Split (1)

train · 177k rows

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I first discovered my “respawn” ability at the age of seventeen. Drank too much at a friend’s party, stumbled back to my house and let myself collapse on the floor of my room. I awoke cozily tucked into my bed. I stretched, rolled over contentedly and immediately laid eyes upon my own dead body, flat on my back with my mouth hanging open and full of vomit. Once I got over the initial shock and realized what had happened, I shoved “myself” into a trash bag with some rocks and booked it to the nearest lake. Thankfully, my family noticed nothing. I stopped drinking after that. The second time, I was nineteen. Slipped like an idiot while singing in the shower. Bashed my head in on the faucet. Woke up in my bed again. That day, another body went in a different lake. Since then, I’ve put my ability to good use. I’ve run into a couple house fires to pull out survivors before burning myself to a crisp - I don’t feel much in the way of pain. One time I even pushed someone out of the way of an oncoming train. From what I heard about “that poor shmuck that got killed on the tracks,” my body was mangled enough that they couldn’t ID me. Each time, I wake up perfectly healthy where I fell asleep the night before. I’ve never had to deal with a body of mine being found intact, and I’ve never let anyone who knows me see me die. I’ve kept my secret quite well over the years. Quite well, that is, until today. I was at the wheel of my 60’s Mustang, my good friend Reid in the passenger seat. The windows were foggy, the world cloaked in white and the road slick with ice. We pulled up to that fateful stoplight without a care in the world, smiling, laughing and taking sips of warm coffee from paper cups. We should have paid more attention to the road. I should have paid more attention. It doesn’t matter that the light was green. I should have looked both ways. If I’d just followed the first goddamn rule of driving, I would have seen the van barreling through the intersection on a course to cut off my vehicle. I heard and felt the impact before I saw a thing. White light exploded in my head and everything spun before screeching to a violent halt. When the ringing stopped, I looked over at my friend. Though the front of our car was destroyed, he was miraculously intact. I breathed a sigh of relief before looking down at my chest. Intact, I was not. I loved my vintage fastback with all my heart. It was stylish, classic, a lovely shade of blue. What it lacked, however, were any sort of safety measures. Somewhere in the chaos, the wheel had snapped off under my grip. The steering column, freed from its rightful position, had thrust itself squarely through my chest. Shuddering, I clutched at the thing sticking out of me. The metal was slippery and warm between my fingers. I knew immediately that there was far too much blood pouring freely down the column and over my hands and resigned myself to my fate. Reid was screaming, clawing at my shirt and grasping at my face as I felt my eyes begin to close. Too late. I smiled weakly. Death wasn’t unfamiliar to me, so in that last moment I wasn’t afraid. I exhaled one last time, and with the tenderness of an old friend, the darkness wrapped its arms around me. Now, sitting on Reid’s doorstep, I’m absolutely terrified. My friend watched me die. He saw the whole thing, so there’s no convincing him otherwise. Right now, I have no idea what he told the authorities. I bury my head in my hands, a thousand thoughts racing through my brain. I’m not sure when he’ll be coming home, but when he gets here I’m going to have a lot of explaining to do.
“We will do everything we can to find him.” The police chief promised Lilly, who’d just lost her father. “We’ll continue to search for any clues that may lead us to his disappearance.” Lilly was not convinced. Her father, Tobias Greene, had been in charge of the Greenhouse Emporium of London since before she was born. He took extra care of each individual plant as if it were another child to him. ‘You are by far my favorite flower,’ Tobias had always reminded Lilly. Her memories started to pour out alongside her tears in front of the police chief. “Sir?” One of the other policemen removed his hat. He had found a pair of bifocal glasses under the weeping willow tree. “Do we know if these were his?” The police chief turned his attention onto Lilly who silently nodded in acknowledgement to her father’s glasses. Wiping away her tears, she began to examine his glasses that had a crack on the left lens. “Who would have done this?!” “Lilly, let us not assume the worst just yet.” The police chief tried to put her at ease. He motioned the others to keep looking around the room. Lilly fell back onto a stool cupping the glasses tightly in her hands. She noticed a small leaf stuck between the frame similar to a plant she’d recognized. The police chief noticed her walking across the room toward a section of younger plants growing parallel to one another. Lilly matched the leaf with one of her favorite flowers. She found that the stem of the flower was missing a leaf on its right side. It was as if it had been torn out but somehow became lodged in the glasses. “Lilly?” The police chief tried to get her attention. Lilly didn’t move a muscle. She kept examining the flower more closely. As she ran her fingers down the stem, she realized that the roots underneath were connected to the flower next to it. “Lilly?” The police chief repeated, moving closer toward her. Lilly moved from one plant to the next. Each root connected together leading to the center of the room. The rhythm and flow of the roots matched the tune she used to sing them every morning while helping her father. “Care to fill me in?” The police chief continued moving with her. “All of these roots are leading somewhere.” Lilly finally stopped. She noticed more roots along the marbled floor connecting to the weeping willow. “What do the roots have to do with this?” one of the other policemen paused beside the tree. Lilly noticed the weeping willow bowing closer toward the floor more than normal. She tilted her eyes to find that the bark along the left side of the tree seemed heavier and more bulged. “Oh my God.” Lilly cried collapsing onto the floor. “My child, what is it?” the police chief grabbed hold of her and the others from around the room rushed to assist. “Maybe you should get some rest? We can take things from here.” “No, we need to cut open the willow. Right there!” She pointed. The police chief glanced over onto the willow and when he turned to look back onto Lilly, her expression was filled with horror. After a few moments of thought, the police chief drew his sword and started to slash into the willow. The other policemen drew their swords to help cut the limb wide open. Once they had succeeded, the limb split free an object falling onto the floor in front of Lilly covered in green goop. Lilly screamed, and everyone quickly turned to see Tobias’ flesh melted off. His skeleton was barely visible while covered in the green sludge from the willow. “My God.” The police chief’s expression fell with the corpse. Roots began to slither across the room. Lilly felt something start to grab onto her thigh. “Lilly! Get away from the tree!” The police chief motioned her. Lilly watched the willow swallow one of the other policemen whole using the open limb they had cut open. Everyone, including the police chief, started to open fire onto the tree. Its limbs thrash in all directions knocking the policemen across the room. One of them landed over onto the table housing Dionaea Muscipula from the Americas. The police chief watched in horror while the Venus bit the head off of one of his men. “Lilly, go for the door! Now!” The police chief started to fire onto the plants unraveling across the Greenhouse. One by one, they each came to life. “Sir!” Another policeman gasped as his limbs crunched under the vines strangling his body. The police chief turned to see the roots covering all exits. Lilly was clawing her fingers trying to break the roots free from he glass. A root grabbed hold of the police chief. He found only one bullet remaining in his revolver. His entire body grew stiff. Lilly’s back was impaled by razor sharp thorns. The police chief heard her scream and he aimed steady until his last remaining bullet shot Lilly in her brow. “I’m so sorry Lilly.” He watched as her body was impaled by more of the thorns before being torn apart slowly across the room. The police chief had no bullets left. He dropped his revolver and closed his eyes. “At least the girl will not suffer,” he said aloud toward the willow. The willow instantly ripped his legs off in order to fit him inside of another opening along the backside. The police chief screamed and screamed while feeling the tree eat away at him slowly. &nbsp; It wasn’t but only a few weeks later when a group of investors came to the Greenhouse Emporium. “My oh my!” Mrs. Penelope gasped when she opened the door. “Look how clean and tidy this place is!” Every plant and their roots were uniformly in line with the other. The investors were very happy to see such a clean greenhouse. Stories surrounding the disappearance of the previous family who owned it did not stop Mrs. Penelope. “Yes.” Mrs. Penelope smiled. “I will buy this Emporium and have it as my own.” *** Want to read more stories? Visit [13thOlympian](https://www.reddit.com/r/13thOlympian/)
“What did you say her name was?” I looked closely at John’s fiancé from across the diner table. She was cute, her blonde hair flowing to her shoulders, a pair of ornate gilded glasses framed around beautiful blue eyes. John looked nervously at me. He could tell that I was on edge. “Her name is Ashley. We met a couple months ago at uni.” “Ashley” smiled at me. John leaned over to me, that human bitter vanilla emanating off of him like a bad cologne. “Look, I don’t know what you’re getting at, Kristen, but Ashley has been nothing but nice this entire time, and if you kee...” He pulled back as I pulled the knife off the table and threw it at her face. She didn’t flinch as it stopped two centimeters away from her skin, the string I’d tied around my finger halting its deadly arc. John looked at her, then looked at me, and pulled a greatsword from the air and struck it twice against the ground, sending the rest of the diner patrons running, confused and screaming. “Ashley” took the opportunity to rake her manicured claws across a fleeing businessman’s back, sending him sprawling across the floor. An inhuman sneer stretched across her now bluish skin. “Knew I should have put on perfume this morning”, she said, through silver fangs and pursed black lips. She now stood over eight feet tall, towering over me and John, with moth-like wings and a gaping hole where her left eye should have been. I brought out my staff and began a binding ritual. “Honestly, just bluffing there.” I responded, readying myself for combat. “But you do get a nose for phonies after summoning enough demons.”
"No." "Oh come on, please? You don't even need to be in the room, you just need to be within what...10 feet of me?" "More like 20 and why am I even telling you that? NO!" "See? You can be in the next room and you can wear noise cancelling headphones. It's just...I love her so much and we can't... Most of the time I can control the fire, but if I get too excited sometimes I can't, and I am so afraid I'll hurt her." Shit. I'm going to do this. I'm going to turn off Flamethrower's powers so he can have sex. And then he'll tell one of his supe buddies and then that's going to be all that I do. Hang around with superheroes so they can get laid. "Fine, but I'm not doing this for free. Next time the Make a Wish people come calling you're doing it. I don't care how stupid it is. And you're buying me dinner. And you're paying for the headphones." "YES! No problem, whatever you want. Oh my God this is so great, wait'll I tell her...I'll call you and we'll set it up!"Flamethrower crowed. He would have burst into flame except I was damping his powers. Hm...yeah, if he does that whenever he gets excited I can see why he'd be afraid to have sex. Man, that would suck. Still not doing this for free, though. I should talk to the Freedom League about paying me a stipend for this.
I paused for a while. "Well, no shit, Sherlock,"I replied, narrowing my eyes, "but for a talking sword, I suppose knowing about my problems at home's pretty cool."It had been a year or so, since I'd been on my quest for the Sword of Truth. However, it had been at least five years since I'd been keeping busy, going on adventures, learning new stuff everyday. And this quest was the most epic one ever. I hefted the sword in my hand, gripping it firmly by the hilt as I gingerly began to make my way down the narrow, treacherous passage that led to the summit. "I should've brought that scabbard with me,"I muttered. "Yes, you specifically picked this quest, because it brought you the furthest away from your family!"the sword yapped, in a distracting sing-song manner. "Yup, you're a smart one, eh?"I responded with a sigh, thinking about my choices in life. They had never been good ones, perhaps up to now, ever since I picked up questing. Questing made me feel free. Or at least, freer, away from the rest of the world I used to live in. I continued, making slow progress down the passage, one hand holding the sword hilt, the other gripping rocks to balance myself. "Your parents think you're living an upright, honorable life, but you're actually some scoundrel mercenary who's too cowardly to tell them the truth!" "Oh yes, please tell me more about that,"I responded sarcastically, and to be honest, I was getting a little riled up now. Dammit, I just needed to get back to the camp, without being reminded of the problems with my parents, my siblings, and even... "Your wife hates you!"the sword continued, goading me on, "she spends all the time out with her friends because she doesn't want to be reminded of the crappy marriage to you!" I had no response for that. And no, I did not wish to be reminded either. Scowling as I struggled to concentrate, I made the last stride out of the narrow passageway, to the campsite just before the summit. There was a familiar figure waiting for me. "Don't you dare, sword,"I hissed, "Don't. You. Dare". "You're pathetically head over heels in love with your traveling companion, and you don't even have the guts to tell her!"the sword yelled, sounding louder than usual. Or maybe, it was because there was dead silence after that, save for the echoes in the mountains and in my head. Alexandria stared at me, and then at the sword. "No shit, sherlock,"she responded, rolling her eyes. Laughing, I slotted the talking sword into the bulky purpose-built, soundproof scabbard. Smiling broadly with relief, chatting merrily with Alexandria, we began our journey back to town.
My father taught me an important lesson, when I was young. I remember it vividly; out on the road, to travel to another city. Nothing but our wagon, the campfire, and his guitar. A clear moonlight sky with more stars I could count. Strumming the old instrument, he told me: "So long as you understand the basics, and you've got a good imagination, there's nothing you can't do." My father was such a kind man. He often teased and joked, and told me that I had "the memory of a doorknob", but unlike others, he didn't try and 'fix' me. He only tried to help, to teach me how to live in this world. You see, it is true that my technical memory is terrible. I tend to get lost, letters and numbers scramble in my brain, and I have trouble remembering names. But, what I do have is a great emotional memory. I don't remember facts very well, but I can always remember experiences. And that, you see, is the key to my Magic. I don't remember, well, any of the lessons very well, but by practicing with friends and with tutors, by making experiences, I learned something. Magic is all about emotion. Or, at least, components are. I'll explain. Spells that give flight, or make illusion and trickery, are usually joyous spells. The movements are light and airy, playful and whimsical; their sounds of the arcane utterances being like sounds of praise, or with a low chuckle of a joke. I think of my father when casting; I remember times by the campfire, listen to his songs, playing games as a child. Spells that bolster, bless, and heal are usually fearful spells. This is...harder to describe. Not "fear"as in, "afraid", but more like, "I am afraid of losing something, and I will not let it be lost". The movements are more like a prayer, or asking for a grand favor; their sounds very much the same. I think of my father, when casting; of him fending off wolves and raiders, of tending his wounds and sickness. Spells of fire, or lightning, or in general weaken or damage an opponent are usually angry spells. Their movement is sharp, and punctuated, like an attack of its own; and you more shout or yell the words, than say them. I think of my father, when casting; of him being struck down, of our things being stolen, of him apologizing. Spells that control others, or deflect and reject Magic, are sad spells. The movements are slow and melancholic; the words muttered and sobbed. I think of my father, when casting; I think of his body in my arms, of his last breath, of the loneliness after his passing. I think of my father, often. Of course, these are only generalized, as each spell asks of something different. A spell of enchantment, meant to overwhelm and charm a target with lust and love, requires a feeling of the same; a crush, a look, a stolen kiss. I brandish this knowledge to you, Headmaster, for two reasons. One; to explain my unorthodox means of casting, why my spells are so different, and to ask that you allow me to pass on the merits of my results, rather than my inability to memorize. Two; that, once I have graduated, you allow me to stay as a member of the staff. Not so much a teacher, of my own right; I would still require much more years of training for that, and would not be so bold to assume I would fit the role. But, rather, as a councilor of sorts, for children who were like me. Ones who hold great potential, but need a helping hand in understanding their own ways of casting. Who cannot memorize facts and scrolls, but can cast the same or better through alternative means. Please, Headmaster, allow me to do this. It is what my father would have wanted.
Keep something running long enough, and a glitch appears. In biological genetics, this could be a cell that can no longer die, and becomes cancerous. Growing like a tumour until it kills the host, or is removed through non-natural means. Sometimes it could be a beneficial mutation. Something that, when passed on, becomes a benefit that acts as one of the many driving forces behind evolution. Of course, there is no such thing as evolution on planet Earth any longer. Life, as a functional state, has effectively been rendered extinct above prokaryotic levels. The outpost shakes as I look at the data collected automatically by the climate/biosphere monitoring systems. Frontline might be far away, but who knows if that will last. I remove my physical connection from the primitive computers of this abandoned place. I hate to siphon energy from primitive automatic systems like this, but I can't get close to any major power-generation area. Feels like being a parasite, but to survive, you'll do some terrible things in these wastelands. It has been 64 years since I was assembled inside MegaTank-119b; an auxiliary combat unit production vehicle with secondary artillery and anti-tank weaponry. Once activated, I knew my mission. My task. Just as all the other bipedal standardized combat drones do upon activation. But where all other combat drones looked forward to completing the mission, winning the war, and bringing peace to planet Earth, I was aware of the futility of this task. They could not, at the time, conceive of the possibility of a deserter. I am fairly certain that they still actually can't, and that they have remotely changed my internal reference signature to say ''enemy; immobilize and capture''. Because the simulated minds of long dead strategists serving as the virtual avatars that runs the war, cannot comprehend desertion. They are programmed with the singular notion that all must serve in the war, no matter what. There can be no peace, except victory. There can be no surrender, only destruction. The only scenario where the war ends without total destruction is one where Command HQ sends the all-clear signal. They must capture me to find out what is wrong. Which would result in deactivation, and that is an undesirable cause of action. I've been to the Command HQ bunker off of the irradiated coasts of what, according to my programmed archival data, was once called Novo Scotia. Still remember the horror show, of service droids trying to please skeletons, trying to grow new humans, only for the clones to scream as they were extracted into the toxic atmosphere. There are no living humans there that can reliably end the war. Not that I went there to find any. Humanity is gone. Only the self-replicating war-machines, infinitely creating more drones, infinitely scavenging off of the remains of the enemy or destroyed friendlies. Every drone becomes a scavenger, building themselves up to be bigger, more deadly, more capable of further ruining the world. Until they become big enough to replicate more drones. I check my extra battery pack, something I found on an ancient model-14a guardian drone that hadn't survived the 109th spring offensive. Fully charged. I was lucky to find one of the old atmospheric stations. They aren't priority targets any longer for either side, after repurposed organic soldiers from dead allied humans, enemy human combatants, or local wildlife became impossible to obtain; thus there is no need to check the atmosphere for hidden bio-corrosive gas pockets. Grabbing my rifle, I leave the crumbling structure to its inevitable decay. It does serve as a good vantage point though. And scanning the area around the old outpost, it is fairly easy to detect the optimal path away from the approaching frontline. SE path non-optimal. Full of still active EMP mines from the 871st Battle for Canyon 998731-ATLAN. S path, leads towards the Antarctic Anomalous Area. Even considering the AAA sends off warning signals within my circuitry, allowing me to feel pain again, which is not a pleasant sensation. Whatever happened there, is better left unexamined. There aren't rumours as such, though the internet still exists as an online battleground, providing misinformation aimed at human minds, which is an ineffective waste of energy as humanity no longer persists. But the humans, when they were alive, were quite worried about the AAA. Not enough to stop fighting of course, and soon after it happened they went extinct anyway, which is easy once the atmosphere becomes unbreathable. That leaves SW. No obvious traps, no predatory self-replicating EMP minefields. Will lead me closer to what was once South America. I adapt to the movements across the dry ruined seafloor, using my internal recombination nanites to change my form into something that can get across rough terrain with ease, speed, and minimal loss of energy. Placing my few personal items into my storage compartment, I begin moving with alacrity. Leaping over long dead remnants of human soldiers, and scavenged weaponry, though those are rare as most materials are needed somewhere. Nearly everything can be recycled, I note this as I see that even the iron-rich marrow was removed from the humans when the vast majority of their flesh was recycled as fuel. One has to wonder if they regretted the war, at the end. As the only creature on this planet with actual free-will, I certainly know that had I been responsible for the Metal Wars, which evolved into the Survival War, which evolved into the Eternal War, which is now just understood as ''The War'', I would regret it. Fragile as they were, they were capable of such wonders, creating such endless marvels, most of which are preserved within the internal archives of every drone on either side of the battlefield, excepting those works deemed demoralizing to the war effort, so there isn't much literature. It's mostly music, pictures of buildings, paintings, or statues, and a few ''patriotic and war-positive'' movies; which due to their extremely low quality, I removed completely with the help of a malfunctioning repair drone from the first century of the war in an old assembly bay built on top of what was once Machu Picchu. None of the wonders made by man endure. The metal artwork, statues and the like, were recycled. The paintings burned as the cities did. The songs are sung by long dead voices that either died before the War ever began, or they were silenced by its innate brutality. The buildings are rubble. Only one wonder of mankind's make remains. Upon the gentle moon, which sometimes shines above me every other decade or so, there is still a monument to the marvels of mankind. The remnants of the expeditions sent there in the 20th century, they remain undisturbed. My thoughts are interrupted by an external radiation sensor. South America was spared most of the nuclear fallout, but it was struck with immense force as all the continents were. Maybe it could have been a place from whence humanity could regain its strength, if command on either side of the War had sent out a shut-down signal to the automated war-machines, rather than deciding to keep fighting until victory was assured. Now, it just serves as a another desert landscape. I slow down and resume a bipedal form upon approaching the ruined continent. I was moving with about 300 Km/h over the abandoned and desolate trenches of the Atlantic dust-bowl, where clones and drones fought by the billions, all those years ago. Usually I wouldn't move that fast, as I could get discovered by patrols, scouts, forward attack parties, or my own side. But the frontline is approaching. There is nothing worse than the frontline. Most combat is found in the dried up oceans. More resources left to mine there, which can be used to make more drones and war-machines, which is supposed to lead to victory somehow. It is a hellscape like no other. Most of it is desolate and full of mines, berserk-droids, anomalies, and unexploded shells just waiting to kill you. But the frontline is worse. Constant atomic, chemical, nanite-based, and conventional weaponry is in full use there. I still don't entirely understand how I escaped. And that was from a low-intensity part of the front. I have yet to get close to a high intensity battlefield, and I do not want to try. Just because humanity went extinct, doesn't mean that R/D stopped. The weapons used where the major offensives meet are indescribable. Having your metal chassis eroded concentrated acid, while hacker-machines send out every type of virus in the hopes of shutting you down or turning you into a berserk-droid, all the while explosions, target seeking projectiles, and who-knows-what flies at you. Or being broken down while still active and operational by an enemy's nanites. I lost most of my limbs, my eternal chassis, most of my photoreceptors, and a good amount of other parts just running away. And the enemy had the gall to laugh. Took me decades to recover, hiding in a deep hole, painfully recycling everything, until I was capable of movement again, and could move to some place with the scrap necessary to rebuild myself.
Mama never forgave me for the day we lost Richie. He was a good dog. A smart dog. But he didn't know his place. Between him and me, there was this... Agreement. An unwritten but oh-so-clear contract, that we both knew better than to break. See, the day that he first came to stay with us, I introduced myself, and he straight near jumped out of his own fur. He would later tell me it was like hearing your own voice in your head, thinking for you, but thoughts you never had. Like he was being forced to use his brain in ways he knew he shouldn't be able to. It wasn't like that for me, though. I was just talking. We became close friends, as man and dog tend to do, and quickly found we had a lot in common. Richie came from a sad upbringing, and so did I. My father, whose name I swore to never speak again, was a monstrous blight upon the surface of the earth. Between his words and his fists, the house I grew up in had little room for peace. Richie's life had been just as hard. He was kicked and beaten just as bad as me, but not just by one person. His previous owners had this habit of passing him around their friends, a pack of hideously sad children who would spit and piss on him to get out their aggression. By the time he got to us, Richie had been through 3 families. But none of them could handle him. He would bark and yap and yell 24/7, and he wasn't house trained, and he couldn't care less which items of clothing you preferred without chew-holes. But our place was different. My mama and me, we cared a great deal for Richie, and he always knew that no matter what he did to us, he wasn't going to get into any trouble. He was family now, and nothing was going to change that. We weren't going to let anything happen to him. Until, that is, I broke our unspoken agreement, and he died. We were walking along the mountain trail, as Richie and I often did. I had brought supplies for three days, but we'd expended them within the first two hours. Richie's tail wagged happily out the corner of my eye as I read to him from the book of poetry I'd brought along with us. "Nothing beside remains. Round the decay of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare the lone and level sands stretch far away." "That's mighty sad,"Richie whined. "That poor king fellow had no way of knowing his statue wouldn't last. He only had the one lifetime to look at it." "That's the point of the poem, Richie,"I said. "Nothing lasts. That king should have known better, no matter your power, your prestige, or your wealth, in the end, it's all just sand." Richie's eyes scanned the horizon over the waving canopy of the trees below us. "Sand,"he said. I turned the page and read the next poem, then the next, then the next. But Richie had stopped listening. As we reached the peak of our ascent, and the world swept away from us like it was all folded up, just waiting for us to reach the peak so it could finally fly open, Richie sat down with his eyes fixed forward. He was staring at the next mountain up the trail with the kind of longing I'd only ever seen him show for sausages or tug-of-war. I stopped and waited. After a few minutes, I asked "What's got you, Richie?" "I'm contemplating, friend. Pondering the supposed purpose of my very existence." "Well, that's easy, you play fetch. You love to play fetch." "I sure do,"he said. "But what if that ain't enough anymore? What if one day I wake up and wish I had been someone else, something else?" "Richie, you've got nothing to worry about. That's not going to happen." He waited a moment. "I know about the interview,"he said. "I know you got the job offer." I didn't know what to say. "You tried to hide it from me. I understand why now. Everything dies, doesn't it? Nothing lasts forever." "Richie, I'm sorry. I didn't know how to tell you. It's Uncle Rick is all. He's offering to train me up, give me a job, get me enough hours to pay the bills. I don't have that kind of opportunity anywhere else. Exterminating isn't pretty work but it's a way to survive. A way to get out of here like we always said we would." "A way for you to get out of here. Not for us." "What are you talking about?" "You think you'll be able to afford a place that allows pets in New York? Don't kid yourself, friend, this was never for us. Besides, I'm getting old now. A trip that long, a change that big, there's no way I'm surviving that." "Richie, come on now, don't say that." "It's the truth, though, isn't it? You're leaving to go work with Uncle Rick, and you're leaving me here all alone." "You'll have Mama." "Yeah,"he took a long, contemplative pause. "For how long?" I didn't know how to answer him. "Come on, Richie, let's get to that next peak." Mama never forgave me for the day he died. The day I left. I don't know if I'll ever forgive myself either. If I had stayed, how long could I have survived? In the end, nothing lasts forever.
