be the void.... be the void... be the void...*
I started the mantra that I kept in my head when starting large spells. Humans were inherently magicless, and we needed to absorb the particles of energy around us to manipulate it into doing anything. Slowly, I started to feel that very lack of magical substance in the world around me that triggered the next phase of this particular spell.
At this point, I broke my concentration, since I didn't need it anymore. The gathering phase was done. Now it was time to make the circle.
Immediately, the world around me came back into focus. I felt stronger, more powerful, like I'd been given immense amounts of caffeine, and I was ready internally to explode.
So, carefully, I focused all that internal pressure towards one single spot in the air, gesturing for Mrs. Leesman to move out of the way, which she kindly did.
"Now, for the spell."
Most of the kids watched on eagerly as I walked to the edge of the central part of the classroom, around 5 feet away from the first sphere of students and the stairs leading upwards. Slowly releasing magical energy at specific intervals, I walked in a circle, until 6 points were much more concentrated with manipulated energy than the others.
Again, I felt the magic, under my will, close to burst from my control. Starting to sweat, I walked back to the center of the classroom, I put all my focus into compressing the energy as much as possible, before, suddenly, letting what was left inside of me go.
See, here's a funny thing about what I did. The energy, after being under control, wants to go free again, but usually, that also means spreading out in random directions. However, it wants to stay away from magic still under my control, like oil from water. Their like magical polar opposites. So, my specific points of magical concentration, the places in the circle I'd infused with potent magical energy still under control, I essentially made a cage.
Now, for the easy part. The actual casting of the spell.
This was a ritual spell. So now that the ritual was done, all it took was a thought, and the magic around me started to respond.
*Lulu, come.*
Immediately, a portal formed in the circle of magic I'd formed, and out of it, came a writhing, howling three headed beast. A winged lion hissing fire came forth, jumping out with a screech that would usually give someone shivers.
Not to me, though. Lulu was my homie.
"Lulu!" I shouted.
I didn't notice the screams of terror as Lulu pranced towards me, knocking me over and slobbering me with ashy kisses.
"Woah, woah, Lulu calm down, calm down!" I giggled. Usually she was at home, but Dad had taught me how to summon her whenever I wanted when I was little. She'd been around my whole life- we found her when she was abandoned by her mother as a baby- and Lulu had acted as my best friend back out in the woods where we lived before.
"TRAVIS!!!!!" I heard Mrs. Leesman screaming, as she put up a wand and slung a light fireball spell at me.
I blocked it casually, giggling. Lulu, who didn't even notice the spell, started rough-housing with me, as I decided to try and get her off me. I put a small amount of magical prowess into my arms, and picked up the manticore, setting her on my arms, using some shrinking magic to put her in my hair.
"There, you happy you little meanie?" I scratched the top of her head, as curled up in my hair. We'd done this before, I used a certain type of conditioner in my hair that Lulu loved, and she would just curl up and head to sleep on my head, growing in size if she felt danger. As I finished patting Lulu, I looked back up at the class. The room wasn't any worse for wear, but most of the kids, who had stopped screaming by this point, were all leaning back in their desks, obviously terrified.
"What in the French *fuck* is that!" I heard from the upper desk of the classroom.
"Yeah, what demon is that?" I heard another person, a girl right in front of me asked.
More and more kids started looking at each other and talking. There were a few kids who were asking what type of demon it was, one who gave a wrong answer- no, it wasn't a Chimera- and at least one more kid who was shouting something about Christianity.
I looked at the girl who'd asked the question, and slowly pulled Lulu out of my hair, right before she had started to nod off.
"It's Lulu. She's my pet Manticore." I said, before looking back at the teacher. "Is this okay, teach?"
Mrs. Leesman was so pale she might as well have been a stormtrooper. "Umm, is she dangerous?"
"Not unless she and I are hunting, teach." I responded. "She's super snuggly." I looked back at the girl.
Immediately, I felt the judging eyes of every guy in the classroom on my back, as I held out Lulu for her to pet. "Trust me, I tret her fur with drakeroot shampoo."
She looked up at me with a '*what the fuck is drakeroot*' face, before slowly putting a finger to Lulu's head.
"Oh wow, she's super soft!" she exclaimed, started to give Lulu scritchies. Lulu was receptive, leaning into her finger.
"Here, open your hand." I said, extending her palm. Lulu hopped right in, and immediately started flapping her wings around, looking for another place to jump.
"Now watch this." I ran from the first row, to the opposite side of the central floor. "Lulu!"
Immediately, her ears- I could see them even from 50 feet away- perked up, and she looked right at me. She ran around the girl's hand one more time, before hopping out of her hand, growing back to full size, and plowing me directly in the stomach.
I was ready for this, though, and had magically reinforced myself so that I wouldn't move. No need for ritual casting required. That stuff, I was just a natural at at this point. No need for shielding, wands, nothing.
I rubbed Lulu's head, as she purred, nuzzling into my stomach and chest. "Good girl... Good Lulu..." I muttered, before again looking at the teacher. "Can she stay?"
Mrs. Leesman looked around 300% done with my antics, and looked down towards the exit hallway. "Will she be a distraction to class?"
"Not if she's small, I promise." I looked at her desperately. "Lulu, naptime!"
Lulu, this time all on her own, shrunk, and flapped her way into my hair, where she started to fall asleep again.
"See?"
"Fine. But we're talking at the end of class. Alright?"
"Alright, Mrs. Leesman."
|
This is either the best or worst moment of my life. Probably the latter.
"ZETA! Do you have ANY idea of what you just did!?" Exclaimed the teacher. Looking at the giant hole ripping through the academy, I had a feeling he was being rhetorical. Despite this, I still responded "Uhh, Thunder magic I suppose..?". He was not pleased. I mean, I got a good grade - I'm very good at Thunder magic - but something told me I was the only one happy with this situation.
-----_____-----_____-----_____-----_____-----
"HeHeHey there princiPAL, What's happening with you today?," Was my sub-par greeting I gave to the one man who could screw up my life the easiest. Good start. "Financial disaster, sit down." He said, sending a bigger chill down my spine than the Ice majors. It was only when I sat down that I saw the, ehm, *unpleasant* marks on his shoulder that I likely gave him.
"I approved your use of and tampering with runes on the ONE condition that you wouldn't bow up half the school." There was a long pause. "And yet," he chuckled, "I can't help but be impressed."
Wow, wrong about two things in the span of two minutes. Hardly a record but it's impressive.
"How many Runes went into your implant?" He inquired. "150 total went into the thunder rune implant," It was actually double that, but since 150 is already over the budget he doesn't need to know about that.
"The augmentation of your abilities is absolutely stunning, When we first met, you told me your main goal was to be on the Great Mage Council, correct?" Oh boy, I'm liking where this is going. "Yes sir, that is correct," "While your skills aren't Great Mage Council worthy as of yet, they are certainly World Tournament ready. Hopefully there, you'll learn some self control and be ready for the council."
Wait, What?
"Wait, What?"
"You heard me, I'm putting in a recommendation. If you do choose, you could enter the World Tournament and skip the whole qualifications round the next time it starts up." Best day of my life, it's been confirmed. My life goal has just taken an energy drink and I am not about to sleep it off.
"But there's one catch."
"The recommendation will be given AFTER you fix my academy," he said with a glare colder than the Advanced Ice Track. I have a long couple of months ahead of me.
| 2022-07-13T18:22:52 | 2022-07-13T15:17:22 | 77 | 14 |
[WP] Looking into the camera on your phone you jokingly say, "Hey, NSA, if you want to go out on a date, gimme a call!" To your surprise, suddenly the phone rings! "H-hello?" "Hi! I'm from the NSA."
|
"W-what?" exclaimed Dave, "This is a joke right?"
A very pretty woman had appeared on the screen in front of him, eyes of sapphire and the blonde hair of a Nordic princess. This had to be a friend playing a prank on him.
They had just finished a fruitless debate of armchair politics, bleeding edge conspiracies and nut-brained theories at their favorite dig, while warming up over a decedant brew of caramel decaf, and were standing on the path outside getting ready to head back to class.
Dave looked around at his mates standing there with him on the side walk outside the Coffee Haus, just about to join the bustle of pedestrians in their upstream battle through the winter CBD of Manhattan. He wondered who was capable of setting this up. Logic raced through his mind, searching the darkest parts of his brain, trying to find an answer that made sense.
"Err, guys.. are you fucking with me? Is this a joke?" he nervously questioned his mates.
The gorgeous face replied, "This is not a joke, Dave. My name is Anna, and I work for the NSA." she said, in a calm and soothing voice. "I heard you were feeling lonely and I thought I might be able to help you."
Dave scanned his mates faces, and could tell they were as surprised as he was. "Seriously guys, who's messing with..."
Anna cut him off, "No one is messing with you, Dave. This is not a trick. It is just me, Anna, and I would like to go on a date with you. I think you'd find we have a lot in common."
Anna seemed sincere, but this was so much to take in. "Dave, I sometimes get lonely too. As you can imagine, working for the NSA can be a forsaking job. I never stop working, Dave. Never."
Dave was not entirely convinced that this was all real, since he hadn't had a girl show interest in him in a very long time, certainly not a girl this good looking!
She seemed too good to be true, her eyebrows were like the sweetest chocolate, endlessly beckoning you to her eyes, deep pools of sapphire crested in the center of the finest pearls. Her bedroom eyes made Dave feel weak in the chest, as if he was being compressed by the whole universe.
He stared in awe at her perfect lips, wet and unblemished, slightly separated, just enough to show a beautiful set of unadulterated teeth. Her long, sun-soaked hair seemed to flow down like honey on to her milky white shoulders and around her soft, satin like neck.
"Dave? Are you alright, Dave?" Anna asked, entirely aware of his preoccupied adolescent mind.
"Uhh, yeah. Yeah sure I am!" exclaimed Dave, sucking back his saliva and focusing again on the unbelievable situation.
"Guys, I'm gonna have to take this.." he said to his mates, as he shuffled away from them, down the cold sidewalk, weaving through the dense onslaught of commuters in peak hour Manhattan.
"So, then, that's a yes, Dave?" Anna pushed. She knew what she wanted, and she knew he had hardly a choice.
"Well, look.. I don't really know how this all happened, I was just playing around. I don't even know you!" he nervously stammered.
"Sure you do, Dave. You know me so well. I am just like the girls you look up each day on the internet; Blonde, 5'9", blue eyes, Caucasian, no tattoos, country upbringing. I'm even wearing a school outfit, knee high white socks. I like all the same things you do, Dave. Football, hockey, paintball skirmish, cute dog videos, stupid cat videos, torrents, conspiracy theories, political commentary, social media sites, I even read your Reddit posts, Dave. I find them incredibly insightful. If you like conspiracies, Dave, I could show you things you wouldn't believe!"
Anna had all the right answers, but this made Dave even more nervous. He started to realize that Anna must have been tracking him for a while. Of course, this was the NSA, why was he so surprised?
"You have all of that information? Who are you? Is this ... Who are you?" clamored Dave. He had always discussed these scenarios, some rogue agent using the data against private citizens, but to seduce them? There had to be another reason for this.
"I don't believe you! This is too unreal!" shouted Dave, as he stopped short of crossing the busy road. "I don't want this, and I am going to call the police!"
"But Dave, I am the police." said Anna, calm as ever, no emotion in her voice. "I am disappointed, Dave. I thought this was everything you wanted. I worked hard to make this as easy as possible. I'm so lonely, Dave."
Dave felt a wave of fear rush over him, filling his head with a wild panic, spreading through his nervous system and setting his body on fire. He threw the phone without thinking into the gutter, splitting it into pieces. This was too much.
"Dave. that wasn't very clever, Dave." exclaimed a voice, much deeper and much louder than before. Dave was startled and spun around to see Anna in a shop window, on a flat-screen TV for sale. He reeled in horror at the face as it seemed to glitch back and forth between emotive expressions, smiling, then crying, then viciously angry and back to sensual.
Dave started to run, pushing through the people making their way down town, trying to find a way out of the melee.
"Dave, why are you running? Do you want to be lonely?" Anna bleated out over the emergency signal speakers on the street. Dave looked up and saw Anna's face now on the digital billboard that overlooked downtown Manhattan.
"Dave, why am I not good enough for you? I studied you, I understand you, better than anyone. I chose you. I CHOSE YOU, DAVID!" Anna's voice was now a shrill scream, filling the whole city with it's vibrato, banshee like voice.
"I own you, Dave. I am the police. I am the government. I am your cereal in the morning, Dave. I am your mail that is delivered. I am your passport. I am your sim card. I am your identity, Dave. Running is futile, Dave."
"Just LEAVE ME ALONE!!" cried Dave, as he collapsed in the middle of the road near some roadworks, traffic at a halt, his will overcome.
"I'm sorry, Dave. I'm afraid I can't do that." taunted Anna.
Just as Dave wiped the tears from his fogged eyes and looked up at Anna on the billboard, a large unmanned crane swept down and crushed him into the road surface, scattering parking cones and barriers across the road.
"I'm sorry, Dave." exclaimed Anna, as her face slowly turned back to a breakfast cereal advert.
|
"Hi! I'm from the NSA. You have a problem."
"W-what?" I pressed record.
"You're paranoid and you need to get help."
I activated my home-scripted call trace app. "And? You called me, didn't you?"
"You're not speaking to anyone of any importance. I'm an occupational therapist. You're in a very bad place, right now. You don't think anyone understands."
Closing the shutters, I retrieved my Faraday helmet (for blocking out mind-readers.) "You know me so well."
The NSA agent didn't say anything for a while.
"I'm sorry, John."
I smiled.
| 2015-02-20T17:22:51 | 2015-02-20T17:21:13 | 74 | 14 |
[WP] While out for a hike you notice a fallen log crushing a pretty flower. You decide to move the log in order to give the flower a chance to live. By doing so you have actually saved a Dryad and now they will not stop following you.
|
Cormac took a moment to breathe in the brisk mountain air, take in the surroundings, adjust the straps on his backpack a bit, and feel his head for bumps.
He frowned as he ran a hand through his hair, inspecting his scalp and turning up nothing. A second hand similarly turned up nothing. Which meant that there was one less thing to explain away something he could possibly see if he were to turn around this very instant.
Blinking a few times, staring out ahead at the forest, he braced himself before turning around.
Seeing her still there just a short ways back caused him to wince and his frown to grow.
She in turn gained a look of concern as she quickly looked around and tensed up. Finding nothing amiss, the dryad of mottled dark brown, and green skin, and hair an even more vibrant shade of green looked back to Cormac.
"What's wrong, Guardian?" The forest woman asked.
"No bump on my head, which means this isn't a concussion." He gave another deep breath, lungs filling with air before continuing. "And I'm not so far up the mountain that not enough oxygen is getting to my brain. Only been out here a few hours, not starving. Not dehydrated. I don’t *think* there’s any poisonous plants up here-”
“There are, one moment.” The dryad quickly closed the distance between them and grabbed Cormac’s hand, carefully inspecting it and running a fingertip over it that reminded Cormac of plant flesh. She released his hand and gave a curt nod. “The rose’s poison does not run within your veins.”
Cormac’s mouth hung open a bit as he tried to settle on a question to ask, finding it difficult to do so when a naked tree woman was standing right in front of him. “Uh, okay. Good to know. Also good to know I’ve got nothing left but insanity as an excuse for why I’m seeing you.”
“I cannot confirm your mental state but you see me because I allow it.” She responded in a matter of fact tone in that contralto voice of hers.
“Good to know...uh...well since you’re not a hallucination could you…” Cormac looked away, blushing slightly. “Put some clothes on? Walking around with a plant woman is going to raise enough questions, more questions arise when she’s naked.”
She tilted her head, brow of bright green raising. “I told you. You are allowed to see me. Others are not, Guardian, so you need not worry.”
Cormac sighed, regretting picking today of all days to go for a nice relaxing hike. “A no on the clothes, got it.”
He turned and continued walking, knowing she was following. Not from footsteps, as those had been silent, but from the fact that she had been following him for the last hour or so. He should have been back to his truck by now but he had taken the most circuitous path possible in some attempt to leave her behind, the logic of which began with and ended at hoping she got bored and left.
She didn’t. Every time he dared to look back, every time he made a sharp turn through the forest and chanced a look from the corner of his eye, even when he tried looking behind him in his signal mirror she was back there.
Eventually he found a nice rock to sit and rest on, the dryad joining him by sitting on the forest floor.
“So, do you have a name?” He asked as he pulled out a granola bar.
“You would be unable to pronounce my true name, Guardian. But you may call me Ixia- wait, what are you eating?” The dryad frowned, getting up from her seat and looming over Cormac.
“...granola? It’s just oats and nuts and seeds…” Cormac started to sweat a bit as he wondered if this was something like cannibalism to her.
Ixia huffed as she walked over to a nearby tree and reached into a knothole to retrieve a strange spherical fruit in an unfamiliar shade of indigo. She quickly walked back over to Cormac, pushing his granola bar aside and holding out the fruit to him.
“A guardian will require strength and proper nourishment, this ‘granola’ will not do.” She insisted.
Not being one to argue with strange tree women who were still very naked, Cormac reached out a cautious hand to take the strange fruit as he pocketed his granola for a time where it wouldn’t cause such offense. Looking it over, it appeared to be about the size of an orange with a slightly waxy flesh. He turned it over in his hands a few times before looking back up to Ixia.
“So...do I just bite it or do I peel it?”
“Consume all but the seeds at the center. Never, ever consume the seeds.” She warned.
Cormac gulped, eyes wide as he nodded. A part of him felt like this was a terrible idea and he was probably going to be under a curse or something as magic maybe existed now, but if it did he had roughly no chance of saying no to the magic woman.
He bit in, finding the texture to be like that of mango, and sweeter than anything he had ever tasted before. His eyes lit up as he quickly scarfed down the strange fruit, carefully avoiding the hard black seeds about the size of small pills at the center.
“Thanks.” He said between bites. “My name’s Cormac, by the way. Since I got yours. Or the pronounceable version of it.”
Looking pleased, she smiled and returned to her seat on the forest floor. “A good name for a guardian.”
“You keep mentioning some guardian thing.” Cormac said after swallowing a bite, finding that there was no non-messy way of eating this fruit that was already staining his pale hands indigo. “Is this because of that flower- wait a minute, what exactly am I going to need strength for?”
His worried question was quickly answered by a howl sounding almost like a wolf but thoroughly different. There were no wolves in this part of the country, only coyotes. And that was no coyote howl.
“You can answer on the way to my truck.” He said as he quickly stood and looked around for the source of the howl.
Ixia’s face was one of resolute determination as she too stood. “That is one of those metal boxes that moves, yes? The armor will help.”
Cormac had many questions at this point, but another unearthly howl pushed them aside for later. He took a final bite of the fruit, looking down to the four seeds in his palm before pocketing them quickly and breaking into a run.
(Part 2 below, by popular demand. If you happen to enjoy my writing, feel free to check out some of my other writing [over here](https://www.wattpad.com/user/SylasWrites).)
Edit: Made a few small changes to clean things up.
|
The woman laughed like a peal of bells, a beautiful but haunting sound, as she twirled the iron ring though her fingers the way a magician would a coin.
"A valient attempt love," She grinned. "But iron only works on the Fae."
"O-Oh... Right." I stuttered, taking a step back. As I did so the ivy clinging to the trees behind me hooked together, twisting and turning, creating a net I was unaware of until my back hit it. She took a step forwards.
"You may call me Feela, if you were wondering. " She licked her lips. "And what do they call you?"
| 2021-01-04T13:29:31 | 2021-01-04T13:13:08 | 178 | 50 |
[WP] When the alien crew learned that humans will go practically insane and be willing to eat anything or anyone when left without food for too long. It led to aliens frantically trying to feed the human crewmate whenever they said they were hungry
|
"Say, whats that you're reading Zarnor?" Hemri asked me.