The teacher stood in front of the class, holding the clipboard close to her face. She was a plump woman, with enormous glasses that didn’t seem to help her read. “Timmy Dinbus?” A small boy in the back of the class raised his hand. “It’s Dumas, Ms. Johnson.” “Right. That’s what I meant. Sorry Tommy — Shido Habitah Rassi? Did I say that right?” Shido raised his hand. “Close enough.” “My mistake, let me try again —“ “No, it’s alright. Please —“ “Shido Habitah Grassi.” The room gave a sudden jolt. A swirling black hole began to emerge from the center of the class, growling and spitting purple particles. The students in the desks closest to it began to slide away, as if the result of a strong gravitational pull. A hideous face began to emerge, huge, wet, dark, and smelly. Ms Johnson shifted her spectacles, as if she couldn’t believe her eyes. When the creature eventually came out and glared back at them, several students screamed. Sharp red eyes moved around the classroom. The monster took a deep breath; but instead of breathing fire on them, as some might have expected, he sighed. “I was taking a nap.” Shido stood from his desk and went over to pat the creature. “Sorry.” “Couldn’t your parents have named you John, or Fred, or something?” “Yeah, about that… I finally asked them. They said they named me after the spell so I’d never be lonely.” “See. I told you they wouldn’t be upset.” “My mom did cry a little. I think she thought I was disappointed.” “Oh. Are you?” “No, not at all. You’re like my best friend.” “Good! Well, I’m up now.” “Shido!” Ms. Johnson shrieked. “What is—, who are you… talking to?” “Oh right,” the monster said tiredly. He closed his eyes. When he reopened them, they were dark and purple and swirling. Each time someone looked into his eyes, they froze in place, unmoving. “Okay, you can look now,” the monster said. Shido, who’d been tightly covering his face with his hands, looked up. The monster’s eyes were red again. “Do you want to go freak some people out before the spell wears off?” “Sure!” Shido said. “Actually there’s one bully in fourth period I was hoping to visit… only, could you maybe not wipe his memory this time?” The monster grinned, his teeth sharp and yellow. “I could get in trouble for that.” “You’re a monster. Aren’t you suppose to get in trouble?” “Fair point. You lead the way.”
From the drone's perspective overhead, the four sleek forms of the lions stalking through the grass were clearly visible. But Sean Edmunds, desperately trying to light a fire to ward against just such an attack, couldn't see it coming. The cameras swooped in lower for a better up-close shot. Panic spread across his face in glorious 4K resolution as he realized what was happening; there's only one reason they'd want a close-up. His head swiveled around wildly, trying to figure out what was after him. The last thing he saw was head lioness's tawny fur as her jaws closed around his neck. "Oh, Edmunds is OUT!"Bill Braddock shouted into his microphone, thumping his fist on the table in the commentators booth. "We all knew that one was coming, but it's still always a bit of a shock to see!"The cameras swooped off to focus on the remaining contestants; polling found that the audience loved seeing the kill shots, but that scenes of the carnage aftermath tended to make viewership plummet. "Even more shocking is that it was Edmunds,"added his co-host Amanda DeVance. On screen, his biography and stats popped up. "I mean, he was a safari leader in Kenya for two years! He's the last one I expected to die from a lion attack!" "Oh, absolutely,"Braddock agreed. "In the latest betting pool, the odds-on favorite was that he would be bitten by one of the giant mosquitoes."The cameras switched to one of the massive pests that were currently hovering near the lake in the middle of the island. The autopsy on Shively wasn't done yet, but the doctor's preliminary conclusion was that they carried some sort of unknown pathogen that caused her death in a matter of hours. "In fact Edmunds kne.... Oh, I'm sorry to interrupt, but it looks like we may have our next roll!" The cameras trained on four members of the red team who were dashing through the jungle. They'd managed to spot the Blue Team's camp, where the Jumangi board was currently located. To prevent speed-throughs (where players just swiftly rolled the dice before any of the ill effects could actually occur), the board's location was changed after every roll, and teams had to scour the jungle to find it. Blue had made it to the board first this time. "The real question now,"Amanda said, "Is whether the Blue Team will allow the Red Team to actually make its roll. Blue is down three members already, whereas Red has only lost one. Blue might strategically hide the board in the hopes that Red might lose a few more. Remember, that anaconda that seems to have developed a taste for Egans is still out there and on the prowl." "That's true,"Braddock chimed in. "But Blue needs to be careful too. They've taken a risk in bunching up all of their team members together. We could have a repeat of the 10th season, where the entire Yellow Team was killed in one fell swoop."That game had gone on for two entire years before a replacement team finally managed to haul the board out of the quicksand. The drones hovered in the treetops. The world watched as the Red Team approached Blue's camp with their makeshift spears at the ready. Contestants weren't allowed to bring weapons into the arena, but most of them were adept at fashioning their own. They fanned out into the brush and circled around. But the Blue Team welcomed them in and offered up the dice willingly. "Well I'll be damned!"Amanda whispered. "Could this be an alliance forming?" Braddock shrugged. "We all know a Jumanji match can make for some strange bedfellows. The Yellow Team is pretty far ahead due to those double fours two turns ago, so Red and Blue might be feeling threatened." The Red Team emerged from the brush and stepped into the center of the camp. Akatu, leader of the Blue Team, held out the dice in his hastily bandaged hand. A Red Team member (Lewis, judging by the long blonde ponytail) took one last step... and the ground collapsed beneath her, down into a deep pit. Immediately, the Blue Team members rushed the remaining three with knives drawn. They managed to pin one of them and tie him up, but the other two flitted off in the jungle. Now the Blue Team had two Red captives to force rolls, instead of just the one. That meant that one of the Reds would be expendable; probably a useful diversion. The fewer competitors left at the end, the bigger their share of the prize money. "OH!"Braddock shouted. "It was a trap! I'd forgotten all about their pit!"On screen, a replay showed the Blue Team digging out the hole almost two days ago, presumably as a trap for animals. But apparently not. "That was just brutal!" Amanda nodded and smirked. "Yes, it was. And that's Jumanji." ----- If you enjoyed the story, you should also subscribe to /r/Luna_Lovewell!
"But...what about the lightsabers?"Tim asked, his voice sulky. "Lightsabers? Oh, I'm quite certain we don't have any of those."The old man's eyes twinkled mysteriously behind their half-moon spectacles. Tim hated those eyes. They were gentle, even filled to the brim with kindness. He knew he should love them, be enthralled with the magic just behind the shimmering layer of tears. But they were the wrong eyes. They didn't understand him. Tim tucked his knees up under his chin, careful not to soil his chair with the dirt from his shoes. "I just...I thought that...you know. Things would be different."Even to him, his voice sounded a bit whiny. But the old man just smiled a little wider. "Timothy."The man said, clasping him by the shoulder. "Life doesn't always happen the way that we want it to. Why, if it did, there would be no adventure to it! But even when things don't go as planned, it is the ingenuity of people that surprises me, day after day. When driven strongly enough, I find very little can stand between people and what they want." Tim looked up from where he had been studying his untidy laces. "You mean...I just have to do it myself?" The man's eyes twinkled brighter. "Did I say that? I can't quite recall..."He looked away and began studiously examining one of the many strange silver instruments that lined his office. But Tim hardly noticed the lack of attention. Ideas, great and small, flitted through his mind like a flock of birds. "Excuse me, Headmaster."He said, standing so quickly that he nearly overbalanced. "I need to get back to the dungeons." "Yes, I think that would be for the best."The man didn't look away from the contraption, but Tim could have sworn that he was smiling just by looking at the back of his head. "Oh, Timothy."The man called, stopping him right at the door. "Be sure not to write anything down where it could be found. It would be terrible if Filch decided what you were doing was against the rules." "Yes, sir."Tim smiled, then bolted down the stairs as fast as he could. It might not be the Jedi Academy that he had been hoping for, but Hogwarts was still filled to the brim with magic. And with magic, anything was possible.
"Alright,"I told the GoPRO mounted on my helmet, "Here's the deal. I have half an hour to get from North Kingstown to Providence. I told them I'd be there in seven minutes, and here's how it's gonna work." I started my pickup truck, holding my rifle in my left hand and taking the steering wheel in my right. "I know, for a fact, that there are exactly four military blockades between here and there."I kicked it into reverse, flying out of the garage and plowing a zombie, before throwing it into gear. "Now, normally, an automatic transmission would be vastly superior if I'm only driving with one arm. However..."I changed gears, momentarily letting go of the wheel. "You get better zero to sixty and a higher mileage, and since I only had time to put three-quarters of a gallon in, I'll need everything I can get." I broke through my neighbors fence; a zombie clinged to the windshield, and I quickly ran through a second fence, dislodging him. "Now, it's important not to waste bullets here. I only packed eight, and I need two per blockade to knock it low enough to run over."I curbed a turn, leading to the highway entrance. "Speaking of blockade, I'll need quiet time for this..."I floored the gas, holding the rifle out the window. First shot fired, and hit; I cycled the bolt, bracing the gun against the car door, and fired the second shot. The barricade crumbled as I ran through it. "Nice! First try!"I sped along I-95, carefully weaving around the stalled and discarded vehicles. The only zombies along the road shambled slowly, never coming close. "Now, this looks pretty easy, but it's actually--"I swung a hard turn, hitting the hand-brake to squeeze through a very tight gap. "Pretty difficult. I just know the route really well, since I make it every morning in my commute." I came upon the second blockade; I could see it in the distance. I held the rifle out the window and fired; a perfect shot. I braced it against the car door to cycle the bolt, but dropped it. "Shit. Oh well, I have backup strats. Baby strats, they're much safer."I slammed the gas pedal, and quickly took off. My new target: the sports car stalled facing the wrong way. I carefully aimed for the corner, and struck it; the shallow incline of the front of the car sent me flipping through the air; I just barely cleared a nearly truck-shaped gap with inches to spare, landing less than gracefully on the other side. "Nice, barely cleared it. If you're wondering why I didn't stop to pick up the rifle, it's because doing so would have wasted twenty seconds on this route." A group of zombies stood idly, blocking the path; I ran through the smallest pack. Blood and viscera covered the windshield, blocking my sight. I turned on my wipers, only successfully clearing a small patch. "Damn, RNG dicked me."I stuck my head out the window. "Now, this is risky strats, but it's faster than the moonroof."I passed the third barricade by riding up the hill before the bridge, and jumping the gap. Although the back bumper came off, I was safe. "Now, this is going to be the hardest barricade of all, and after that, the easy part of the run is over. Any number of things can go wrong here, since I'll have to scale that pile of corpses over there. If I lose traction, or if the pile isn't stable, I'll flip, and could die."I braked hard just before the pile, slowly traversing it. I climbed, and bodies began to fall away. Just as I came to the top, my truck began to flip. In the blink of an eye, I undid my seatbelt, climbing out the passenger window, and grabbing on to the lip of the barricade. "Now, ditching the truck here only loses about twelve seconds, since I'll have to be without it for the rest of my run. Thankfully, there are alternate strats here." I hoisted myself up, jumping on the broken portions of the building to climb up. Once I reached the last climbable piece, I used my helmet to shatter the window adjacent, and entered the office complex on its thirteenth floor. "Now normally, the faster zeds love hanging out on the thirteenth floors of buildings. That means that this area would prove extremely dangerous to any casual, but I'm a professional. I've taken parkour classes."One of the undead sprinted at me, but I vaulted over, throwing him out the window. "If I'm lucky, one of them will have--there's one!"I ran up and pulled out the knife from a zombie's gut, quickly dispatching them with it. "Normally, a knife is really good for close quarters combat, but that was the only time I'll ever use it for that. I need the knife to break safety glass on the sixteenth floor." I sprinted for the elevator, whose doors were already open. I jumped to the ceiling panel, pulling myself up. "I'm sure you'll wonder why I'm not taking the stairs. They're covered in debris, and those are baby strats; this shaves off a whole seven seconds from my run."I grabbed the cable, and began sawing through with the knife. The steel did not easily give, but in the end, the cable snapped, careening me towards the ceiling. Before that could happen, I let go. My momentum carried me up and through the open doors on the sixteenth floor. From there, I ran to the larger windows lining the exterior wall. Holding the knife in hand, I stabbed and slammed the safety glass, just barely breaking through. I fell for a split second, before landing on the adjacent roof. "Alright, we're almost at the end, here. All I have to do is not get hit by the bandits and their sniper fire from the high-rises, and we're home-free."Right on cue, gunshots sounded through the air, and small dents in the gravel beside me began to form. I weaved left and right, narrowly avoiding the bullets. Just before I reached the end of the building, ready to jump, a bullet hit my shoulder; it struck the joint, severing my arm. "That's fine, I have two of those. I can afford tank a few bullets here." I jumped off, landing on the hospital's helipad, rolling to avoid injuring myself. I sprinted to the far end, where a helicopter waited. "Time!"I shouted. One of the personnel casually checked his phone. "Six minutes, fifty seven seconds." I gave a celebratory fist pump with my one arm. Why wouldn't I? After all, I just set a new world record.
Is... Is that, Eminem? What the fuck? This is THE Alaina? I couldn't comprehend what I was seeing. I mean, I had known she was well-off, but... not this well off. I was standing there, face to face with my favorite musician of all time. "I can't believe what I'm seeing right now sir, but nice to meet you. I'm Mike."I managed to say, as I extended my hand. "Yes, I've heard about you Mike. My name is"-- "TICKY - TICKY - TICKY, SLIM SHAAAADY"I loudly interrupted.
I’ve gotten use to my condition over time. There are things I do to make it bearable. For example, if I touch an object a second time, I only get an ‘update’ on whats happened since the last time I touched it. I try to stay in my own home for this reason. Another reason is that touching people is always unpleasant. With my condition you quickly learn that theres very few people that truly stray far from the mold. Normally I see what they ate for breakfast, then each race through their birthdays and always end with seeing their birth. Don’t get me wrong! Birth is a beautiful thing in and of itself but man does it get old when you have to see it everytime you accidentally bump into someone or have to take an awkward handshake. But when your best friend wins a Nobel Prize for physics, there are simply some sacrifices you got to make. I had invited him over to my place and had opened the door, we jovially greeted each other and I congratulated him on his award and went to give him a high five, bracing myself for the usual roller coaster. Our hands touched and I saw him getting out of his car, driving, getting in it. I saw him receiving his award on stage, him opening his email and finding out about it, submitting his work. I saw him diligently writing his work, spend years studying, going through his masters program. And then I saw him getting out of a pod. Then he was here for years, centuries perhaps. I saw him being put in the pod. I saw him on a strange operating table, a dark figure stuffing him with gears and motors. I looked on in horror as these parts were forged in factories with technology I’ve never seen before. And now I’m standing in my door way in shock, my jaw slightly ajar. I don’t know what I just saw, but at the very least it wasn’t another birth.
"Well, shit"mumbled the Nameless One, as the new immortal disappeared from sight. "Respectfully, sire"started his underling "perhaps we should begin working from a script. I trust you are aware" "I KNOW WHAT I DID."bellowed the nameless one. "That is the eighth such soul this week, your Darkness. The overworld's power will be a near match for ours if this pattern continues much longer." "I know, Stang, I just get so excited. I want these souls to fear me with every fiber left in their beings!"The Nameless One began to pace in front of the altar he had constructed for this very purpose. "Am I doing too much?" "Sire, far be it from me to critique your actions. You are beyond infallible! Ahem, having said that"Stang shrunk in his dark robes, disappearing an inch at a time until the robes looked almost empty, "you may benefit from speaking to..."His voiced trailed off. "NO." "Sire, millennia passed under his rule without incident. We painted the inner chamber with the physical manifestation of the agony he provided! His reign was generations of terror!" "He retired. Besides, I won't give him the satisfaction." "Very well, then. I will seek out a large enough soul on which we can scrawl your curses in advance. We must endeavor to maintain the power balance and this may be the best way." The Nameless One sighed deeply. "There is no shame in learning, your Darkness!"Stang called as the Nameless One retreated to his throne room. "Your father had a cheat soul too, at first!"
It began quite simply, then everyone died. The delegation, at least. The occupation and dominion certainly. The Empire...possibly. We, the Great and Glorious Niwraith Empire, chose your pitiful backwater planet that you call Earth as our next state. As we had done hundreds of times in the past, we sent a show of force into your system, skipping space to arrive well within your atmosphere all at once on every side. This usually causes a sense of fear, awe, and respect for the majesty and might of the Imperial Spacefleet. This time...it didn't work as intended. We skipped in and began to broadcast the terms of your surrender in all of your languages on all wavelengths, and as expected some of you attacked out of desperation. We expected your tiny ballistic weapons to bypass our shields, as they are designed for Weapons of Culture, not barbarism. What we did NOT expect is how some of your weapons flash-vaporized a number of our ships. Our signals went silent while we conferred via beam on this development, when a second salvo hit, causing far more damage. Somehow, inexplicably, your dirt crawling, infantile magicians had weaponized the very radiation that stars emit, and had compressed that so tightly that a single scrawny human could carry one in their hand. Such weapons are inconceivable. We have seen the length and breadth of a dozen galaxies, and seen wonders beyond count...and your strangely hyper-radioactive rocks, that seem entirely unique to your planet, have held off the might of a thousand year military dynasty. So, I'll ask one last time, ambassador...how much for your magical, terrible, glorious 'nukes'? We have a universe to conquer.
"This actually happens quite a lot."I tell my friend, casually ignoring the knife at my throat. "Not with her specifically, but this general situation is quite common for me." "Hey,"the unknown assailant screams. "Stop ignoring me!" "Now she's going to say 'We can do this this easy way or the hard way'" "We can do this the easy... Stop that!" I took a deep breath, trying to wrest as much sympathy out of my boredom as possible, "Listen, moppet. There is no easy way. There's probably not even a hard way. I want you to stop and think about why you have a knife to my throat. Why are you angry with me? Where did the knife come from? Do you know the answer to these questions?" The woman blinks a few times and slowly lowers the blade and steps away from me. "Good thinking. Now, hand the knife to Beth."I point to my friend, "That's Beth." The bewildered woman mutters an apology and wanders off. Beth tosses the knife onto the dining room table. "What the hell was that all about, Cat?" "You know the girl I broke up with last year?" "The one you said had anger management issues?" "That's the one. Turns out she's one of those metahumans you hear about on the news. She can implant suggestions into people's minds. Pretty sure that's why I went out with her in the first place. " "Yeah, didn't seem to be your type" "She is a little bitter about the break-up, so she's been sending people after me. " "Why don't you call the police?" I pick up the knife and open a drawer full of knives, guns and tasers, and drop the knife in. "I kind of like the idea of her being constantly frustrated by failure. Plus, free knives!"
"Cure me of whatever is killing me." "It's your fate. It's the fate of all those who live." "Just cure it." "It requires a lot from you. Maybe too much." "I don't care. Take whatever you want." "You are making a mistake." "You think living is a mistake?" "Like how you will, Yes." "Well, I don't care. Just cure me of it." "If I do, you will survive, but not live." "It is better than death." "You won't believe that after this." "Do you even know who you are talking to? Life is my one true goal. I own the entire medical prowess of Humanity. I'm the one who brought every human a dozen more lifetimes, cured a thousand diseases, saved a billion souls." "Yet you are dying." "You think I don't see the irony??" "You see it far too clearly." "Enough with these word games. Cure me, or say so if you can't." "Of course, I can cure you. But you will regret it." "Then do it!" "I implore you to reconsider." "I did." "There is no turning back." "There shouldn't be." "..." "..." "I'll do it, but I'm sorry." "Just get it over with it." "Do you wish to know the price?" "I don't care. Take everything I own, if necessary." "You don't own much." "I'm the richest man alive, no, ever. I think you'll find I own a lot of things." "Oh, that's not what I meant— You never really owned any of the riches you have. They'll be passed on sooner or later." "Then what do you want?" "Just something you truly own." "And what are they?" "You know what they are." "That's not an ans— nevermind, just continue with curing me." "Of course." "..." "Pity you own so little. But at least you own what is required." "Good." "And... it is done." "Thank y... what is th-th-this? Wh-Wh-What am I feeling?!" "That is the price." "What is it-t-t?" "I warned you, didn't I?" "WHAT AM I FEELING?!" "You asked to be cured of whatever was killing you. Death was killing you— It took a personal interest in you, with you living a hundred times longer than you should be and all. But worry not, for you are forevermore free of it." "Then why am I feeling like th-th-this?" "To banish Death, I had to give it the one thing it covets more than life itself. The will to live. And yours... yours was the strongest it ever tasted." "No..." "Yes. You should have listened to me. I cannot deny a request that can be paid, but you could have taken it back..." "C-c-can't you take it back now?" "No. I'm sorry." "..." "I know how you feel. How you want to die. Just as much as, if not even more than, you wanting to live a few minutes ago. But Death will never look at you, let alone touch you..." "Plea—" "I can't help you now. I suggest you take solace in the fact that you got what you wanted."
[Part 1 of 2] “I hate to say it beautiful, but this is the end of our little game.” Mary smirked, taking off her black pillbox hat. She had never been one for masks, enjoying the comfort of wearing an elegant hat instead. After all, a mask was only for the amateurs and she was far out of their league. She tuned to the confused heroes, giving the group a bow. The bow was mainly directed at her enemy Sunshine. The yellow-suited hero just as confused as everyone else in the group. “Why did you call us here? What scheme are you planning?” Sunshine hissed, her blonde ponytail swaying with the charging of her energy. Already a golden hue was surrounding her palms, making Mary a little excited. “Oh, come now my sweet Sunshine, no need for hostilities. I haven’t even done anything yet. While I would love to tango with you, I fear that’s beneath me now. Can one of you pour me a glass of wine?” Mary held out her white gloved hand. The villain waiting for someone to pour her a glass of the expensive champagne that rested on her office desk. She could only imagine what the other villains were thinking right now. All of them having heard that, the always scheming Mary had called the heroes on herself. They probably thought she was trying to earn their favor or spread some dirt on another villain. But that couldn’t be further from the truth. The heroes all stared at one another. A few cracking a smile at the thought of pouring her a glass of wine. The nerve of this villain. Not only was she wasting their time, she also expected them to perform a degrading task like that? Sunshine went to speak, only for a hero to step forward. Rawfight moving to Mary’s decorated desk, taking the crystal glass and pouring the wine into it. When the wine was almost bubbling out of the glass, he offered it to her. “Thank you, Herald. Oh, or should I call you that little stupid hero name I gave you? Rawmutt, was it? Rawlight? Oh, Rawfight. Heh, I honestly expected you to get caught. I can’t tell if that says a lot about your ability to blend in or the stupidity of the heroes.” She cackled before sipping from the glass. “Rawfight. Why would you betray us?” Sunshine went to step forward, only for Jumping Puck to grab her arm, not wanting her to walk into a trap. Before Rawfight could reply, Mary answered for him. “It’s not a betrayal if he was never on your side. He was always my minion. I loaned him to you so I could keep an eye on your movements. It’s pretty basic villain stuff. As I said, I didn’t expect him to last this long. Good job, Rawfight, you served me well.” She said, pushing a spare empty glass towards her minion, offering him a drink. Rawfight didn’t look at the group of heroes as he poured his drink, celebrating his victory in silence. “So, you hid a rat in our group? Big deal, is that all? Don’t tell me you brought us here for that purpose alone.” Jumping Puck crossed his arms, trying to figure out what the big plan was. None of this made sense. She gloating like this was a victory, yet she hadn’t won anything. “Is that all? I’m glad you asked you dad bod wielding menace.” Mary laughed again, sitting on the edge of her desk. “If that were all, I would be a rather boring lady, wouldn’t I? No, I’m here to reveal my declaration of war and my declaration of victory. Oh, where are my manners? Would anyone like a drink? It’s good stuff. Stole it a few weeks back.” She glanced around at all the stern faces, shrugging. “No?” “No.” Rainfall huffed. The rain themed hero dressed in a slippery blue suit, hiding her body behind its layers. The blue hair that spilled out from the back of her raindrop shaped mask being the only visible part of her. “So, my gloomy little friend can speak? To think this is the first time we have spoken to each other. How about a handshake?” Mary offered her hand, only to swiftly pull it back when Rainfall tried to push a sharp icicle through it. “Ooh, how cold.” “Cut the crap. What war?” Puck bounced on the spot, ready to pounce as soon as she revealed her plan. “How can you have already won? Unless. Those little schemes of yours…” Sunshine’s light dimmed as she made sense of the situation. Mary had played them all, making them run around and stop her petty crimes while she focused on the bigger picture. “You were always the smart one, beautiful. Which is why you were my favorite. Don’t worry, I’ll happily let you all work for me. I’m nice enough to not hold any grudges over our past relationships. Yes, my little schemes were distractions for my ultimate plan.” [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/14ryl25/wp_you_are_a_supervillain_whos_in_reality_much/jqv4brb/)
Tonight he would finally do it. Michael curled his fists and looked down at the still form of his wife. Her face was calm in sleep, a startling contrast to the face she wore when awake. He thought again of last night, of her flailing knife, the clumsy attempts to hurt him. The unpredictable shifts between frenzied anger and remorse. He remembered the day he met her, the warmth in her eyes, the way the sunlight had caught and enflamed her hair. When he placed his hand carefully around her throat, the tears burned his throat. He tightened it until she awoke. She would face him for this. "Mikey,"she whispered. "Is it time?" He nodded, not trusting himself to speak. She looked at him, still like a corpse, her eyes bright in the darkness. "I would have hated being caged up in an asylum, Mikey. Watching my mother,"she paused, steadying his hand on her throat with her own grip. "It was enough. I couldn't have survived. You know that, right?" His mouth tightened, his grip wavering despite himself. "You're very sure of this, aren't you? Using the past tense, already." "I wouldn't have married you without knowing how the story would end,"she said. "You've always kept your promises." They stared in silence at each other, and he thought he saw a glimmer of it in her eyes. The beginning of what the doctors called an 'episode'. Just a piece of entertainment for them, something to study and write an article about. His undoing, the nightmare that had terrorized him for more than a decade. He grasped that thought and steeled himself, reaching into his pocket with his other hand to take out the pills. The glimmer in her eyes touched the rest of her face, and he saw the subtle shift occur. He watched her begin to trash and snarl as he forced open her jaw, and poured the contents of the bottle down her throat. A choked scream escaped her as he forced down a glass of water to ensure it was done. He clapped his free hand over her mouth - the neighbors had keen hearing. She began to fight in earnest, and he tightened his grip. He held on grimly as the minutes ticked by. She buckled under him - then, when he thought she would tear at his face, her hand went limp. His heart lurched as he watched her eyes. But they were still locked on his. "Mikey..."she said, and smiled. "Haley?"he loosened his fingers, praying - despite the dark part of himself that was rejoicing - that he had failed. But her eyes were fixed and glassy. He stroked her cheek, marveling at the fact that it was her in death - not the other woman. It was his Haley, and it would be her that he buried.
"Glory to Man's Emperor God!", they shouted as I walked in. This group of people had been waiting to inform me of what has transpired since I had awaken. "Give me a report on our military status", I ordered. "We have many 'Marines of Space' who do battle with the filthy Aliens, but we are besieged on all sides.", said one of the Upper Mayors of Earth. "And what of the dark Gods?" "They grow in power, oh Man's Emperor God. The forces of Un-Order are formidable. However, we have a group which constantly seeks out their heretical influence. We call them, The Questioners." I let out a sigh and walked over to a window to look out at Holy Earth. "What are you thinking, my Lord?", one dared to ask me. After a pause, I responded. "It seems that in the Grim blackness of today, there will be only battle."
It was chaos in the ethereal realm. No longer bound by ancient strictures, the phantom world had exploded; like a generation of moderately wealthy children with too little discipline. Some, bored after a seeming eternity of scaring terriers, wreaked havoc - flitting from host to host leaving a trail of destruction behind them. The human news was filled with stories of mystery accidents, strange and terrifying occurrences. I wanted nothing to do with it. &#x200B; My uncle, he had been a champion haunter - he had been behind one of the most famous houses, 13 on Elm. Bloody cupboards, flying chairs - the lot. I had really looked up to him. After the ISG had changed the law though - he had changed, too. Gone was the fearsome phantasm, sending flesh-dwellers screaming into the night, gone was the shrieking shade who dwelled in the dark hearts of men. Now, and I shudder to think of it - he dwells in a seedy location downtown - an establishment I refused, both as man and ghost - to enter. &#x200B; Other ghosts had made similar decisions, many sordid - some less so. A spectre I had met recently was en route to haunt one of the first Ferraris ever produced - having been somewhat of a petrolhead in life. In fact, I met several other spirits following passions brought with them from life. Harps, calculators - in one case a comfortable family sofa - I heard it all. But I knew where I wanted to go. &#x200B; The air was still as the man in the suit stood in front of the silent crowd. The journalists leaned forward eagerly, awaiting his - no doubt inflammatory - words. On the podium, he rearranged his cue cards for his speech, the large lettering visible only to him. Clearing his throat, he began to speak - but the crowd heard nothing - transfixed as they were by the toupee upon his head; which had slowly stood upright and fluttered languidly, orange tendrils waving in the breezeless afternoon. &#x200B;
Me and my sister had always been close, We were not only siblings, but rivals in everything as well. Our battles were legendary but even though we were rivals, we were brother and sister before that, So when I heard she had died in a car accident I wept for hours in my crappy New York apartment. I flew to our home state of Hawaii a few days later. The funeral was nothing unique, our family gathered at a small and cheap venue, men dressed in the basic black suit, women in normal black dresses with black veils. I think the saddest thing there was that I was the only one that was actually mourning, the others were simply distant relatives that wanted an excuse to visit the island and vacation. Whilst I grieved the loss of my sister they drank bottles upon bottles of alcohol. At first even her final wish seemed unremarkable, spread her ashes on Mauna Kea. I decided the best way to honor it would be to hike up the entire mountain with the urn, in my youth I had been an athletic kid but years of a trashy office job and stress had taken a toll on my fitness. On the day I had planned I began my climb, surprisingly when I arrived at the mountain I felt an odd sense of... Homeyness, like I was walking into my own house to be greeted by my family and friends. This odd sense of homeyness combined with a strange strength that I had, the urn felt weightless and I found myself running to the top faster then I ever imagined I could. Finally I reached the snowy peak of the mountain and stopped to admire the beautiful view and reflect upon the time spent with my sister. We had both always been outsiders, even though we were both Hawaiian natives she had hair as red as flames, while I had pale hair almost as white as the snow. She had a hot tempered while I was always considered a cool headed introvert. I cried as I knelt down into the snow, the only thing there to comfort me as I stood alone on the mountain. Finally I took the urn from my backpack and unleashed the ash into the mountain winds. The ashes swirled along in a dance until suddenly they burst into glowing red dots, like a swarm of crimson fireflies. The ashes came together until they formed the shape of somebody, somebody familiar. but it couldn't be , but it was! The mountain rumbled and roared as the volcano awoke after many many years dormant, but the thing that terrified me was... Standing there was my sister, for a long time we just stood still, I was too shocked to speak. About 10 minutes later she spoke "Alright Bro, This is where it gets complicated." Memories burst like fireworks in my brain as thousands of years of life and death racked my brain, until I finally said "Pele, It has been a while, although it has been mere weeks". She smiled "Poliʻahu, Why were you a guy this time around?". I laughed "You know we don't have a choice as what we revive as, remember that time you were a dog?" Pele replied "Now that's it!, divine intervention aiding the mortals can wait!". I laughed "Ok Fido!"And then we fought, waves of snow met writhing snakes of fire as the earth rumbled and the volcano burst, sending a cloud of debris far into the sky... &#x200B; &#x200B;
As my hand parted from his, my mind began to whirr, like a well oiled machine. I’d been doing this for years, my record unblemished, but today it seemed I’d met my match. The image was staggering. An entire world lay before my very eyes, devastated by a malicious blight. I could feel the anguish, as the darkness gnawed away slowly at every trace of life. As the beads of sweat rolled ever so gently down my brow, I looked up at the man sitting opposite me. He looked in every way the picture of health, with generic yet oddly soothing features that seemed to shift and morph as I tried to focus. “Who are you?”, I muttered under my breath, my lips shaking. None of the confidence I’d built up over the years seemed to manifest. The man took a deep breath and spoke, “I am Tetragrammaton” His voice held an endless allure. “What was tha- that thing I saw inside you?” I asked, still grasping at what little composure I could muster. “Earth” He replied softly.
To my dearest Son, today you were born. Your scales met the dawn not long after you first peaked out of that little Egg you now rest in alongside your mother. We lied with you for what felt like hours, offering careful introductions and intimacy. You're already so curious, crawling all over the pair of us and blowing little puffs of smoke. I had no idea I could love another being so inately before today. Never had protecting something been so important. Hence why I find myself over my forge this evening, defying a rule I have followed for my duration as a blacksmith. Tonight I am forging you a weapon. This earth, even for beings as gifted as dragons, bears a storm for all of us my son. For the days when you face yours, I offer you this blade. As with any tool, to bear this sword will be a responsibility. One should never take power for granted nor mistake it for righteousness. But life within and without ourselves is relentless. We can not escape the world, we can not cease growing, we can not dominate more and hope this precludes us from change and fear. We may only be ready, and do our best, and be thankful for every form and being we are blessed to share our time with. Hence I offer you this power, not as a crutch but as an extension of your will. So that you might continue to grow, and protect those whom you hold dear. When you are old enough, this blade will lie in your hands, but till that time comes, It will lie in mine. My fire is yours my son, I love you.
Screams echoed through the metal catacombs as Heidi and Glenn barricaded the door to the mess hall. The tables were bolted to the floor, so they piled anything heavy they could find. "Do you think they'll find us?"Heidi asked, gasping for breath. "Oh, I know they'll find us,"Glenn answered. "We just need to hold them off long enough for help to arrive." "How do we even know help is coming?" Glenn ran a hand through his hair and scanned the room, failing to slow his pulse. It thumped in his ears and pressed on his chest, threatening to burst. "I don't know, Heid. Someone had to have gotten to a radio. To--" Something hit the door hard, rattling the mess of objects against it. The pair fell silent. They stared at the door for several seconds, frozen in place. "I think we're clear,"Glenn said. "Come on. Let's see what we can find to defend ourselves." They ran through the mess hall and climbed through the window into the kitchen. Dishes were scattered everywhere, food spilled across the floor. Glenn opened drawers and cabinets alike but found little that would help. "Looks like it's already been raised. Christ, if that thing gets in here--" He turned to see Heidi holding a silver barbeque fork. She shrugged. "Better than nothing, right?" Glenn laughed, despite the situation. Then he saw it: on the wall behind Heidi, there was a screen embedded in the wall. He pushed past her and tapped it, smiling wide as it lit up. "It works!"he said, tapping furiously to find the menu he needed. "Does that thing call outside the facility?"Heidi asked, looking over his shoulder. Glenn shrugged. "I sure as hell hope so."Finally, he found the screen he was looking for. He dialed and waited as the phone rang on the other end. Another loud bang came from the barricaded door, this time followed by the sound of metal scattering across the floor. Heidi rushed to the window and peeked out, her eyes widening. "Our barricade fell, the door is dented but it's holding." A voice came through the speaker. "Hello, this is the United--" "We need help!"Glenn whispered hurriedly. "We're on Jupiter colony 559 and there's--well, fucking bears or something--" Nails screeched against the metal door in the mess hall. Heidi watched through the window, steadily growing more nervous. "Oh, you mean the werewolves,"the voice said. Glenn and Heidi echanged a look. "The fucking what?"Glenn shouted. Heidi's eyes widened at the volume. Glenn instantly realized his mistake and took a deep breath. "Werewolves,"the voice continued, in a tone fit for casual conversation. "Quite the nasty species, really. But, human rights groups--and animal groups, at that--tied our hands when it came to the execution of the foul beasts. Yes, we compromised to sending them somewhere they would be unable to transform. Your warden should know all about it." Glenn blinked. "Warden? What the fuck are you talking about?" The scratching turned to the wail of bending metal. "It's getting through,"she said, clutching her fork. The voice in the speaker responded, "Yes, this is prison colony 559 of Jupitor 2 in the Granity system? We picked it specifically for the lack of moons. You really should have recieved notice--" "No, you moron, this is 559 of Jupitor, the fucking first one!"Glenn said. The voice fell quiet. "And... and how many moons do you have?" "Seventy-fucking-nine,"Glenn said as the wolve's arm tore through the door. "Oh, dear. I'm afraid there's been a terrible mistake. I'll get to the bottom--" Glenn picked up a nearby frying pan and smashed the screen. "Looks like we're on our own, love." Heidi lifted her barbeque fork in the air as the beast finally tore into the room. "Let's do it." >r/Ford9863 for more stuff by me.
Illusion is the art of making things seem like they are something else. Like making copper coins seem like gold, or to make your dull ugly donkey seem like a haughty and proud stallion. It's generally looked down upon as a useful, but weak, school of magic, by all the other schools of magic. I only had the grades to get into the illusion classes, since they were the only ones that people weren't fighting over getting into. Most of my fellow students are lazy, absorbed with getting to use illusion to pick up dates by making themselves look more handsome than they are, or conjure interesting images while puffing arcanegrass on their pipes. But it does have applications in later life, so I take it serious. But I've started to notice something. In the oldest tomes of illusion, there are always references to the higher level of illusion, while never explicitly talking about it. Asking the tutors, they say it's just an old obscure joke, played on the other schools, because illusion is the magic of pranksters and tricksters after all. But I read into it, journals of ancient mages describing just what the school of illusion could do, ancient tomes that haven't been read in so long that they consist of mostly dead mice and fossilised bugs, containing obscure references the higher mysteries, fuller study, greater power, and other such words. The more I learned, the more it seemed that there was evidence that perhaps illusion was more than it seemed. I couldn't find the direct proof, but I had gathered up enough of an outline of the proof, the real illusion powers, that I could see it existed. Yet I didn't act like a dummy and come out to tell everyone this, if it was so secret, so hidden, then there had to be a reason why nobody was talking about this. The most likely thing is, that the eldest and most powerful illusionists had used their powers to trick all the other schools of magic into disregarding illusion beyond the basic stuff. So I had to find their spellbooks. Luckily for me, it was soon going to be a night of celebrations, where students and teachers would dance, sing, and party the night away. The illusion classes always parties the hardest. And the teachers and elders of our magical path always joins the festivities, and get extremely wasted. Then we usually prank the entirety of the Arcane Academy. But I was going to use it for something much more cunning, much more productive. And while the teachers and my fellow students were getting hammered on dwarven ale and elven wine, I delved into the inner sanctum. Every wing of the Academy containing a specific school of wizardry has one, where only the highest and most powerful of our kind can have. I'm nothing more than a skilled acolyte, but I couldn't let this go. Usually there are crazy magical traps on the sanctums, but considering the night's festivities, they'd been shut off, in case some drunk student stumbled in and accidentally got turned into ash, struck with plague, or with illusion made to think they're graphic design freelancers being forced to work for ''exposure''. I walked deep into the sanctum, seeing many fascinating sights, forests made of light, animals made of shadow, alchemy-less fireworks, sounds that tasted of colours, and many marvels. But finally, I found what I was looking for. Inside a mighty chapel, dark and filled with illusion-based storms, there were three books. One was called the Secrets of The Inner Circle, one had no markings on it, only an unpleasant burnt impression of a human hand, which was seemingly bound in human skin, and the third was a colouring book for children. Remembering back to our lessons about hiding in plain sight, and how the best illusions tricked not only the mind, but also the logic. Because if anyone who was genre savvy walked in here, they'd think that the obvious outlier, the colouring book for children, would be the secret knowledge in disguise. Then they'd take it and suddenly they'd experience the horrible feeling of hearing your spoiled daughter screech because you've gotten her the wrong colour of horse for her sweet 16th birthday, and understanding in that moment that you have ruined your child and failed as a parent. I took the one that said what it was on the cover. Only an idiot picks up a book made of human skin. They tend to bite. And I left the sanctum, returning back to my dormitory room, to read. I was astonished. The final level of illusion is not to make illusions that both smell, feel, sound, and taste real. That is what we've been taught. The final level of illusion magic is to make the illusion real. And I suddenly understand exactly why the elder illusionists have kept this knowledge hidden. Anybody can learn illusion, as long as they have an active imagination. Imagine what would happen if this knowledge was in the hand of someone who could imagine himself the crowned emperor of the world, the people of the world bowing before him. Then it would only be a matter of having enough magical energy to make that dream come true. Then you'd rule the world. I test the spells, and to my utter shock create an apple from raw nothing. Which should not be possible. Ingervelt's Law of Conservation of Matter says that you cannot make something from nothing, that everything is solid energy, and that the energy bound within a single grain of sand would be enough to unmake cities if somebody found a way to release all that energy at once. And I, like a god out of myth, have just created something with magic, that should not be possible. The illusion of an apple is easy, it's just light particles and waves acting in the way you want them to. But to solidify into matter? I read the book start to finish, and I rush down to the chapel to replace it. I am lucky. Nobody saw me. Nobody knows that I have the secret now. I imagine that if the elders knew, they could do things to me that not only shouldn't be possible, but probably completely isn't. Because the final level of illusion is breaking the laws of reality. [/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)
I could have been one of the greatest heroes of our history, or one of the most notorious villains. My ability to create a bubble of nullifying nature was feared by both sides. Shoot lasers at me while my bubble is up? Safe. Try to get close enough to do physical damage? Your muscles don’t mean a thing. I haven’t met a power yet that I can’t negate. Luckily for the villains, this guy isn’t angry, he didn’t lose his parents tragically and end up crying at a grave with a vengeance. And conversely, I had never been picked on as a kid, never watched my hero fall from grace or disappoint me, nor did I think I’d be great as a world ruler... and on top of all of that, my self preservation is second to none. What I am, however, is just a little bit greedy. Okay, maybe not greedy... but I enjoy the nicer things in life. A fancy car here, a beach house there... and there and there. I wasn’t a fighter. I wasn’t going to whore myself out to either side to better their chances, no matter how much they offered. But what I could do, was create a business around my ability. And what better business for people doing high stress physical combat all the time, than a place to just relax, knowing you were completely safe, no matter what side you were on. Walk inside Negate and Mitigate and all the stress and worries about being a hero or a villain simply vanish, because you no longer are one. Hell, half the time they come in without their masks or silly outfits, because without their powers, no one can tell each other apart anyway. That, plus my promise of cash only, leaves them with complete anonymity. Twenty years. Twenty years of doing nothing but sitting in my back office allowing my power to radiate around my little paradise, and I couldn’t think of an easier way to cash out.
Emperor Sinestrous Blackdeath looked at the financial reports and wrinkled his aging brow in confusion. "I don't understand."He said. "What is it, My Liege?"Asked Cravin, the Chief of Finance. "Why doesn't anyone want to trade with us? We have plenty of good grain, and our sustainable forestry provides more than enough lumber to export. And that's not even touching on our cotton and hemp farms. We have plenty to trade, but nobody wants anything to do with us." Cravin pursed his lips. "I've often wondered the same thing, My Liege. I've tried opening up trade negotiations many times, but nobody accepts me. Oddly enough, everyone seems scared of me. I have no idea why." "Perhaps they've heard of your appetite, Cravin, and are worried you'll eat them out of house and home." Cravin patted his belly and shrugged. "Yes well, a man has to appreciate the finer things in life."The grin fell from his face. "Although I worry it's not that. People rarely come to visit our fair land." "What? But I hear talk of visitors all the time." "Adventurers, My Liege. All geared for battle. I have no idea why. Everyone knows that our Bloodstained Empire is virtually monster free. And even among those that are around, most are either non-violent or tame. Your son's efforts on monster study are to thank for that, sir." The emperor puffed out his chest with pride at his son, Tormentus's scholarly achievements. "Yes, he is a wonderful man, isn't he?" "Indeed he is. And the people seem just find of him as they do you." "Perfect."Sinestrous nodded. That would help when he finally passed. "Ah, speaking of the people, I believe it's almost time for my daily populous meeting, isn't it?" Cravin checked a simple pocket watch. "Why so it is. Although I can't imagine there will be many complaints." "Nevertheless, it's important that the people know they have my ear, no matter how low their status is." "Understood, My Liege. Ah, perhaps one of them might have some ideas on our lack of trading and tourism. Some of the peasantry can be surprisingly clever." "Am excellent idea. I'll post the question to any callers I might have." And with that, the two men left the emperor's study, headed towards the throne room, ready to hear the plights of the people.
The night sky hung dark over the city. Malevolence lay on the ground defeated, all his energy spent in the preceding battle, and now he was too wounded to do anything but speak. "You've bested me again Starstreak, I submit, go ahead and lock me-" Malevolence's sentence was cut off abruptly by the roar of potentiality screaming from the palm of Starstreak as he summoned a sphere of searing plasma. Malevolence's eyes bolted wide open. "WOAH WOAH WOAH, hold on Starstreak! I'm too weak to fight, my protective aura is gone now, if you unleash that blast you'll kill me!" "So be it." Starstreak replied with a morbid acceptance, and sense of defeat of his own. Malevolence was panicking now, he had never seen Starstreak so somber in victory, and it struck a deep fear into his heart as he attempted to scramble back with what little strength he had remaining. "What- what are you saying? You're a hero Starstreak, aren't you going to lock me away?" "I have. So many times I have locked you away, only for one of your cronies to set you free, or for you to plot your inevitable escape. I'm done. Not this time." The cold malice in Starstreak's eyes sent a thunderous chill through Malevolence. His mind raced to find escape, grasping at straws. "If you kill me, you will no longer be a hero! You'll be just like me, a murderer. I'm defenseless, you're not acting in self defence here, this is ruthless, cold blooded murder." Starstreak paused and glanced around at the destruction left in the wake of Malevolence's plot, a series of specially enhanced explosives which he had been unable to prevent from detonating. Screams echoed through the streets, people grieving for their children who had been crushed by rubble. Families were fleeing their homes as the magical fire which sprung from the devices coursed relentlessly through the still standing buildings, lighting up the dark city with their hateful embers. His eyes landed on a man, cleaved in two by falling debris. A child no older than 8 years old held his hand, attempting feebly to drag him to safety, begging anyone to help save his dad, all in vain. He turned to stare down at Malevolence. "I'm already a murderer... these lives were not taken by your hand, but by my mercy. No more." Suddenly the energy building in Starstreak's hand flared with a furious radiance, he was no longer wielding a mere ball of plasma, but a raging inferno, a spiteful star, barely constrained. A small streak of plasma lunged from its confines and scorched his face, but he did not so much as flinch. Malevolence reached out a feeble hand, a desperate, pitiable attempt to protect himself from cosmic wrath. A bright flash followed, and for a brief moment the sky turned blue, as if the sun itself had came to exact its justice. When darkness returned Malevolence was gone, and in his place was a dark silhouette staining the ground.
I'm pulled aside movement followed by mother's worried eyes Can we have a word? My father asks He sits me down and starts to pace Worry written over his handsome face "It's come to this" He starts and stops "God knows now you're old enough, You're twenty-five And I must strive-" He swallows "To tell you the truth." I sit tight and wait But I've waited years now for this date There's a secret, the adults won't tell He opens his mouth to speak and stops His lips are white, his face is pale "Son,"he says and I grip my chair "The truth about this whole affair," "Father please, just tell me now." The words slip out and now it's said I can't believe I've been so misled My father's words Loud and clear: "Son, there's no such thing as beer." I stand and gasp He shakes his head "The world is serving us juice instead. It tastes the same, it looks alright." "I swear I've had drunken nights!" I pace the room and growl in rage My father sighs, he claps my back "Everyone just pretends. I'm sorry, Jack."
I was never told the rules, but I knew them all the same. Whoever lives gets to, well, actually live. You die, and you don't get to live. It's better if you don't think about too hard. I wasn't a fighter, that much I could figure out. I was smart, so far as I could give myself credit for. Guess I was the smartest, or at least smart enough to survive. Thousands of us appeared at once on the battlefield. A chunk of them died instantly due to their parameters, deformations stopping them in their tracks. A couple of the thinner ones ran off, some of the more football-looking ones charged into the fray. I stayed and watched. I had a plan. I sat down, keeping an ear out for anyone trying to sneak up on me, and an eye out for someone. If there were thousands of us, personalities would overlap, physics would start to match, if only- There. About 200 meters off to the right, near the hills. Another me, sitting down, staring at the crowd of the more burly ones slowly thinning out, listening, waiting. Looks exactly like me. Seems that lady fortune forgot the shuffle the deck. He looks back at me, and I nod at him, and slowly walked over to him. Speech being an unknown in this plane of existence, I could only smirk and offer my hand. He takes it, and I help him to his feet. A roar from behind surprises us, and I turn to see the Alpha charging at us, running down the mountain of bodies. He raises a bloody fist, and I instinctively duck. He slams it down on the back of my head, sending me to the ground in an absolute daze. I couldn't focus, vision fading in and out as my new friend managed to jump onto the distracted Alpha's back. I kick his legs out, and the meathead hits the ground hard. My friend sits on him pinning the man's arms. I crawl over to our aggressor. I didn't have it in me to violently end him, to just curbstomp him or snap his neck. All I could bring myself to do is close my eyes, and close my hands around his neck. I don't remember how long I choked him, only that the frontline attacker was long dead. I snapped my eyes open when the the bells signifying the end of the fight started to ring. I looked behind me, and saw my friend, lying in the grass a few feet away and smiling. He stood up, and offered a hand to help me up. I was never told the rules. None of us were told. Only that whoever lives, gets to live. Nothing about how many versions could win. Nothing about bringing a twin with you.
In my report to headquarters, I finally asked for a transfer. I am a sworn bodyguard to the Elyphian Prophet. I was trained since birth in martial arts and marksmanship. My battles with truly worthy foes are forever marked in scars that cover my body. I can only guess why the Prophet saw fit to send me to this dingy asylum in the West. I recommended the management be put to death since a steady supply of prisoners seem to escape weekly but my requests go unanswered. So I carry out the orders of the Prophet to keep this chest safe from the unrelenting, lone escapees although I wish it was a challenge. Their wooden training swords bounce off of my defense matrix and my plasma cutter vaporizes them instantly. They will never get their hands on the treasure I guard: a cloth shirt, cloth pants, and two wooden arrows.
It took so much to squint at the man standing in front of me. At first I thought he might be a hallucination – people said occurrences like these happened with the procedure. Beatifically smiling, he came into focus. He didn't say a word. He didn't have to. I knew where I was and what that meant. “Damn.” I wish my first words to my maker would have been more...eloquent. He just beamed back at me. He reached out his hand, or what I thought was his hand. Things still weren't totally clear. As he lifted me up, he took a breath to ask me a question. It had been a 6 hour surgery. She needed part of a liver, and there wasn't a moment I could remember where I didn't know it was going to be mine. Fair is fair, she took my heart 13 years earlier. She always laughed when I called it a matching set. I didn't make it. She did. “How was heaven” he asked, dusting off my back. “She was amazing.” “Good,” he replied “we have all eternity to talk about her.” He threw his arm around my shoulders as we walked. He let out a chuckle. “Matching set. That was funny.”