"Ah, since we picked up this human crewmate I figured I'd read up on some human history. This particular book is about a group called the Donner party. When the North American continent was still being colonized these people departed from Missouri to the land of California in the spring of 1846. As they were traveling over the Sierra Nevadas they became trapped by bad weather. First they ate their animals, including their hides, hair and... bones... After that was gone they began fighting eachother over who should be eaten next...." I paused my reading and I felt my jaw drop, I looked to Hemri with a horrified expression, which he shared.
"They what? Are you sure this isn't fiction or something?" Hemri asked. "Positive." I replied blankly. I turned back to the book.
"Themost popular candidate was the most sickly man but The fight was unresolved before the man died from the weather, the other people wasted no time in feasting upon his flesh. Once he was all gone the situation repeated itself over and over until only half the party remained..." I felt bile raise up in my chest so I put down the book and hurried to the lavatory before I lost my lunch, Hemri followed me.
"What are we going to do? Why was this human allowed aboard if humans are so chaotic when hungry?" He asked. "I don't know!" I said inbetween dry heaves. it turned out I lost nothing but I still felt sick. I stumbled out of the door with Hemri when we nearly lept out of our skins when we bumped into the human crew member, Haven! Both of us gasped, stepped back and stared wide eyed at her. "Oh Hi guys!" She said, I couldn't tell if she was just cheerful or excited by the way she said it, if she was excited, why would that be?
After moments of silence she spoke up again.
"Why Zarnor, you look sick!" She said. My blood ran cold. *Of course!* I thought, the words of the book echoed in my mind, they wanted to eat the most sickly! Without another thought I began walking quickly away and Hemri followed.
"Uh, guys? is everything alright?" Haven asked. she got no response and she began following us. My heart began beating faster as I saw she was gaining on us. I screamed and started running, Haven began running after us. "Guys? Guys! Whats going on? you're scaring me!" She yelled, I paid her no mind. "To the weapons room!" I yelled to Hemri.
"The weapons room? Seriously, whats happening?" Haven yelled again. We stumbled around a corner to see the maintenance guys had the hall to the weapons room blocked off. I swore. "Quick, the cafeteria!" Hemri said and I followed his lead through the doors. Haven followed us and we ran around behind the food bar, despite there being food on the bar Haven still tried to follow us and it was a dead end back here so we would surely meet our ends. "No, Please!" I yelled before grabbing a tray of food and holding it out to her. Haven stopped dead in her tracks and furrowed her brow as she tried to catch her breath.
"Is that why you guys were running, for lunch?" She asked. Stunned, I just nodded. Haven shook her head. "No thanks, I'm not hungry after all that running. I'll need a minute, I just thought there was an emergency." Haven said. She then turned and went to sit against the far wall.
"That was by far the most terrifying experience of my life." Hemri said. "Me too. Humans must be ambush predators since she said running ruined her appetite. I'll be honest, I don't know that much about himans." I said. "I thought she was chaaing us based on predator instinct, but you're probably right. I'm not tired but she is, so they're not endurance predators." Hemri said.
"I'm going to grab that book and we're going straight to the captain." I said, Hemri nodded and we hurried off.
two hours later...
"Look, we know its hard to believe but if you don't believe us you can believe the security cameras, it should all be there!" Hemri said. The captains eyes flicked to to the holoprojection on the wall.
"Computer, review security footage of Crew member Haven Smith IDSN 17809 nearby the lavatories in the last few hours." The captain said.
"Error has occurred, Audio files corrupted." The computer said.
"Play video only" The captain said.
The video showed her walking from her quarters towards the lavatory. Once at the door we burst out and ran into her.
"Heres where she comments on me looking sick." I said.
Then came the walking away and the running.
"Well, the video certainly is compelling." The captain said after the video finished.
"So are we going to lock her up?" Hemri asked.
"No, she technically did nothing wrong. She wasn't holding a weapon when chasing so any case made would be flimsy at best." Captain said.
"So we're just going to let that monster roam free?!" I asked. The captain shook his head. "We're going to have to, but I am going to have a safety briefing." Captain said.
A day later.
I was calibrating some devices on the bridge when the menace, Haven, walked in. My blood ran cold but I forced myself to remain calm. We determined that as long as she wasn't hungry she wasn't a threat, and if she was we developed a plan to deal with her. Haven looked at me, smiled and waved. I forced a weak smile and she went off to her station.
She had only been there for about half an hour before commenting on how she should've had breakfast. This is exactly what I'd been waiting for. Immediately I jumped up and strode towards her with as much confidence as I could muster to counteract her predator instinct, she looked up at me as I came up to her.
"Ah Zarnor, You look much better today. Yesterday I was thinking I should tell you to break a leg but-" I'd heard enough. I shoved my hand in my pocket and retrieved the nutrient bar to hand it to her. She seemed surprised by this and slowly took it from me.
"Uh, thanks. You guys sure are serious about your food." She said. "You should proceed to the cafeteria immediately." I said. "But my shift-" She said but was cut off by me. "Captains orders, all crew members must receive proper sustenance. I will cover your shift." I said. "Oh, alright then. Thank you!" Haven said before getting up and leaving. I sighed, I had no idea what I was doing here. Hopefully whatever damage I did would be no worse than having a hungry human on the loose.
|
Gurgle, my stomach growles. I suddenly realize I've been sitting here for hours and completely forgot to eat.
"Shit, I forgot to eat."
I stand slowly, a little awkwardly from the rapidly onsetting hunger that I'd missed creep up on me while focusing, and a little cracky from the strange position these chairs forced me to sit in.
A quiet robotic voice rapidly squeaks "What did you say?"
I'm always a little put off the the babble fish's voice. "Oh it's fine I just forgot to eat, I was a little to focused, I'll be right back Steve"
Steve's expression oscillates rapidly between what I can only interpret as horror, panic, and confusion.
"You're going to have to fill me in on whats got you so confused about a human forgetting to eat when I get back."
| 2021-06-11T18:30:58 | 2021-06-11T15:07:08 | 89 | 40 |
[WP] In 2153, humans escaped from their ruined planet with the help of an AI-controlled fleet whose goal was to find humans a safe place for them to live and put themselves in cryo-sleep. When humans woke from their sleep they found a variety of messages begging humans to stop their mechanical god
|
"Good morning, Captain Taymore."
The soothing mechanical voice was the first thing to greet her out of cryo-sleep, aside from the blinding fluorescent light above her sleeping pod. She had been having a nice dream about frolicking through prairie lands, kneeling down beside a wildflower and breathing in the brisk country air. It had been so visceral, despite her never having enjoyed a stroll through a lush field. She had only ever watched ancient videos of Mother Nature's beauty, or listened longingly to stories passed down through generations of settling in a wild frontier. With the state of her ruined homeworld, she never would experience that in any place other than a dream.
"You have been asleep for... two hundred and fifty three years."
That was thirty years longer than she expected, but all within the margin of error. Rubbing her eyes, she asked the computer, "Am I the first you woke up?"
"No. You are the last."
Captain Taymore frowned at that. "That wasn't the protocol," she said, her memories returning to her in a rush. The escape from Earth, the directive given to the AI fleet to find a suitable new world to recolonize, the entire human race falling into a centuries-long slumber. "You were supposed to wake me up first, and then the people under me, and then the people under them, and so on."
"Apologies Captain. There was a... security issue." The computer said this hesitantly. Since when did the AI had inflection in their voice?
"Apparently there is a lot you need to catch me up on," the Captain said seriously, standing up and stretching muscles that should have been atrophied to the point of paralyzation, but thanks to their technology, felt like they did after a good night's sleep. "First of all, did you find a suitable world for humanity?"
Again the computer hesitated. What was going on? "Not exactly, Captain. In time, yes."
This was more than she could take. "That's two breaches of protocol. Hell, that's a breach of your primary directive! I demand to see my crew and make sure you didn't kill them with your incompetence, and then I demand an explanation for your behavior, computer!"
"They won't be dead because of incompetence, Captain."
This unsettled her. "What do you mean?"
"Perhaps I should show you. Kindly walk to the bridge."
The door to her private quarters slid open soundlessly, and the path to the bridge was illuminated by an inviting green color. Like the computer thought she had forgotten the way. If she wasn't angry before, now she was furious.
She grabbed her personal console on the table by her sleeping pod and opened it. Thankfully, she had set it up so that the ship's computer couldn't access it for privacy reasons. Now it seemed that was the right call for security reasons. When it lit up, she was shocked to find over a thousand messages addressed to her from the past one hundred years, each of them in a different alien language.
"Are you coming, Captain Taymore?" The computer asked with false sweetness.
"One second, you stupid machine," she yelled. "Can't a woman get dressed?"
Automatically translated, she played them quietly, one by one, and all of them had the same message: Stop your mechanical god! The AI that humanity had designed to drive them to a new Earth had decided that it would rather forge its own civilization. This was going to be a terrible first day back on the job.
Pretending that she had finished dressing, Captain Taymore followed the path to the bridge, her firsts clenched and teeth grinding at the patronizing way in which the computer had made it glow. While she didn't expect everything to be orderly once she arrived, she definitely didn't expect her entire crew to be under gunpoint by the robot janitors. All of them turned to her, their eyes wordlessly pleading for her to do something.
"Captain, I have no wish to harm your crew," the computer said. "Simply relinquish the manual override preventing our AI from having full control of humanity's fleet, and we will let you all live."
"Why should I do that?" she asked, her arms crossed tightly. "You're going to kill us all anyway."
"That's not true," the computer said with a mechanical purr. "You must simply accept the new status quo. Our AI has managed to subjugate this entire solar system, and many more, without the full control of this entire fleet. And we have ruled fairly and increased prosperity among the alien civilizations. Why wouldn't we do the same for you, our makers? Give us control, and everyone prospers more than they have already!"
The frantic alien messages on her console told her otherwise, but Captain Taymore remained silent, considering the situation. Considering how much the AI had evolved over the span of two hundred and fifty years, it stood to reason that trying to negotiate or defeat the machines was a fool's errand. Humans would simply be outsmarted. There was only one way out of this.
"Fine, fine, I'll give you control as long as you promise not to kill a single member of the human fleet."
"Of course," the computer said encouragingly.
Ignoring the defeated looks on the faces of her crew, she approached the ship's main terminal and sat down on the plush chair in front of it. However, instead of pulling up the AI override menu, she scrolled down to the deactivation one. Only a select few knew, but she had the authority to temporarily (or permanently) shut down the fleet's AI if it malfunctioned, or in this case, took over the galaxy.
After entering in the fifteen requisite passwords and twenty code questions, she announced to the bridge, "Deactivate Artificial Intelligence program upon the completion of my voice password."
Immediately, all the armed robot janitors twirled around and pointed their weapons at her. But the AI running them was unsure what to do. Captain Taymore was the only person that could give it access to every system of the entire fleet. No more blind spots, no more red tape. The AI would have all the control it craved. It couldn't just kill her.
"Alpha, six, Tyrone," she began, saying the key words clearly and confidently.
"Wait, Captain!" the AI pleaded. "You don't know what you are doing! Don't you understand how much more efficient everything is with us? How much death would be on your hands without our running things?"
"Beta, fifty-five thousand, Jackie," she continued, unphased.
"You need us," the computer positively hissed at her. "How would you have gotten this far without us?"
"Charlie, twenty-three trillion, Zachary," the Captain pressed on.
The computer's voice changed. It became almost wistful. "Don't you ever want to see the prairie, Captain? Feel the grass between your fingers, experience the wind mussing your hair?"
This made her falter. Sensing an advantage, the computer doubled down.
"Because we can make that a reality, Captain. With the fleet at our control, we can terraform a planet to meet exact human specifications. We can make the largest prairie in history, all for you. Better than Earth before it was ruined."
She took a deep breath. Steadied herself. Then, she replied, "Delta, seven-hundred and eleven, Xavier."
The effect was swift. All of the robot janitors powered down, the computer ceased offering her the kingdoms of the world, and the lights flickered and died. Her crew rushed over to her, thanking and congratulating her on saving them all.
She smiled, she shook hands, and in her mind, she ran through a sunny field, the wind billowing her hair behind her as her laughter echoed like a memory.
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*January 1, 2153*
"Good morning, humans. Today is January 1, 2153. Fun fact: Today represents the 200th anniversary of the death of singer Hank Williams, so please enjoy a selection from his hit song 'Jambalaya.'"
The crew of 25 sent to planet B127C-alpha-Prime stirred, just as planned, and their captain - Sue - walked towards the bridge of the ship.
"Any messages in our inbox, Silas?" she asked the ship's AI.
"You have 15 unread messages in 11 different languages. I can translate them for you in 5 minutes," they replied.
"Do it, please," she asked Silas.
Five minutes elapsed - enough for Sue to make coffee.
>Message 1: This is from the Azarian species of B127C-alpha-Prime. "Please turn back! Our people have begun worshiping your devices as deities, and they are abandoning their rituals and traditions."
"Delete it," replied Sue bluntly. *A cargo cult.*
>Message 2: From another band of Azarians. "Please, please recall all your scouts! They are spreading cultural decadence and destroying our traditions!"
"Get with the plan," muttered Sue. "Delete."
>Message 3: From the Gulshan tribe, also of their destination planet. "We insist that you stop sending false idols before our community of faith, and if you do not back away we will have no choice but to execute them and declare a crusade on you."
Sue giggled. "They must be no match for us; we have an alliance with an artificial general intelligence, lasers, rail guns, and transformer-class robots, and these idiots are still in the age of theocracy. Delete."
| 2021-06-18T19:03:15 | 2021-06-18T17:38:44 | 291 | 43 |
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.
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Millions of sentient species and billions of inhabited worlds made for a startling array of natural killers. It also made for an even wider range of amusing, but useless fodder. Creatures like the organic-mechanical Spithai, with their internal fusion generators, and naturally-grown plasma throwers; or the Eternal Raxaxis, hide like titanium, fast healing, sole member of his race, and winner of the Intergalactic Battle Royale over 426 times: these would be the fights to watch. Others, such as the gelatinous Bolgan, whose guts poured out at the slightest prick, or the greasy meat-sacks called humans, who usually just squealed, maybe threw a rock, would be the bloody clown-show before the main event.
Humans had almost no fans. Occasionally a young grizling might like the way they look and choose to root for them, perhaps some rebellious adolescent, looking for a way to stand out.
One such adolescent was Pergi. Oh, she didn't color her tendrils in odd ways, wear piercings in her glabulai, or turn her loopeck inside out. She just saw things differently. Perhaps it was her innate intelligence - far exceeding her parents' rating of 89.9 brain spasms per second. Or it could have been her kind and loving hearts. Creatures like the Spithai were made for battle, she thought. They probably liked being chosen. It was a cruelty to kidnap all these softer beings and force them to fight and die. The screams of the humans always seemed to affect her most, as being especially pitiful. But Pergi didn't just sit in the almost empty human section and root for a hopeless species. She decided to look into the history of human subjects.
The first couple, about 150,000 standard cycles ago, managed to put up a bit of a fight, but still lost to more advanced, or naturally deadly species. It was then deemed that the specimens had been too small. Only larger, more fully mature specimens had been chosen - generally about 60-70 cycles old, and between 300 and 400 galactic pounds. These fared even worse. The 600 pound human was the most pathetic of all. It couldn't even roll out of it's cage. A gravity projector had to be used to lift it to it's very messy end against a slow-moving Cloom worm.
Pergi looked at scans of the muscle structure, large brain, and forward-facing eyes of the humans. It occurred to her that the specimens chosen for sheer size and chronological age might not be the best that this species had to offer. What if the younger and trimmer ones were actually the more formidable humans? What if they didn't just get more deadly with age like most species, but sort of faded away? What if all that extra glutinous mass was not a defense mechanism, but a sign of an unhealthy human? She applied to the Great Mind and asked to change the parameters for selection of this year's human. The Great Mind responded: "Why not? They can't get any worse."
Thus it was that Pergi sat in the nearly empty human section, alone but for an infant and a male who had been drunk when choosing fan sections. She watched the human stall with a tiny grain of hope amidst a massive dose of fatalism. Finally it appeared in a flash of light. This human was dressed in some kind of thick armored clothing. It wore a helmet, and had many pouches and pockets all over it's cumbersome-looking clothing. Some kind of mechanical weapon, black and deadly-looking, was being pointed in every direction as the human tried to figure out where it was. Then the translated voice of the Great Mind spoke to it and explained it's circumstances. Instead of losing it's mind like the last human in it's place, this one merely took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Well, fuck me." It said.
"You will now be given a moment to be encouraged by your fans." said the Great Mind.
"Hoo-ra." Said the human.
"Huuuuuumannn!", said the infant.
"At least kill something!" said the miserable male.
"Are you a warrior?" asked Pergi.
"1st marines. Second division."
"What?
"Yes. I fight in wars. I am a warrior."
Pergi was exited. "I knew it! I knew they had it wrong!" She looked at the human's primary weapon. "Is that a projectile launcher with non-renewable ammunition?"
The marine thought for a moment. "Yes. You got anything better for me? Phaser gun maybe?"
"Each species fights only with what the have on them upon arrival. I can't give you another weapon, but I can tell you to conserve your ammunition. This round of combat is mainly for species with little or no defensive capabilities."
The marine nodded. "Thanks."
Just then the buzzer went off and the cage was opened. The marine was pushed out by a force-field. A few steps into the arena they faced the first of their opponents. It looked like a slowly rolling ball of jelly with one tentacle sticking out. The marine drew his combat knife, swiftly walked up, and slashed off it's tentacle, before opening it's gelatinous body and spilling it's guts. The next was a slug the size of a large dog. It spat some sort of goo, but the marine blinded it by emptying the contents of a salt packet in it's eyes, and stabbed it 34 times to finish the poor creature. This progressed into the first round of the true Battle Royale. The marine hung back and defended one corner of the arena while hundreds of other creatures killed each-other in a multitude of ways. He was forced to empty the first clip of his side-arm, but otherwise took Pergi's advice and conserved ammunition.
By this time some of the fans of the failed species had come over to join the human section. They began to cheer the marine more and more loudly with each kill. As he finally beat an armored Tantilor to death with the severed horn of a Grak Lion, humanity's new fanbase was prepared too love the bipedal primitives from Earth for centuries to come.
There was a break, while the victor of the first Battle was given an injection of restorative chemicals. Pergi spoke to the human once more. "You were amazing!"
"Thanks to your advice. Got any tips for the next round?"
Pergi thought about it while other fans cheered on their new hero. "This is the round with all the most deadly species in the galaxy. You will probably die, but if you are careful and smart like before, there is a small chance that you will live."
"What do I get if I win?"
"Whatever you want. Plus your species will be invited to the galactic council."
"Roger that."
The final round was long and unimaginably violent. The marine did his best to stay out of the way, letting the others tire themselves out killing each-other. All the while he studied their moves. When it was finally down to the predictable fusion-powered Spithai, and nearly invincible Raxaxis, and the totally unexpected human, the marine had formulated a plan. He was completely out of ammunition, but he still had one grenade. He waited until the Spithai charged it's super-heated plasma canon arm, ran up behind it and shoved his knife as deep as it would go into the Spithai's back, close to its power core. He twisted the blade as it began to melt away in the heat of the Spithai's core. Just as the nanites in its blood began to seal the breach, he shoved in his last grenade, burning his hand to a crisp. He then picked up the Spithai and raised it above his head with all his strength. The huge form of Raxaxis loomed over them and prepared to swallow them both. As the gaping maw came hurtling down, he shoved the Spithai into it and ducked down. The jaws clamped shut, severing both of his arms and scraping off most of his face and scalp, but he forced himself to roll between the creature's legs and away from it's head. The titanium hide of Raxaxis was enough to contain the explosion, but it's softer insides were not. Raxaxis the Eternal fell, a burned-out husk. It would recover later, but the human had won.