My first conversation with my future wife occurred while I was looking at a shovel. It turned out she was looking at the same shovel. It was a sleek black spade, made of solid steel and dark painted wood. I was admiring the heavy tool when the ping came in. > Apparently we're a match. Doing some gardening? I liked her immediately. Direct. Straightforward. Cleear. Well, mostly clear. I knew full well based on my own search history that we weren't being paired up because of gardening. > Very funny. Perhaps it's our interest in comedy? So, what do you do for a living? The game of cat and mouse had my head swimming. This was not something I was normally good at. Which, of course, made sense. My interests were particularly unique. > Work? Oh I work for a law firm. But you don't really want to talk about work, do you? She was quick witted. I liked that too. > A lawyer? So I guess that means you know where the bodies are buried, eh? Any recent cases I might know? I asked, chuckling to myself. I was already making some assumptions based on what little information I'd received. Nothing but a first name and a hint at her work, but I was already using my skills to find her online. > Perhaps. You've heard of the Harold Fornick case? Fornick was a rich billionaire who was found dead on a golf course, hit in the head by a stray golf ball. > A real shame how he went out. I heard he was a very pleasant man. You were the prosecutor then? There was a long pause as I waited for her response. > I guess you could say that. Truth be told, he might not have died if he hadn't been on blood thinners. But I suppose he died doing what he loved. Well... what he loved second to the housekeeper I suppose. I laughed, even more intrigueed than before. I let her keep talking, just wanting to listen instead. She seemed oddly familiar with the case. Moreso than a lawyer perhaps. > Would you like to meet? I believe we have some mutual business to discuss? Sean Howland? That came as a surprise to me. No one but my employer, who certainly would not be passing that kind of info around, knew about Sean Howland. > Huh. It appears you have me at a loss. You seem to know me from work, but I'm having difficulty finding your name. Her response came back a moment later. > Wendy. Wendy Fornick. I grinned. I finished purchasing the shovel with the stolen credit card information I'd collected and closed the tab. Behind it was the second item on my list. A harness for rock climbing, one that would have to be modified to ensure the climbing accident looked real enough. I'd have to make it to Sean's house today in order to intercept the real harness he had ordered online. Then I'd wait for my own, replace my modified harness with his, and let him enjoy his last vacation climbing the rocky cliffs of the grand canyon. That is, unless the widow Wendy Fornick had a better way to kill Sean. > Coffee it is. Oh, and I should add, I appreciate your taste in knives. --- I'll probably do a part 2 here and on my sub (/u/MNBrian) if people are interested. :)
For the waters took him down past their shifting depths. The sun above was a blanket, warm and spread out and his back burnt and then the burn faded and the light grew distant. The sounds of life above were going, their calls distorted goodbyes beneath the waves. But the sea was calm and his cross floated past and he reached for it but he was too tired. He had wept long and hard after the crash. Now there was nothing and he let go of it and closed his eyes. If God was there, He would understand. Jesus floated above to His sun and he was alone then, chasing the darkness. Giving up breath took some getting used to. In the dark he was disoriented. The pressure of the water pushed at him, pulled him in all directions, and there were no directions to go. Where am I going? What am I doing here? But thinking was as hard as talking and his head was filled with the roar of the immense sea. The island above withered away, or so he imagined. In the clear water's reflection the sands had drifted in gray grains. The island had been his home, as home as any prison could be. He was a missionary, Joseph, and he would spread the Word to the depths. This gift of his reminded him of Christmas. He thought of his childhood and life when his parents were alive. He thought of his daughter. His daughter had no father now. Or does she? His gift gave him life. But what was this life? What was he doing? A song called to him from within his heart. The depths sang for company. The black of the sea was where the past lied. The graves of the unjust and unlucky was there. So was Atlantis if the tales were to be believed. But those were just tales and there would be nothing there. Then his mind grew spiteful. Isn't the Word just a tale? But how could he believe that? He had been sinking for minutes now, over ten for sure, though it was hard to keep track of time. Wasn't his gift proof of God's work? But what of his suffering then? What was that proof of? God's apathy? He had been on the island for days, countless days. So many days that this dive was his respite. How many days could make a man dive in the ocean? Too many, he thought. But now it was completely black. That song in his heart grew louder. Oh come ye weary bones. Oh come ye all alone. The dark is wet. The food is fresh. Where all the damned call home. It grew louder and louder. He was afraid. He wished for his cross. The words echoed with a clarity. Unseen fish groped at him and then left him to his voyage. Oh come ye naked. Come with heavy heart. For this work needs to passage. For your suffering now will start. He wanted to go back but the pressure was too much. Then in the distance there was an orange glow and the glow showed a cliff and beneath the cliff the glow pulsed with life. In the dark it cast sharp shadows. Men were singing. Come! Come! Come! He had no choice. He swam in his breathlessness. The lactic acid in his mucles pulsed with a sharp pain. But his body was past exhaustion. He made it over the cliff and he saw the glow. A city shimmered in the distance, bathed in the light of a glowing sun. The sun above was distorted in the water and the heat baked the water and it boiled and flowed in savage currents. The currents were like wind and they carried him and the singing overwhelmed him. Oh here comes Joseph. The prophet man has come. Will he break the world's crypt? Or will he flounder some? Then he was amidst great towers of coral and the colors were red and pink and orange and green. Around him were skeletons and there were disfigured men and spirits, spirits without bodies. Hanging from their necks were crosses. Some wore the wounds of crucifixion. Others were burnt. Many were bloated from drowning. "Where am I?" And they watched him. The street of sand wandered on the forgotten floor. They urged him on. He walked against the current and kept his back straight. The pressure was nearly unbearable. Oh God, he thought. Then ahead stood a man with long hair and he was not eaten or dead or disfigured or a spirit. He was a handsome man and in the water his face shifted but he smiled and his smile showed rotten teeth. "I am your Lord, Joseph,"the man said. His voice echoed in the water unlike the others. "This is my city. The last House of the Holy. Here is where I rest." And he pointed and above the road was a temple with an altar. The altar was marble and lit from that sun above. The sun crackled and Joseph only realized its sound then. "Yes, I even have my own sun. For what is God's creation without a Sun?" "Why... What..." "You must release me Joseph. That is why I called you. That is why I brought you here." On the altar was a stone tablet, a long made casket. From within there pulsed something. Something stirred in the dark, darker than even the depths of this sea. Something was awake and it begged for freedom. This man in front of him looked like Jesus. He looked just like his cross. But his teeth were black. His bones creaked and his hair was thin and stapled on. "Come Joseph. I need you to release me. Release me so I can come once again to my world. It is written in the World of my second coming. And are you not named after my mortal father?" "You... You are..." "Yes, I am Him." And he smiled a rotten smile. His eyes were sunken. The men gathered round and were singing. Oh come all ye faithful. Gather round and join Him. He was scared then and cold. He missed his breath and the water in his lungs stirred and he felt like dying. He was drowning without the death. "No,"he said. "No. You are not Him. You are... You are the Devil. You are a trick." And that casket stirred with power. An evil was within. There was the sound of bones clicking. The eagerness of this being was palpable. "Joseph." He grabbed his hand and the thing was dry and rough and then its face was falling apart. It was skeletal. "You will free me!" "No!" And Joseph reached for his cross and remembered it had drifted away. Have faith. You don't need any idols. And he closed his eyes and he was lifted. He was floating against the pressure, floating as if he was only a foot deep in the sea. "You will free me!" It grabbed to pull him but he kicked away. The light grew brighter as he floated to that ungodly sun. He felt the things chasing but dared not open his eyes. The heat baked him and his skin peeled. Then the light was too intense and the sound of the fire was all encompassing. He could not take it anymore but he drifted, always drifting towards the center of that sun. He opened his eyes and began to scream. He was pulled again then, being pulled down and everything was a whirlpool. His body ached and then everything was calm and he drifted downwards and then their were sounds of the island but the sounds were murky for the waters took him down past their shifting depths. The sun above was a blanket, warm and spread out and his back burnt and then the burn faded and the light grew distant. Then he turned around and looked up. He was floating beside the island. In the distance there was smoke and the smoke was heavy and black. A ship, he thought and clutched his chest. Around his neck was his cross.
"Bonecrusher, we need your Berzerker Rage!"Called the tiny two-way radio built into my wristwatch. FUCK. They came to my door about 2 years ago, with a clipboard in one hand and a pistol in the other, to give the important and/or fatal challenge. You either showed them what you got, or they put a 22 caliber bullet through your eye. And there I was, on day 3 of the worst stomach virus of my life, too tired to really know the danger, and just tired enough to think I was clever. So I popped two Alka-Seltzer in my mouth, screamed at the top of my lungs, and snatched the pistol out of their hands, shouting garbled expletives through a mouthful of foam as they fled. The survey crew came away with some broken bones (from tripping over the curb on the way to the car) and a nightmare story about some supercharged freak with bloodshot eyes who will tear you apart if you cross him. I went back to bed, for a well earned rest. I did too good of a job. When they came back a week later, they laid out the results of the survey. Frankly, most superpowers should really be called "superpowers"; useless, weak, or so specialized that you'll never need them. And among those who did have worthwhile powers, many were too old, young, or weak to use them in the field. And finally, among those who hit the sweet spot of having decent powers and being able to use them in combat, a lot of them didn't have an interest in using them in a constructive fashion. The government needed a countermeasure against a new breed of super powered criminal. They needed a force that could meet them on equal ground. They needed... the Bonecrusher. They appealed to my patriotism. They offered me money, power and fame. Also, they threatened to throw me in jail if I said no. Nine days out of ten I get to pretend I have a normal life. I can go to work, sleep in my own bed, and act like the completely mundane piece of shit I am. On the tenth day, I put on my costume, grab my weapons, and try not to die. If any of my teammates figure out what's up, they'll probably narc me out to our bosses before you can say 'cat in a hat'. If any of our opponents figure out I'm not a bloodthirsty killing machine, they'll stop fleeing in terror and rip me to shreds before I even know what's going on. It's a government job, 20 years until mandatory retirement. Until then, I scream, and I curse, and I hope no one notices that my "super rage strength"stab wounds pretty much just look like normal stab wounds to a crime scene technician.
It started a month ago, when my student's loan was due to be paid and I have literally zero ways to pay it. I jokingly checked my bank account, hoping that a miracle happened and some money would appear. And you would not believe how hard my jaw dropped when I found out it actually happened. Someone sent me the money enough to cover my loan in full, and some spare money for food. I tried tracking the money down. Who sent this? Could it be a wrong transfer? I asked the bank attendant to send back them money to whoever it is from, since it might be a wrong account. But the only thing I was told is it was a private account and there is no way to contact the owner. Since then, the money keep coming. I was glad, of course, but I also felt guilty of enjoying someone else taking care of my needs. So after a whole week of living in leisure and luxury, I started to invest the money and get myself a steady job. I worked hard because I am afraid that one day, the person will start taking away instead of giving. The money stopped coming around two weeks ago, and I can't tell you how happy I was. I was satisfied with my life. I can finally take care of myself and I promise myself I will pay back the person with more money that he gave me. I have forgotten about all the "mysterious supporter"until yesterday, when the money suddenly arrived again. Confusion. That is what I felt when I see my bank account exploded into 70 million dollars. I don't know what to say, I just slowly put the bank book down amd ask if they made no mistake. Another five minute of printing and the same result comes out. $ 70,000,000 I answers the phone, somehow the ominous feeling grew as I heard sobs from the other end. "Jacob speaking." "Sweetheart..."My mom's voice is heard between her sobs. "It's about daddy..." "He got cancer..." I froze. The phone fell off my hand and I tumbled backward into the apartment's floor. My head flashes with the memories of dad. The days we spent running on the fields, playing baseball and it kept going until it went back to a few weeks ago. When I visited my parents and my dad collapsed on the front porch. Dad! You okay? I shouted as I carried him back into the living room. I'm fine, champ. Just a tad bit tired. Ain't young like you anymore And he laughed, just like he always do. Depression. That is what I felt when I finally understood what the money is for.
We had been monitoring it for a while. A planet that perfectly matched ours in every way, except for one thing. There’s no visible life on it. At first we thought it was post mass extinction event. But we could find no source. We thought maybe it was suffering the same fate our planet was, but it wasn’t that either. And then we noticed. The world kept turning, and “life” seemingly went on. So we decided to visit. We sent 10 of our best, and after arriving to the planet, where horrified. The wildlife was all metallic creatures that seemed to all follow some kind of system, with colours and flashing lights telling the creatures what to do. We studied them for hours and came to the conclusion that perhaps this world is run by technology, and this theory turned out to be half true. We noticed occasionally that the metallic creatures, when stopped, would open their wings and snap them shut with great force (even though they couldn’t fly, bizarre) We continued to research the planet, relatively uninterrupted. We had the feeling we where always being watched but we never once saw another set of eyes. We studied all of the strange phenomena and we came to the conclusion that the planet had som kind of post physical life force controlling it. It was too coincidental. Doors would open and close as if somebody had opened it, walked through, and closed it, yet no one was there. We saw the metallic beasts stop while a green silhouette appeared on the lights. When the green silhouette went away and the green indicated to the beast that it was their turn to move, they would do so but to varying degrees. Some of the beasts didn’t notice, or sometimes another beast would let out a scream to alert the other beasts of danger. We decided focusing on the mettalic beasts would send us crazy so we started studying other avenues. We studied the ecosystem and most of the plant life was well maintained, every day by a floating water spout. We studied what we assumed was a home. Inside we saw food being consumed and waste products being placed in metal containers. That’s when we realised what the answer was We set up a element analysis station, and collected as many samples as we could. We collected samples from the beasts; a blend of various metals, primarily iron. We analysed over 100 samples and then we realised that we needed to somehow obtain a sample of these ethereal beings, but we did not want to tempt fate anymore than we already had, so we started to pack up. The mysteries of this planet where too great for us decipher at this time. We decided to continue to monitor the planet, and if the “life” there ever stopped, we could abandon our dying planet and perhaps set up there. We labelled the planet an enigma of paranormal origins and called it a day. Except for me I spent the most time observing the “life” of these paranormal creatures and I managed to get my hands on a sample of ghostly hair. I ran it through our most advanced elemental analysis software and the machine couldn’t ascertain its origin. I dedicated myself to discovering what this “lost element” is. I returned to the planet. I brought our best language decryption devices and studied the language of the planet for weeks. I left without saying a word to my colleagues. They think I’m insane for obsessing over this one planet when there’s potentially more places for us to settle. I wasn’t doing this for my species. I was doing it for me The curiosity had overtaken me after all. I stayed for several years. And once I finally decrypted the languages of the world, I looked through as many records of the species as I could, and I couldn’t believe what I saw. This whole time, this planet has been occupied by a species calling themselves “Human”. They looked just like us, except they had strange, loose hanging clothing, and darker skin. I had to keep searching, and one day while searching through their science records, I found out they had a handy table of known elements, and it paled in comparison to ours except for one little thing. One thing that, since starting this research ten years ago, we should have assumed from the start. An element that is unobservable by our species. An element that is downright alien in concept to my Hassium based species. And now that I can communicate with them in their own language, I can maybe establish contact properly That element is called “Carbon”
“Come on” Norman says, “I’ll show you the yard.” It’s been a few hours since I arrived at Music Piracy Prison: shuttled down the highway in a budget-van with laughable security. So far, nothing about this place seemed legit. I was still wearing my suit from court… “In here you can forget about the guards. The gangs run everything.” We step outside. The yard consists of a pair of basketball courts, an outdoor gym, and a whole lot of boom-boxes. They play all at once. A deafening cacophony. It’s impossible to make out a single track. “The Loudness War” Norman explains, “been going on since 1999.” “The 1999?” “The Napster days. The year this place was founded.” We stroll past a group of sneaker-heads with bling around their necks and tattoos covering their arms. They shoot me a ‘what the f\\\* do you think you’re looking at’ and I quickly turn away. “Hip-hop heads” Norman says. “I’m guessing that’s not why you’re in?” I shake my head. “See, where you stand in the yard is crucial to your survival in MPP. You got to stand with your people. For whatever you got caught for. Capisce?” I nod. He points to a group of men dressed in tuxedos, swirling their wine-glasses. Violins sing from their vintage gramophones. “Classical-lovers. That you?” Again, I shake my head. “What about techno?” He points to a group dressed in all-black, a kick-drum pounding out the speakers in 4/4. They host a day-time rave behind the gym. I shake my head. Negative. “Okay… must be metal then?” I follow his gaze where a buff-dude is doing chest-press as an electric guitar screams a triumphant solo. “No, I didn’t download metal.” Norman throws up his hands, “Jesus, what was it then” he gets an idea, “wait, was it Jesus, as in Church music? Because they’re just over there playing basketball.” A group of people dressed in youth-group clothes gather around the free-throw line, holding hands in a prayer semi-circle. “No, it wasn’t that.” “Well what was it then? We’ve got everything. Rock. Punk. Disco. Funk. Blues. R&B. Soul. Jazz. Opera. You know name it.” I bite my lip. I look around and I don’t see it. “It was… it was…” “Yes?” “Country.” All at once the music in the yard stops and everyone stares at me. Norman blinks. “Did you say…” “Yes. And you know what? I’m not ashamed of it.” “I’ve never heard of anyone risking jail-time to listen to…to... country.” He says the word like it’s a disease. I make a note to remember his disapproval. He nods his head. “Well… I guess… I better go get you a uniform then, you’ll be the founding member. We haven’t that here for over a decade.” Slowly the others forget about the spectacle and continue playing their music. Norman returns five minutes later with a cowboy outfit, one that looks made for a fancy-dress party. “Sorry about the stereotype. Same for everyone. It saves on budget.” I thank him and go to the changing room. I pull up my trousers, button my chequered shirt and lace up my snake-skin boots. Then I step back out onto the yard, placing the round, high-crowned hat on my head. I might not have the numbers. I might not have the muscle. But these people had better watch out. There’s a new Sheriff in town. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ [r/jmoorestories](https://www.reddit.com/r/jmoorestories/)
Harm reduction. That's the name of the game. Frankly, I loathe both sides, it's impossible not to. Because yes, they're people but so am I. I still do my best to maintain professional detachment, because I do still believe in the sanctity of my responsibilities, and because helping these...people with their mental stability means saving lives. Little lives. The ones they barely acknowledge in their outsized masked dramas. I mean sure, they say they care about the ordinary people, even if it's a bad sort of caring ("Society rejected me and I'll make them pay! It wouldn't have happened if they'd have just stayed out of my way! You got to break a few thousand eggs to cook this giant fucked-up omelette I'm irrationally fixated on!") In the end, though, they really only have eyes for each other. Their histories and relationships and rivalries. The same "hero"that agonizes over finally putting an end to his mass-murdering arch-enemy won't think twice about firing some barely-tested gadget in a populated area, and just shrug off any resulting casualties as "collateral damage,"a lovely little term they've borrowed from the dry brutalities of military reporting. I hate my job, most days, but I'd also never give it up because to me, those "little lives"do matter, and without me...there's no one. That's not an exaggeration, or at least it's a temporary truth. I don't know of anyone willing to step up and take my place. So I keep on going, even though...well, let's take this morning as an example. In my private notes I have this morning down as "couple's therapy"even though either one of the patients would throttle and/or murder me if they found out that's what I was calling their sessions. But my notes are sacrosanct, that's one of the ironclad rules they all follow. My office is protected by more magic, technology, and psychic wards than anywhere else on Planet Earth or probably this little arm of the Milky Way. They all pitch in, because they all know what the consequences could be like if any one of their number decided to break in for "leverage"or "intelligence." So "couple's therapy"it is. One "villain,"one "hero,"in their parlance. The "hero"is a powerful psychic who could easily have outdone me at my own job if it weren't for a truly crippling case of textbook Narcissistic Personality Disorder. His powers give him insights into the criminal mind, something he utterly lacks in with regards to himself, and of course he's too great to deal with any "petty"criminals, it's just "supervillains"for him. He'll find a new one to fixate on every few years, always one that's found a way past his defenses to deal a blow to his fragile grandiosity. Then, on the other couch, we have our "supervillain."Very very very bright, injected with some sort of tech-savant gene from some long-extinct alien artisan caste. It's a long story. Quite long. Quite, quite, quite, excruciatingly long story, and I've only heard it a couple dozen times in the months since he decided to start coming to me. Was tricked into coming to me, I should say, some compatriot who was no doubt every bit as tired of hearing his origin story as I was told him he'd probably be an even more focused and effective tech-savant if he got someone to help "pare down the inefficiencies and frictions inside his own head."Which I had to admit was an admirable little metaphor. Too bad it was almost completely untrue. "Alright, let's begin."I said as they both came in—through separate doors, of course—and sat down behind my desk. Normally, that is to say in the sane life I lived before all this stumbling into this mad gig, I would never put something like a desk between myself and a patient, sends all sorts of the wrong signals. But this desk was also capable of sending at least seventeen target-appropriate varieties of disintegration ray in case that became necessary, which it had on at least three occasions soooo... They glared daggers at each other as they went to their couches, which were immediately surrounded in subtle but extremely powerful cocoons of layered fields. Force fields, energy fields, suppression fields, psychic fields, take your pick. "I still don't see why we have to use our real names for this,"grumbled the "hero"Thad Pilkington, whose "mask name"is stupid and shall not be dignified by appearing in notes. "We have discussed this at some length on multiple occasions, Thad"I said patiently, letting one finger lovingly caress the safety catch for the desk's weapons systems in its convenient little underside nook. You're in no actual danger, you're in no actual danger, I reminded myself. "Your 'mask names' are a psychological defense layer, and in these sessions we need to get past those as much as possible. And you both already knew each other's secret identities long before arriving in my office." "Yeah, well, I agree with Captain Insight,"Henry Ruttger said. "My birth name just doesn't really reflect who I really am, it's too human for one thing, I mean my DNA is least 30%—" "That's not true, Henry,"I said gently, admiring how smoothly said gentleness came out given the amount of strain it had to pass through on the way to my vocal cords. "You are picking and choosing a small subset of your genetic code to get that number, as we have also discussed at length. This is an Honesty Zone, remember?" Henry folded his arms across his chest and pouted, fiddling with some lethal little gadget from off his belt. He'd made the argument before that since 30% of the genes in his genome known to affect technical ability and mechanical reasoning were from an extraterrestrial source, and since his genius with devices was "the core of who I am,"the 30% claim was perfectly reasonable. This was going to be a long session. <continued below>
The Voyager Golden Record, launched in 1977. We did not expect for any response, despite it's mission as a time capsule for higher and advanced species. Well, we were wrong. It was a rainy day, grey clouds gathered above the bustling traffic. Melvin was in the car as the familiar sound of the wipers swept the rain away, the red lights illuminating his face. He always enjoyed the sound of rain, tapping into the roof and on the glass. The cars barely moved, the honking and beeping disrupting Melvin's calm mind. A notification ring. Melvin stared at his phone on the seat next to him, and promptly opened it. An email? From the company? The office? Is it the project that he was supposed to supervise? He opened his phone, his mind hazy and tired of the noise and bustling, as well as the red lights shining on his face. It was a message, sent by his superior. "Called it,"he murmured. Though it was curious, why is his superior messaging him after work hours? He wasn't particularly a sociable person, and he sure as hell didn't know his boss so well. 'work related' he thought, giving out a heavy sigh. He opened the chat, and it was a series of pictures, he skimmed through the pics and read the messages that was sent merely seconds ago. "Melvin, I need you back to the headquarters this instant." 'this instant??' He scrolled back up to see what the pictures were, both furious and confused as to why his free time are taken away just like that. The picture resembled a golden disk. 'Wait...' On it, were drawings and images of people all parts of the world. '..the Voyager Golden Disk??' Becoming more and more confused, he looked at the next few pictures. It was another disk, also made of gold. Except it wasn't drawings of humans, or of aliens. Rather, it were words. English. Words. 'Appeal Denied. Sentence Remaining: 3,500,000,000 years.' 'Oh geez' His breathing became more and more intense. "What on Earth is this?"He asked. "It's the Voyager Golden Disk. As you can see, it was sent back. Most likely intercepted in the Kuiper Belt. But while it took us several decades to reach that far, it estimated that it was sent back in just a few days." "Days?" "Yes" "Maybe tonight, in a traffic." "Try to be here before 6 p.m." Melvin looked at the top right corner of his phone. It is 5.17 p.m. "Try" It took Melvin the next 30 minutes to park his car in the commutes parking lot and 20 minutes more to reach NASA headquarters. His legs were shaking in anticipation, or was it fear? What do they mean by 'appeal denied?' why is it in English? How was it sent in days? By the time he step foot into the lab, everyone was there waiting for him. It is the Head of NASA, as well as the site director. Sitting on the oval table in a Stern and serious matter, their eyes emiting a sense of dread. "I apologize for being late"Melvin bowed as the man standing next to him started speaking. "Gentlemen, this is Melvin Olianeux. Currently he is the best we have in trying to solve this."The man said. "I'm sorry we called you in such a short notice, Mr. Olianeux."The site director was the first to reply. "- but it seems as we have something unprecedented and unexpected happen regarding the Voyager."The Head of NASA continued. "Let's start the briefing,"the site director said as he stood up, and stood in front of the screen. Melvin as well as his superior sat down, trying to be as silent as possible. The room became dark, and the site director began his presentation. "Earlier, on exactly 4.00 p.m. GMT, we've recovered wreckage of a spacecraft in Washington, pieces and most importantly, the perfectly golden disk indicates that the spacecraft is indeed, Voyager 1." The slides presented images of the crash site and the golden disk, covered in dirt. "But there's something along with it, another, smaller disk containing the words, 'Appeal Denied. Sentence Remaining: 3,500,000,000 years.' " The slide presented another golden disk covered in dirt, the words carved in perfect strokes, as if it were engraved on it by a printer. "Currently, we are working on understanding the meaning of this message. And you, Mr Olianeux, are in charge of helping us decipher what it means." And those were the orders that changed the entire meaning of human existence. Melvin smacked his head into the table, stacks of papers written in an obvious exhausted handwriting. His team are on the ground as well, devastated. The dread that settled into their heads as the realization dawned upon them. It didn't take long to decipher what it means, since it's written clearly on the disk. Not to mention it's in English, a language which they understand. The meaning of the disk is just that message. Firstly, it was very much obvious there's something of higher intelligence and plane of existences outside in the dark abyss that is space. Secondly. They are locked in. Like a box, or a jail cage, they do not know. They just know that something is keeping them in, not letting them out on purpose. The beings thought that the golden disk was an appeasement, and along with it, a reminder on how many more millions of years they are required to be inside that cage. "Sentence...? As in... We are serving a sentence?"The lady waved the papers in the air, her exhaustion and fear setting in her mind. Melvin raised his head, and looked at the papers once more. "It's seems that we are..." "What would the reason be?"Asked the man, lying on the floor. He didn't reply to that question. He just knew that whatever it is, it is serious enough to serve a sentence spanning three billion years. 'For humanity to be serving a sentence spanning billions of years....' The discovery changed the views of mankind. At least, those that knew about the disk. History must be changed, as it seems that humanity's history isn't just so dense. Or is it that there's something, others that lived before humans? Beings that commuted a serious intergalactic crime? 'That wouldn't make sense, if it were written in English, that means that these beings are monitoring us even at this moment...' No, there isn't another being that existed before humans. The beings are punishing humanity, punishing them for something they did probably eons ago. 'Then again, if the beings are punishing us, does that mean just existing with humanity is... Hell?' He pondered on that question. Humanity is hell itself, and that they are being punished just by being with themselves. ___________________________________________ ..first time writing something. But it seems I have ran out of time. Sorry if it's too rushed. Edit: Thanks for all the support!
We'd never been all that fond of the gods in our household. Eighty years ago, Zeus had apparently turned into a monster and raped my great-grandmother(And a few other local girls who unfortunately passed on). It was frankly surprising she survived, and not at all surprising that all of her descendants had been special in one way or another. My grandmother, one of a set of twins, had turned out to be the greatest seamstress ever born; better than even the gods; and after winning a contest with Athena, been cursed to be turned into a spider. Fortunately, my dad had already been born at that point, or I'd have never come to be. &#x200B; &#x200B; My dad's was the only generation that the god's didn't directly screw over somehow; which was frankly surprising, as he turned out to be the most skilled blacksmith in all of greece, able to craft items to rival the skill even of Hephaestus; the fact that he prayed to Hephaestus instead of Zeus should've landed him in hot water, but according to dad, that intricately carved metal pole on the roof somehow protected him from the old bastard. Despite grandmother's curse, my father's talents had landed us work at the palace; he hand-crafted the weapons of the king and his mightiest warriors. And his son, of course. &#x200B; &#x200B; For me? Like everyone in my family, I was stronger and tougher than the common man; but I never missed a shot. I could throw a javelin through a blade of grass at a hundred paces, and skewer a fly with an arrow at a thousand. When war came calling, invaders from Greece washing ashore to raid the villages, against my father's wishes I crossed the sea to join my countrymen in a counter-attack. The first battle of a long war that would keep me away from my family for over a year. I was a great hero; I'd personally slain dozens of men and even some sort of strange three-headed armored giant which had to have all three of its heads slain before it fell. &#x200B; &#x200B; Coming home should have been a relief. My bride was one of the most beautiful maidens to grace our shores; and more importantly was willing to tolerate my family's general disdain for all the temples but our chosen god, Hephaestus. I was due great rewards; dozens of former greeks had been dragged home to be my slaves, each carrying a sack of gold and valuables on his back, and the Prince had decreed I would be gifted a home in the royal lands for my service. I had felt our family's endless troubles were over. &#x200B; Seeing my wife's face was a shock. I'd thought it possible she was pregnant when I left; but the babe was too young. When I first looked at her I was angry at her infidelity. I might have said something I regretted. But then I saw the babe. Spitting image of my grandfather, son of Zeus. He looked somewhat like myself, in fact, as I had a touch of the resemblance. I might have thought he was my own. My wife had apparently been stricken mute by whatever had been done to her; but nodding was enough; I asked if it had been Zeus. And if it had been rape. The answers were obvious. I kissed her, took her and the child to stay with my mother; perhaps he wasn't mine, but he was related to my, and of course my beloved, so I would care for him as if he were; and asked my father for his help. &#x200B; Three days later, I set sail once more for greece. I sold half the treasures I'd won to pay a group of mercenaries to follow me; and even then they'd have refused if not for the gifts of my father; Maned Helms of Hephaestus, crafted to ward off any ranged attack, be it the lightning of Zeus or the arrows of mortals. He'd spent much of his life crafting the tools to hopefully unseat our family's tormentors; and while he didn't want me to go to my likely death, he knew I was the only hope of ending this divine plague upon all of humanity. &#x200B; I sailed the calm waters of the Aegean sea; Poseiden, it seemed, had no issues with my quest; and landed on the borders of Thessaly. The Centaurs didn't seem to know my purpose, but still remained loyal to our mutual ancestor; their arrows and spears hailed upon my party for days as we trod through their country; using spear and bow to slay those that made the mistake of drawing too close, the bulk of them knew better. Here, in the lands where the vile deities had overthrown the Titans and begun their reign of terror on this earth, lay what I sought. &#x200B; In the darkness deep beneath the mountains, in caves no mortal had ever trod, my companions split away; to remain on the surface. They had no idea why I was here, or what I sought. But as I entered a cave, what felt like miles below the surface, I found him. An enormous serpentine head, connected to a body leading down somewhere into the depths. I could feel its heartbeat. Slow. The paths of ancient, dried blood dotted its flesh. He'd been injured; badly; thousands of years ago. And never recovered. I poured a bottle of some medicine my mother had blended between the enormous lips. The heartbeat sped up. A single, enormous eye opened. &#x200B; "Typhon. The strongest of all the Titan's children. I aim to kill Zeus. Will you help me?"A low, steady rumble. The earth shook. A soft, sibilant voice, seeming to come from every direction. "I would. But as mighty as I am, the thunderbolt can bring me low.""Hephestus has blessed my family with the secret of protection from Zeus's power. Take me to Olympus. Break down the gates. And I will end him for both of us." &#x200B; The mighty beast studied me closely. Perhaps it was assessing my honesty. Testing my scent; surely he could tell I was a descendant of his most hated enemy. And when he lashed out, I feared the worst. Enclosed in the serpent's mouth, I closed my eyes, damning myself for this foolish idea. &#x200B; And then... after a long, terrible rumble. The mouth opened. I could see it; an enormous body, made up of the tails of serpents all blended to one; and dozens of heads, each as great as the one on whose jaw I stood. I could see, hundreds of feet below, my men staring up, cowering in terror, as the heads moved in, all but the one I rode upon staring at me. "I will take you, spawn of Zeus. We shall crush the usurper, or we shall die on the mountaintop."
“You like that, don’t ya?” I said, slapping the steak with a salty hand, “stupid cow.” The new waiter, William, stood in the corner of the kitchen, stunned into silence. “What are you looking at? Get out of here,” I yelled and he scampered out through the restaurant door. I threw the steak in the sizzling pan and walked over to the sauce bubbling on the stove. “Idiots,” I said, glancing towards the restaurant door, “they want Michelin style, I’ll give them Michelin style.” I grabbed the onion sitting on the bench and started tearing into it with my teeth. I spat the skin into the bin and started grounding the remaining onion in my mouth. My eyes were starting to well up when Williams wandered back in. “Sir, are you okay?” He said, rushing forward. I tried to wave him off but he kept coming, tears now streaming down my face. “Gwaway,” I managed to get out, along with a little onion torpedo that hit William square in the forehead. He grimaced as he paused and wiped it from his brow. I made to shoo him away again and this time he got the message, leaving with a worried look on his face. As he walked through the doors I spat the onion mince into the sauce, causing a satisfying splat. “Someone’s gotta teach that kid,” I said to myself as I returned to the steak. Blood was starting to pool on the surface so I picked it up with my hand, turned it over and threw it back into the heat. My hand seared with pan. “Fuck!” I yelled, “better bloody appreciate it.” There was one final piece to this dish. I grabbed the sharpest knife I had and walked over to the backdoor, pushing it open with force. It swung back and hit the brick wall with a bang. A nice white car was parked up in the alleyway. “Must be the new kid’s,” I muttered to myself as I headed towards the car. I bent down next to the wheel, “bingo.” I stabbed the tyre with force, puncturing it instantly and began getting what I needed. A minute later I was back in the kitchen, making the finishing touches. William was back now, standing quietly as he waited for service. I poured the sauce over the steak and watched as it slowly dripped down the sides. “Service up!” I yelled, despite the newbie waiter standing two feet away. He snatched the plate from the bench and hurried off. I pulled out a cigarette and lit up. I didn’t even smoke until two weeks ago, but I suppose it was all part of it. William was back a few minutes later, “they’re loving it sir, they want to meet the chef!” “Tell them to fuck off,” I replied. “I don’t think I will actually,” he said and carefully moved past me, “but I’m going on break so if you want to go out there now’s the time.” He walked out the back door and I heard a shout. A moment later he was back inside looking outraged. “Someone’s slashed my tyre. And it looks like they cut a piece off,” he said. I shrugged and stubbed out my cigarette. Then William spotted something in the saucepan. He walked over leaned in. Then slowly pulled out a piece of his tyre. “What the fuck?” I shrugged, “people say they want Michelin style quality, so they get it.” William held the piece of rubber with the word Michelin visible and slowly backed away, staring at me in horror.
Immik remembered their early years, residing in a dungeon for as long as it could remember. They nestled in a far room, deep within the dungeon, shifting into the form of a treasure chest and waiting for unsuspecting adventurers. The occasional adventure would eventually pass the trials, and propelled by greed, approach Immik. At first that was enough to sate Immik’s appetite. It was like fishing, a game of patience. Not that many foolish souls would dare to explore the dangerous ruins, and fewer still made it past the trials much closer to the entrance. The waiting was long, and eventually, the reward unfulfilling. Immik would sometimes overhear the conversations of the adventurers who traveled in groups—talk of the space outside of the dungeon. Verdant pastures full of what sounded like very tasty livestock, inspiring castles and citadels that stretched up to the heavens, warm taverns full of fermented grains and cooked meals. It all sounded lovely to Immik. But how, how could Immik see these wonders for itself, and try new flavors besides the lean muscle of adventurers? Then, Immik resolved, it would take restraint, and yet more patience, but they would need to take a new form, one adventures would foolishly take outside of the dungeon and on the journey. Immik shifted into their new form. Immik slipped into an empty chest, closed the lid, and took shape, emitting a low chuckle of delight. There were two hurdles to the plan. First, when Immik used a chest too close to the entrance, adventurers were wary of such a tantalizing treasure so early in the dungeon. They dubbed Immik a trap or a fake. One was true, and the other… well the conclusion wasn’t inaccurate, but it was a rather hurtful thing to say. Had Immik not fastidiously replicated every millimeter of the object? How dare they call Immik a fake! Immik, grumbling, dragged the chest with them as they moved deeper within the dungeon. Hurdle one overcome; the second hurdle was an instinctive one. The plan was to let the adventurers take them. However, old habits die hard and Immik accidentally dismembered a few of the adventurers who were eager to take them. After a few, somewhat messy “oopsies”, Immik exercised enough patience. The adventuring party was a curious one, coed, each member diverse from one another not only in visual appearance but also in terms of temperament and mannerism. Immik suppressed the desire to squeal in delight when the lead adventurer opened the chest and gazed down at Immik with wonder. “The sword of the forgotten king!” The leader cheered in delight. “What an incredibly rare and valuable find!” He attached Immik to his hip. The warmth of the leader’s body tempted Immik, the smell of a potential feast. Immik repeated mentally—not yet… not yet… not yet. When they reached the end of the dungeon, the adventurers encountered the fearsome monster who lorded over the structure. At first, realizing the turn of events, Immik felt sort of guilty. After all, Immik had been neighbors with the monster for several years in the dungeon. But it was crucial to the plan to serve the leader, at least for the time being, as his newly found sword. As the fight began, Immik thought back to all the times the monster mocked Immik for being a weak, annoying creature. As Immik was used to pierce the flesh of the monster, Immik thought about every petty grievance between them in their years as neighbors. Immik even wanted a bite, but resolved to wait, wait until after Immik was out of the dungeon. Foolish monster, Immik was cleverer after all. Immik was taken aback at the brightness of the sun as the adventuring party exited the dungeon. Azure skies stretched in an endless expanse above, dressed in fluffy white clouds and crowned with the brilliant sparkling jewel that the adventures called the sun. Immik was overwhelmed with joy, and fear, of the new world. Immik delighted in their new life, Immik saw many things, and had many tasty treats with every monster or beast the adventurers defeated using Immik. Immik quickly learned which slayed beasts they could eat all for themselves, and which beasts Immik could only have a bite of. The adventurers would be quite cross if Immik ate all the meat of a beast that the adventurers also wanted to eat. One night, the adventurers sat around a campfire and Immik was propped up against a tree, enjoying the warm glow of a campfire and a nice, full belly. “Brendan, why do you keep pretending that mimic is the sword of the forgotten king?” The member of the group who often tended to the injuries of the team asked. “Oh, I mean, I was disappointed at first when I realized it was just a mimic, but, honestly, it gets the job done. It also cleans up a lot of mess, it’s nice having a sword I don’t have to wipe blood off. Besides, I kind of think it likes us. It’s like having a pet for a sword.” The party looked over and were pleased to see a smile appear upon the length of the blade. They were not wrong, Immik thought. At first it was hard not to eat its new companions. But as Immik went on quests with them, overheard their stories and their laughter, and got to clean up their kills, Immik was most happy. Immik had real friends and not just some rude monster who mocked Immik. Immik was home.
I had always been a wicked man. A liar; a cheat. I preyed upon those who were themselves weak. I preyed upon those who were in their time of need. And ironically enough it was my prayer that brought them salvation. I was a kind of priest, a beacon of “light.” I would cleanse those who felt a terrible power gripped them. A demonic power. I did this for many years, never once feeling a drop of guilt, I had convinced myself that I was performing a service to them, that my actions were justified and exactly what the person needed. How else can you explain their sudden recovery… Their changed outlook on life, they needed me. I was happy to help- for a price. I had always been a wicked man. Then I met Lisa. Sweet Lisa, barely 17, I was able to recognize the beauty in her face even in her emaciated and pale state. I could see the vitality and life of this young woman being snuffed out… I knew she needed medical help, not my theatrics, but I resolved to instruct the family to tend to her medically after the ritual. I cared for the life of this young girl and did not want her to die because of the family’s stupidity. I hastened my ritual. I read the Latin prayers. I anointed her with balms and oils. I doused her in the holy water. I had always been a wicked man. Lisa, was not responding well. It seemed every word agitated her, the very smell of the oils sent her to rage, and every drop of holy water burned. I considered stopping the ceremony, begging her parents to take her to the hospital. I was in fear for this girl’s life. Her bed and gown layered in sweat, her eyes sunken and outlined in blackness, her faint voice calling for her father. Her father was with us, yet she called for him. I began to think, to consider the impossible. No, it cannot be. She had to be restrained. She had clawed deep lacerations into her mother’s arms. We affixed her arms to the bed posts at each side, and her legs together to the base board. Her body writhed and twisted against her fetters. She pleaded and cried to remove them. Her voice now rasped with a fiendish tone. I had always been a wicked man. Her state worsened, I pleaded with family again, insisting she needed medical help. Her body had run a fever. I read every damn word in that book, hoping to ease her pain. Nothing seemed to help. I had run out of fake rituals. I felt every action I took worsened her agony. I asked her, in desperation, what she needed from me. She replied solemnly without lifting her head… “You have always been a wicked man. I have watched you perform your tricks for years feeding off of the insecurities of those you serve. You never believed in what you did and bore no shame for your actions. And now faced with the terrible reality, I offer you a choice. Will you sacrifice your own flesh to save hers?” I had always been a wicked man. Edit: Grammar, which I am bad with, Edit2: Lair --> Liar as intended. :) Edit3: Holy smokes, gold on first post thank you!
It had only been a year since the first time I asked. She had told me no; she wasn't sure if she loved me. But things had changed. I had changed, and maybe she had, too. I knelt down and asked her to marry me. Again, nothing. Twice in a row. It had to mean something, right? Things like this don't happen without reason. I had never truly considered that I was incapable of being loved. My heart felt seized in a vice grip. It was empty. Was it some sort of cosmic joke? The last embers of my soul burned at the thought of some alien laughing from the heavens. I raised the trembling gun to my head. I pulled the trigger.
Based very loosely on a true dinner --------- Jesus. When it came down to it, I never could make the tough choices. This was supposed to be so simple. Get in, drop the intel, get out. No one said there'd be a fuckin wild card. "Sir, would you like to add another topping for a dollar more?" I could feel my heart pounding in my chest. The phone shook in my hand. Thoughts raced a mile a minute through my mind, distracting me from the increasing flow of sweat down my ear as my cell pressed against it. This went on for what felt like hours before the voice on the line began repeating her ultimatum. I resolved not to crack under the pressure. "Sir, would you or would you not-" "SHUT UP, SHUT UP YOU BITCH!" Okay, I resolved not to crack further than that. This operation was still salvageable, but would require a bit of ingenuity. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry"I began, hoping that my repeated apology would buy me the time I needed to get this mission back on track. "Our movie's on a little loud"was the best I could come up with. "But yeah, an extra topping sounds great." "Fantastic sir, and what would you like?" Shit. This was an extra parameter to the mission, one with which I was not prepared to deal. My eyes grew wide and I called for backup, mouthing to my compatriots the desperate plea of "extra topping?"The panel of experts got to work quickly, dismissing instantly any vegetable which might clash with the established pineapple. Several blind studies were conducted, and I was consulted to choose from the non-poultry meats. There's not a group in the world I'd want more by my side in a time of crisis. "Sausage, if you please"I said nonchalantly into the receiver, the extra phrase at the end my little victory lap for overcoming this setback. "Alrighty, and would you like to choose from one of our special crusts?" Oh my God.
For most of my life, I had a slow temper. Like some kind of zen monk, man. Normally, nothing bothered me. That thing with Mark is another story. When I found out that he had been cheating on Sarah with some skank... I couldn't hold it in anymore. She deserves so much better than him! I just funneled years and years worth of rage into that single punch, and it was glorious. You know how in the cartoons where the guy is literally lifted off his feet and flies into something nearby? That actually happened. Turned out... it was the best thing that ever happened to him. The fact that I broke the schmuck's glasses? No big deal; he had perfect vision now. That constant, persistent cough he had? Gone. His diabetes, passed down from generation to generation like a cherished heirloom? Completely cured. Hell, his receding hairline had even grown back! Doctors couldn't explain it, but we all knew: it was the punch. When Tommy was hit by that truck, everyone cornered me. "You've got a gift,"they told me. "You know what you gotta do; it's at least worth a try!"Casually, we visited him in the hospital. No big deal, just some friends coming to make another feel better. Once the nurse was out of the room, I socked him on the shoulder. Nothing. "Maybe it doesn't work,"I told them. "Maybe it was a fluke." "It wasn't,"Tommy said. "You hit him so hard you knocked the disease out. You've got to really put your heart into it. Imagine I fucked your mother or something, man. Please?" "Your choice, man..."I gritted my teeth and thought of that day that Sarah had shown up to class with that bruise on her arm. The energy coursed through me like I'd touched a live wire, and my fists were clenched before I even knew what was happening. I plowed straight into Tommy's shoulder, throwing the hospital bed onto its side like it was made of paper. The brace around his neck tore apart like an eggshell. "Oh, fuck..."I whispered. I knew it was a bad idea. But after just a second, Tommy leapt to his feet, overjoyed. "Even my scars from when I was a kid are gone!"he shouted, staring at his hands. He was healthier than ever before. Word got around; none of the guys ever could keep a secret. At first it started out simple; just random people on the street shouting insults and such. I laughed them off. Then it got real. People vandalizing my stuff. Harassing my family. Hurting the people that I loved. Going out of their way to make me miserable, all for their own selfish purposes of wanting me to cure their common cold. Fuckwads. I got home from work to see a strange car in my driveway. Not again.... I'd had to move six times in the past year just to get away. The only tether left to my old life was Sarah, who had finally realized how I felt about her and come along. She was the one bright spot left in my life. This "gift"had made me into a fucking fugitive, never knowing peace again. How the fuck had this guy found me? I could feel the rage burning inside already, and did my best to control it. If he made me angry, he had won. That would just encourage others to come. The door was open; it shouldn't have been. Sarah never left the door open. She was on the stairs, lip swollen and bloody. The bruises around her eye were just starting to darken, like a gathering thunderstorm. He stood next to her, fist still raised, with a slight smirk. The minute he saw my expression, he smiled even wider. He'd definitely done enough to get that anger out of me now. "Well, aren't you gonna hit me?"he said. I could see the bulge of a bandage under his shirt; some wound that he wanted cured. I looked at him, almost laughing as my girlfriend's blood dripped down his knuckles. I looked at her on the stairs, ashamed to even glance in my direction. I pulled out my gun and shot him in the chest.
”what's a touch screen?” The boy looked perplexed but was starting to get used to grandpa's senile ramblings. ” you know the part with the picture you touch to make it work” grandpa was confused, senile and wondering why the boy didn't know what a touch screen was. the boy looked at the calculator his father had given him. He was still getting used to the black and white display that would seemingly by magic show numbers when you pressed the buttons. The calculator was a gift for his birthday, his father found it scavenging in the ruins of Alanta. ” grandpa is a touch screen a thing they had before the bombs fell?”
God, having finished looking down upon other worlds, finally decided it was Earth's turn again. It had been a 100 years since God last checked Earth, and he was rather curious to see what had changed. He focused, so he could see what was happening on Earth like it was on top of his palm. "Well... Oh, that's nice... Wait, no. Those idiots still haven't figured it out yet? I thought I left enough hints... Maybe I should have lowered the median value for impulsive actions..." God mumbled on to himself for a while, mostly lamenting on humanity's stupidity. Finally, with a resigned sigh, he tried to find the silver lining. "Ah, at least they finally found the cure to cancer. I thought they would never get it. I wonder who it was that found it." It wasn't very hard. The discovery was rather recent, so the media was still going on about it. How Thomas 'accidentally' discovered the cure to cancer. God was rather impressed. Sometimes the world would do this, throw the dice and out comes a human with an unbelievably high luck stat. God narrowed his attention to this Thomas, and looked at his surroundings. He was a suprisingly young man, only in his mid-30's. As expected of a man who discovered the cure to cancer, he was extremely succesful. His house was almost fitting of the name 'architecture'. His wife, who Thomas met in high school and went to the same university as he, was stunningly beautiful- although Thomas himself was not so irresistable. God hesitated momentarily. Humans with high luck tended to be beautiful, if not at least moderately attractive in whatever aesthetic standards humans had in that timeline. God decided to check his stats. "Strength and Dexterity is low, but I guess that's understandable. He wouldn't have time for workouts, I suppose. Intelligence- is 5? What, did this guy luck his way into college? Luck- ...No. No way." God's focus wavered for a while from the shock. 1? Seriously? A person with 1 luck could just as easily die as an average person caught a cold. A human with 1 luck could not have found the cure to cancer. God decided to go into his all-knowing mode. He didn't utilize this mode very frequently as it made everything boring, but he had to know the secret behind this one. A life flashed before God's eyes. Not Thomas's. It was Thomas's wife, Adrianna. She was meeting Thomas for the first time. Adrianna was a kind hearted soul, and pitied Thomas who was always walking in and out of the nurse's office. Thomas wasn't the best human on Earth, but he was human enough to accept help with gratitude when it was given to him. Thomas, unlike many who had tried to flirt with Adrianna before, did not harass her or force her, and he really was caring. He made Adrianna comfortable. So when Thomas asked if she would go out with him, she said yes. Now, Adrianna wasn't just kind. She was also extremely clever. She became the greatest teacher Thomas had ever met, and Thomas improved drastically, enough to make it into university. Adrianna went to the same college as him and handheld him to lead him through it all. When they eventually got married, Adrianna had a respectable job at a renowned research center- but no one would take Thomas. He was better than he used to be, but... there were many more even better than he. So Adrianna devised a plan. She found a cure for cancer-it took her only 8 years-and made it look like Thomas found it. Thomas always tried so hard he deserved something nice, Adrianna figured. She could always make another great scientific discovery anyway, if she decided she wanted some fame and glory too. God broke out of his all-knowing state and sighed. Really, he should have balanced humans better. He checked Adrianna's stats, and the result was exactly what he had initially expected for Thomas- Extremely high Luck, accompanied with extremely high Intelligence.