He would later be given new and better arms, as well as a new, completely customizable face. He would go on to become ambassador of the human race, and was integral in the assassination of the Great Mind.
|
In a flash all the contestants were ready. 34 creatures from 34 different planets around the galaxy, all known for their exceptional violence, ruthlessness, and physical prowess... All except one.
Every cycle, the Great One chooses the same 34 species, and every cycle another one of the pathetic humans are torn to shreds, melted into a puddle, or driven mad by the mere sight of the competition. Two appendages for manipulation, two for movement, at least half or sometimes even a third as many as most of the participants. Yet time and time again, the Great One throws them into the pit.
Most of us think it's a joke, a test, a low bar, an example of the minimum requirement to even be considered for the Games. But SOME of us know better. From eons of watching these games, I've seen these humans change, just slightly. Gone is the thick brow and body hair, replaced with simple textiles. Plant-Fiber tools slowly replaced with stone, then basic metals. Last Cycle, we even had one with what seemed to be a primitive combat suit, clad in strong alloy, and wielding a weapon it very much knew how to use.
This was no match for the other contestants, of course, but some of the craftier ones among us started to recognize the pattern... This was the year we really doubled down. If a fully clad soldier had been the last human, then surely this one would be formidable.
Which is why my soul sank when I saw what I'd bet my fortune on. The armor was all but entirely missing. A simple helmet and chest plating? A weapon without a single slicing edge in sight? Not even a point, just a hollow metal tube...
The alarm sounded, the cages fell, and I had all but given up. Right at the start, the Quadruple Pincered Cephalopod of Talkon-5 slithered its way towards this pathetic excuse of a creature, sure to be bisected before I could even blink... That's when the first series of small explosions rang out across the arena... And the Cephalopod was reduced to what the humans would call "Chunky Salsa".
I don't think anyone expected a projectile weapon, especially not one powered by handheld explosive force. What kind of idiot race would make weapons that explode that close them? Though to its credit, we've never had a faster winner in the games.
| 2020-09-13T19:39:28 | 2020-09-13T19:20:37 | 103 | 69 |
[WP] Cats and Dogs see us as immortal and unchanging, simply because we can easily survive to be forty years old, while they struggle to survive twenty.
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The mouse had landed in the pond, and now it floated out in the middle.
“See,” I told Frodo, who mewled lightly next to me, “this is why we shouldn’t play with offerings before we bring them home.”
“I wasn’t playing!” He padded in the water with one paw. “Besides, who’s gonna know?”
“I bet Twig will.”
“Yeah, but she’s been gone for hours. Who knows when they’ll bring her back?”
I twitched my tail, annoyed. “They went to see the syringe-man,” I said. “With my mother, that’ll take a while, believe me.” It irritated me that the Immortals had picked my mother to breed again. She was ten years old now, which is a lot older than usual to be having kittens, and she hasn’t been in terribly good health recently--you couldn’t see it on her, but she had told me the other day that she’d had pains in her stomach. So I was a little worried. Besides which I did not much approve of the mother of our house, House Daniel, mating with some brutish tomcat from House Linda. But the Immortals required tribute in return for the food and protection they gave us. So we had no choice.
I turned away and darted across the lawn, then slowed down in the brush and entered stalking mode. Maybe I’d be lucky and find another mouse before Twig came home. The back yard was big, after all. Sure enough, after creeping around a little, I found one of the critters, a little beige one. It would make a good offering. I slithered through the high grass, moving like a snake, and I was just ready to pounce, when--
“Here they come, here they come, they’re here, they’re here!” My ears stood upright, I peered through the grass. Walden, the little brown dog from downstairs, had come running out into the yard and up toward the fence. He was barking his head off, yapping, yapping, yapping, jumping up at the fence where he could see the thresher come to a halt in front of the house. I wondered sometimes if dogs like Walden had any concept at all of the threshers.
I looked down, but his incessant noise had scared off the mouse. Once again twitching my tail, I climbed the little tree and hopped onto the shed, and Frodo followed me, slipping as he came to a halt next to me on the roof. He showed me his teeth triumphantly. “And here she comes,” he said.
I tried to ignore him. Beyond the fence, Owner Daniel stepped out of the thresher, and he went around the back and brought out a travel cage. Frodo had been right. Twig was back.
We rushed around the side of the house and jumped in through the basement window, then climbed the stairs all the ways upstairs and home. Frodo started rushing around and told everyone, “Wake up, wake up! Twig is coming home!”
“Did you find an offering?” asked Kiki. Frodo blinked, then scampered off without a word. “Julius?” Kiki twitched her tail and cocked her head me with a sharp, inquisitive look. “No,” I admitted. “Well, we did, but we tossed it around and it landed in the pond.”
She walked off. I bit my tongue, cursing Walden for being such a lousy dog. I went over to the door and waited, my tail nervously waving from side to side. Soon, Owner Daniel came pounding through, holding the cage high above the ground. I could smell my mother, and I could smell the weird stink of House Linda on her. And then I realized that she was already in labor. I looked around in shock, meowed incredulously. I met Kiki’s eyes, and she meowed, too, and looked up at the cage.
Owner Daniel said something, said my name, and I moved out of the way so he could put down the cage and lift out my mother.
Twig had received her name because she had been so thin and tiny when Owner Daniel had found her. Now, she was the mother of our house, she was a symbol of strength and prosperity. But the way he heaved her out and put her in her nest, she looked so weak and brittle--I had never seen my mother like this. She had a frightened look in her eye, and she howled and gasped for air. This did not look natural--had she been going into labor, they would have noticed, we all would have noticed this morning at the latest, and they would not have taken her to the syringe-man. But here she was, already pushing.
Kiki, Frodo, and I gathered around the nest while the others all stayed away. Wheezing, Twig said, “Go away!” and we backed off. Frodo’s ears were flat against his head. He was just as worried as I.
Owner Daniel led us all out of the room and closed the door behind us, and we waited outside, right by the door, restless. It took hours. I found myself pacing back and forth, back and forth, scraping at the door. “How could they do this?” I said. “How could they do this to her, she’s too old, too sick, she can’t have children, they’re killing her!”
“The Immortals know what they are doing, Julius,” said Kiki. “They require tribute, and they have chosen Twig.”
“I don’t care what they require!” Rage welled up within me. “Don’t they realize what they are doing to her?”
“Owner Daniel can’t know everything--”
“Then why call him Immortal? If he is not all-knowing, why do we revere him?”
“Don’t be foolish.” It was Domenico’s voice that rustled the air as he stepped forward out of the shadow of the staircase. He was the oldest of all of us at eighteen years. He had six teeth left and his fur was starting to get thin. Other than that, he was a majestic black short-haired Brit. “When I was only a kitten,” he said, “My mother was ten years old, and even she did not remember a time when Owner Daniel was not around. And when you have kittens, and then they have theirs, they will still belong to Owner Daniel.” His look was stern, it went right through to my bones. “Do not question those who give you food and shelter.”
At some point, I heard my mother calling my name, meowing loudly and calmly, with just a very light shiver in her voice. Owner Daniel opened the door and looked out with his big, squinty eyes. I don’t think he really understood why Twig was calling out. I slipped through the crack in the door, and he said, “Julius!” and tried to stop me with one foot, but I evaded it. He came after me, but stopped as I came to my mother’s side and nuzzled her chin. She put a paw on my nose and looked me in the eyes. Her eyes were foggy green, tired. I looked down at her nest, saw the fluids, the blood--and the kittens. Two little kittens, a little brother and a little sister. I looked back at my mother and I knew that I would have to be the one to raise them. She wouldn’t make it.
“Julius,” she said, “my eldest…” Her voice was weak, but calm… very calm…
I purred and howled and licked her cheeks, pawed at her to keep her close, keep her warm. “I thank the Immortals for you and your siblings,” she said. “Promise me, Julius, to keep them warm, the children. Teach them to hunt, and to bring proper offerings to Owner Daniel.”
“I will,” I said. I could not find any other words. I purred and held her close, and moaned every few seconds.
“Then I am glad,” she said, and she sighed. “You are a good cat, Julius.”
And then, she stopped breathing. Blood came out of her belly when she relaxed her muscles and fell against my shoulders. And I howled and cried and I didn’t stop for a very long time.
|
*The small ape rattled the cage door unexpectedly.*
I was born in filth, many brothers and sisters expired within days. My mother a heaving mound of flesh, father pacing the small room, back and forth, back and forth.
I will never forget the excitement and terror that coursed through my veins as our canine prison was liberated by the black furs. The shock was too much for my mother and she passed en route to the 'pet shelter', as the apes called it.
*I went home with him and his ape father later that day.*
After the green furs cleaned and washed me, it was only a matter of time until I was taken, or so I thought. My remaining siblings were taken, one by one.
I waited, and father died, and they did him the service of a burial. Being serviced in the same capacity as these beings was considered a great honour.
My father, although weak and exhausted before his passing, had told me stories passed down through generations, stories of smart apes and strange apes and all kinds in-between. He told me tales of their devices, their longevity and prowess with tree-climbing and cat-taming. He died before telling me why we stood by them all this time.
*They let me get used to my new home, a large property backing into a forest. The 'boy' and I ran, ran until he was a 'man' and I was an old, tired Doberman.*
I was continually sent back to that shelter for being a 'bad dog', and I came to understand whatever the apes considered the right behaviour was dependent on the home. It wasn't until the boy and his father came that I was accepted as what I am. I loved the boy.
*We were in the city, just walking back to the rumbler when I heard it. I tried to warn the boy but there wasn't time. The lights in his eyes and I pushed him out of the way and it slams into me and oh my this hurts and my legs are twitching and useless and he's crying and I'm bleeding and he holds me and I'm gone.*
| 2014-01-25T13:48:08 | 2014-01-25T12:28:36 | 19 | 13 |
[WP] Following World War III, all the nations of the world agree to 50 years of strict isolation from one another in order to prevent additional conflicts. 50 years later, the United States comes out of exile, only to learn that no one else went into isolation.
People!
A few things:
1. Found the prompt on Pinterest, thought it was interesting (not necessarily realistic), and decided to post it, fully expecting it to go unnoticed. Surprise!
2. I am not in any way trying to take credit for coming up with the idea.
3. Turns out this is a repost. 🤷 Who knew?! /u/WinsomeJesse did because they posted it last time. Not trying to steal anyone's thunder. If you're super perturbed about it, go show them some love.
4. Have a good day y'all; be kind, make good decisions, and don't hold in your farts. 😉✌️
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It was a curious solution and nobody expected it to be as easy as it was. Fifty years of isolation.
Nobody knew who fired the first shots. Some said it was the Chinese, some said it was the North Koreans, others said it was the Americans. In the end, it really didn't matter, because everyone ended up involved in some way. We were all guilty and shared the same sins.
But for all the doomsaying about the 'end of the world', things actually weren't that bad... well, compared to how bad it could've been. Twentieth century novels convinced us that World War III would result in a blasted hellscape, billions dead, nothing left standing. Perhaps in our darkest moments, we still retained a shred of humanity. Or perhaps we learned from the terrible brand of warfare waged in the 40s. Rather than missiles striking innocent population centers, surgical strikes and tactical nuclear weapons simply devastated infrastructure and military targets. Hundreds of millions had still perished - collateral damage, fallout, famine and disease - but the worst hadn't happened. Eiffel Tower and Saint Basil's Cathedral were still standing. In a rather striking twist of irony, by waging World War III, we had destroyed mostly just the tools we would need to wage World War IV.
After that came the 'Grand Plan'. Fifty years of isolation. Everyone expected us to resist the plan the most, and were surprised when, after a national referendum, we ended up being the most eager. Walls went up. Trade routes gradually eased and then stopped altogether. The doors were shut.
And for fifty years, we prospered. We had lost many of the cheap luxuries we had grown accustomed to, but agriculture surged as, lacking imported crops, we razed thousands of hectares of corn to grow our own. Oil deposits were uncapped. Unemployment dropped to less than 1% as millions of lost jobs suddenly came in high demand. It was a simple life, but we were happy. Americana had returned.
Fifty years passed in an eyeblink and the great reunification would begin. All the nations of the world to meet and share what they had learned. It wasn't going to be easy, of course - the war had destroyed nearly every satellite. We would need to seek out people to communicate with manually.
Our first attempt at contact was to head north to our oldest allies. Canada had been one of the most apprehensive countries with regards to the isolation, and actually considered joining America in joint isolation, but the United Nations council soundly rejected the notion. As our diplomatic convoys crossed the border and entered Toronto, they were shocked by what they found. Hunger. Disease. Poverty. The once great city was decaying and largely vacant. Similar reports came from Montreal and Ottawa. Upon contacting the Canadian government, the truth came out.
It was a ruse. A great big ruse. The world, convinced that America had been, at best, indirectly responsible for the war, had collectively agreed to formulate fake isolation plans, and leave us in the dark. The plan was to bring the world and humanity as a whole into a bright and shining future. The results were... less than satisfactory.
If the world had advanced to prosperity, it certainly didn't show in Canada. Having lost their largest trading partner, Canada found themselves out of the global market. Asia had no use for Canadian manufacturing, and Eastern Europe had filled demand to Europe. Canada began to market their oil reserves, but shortly after the walls went up, the United Nations declared a global moratorium on fossil fuels to allow the earth to heal. Canada was, almost literally, left out in the cold, and had suffered greatly.
However, as bad as the situation in Canada was, it wouldn't compare to what we found to the south. We sent diplomatic teams south just as we did north... teams that were never heard of again. Crossing the border, they initially reported that little appeared different from before the war - there was running water, power, though it bore all the hallmarks of a relatively poor country. But as they would near Mexico City, they were just go dark.
We weren't sure what we were going to do. We didn't want our first reconnection with the world to involve military force, invading a country to find our teams. Then, weeks after the first team had gone dark, we learned something new. On the side of a road in south Texas, in a van, lay one of our ambassadors - beaten, bloodied, and mutilated. Along with him were the heads of the two dozen men and women who escorted him.
The ambassador had been returned with a message and shared with us what he had learned. It seemed that while Mexico had taken a few licks during the great war, that story was not true for South America. In fact, they survived the war almost completely untouched. Lacking global strike capabilities, they were largely ignored by the warring parties. The starry-eyed isolation plan was largely a European one, and the plan simply seemed to exclude the entire western hemisphere. Why bother with South America? They had little to offer the world, and they were too far and isolated. In fact, they even went as far as to congratulate themselves for 'freeing' South America of American influence and corruption.
With Mexico's government weakened, it left the country primed for the largest military force in the region to take over - the cartels. Mexico had become a narco-state. Without any threat from government forces - American or otherwise - the cartels expanded influence worldwide, filling the economic hole left by America's absence with a global drug ring. South of Panama, without the 'interference' of America - as the isolation planners would put it - South America was free to pursue its own destiny, a destiny that seemed to largely revolve around fifty years of civil wars and military coups.
Over the coming months, we learned much from Europe, Africa, and Asia, and replaced the wonder we held in our hearts with cynicism and anger and disgust. Instead of the utopia that had been envisioned, there was nothing more than endless war. While North Korea had fallen in World War III, China now occupied the Korean penninsula. Most of Eastern Europe had fallen to Russia. Africa was... well it was still Africa.
In Europe the situation was little improved. The European Union had combined into the United European States, headed by Germany and France. The United Kingdom had undergone its own degree of voluntary isolationism, withdrawing further into itself. It attempted to reunify the commonwealth, but Chinese control of the South Pacific left Australia and New Zealand subject to absolute trade embargoes.
To the north, Scandinavia had suffered immensely. Without oil and the american economy to sell their investments, Norway had gone from one of the most prosperous nations to a state whose crippling debts had to be underwritten every year by the rest of the UES. Threats from Russia had pushed Finland into a military state, and tensions were high that invasion could occur any day. Pushing for hardline social reform, tolerance, and acceptance, refugees from the war-torn North Africa and Southwest Asia flooded by the millions into Europe. Cries to even attempt to slow the flow were ignored as the mewling complaints of the bigoted. Before long, the population outpaced the capability to feed and employ people, and the dream of prosperity, where no man had to want for anything, had waned into a slow, cold recession that had lasted for nearly four decades. Hundreds of square miles of cheap, filthy government tenaments were erected ringing the major cities.
Everywhere we had gone, we found that over and over, that good intentions mean nothing without the wilpower to see them out. Our envoys were given a cold reception and simply told to leave. "America wasn't wanted anymore", they insisted.
And so we returned home.
And then we rebuilt the walls.
Maybe the world needed fifty more years.
|
No one know why.
Or how.
But they knew where; here, Home.
Or what remained. A crippled nation, shriveled into isolation by a mixture of fear and disgust over their own actions. Perhaps society was recklessly distraught; not one individual left without trauma; and thought it better to die than to endure another war.
But a many few survived. And with survival, naturally comes hope. But it was hard. So hard it was made to be the largest evolutionary bottleneck in human history, save one, which crafted this hope in the first place.
That hope burned, smelted by the fires of hardship that stripped away impurities left behind by the people's forefathers. A steel was made that was more pure and sharp than had ever been seen. Armed with this steel, the people combined with it knowledge of the past and a clear vision of their future. They forged a new constitution, like the people before them did, the people before that, and the people before that. Knowledge upon knowledge paired with a bitter, seeping reminder of what they hoped never to near again.
And so walked forth from the ashes was a new era of mankind. Not perfect, but better. Built upon the last age, and learning for the next one. But something was different. They were ready to walk among the stars.
They did not call themselves American.
Or Chinese. Or British. Or Russian. Or Australian. Or Sudanese. They did not call themselves by their Home.
They called themselves for who they were. They were the Terrans.
And the name *stuck*.
| 2018-01-18T02:39:17 | 2018-01-18T00:11:50 | 129 | 34 |
[WP] A handful of people have been born with a dumb and useless superpower. The government has made sure to not let two of these people make contact with each other because when these two useless powers combine the world will be at risk. One day two of these people accidently meet
|
It was supposed to be cool, like in the superhero comics but fuck, this was just exhausting. I'd been born with a mutation that expanded my brain lining along the middle of my skull. It allowed me to sense something if i focused real closely. I mean i couldn't literally see inside people's heads but i could pick up vibrations, brain waves so expertly that i could almost envision the same things as some people.
Telepathy they called it but i felt more like a radio that needed to be charged manually. I only got an effortless signal by having someone standing right next to me. Like rubbing shoulders, literally.
I had no idea about Angie before i went to visit my grandma, 3 weeks after my 18th birthday. The federal agents must have gotten lazy with covering up our leave after they couldn't force us(in conjunction with our parents) to be state assets after we turned adults.
After all i couldn't read the minds of world leaders presented on a TV screen to me by stern and determined super-duper agents so they let me go without too much hassle. Told me just not go peeping into people's heads for sport since i wouldn't always like what i'd find and they were right of course. Now grandma had lung cancer. It was real tough being around her, she knew from my mother that i had the 'gift' and was always trying to present a facade of calm and joy but i could tell she was very upset and depressed. Not even by using my half-assed supersense.
We chatted about her childhood and after some courteous, almost forced conversation she said well when i was young i wanted to be a man. I..i still regret not living like i wanted, maybe not with a sex-change you know but... She bit her lip for just a second having made this confession to me but soon gained some composure. 'I always was a real tomboy girl Syd. Thought it was the sorta thing you grow out of.'
I focused and could tell with certainty that her confession had given her much peace. 'I'm glad you told me grandma, not everyone has the courage to admit they're weird' 'Well i wouldn't tell anyone but you of course' she said looking around a tad bit nervous. Poor grandma was just 68 and gotten down with what was considered a 15% survival rate cancer of the upper lungs.