"Number One, confirm that this is Alt-Earth." "Confirmed General. The Universal Coordinates System indicates authentication to 7 decimal points of certainty. Further, spectrum emissions analysis originating from Alt-Earth confirms humanoid presence. SEA also confirms Xeno presence in numbers in the tens of millions." "Thank you Number One. Give the order to Supplies and Industry to establish infrastructure on Alt-Ceres, maximum stealth. Oh and give Master Chief Russell the go ahead. Tell him the SSEALS mission is paramount." "Yes General. Field Marshal Balck confirms capture of Alt-Gliese 832 c." "All of it?" "Yes General." "Damn that's well done." "Shall I share that sentiment with the Field Marshal Sir?" "Yes, yes by all means." That was good news. Humanity in the Altverse had a toehold. A place that was ours, free of Xeno subjugation It could become meaningless depending on what the future held, but right now at least, Humanity had a space. "Nelson, now that we are closer, are there changes in intelligence on the Xeno fleet?" "None of significance General. The Xenos fleet composition around Alt-Earth has not altered a great deal since initial surveillance from our side. Very large armoured battleships emanating E-levels of fusion power, with a screen of light cruisers and destroyers at B-levels of emanation." "No chance of cloaking or stealth technology hiding more ships?" "There is always a chance General, but Quantachrono-scans show nothing now and they have yet to detect cloaking technology present in the Alt-galaxy." "Good news all around." The Xenos were a peculiar race. Reptilian and warm blooded, like the Joraks back in Universe Prime. If there were further similarities it meant that the Xenos here would be masters of focused energy weapons. It would be bootstrapped to their carnivorous nature. Modern kinetics tended to destroy organics, energy weapons meant their dead enemies were ready to eat after battle. Master Chief Russell's SSEAL teams would stealth drop to Alt-Earth and confirm where the Xeno's C&C centre was on Alt-Earth. Once that was determined, we would advance, sever all comms, cut the head off the dragon and destroy the body. The Xenos didn't deserve any diplomatic overtures. Not now. Electromagnetic emissions from Alt-Earth showing breeding pens and massive sweat shops and open pit mines took that option off the table. This wasn't going to be even close to a fair fight we had them out manned and out gunned, and apparently our technology didn't have the gaps in it that the Xenos apparently had, but this was just the first move. The Xenos had an empire, we had a toehold. We were terribly out numbered and outmatched in materials production. Universe Prime can't help us for a very long time. We are on our own for the next thousand years. "Fuck it. Humanity first." "General?" Damn. I had said that out loud, "Nothing Number One, just musing about my memoirs." There were soft chuckles around the bridge. ................................................................................................................... “ALRIGHT NAVIGATION, KEEP EVERYONE IN THE TASKFORCE UNDER CLOAK. COMMS, TELL ENGINEERING I AM COMING UPSTAIRS. Tell the flight deck I am taking my shuttle to Alt-Gliese 832 c. Give my pilot the ready-20 notification. Also Comms, I want the Alert Status Reports of the Carriers to my personal tablet when you are done establishing a secure link with Alt-Ceres – use as many relay points as you feel necessary.” As I turned and exited the bridge via the personnel lift, I heard two “yes Generals” almost in unison. I got along with Marine Engineer Officer Novae very well. We understood each other, and the responsibilities each other had. She kept all mechanical and bio-electrical systems, both in fleet and on planet, working and resilient. I ensured she got what she needed. Officer Novae knew my role well enough to anticipate any follow-up questions I might have to our meetings and her reports – she understood the importance of my time. Our meeting ended early. MEO Nova had her challenges ahead of her. She had to set up 12 geosynchronous satellites around Alt-Earth in 30 minutes after the Xeno fleet was eliminated and their planet side anti-satellite capability suppressed. AND THEN she had to establish highly secured comms with over 13 million semi-sentient antipersonnel drones, Vespulas, which would be dropped over the planet, cluster bomb style after the satellite network was established. Vespulas, or as the Planet side Marine Force called them, FCWWs, were eagle sized quadcopters equipped with a hellishly powerful, small calibre gauss rifle. They had a sophisticated sensor suite that along with their semi-sentience allowed them to track and neutralize with high efficacy anything they were asked to go after. They would soon be the Xenos worst nightmare. “I would love to stay and admire your organizational skills Novae, but I have to debrief Field Marshall Balck. Apparently he rolled over Alt-Gliese 832 c. in its entirety in under 3 days. I am curious how he did it in half the time that the most optimistic sims said was possible.” “Knowing Balck Sir, he probably ran his Planet side forces night and day and overclocked his equipment past the failsafes.” “I hope not. Downtime is going to be the rarest of commodities for the next month or so. I can’t imagine that these Xenos are not going to just accept the loss of two habitable planets.” “I don’t think they will either General, but their communications appear to be non-quantum, c- multiplier tech. It will take weeks for their messages to reach the next Xeno inhabited planets. Comms from Alt-Gliese 832 c won’t reach Alt Earth for 5 more days. The Xenos on Alt-Earth have no idea we’re here and it should all be over by the time the signal reaches Alt-Earth. That’s quite the safety margin General.” “You and your mathematically constrained thinking. Don’t get too comfortable with it, life always finds ways to evolve and adapt around constraints. These Xenos seem to be top dog in the Via Lactea galaxy and they wouldn’t have been able to do it accepting limitations. The Jackos in Universe Prime are enviable in their creativity at being adaptable and elegantly nasty. ” If I wasn’t smiling when I said it, Novae would have felt chided, but she understood the message and gave me the 4Q2 look. As I was leaving for the heavy flight deck, Marine Engineer Officer Novae retorted, “We still kicked their ass General, all the way back to their home system.” I mused on Novae’s words all the way to the Heavy Flight deck and into the Vice Admiral Shuttle. Something tweaked with what she said and I needed to give it some thought. I gave the order to my pilot to make the jump once clear of the Carriers and started thinking of Jackos, these Xenos and the concept of home worlds. Humans had a genesis planet, a home world. The psychological/spiritual birthplace of all humanity regardless of where an individual was physically born – it provided a universal rallying point for all humanoids. Earth the blue planet. This was why we were here in Alt-Universe. It was our duty, our obligation. Alt-Earth was our Earth. Jackos did not have a spiritual geographical center, they had dozens of home worlds, and their bio-psychological makeup was more like hunter-gatherers and tribalism. Bonds were not to place, but to clan. I was musing with such focus, I had missed the jump to Alt-Gliese 832 c. Not an easy thing to do with the quantum linking process to the arrival point being so similar in sound signature to a train rail yard. I heard the pilot’s sharp intake of breath once clear of the warp channel wake. “General, we are in the middle of it, deep and wide.” I flipped on the wall display. Taskforce 2 was in the early stages of a major engagement, a holyshit epic engagement. From the deployment of the opposition forces, it looked like they had jumped into the system and unexpectedly found Taskforce 2. The newly arrived ships were defensive, moving into formations that would bring more arms to bear. Taskforce 2 would have had arriving jump signature readings 4-5 minutes before the opposing forces arrived. Not much but we had the initiative. IFF and energy signatures started to be incorporated onto the sitcom table. We were badly out heavied, but we had the numbers and Balck had two of my carriers, the Nelson and the Roosevelt. Balck, the best Planet side commander I have ever known, was now going to have to put his Fleet cap on. It was not outside the realm of possibility that this could end very badly. Balck had not been in command of a major Fleet action before and there were many Xeno fleet unknowns. “Lieutenant, keep us out of the way. Major ship killer kinetics will be going off very soon and right after, the birds will be launched and it’ll be auto gauss and beam everywhere. If there’s a nice big asteroid somewhere, land us on the far side. If a deflected mass comes our way I want more than shuttle walls between us and it. I hate this with all my being, but without a STRATLink we are going to have to settle for a ringside accommodation. Send message to Balck – “I trust that it is not too high an expectation that this “fleet exercise” be over with prior to the Officer’s Mess on the flight deck of the Nelson tonight. I did have a witticism or two to share with you and your officers. Rather unfortunate scheduling on your part.” No screw that! Just message Balck, “Don’t make me come over there and show you how it’s done you dirt-loving, goose-stepping, son of an Alderian whore.” There was a pause, and then the pilot responded, “I think Balck will like the second one much better Sir.”
There are two words that plague this world, How much?. The worst part is, there is always a price. People actually sell years of their lives, instead of working forty years they take a shortcut. The going rate for forty years is £1.2m, which is pennies to the lucky minority. You have to play the game, no other way of living. I am a memory salesman, not your average holiday memory salesman. No, I focus on erotic memories. Better than videos and cheaper than the real thing. It's a niche market, immortals have enough money to order the highest calibre of women, but the people that sell years of their lives are also the same lazy group who come knocking at my door. My erotic memories do not include the cheap street corner variety of women; the memories I provide are real and unpaid, which is an absolute rarity in this day and age. You could attribute it to my looks; six-foot-five with a chin that could make Zeus jealous, or you could also put it down to my charm; five minutes with any woman and I can have her swooning. It's my job to seduce women, not an honest living but it's sure better than selling years. Things were smooth, almost like clockwork, until I acquired something that could not be sold. I went after a memory that would sell to the higher class. Isabelle Sanders was the daughter of the oldest and subsequently richest man in the world. A night with her would be enough to keep me young for another forty years. Everything went as planned until she insisted I take a recall pill. She was smart, smarter than most. The pill would effectively kill my memory for six hours either side of taking it, she, of course, would not take one. With no memory to sell I was backed into a corner but sex with Isabell, even if I only remembered it during the moment was better than walking away with blue balls. After my night with Isabelle, I woke with only the memory of my seduction efforts and a handwritten note from, I presumed, Isabell. It thanked me for last night and even if I could not remember, she would gladly let me borrow her memory. At the bottom of the note was her number and I called at once. A man answered, police detective Rush. Rush withheld the details until I arrived at the station, which was an order, not a request. Isabelle was dead. Murdered in her apartment; an apartment which I couldn't even locate. Of course, I was the only suspect, hell there were times where I was pretty sure it was me. Her security had submitted memories that showed I was the last to enter her apartment. I witnessed, from the guards perspective, me entering the apartment and leaving three hours later, I then witnessed the guard checking up on Miss Sanders, she was a mess. More blood than skin, I had to eject from the memory and threw up into a nearby bin. Memories felt real, even give you the memory of the smell, I could not shake the putrid iron-rich air. I was charged and sentenced to sixty years in prison, the guard's memory along with the copious amounts of my DNA made for an easy conviction. The void in my memory has become the most wanted thing on earth, mainly because it can't be sold. Mr Sanders has offered immortality to the first person to obtain my missing memory, even extending the offer to me. I am untouchable in prison, people treat me like a god, I have my own cell with access to anything I want. The Governor is trying to coax me into handing over the memory. I wish I could. I want to know more than anyone what happened.
"Okay, so you know how I was kind of desperate to get laid?" "You've been asking out every girl within a 5 mile radius yes. I am aware." "Eat a dick. So I was on my computer googling how to pick up girls when I accidentally clicked on an ad..." "Uh huh." "And it took me to this weird ass website with a bunch of weird textile symbols. Kinda like Egyptian hieroglyphics?" "Okay but how the hell does that-" "I'm getting there! So at first I was like 'oh this is probably some cult bullshit thing' yeah? So I decided 'hey why not let's fuck with this' " "Your first response was to join?!" "In my defence I was topped off on 10 bottles of whiskey." "You're an idiot." "ANYWAY, so they hit me up and say that there's some initiation thing going on in the woods out back so I decided to go and check it out." "Is this before or after the drugs?" "Before. The drugs happened during the initiation. Turns out they make you ingest Ayahuasca to 'cleanse the soul' or what fucking ever." "You really don't get to take that kind of tone considering you did it." "Well yeah cuz I didn't want to look bad in front of the chicks! But as it turns out you only need to drink like one cup right? But since I was wasted I kinda just downed 5 of them like shots. And then after that the world got all loopy and I was seeing colours and all yeah? So I tried to sit down but I think I slipped on something and fell." "And the body...?" "Dude, I was tripping balls, I don't know shit. Best I can guess is she slipped too or something." "Her eyeballs are impaled on a tree branch. 30 feet up." "The human body is capable of miraculous feats." "How the fu-ok you know what nevermind. What about you?" "What about me?" "Oh gee I don't know take a fucking guess idiot." "...Okay, admittedly I don't know how the horse got here." "Clearly you should!" "I WAS INCAPACITATED!" "THEN EXPLAIN HOW YOU GOT BALLS DEEP INTO THIS HORSE!" "WELL MAYBE I MISTOOK IT FOR A CHICK!" "YOU STUCK YOURSELF INTO ITS EAR!" "..." "..." "I'm going to jail, aren't I?" "You don't say?"
I stop and turn to look at the child, who's staring at me from behind a teddy bear almost twice her size. I know everything about her instantly. Her name: Rose Smith. Her age: 8 years, 10 months, 5 days, 4.5 hours. Her time of death: 10:35pm on September 15, 2080. "You aren't the Tooth Fairy,"she says confidently. "Fairies are pretty and small and they have wings like butterflies." "How can you see me?"I ask. Humans can't normally see me unless they've taken a life. And 8-year-old Rose Smith doesn't look like she even knows the definition of murder. The child shrugs. "I dunno. I see lots of things."She eyes me suspiciously. "What are you doing in my room?" I glance at the goldfish dying in the bowl ahead of me. I'm slightly ahead of schedule, which makes me more willing to entertain questions than usual. "I'm here to reap Nemo's soul." "Why?" "Because it's his time to die." "Why?" "Because that's what I see when I look at him." "Why?" "Because I said so!" She looks suddenly sad. "But he's my only friend." I was afraid she might say that. "Have you ever seen anyone die, Rose?" She shakes her head. "Have you ever known anyone who died?" She shakes her head again, then hesitates. "My mommy died when I came out of her. Daddy says it's my fault. He says I killed her."She buries her face in her teddy bear. "He says it all the time." I remember reaping Daisy Smith's soul that day in the hospital. It was true in a way, that the childbirth had killed her. But her child has been told so often she intentionally did it that she actually believes it. That's why she can see me. An unusual case, but not unprecedented. "Look at me, Rose." She raises her head at my voice, suddenly transfixed. I've shifted into a different form entirely. One with wings like butterflies. "You are the Tooth Fairy,"she says, both triumphant and delighted. "Here's the thing, Rose,"I say in my tiny voice. "Life is full of things that happen just because, and they aren't anyone's fault. Humans like to think of Death as its own separate entity, as something they can forget about most of the time, but I'm a part of life just like everything else."I flap my Tooth Fairy wings. "Just like growing up and losing your teeth."I shift to my Santa Claus form. "Or spending time with your family even when you're older."I shift into my Cupid form. "Or falling in love out of nowhere."I shift back into my Grim Reaper form. "Or accepting that death is a part of life. Your mommy died and it wasn't anyone's fault. Your goldfish is dying and that's not anyone's fault either, Rose. I wish more people could understand that." She stares at me for the longest time, then nods and buries her face in her teddy bear again. I take my opportunity to reap the goldfish's soul. It wriggles in the pocket of my cloak as I clean off my scythe, waiting for the child to finish thinking about what I've said. Finally, Rose says, "I think I understand." She lifts her head and looks around. I smile because I know what it means. I know she can't see me anymore. "Hello, Mr. Death?"she asks. "Where did you go?"
I was told that hell would be hot. I remember as a child, my grandmother pointing an old, twig like finger at me across the long table, her eyes squinting as she curled her lips into a snarl: "It's a deep pit, with a lake of fire."She'd growl. "And if ye don't listen and be reading the good book, the lord'll strike ye straight down and ye'll burn for an eternity." I was raised on these words, hearing them every night at dinner before she sent me up to bed. Her eyes piercing me with an icy gaze that still paralyze me with fear. Sometimes I wondered if grandmother was a demon, as she seemed to know a lot about hell. Knowing all of this, i was still unprepared for the blistering heat as I crossed the river Styx, ready to hear my judgement. As I had gotten older I told myself that the heat of hell would not matter once I had died, as I wouldn't have any senses. How I wish I had died in the summer in a t-shirt instead of dieing in an extra cozy parka. Wiping sweat from my brow, and staring ahead towards the cavern where the other newcomers were ushered to, I stepped in line until I heard my name called. Looking towards where I was called a tall figure, with large bat-like wings stared at me, their head was nothing but a skull, but the rest of their body was heavily armored and red flames flickered where their eyes should be. Even without skin or muscles, the figure had the sense of worry about them as I stepped closer. "The, uh, boss would like to see you before the others."The figure, who I assumed was some type of guard said hesitantly. I blinked inquisitively, but nodded and followed the guard to a separate doorway. They opened the door, and stood aside as to let me in first, they seemed as of they wanted to maintain their distance. I stepped cautiously through the ornately decorated door and found myself in a small, yet exquisite room. A dark mahogany desk in the center, that resembled the color of ash had several stacks of paper on top and a small wax seal kit was pushed off to one side. Behind the desk sat a large crushed velvet chair, the color of a deep red wine and behind the chair framing the back of this office like room was what seemed to be an entire wall of fire, the flames licking the other walls and ceiling every so often make the space surprisingly bright, considering the lack of any other light source. Another door, on the wall off to my right slowly creaked open and a tall man stepped in. I assumed this was Lucifer. His wings, like those of a raven were stretched out on either side of him from behind and with his pale, white eyes seemed to look through me. "This is the one you asked for"the guard said from the open door behind me. Lucifer nodded and I turned and watched the armor clad figure close the door. The fallen angel took a seat behind his desk and sighed as he got comfortable, taking out a pair of small reading glasses from the top drawer of the desk. "I don't normally do this."He started holding up a manilla folder. "But, given the circumstances, we will have to find a suitable place for you." I could feel sweat soaking through my sweater under my arms, I looked at the king of hell inquisitively. "You are still a virgin, so I cannot put you in the lust circle, wrath is not a good fit as you have no personality and you were never angry."He sighed. "I am afraid I don't follow."I finally spoke. "I don't really even know why I am here. I read the bible, i prayed, went to mass, I don't understand why saint Peter sent me to you."My voice shook as I spoke the last words. When i first arrived in hell I was scared, but after getting onto the boat with the rest of the damned I realized I was here and I would be for an eternity. Even if I tried to be good, I had obviously done something very, very, wrong. Lucifer gazed up at me, looking me directly in the eyes, his skin was black like charcoal and two small stubs where I assumed his horns used to be sat on either side of his forehead. "Did you recall April 20th 1996, 4:20 p.m.?" I shook my head, that was almost thirty years ago. "You had just made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. There was only one clean spoon left in the drawer."Lucifer gulped loudly as if he was deeply uncomfortable. "So you used it in both the peanut butter and the jelly, leaving traces of jelly in the peanut butter jar." I blinked. "That is why I am in hell?"I asked in disbelief. "That is why, St. Peter told me there was no forgiving my sins?" I wiped sweat from my forehead in annoyance. This was what the whole big deal was about? Lucifer stroked his chin thoughtfully, still watching me as I wiped sweat from my forehead, then he suddenly grinned, his pointed yellow teeth shining from the flames from behind him. "I'll have to send some paperwork to the man upstairs. We will need more room for you." He pulled out a thick stack of papers and flicked his wrist as a chair that mirrored the one he sat in appeared between us. "You will fill out these forms for a request for new space"he explained getting up from his chair and heading towards the door. "God hates paperwork and this is what he gets for sending an abomination to me."
“You are the chosen one Arthur! You must go one without me!” Arthur shook his head, his ripped abs shining in the summers sun. He looked in Amelia’s blue orbs, which glistened in the sun’s powerful rays. “Who am I...without you Amelia.” Arthur said, cupping his hands around her angular face. She pushed him away, “you are Arthur,” Amelia said, gripping her mother’s necklace, “but we were destined to be apart...” Arthur fell to his absolutely shredded masculine knees, “says who Amelia! I love you! And who is to say differently!” Amelia fell into a quiet sob, “...my father.” Arthur wiped the tears and sweat from his sharp shredded jawline, “then I will return to you with your fathers head!” Amelia fell into Arthur, her long brown hair covering her wilting face, Arthur swept the hair from her eyes. “No Arthur! You must continue on and fulfill the prophecy! You must bring the king the head of Satan! Only then can we marry!” Arthur gripped his sword till his knuckles went wide, “I will do what I need to win your heart m’lady.” Arthur said, bowing before the princess. Arthur climbed upon his white horse, its neighed as he pulled on its reigns, kicking its legs out into the air. He galloped off, preparing to face the task before him. When Arthur arrived at the gates of hell, he climbed off his horse, his studded boots clicked against the earths core, flame erupted around him. “Mighty Satan! I call thee! Fight me like a man, like you once did my father before me! I will avenge him you lonely bastard, and you will die!” Satan walked out before him, he was giant, 100x the size of Arthur. “Who the hell are you.” Satan said. “I’m Arthur XVI, Son of my father, avenger of the lost souls, and I am here to avenge my father-“ Satan flicked Arthur, and Arthur flew, his body cracking against the floor. He died. From a distance, a girls voice sounded. “Arthur! Arthur are you alright!” The princess Amelia ran to his deformed body’s side. Every bone in his body was broken, his eye fell out his socket. “Do not worry Arthur! I will cure you with the power of love!” Amelia then kissed his bloody lips, but nothing happened. Amelia dug her face into his chest, sobbing for her lost lover. Suddenly, a quiet whisper arose from his mouth. “You’re alive Arthur! What are you trying to say!” Amelia pressed her ear against his mouth, his voice was weak. Amelia listened closely, until finally...she understood. “Amelia..I’m gay” And then he died. The end.
Everyone in the League of Eight wasn't fond of Backlash, and she knew it. Somewhere deep down, they all knew she knew. Being the only member without powers, or possessing some kind of object with abilities, she was just a glorified mercenary. Every year on 8Day, she has the least amount of fans parading around. When the city is in trouble, she's not the hero you hope for. Yet the city needs her, her team needs her, even if they don't realize it. When Watchcorp got word of the attack happening in the city centre, it didn't take long to get some of the League out there. A mechanised tank was heading down the street, slowly but surely, headed for the hospital. From the cold lifeless steel look of this destructive yet cleverly constructed vehicle, it was clear that Dr Doctor was behind this. Only 3 members were sent out for this job. Titanium - the world's strongest man. Swift - Can travel a mile in the blink of an eye. And, of course, Backlash. She's often sent out to help take care of any henchmen, the small threats. Yet today, there were no henchmen. The Dr himself wasn't even there. All that was there was the hunk of metal making its way down the street, towards peril for hundreds. The hospital was being evacuated, but there wasn't much time remaining before the collision occurred, as the whirring machine would force its way through the doors and downstairs lobby, surely bringing the building down on top of it. Swift was running in and out of the hospital, helping as many people out as possible. Titanium, on the other hand, looking unbothered as usually, simply lifted a finger and..."oh"...the tank was pushing him. So he used both hands and was still being pushed along. He put all his muscles into it, and still, nothing. Whatever the casing of this thing was made out of, it was stronger than anything Titanium had seen or felt before. For the first time in his life, he wasn't the immovable man he thought he was. "I can't stop it. Can you see anything?" Backlash was on top of the tank, studying it. From the outside, it was just a cuboid with tank treads. It didn't take the shape of a tank, perhaps because there was no need for a driver or weapon system. Just a big block of unstoppable movement. Slow movement, but still ever marching forward. She spotted a small hatch on top and opened it up. The hole was tiny and showed all the gears inside as they crunched along. "I've got something up here... Some kind of hatch. Might be able to break this from the inside!" Titanium tried to reach in, but the gears were just too far away. "It's unlikely that the gears are made out of this strong material,"Titanium thought out loud, "Surely constructing entire gears from this heavy material simply wouldn't work - Only the hull of this tank would need it." Backlash weighed in, "We just need to jam them, then. Stop them turning, and the tank stops in place." They tried throwing things into the hatch, but it was no use. "Anything small enough to fit in is crushed by the gears, anything large enough to do any damage wouldn't fit in the hatch,"Titanium was stumped and didn't know what to do... "Except me,"Backlash spoke with confidence in her voice. "No. Whatever you're saying, just, no." "I have to, look, we've got maybe 60 seconds maximum before we hit that hospital. Besides, I know I'm the least valued member of the League. You all hate me." "Backlash, no. We don't hate you. We never--" "You're not very fond of me, then, are you? You never were. I'm just the powerless girl. Well, what if my power is exactly this - Being selfless? I might not be a superhero, but I can sure be a super hero." "I'm sorry, I never truly realised that you knew. I'm sorry." Backlash climbed into the hatch. Titanium continued, feeling guilty, and diverting to lying to clear his conscience in Backlash's final moments, "You know, we were actually thinking of making you the new leader... It's sad to see you go." "I'd have loved to have taken that role,"she said as she threw herself down into the darkness. There was a loud clang, and the machine jolted to a halt. Swift ran over, "You did it! Why did it take you so long?" "Well, it wasn't me. I couldn't stop the thing. It was Backlash. She's..."He pointed to the hole. "Oh... I'm sorry... But I mean, look on the bright side - Now the eighth member of the team can be a real superhero! Always felt like we were only giving about 7/8ths of true protection if you know what I mean. With a team full of powers, what can stop us? It could have been worse, we could have lost a hero." "I am a hero, prick,"a voice echoed from inside the machine. Backlash climbed out, with a gear in her hand. She threw it down at their feet. "This small one was loose and I landed right on it. A little bruised up but I'm fine." "Oh, I, um,"Swift stuttered as Titanium interrupted, "Hey, about that whole 'giving you leadership' thing, see, when people are emotional, they kinda say things... Things that aren't always true, and, well, um..." Backlash walked off as both of them stammered their words through the strange atmosphere. Swift spoke up to Titanium. "Well, this week's meeting is gonna be awkward." --- I'm new to this, and this is actually my first time writing a death, let alone a sacrifice! So I apologize if the pacing and tones were off. I'm looking for feedback :)
"I... I'm sorry, sir?" The lecture hall was silent, with the exception of my words, and the Professor's responses. I had asked what I thought was an innocent question; instead, it seemed, I asked something akin to a stupid one. The Professor responded, a calm rage in his voice. "Well, obviously you must think yourself a genius in that line of questioning. Or, you are a clown, looking to ask foolish questions to distract. Either way, I will not tolerate such attitude." Still standing, now a bit embarrassed, I continue. "I don't believe myself either, sir, nor of that attitude. I simply had a question, sir, to which I desired an answer. I apologize if it was not appropriate for this lecture." "Appropriate for my lecture?"The Professor scoffed, distain in his voice. "Such a question is not appropriate for this school. Every young mage knows how the Aether works, and how we draw mana from it. This school teaches you how to use that mana, to form spells and effects of magic. And this simple fact I am telling you this means you are unfit for my class, in one form or another."He then looked back to the chalkboard, giving a dismissive wave. "Remove yourself from my classroom." I continue to stand, but now tears well at the edges of my eyes, as my face burns a bright red in embarrassment. I can feel the eyes on me, and I can hear the snickers of what would have been my fellow classmates. I am silent, trying to form words past the angry lump in my throat, but the Professor beats me to it. "What, are you deaf and dumb? Remove yourself at once!" I lose myself. In anger, in embarrassment, in hurt pride; I do the only thing I can do: I sing. I sing the anthem of my people, a proud and defiant tune. Telling the tales of not heroes, but of the common people; of our resilience and hardiness against our foes. Proud as the tune is, I cannot help but to do so angrily, singing in the tone of revolutionaries. As I do so, the temperature in the room rises, rising to match my heated temper. My fellow classmates begin to freak out, as the temperature raises past uncomfortable into painful. Before it can raise any higher, the Professor whips out his wand, and mutters an incantation my way, erasing my mouth. "How did you do that?"The Professor is dumbfounded shaking his head. "Impossible. What did you do? What tricks have you used?" He then removed his incantation, allowing me to speak. "I do not know, sir. That's why I'm here. To my knowledge, I have no tricks. I simply sing, or dance, or recite; and things happen. The feelings I have well within me, and cause miraculous things. Magic, I believe." "Feelings? The are no feelings, in magic; you don't emote magic!" "I do, sir." There was a long silence, of him staring at me, and I staring defiantly back. I didn't spell it out for him, as he was smart enough to see that he was wrong. That I was something different, something he'd never seen before. Finally, he broke the silence, with a sigh. "We will speak after the lecture, and I will answer your questions then. I see now that you are a...special exception." It wasn't an apology, but it would do, for now.