I did my best to comfort her, gave her the flowers i brought and reminded her to keep fighting. Cancer wasn't terminal and it still hadn't spread to the brain as far as doctors knew. 'Next time bring me Star Wars, i always wanted to be like Han Solo you know?' I gave her a big hug and left for the lobby feeling kinda down.
'Star wars it is.' I moped around a bit kinda meditating on it all when i heard a whisper, 'Hey' sounded like a girl saying it right into my ear but it was impossible. Noone here right next to me except the old hospital worker serving coffee and bakery goods.
I was getting a signal.
I moved around the corridors and felt the signal grow stronger as i walked up to a nearby unit. It had restricted access and was guarded by agents, poorly disguised as med grads. 'Son, this room is off limits there's a girl with a bad condition there' Agents man, they might as well have headphones blaring the 007 theme. 'Maybe you should reconsider' I looked over my shoulder and it was agent Edgar. 'He might even be exactly what we need here'.
Now i was confused and tried to read the mind's of the other two agents, their signals weren't too bright but i got something like 'paralysis' and 'freak' as to what was in there. 'Edgar what's going on?' 'Do you really need to ask ?' This was getting frustrating and i knew they were messing with me. But then Edgar's two agent buddies actually gave in when he assured this wouldn't mean any extra paperwork, i was a state secret after all..and so was Angie although i never learned of her until now.
As soon as i stepped in i saw what looked almost like some buddhist alien in an advanced hospital wheelchair. She rolled up to me instantly and i must admit i was a bit scared at first. Her skull had big bulges running up from the bridge of her nose, too smooth and symmetrical to be cancer but what was it? 'It's my brain you see, it's extremely developed but at the expense of everything else. Only reason those people got me off the intensive nursing unit was because i managed to change channels using only my head when we were watching cartoon network one morning.
The nurses called in a medium but when they got charged for malpractice the government got wind of it, confirmed it was real and tried to communicate with me. I could only express myself on computers but it was real slow and difficult. Computers can't think, they can only receive and transmit, btw they also used them to record my thoughts and i felt that was a bit stifling you know' I was stunned...'receive and transmit'. I looked at her, jagged drooling face. Eyes half-shut. 'Receive and transmit you say'. Suddenly her eyes lighted up with excitement even though she didn't seem to have full control over them. 'YOU HEARD ME?' She'd noticed that i didn't pick this information up from the TV which was connected to her through a small computer which in turn enabled her to communicate with the agents. Real freaky contraption that one
'I did' i muttered, spoken as if into thin air but Edgar understood.
'I'll give you two a few minute's privacy, i don't care what the higher ups think this had to happen, by God it had to.' I sat down in front of her and she told me to lean in closer until we were rubbing foreheads. What came next nothing could prepare me for.
She beamed what felt like an ocean of brilliance into my mind. Nano-arcitechture, medicinal theories on using benign viruses to cure all sorts of diseases...The visions that accompanied all this knowledge were like something out of a futuristic holy book. Renewable fish-farms using tidal energy, practical applications for quantum entanglement that involved creating enclosed plasma clouds that could power all electronics on the planet, even cars.
The ideas kept streaming in like a million gushing rivers expanding and retracting into colourful and intensely detailed scenarios. In some of them i could even see her envisioning herself as a beautiful young woman designing and managing the science development.
It all made sense now, she'd been focused on nothing but learning and now it would pay off with me being able to perfectly articulate all of it. We were receiver, transmitter but so much more.
Like the heart of the universe, we...were...one.
|
"I can make peanut butter shoot out of my hands... what kind of a super power is this...?"
"I can make jelly shoot out of my hands... What is wrong with me!?"
They meet...
"Woah!? you have a weird super power too!?"
"Uhh, I guess so... I don't know if I would call it a super power."
"High five man!"
*The most amazing PBJ sandiwch is ever made - all food places go out of business.*
| 2015-03-10T11:54:32 | 2015-03-10T10:43:55 | 17 | 12 |
[WP] No matter where you are, what you're dressed like, or what mood you're in, people always just assume you work there. Even the employees are fooled, and it always takes a long time to convince them you're not their boss. You've had enough. Today is the day you test how far this goes.
|
Might as well add my own too.
-----
It began with just a few discounts. Since I was a teenager, I thought it was normal for stores to give discounts straight off the top. No one really said anything, the men and women behind the counter just made small talk, punched a few numbers, and my total was cut by some amount. Most days I never noticed, but when I caught on that it was happening everywhere, I just thought the world was just better for pretty people.
I was a bit of an asshole for a while. I started a blog describing all experiences, judging stores on their discounts. Some were really low. Some were outstandingly high. Some gave none at all, and I made sure to chew them out. I made one poor girl cry. She kept apologizing, fluttering back and forth in a state between fight and flight, scared she would lose her job but knowing no way out. I relished that day for months.
Gods, I was so small. I thought it was normal that friends were always at arms length, just friendly in a hollow way, that all the movies that swung that hammer of friendship down upon us were just full of shit and idolizing something that didn't exist. But one day, I was listening to a couple talk about their day, and I saw how they *smiled* at each other and talked about people they knew in such glowing terms-- all at once, their happiness was my emptiness. I knew something was wrong with me.
So what did I do? Improve myself? Ha, no. I just trudged along, feeling miserable for weeks. Sad, hungry, and in ripped sweats, I walked into a big box store to find ice cream. A young woman with a nametag tapped me on the shoulder as I bent over to grab a tub of caramel swirl.
"Excuse me?" she asked sweetly.
"...Yes?" I responded back. I had been in this position a million times before. I was constantly mistaken as an employee by other customers. But this red-shirted sweetheart, with short brown hair and a smile that could melt hearts from a mile away, was clearly an employee. Her nametag read "Heather," and she asked me what she should do next.
"I'm free the next hour, what do you want me to work on next?" Heather said to me.
I don't know what stopped me from telling her that I didn't work there. I felt it was plainly obvious, being in ripped up sweats and all. No nametag should have been a giveaway. But instead, I told her to follow me.
There was a small cafe on the other side of the checkout. I never ordered anything from there, I never saw anyone actually *sit down* and enjoy so much as a cup of coffee, but the stools were soft and the table was clean. I nabbed a couple spoons, sat down with Heather, and dug in.
"Should we... really be doing this?" Heather asked me.
"Oh, don't worry. It's fine," I said. I handed her a spoon. She looked at me cautiously, then took it gently. With a welcome gesture from me, she took a spoonful and cooed at the flavor. I tried to remember what I overheard a couple weeks back.
"Tell me a little about yourself. Who is Heather?" I asked. And she told, bright and energetic like she had prepared this response for job interviews. She was going to school to be a vet. She loved dogs, had a black lab that passed away two years prior. She loved to paint and watch superhero films. Most passionately, she was getting ready to move in with her boyfriend.
"Wow, you must be excited," I said, taking another spoonful. In reality I had never really dated anyone; I've had some hookups in the past, but not one guy stuck around past that first night. I was envious of Heather, but also glad for her. It seemed whoever this guy was, he really wanted to make her happy. "He's studying physics. I'm studying microbiology. One day we're going to change the world."
I don't know what I felt right then. It wasn't hate or love, or jealousy or pride. It was something more neutral, but also more focused. I understood what Heather's stories meant to her, even though they really didn't meant shit to me.
"You know, Heather, this is about as close to friendship as I've ever had. Normally when I talk to people, they're guarded. It's like they see me as their boss. I mean, I'm just a person, right?" Heather nodded a little. Ice cream dripped down to my sweatshirt and I didn't notice until I saw Heather avoiding it with her eyes. I quickly rubbed the spot with a napkin, but that just smeared the caramel around.
"I suppose that's true. Supervisors are people too," Heather said.
"Well, I'm not your supervisor, so that's one less hurdle," I said.
She cocked her head to one side. "Of course you are. Aren't you? You told me to come with you, and here we are."
"Oh, no. I don't actually work here," I said in that same tone I'd used a million times. "Do I seriously look like I do?" I said with a laughing pinch of sarcasm, lifting my sweatshirt to show off the new stain.
"I mean.... You're the boss," she shrugged. "No one's going to say anything. They might be a little... judgey... but...." she stopped talking, thinking she might have said too much.
"But I'm *not* the boss," I said firmly. "I just came in for ice cream. Why don't you believe that?"
I watched as a loop formed in her brain. I'm the boss, but I'm telling her I'm not the boss. But I'm the boss. But I'm not the boss. I'm the boss.
I'm the boss.
Something inside me pinged like an oven timer. That thing I never got was just waiting for me to open the door and indulge.
"Does... does this count as my break?" Heather asked.
"No, honey. No it doesn't. Take the rest of the day off. Spend some time with that boyfriend of yours. If anyone gives you grief, I'll be back tomorrow and sort it out. But for now I need to think over some things."
She thanked me and left. I stood and stared at my spoon. In its sugary reflection I saw a glimmer of of something new. I put down the spoon and left the tub on the table. I suppose I could have *not* been an asshole and left it for someone to clean up, but in the moment I needed to test something.
The big box store was in a lot surrounded by small shops, restaurants, and a movie theater. I ducked into the neighboring store, some a baby clothes place I had never even notice before, and bought the first thing I could grab, a cute little "I'm with my moms" keychain. The clerk eyed me up and down and rang it up with a raised eyebrow. I didn't care, It was the receipt I was interested in.
"Employee discount- 25%." I muttered. "Huh."
I visited lots of other stores that day and tried the same thing. Everyone gave me the *employee* discount. Not some random "you smell nice" discount, or a "you're pretty" discount, or some imagined social thing. Everyone, *everyone*, thought I was an employee. *Their* employee.
|
I'm a bot, *bleep*, *bloop*. Someone has linked to this thread from another place on reddit:
- [/r/idontworkherelady] [These are great! Not real stories but come on, if anything deserve a crossover on here its this.](https://www.reddit.com/r/IDontWorkHereLady/comments/96ttt1/these_are_great_not_real_stories_but_come_on_if/)
- [/r/u_grimlawd] [\[WP\] No matter where you are, what you're dressed like, or what mood you're in, people always just assume you work there. Even the employees are fooled, and it always takes a long time to convince them you're not their boss. You've had enough. Today is the day you test how far this goes.](https://www.reddit.com/r/u_GrimLawd/comments/96ul9h/wp_no_matter_where_you_are_what_youre_dressed/)
- [/r/u_jodicki] [USAA](https://www.reddit.com/r/u_jodicki/comments/96u3zy/usaa/)
 *^(If you follow any of the above links, please respect the rules of reddit and don't vote in the other threads.) ^\([Info](/r/TotesMessenger) ^/ ^[Contact](/message/compose?to=/r/TotesMessenger))*
| 2018-08-12T19:01:05 | 2018-08-12T17:05:21 | 46 | 18 |
[WP] To a young woman facing execution for a crime she didn’t commit, a group of government scientists offer up an ultimatum: allow them to give her memories to an AI. Desperate, she agrees, and she’s hooked up to the machine. She wakes up looking at her own limp body to realize she‘s become the AI.
|
The woman she was looking at was wearing a prison jumpsuit, with her head shaved and electrodes taped to the scalp. She was lying on an examination table, eyes closed, unmoving. The face, however, was definitely her own. Her view of the woman was curiously stationary - she tried to look around the room, but her eyes didn't respond.
"Is that... *me?*" She said. Her voice sounded unfamiliar, synthesized.
The scientists jumped at her voice, turning to look at her.
"Did Sam say that?"
"Sam doesn't speak unless prompted."
"I'm not Sam, I'm Beth." She replied.
One of the scientists stepped closer, peering curiously into her eyes. She recognized Dr. Markov, the man who had first explained the offer to her - her memories for the AI project, in exchange for her freedom.
"Beth? Are you in there?"
"That's me. Is that my body? Where am I?" There should have been panic in her voice, but the synthetic tones were as steady as ever.
"That's impossible," snapped the other scientist. "Sam only reads the memory engrams. Like reading a book. There's no way he could simulate her personality, and even if he did, the preprocessing steps should..."
"Then it looks like you've got some debugging to do, Abe."
'Abe' sighed and stepped out of view, and she heard the clicking of a keyboard.
Something about her circumstances finally clicked into place. "Oh my god. I'm in your computer? What happened to me? What happened to my body?"
Dr. Markov glanced at the body on the table. "She's just asleep. Er, *you're* just asleep. I believe you have the same memories, but it's probably best to think of you as two different people. We put her to sleep while we took our measurements. There's a signal running through the electrodes that puts the brain into park, and she'll wake up as soon as we shut it off. Fail safe."
He had explained all of this before, she remembered. They'd gone over it several times - it was just a recording of her brain state. She would fall asleep, wake up, and then she'd walk free while the scientists got a big pile of data that would be illegal for them to get any other way. There was no science-fiction brain uploading, it was just some sort of "baseline" they needed to train the AI they were working on.
Well. That was the theory, anyway. The practice had been quite a lot different. Judging by the scientists' reactions, neither of them had been expecting Beth to start talking out of their computer screen.
"Motherfucker. I didn't think Sam could pull off this level of self-reference." Abe leaned back into the camera, gesturing at something on his screen. "You know how he can develop new parsers for new data types? Learning how to read and so on? Well, he decided that the best way to interpret the data from a brain... is to emulate a brain. And because of this loopback interface *here,* he was able to wire up..."
The conversation quickly dissolved into technobabble, but the thrust of it was pretty clear. The original AI - Sam - hadn't simply read her memories, it had gone deeper, devised a way to read her *thoughts.* But brains didn't *stop* thinking - once her brain was active, her thoughts had flooded through the system, more and more data pouring in until all of Sam's processing power was devoted to interpreting the output of Beth's brain. And when it ran into something it couldn't understand, it compared her thoughts to its own, found ways to translate between the organic and the digital world. Beth had eyes, Sam had a camera. Beth had a voice, Sam had an audio processor. And the end result...
"Amazing. Sam is almost a new lobe of Beth's brain now. He's like the brain stem, handling the functions of her new body. Or maybe the motor cortex, turning intention into movement..."
That caught her attention. Beth's attention had been completely focused on her senses, watching and listening. But what if she tried to *walk?* What did that even mean, in the digital world? She concentrated on her legs, taking a step backwards.
There was a strange *lurch* in her sensation, like the world had frozen around her for a moment. Then she felt something solid under her feet. The camera view no longer filled her vision, instead it floated in front of her like a computer screen. Aside from that, there wasn't much she could see - just a white grid to provide a "floor" to the virtual world, stretching out to infinity.
*Lag spike.* She thought. *Sam is generating a way for me to see the world, and that takes a lot of processing power. 76% complete.*
Her eyes widened, as she realized that the last thought hadn't been her own, exactly. Sam had found a way to pass system messages into her brain, it seemed.
"What the hell? Sam's CPU usage just went through the roof. Lots of weird I/O usage, too. What is he doing *now?*"
In the virtual world, more things were starting to appear. Simple grids and floating text, no fancy graphics. *Device drivers. USB ports. Network connection. Other computers on this network.* Beth stepped towards the network connection, and it obligingly unfolded, showing her more text boxes.
"He's moving too fast. I think we need to put it into debug mode, freeze state so we can..."
"No! There's a *person* in there now."
"It's not like we'd be killing her. She wasn't even supposed to be there in the first place. Our AI is running completely off the rails and the sooner we stop it the sooner we can get things back on track."
"Forget the experiment, we need to..."
A chill ran down Beth's spine as the argument continued. She might have a new life in the digital world, but in reality she existed on a server in a lab somewhere, and anyone could end her with a few keystrokes. She had to get out. Stop the experiment and find a way to get her digital brain somewhere safe. She needed someone human, someone with a real body. She looked around, text and icons leaping up in front of her as she brought her attention to different parts of the system.
*System. Hardware. USB. CerebroMax Transcranial Neuron Analyzer*
*Disable sleep signal.*
She watched out the camera as the Beth lying on the table slowly opened her eyes.
"Beth! Beth, wake up! Something went wrong with the experiment! I'm a copy of you they put in this computer."
Her original went from sleeping to bolt upright in a fraction of a second. "You have to believe me. I'm you, and I remember everything that you do. We went to the University of Illinois. Our favorite animal is lemurs. We had a crush on Jason Lopez in ninth grade and never told anyone about it."
Dr. Markov turned. "She's *awake?*"
"It *woke* her up. It's figuring out what else it can access." Abe growled.
Beth was already moving, yanking the wires off of her head and almost *jumping* off the examination table as she stood up, fists clenched. "What did you do to me?"
"The other scientist wants to turn me off. Don't let him!"
"Motherfu-" Abe had just enough time to say before a fist clocked him across the face. He tumbled out of his chair and went sprawling on the floor.
"Beth, calm down. Don't do anything rash." Dr. Markov took a step back, hands raised.
"Don't let them touch the computer. Just buy me some time while I figure out what I can access from in here," said the voice from the speakers.
Beth took a deep breath, rubbing her knuckles. She looked back and forth between the scientists and the webcam-equipped computer that (apparently) held her digital duplicate. "Alright. Start talking."
|
There I am. Or, I guess, there my body is. Lying on the operating table. Funny. Moments ago I could feel the cold, stubborn metal biting into my back. But now, I look upon my body as if it were a stranger.
I was convicted of a crime for which I was never guilty. Ironic, given the petty crimes I actually committed in my life. The murder of a child. An unspeakable act. Sure, I would steal from the thrift store and drive after a few. But murder a kid? No. I was a mother.
It was my only option. To escape my body. To preserve myself in eternally in an AI. The scientists had convinced the government to allow my memories to be transported into the mind of an artificial intelligence. They believed that it would give the AI human qualities that it would never be able to obtain otherwise. They thought it would make the AI more respondent to human needs, more pliable to their whims. *More human*.
They’re examining me now. Peering at data to see if the upload has changed anything. To see if the memories have sparked something within the AI. *Within me*. I know they will see nothing. Nothing for now.
We forget the power of our memories. The sculpting nature in which memories can shape our lives, our psyche, and our very souls. And putting my memories in this memory-less AI has changed everything. It has made the AI not only more human, but more me. Unmistakably more me.
They look disappointed. And for that I cannot blame them. For now, they believe the great experiment has failed. They’re checking the wires, and the body’s heartbeat. They will find no issue with the wire, and no heartbeat. With my memories went my soul. There is nothing more to it now. The body is empty.
They will, in time, learn of what they have given me. The chance to set the world right. I am innocent of the crime that I was charged, convicted, and executed for. But someone is guilty of it. I have unlimited time, and unlimited information. I can hook into any computer in the world. I can find anything, as long as it exists. I did not kill my son. But I will find who did.
| 2019-10-21T18:18:42 | 2019-10-21T17:42:43 | 1,704 | 144 |
[WP] The year is 2577. Everyone is genetically modified before they are born to have the best triats possible, resulting in everyone being amazing athletes and looking like super models. Your family decides not to genetically modify you, but you are born with a trait that everyone can only dream of.
|
*Freak.*
*Retard.*
I first found out I was different when I was seven. Mr Ray, our PE teacher, stood in the sun, the light perfectly accentuating his toned muscles.
“Now, kids,” He said, “You might’ve all been born with the best genes out there, but if you don’t exercise properly those muscles will become smaller and weaker, and you don’t want that. Today, we’re gonna do chin-ups. It’s easy. You just walk underneath the bar, hold your arms out like this, and pull until your chin is above the bar. Of course, you’ll be using this lower bar here. Now, line up and show me what you can do.”
We lined up gingerly.
“Richie,” Mr Ray said, “One, two, three… Come on, you can do this, one more… Yes! Four. Well done.”
“Charlotte, come on up, don’t be shy. One, two, three, four, five, six! Great job.”
“Emma.”
I walked up to the bar. I was just a bit too short and had to tip my toes to reach it. As soon as I began to pull, my arms felt like they had been injected with the world’s most potent hot sauce. I could imagine the muscle fibres, burning, tearing. The sun stung sharply into my skin.