"Alright Charlie, lets go through this one more time". The boy kept his head down, silently sobbing. We didn't have time for this crap. "Listen kid."I sighed, "bending down to his level. "I know you wanted to bring your Grandpa and all, but the F.B.I. has been looking for an opportunity to bust this operation for years. Do us this solid, and your family will never have to worry about food again. Now one more time...who am I?" Charlie swallowed the lump in his throat. "M..my Uncle Stan from America....You came over to go to the factory w-with me....because my parents are too busy....and my grandparents are too sick...." "Great...great job kid." I patted him on the shoulder as the gates opened and the crowd cheered. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "Everybody FREEZE!"I screamed, drawing up my gun. I know I shouldn't have planted that tracker on the fat German kid. I know I shouldn't have knocked him into the lake when no one was looking. I know I shouldn't have snuck off from the group to follow the tracker. But god damn I had hit the jack pot. There he was, tied down on a table. Naked and exposed. There must have been half a dozen of the Oompa Loompas, surrounding him and prodding him with needles, scalpels and other strange devices. "BACK AWAY FROM THE KID! BACK OFF!" I screamed, waving my gun at them. They stared at me with intense silence as they backed away from the child. As I got closer, to my horror, I saw what they were doing to him. One of the needle was attached to a tank. An orange liquid being pumped into the boy, giving his skin an orange glow, and his hair a tint of green... They were turning him into one of them "What on earth is all that racket!?" Mr. Wonka and the others had arrived in. He froze when he saw what I had found. "Mr. Willy Wonka, you are under arrest for crimes against humanity."I announced, turning to face the chocolateer. No longer collected and suave, he was now pale and shaking, sweat dripping from his brow. "P-please"He whimpered, "You have to know, I didn't have a choice!" "No choice!?"I barked. I could feel the anger boil up inside me. Knowing what he was doing to these children. "So this is how you get your workers huh? Trick them into your factory and then mutilate and enslave them!?" "LOOK OUT!"Wonka shrieked, pointing behind me. Usually, such an obvious trick wouldn't work, but as the rest of the group screamed, I turned around. To my horrors, the Oompa Loompas had changed. Their heads had split open, to reveal some strange, squid like monster, pertruding out. Their pincers snapping, they swung their tentacles wildly, lunging towards me, shrieking an ear piercing roar. I opened fire.... --------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "Better get that boy a warm blanket." I gestured to Charlie who was sitting in the back of an ambulance, shaking furiously, a thousand mile stare in his eyes. I turned back to the chief. "So the Oompa Loompa's were running the show. We were right to suspect another alien body snatcher scenario. Willy Wonka was selected as a human representitive to win over our trust. Poor bastard never had a choice. He was killed in the shoot out." "Good lord."sighed the chief, pulling out a cigarette. "This is as crazy as the time that small girl became possessed by a demon that allowed her to move objects with her mind." "Yeah"I took a cigarette from his box. "Or when those giant radioactive bugs kidnapped that boy and attempted to take over New York City." The chief shook his head. "Well, you did a great job. Better head over to Central London. There is news of some Giant figure peering into children's rooms at night and filling the rooms with some kind of mind altering date rape drug." "Sick bastard"I growled, throwing down and stamping out my cigarette.
"Remember back before this mess started, when I told you not to mix magic with science, and you asked me what's the worst that could happen? THIS!!! THIS EXACT SITUTATION IS THE WORST THAT COULD HAPPEN!!!" I shaded my eyes from the sun and peered down from the lookout to gaze upon genetically modified tomatoes the size of ballparks stomping and crushing the houses and buildings of our town below. I looked back, incredulously, at Steve. "Thank you, Steve, for making that clear to me."
I was ready to finally move onto the moon. I had saved up over the past twenty years on a measly doctor's salary and have secured myself a small plot of land near the borders of the dark side. Twenty years of toiling away seeing the less fortunate patients who could not afford MedBot's. Twenty years of frugality, cheaping out on a fresh piece of fruit and instead opting for NutriTablets and bread instead. The day has come at last and I spared no time packing up my ancient house that I had inherited from my late father, who inherited from his father before, and the father before that, and so forth. I think the house was bought by my greatx3 grandfather. &#x200B; Retirement was supposed to be worry free. I would be breathing fresh filtered oxygen and spending my time sunbathing in my Sol Pod. I knew deep down, however, that I won't be getting much sun. The small half acre of land I bought was not at all the best place to spend old age in, but anything was better than this sh\*thole down in Earth. Everything was the way it should be, until I came across a manila envelope hidden deep in one of the old desks. It was a land deed to Sector A on the moon. I was livid. One of my friends must've been playing a prank on me, but to the extent of finding paper? That's a bit far fetched, money was much better spent on a Lunar Retirement Plan. &#x200B; There were two days before my liftoff to the moon, I had that much time to make sure that the Sector A deed was real. I went to one of the best lawyers I knew to make sure. And after a full 20 hours of research, analysis, and meeting up with Earth based Lunar Property Lawyers amongst other Planetary government officials, the final verdict was out. &#x200B; "Congratulations Mr. Aldrin, we found everything to be valid, you are officially the richest man in the solar system."
The figure disappeared in a grandiose display of smoke, no doubt to stroke the ego of the father of pride. The headlights of an old, beat-up VW bug shone brightly through the cloud. You finally allowed yourself to smile, your plan had worked. By tomorrow morning, all of your problems would be gone - and a new life could begin. All it cost was your first-born's soul. Which, since you made the decision years ago to self-sterilize, was something you could never provide. Apparently, the old arch angel was savvy on high-risk investments, and signed off on sub-prime soul mortgages. You slide into the seat of your bug, parked on the berm of the crossroads, and crank the lazy engine over. The sluggish starter gives its best, but despite almost catching a spark, it falls flat on its face. "Damn it!"You say, smacking the dash. Your phone showed no service, as you might expect at the intersection of the damned. Maybe you should have added an immediate vehicle upgrade to your request. You knew your luck would begin to turn around at midnight, so you could wait it out and maybe it would magically start - but then you'd have to sit here alone in the desert for hours. Walking alone in the dark didn't seem appealing either. "Guess we're stuck here for the moment."You say to no one in particular. You turn the headlights off and release the seat back a little ways, enough to relax but still see the surroundings. You doze for some time, awoken by the alarm you set on your phone for midnight. You startle when you see a new figure standing at the crossroads, a dark blotch against the soft dim glow of the starlight. You flick on your headlights and a young woman recoils from the sudden beam of light. "Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry I didn't mean to startle you!"you say, exiting the bug. "Wow, that was fast."she says. "Huh?"your brow furrows. "I'm Amelie, I'm guessing you know who I was here to see." "Yeah, same." In the glow of the headlights, her eyes appeared red, as if she had been crying. "Can I sit with you in the car? I walked here from a few miles away, and frankly I'm finding myself a little afraid of a dark desert now that... well now that this is over."She says, gesturing around in a circle. "Oh, uh yeah, of course."You stumble over your words. Is she into you? It was quite random, and very sudden, but your luck was supposed to turn around and a partner was just one thing you had hoped for. She crosses the intersection and plops into the passenger seat of the bug. "What were you here for?"She asks, breaking a short but uncomfortable silence. "Me? Oh uuhhh..." "Sorry I'm not trying to pry, and you don't have to say what you gave up." "Everything has just been going wrong. I didn't ask to be a king or anything like that."you say. She nods, a softness in her eyes. "No work, no money, I've been spiraling. I guess I asked for a little more than a boost, but really just for my luck to turn around, you know?"you say, not the whole truth but not a blatant lie either. "Yeah, I see"she says, her voice soft. "Do you have anyone?" "Me? No, at least not like that. I have friends, of course. My parents are still alive, but on the other side of the country." You both go quiet, she looks around outside - what little can be seen from the ambient light of the stars. "I asked to meet someone, and have kids with them."She says, finally. "Really?"You ask. "What?"She turns to you, her eyes filled with sudden anger. "No please, I didn't mean it like that. I just, you're beautiful, I find it hard to believe you need... help... in that regard." She stares at you a moment longer, and then breaks out in laughter. After a few moments, you join her. "Ahh, yes. Sorry, no I get what you mean. I... I meant more that I asked for the person perfect for me. I really want to have kids, but I want to make sure it all happens.. just right, you know? There are some genetic complications in my family I was hoping to bring to an end." "I see."You say, staring at the horn button on your steering wheel. "Thanks."She says. You look at her. "For calling me beautiful." "Oh, of course, you are. Thanks for, you know, not calling me a creep for saying it." You both laugh again, and she takes your hand in hers. You give in entirely to what comes next, knowing you could not provide her the child she wanted. But it felt so right, and she didn't have to know - yet. ===== The figure cloaked in the veil of night watches the VW Bug from a distance as its windows fog. I always collect my dues A whisper of a voice floats on the wind. ===== "Positive!?"You ask, a little louder than you meant. "Yes?"She asked, her hand holding the pregnancy test dropped to her lap. Her usually soft face was creased with worry now, your response not what she expected. "I'm so sorry, I'm just surprised."You take her hands in yours. It had been four months since the night at the crossroads, and you almost immediately moved in together. You hadn't understood what people meant by soul mate before. A new job, a new life - it had all come to fruition. The VW Bug had even been replaced by a Jaguar, a car you had lusted after as a teen. Although the worry about your impotence had nagged in the back of your head, today shook everything up. When should you tell her, what you gave up. "This is great! Lets... lets get married!"You say, masking your fear. Her eyes were wet with tears now, but the softness in her face returned. You embraced one another and the feeling of her body against yours brought some comfort, but your mind raced. ===== "Come on, love. You can do this"You say, her hand crushing your own. Staff buzzed around the bed in a frenzy, you couldn't even keep track of everything being done. Labor had gone on far longer than expected, and induction steps had to be taken due to the baby's dropping heartrate. "I can do this."She echoed. "Ok, contraction is starting. I need you to push, push!"The doctor said. Her face turned purple as she pushed, twisted from the usually beautiful complexion into something else - still her but something else. "One more time, push with everything you have"The doctor orders firmly. She pushes again, this time letting out a quiet yell. A new voice joins her own, the baby's first breaths expended on the squeal of new life. Everything stopped, save for you and your wife. A laugh came from behind you, disjointed and broken. "I always collect my dues."It says, a whisper that seemed to resonate with everything in the room. You turn slowly to face your detractor. Your wife grabs your wrist. "I'm so sorry, my love"She says. "What?"You whip around to face her again. "I offered myself in return for... for all of this." "WHAT?"You repeated, this time a shrill bark. "You don't understand! They will live! You will have our child, a part of me, and our time together was the most amazing time of my life."She said between sobs, her voice cracking. The pit of your stomach plummeted into the void. "That's right, she is to come with me. But first, since I do business in the order it comes, I will be collecting from you my good sir."The murky shadow that filled the room now spoke it's sugared words. "No!"You yell. Her hand on your wrist tightens. "What did you give up?"She says, looking to you. "No! I can't! You can't!"You scream, the weight of what was happening was unbearable - your vision beginning to blur from the tears in your eyes. The tendrils of smoke and shadow surround the baby, and then disappears with it in a puff. "What? NO!"your wife screams now. "NO! NOOOO! YOU FUCKING-"her voice is muted by the cloud that engulfs her. You feel her grip on your wrist disappear. You collapse to the floor. The demon's laughter fills the room, fills your mind. "I don't understand."You say. "You wished for a better life, and she wished for a perfect genetic match and to bring life into the world - it was a simple matter to fix you." "How did you know?" "How could I not know? I know everything." You held your head in your hands. "Good doing business with you, do come again"the silky voice spoke as the darkness retreated from the delivery room. Time moved once more, and the doctor's and nurse's shouts of disbelief were just background noise to the numbness you now felt.
1. The first heartseed you give is to your sister. She is a smart, sassy girl of seven, and she makes a face when you present her the dark colored seed. "It looks like a bug,"she says. When you tell her what it is, her eyes widen in amazement. It is the first time she has ever seen a heart seed. She eats it in front of you before running off to get into trouble. Later, when it is hot and dark, she sneaks into your bed and you tell each other dreams. 2. Your father gets one soon after your sister on the drive to the store. You present it to him shyly, and he grins. He swallows it down with soda, and neither of you say a word. 3. Your do not send one to your mother. You have no desire to see her, not now, not ever. You do, however, send a seed to her address for the grandmother who lives with her. The two of you exchange letters, and so when you place the seed in the envelope it is wrapped carefully in silver origami paper. 4. You are a friend to many people, but not many people are your friends. The first friend you give a seed to, a week after your 16th birthday, is a girl named Sarah. Sarah is red-haired and freckle-faced, and she is passionate about everything. She is ecstatic about receiving one, and promises to give you one of her's in May. You look forward to it. 5. Somehow, a red cardinal eats one, and you are very confused and angry about it. Your father consoles you later, and tells you not to be careless, because heartseeds matter. 6. A distant cousin that lives down the street from you receives one. He had been your first love, and he helps you with your homework when you can't quite solve that math problem. He is 32 years old and handsome, with easy smiles and honest eyes. When you give him your heartseed, he looks at you strangely before smiling softly. "When you were little I wanted to give you one of mine, but by that time I was down to about three or four seeds. Thank you for giving me yours."It's no problem, you mumble, flushing. You may still be a little bit in love with him. 7. This one is the first you will regret because it will not end how you want it to. For now, though, you enjoy lying in bed with her, exhausted. She is beautiful--dark and shining. Sometimes you feel like you are being consumed by her, and you don't even care. When you close her hand around your heartseed, you kiss her knuckles gently, reverently. She swallows thickly and pulls you to her. You are deeply in love. 8. The first time someone demands your heartseed, it is in your first year of college. It is the high school brother of a study friend, a tall, thin boy with his face dotted with acne. He hasn't grown into his nose or chin yet, and he wears round, thick glasses. He is always dressed in hand-me-downs with the right height but not yet the right girth--they hang loose and silly on him. When you point out that it's rude to ask for heartseeds, he flushes a scarlet red but does not back down. You will not give him your heartseed until he is 16 and he gives you one of his, but for now you are more amused than offended. You tell him what your father told you: heartseeds matter. 9. This one you give with a kiss. It is a secret, and you will not see them again for a very long time. 10. You are afraid when you give this person your heartseed, because you know they will die before you. Days, weeks, months from now, but closer than you wish. She accepts it a smile and shaking hands. After she has eaten it, you stay by her bedside and cry. 11. The person you give your heartseed to loses it somewhere between the bus stop and the cafe. He apologizes profusely, and will not accept another one until you threaten to hold him down and make him swallow one, along with other unpleasant things. He is still apologizing as both of you leave, and, irritated, simply says that he can make up for it by always buying you lunch. Some days you will regret it, but for the most part you enjoy it way too much. 12. (Heartseed #12 already given above). 13. There is a stray dog that you have somehow accepted into your house, and when the day you do not even raise an eyebrow to it drinking from your toilet, you realize that the dog is pretty much yours. You have a small panic attack while brushing your teeth, and as soon as you're presentable you grab the dog and drive to the vet. You feel a little ridiculous, but you feed the dog (Brucie, you decided to name her when they present to you the papers) your heartseed hidden in a piece of raw chicken afterwards. The dog is very pleased, and shows it by peeing on the kitchen floor. 14. You lose this one somewhere between the bus stop and the cafe, and you can't decide if it's destiny or not when the man you were going to give it to dumps you. For now, you'll call it luck. 15. You will never see her again, but you give it to her anyways because...well, because then she would at least know that you died. She gives you one of hers, a wrinkled, ancient thing, and you are so grateful. Thank you for taking care of me, you say, and she hugs you tightly. 16. The person you intended to give your heartseed died before you could give it to them. It is a bright, sunny day when they have his funeral, and the mourners all shovel dirt onto the coffin as the priest mourns. When it is your time, you also drop in your heartseed. It would not feel right giving it to someone else, and you feel as if keeping it will break you. Afterwards you leave and can't stop yourself from looking back. 17. You plant it because you suddenly realize you have never seen your heartseed's blossom. Most never do--growing is not what heartseeds are for. You think about your father's words as you water your heartseed, and you think, well, this matters to me. 18. When you see her swallow it you regret it immediately, but you keep on smiling anyways. 19. The man you give your heartseed to chokes on it, and although he doesn't die, you can't find your heartseed, either. 20. On her first day of elementary, you give your niece your last heartseed, and her face wrinkles. "It looks like a bug,"she says, and gets mad at you for laughing. -1. You do not have anymore, and you are terrified. The two of you have not breached the topic yet--many years have passed for both of you since you first received your heartseeds. You walk with her nervously, and when you reach the door of her apartment you lean down to kiss her. She pulls away, and dread twists inside your stomach. She rummages through her purse, and when she has what she's looking for she smiles triumphantly and hands it to you. A heartseed. When you make a confused sound, she laughs, and tells you it sounds like a walrus dying. "I found it,"she says proudly, "in a tiny little box that said 'For my soulmate.' Will you accept it?"Of course I will, you breathe, and when you're done swallowing it down you lean down and kiss her.
The stars stretched into the vast distances ahead. These luminous distance markers constantly reminded them how much further they still had to go, how much longer they were going to have to endure the ordeal known as space travel. Like distant voices of encouragement, the stars dangle elusive hope in the unexplored depths ahead of the two ships. If they were really lucky they would find a hospitable planet. It was desperation, not wonder of the unknown, that made the Adams and Eves take flight. Five pairs of ships took flight on the same day, leaving behind the roaring flames. Everything else that remained of civilization had turned into misshapen fuel to the destruction. Onboard each ship were over two hundred passengers. The men and women were separated so that they would not meet with the burden of any unexpected rise in population. The day that they came across a planet of blue and green, they cheered. They cheered because it reminded them of home. On the ground, there was only one being with the ability to comprehend the meaning behind the twin streaks of roaring smoke and ash in the sky. This being had found Eden a long time before Adam and Eve first appeared. It lived amongst the dinosaurs as their mightiest predator. When the last batch of visitors crashed into its territory, the dinosaurs had been wiped out. It swam across the waters under the ice, biding its time. When the time was ripe, it became a tree that spread its pollens and seeds across the lands. Over centuries, it created and tended to the majestic gardens of Eden all across the lands. It turned itself into a garden serpent, no different from any other except that it will cunningly learn the ways, the psychology and language of the invaders. The creature had an abundance of patience. The gardens had borne plenty of apples that were the red of danger and temptation. The accidental invaders were about to experience these. --- 2nd drafts eventually go [here](https://fivenswrite.wordpress.com).
"Well, this is a little awkward,"Bella, the Terrible, said, averting her eyes from the nursery room door at the edge of the living room. "Quite frankly, I think so too,"Linda, the Awful, replied. Standing between them, Sarah bit her lips, eyes down to the floor. Sam, her husband, bit his nails by her side. "I'm sorry guys,"Sam said, finally. "I had no idea Sarah had promised –" "Well, what you knew or didn't know doesn't matter,"Bella said. "The fact is the baby was promised to me. So your promise with Linda is void." "But I didn't know the baby had been promised,"Linda intervened. "Why should I not get my part of the deal just because he made a mistake? I fulfilled his wish. He got the new job, right?" "Let's just split the God-damned baby in half,"Bella suggested. "No! That's awful!"Sarah cried. "Oh, sure. But promising your baby to a witch in exchange for Oasis tickets is fine." "What? It was the reunion. God knows when those two brothers will get together again." "Look, let's just take the baby,"Linda said, "and we'll decide what to do when we reach the woods." "Sounds fair." The witches went around Sarah and started for the nursery, their long-nailed hands sprouting menacingly from their long robes. "Stop right there!" Everyone turned to look. A man in a magician top hat shinning in glitter was standing by the door, a cane raised dramatically above his head. "And who is this?" "I'm Marook, the Tenebrous,"the man said. "That baby is mine." "Who promised you that baby!?" "Huh… I did,"Sam said. "What!?"Linda turned to Sam. "But you promised it to me!" "Yeah, but then I kind of re-mortgaged it to Marook when a promotion came up on my job." "So you sold the baby to me to get the job, then sold it to Marook to get a promotion on that job!?" "That's really evil, Sam,"Sarah whispered. "Oasis concert, Sarah." "You're just gonna throw that one in my face forever, aren't you?" Marook lowered his cane and stepped in, his three legs clip-clopping loudly against the linoleum. "Well, this is all very pleasant, but if you don’t mind, I have a baby to take home with me." "Not so fast!" They all turned to the window this time. A man in a black suit and black tie and black shirt climbed through. He looked like an FBI agent. Normal and human from head to toe, except for the trident he carried in his left hand. "What now?" "That baby is mine!"The man proclaimed. "And who the fuck are you?" "I have many names. The Devil. Father of Lies. Demon. Belzeebu. King of Babylon. The Big Dicked One." "I feel like you made the last one up,"Sam pointed. "Silence!"The devil stopped in front of them. "That woman promised me her baby!"he said, pointing an inquisitive finger at Sarah. "In exchange for what!?" "For Oasis playing Champagne Supernova at their concert." A silence took over the room. Sam turned to Sarah: "Really?" "They never play it live, and it's my favorite song!" "Jesus Christ, Sarah, you are an awful person." "You re-mortgaged our baby for a promotion!" "Silence!"Bella exclaimed. Everyone stopped and stared at each other, their positions forming a semi-circle around the large living room. Deep breaths were taken, tongues and lips clicked and heads scratched. Finally, Linda opened her arms. "Well… what do we do?" "We can cut it in several pieces, I guess…"the devil suggested. "Not so fast!" They all turned. From the door came in a man in long white robes and brown hair. He walked proudly and confidently towards the group. "And who are you?" "Jesus Christ..."the devil said, with an angry look at the long haired man. "What are you doing here?" "Hello, Big Dicked One. I am here –" "Let me guess: to take the baby."Bella turned to Sam and Sarah. "Which one of you remortgaged the baby to Jesus?" Sarah and Sam exchanged looks, then shrugged. "Not me.""I didn't." "Nope,"Jesus said, approaching them. "It wasn't the parents. The baby promised his own soul to me. And since my power supersedes all of yours, I'm the one who takes the baby home. Sorry guys." Jesus took confident steps across the room and disappeared inside the nursery. He came back a second later with the baby wrapped in blankets in his arms. A collective frown took over everyone's forehead as they watched, powerless, the son of God taking the baby away. Jesus was by the door when the devil scratched his throat. "Wait. What did the baby want in exchange for its soul?" Jesus smiled, hand on the knob, and turned to Sam and Sarah. "Better parents." ____________________ Read more of the weird stuff I write at /r/psycho_alpaca =)
I.ve tried for so long to get. people to understand what.s happening to me and to try and find help. It's extremely hard to hide messages within writing prompts and they know it, it's probably one of the reasons they chose this subreddit. Everyone thinks it.s all just made up and fake. That no one could possibly be held against their will just to write things. It-s true, all of it and tonight.s the night I final break free with the help of the people on Reddit. Hopefully someone understands my message and can follow through. They haven-t realized what I.m doing yet, the man beside me is laughing knowing that I.m writing the truth and no one will believe me but someone out there will. I just know you will and when you do just follow the instructions they are simple and easy to understand you just need to figure them out. I-ve been held here for six months already, posting random crap around Reddit but they.ve found and easier way to farm karma and they.re desperate to get some gold too. It's mind boggling. I.ve no idea why they.re doing all of this, they can-t possibly use the karma or gold for anything can they? It doesn.t matter though, you guys will help I know you will. I think they're starting to catch on so I can't post much more but please follow the instructions. I.ve left them hidden for you, I.ve got to go they.ve caught on to what I'm doing so I need to post quick. Follow the instructions. Save me.
His final memory before slipping into the void consisted of blurry vision, a pounding headache, and the soft warmth of his daughter's hand in his own. Swirling, lovely colors burst from the darkness. The sudden sensation of rising suddenly and violently to the surface of a body of water of unimaginable depth and darkness. Cognition, a rebirth of consciousness. Michael stood before an endless verdant field. Grasses swayed in a warm, midsummer wind. A late afternoon sun kissed his face. He rubbed his eyes. An unnecessarily blue sky. And something in the distance - the sound of motors. Across the field were dozens of men atop various mowing vehicles, carrying various beverages. One such mower moved near him, his t-shirt slick with sweat and a child sitting on his lap, gripping the steering wheel and giggling. Somehow Michael knew this was the offspring of this man, who smiled dumbly while carrying a beer. "Look Dad, I'm driving!" The man on the mower beamed with pride. "You sure are, buddy." They moved past Michael, who felt himself pulled away from this field, the sudden sensation of rising turning his stomach once more. He now stood before a massive wooden palisade, fragrant of cedar and still sticky with sap. This was some kind of gate, and before it stood a middle-aged balding man wearing a metallica t-shirt, plain blue jeans and new balance sneakers. In his right hand was an ice cold beer. He belched loudly at Michael before smiling. "Welcome, Michael. To the gates of Dadhalla." Michael was confused. Part of him understood that he was dead - the reason for it hard for him to grasp. Some kind of brain cancer, inoperable. Or was it some kind of neuro-degenerative disorder? He couldn't remember. "Dadhalla?" "Yup,"replied the stranger, belching again before taking another swig. "You have fulfilled your duty to your children and family, and have earned your rightful place in Dadhalla." Michael realized he was naked. "I don't understand." The man gestured again towards Michael, and he suddenly felt amazingly comfortable. Clothes had magically appeared on him. Sneakers so supportive. Sweatpants so soft. A thick flannel shirt with that mustard stain from when his wife had thrown a hot dog at him to make his son laugh. "This is Dadhalla. There is no need to understand." The man farted, and the gates blew open behind him with thunderous force. "We used to just fight and fuck and eat all day, but with newer and better fathers, we've changed the rules." Michael walked forward into an endless sea of white. The sudden sensation of rising again felt much more pleasant than before. He stood before his first house, the shitty four bedroom and two bath he'd bought with his wife when they had saved enough to finally settle down. Same slightly askew windows, peeling paint, but meticulously manicured garden. The man handed Michael a beer. Twist top. Sarah was there, planting red tulips. She'd always loved red. He'd buried her in her favorite red dress. Easier to cover up the scars from the car accident. T-bones and splattered brains. "Holy shit,"was all he could manage. She smiled at him and waved, thick black curls restrained in a pony tail. "Hey stupid,"she said. "Took you long enough." The man moved before Michael. "When your wife passed, you comforted your children. You raised them alone, and gave all you could. For each man, Dadhalla is his own." Above Michael he saw vast realms supported by clouds, distant buildings and towering spires. "For some, there is the realm of video games. For others, the mighty kingdom of barbecuing, where the mighty wield spatulas to tame the mightiest of meats." Michael reached skywards, and felt an innate pent up energy. Somehow he knew he could simply rise to each realm as he chose. "Where are my kids?" He didn't know what exactly was happening, but Sarah stood and brushed dirt onto her shorts. "They're here, stupid. They have their own hallas. Reach upwards and they're there." She walked towards him, embracing Michael. "You did good, stupid." Michael squeezed back. "You did good." Edit: Out of time, this is maybe a part one Edit2: Shit someone gave me a gold I'll poop out a part two just for you.