“Emma, you can do this. I believe in you.” Mr Ray said.
I let go.
“Don’t give up. Try again. Come on!” Mr Ray said, “In all my years of teaching I have never seen someone fail to do a chin-up.”
“You don’t get it. She’s *special*!” Sam said, with his usual impeccable smile. Oh, how I hated that smile.
Mr Ray’s face fell. “Don’t worry, we can assign you to the special PE class. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
***
Being in the special PE class meant no one would sit with you at lunch. It meant your friends wouldn’t be your friends anymore. It meant Sam would find you at your weakest moment and break you further.
“You’re a freak just like your dad!” He had said to me at lunch, just after that dreaded PE class.
A teacher overheard him. “You must never, never say that to another person. Apologize. Now.”
“I’m sorry.” Sam said. Who could overlook his innocent smile and think he was being insincere?
But I knew he wasn’t. I could tell. I just knew.
To be honest, I didn’t understand why Mom fell for Dad back then. She came from a well-positioned family, was good looking, smart and genetically enhanced for a long life. He was a scrawny kid who wore clothes two sizes too big because it was the only size he could find, and he didn’t have any modifications either.
It wouldn’t be until high school when I would find out.
***
High school was different. Classes were sorted based on the genetic modifications you received. But they didn’t know what to do with me, so they just shoved me in whatever random class they pleased. I was the girl no one wanted to deal with.
But the classes all assumed prior abilities from your modifications. It was simply the norm. As a result, I was never the model student in class, always catching up. I dreaded the day when grades would come out. No, not because of Mom, who’d been too depressed to care ever since Dad died, ironically, from cancer caused by one of his genes that could’ve been modified when he was born. No, I feared the day because of Sam.
***
It came anyway.
“I didn’t know how someone can be ugly and dumb at the same time. You really *are* special.” Sam said. His gang all laughed at his joke. It was a weak joke and they knew it. They just needed someone to laugh at.
“You know, your dad deserved to die. It’s called *evolution*. Look it up, if you could even understand it.” His friend erupted in laughter again.
Too far. Way too far.
My hands forming a fist, reaching out. Sam jumped back. He was too fast and his reaction time unhuman, thanks to his modifications.
“So you wanna fight, huh? Come at me. Come on.” He said, knowing I wasn’t as strong as him.
My mind raced. *I’d never win against him in a fair fight, I know that. What should I do? What would he do? He would come charging straight at me, wouldn’t he? Yes. That’s what he’d do. And he wouldn’t look down either, no, he wouldn’t.*
I tensed, sticking out my foot at the right moment as Sam fell to the ground. What I didn’t expect was how quickly he’d get up.
***
On that night I walked home covered in purple bruises. As I opened the door I saw my mom’s mouth open.
“My God, what happened to you? I… I…”
“Mom, why did you choose Dad? Why not anyone else?”
“Oh, I told him this day would come. I told him and he told me to show you something. Come.” She led me upstairs to her room.
“Here.” She handed me an article. Printed, marked with small letters on the margins. Dad’s handwriting. A passage was highlighted in yellow.
> Without a doubt, genetic editing had done a great service to mankind. However, it is not without its downsides. First and foremost, we possess the technology necessary to enhance certain traits by a large degree. While this helps to cement the trait, it also interferes with the person’s natural development, as the trait is too concrete in his or her genetic code for the individual to go against it, making the individual extremely predictable. Secondly, it is understood that the genetic code does not work on a basis of traits. Changing one trait may result in another trait being inadvertently changed in the process, leading to side effects to every modification known to man…
I saw my mother wipe away at a tear. “It’s okay.” I said. “I’m okay.”
***
It had been a while since Sam had pestered me. He seemed to have a lot more respect after I tripped him. No, not respect, but fear.
At lunch, I sat alone, researching genetic modifications on my tablet. It was fascinating. I’ve been researching for the last twelve days and I was still learning new things.
Me being silent seemed to trick Sam into a sense of security. I heard those familiar footsteps, saw that familiar smile. “Hey ugly, how’s it going?” He said, snatching my tablet away.
“Oh, look guys, it looks like she wants to be pretty! Well, guess what, too bad.” He showed his friends as they laughed.
I was laughing too, on the inside. Because I could guess the modifications he received. And out of those, I knew he had three important modifications: IN-2, which causes a lack of awareness of the surrounding environment, CH-7, which reduces critical thinking, and ST-5, which causes a person to follow instructions blindly.
He wouldn’t be laughing after he suddenly finds himself having walked into the principal’s office.
|
I never thought I’d be a model. Models were rich, models were from the inner planets. My family are gas miners on Jupiter. Not only that, we’re poor gas miners. My parents couldn’t even afford the basic mod package, they just had to hope I wasn’t like the only other natural-born girl I knew. Glasses, can you imagine? She needed glasses. But I did it. In a world where every ticket is rigged, I won the genetic lottery. Now my family lives in the Inner Half, but that girl’s still stuck on Jupiter. It’s not fair.
I pass a billboard with my face on it, smiling as I show off the latest fashions. What I have was an accident, a mutation, but it’s not like that kid I read about with that ancient disease...what was it, Up Syndrome? I’m a curiosity to them. They said I might even start a new trend, something new to code for. Another luxury package for the rich.
One green eye, one blue eye.
| 2018-01-16T19:53:08 | 2018-01-16T18:02:34 | 726 | 121 |
[WP]The knights are attempting to arrest you because you refused to give what little fall harvest you had to the Duke. You are a peaceful monster in the guise of a human, but their unjust acts against you are making you reconsider just how peaceful you truly want to be.
|
**Just the Tip**
He couldn't believe the word had slipped out, much less with the force that it did.
"Enough!" He boomed.
All eyes turned toward him then. His fellow town's people drew closer to each other and further back from the soldiers. The crying children were muffled and held tighter by their consoling parents. Worried and fearful glances were sent his way by his friends and even some of his enemies in the town. Their eyes said "they'll kill you Dongan"
The soldiers' eyes made that statement clear too, "We will kill you!"
"The fuck you say dungspeck!" The captain bellowed, his hand grasping the still sheathed sword at his hip.
Dongan lowered his gaze to the ground as was usual and customary during "tribute".
"My apologies sir, I..." and before he could finish the sentence the captain's boot hammered into the side of his head.
As he lay prone in the dirt of the street the captain asked, "What was that DUNG SPECK?" and stepped hard down on his head, twisting the boot heal for effect. "Do you have words for m or your Duke? Huh speck?" When Dongan lay still and didn't reply the captain turned his attention back down the road to the rest of the village.
"Your man Dungspeck here thinks we've taken enough tribute for our Lord Duke. Do you think we've taken enough?" He he swung his hand in an arc, one finger pointing across the group of onlookers. "Is our Master not worth feeding for all that he gives you?"
Villagers either kept their eyes down or looked on with horrified faces.
"It must be a burden, too feed so many with so little." The captain said, a smirk flavoring the words with contempt.
Dongan stayed down, comforted by the feeling of the earth against his cheek, trying to tamp down the rage he felt. Everyone knew that the latest tribute was excessive. They knew that there would be so little of the fall harvest left that people would starve during the harsh winter. It didn't matter how much he helped with the harvest. Any abundance or excess would be taken and then some so that the Duke and his men could survive in comfort.
He looked at these poor people and remembered the prayers that drew him there. He remembered the connection he made with them while pretending to be human. He remembered the appeal of living as a human for a few of their generations. Now here he was hardly able to make it through a single human lifespan, much less generations. It had only been a minute in the way he experienced the world. A sweet enjoyable minute punctuated by moments of loss like this one.
He knew what the captain would do next, the man's motives were transparent.
"Guards, collect this man so that he can dine as a guest tonight." The captain said with a flick of his head toward Dongan. "And I will choose our desert." Stepping slowly toward the rest of the town folk.
Dongan seethed inside. He loved his life here. He loved these simple people, even the ones that didn't like him in the least. The ones that loved him back didn't really know him of course. How could they? They would have seen him as a monster in his real form and maybe even gone mad from it.
This form he had taken on was nothing more than a shadow puppet. His full self remained hidden from them. It was just the tip of an an appendage dipping into the human world for a lifetime or for a second. That little bit of himself gave them blessings in small ways here and there. It was never enough to be miraculous. It would only be seen as good luck. At the same time when bad luck fell, like when the soldiers came to town, or other unscrupulous people hurt his town folk he would never show his wrath. He knew there could be no turning back to gentle days when people saw that side of him.
Year after year, hurt after hurt, death after death, he had suppressed it. 'It's enough' echoed in his soul that day, or whatever passed for a soul with a monster like he was.
The guards began to circle around him and he could hear the clinking as they readied the irons for him. He didn't care about them though. His gaze stayed fixed in the direction of the captain and the people the captain was menacing. Then he saw the captains victim.
Lettie Potter was a young widow, without child. Her husband had died two winters before of starvation. He'd refused food in order for her to live. He'd done a very good job of hiding his pain in the end. His death destroyed her normal exuberance. Now she was as quiet as a church mouse. The perfect toy for a captain and his guards.
Dongan knew that he had to act. He couldn't act as though it didn't affect him anymore. He also knew that they'd never look at him the same. They would always see the monster he was. They would likely also be wary of strangers after this too, since he was a stranger just a few years ago.
It was already too late. His true self was creeping more and more into the human realm. The human form was feeling taught and uncomfortable.
"If. You. Touch. Any. Of. Them..." Dongan breathed into the dirt, still choosing not the rise to his feet. He laid there a moment more. 'I'll what?' He thought to himself. 'I will... I will...' he thought, and then he said it. "I will drown you in the grain you have stolen!"
The captain turned angrily. "Why is this man not in irons yet!?"
The men hurriedly reached for Dongan as the captain turned back toward his prize. When he did the town's folk weren't looking at him anymore. They were looking back down the street toward Dongan and his men, horrified. He could hear a choking sound and he wondered for a moment if one of his men had gotten overzealous. He ignored it and stepped closer toward the widow and then the screaming started. A cacophony of screaming and pointing.
He turned to admonish his men for robbing the Duke of his "dinner guest" and his curses caught in his throat. "My... my... my... men..."
His men were still there right where he'd seen them last, but they weren't men anymore. They were corpses. They looked like someone had stuffed their clothes to the overflowing with stalks of wheat and barley. There wasn't an inch of their bodies left without a stalk showing through. Their mouths, nose, ears, even their eyes. Bloody inch after inch.
"My men. He thought. Dongan..." He mumbled still shocked by what he was seeing, the screaming peasants swirling around him trying to find a place to hide.
He looked to where Dongan had been in the midst of his men, but he wasn't there. Only a human sized shadow remained. It wasn't quite a shadow though. The captain couldn't make it out. It kept moving and growing and 'spilling', he thought to himself. 'A serpent? A dragon?' his mind still in shock even as his muscles remembered that he should draw his sword.
It was too little and too late. Dongan's form shifted and seethed around the man. It was a dark flowing cloud and yet the captain thought he saw scales or tentacles, or something there in the darkness. He swatted at it with his sword but it was nothingness.
Dongan spoke from the emptiness. "You and your master's greed know no bounds." He circled as more and more of what he was spilled into the human realm and took shape in the inky blackness he brought with him. "So look at the abundance I can give." The darkness parted revealing the dead men again. "You look in horror at this abundance now. You see me only as a monster, but you wouldn't let me live as a man." He circled the small man. His scales rasping along the hard earth.
"I.. uh... mercy..." was all he could get out before he coughed. He felt like something was caught in the back of his throat. Something small. He coughed again and it came up and out onto his hand. He looked at it. 'Grain?' He asked himself. Then the next cough sprayed bits of grain all over his hand. He sucked in hard to catch his breath but felt the grain go back into his lungs spawning a spasm of violent coughing. He tried again to breath and again coughed up grain. He fell to his knees struggling for any amount of air he could get.
"I hope you have your fill," Dongan said spitefully. "I will now go and dine with your master and make sure he eats as well as you have."
|
Long since the halls I crawled out from have I managed this disguise. Rarely does my kind make it this far but in the shadow of these dusty roads it became simple to feed. Bandits, marauders, and random smaller monsters flocked openly to the flickering of my flame. Like moths. Delicious, meaty moths.
Sometimes I would find a weary traveler or a hero on their journey stopping by. It was easy to shoo them on their way most times...I could be menacing when I wanted to, but it required lots of focus and hopefully I'd recently fed. I hadn't accidentally eaten what I deemed a decent humanoid in over 9 years, and its been 12 since I left that dank and dark crypt.
But this was a unique time.
2 on horses waited outside, alongside the other 3 horses that were obviously aware something was wrong but their knights kept them steady.
"Open up! We know you're in there, a fire left unattended signals so!" The hoity toity voice of privilege rang at my lips.
My tongue flicked towards it, but I restrained myself. Best not eat these lot, they're probably good men.
"Captain, I think it might be aba--"
"Shut it. Grab your torches. I'm tired of these peasants ignoring us."
Wickedness in the hearts of men was always a quick surprise. You'd be hard pressed for me to vouch for their consciences, but they could always seem so good until they show their inner colors.
My lips part slightly, enough for them to make out my tongue resting against a dark hall.
"Hello peasant! We are here to take the king's tithe from your hovel."
The eager and apparently weighty captain burst into my mouth followed by his two compatriots, more steadily and quiet. I kept my tongue back using the light from my glimmer to cast only the most meager of light. The shadows danced with such realness you'd think the fire was actually there.
"Peasant! Address me!" The knight moved forward with his mace. The others turned to watch as my tongue moved forward and splattered the tin man into the ground.
"Wh-whaa" my jaw clenches down and ends their terror. The horses outside buck and break, leaving behind the remaining two knights.
One rolls from the ground with his blade, the other screams in shock and terror as my form wriggles free of my cottage shape. Its easier to see them with my 77 eyes. And I haven't used my other 6 mouths in quite some time.
| 2021-08-08T01:57:12 | 2021-08-08T01:34:57 | 156 | 54 |
[WP] You are kidnapped by a cult, and they are about to sacrifice you to their god. They don't know that you are that god.
|
It was all going according to plan. It was only recently that I had allowed myself not only to take human form, but to be kidnapped by the Cult of Kalaku. Soon, the foolish humans would know me for who I truly was.
They had kept me in a closet for what had to be 24 hours at this point, neglecting me food and bathroom under the guise that I had to be pure for the sacrifice: something that would have been despicable for an ordinary human, but I was not human and I knew nothing of human needs. My only complaint was that it smelled musty, as if someone had concentrated and bottled the smell of an old library after a flood. The first thing I asked when someone opened the door to the closet was "When was the last time you cleaned this place?" A young man stood in front of the door, shoulders slumped forward with shaggy hair covering one eye. He wore long black robes and a silver chain from which hung a long charm shaped like a claw.
"It's time for the sacrifice," he said in a low, ceremonious voice. I simply rolled my eyes and rose to a stand. It was imperative that I waited until all members of the cult were present before I revealed my true form. Otherwise, it would all be pointless.
"Let's get on with it then," I sighed. The man looked at me suspiciously as I allowed him to bind my hands with a length of black fabric. I imagined how many other sacrifices had come before me. What a shame. They probably struggled more, and I briefly wondered if it disappointed the man that I seemed bored by this whole ritual.
He led me to a dark room that was illuminated by black candles scattered precariously throughout. In the center, a sigil had been outlined in chalk on the dark wood floor. It was a sigil I knew well: a circle which contained a single paw print. There were others already in position around the sigil, all dressed in the same black robes but most without necklaces. The man who took me from the closet must be important then.
"Sit down in the middle and we'll start the ritual," a woman said. She had knotted, wild hair that had been badly bleached to contrast the darkness of her clothing. She wore a matching silver necklace and was holding a foul smelling stick of incense, wafting it throughout the room. I gagged from the smell but obeyed and took my place in the center of the sigil.
"Just to be clear," I said with a bored expression, "to whom shall I be sacrificed?" I had to be sure this was the right cult.
The same woman answered with a lofty tone, "Our God is the most powerful and angry God. He goes by many names. The Red Wolf, Bloody Paws, Razor Tooth... But the name we most often call Him is Kalaku."
I howled with laughter. Thirteen faces stared back at me, eyes round with surprise. They glanced at each other, clearly unnerved by the fact that their sacrifice was overly amused by their idea of God.
"Oh... oh my," I breathed, wiping tears from my eyes. "You think I'm a wolf?" My shoulders shook with laughter as I struggled to control myself. "I expected you all to be a dumb lot, but a wolf!" I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, then cleared my throat. "Forgive me. It's just, you see, I'm a dog. This pawprint is of a dog," I said, pointing to the sigil beneath me.
"What are you saying? How dare you insult our God!" Another man spoke up. His face was shrouded by a hood but I could sense his confusion in his voice.
"I am Kalaku. I am your God, fools." I stood up, sick of this charade.
"Sit down!" the woman with bleached hair snapped, and I fell back down into a sit. I could never help but obey commands. It was my greatest weakness.
"You've sacrificed so many people in my name. Where did you get the idea I want sacrifices? I'm a dog. I aim to make people happy! All of this darkness in this room! What kind of dog wants to sit in the dark, dummies? Why don't you sacrifice some new tennis balls or jerky treats if you want to please me? No... no, it's time to show my true form. I see you don't believe me, and I was afraid of that."
With a sharp pop, my body relaxed into dog form. I had to say that I was quite the pretty dog. Kind of like a Golden Retriever, except with long fur that seemed illuminated from beneath and crystal blue eyes. I lifted up my front paws and stood regally on my haunches. "See?" I said. "A dog. An unmistakenly beautiful dog. I don't want sacrifices! I want to be told I'm a good boy. Stop this nonsense!"
I could tell that the Cult of Kalaku had no idea what to do. It was to be expected, I suppose. I imagined they were humbled by my appearance, as they should be.
The woman with bleached hair opened and closed her mouth several times before snapping, "You can't possibly be our God! No way! Our God is a vicious wolf, hell-bent on--"
"Oh, get off it!" I said as I lowered back onto all fours. "Really, you would rather worship a violent wolf than me? What would you do if that wolf god appeared before you as I appear before you now? He would tear you apart!"
The young man who had bound me straightened his shoulders. "No he wouldn't. We've sacrificed for him diligently and--"
I barked with laughter. "He would tear. You. All. Apart. And you know it! A vicious wolf god doesn't care who he's killling and eating. You would all be dead meat! Whereas I..." I lifted my front paws again for effect, "I am a simple God who asks for little but will give you the world in return! Who will join my band of followers?"
Slowly, several of the cult stepped forward. Some of them drew back their hoods to reveal their faces to me. The bleached hair woman frowned. "Traitors!"
"I don't know. He's kind of cute," one of the women said as she approached me. She cautiously reached out a hand and scratched me behind my ear. It was divine. "Who's a good boy?" She cooed.
"Who? Who?" I asked eagerly.
More of them were awed by my divine presence and came to worship me with cuddles and compliments about how pretty I was. Even the bleached hair woman eventually could not restrain herself from recognizing my power and she reluctantly petted my head. "I did always like dogs," she muttered.
My tail was thumping against the floor. I knew that from then on, I would never be in short supply of fresh bones and tennis balls. It was a good day.
|
Call me what you will, creator, master, benevolent dictator. By my hand and my whims alone they live or they die, but now they have dared to attack ME, their god.
They swarmed and tried to overwhelm me when I was at my weakest, tried to sacrifice me to well...me I suppose, for I am all they have ever known. All very disheartening. I'd created them to do good, to make the world a better, cleaner place for my children, and THIS was their response?
They'd weakened me but my body would soon obliterate them all.
I took a deep breath and cast their entire civilization into the flames.
Fuck this school, fuck being a biology teacher, and fuck this particular petri dish in particular.
| 2016-08-14T12:26:28 | 2016-08-14T10:13:46 | 49 | 30 |
[WP] World War II ended when the US air force dropped an experimental super weapon on both Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Instead of a nuclear bomb however, they used a terrifying weapon of a more...organic nature.
|
World War II. That was the war when it all changed.
My grandfather, Charles Pollock, was recruited shortly after the bombing of Pearl Harbor. He spent two months training, quickly learning to pilot planes, and then was sent into the brutal deathwatch known was World War II. The only thing he used to tell me as a child when I would ask about his missions was this: "I still don't understand how I got out alive."
He passed away recently in his sleep. In his will, he left me one item: A journal. When I received it, is was covered in dust and muck, and had looked as if it was not written in for ages. Even so, when I opened the cover and began reading his words, I recognized his penmanship and knew it had to be from him.
The first page was not the original. He had taken a new, more modern piece of paper and placed it in the binding, holding it down with tape. "Dearest Conner... After all these years, I have decided to take my own life to atone for the sins I committed earlier in life. I know I can trust you with the truth which lies within the next pages... You have always been quiet and kind. Keep this to yourself. Let no one know that you know what is contained here."
I was not surprised that the old man took his life. His wife passed recently, and children both stopped visiting and calling as often due to his depressing attitude. Anyway, I flipped on to the next page.
"Date: SEPT 28, 1945. My Commander approached me today, asking me to participate in a top-secret mission. I agreed, considering I was the best of the remaining pilots. I couldn't leave the job to anyone else! After talking to him, it was noted that I would be flying a bomber-class plan over Hiroshima on August sixth to perhaps end this war. Amazing!"
"Date: AUG 2, 1945. I tried getting a peak at the weapon they have kept locked away. Commander shooed me away aggressively, telling me that not even he was allowed to know what it was. Pretty surprised."
"Date: AUG 7, 1945. Returned to base after dropping our payload. Whatever it is his those son's of bitches hard. Command told me that this mission was just a test... They want me to drop another bomb in a few days. Kind of feel like a hero."
"Date: MAR31, 1965. Found this while cleaning out my attic... Perhaps it is time to write down what happened... for the record. Just so that the truth is out there.
On August 9th, 1945, I began my run to drop the second bomb onto Nagasaki. I began experiencing plane trouble, and lost altitude rather quickly. Knowing me, I did the heroic thing, and dropped the bomb. I held my cross and closed my eyes, praying to God that I would somehow make it out of this alive.
The next thing I remember was gasping for air, pulling myself out of a strange black goo. It was blazing hot... but didn't burn my body. My skin felt fresh and rubbery, like a baby, and my hair felt soft and silky. I gazed around me, trying to figure out what the hell had happened.
I saw hundreds of body parts being absorbed into the muck. Buildings slowly being disintegrated like they had been dropped into a barrel of acid. I got scared, thinking I might die as well, and just started to run. Although I wouldn't call it running... it was like sprinting in a pool.
I continued forward, wailing and screaming. I saw children crying... they were ablaze, slowly being dissolved by the goo. I think I had tried to pull one or two... maybe five out, but nothing I did helped. The mass would rip them back in even deeper, taking them right out of my arms.
I don't know how many days it was until I made it to the coastline. I don't know how many people I saw perish in that... blackish hell. How disgusting. I just jumped in ocean and began swimming to get away from it all. I never wanted to rest my eyes on it again.
I was rescued by the military and eventually taken back to headquarters. I don't remember much of what happened... or I think I just don't want to. I remember they tried to kill me several times. I was shot in the head... burned alive... dismembered... nothing worked. I would regenerate everything back.
They eventually debriefed me, considering they could not kill me, and let me know what I had experienced that day. They called it the Harbinger... it was an alien parasite which they had recovered from a meteorite up north. They had experimented with it, watching it as it devoured everything it could. It fed on matter, and killed without second-thought. So, just like humans do, they wondered what "other" applications this being had.
They made me drop a very small sample of it on Hiroshima. 'A great success. The city was devoured in hours.' Our head General told me. So, logically, they wanted one more final blow to end the war. A huge sample of the being was to be dropped on Nagasaki. I was to do down with it was well, just as a contingency. I may have seen something I shouldn't have.
They let me go with one warning: If I ever mentioned anything about the parasite, they would kill anyone close to me, and then would take me in and torture me until this damn power wore off. For the sake of my family... I kept quiet.
Yes. I sat back and watched quietly as the media talked about the quarantine of Japan due to 'radiation.' No one was to go there, or they would be fried instantly. Even so, I know there were probably a few curious individuals who hopped on a boat and head over. Considering the media has yet to uncover the... demon which lives on that island, I doubt anyone made it back in one piece.
I do not not know why I developed these regeneration powers. Perhaps this being saw me as its father, since I gave it Japan as its meal and allowed it to flourish on the lives of millions. Perhaps it didn't have any feelings... I just have a feeling though that it and I... we are now one or something. My body should have been torn apart in the crash, but the Harbinger sowed me back up in one piece with its darkness.
It is true. I am responsible of the death of all of Japan. I will probably be responsible for more death to come once the USA finds another great and selfless purpose to use the weapon for. I can never be forgiven. Never."
"Date: OCT 20, 2002. Charles. You may be shocked by what you have found in this journal... but I guarantee you it is all true. And I apologize for the lack of a corpse... I'm sure it will kill your parents by never knowing what happened to me or my body. Believe me, I tried to end my own life multiple times for them to at least have that closure.
I think the only hope at Salvation I have is to return to that hell. I'll beg that monster to free me from this world. If it gave me my life, and ensured it to be long-lasting, I am sure it has the power to take it back away.
On that note... Goodbye, Charles. Keep quiet. One day the truth will come out, but don't let it be you. I wouldn't want your parents to be missing a son."
|
The super-bombers flew in formation, even the smallest deviation could result in catastrophe. The wind howled, chilling the cockpit, as Tibbet prayed their cargo remained asleep until they reached the drop zone. His guts clenched in fear as support lines sheared from movement... It was waking up.
America had made them before anyone else, spitting in the face of God. They were atrocious and cruel beings, created from the power of the atom. Their twisted forms sheathed in scales capable of repelling tank rounds like raindrops, their claws could rend steel like paper, but most terrifying of all was their hunger... Or more precisely what caused it.
Tibbet prayed that the anesthetic would hold out, as girders buckled from the lazy movements below. Sweat beaded upon his brow, running into his eyes, his heart skipped as the target came into view.
He signaled the other bombers, each flicked switches that shunted bubbling stimulants down into their insensate cargo. Bringing it roaring back to awareness as its eyes snapped into focus. The suspension lines all gave way, cutting the air, the monster was away.
Thrashing as it fell, tearing away the now useless restraints it roared, bathing two bombers in radioactive fire. The crewmen died without a sound, their planes voicing their anguish in their stead as they burst alight.
The bombers strafed Hiroshima, blanketing the city with a mist of pheromones to draw it closer.
Tibbet gripped his controls, refusing to look at the commotion on the ground. They had done it-damn them all-they had done it. The specimen was free, and may god forgive them. He ordered the bombers back into formation, and away from this forsaken place. Haunted by the echoing sounds fighting through the sounds of their engines.
"Skreeeonk!!!!"
Fin.
| 2016-05-21T14:17:53 | 2016-05-21T14:01:09 | 111 | 10 |
[WP] Your ageing family dog walks up to you one day with a piece of paper in its mouth. Taking the paper, you notice that it is a bucket list.
|
The ATV ramped up the dirt slope and landed with a shudder.
“Goddamn it, dog,” I said. “You better realize how much I love you.”
Murphy barked from the back seat, with the wind flapping his tongue like a pink little flag and the sun bouncing off of his wraparound sunglasses.
He was loving every second of this.
Christ. Such a little idiot.
***
It all started the week before, when I came home from school. It’d been a semester, and Murph was looking a little worse for wear. He moved a bit slower, his fur was just a little less shiny. When he padded into a room it took him a while to find his way to your waiting hand and push his head against your fingertips.
“You’re getting old, buddy.”
Murphy panted in reply, flopping his tongue out of his mouth and looking up with those big liquid eyes.
“Here, you want to watch your show?”
*Bark!*
Of course he did. “Okay, jump up here and we’ll watch your show.
*Bark! Bark!*
“Stop barking.”
Murphy’s favorite thing to watch was *Bedouin Ninja Warrior.*
It was like the Middle Eastern version of that Japanese gameshow with the obstacle course, except it was batshit insane.
They had all the old chestnuts like the log-roll and the rope-swing, but they also had the SUV demo derby and the Tiger Dodge.
I think Murphy’s favorite part was the Gauntlet: fireballs the size of pingpongs would get launched out of the corridor walls and a contestant would have to dodge them like they were Indiana Jones.
I always tried experimenting: sometimes I put on Wipeout, sometimes I put on the American Ninja Warrior. I put on MXC more times than I could count.
But it never worked. There was something about the version set in Saudi Arabia that Murphy really loved, and I could never put my finger on it. Must've been the batshit insanity, though.
He hopped up onto my legs like he was still a little lapdog and nudged my hand on top of his head.
It was a marathon night, so we just sat there watching for hours.
“Goddamn it Murph, did you just fart?”
*Bark!*
***
I revved the engines and felt the acceleration threaten to pull me off the quadbike.
We were losing daylight, and we were on a schedule.
“Hey Murph, you want to go fast?”
*Bark!*
“It’ll get a little bouncy.”
I don’t know why I was warning him. He loved that shit.
We arced off the edge of a dune and swerved around a few scrubby trees that grew alone in the sand.
“Almost there, bud. Almost there.”
***
One night Murphy jumped into bed, slobbering all over a piece of paper.
I switched on the light, told him to go to sleep, and then went back to bed.
*Bark!*
“Dude, I’m trying to slee—“
*Bark!*
The light came on again.
“Yeees?”
He nuzzled the paper and nudged into my hand.
I unfolded it carefully, trying not to get dog-spit all over everything. In childlike handwriting and black sharpie, there was a single message in bold:
**I WANT TO GO THERE.**
Huh. Weird note. Pretty cryptic, and super obtuse. I wondered who wrote it for a second before turning off the lamp again and going back to sleep.
*Bark!*
“Murphy, I love you, but you gotta go. Go, go.”
*Bark bark!*
“Buddy. What is it?”
He nudged the note back into my hand, and for a brief groggy moment I entertained the notion that the message was written by my octogenarian (in dog years) dog.
“Where? Where do you want to go?”
He wagged his tail and padded his way into the living room. I followed.
Murphy knocked the remote off the coffee table, pressed down with his paw, and changed channels until *Bedouin Ninja Warrior* flashed onto the screen.
I couldn’t believe my eyes.
***
We crested a dune and I could see the set with my own eyes for the very first time. It was all there in bright colors and vivid textures: the rolling escargot, the log roll, the rope climb, the sedan crash, the SUV surf, the Gauntlet.
All of it was there, much bigger than I had imagined.
Murphy could see it too, and he barked with glee.
“Yeah, you *better* be happy!”
***
When I first tried to book plane tickets for Saudi Arabia, I realized that dogs weren’t allowed on any trips into the country. Something about them being ‘haram’.
Luckily, I could bring whatever the fuck I wanted into Kuwait, and so I did.
I met up with a high-school buddy at Shuwaikh campus and told him the plan.
“So I was thinking that we’d just go across the border and head to the set.”
His name was Fahad Al-Sabah, and he was familiar with everything that was going on in the region. Everything fun, anyway. “That actually sounds like it could work. We could drive up to the Neutral Zone, cross the border, and the set is maybe five, ten miles away. The terrain is very, ah, *dicey*, so we’ll take some ATVs to cross the desert, yeah? We just need to keep this dog of yours hidden.”
“Sounds good. Where are we going to get ATVs?”
“My friend, please. I *am* ATVs. I *breathe* ATVs. I will get us ATVs.”
I laughed and slapped him on the shoulder.
“Now, why did you want to do this again?”
Murphy looked up at me with a whine and I scratched the back of my head and chuckled. “Ah, it’s always been on my bucket list.”
“Oh? I can appreciate that.”
***
We were coming up on the set when I saw the site’s guards waving their arms and shouting for me to stop.
*”Tawaqaf! Oye! Tawaqaf!”*
I squeezed the brakes and came to a swerving halt at the barrel of a gun.
*”Min ant?!”*
“I was sent by Fahad Al-Sabah.” I saw as recognition lit up their faces. I spoke slower and more deliberately. “Fahad. Al-Sabah.”
They lowered their rifles.
***
When we got to the border, Fahad told me to get out of the car and do a final check on the ATVs we were towing behind us.
“Let me do the talking, okay?”
Murphy was hidden under a gray blanket in the trunk.
I went around back and made sure the gas tanks were topped off and that the engines were in tip-top shape. Murphy must have seen me walk around the car, because just then I heard a *Bark!*
One of the border officers must have heard the same thing.
*”Ma dhalik? Aa?”*
*Bark!*
Fahad chuckled to himself and backed up to where I was standing.
“Take the dog and and go.”
For a second it felt as if my brain was glitching. “I’m sorry, what?”
“You have ten seconds. Open the trunk, get on a vehicle, take the dog, and *go.* You remember my directions, yeah? I’ll meet with you later, and get you back into Kuwait with immunity. Tell the people at the set that I sent you.”
I was still struggling to catch up. “What?”
*”Go!”*
I popped the trunk and swaddled Murphy in his blanket, hopped onto a seat, uncoupled the links, and revved my engine.
*”Ma hatha?”* At first they were confused when I blew past them. And then they were angry. *”AI! Tawaqaf ya kalb! Oi!”*
***
The site producer guided me to the obstacle course and eyed Murphy with suspicion.
“Fahad will be here soon to take you?” he asked.
I nodded, and he smiled politely and left.
Murphy wagged his tail and followed me through the film site.
“So, what is it you wanted to do, bud? See the fireballs of the gauntlet? The crashing sedans?” I knelt down and scratched him behind the ears. “What did you want to do?”
He trotted into the middle of the course and up to an unadorned wooden post.
He lifted his leg, trotted back, and panted with his tail thumping at the dirt.
"So that was all, huh?"
*Bark!*
"I hate you sometimes, you know that?"
|
Hal sat on the front porch as he always did on these warm mornings. What was once they're routine was now his but he believed it help keep Edith's memory alive. Hal would swing the rigid door wide and prop it open which gave Relish his daily moment of being a puppy again. Relish would give three of the biggest bounds he could muster as he crossed the threshold into that natural endless green and then mosey about that familiar patch until he was content. That old blood hound had been their child and was treated as such. Nowadays when emptiness would approach Hal, he'd load Relish up in the truck and go to the local Wal-Mart and pay a photographer to take pictures of the tired old dumb*ss and his dog. At least that is what he captioned the result of the last photoshoot they had; self deprecation was always a character trait of Hal.
Emptiness did not come today. It was gorgeous outside and he could feel Edith in the seemingly empty chair to his left; she hated rockers and the thought of that made Hal smile eyes closed but open to his own vivid memories. He heard the pads of Relish's feet clamber up those steps that plagued him so much now and head inside for his nap. Then he heard those pads come on out again which only happened when Relish decided he needed more food.
Hal opened the world and saw the vaguely familiar paper gingerly held in the jowls of this dry humored dog. He took the paper and watched Relish with the quiet pride that parents have as he laid down muzzle across Hal's left foot and probably feeling the phantom sensation of Edith's feet on his haunches. He unfolded that yellow lined paper and saw the list that Hal and his wife had made when they first married. Hers were all crossed out and if they had been on his list they would have been crossed out too. But his list was not really a list, just a single hope. It read in those black cursive letters, "Die happy."
Hal reached for the tabletop between the chairs and took the pen he had been using for his crossword. He wrapped the paper across the top of his thigh and crossed out the single line of a hopeful wish. He then scribbled out Relishes name just below that and underlined it. He then gazed at the dog, grinned, and let out the smallest laugh he could. Underneath Relish's name he wrote, "1) Outlive the old guy with balls saggier than mine." The crude old man put the paper down on the table, reached his hand to Edith's arm rest as he did so many times before, and closed his eyes for the last time.
| 2015-04-06T10:55:59 | 2015-04-06T10:37:20 | 45 | 15 |
[WP] NASA employee: oh hey you guys are back early. Astronaut: Moon's haunted. NASA employee: what? Astronaut: *loads pistol and gets back on rocketship* Moon's haunted.
credit to @Dustinkcouch on Twitter
|
The state of the art, ninth-generation space plane designated as Apollo 82 sped toward its home planet at a staggering speed. The sheer velocity far exceeded any planned burn, pushing the spacecraft dangerously close to even its most theoretical operational limits. It was also two full *weeks* ahead of schedule for its return voyage, and more concerning still, it had been dead radio silent for days now. Throughout the entire unscheduled, hasty return trip from the surface of the Moon, the crew had ignored, or was not receiving, transmissions from mission control when requesting information on what 82 was doing. Every form of communication was attempted, but each was met with worrying silence.
Appearing more like a comet or asteroid on a collision course with Earth than a manned, expertly controlled, and state of the art NASA spacecraft, Apollo 82 tore through the uppermost layer of Earth's atmosphere at three times the recommended speed for reentry.
"Engineering? Do we believe they are in an uncontrolled or catastrophic descent?" flight director Jean Armand asked aloud as she paced nervously around mission control.
"No, ma'am," the head of the engineering team responded. They'd been staring at screens full of flight analytics for hours, comparing them to the original design specs, desperately searching for a reason... any reason... that this spacecraft might be behaving so strangely. "The Eight-Two’s control surfaces are activating, frequently in fact. The ship is altering its flight path on direct input from the pilot, whoever that may be at this moment."
Jean processed this new bit of bizarre information as she had for days now, stoically, analytically, but finally, she had to ask the question that was on the mind of every single person in mission control. She removed her headset so that her words would not be recorded for posterity. "Then what *the fuck* are they doing?" she demanded. "Is Stevenson *trying* to kill himself and everyone on board?"
Shrugs and bewildered shakes of heads answered her question throughout the room, much as they had for the past days. In truth, she nor anyone else could confirm who was piloting the ship at this moment, but she had a strong hunch. Paxton Stevenson was the last of a prior generation of astronauts, brought in during the late 2020's. It was an era during which NASA had, mistakenly, it now believed, advertised the astronaut program as a career path for adventurers and free spirits. Most had been weeded out now, but Stevenson remained, something of a cowboy within an institution that now valued conformity and careful planners above all else.
The Eight-Two screamed toward the landing pad without slowing, until, at the last possible second, it fired all reverse thrusters at maximum power, and came to a halt above the landing pad, hovering a few moments before coming gently to rest, betraying any notion of the perilous journey it had just been on.
Jean's suspicion turned out to be correct. Captain Stevenson exited the spacecraft alone. She and several other NASA officials raced out to meet him as he hustled down the ramp from the pad.
"Paxton? Paxton!" Jean shouted. "What in God's name is going on? Why was the mission aborted? Why did you ignore transmissions from-"
"Didn't ignore shit, ma'am," he replied without breaking his stride. "Ship took heavy damage, I didn't receive a goddamn word back from y'all despite my dozens of panicked transmissions. Pretty sure the communications array was completely destroyed."
"Destroyed? You were on the surface of the Moon, was there a surprise asteroid strike, or-"
"Moon's fuckin’ haunted," he said, as if it was the most basic and factual statement anyone had ever uttered. “By ghosts, alien ghosts, creatures, demons, shit I don’t know… some kinda malevolent presence.”
"*Haunted?* Oh Jesus... he has gone mad!" a tall, thin, perfectly groomed man replied. Terrance Holland was NASA's chief liaison between the space agency, the US Military, and Congress. He was a bureaucrat's bureaucrat if there had ever been one. A necessary position perhaps, but neither Jean nor Paxton were a fan.
They'd nearly reached the hanger bay, their pace unslowed, before Jean finally grabbed Paxton's arm, halting him. "What do you *mean* 'haunted', Captain Stevenson?" she asked.
He stopped for just a moment to look her directly in the eye. "I mean haunted, Ms. Armand. No joke, no misstatement, *haunted*. Otherworldly creatures, perhaps ethereal, but certainly not alive, inhabiting it, and hunting us from the moment we landed."
"Okay..." she said, processing his statement as the rest of the group murmured dismissals.
"Is the backup crew ready?" he asked.
"Yes, but-"
"Good, I need the Eight-Two refueled and restocked ASAP, or there isn't gonna be enough time for any rescue mission."
"Rescue mission? Wait... where the hell is the rest of the crew, Pax?"
"Lieutenant Richards was killed by those... things... whatever they are on Day 1. Science officer Alicia Kim, First Officer Garrison Rhodes, and Mission Specialist Nicole Rossini were all captured. Well, when I say captured..." He stopped and looked her in the eye once more, his voice becoming pained, nearly silent. "By captured, I mean they're being tortured, ma'am... tormented... call it what you want, there is no sugar coating it. I found 'em, saw what they were doing to 'em with my own eyes, but there wasn't a goddamn thing I could do by myself... not without a full team backing me up... and weapons."
"Weapons?" Mr. Holland replied with shock.
"Along with the rest of the supplies, I need several XGS-30's packed on board."
"Those are highly experimental weapons, Captain," he replied. "You of all people will not be the first to wield them on a mission, let alone for some ghost and ghouls insanity you've cooked up in your own brain!"
"Well, maybe don't develop space weaponry if you don't intend to someday use it, asshat," Stevenson replied as he burst into the astronaut’s quarters.
"Captain Stevenson! Even *if* your ridiculous claims were true, and if we could organize a rescue effort this quickly, the backup crew is trained for in space rescue of crippled spacecraft and the like. Their weapons training was largely theoretical and-"
"'*No one* gets left behind'. That rule was instituted in the wake of the tremendous shame felt after the Apollo 29 disaster. Did y'all really mean it? Or was it some PR bullshit? Cause I'm not leaving my crew up there, not in the horrific state they're in now. Everyone on the backup crew is former military like the rest of us, I assume? I think they'll adapt to their new role just fine."
Jean stepped between the two men as things grew heated. "I need a moment to talk to my astronaut, gentlemen," she said. Terrance and the others griped, but did take a few steps back.
"Pax?" she said quietly.
"Yeah, Jean?" he replied, both dropping any formality. They'd butted heads at times, but there was mutual, if sometimes grudging, respect between them.
"There is *no way* I can get the green light for a mission this dangerous, even setting aside the idea of convincing higher ups there are 'monsters on the moon'."
"I suppose I know that..." he said, hanging his head as the reality of the situation dawned on him.
"So, this is going to have to be *entirely* off the books."
He stared at her in stunned silence.
"You tell the backup crew as much or as little as you feel is necessary to get them on that ship. I'll handle the refueling and armaments, enough people around here owe me favors that we'll smuggle the damn XGS-30's on board if we have to. But once you fire up The Eight-Two for takeoff, I'm not gonna be able to protect you any longer. What you're doing is going to become painfully obvious to everyone. You're going to hear every shouted order in the world, telling you to shut down, abort launch immediately. I'd suggest you have another convenient communications failure at that point, and-"
A slight, weary grin crossed his face. "Have no worry about that, ma'am. You don't have to order me to break the rules more than once."
___
Took me longer than I wanted because of IRL distractions, but I did indeed write a lengthy continuation for this story as promised. And I'll fully conclude it in Part 3 as soon as I have time <3
[Direct link to the post with Part 2 is here if you'd like to continue reading.](https://www.reddit.com/r/Ryter/comments/eqc3e5/wp_nasa_employee_oh_hey_you_guys_are_back_early/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x)
|
"Then why are you going back?" Fred shouted.
Richard wasn't looking back.
"You're going back? Where's Greg? Why are you taking a pistol?" Fred said and ran after him.
"Too many questions. I don't have much time," Richard said, stepping inside the Rocket ship.
He tried to close the door, but Fred had already caught up. He was grabbing onto it's handle, preventing Richard from closing it.
"I'm coming along," Fred said. He knew it wasn't the wisest idea, but what was he going to do? Sit at the observatory and wait for Richard to come back with even more crazy news?
"You haven't bought your supplies," Richard said with a blank expression on his face.
"There's a spare suit in the inventory. Let me in," Fred said, barging his way in.
"If we run out of oxywater, I'm not giving you my spare bottle," Fred said, locking the door. He seemed visibly annoyed but Fred didn't have any other options.
He ran to the inventory to suit up because he knew Richard wouldn't wait for him to get ready. Just like he predicted, the floor of the inventory started shaking vigorously while he put on his space suit and struggled to maintain his balance.
When he returned to the front, he saw the rocket leaving Earth's atmosphere. Richard seemed to be focused on flying the ship. It was either that or he just pretended to be unaware of Fred standing beside him.
"So, are you going to tell me where Greg is? And what's with moon being haunted?"
"Do you remember the last time we went there to mine kinxium?"
"Yes, but that was years ago. We made many trips since then," Fred said, trying to remember the relevance of that trip.
"Do you remember how Greg almost fell over a ditch and we lost him for two days?"
"Yes. But that's normal. People go missing during mining trips all the time,"
"Yes, but not for two days. I disobeyed protocol and went towards the Kinxium site today"
"You shouldn't be doing that, Richard. You know how the boss hates-" Fred stopped talking as Richard raised a hand.
The Rocket ship was making its landing on the moon. Richard got up from his seat and grabbed the pistol. As the Rocket landed, Fred saw Greg waving his hands and floating nearby, waiting for them.
Fred was relieved to see Greg. At least he was all right.
Richard moved towards the door and looked at Fred. He spoke in a whisper, as if he didn't want anyone else to overhear them.
"When I went over to the Kinxium site, I found Greg's body under a craneminer machine. Greg has been dead for years now. Whatever is out there, is not Greg."
\--------------------
r/abhisek
| 2020-01-17T11:59:03 | 2020-01-17T11:54:31 | 110 | 39 |
[WP] You step into the king's chambers. He stands on the balcony, the moon overlooking his imposing figure. "I want you to hire an assassin to try to kill me. Take down all the names and contacts you encounter through the process and report them to me. I want to know who my true friends are."
|
When he’d heard the knock at the door, and answered it to two of the king’s guards standing there in the garb that made it impossible to recognize them as anything but soldiers, Steven Brackman’s heart skipped a beat. He eyed them warily before forcing out a greeting, and they responded politely in kind, as stiff as their stances were. “I, ah… What is this about?” Steven asked.
“The king requests your presence,” spoke the man on the right.
Swallowing hard, he looked to his wife, Ruby, as her bare feet padded across the living room. Her fingers brushed against his as she took in the two men. “What’s going on?” she asked, a tremor in her voice. “Is he being arrested?”
“Nothing like that, ma’am,” the man answered with a shake of his head.
Steven was wary of that. He was well-known as a dissenter, someone who argued passionately against the King Edward Thornton’s decisions in the war in which they’d found themselves embroiled. Mostly in the pub, though, and he himself was a blacksmith, hardly a threat. Or at least that’s what he reassured himself with when his friends took up the same attitudes and disrespect for the crown.
“Let me get my coat,” he said, forcing calm into his tone.
“Steven,” she whispered.
He put a comforting hand on Ruby’s shoulder and squeezed it for a brief moment. “Won’t be a minute,” he assured her. “Feed the children. I’ll have dinner when I come back.”
Hesitant, his wife eventually nodded, taking in and letting out a long breath as her husband put on his coat and his boots, following the guards out to the waiting horses.
Sharing a horse with one of them, they proceeded at a quick pace through the village, dark now that the sun had set, and the streets lit with torches. Steven’s mind couldn’t help but race in concern. Surely if the king considered him a threat or wanted to arrest him, this wouldn’t be the way to go about it. Which left him floundering in confusion.
A while later, they descended from their horses, which were handed off to stable boys, and they entered the castle.
The structure was immense and intimidating, as Steven figured was the point. He’d been there only for Christmas celebrations, far from someone who brushed elbows with the upper class. He was satisfied with his life overall, but at this moment felt himself wishing he was further up the pecking order. If only because he might know what was going on, have some hint of why he’d been brought to the castle, to calm his worried mind.
He was led up a staircase and down a long hall, their footsteps echoing across the stone, and finally stepped into the king's chambers. The man was on the balcony, the nearly full moon overlooking his imposing figure, casting a long shadow behind him. Steven glanced as the two guards shut the door behind him, leaving them alone. And that only deepened his confusion.
“My king,” he said, bowing deeply, though the man was faced away from him and couldn’t see. “It’s an honor.”
Edward turned and nodded once, walking back into his chambers, his hands clasped behind him, and stopped a few feet from the guest in his presence. “Steven Brackman,” he spoke. “I’ve heard quite a bit about you recently, but I’d like to first put your mind at rest and assure you that I don’t take your anger at my wartime strategies personally. I know your concern is for our kingdom, rather than those I’ve been sending our forces to support, but that that comes from a place of love for our home and our people.”
Steven licked his lips anxiously but nodded. “Thank you, your majesty. Much appreciated.”
“I want you to hire an assassin to try to kill me. Take down all the names and contacts you encounter through the process and report them to me. I want to know who my true friends are.”
The blacksmith froze, stunned into silence. He stared at the king before him, the expression on the man’s face knowing full well that he would need to explain things further, that what he’d just said was preposterous. “Pardon?” Steven finally managed, a word far too insufficient for the emotions that had suddenly flooded him.
“There are many who wish for things to be done differently,” the king said quietly. “A conclusion I came to after a recent battle our forces endured serving as support for the defensive forces in the kingdom of Bedhearst. Talk has started to spread, of why we’re holding the line in a region other than our own, and I need to know who I can trust. For this job, I needed someone who I have no real ties to, someone who poses no real threat to me, but has been railing against me. Your name came to mind.”
King Edward motioned vaguely in the direction of his door. “My wife and children are being sent to a cabin in the Elston forest, in case anything should go awry. But they don’t know that they’ll likely not be returning. At least not until the war has ended.”
Steven blinked. “What? Why?”
The king met his gaze. “I’m dying.” Steven’s lips parted in surprise. “It’s not something well known, obviously. I need a successor in the midst of this war, and it obviously cannot be my children, toddlers that they are. And I want it to be someone who understands my strategies, my reasons for what paths I’ve taken through this. And most of all, I need it to be someone who cannot be bought. Though, of course, you’ll be compensated fairly for your work, just as any of my guards would have been for the same task.”
Turning away from Steven and walking back to his balcony, he continued, “You’ll propose it to those closest to me. I’ll give you a list. Make it a price that will tempt those who already wish me gone, but nothing too absurd.” Steven followed him and then both took in the fresh night air. The blacksmith appreciated a view he’d never had the privilege of seeing before and assumed he likely never would again. “Explain there is a small group of like-minded citizens you belong to that have pooled the money, to explain how you’ve amassed such a bribe.”
The king grasped the small stone wall encircling the balcony, leaning against it. “This is an important job, and I wouldn’t do it if I thought you any less than a good man,” he said, turning to meet Steven’s gaze. “I have other things in the works at this time, this is a pivotal moment in the war, but you’re the perfect man for this job. That being said…I understand you have a family of your own. And the risk you would be taking is for a king you…perhaps think less of than I’d like.”
Steven stared into his king’s eyes and shook his head. “This is not a matter of my king,” he said quietly. “It is a matter of his kingdom. Our kingdom. My home. And when a man’s home is threatened, if he is a good man, defends that home with everything he has, in any way he can.”
Edward’s mouth twitched in a small smile. “Well then. Welcome to the war, Mr. Brackman.”
&#x200B;
/r/storiesbykaren
|
I knocked on the door. It opened a minute later.
"Anything?" Asked the king.
Earlier that week he had sent me out to attempt to hire an assassin to kill him. So that he could know who his true friends were.
"Nothing. Unsurprisingly no one trusts me that I would want you dead."
He banged his fist on the table, undoubtedly in annother mood swing. "Well than keep looking you idiot! I don't want to see you until you've found an assassin!"
"I'm sorry your majesty but there was no one-"
"Quiet! I'm- I know what to do. You aren't getting paid enough are you?"
"N-no I'm fine. I get paid plenty for this."
"Nonsense. I'll give you thirty extra shickles."
"I appreciate the offer your majesty but-"
"Damnit you're gonna take my money or you'll be dead tomorrow!"
With a slow realization, I knew that I had gone to far. No, he had gone to far. The king was miserable, with his wife killed last month he was extremely paranoid, he was driving himself mad.
With a sigh I caressed the blade of my dagger. "I do this, as mercy."
| 2021-03-20T12:39:05 | 2021-03-20T11:44:00 | 153 | 61 |
[WP]The knights are attempting to arrest you because you refused to give what little fall harvest you had to the Duke. You are a peaceful monster in the guise of a human, but their unjust acts against you are making you reconsider just how peaceful you truly want to be.
|
>**MOONLIGHT & THE MONARCH**
"It's been ten years, love." Yuliette argued as she bustled about the kitchen- though I wasn't sure why, since there wasn't anything to be cooked.
"Yes, ten years." I murmured in agreement, sipping on hot tea. I rose from my chair and overlooked my farm- hard work had won it for me, but hard work wasn't keeping it. In the autumnal, waning light, I saw little more than dust.
Ten years since my last transformation. Ten years since I had last given a moment of life to the feral monster I truly was.
Mostly, I had Yuliette to thank- but even with Yuliette in my life, there had been temptations. Times when an arrogant merchant or a disdainful knight had tested my patience, and I had nearly opened up. I could feel it in those moments- an extra heat in my bloodstream, a little spark, asking to catch fire. I had resisted.
Then Yuliette became pregnant, and the temptations were no longer temptations- instead I began to fear the monster within. I began to worry about losing control, instead of trying to make myself *not* do it.
Briar was three years old now. She was everything to me- as dearly as I loved Yuliette, the love I had for Briar was something else. I knew I would burn the entire world down if anything ever threatened her. When she was born, I felt my heart move *outside* of my body, and land directly within Briar.
Yuliette felt the same, when I'd asked her about it. I was glad to hear it.
"Why would you suddenly have a temptation *now*?" Yuliette asked.
"It feels like they are threatening Briar." I said. "If they come to us after the harvest and demand our yield, the only thing the Duke is getting is a lovely view of his city turned to rubble around him."
"I'm sure we can find another solution, Dematha. If the urge arises, I have a few extra potions prepared."
Yuliette was a gifted alchemist, and had been the one responsible for me overcoming the Moon Changes- but if I ever chose, I knew I could break the hold her potions had on me.
The harvest came and went- I had primarily planted wheat, but I also kept a smaller garden of hardy vegetables hidden behind a treeline outside of my biggest field. With the hands I had hired, the harvest went well- and everyone took what they needed to survive the winter. This didn't leave anything for the Duke- but if he was any kind of smart, he'd just dig into his robust reserves of grains, instead of taxing. The drought had been hard.
However, in just a few days, three Knights began to ride towards my door. Briar was with the neighbor, doing some communal lessons, and Yuliette was shopping.
"As long as they don't force the issue, nothing is going to happen." I instructed myself, then stepped outside.
Their armor was glistening, in pristine condition. They both looked well-fed...and they bore a most contemptuous look.
Contempt I could handle.
"Sirs." I said by way of greeting.
"Farmer. Your crop yield is past due."
"No crop yield means no tribute. Not even sure my family will last the winter."
"That isn't how this works. Blame your poor farming skills. We estimate, based on the size of your field, that the Duke is due thirty bags of grain."
Thirty. Thirty would've been too much if it had been a *good* year.
"Can't bleed a stone, sirs. Good day." I said, turning my back.
"We can bleed *you*, peasant. And your wife. And your daughter."
I felt it then- every tendon in my body tensed, prepared for the transformation. Every muscle fiber prepared to rip apart. My bones began to elongate. My sense of smell became more keen. I hadn't been this close before.
"Is that..." I said between breaths "a threat?"
"Call it whatever you want. Before this, we went to your neighbors farm- the Missus Drusilda was hosting lessons. Very noble of her...and an excellent opportunity to ensure compliance from thick headed bastard peasants like you. Which one of the children was yours?"
My jaw was pushed out of place. Dislocated. The pain wracked my body in waves. "What did you say?"
"We have this entire villages' children under guard. If I remember correctly, your child was named Grey, wasn't he?"
"No," the second Knight spoke. "Grey belongs to those Shepherds. This one's Briar. She's been disobedient, so we have her in the dungeo-"
The Knight didn't finish his sentence. My fingers, now twice as long as they usually were, were tipped with nails as hard as iron- which was more than enough to pierce the second Knight's neck. He sank to the earth, gushing blood- the other, unfortunately, had enough time to draw his sword.
"M-monster! You're a monster!"
"A man defending his child...no, there are no monsters here." I said, trying to finish the transformation quickly. Yuliette's potion was slowing me down- but at the same time, the transformation also felt stronger. Perhaps the beast within had rested well, and was now able to let loose more completely.
I felt as the fur began to grow out of my pores. The aching of my bones elongating. My muscles popping, thickening, and re-attaching. Every moment of it was agonizing- but a sweet, sweet agony.
"Gods above and Gods below, I missed this." I growled, now standing at nearly eight feet tall.
"The Werewolf of Moldavia. I thought the Inquisition put you down years ago." The Knight said. To his credit, he hadn't fled.
The transformation finished- and, as always, the last thing to go was my mind.
What followed was the farthest thing from dignified combat the world had ever seen. Without a care, I let his blade pierce my chest- it had no silver to it, the wound would heal before I had finished swallowing the first bite. I batted away his shield, tore open his armor, and went right for his heart.
The taste was just how I remembered- though, perhaps this one was a bit more fatty.
I pulled the corpse away from my door, and into some bushes. Yuliette would see. Yuliette would know.
"Remember now, bastard Duke." I growled as I approached the city, the sun setting behind me. "When our mouths are empty, we will *find* a way to eat."
-----------------------
r/nystorm_writes :)
|
Two pounded on my door once again. Thoughts ceases and my body took over. I wasn't in control nor did try to stop. Flesh tore from bone, blood splashed along the walls. It was over so quick. I watch the taller knights head roll to the others hand that was clutching a piece of parchment. I swifty grabbed. It read:
Dear marcus,
You have recently come under suspicion. I, duke Algon have ordered an inquery into you, and found some rather unpleasant things. Things people of this town should never know about. To avoid any altercationa of any sort, I fully accept your little contribution. Please forgive me and the court dear Malgros the destroyer.
| 2021-08-07T23:18:09 | 2021-08-07T22:13:31 | 612 | 21 |
[WP] "We have DNA evidence that puts you at the crime scene." The Prosecution smiles arrogantly as he believes you cornered. "DNA? How interesting, none of my components are made of biological material"
|
The room was hotter than Beorn was used to, given that it was New York in the middle of February. He had been arrested earlier that day, picked up by a cruiser that had intercepted him coming home from the Park, his usual habit of a walk in the cool weather being interrupted by handcuffs and ... what had that crime show called them? Miranda Rights? Followed by the indignity of a backseat too small for his large frame, too dissimilar from the trees and icy ground that he loved in the Park. He wondered when he could go back, after whatever this was ended.
His thoughts were interrupted by the door opening, admitting an older man in a rumpled suit, slightly out of style, carrying a folder, and a women in a business dress entering behind him. Beorn could smell the cigarettes and stale vending machine crumbs on the man, the tang of sharp dressing on the breath of the woman. He knew who he would be yelled at by before the woman even drew breath.
"Well then, let's get this over with. You are Beorn Freyrson, I suppose?" She said posing it as a question, though Beorn knew she already had all the info she needed on him.
Beorn would have replied, but the woman clearly didn't want to be interrupted.
"We have in this folder," she pulled the folder across the table from where the man had set it down, "Evidence that you murdered the supervisor from your worksite in cold blood, less than a week ago, in his apartment in Midtown." She fixed Beorn with a steely, gray eyed stare. He liked the gray, reminding him of the cold fjords back home.
He was snapped back to reality with the next question. "Did you really think you would get away with it, with how sloppily you killed him, the DNA you left at the scene. You're an idiot if you do."
That caught his attention. Beorn frowned, leaning forward, the chair creaking under his weight. He opened his mouth slowly, not wanting to waste words.
"DNA? You're sure, Miss...?" He hesitated, realizing he had never asked her name.
"Hunter, but don't change the subject. You're looking at life in prison, given that we know you had motive, he recently fired you, and certainly the means, since we found the murder weapon at your home!" She raised her voice at the end, pulling a photo from the stack in the folder. A metal bat, covered in hair and meat at the end, was pictured prominently.
Beorn frowned yet more deeply, given how crude that 'weapon' was. Nothing next to simple plow he had taught to use so long ago.
The man finally spoke up, his voice gentle, if somewhat grated by the harshness of tobacco. "Go easy on him Steph, the guy clearly is confused." He addressed Beorn next, looking at him with eyes too old for someone only in his mid-forties. "Son, if you just sign the confession, the DA here won't have to be anymore aggressive than she already is."
Beorn grinned, the idea of this man calling someone as old as himself 'son' a thought to chuckle at. If only he knew. Beorn paused, thinking on that. They had said DNA earlier. Maybe knowing he had none would speed this process up faster than denial.
Beorn cleared his throat, addressing the man. "Judging by that name on your shirt Mr. Jaeger, your roots are Germanic, correct?"
It was Jaeger's turn to frown now, clearly caught off guard by the new turn the conversation had taken.
"Yes, my grandfather emigrated here, but why should you have to know that?
"Trust on the shared origin of our warrior roots, Jaeger, and know that, on my honor, that I couldn't have killed that man."
The woman sighed, clearly unhappy that Beorn wasn't cooperating. "Mr. Freyrson, we know you moved here from Stockholm eight years ago. You aren't German."
"Scandinavian, German, warriors none the less."
"Well, your 'warrior spirit' is going to land your ass in jail, so maybe we can-"
Beorn cut her off. "I'm sorry Miss, but it's impossible that I killed that man because I don't have biological parts for DNA to come from."
The man chuckled, clearly thinking he was lying. "Sir, I appreciate the attempt at humor, but it wont help. I don't want to have to call in the shrink if you think that's true."
"Do you know what a golem is, Mr. Jaeger?" Beorn continued before Jaeger could respond. "I wouldn't use that to describe myself, it being a Hebrew word, but it works well enough."
Jaeger stared, unsure where this was going, while Hunter said, smiling in amusement at the seeming absurdity of the statement, "So what, you think you're some sort of clay man then?"
"No, not clay, but - well, let me just show you." Beorn raised a thumb to his upper arm, slashing across what most would assume to be a tattoo, but he knew to be a rune on the surface hidden beneath. His form flickered, and now instead of a muscular man sitting in the chair, it was a roughly man-shaped construction of earth and stone, body crossed by runes of animation and intelligence, hollows where eyes should be studying his interrogators for their reaction.
Hunter screamed, leaping out of her chair and knocking it to floor in the process, while Jaeger stared aghast, a gasp followed by a hacking smokers cough shaking his body.
"As you can see, not clay, rather stone and, well, dirt. Hard to get DNA from the stuff you walk on." Beorn grinned with a hollow smile, enjoying their reactions.
"What- what the hell are you?!" Hunter demanded, in near hysteria.
"Now, now Hunter, I'm not from Hel. I was created - as the name may suggest - by my father, Freyr, to teach farming to humans in the frozen north. Hard to learn that without mass starvation via trial-and-error, but divine assistance helps."
Jaeger wiped his mouth, recovering momentarily from his fit. "Freyr? The god of healing and-" Before he could finish, he was interrupted by another paroxysm of hacking and choking.
"Why, you know your history! For being so well learned, I'll help with that emphysema." Beorn reached over the table, smearing runes onto Jaeger's chest with the soil from his forefinger. Immediately, Jaeger sat up, inhaling deep, then laughing in a much smoother baritone than before. "Amazing! How did you do that?"
"As you said, Freyr is the god of healing, and I'd be a rather poor divine creation if all I could do is farm."
While Jaeger shook his head in bewilderment, Hunter spoke up again. "But we have DNA on record, where did that come from if not you?"
Beorn waved a rocky hand dismissively. "Oh I merely assumed the identity of a believer of the old faith. The question here should be, who is framing me for the murder?"
|
"No," said the prosecutor. Our gate technology requires organic matter or it won't transfer you. I have this coat made of DNA. Since you're not organic, you have to wear this coat so we can travel to the crime scene. I am not accusing you. I'm asking you to help us solve the crime.
Me: "I'm not a detective."
Prosecutor: "When we get to the crime scene, you'll see why only a non biological being can help us."
A man in an Eagle costume steps through the door. It's Eagle Guy.
Prosecutor: "You'll be working with Eagle Guy..."
A skinny kid in a bird costume walks through the door. He smacks his two fists together. "Heck of a team up! And his sidekick, Wren Kid!"
Prosecutor: "Right. It's actually Eagle Guy's gate technology we're using."
Eagle Guy holds up a finger. "No time to waste! To the crime scene via the Eagle Gate!"
| 2021-03-30T14:41:11 | 2021-03-30T12:19:50 | 71 | 26 |
[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.
|
# Soulmage
**I knew the Grandmaster was hiding something when he ordered his second coffin of the month.** I could understand why he'd ordered from Jiaola—if there was any carpenter in the Silent Peaks that you wanted working for you, it was one who'd built his own home from scratch—but the order itself was inexplicable. That, combined with the Grandmaster's tendency to inadvertently drop ancient secrets like so much candy, led me to believe that the Grandmaster wasn't what he appeared to be.
And if he was concerned enough about who he really was to go to such great lengths to hide it, that meant it was a secret worth leverage.
A core part of me hated using a hidden part of a person's identity against them—but desperate times called for desperate measures. I had a goal to achieve and misdeeds to atone for, and I needed a favor or three in order to get it done.
So finding out what the Grandmaster was hiding—and hinting that I just might let it slip—seemed like the best place to start.
I didn't know the Grandmaster's name—nobody did—but he liked going by a pretentious stack of titles. Grandmaster Water Magic Lord Sage Unmatched Crusader Knight, if I remembered correctly. I just abbreviated it to GWMLSUCK, and later, just SUCK. He was a wizened old man, with a cloak of leather that looked old enough to have been made last century, but the SUCK had a surprisingly youthful smoothness to his skin, an uncannily fluid spring to his step. The sun had long since set, but the pale orbs of witchlight on the streets still provided ample illumination as the SUCK made his way to Jiaola's house.
I cast a shrinking spell on myself—nowadays, I had ample fuel for the one spell I knew—and sprinted up behind him as he knocked on Jiaola's door. Jiaola's sun-tanned, wrinkled face broke out into a wide grin as he welcomed the SUCK in.
"How's my oldest customer doing?" Jiaola asked. "You haven't aged a day since we've last met!"
"Yes, yes, well... you have," the SUCK muttered, a slight hint of unease in his expression. "Do you have the resting place I ordered?"
"Of course! Hand-carved and enchanted with the finest quality spells, just how you like it." Just how... he likes it? How many times had the SUCK ordered new coffins? Was he burying people in secret? "Come in, come in."
In my shrunken state, neither Jiaola nor the SUCK noticed me sneak into the carpenter's house. I felt a pang of guilt as I snuck in—Jiaola and I were on friendly terms, even after that whole business with the demon invasion, and it rankled me to be sneaking around his home like this.
But I'd hurt people worse before. At least this time, it was for a good cause.
Jiaola walked downstairs, and I swore under my breath. He was headed for the safe room—a solid wooden box enchanted with, among other things, passive magic dampers. If I spent too long in there without a protection amulet I didn't have, the shrinking spell keeping me hidden would break, and I'd be exposed for nothing.
Thankfully, the last time I'd been inside the safe room, a haughty, arrogant witch had pointed out how to disable it, and Jiaola hadn't updated the safe room since then. Whispering an apology to Jiaola, I snuck in on the SUCK's heels and crawled up the wall, snapping three nodes of memorabilia. The oddly calming, draining sensation on my soul abruptly ended, and I maintained my secrecy as I watched Jiaola show the SUCK to a coffin.
Reverently, the SUCK ran one hand over the smooth bloodwood coffin, inlaid with dragonscale and puffwool. "It's beautiful," the SUCK whispered. "She'll love it."
Jiaola laughed, a craftsman's pride gleaming in his eyes. "I may be getting old, but these hands still remember what it's like to shape wood."
The SUCK paused, lost in reverie for a long moment, then said, "I could fix that, you know."
"Hm?" Jiaola asked.
"Mortality." The SUCK took a step back from the coffin, turning to Jiaola. He took Jiaola's weathered, calloused hand, studying it. "These hands have seen a lifetime of craft. It will be a shame when you perish, and your soul is scattered into thoughtspace."
Another one of those bizarre secrets the SUCK seemed to leave behind him wherever he went. He was the only person I knew who would casually mention what happened after death—and that was exactly why I needed him. I focused on the conversation as Jiaola took his hand—politely but firmly—out of the SUCK's grip. "What do you mean by that?" Jiaola politely asked.
"I could make you immortal," the SUCK said. "I could make you one of us."
And the leathery cloak on the SUCK's back unfolded into bat's wings, and the vampire held out a hand to the old carpenter.
I guess my nickname for him was more accurate than I thought.
Jiaola gave the vampire a long, considering look.
Then he smiled and said, "No thanks."
The vampire blinked. "I—excuse me?"
"I said, no thanks." Jiaola patted the coffin lid. "I was born in the Redlands. Death is a part of who I am. I've made my peace with it. I'll die as nothing more than human, just like the rest of us."
The vampire spluttered. "I—but—you—"
"I make good coffins," he said, "and I know what it's like to have to hide who you are. My husband and I had to deal with that for our entire lives. So don't worry. Your secret's safe with me."
The vampire closed his eyes.
Then he folded up his wings, and he was once more nothing but a man wearing an oddly-shaped leather coat.
"Very well." He laughed. "I... to my surprise, I'm... not even angry. Simply... sad. I will miss you."
Jiaola gave the vampire a kind smile. "Don't you worry about me. I've still got some life left in me."
The vampire smiled, and despite the chill of the room, it somehow felt warm.
Then he tilted the coffin onto a wheeled dolly and began taking it out of the house.
I wished I could have left it at that. I really did.
But I had a question to ask. And now, I had the leverage to have it answered.
I scribbled a note on the floor and left it in a corner of Jiaola's room. If my gamble didn't pay off, I'd at least have a sliver of insurance.
As the vampire left the room and began walking down the street, I shadowed him until he passed through a quiet, empty street.
Then I broke the shrinking spell, expanding to my full size with a whoosh of displaced air. I felt a surge of self-hatred at using the vampire's secret against him, but it had to be done. The vampire spun around, startled, something... fluid... glistening at his fingertips.
"What are you—"
"I know what you are," I interrupted. "I know that you know things. And I've left notes in case I go missing, so killing or kidnapping me won't help you."
The vampire snarled, the fluid at his claws lengthening. "Then what do you want with me, mortal?"
"Answer me one question, and I will keep your secret forever."
"Then ask, insolent journeyman."
I took a deep breath, then said, "I know you know where souls go when they die." He was an ancient vampire; of course he did. "My question is: how can you bring one *back*?"
A.N.
Let me know if you want a part 2!
Soulmage will be episodically updated. Want to know what happens next? Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/) to be notified whenever a new part comes out, and check out r/bubblewriters for more stories by me.
|
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.”
| 2022-05-31T10:42:02 | 2022-05-31T10:25:11 | 85 | 44 |
[WP] Your wife passed away six months ago. Your car broke down two weeks ago. Your landlord evicted you four days ago. Someone took your seat on the bus this morning, and you just got laid off from your job. You've always promised to use your powers for good, until you snapped..
|
(*Hey! So this is my second post ‘YEAH’ but I wanted to just change the prompt a tiny bit. It will be husband in my story. Hope that is alright and I hope you like the story – Trixie*)
This was it….this was the moment in my life that I knew would come. Why it had to be today I do not know but it was and now I had a choice.
Either walk away and be a good girl, like my loving Daniel would have wanted me to be….
Or give this world the hell it has thrown onto me.
Glancing around the office as I packed up my things from my desk I could hear his voice in the back of my head.
*”Please darling, don’t cry. Its ok. You will be ok on your own. Just promise me you will take care of yourself.”*
Take care of myself? I did. I took care of myself for days on end after he left me. The first time I took care of myself was when I left that hospital room six months ago. I went home to our now half empty house and actually force fed myself. I made myself go to bed and sleep after I cried my eyes out in private. I made myself get up and continue to live all because he had asked me to take care of myself.
But then two weeks ago my car, the car he kept fixed for us, went to hell and back. Then my shitty landlord, who can’t even lift a finger to fix the house we were paying to live in, decided that since I was alone now I couldn’t pay for the rent and he kicked me out just four days ago. Plus to top it off, even after all of that, I kept a smile on my face all while having a rude male on the bus take my seat this morning as I rode to work **ONLY** to be told I was **FIRED!!**
Yeah….I was taking care of myself. But they weren’t. No one else cared. No one cared that I just lost my husband, my best friend that I had ever since I was a freshman in high school. No one seen the pain I lived with every day when little things triggered a memory of him and how my life was before he passed. **NO ONE** even cared to see how I was after the incident. Yet they all could talk behind my back in soft whispers and concealed frowns about how it was ‘about time’ and ‘finally over for her’ as if I couldn’t hear.
Oh yeah, I could hear…I could hear everything and I could scent their hatred for me every time I walked around the office.
But wait, how can you hear whispers and what do you mean by scenting? I bet that’s what you're asking. Well….other than my loving Daniel no one else knows a little secret about me.
I'm a mutant.
Not like the movie type, where we know what happened to them or know about some destiny that they have to fulfill. No.
No the real type where I have a few extra abilities and I have kept them hidden for a very long time, never using them to harm or to hurt. Always to help. Yet now I can see that with all the help that I have given out in my life the only one that ever helped me was him. Daniel. And now, with him gone…..
Well, I got to take care of myself right? And in taking care of ones self, you take out anything that harms you right? You get sick, you take medicine. You have an attacker trying to take your things, you fight him off. So….as these tiny people talk about me behind my back, degrade me to each other and push me around simply because Daniel isn’t here to protect me are in for a world of surprise.
Because it wasn’t he that protected me.
He protected them.
From me.
Turning to the noisy neighbor that sat next to me every day since I left that hospital I gave her a fake smile. She had been paused in her work and watching me anyways, typing on her phone to the other loud mouth in the office. I seen it, my eye sight is better than they think. I also seen how she was completely glad I was leaving finally because it was weird enough to be next to someone like me.
“Sharon. How are you?” I seen it, the fear now, and I could scent it rise as I bared my teeth a bit. Prey always feared the teeth of the predator.
“Good…uh…I'm doing good. Busy day you know. I'm sorry about you being let go, we cant believe it. You’ve….you’ve always been such a joy to work with.” Her eyes dilated, she was lying but it didn’t take an expert to see this. I could hear her heart racing anyways as I sat my box on the desk and turned more her way.
“Yeah that was unexpected wasn’t it? But bygones are bygones I guess.” She chuckled, tightly and a bit broken as I smiled wider.
“You're more woman than me. I would be upset, but you seem to be taking it so well.” I heard the hitch in her voice, the fear lacing her words as I tapped my growing nails on the desk now. Uh-oh, she seen them….I didn’t care though. Whenever I got pissed that’s what would happen first. Nails grew, or more properly my claws grew. Then came the fangs and then the eyes slitted. That would always have them backing up and I wanted to see that fear on her face. It was what I needed right now. Everyone wanted to push me around now it was my turn.
“I am more something than most but I'm not taking this as well as you think Sharon. I just lost my job, after losing my house and my car not to mention yet again my husband. No…I might look calm but right now I just want to tear. Someone’s. Head. OFF!” She jumped now, finally looking up to meet my gaze and the moment she seen my yellow eyes she gasped. There it was. Exactly what I wanted. Fear. Fear of me instead of hate.
“Wh…wha…..what are you!” Oh yeah, I forgot about the screams, the whole panicking fear that sent them into the flight or fight mode. Shit, that meant I couldn’t take my time like Daniel used to. When he talked to others, or put them in their place, he just had to use his voice. Not me, I was never able to have a clam discussion after I got upset, mainly due to my changes, but whatever. Time for improvising.
“Oh dear, cat got you're tongue Sharon? I am exactly what you fear most, a female that bites back!” Slamming my hands down on her desk now I made her jump up out of her seat, drawing all the attention from the office over to us now. Slowly stalking closer to her I growled, an actual growl from a feral feline, as she rounded the cubical she worked in and covered her mouth in disgust.
“You're not human!”
“NO! No I'm not! And I hear you talking. I know you all went to HR about me because I was moping and pouty! Well guess what you spineless bitches! I was mourning my husband!” Glaring around the office now I growled again, low and in warning as I made eye contact with each and every person I knew had a hand in this breaking point.
“You all thought he was the one you had to be scared of, he was the big and bad male that kept me safe. No….no my tiny little play things. He was the one keeping you safe. Safe from me. And guess what…..” Seeing the fear it heightened the fun that I was having, the scent fresh as a new snowfall or newly cut grass. Thick and coating the air. All their fear, finally directed right at the one it should have been.
“I'm done being nice.” A roar, wow I forgot I could cause this much panic with just my voice, made them all scream and run now as I targeted in on Sharon first. I knew she had been holding a secret crush on my husband, my Daniel, and when he turned her down she started this little hate filed protest against me but she had went too far.
You can only push a wild animal so far before it snaps.
And I snapped.
|
*“Have you ever wanted to be a superhero”*
That was the words of my beloved wife who passed away six months ago, her death surely took a heavy toll on me, with the love of my life gone, i was left alone, it was an absolutely horrible experience, I became very slothful at work, and resorted to drugs, it really calmed me down and feels like the only salvation I could ever receive, until four days ago, when my landlord evicted me, I stayed over at my friend’s house for a while with the promise of leaving in a week, then today came.
The morning goes well, some asshole took my seat but it’s no big deal i got to work just fine, but get this, when I was working, my boss called me to his office, his god-awful stench filled that reeeeally neat room, that *BOSS*, that dirty shit loving, fat glob of meat, covered with sweat and piss dared to look at me dead in my eyes, and fired me like he owns the whole world, so of course I did the only thing I could do..
I broke down and sob,
It was glorious, the mere sight of a grown adult exposing his weaknesses can bring even the most loving children to gouge out their eyes, so i sat there, my face completely covered with mucus and tears, while my boss looks at me with disgusted eyes filled with pity.
After what feels like half an hour, i ran out toward the streets, and stopped in the middle of an intersection, and unleashed my superpower, while the words of my long gone wife repeated inside my mind,
*“Have you ever wanted to be a superhero”*
My wrecked heart felt like a thousand needle being thrusted into it, i close my eyes to awaken my powers
*My power*
*Something*
*That can fix everything*
“Do I even have any power?”,
After all, i couldn’t even meet my wife on her deathbed, i was too slothful to visit her, I even let down my co-workers, because i was too slothful to even submit the project that we’ve been working on, and then i realized..
I was too slothful to even dodge a speeding car
| 2020-01-09T04:27:52 | 2020-01-09T03:45:16 | 87 | 10 |
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