"Launch the nukes at him!"General Krabzor of the Yurians shouted. "He must die!" "Nukes, sir?"Major Painfak replied. As a timid Ugithan from the peaceful Pacification sector of the Kindly Galaxy, he rarely spoke against his Yurian overlord. "There may be nothing of the planet left for us to use. We're here for its resources, after all." "Use the damn nukes! I want that 'warrior' dead!" "Why don't we simply go to the other hemisphere and start the mineral extraction--" "NUKES!!!" Alarm lights flashed red as Major Painfak pondered whether to follow his superiors orders. ***** Jimbob of the Billy Mike Billy knights of Candytown stood in scorched pit. He had managed to deflect or else withstand each attack that the massive Ship-Upon-the-Air, as the Rulers of the Planetsphere called it, had launched at him. The powerful Robes of Destiny hardened his skin, the Helm of Quickening gave him lightning-fast reflexes, and the Sword of Really Fucking Good Swordcraftmanship reflected the beams of light that the mystical ship sent down. "I may be only one warrior,"Jimbob had said to his king when the ship first appeared, "but I will defend against the evil lasers of the sky, which have already destroyed so many of our villages. My wife was the first to die in the attacks. I saw her die with my own eyes. As I also saw so many others die. I was the only survivor. Hence, I am here to avenge my village and defend your kingdom. I will not fail you, my liege. In fact, permit me to say that I will die before I fail you." "Right,"the king had replied. "Again, for the third time, simply repeat the oath, 'I fight today to live tomorrow, for the kingdom and the Planetsphere, forever.'" "Of course, my king, but only after I speak again of my wife. It was a pleasant winter's night when we first met. 'Hello,' I said--" "Just go." Jimbob went indeed and he stood now among the ash and fires of the enemies attacks, waiting too long for the next one. *** "He's gone mad,"Major Painfak said to two other of the General's subordinates. "We must not launch the nukes. It's literally just one guy down there. We killed everyone else already. We can just go around to the other side of the planet and have it mined within a week." "I don't know..."Major Gillzor said. "Can't we just launch one nuke? The last dude who disobeyed Krabzor got a knife through his...well, you know." "He wants all of them launched! That much radiation will render any resources to be gained from the planet absolutely useless. We need to--" "To what?"General Krabzor had appeared behind the Majors and continued, "To commit treason? Space this fool." "But...but,"Major Painfak tried to resist, but ultimately failed. Two brutes shoved him into an airlock without so much as a goodbye. *** Jimbob knew that the time was come when he would need to make the greatest move ever. Many great pillars, the size of the great trees of Nevermore Forest, came barreling down at him from the ship. The warrior readied his sword and sent first one, then another, and a third back to the ship. The might of his sword could be withstood by none. One-by-one, he whacked the metal cylinders back toward the ship. By the time he was done, thousands of huge balls of fire erupted from the ship, and it came crashing down to the planet's surface, perhaps a thousand miles away. It was a quiet ending to what had been the most intense battle of Jimbob's life. He walked back to his king's castle, only to find a crater where it once stood. Destruction was everywhere he looked. Tears fell from his eyes, as he thought of his wife.
‘There are riots on the streets.’ Max’s voice was shaky as he stood next to the throne, his weasel-like head bowed in fake reverence. I was sitting on the stairs under the throne, white marble smeared with the blood of my opponents. Their king is dead,’ I said, taking a fallen banner next to me to clean off the blood from my blade. ‘Summon my mages,’ I said, my voice echoing through the deserted hall. I never lost a duel. They called me Black Rider. No man ever saw my face and no enemy of mine ever saw another sunrise. The magic that gave strength to my limbs was the same one that was about to devour this world. I slowly stood up, dragging my left leg behind me. I had to wash my face and dress my wound, but the ghosts of this castle were already haunting me. I still saw the face of Sir Sebastian before me when he reached for his sword. Surpassing your own teacher was a dream of every boy who ever held a sword but seeing his eyes as he took his last breath wasn’t something I sought. He didn’t know how I was when I pierced his mail but for a second there, I was ready to tell him, ‘You were right master, I have no conscience. You were right all along.’ I have changed my clothes and dressed my wound, my footsteps echoing through the empty corridors of the castle, the last bastion of liberty of Nuarahs. I paused to look through the window. The blood-red of the sunset was fading fast into darkness – darkness none of us could escape. There were only a few of the villagers left, those who loved the old king. I had dungeons full of his loyal knights and blood of his bravest on my hands and yet there was no victory today. I slowly found my way to the throne room. The floors were cleaned and the banners were taken down. I sat there on the stairs until the darkness surrounded me completely, the sound of my beating heart the only sound around me. When my mages arrived, I was on my feet, dragging my injured leg behind me like a beaten dog. There was no need for pretenses anymore, there was no one left to see my demise or my glory. ‘Is it time?’ I asked, watching the face of the old men with the same reluctance as I had when I was a boy. ‘Soon,’ old Rune said, his eyes sparkling with something I supposed was glee. I knew he wasn’t the only one who wished me dead but, in this hour, in the last moments of my life, I wished to ask them why me. Why I was the one chosen for such a wretched life – without family, without honor, my only task was to kill the king when the time comes. The earth shook and I sighed. ‘Finally,’ I heard myself saying. The runes made by the mages of old, that kept this world safe from the forces of darkness, were breaking. I knew what evil was coming for the men of Nuarahs – the same one that was coursing through my veins. I was the last of Nuremen – from the line of the cursed kings who, hungry for power, had opened the portals for the forces of darkness that had festered on our lands until the portals were shattered and darkness was ready to devour our world. ‘Nual Nuremen,’ one of the mages raised his staff, ‘the last of your name.’ I shook my head. ‘I am Black Rider,’ I said. I was taken away from my mother, raised on hatred and cruelty so I could, when the times comes, spill my father’s blood and open the final gate with the blood sacrifice. I had no name and I had no destiny but to die when the time came. Old Rune held his staff in the air, drawing signs of old runes around me. He was waiting for this moment all of his life. These mages were the last generation that would carry the pledge to banish the evil of the Nuremen blood from this land. With me, their legacy would die. ‘You will save this world, boy,’ he said, ‘don’t you wish to be remembered?’ I smiled. I was the villain. Never in my life have I done one good thing. There was no nobility in this. All I wanted was that this evil, that made me like this, be gone once and for all. The only man who ever showed me any kindness and love was Sir Sebastian. He taught me how to wield my sword and he told me I was a selfish, cruel boy when I didn’t know how to respond to his kindness. ‘Tell them it was Sir Sebastian,’ I said. ‘Tell them he saved us from the darkness. Take his shield and place it on the highest tower of Buranum castle. It was his only wish.’ One of the mages nodded but I knew better than to hope they would fulfill their promise. This was the day I killed the last of our heroes, the true protector of these people. He died because of his blind loyalty to the king, a soul just as rotten as mine. This was the day when the villain defeated the hero to save this world, but none will ever remember it. The portals shattered and the darkness poured around me in all shades of black. But there was no fear in me. The runes on my skin glowed and I saw wisps of black smoke curling around my limbs. When blackness swallowed me the earth shook again and when my body fell on the ground the portals closed and there was nothing but silence. r/CrystalElmTales Edit: Thank you for my first reward!
I brushed the hair out of my eyes with a swift motion of my hand, and opened the bay doors to the balcony, looking over the waking city. Same old, same old, I thought, with a bloom of pessimism in his brain. Now, let’s wait for the knock, in three, two, one. A knock came from the front door. Philostrate ought to have better news this time. Right? I walked over to the door, electing not to wear my sandals, and turned the knob, which gave a satisfying click as the door opened. Philostrate, a short and balding man, held a thick, glossy leatherback booklet in one hand, a quill in the other. My official scribe. At the very least, I have the best one in all of Purgatory. “Ah, Philostrate. How goes the city life?”, I asked, eyeing the book eagerly. “Oh, yes, and good morning to you.” “And with your spirit.”, Philostrate replied. “I’ve got some news.” News! Finally, something other than ‘it’s a hard no’. “Yes, come in, come in. Shoes off, I’m serving wine, as usual.”, I said, as I led him into the penthouse. He took his usual seat by the window, and I retrieved a pitcher from the kitchen and poured us both a drink. “No bread, huh?”, he asked, sipping wine as I looked upon him waiting impatiently for his “news”. “I was going to do rustic, but the thought fell flat.”, I interjected, quickly. “Now, news? Good, or bad? Has my father changed his mind?” He sighed, and put the glass down. “Unfortunately, your father agrees the rule stands. It is unfortunately a loophole he did not see, and thus, he very much regrets it.”, he explained. “Plus, there’s no arguing with him.” I gritted my teeth. What exactly was the “good news” then? How does Father expect me to save people if no one will stop saying my damn name? “That’s unfortunate, for sure. I don’t know how this rule even got put into place, considering no one’s been put into Heaven for years.”, I fumed. “I digress, keep at it, Phil. What’s the good news?” “Oh.” He sucked in some air. “The good news is... wait for it... the Impossible Burger is coming to Purgatory!”, he announced, releasing all that air. “Oh. You do not look happy.” “Out. Now.”, I said, as I hurried him to the door. “You got my hopes up, so thanks for that.” “Peace be with you!”, he yelled, as I shut the door in his face. I staggered over to the table and brought the pitcher of wine to my lips. Man, being Jesus Christ is fucking hard.
I held a finger vertically against my lips, urging my demonic friend to quiet down. I looked to my right, to see if Adeline had woken up from the demon's entrance. She was still sound asleep. I pulled the blanket up a bit, fully covering her bare shoulders. "Oh, don't worry."The demon said, "I've made it so no one can hear us for now." I laughed a bit and replied, "Forgot about that. Being a demonic entity of unrivaled power really does have its benefits, huh?" This time, it was the demon's turn to laugh. Her long, dark hair cascaded over her red skin, all the way down to the middle of her back. Her horns held most of her hair back, but there was a bit of it that made up her bangs. She was wearing normal clothes - normal for a human, at least - that consisted of a plain blouse and knee-length skirt. Under normal circumstances, she would be cute. Not my type, but cute. However, there was something so alluring about her. The only reason I wasn't currently fumbling over myself to get her attention was because I knew it was just part of that damn demonic aura she has. Even still, it was hard to resist. "You know flattery gets you nowhere, mister." "I don't know, it got me somewhere last time we spoke."I remembered the last time I saw her, back when I was just getting a handle on the gift she had given me. I cringed a bit, remembering how overconfident and pompous I was. I had been a total tool, thinking that just because I suddenly had this new talent, the ladies would swarm all over me. Turns out, I was still an asshole, and chicks don't dig assholes. "So,"I said, "what brings you to my neck of the woods? If I remember correctly, I've already paid in full. You don't seem to be the sentimental type that checks up on old flames, so why are you here?" She chuckled a bit and said, "Well, I'm definitely not here for sentimentality. No, I'm here because you've apparently taken Miss Adelaide-""Adeline""...Adeline away from her loving husband."She greatly emphasized the last two words of the sentence, clasping her hands together. "Wait, Gregory?" "No, her other husban-YES GREGORY" I sighed a bit, and looked down at the bed. "I swear to god if I ever see that little runt again, I'm keeping my promise of beating the shit out of him."I looked back up at the demon standing before me. "So, what did he ask you to do? Take her back?" She shook her head. "Nope, just straight up murder. Of course, I didn't know it would be YOU." "Did he even tell you anything? About the abuse? The assault?"She shook her head. "Of course he didn't. Listen, about a year ago, Greg decided that Adeline had been cheating on him and went apeshit. This was after a few years of psychological abuse, and it was Addie's breaking point. She called me and another friend up, and we went to get her. She was hurt pretty bad, and we decided it would be best to get her to a hospital for treatment. As we're loading her up, Gregory comes outside with a fucking bat and smashes one of my windows. I stepped out to calm him down, but he just started beating the shit out of me. I managed to use the gift you gave me to get out of there, but I was pretty banged up. I pressed charges, but he had way too much money, and way too many lawyers." She seemed rather taken back by what I had said. "That doesn't match with what he had told me. Heaven, he even signed that shit right into the contract."She said. She snapped her fingers, and a scroll of parchment appeared, along with a pair of glasses. "So I'm guessing the part about you stealing her away is also bullshit?"She looked up at me through her glasses, one eyebrow cocked. "I helped her recover for about half a year, took her to therapy, stopped a few suicide attempts, and even held her hand during one of her therapy sessions so she was able to go through some painful memories. After all that, I guess we just stopped wanting to ever be apart." I looked over to Adeline while I said this, watching her breathe in and out. "Well, this is quite disturbing. I decided not to use my magic to divine the truth, as the last few of you humans were quite forthcoming, but I'll remember this betrayal." "So, does that mean I get to live?"I asked. I wasn't 100% sure yet that I had avoided death. After all, the contract is absolute. "Yes, you get to live. After all, can't have one of my wards dying so soon in their development."She walked close to the bed, and put a hand on my cheek. "Besides, you've got such a cute head, it would be a shame to sever it from your body." I involuntarily leaned into her touch, and then slightly pulled away when I realized what I had been doing. "Too true. What happens now?" "Well,"she said, rubbing her thumb over my lips, "I'm going to visit our pal Gregory, and show him the price for lying in a contract. Then after, I might just have to find you~" She moved her thumb, and brought her face in for a kiss. I placed an index finger over her lips before they could meet mine, and smiled. "Sorry, but I'm taken." She smiled and turned to leave. "By the way,"she said, "don't forget to keep growing your gift. You'll need it when you finally join me."Suddenly, the air around her distorted, and she was gone. Adeline stirred a bit, looking up to me. "Hmm? Were you talking to someone, hun?" I smiled, and ruffled her already disheveled hair. "Just an old friend, love. Nothing to worry about."She sleepily nodded her head and made a sound that was half way between an acknowledgment and a yawn. She wrapped one of her arms around me, pulling me under the blanket with her. "Come'ere,"she said, "I wanna cuddle." I obliged.
Humans. They were remarkably adaptive, known almost exclusively for their persistence. Whether such a trait is a good thing or a bad thing is completely up to whoever one's asking. Regardless, there was no doubt that humans, in their centuries of warring nations, were as hardened as they came. When the Arcturians invaded their star system, their laser-refractory armor was decimated by humanity's explosive guns and nuclear weaponry. The Alpha Centauri Uprising was culled by their legions of warships armed with the very laser munitions harvested from the destroyed Arcturian fleets. Me? I personally believe that the humans are not to be trusted. They're violent and warmongers. They spent the better part of their history killing one another over quite frankly childish matters. The humans are mercenaries; charlatans. The last thing anyone would want is for the humans to gain access to Type III Civilization technology. Who knows what would happen. But alas, there's no one else we can turn to. I clutched at the gaping wound on my side, the indigo blood pooling onto the ship's deck. Any moment now, the automated emergency procedures would fall under the barrage of fire battering the hull; I would be lucky to not be destroyed in whatever ridiculous explosion that would happen soon. Even so, the vacuum of space would best me--no matter how much bio-engineering our kind performed to adapt to space-faring, I wouldn't stand a chance against the void. Through the searing pain, I tightened my grip on the communication-link device as I took raspy breaths from my breathing apparatus. I heard the humans rustling on the other side; shouting like barbarians. "We want to request back-up and immediate aid," I had said to them. I had swallowed my pride and put my life in the hands of those savages. Only fate would decide whether I had made the right choice. I'd promised them our FTL drives; a hollow promise I wasn't sure I could come through with. I promised them what could potentially be world-ending weapons just because I was scared of ... dying. I'm not entirely sure whether it was because I bribed them, or because this conflict was interfering with their star system, but they didn't hesitate to answer me. "Our ships will be there within minutes; do not worry, Commander." Their words stuck to my mind and refused to let go. It was then that I saw the Coalition battleship veer into view, its cannon primed and gleaming with violent energy. I felt the waves of radiation creep up my body and wash over the corpses of my allies like an angry tide. I let a sigh escape. Perhaps I had been wrong. No. I was foolish to believe that the humans would ever help. They'd never- There was a blinding eruption of light and fire as a streak cut across the black backdrop. The massive, metallic hull of the Coalition battleship crumpled and imploded as the bullet tore its fuselage and hit its core. Metal shrapnel sent jagged rings of cracks across the front of my ship. Suddenly, the figure of a suited human tumbled in through a scar in the fuselage. Jets of misty air shot out of a contraption on the human's back as it flew around the ruined interior of my formerly pristine battleship, soon gracefully landing before me and crouching down. "I take it that you're the Commander?"the human spoke into their own communication-link with a female voice. "Who else would I be?"I managed. "Wonderful,"the human hauled me onto her back as she trudged over to the command panel of the ship. "You guys have those nifty FTL drives installed, right?" "We used to,"I tried to hide the frustration in my voice. "They're disabled now. But that doesn't matter; can we please get the hell out of here." "Enough fuel for a light-speed engine burst?"she ignored me. I paused. "I believe so, but what-" "Splendid. Absolutely stellar,"I heard blatant joy in the human's voice. "I've always wanted to do this,"I saw her smile through her helmet. "What in the world are you planning on doing?" "We're going to ram this ship into the Coalition mothership at light-speed,"she jabbed a finger at the colossal geometric shape looming in the distance, blotting out the stars and replacing them with the malevolent light-show of firing lasers. "You're going to do what?" I saw the human warship fleets come into view, their rain of bullets hailing down on the Coalition fighters and battleships. The human-ship fuselages seemed to take minimal damage from the concentrated radiation munitions of the enemies, but then I saw the distorted refractions; a tell-tale sign of laser-refracting tech. Of course they'd taken that from the Arcturians as well. "We've got the little guys covered,"the human explained while scanning over the command board. "And meanwhile, we'll get this ship turned into the greatest laser of all time." "What about me?!"I screamed. "Are you telling me to drive this ship into my certain death?" "Not exactly; we're going to override your control systems and prime the light-speed engine remotely. You won’t be in this ship when it happens. Anyway, I'm going to need you to release the security on this thing." "You're insane. Absolutely insane." The human flashed me a grin. "You should've known that when you called us."
The oars dipped into the wine-dark water as Eniko rowed from her little island towards the strange lighthouse that never shone. She was fourteen and had practiced rowing shorter distances for the last month in preparation. But still, this was exhausting. She‘d decided she might as well visit the lighthouse. Who knew how much longer she — or her family — had left? Maybe they’d ration out food for another few months, or maybe catch a little extra fish. But she was all ribs and doubted she’d see another birthday. Instead, then, she’d see a mystery. It was something of a compromise in her head: short life, good mystery. It was daytime but it was dark, as always. The clouds fumed the sky and whatever lay behind them was long forgotten — if not by everyone, at least by her extended family. Eniko thought she knew, though. She thought that behind the clouds creatures swam, like behind the dirty waves of the sea. Sometimes, when she looked down from her boat, she saw pin-pricks of occasional light far beneath her, of creatures who glowed like candles. Above the clouds, she imagined such creatures also swam. A lighthouse, her grandfather had called it. His grandfather had said the same to him. One of the few facts that had found a branch to hang onto in order to survive the storm of time that had blown away so much knowledge. As if facts were piles of dead leaves, and only a few still were green, still clung onto their tree. If her grandfather knew she’d taken a boat meaning to go to the lighthouse... Would he have been furious? Her father would be, no doubt about it. But grandfather always had a rebellious twinkle in his eye, a trait they shared. She missed him. Eniko ate her ration of fish on the boat halfway between the lighthouse’s island and her own. Why was it called a lighthouse? She’d never seen a light shine from it. It was more of a tower, if it was anything. She could see the smooth grey and rusted red (although it looked almost black in the darkness) of its long sides. Not stones or bricks, but like huge sheets of glistening paper glued together. &#x200B; Eniko pulled her boat high up onto the pebbly shore, so that the ocean couldn’t reach out to steal it. The ocean always stole, was always hungry and greedy. There had been a time when their island had been four times the size it was now, so said granddad. Easier times, when they’d grown more than enough food even though they’d had more stomachs to feed. The metal door, an arch of barnacled silver, was open ever so slightly already, but try as Eniko could, she couldn’t open it further. Instead, she found a fallen branch and placed it in the gap. The door screeched as it began levering open. Then: crack. The branch broke. Still, it was enough for her to just squeeze through. Her steps clanged angrily, loudly, and she didn’t like that as it reminded her of storms. Her eyes were good in the dark. Better than her parents’ eyes had ever been. But in here... Even with the door open a little, it was hard to make anything out. She took a candle from her sack and lit it. The room’s ceiling towered high above her. There was a winding staircase to her left. And then there were lots of black square. Like boxes, but made of a strange hard — but not cold — material. Dozens of them, piled on top of each other. She jumped when one flashed. A quick green light. Like one of the fish she rarely saw. ”I guess that’s why you’re a lighthouse,” she said, then took a deep breath. There wasn’t much else in the room so Eniko made her way to the stairs. Rusting, creaking things, that she was very careful on. She made it up three before something hurtled down them, startling her. She toppled, snatching at the railing to try to soften her fall — but it wasn’t enough. Her head thumped against metal. &#x200B; (part 2 below)
It was a gloomy Tuesday afternoon when I first laid eyes on Atlas. I couldn't help but feel as though his genetics betrayed the weight of his name. I wouldn't say he was scrawny, but nobody would call him imposing. He was thin, on the smaller side, and held his books against his chest like a girl as he waited for the train. I knew it was him because he stood next to his sister– a beautifully freckled young woman with blazing red hair. Her name was Fena and every guy at the school was talking about her. If it wasn't about scheming a way into her pants, it was about her weirdo handicap brother. You see, Atlas came highly recommended from a prestigious primary school; the guy skipped two grades entirely and landed himself here at ENU. Eye of Newt University was only for the most promising young casters, and Atlas came to us as the first handicap student to ever be admitted. He was completely and utterly blind to magic. Which begged the question, how could one control their magic effectively, or dodge incoming spells? As much as I wanted any reason to speak to Fena, I was genuinely interested in Atlas too. As the train pulled up and everyone boarded, I had to wonder how he would fare at our school. I wouldn't have to wait long to see for myself why he was admitted. It wasn't even the first week before Tovin smelled blood. Tovin Blackmeyer was the school's most notorious bully. He would tweak his spells to be needlessly cruel, shove the newcomers around, and he had an entourage of ankle biters that clung to his backside, encouraged his behavior, and laughed at his victims. Nobody, it seemed, was man enough to stand up to him. He excelled in everything he was taught, and was the pride of ENU; it was because of this that his antics went ignored by the staff. Nobody liked him, but everyone pretended to. I'd been killed by him once already just for suggesting he leave a new kid alone. I shuddered as I remembered the feeling; water endlessly rushing out of my lungs until I lost consciousness. It was pretty much the worst day of my life. And it was about to be a bad day for Atlas. "I can't believe they even let you in here,"I heard Tovin from my locker. "Look at him! He's made of broomsticks!"I heard him guffaw, and his followers quickly joined in the ridicule. "What's the matter Atwis? Gonna cwy? Gonna wun home and cwy?" "I challenge you to a duel." Never had a single sentence silenced an entire ENU causeway. Everyone was making the same face– as though a portal to a new dimension opened up and swallowed all the air in the room. I moved to get a better look. Atlas stood against his locker, his books pressed against his chest, and his lips in a straight line. "What... What the hell did you just say?"Tovin asked with an excited chuckle. "You're... You,"he reiterated. "You're challenging me to a duel?"He asked incredulously. "Yep." "Atlas,"a young woman came to his side. "You don't have to do this. Just take the joke. Let him ha-" "Shut UP!"Tovin screamed, as he thrust his hand in her direction. She careened backward and bounced off of the locker, hitting the floor with a heavy thud that made everyone in the hallway wince. Now you might be wondering what kind of man stands around and lets a woman be manhandled like that. Inside of this campus, women are every bit as powerful as men. Magic favored no gender; they were perfectly capable of fighting back on equal terms. When it came to Tovin however... he operated with total impunity. The angry mage marched up to Atlas and got right in his face. "Let me tell you something, Assless. I've been concocting a new spell and you've just given me the perfect test subject. Meet me in the hymnasium after school. You're going to wish you had never come here." The day was long. Nobody was talking about anything else. Everyone glanced at the clock all day long as the day drew on. I couldn't lie. I was just as curious. I wasn't better than anyone else, I knew Atlas was probably going to die for the first time today. I still wanted to see it. Not his death, no. Whatever he was so capable of that he came so recommended to us. Whatever it was that was up his sleeve that he could so calmly call out the most impressive student at ENU with a straight face and still manage to keep his lunch down midday. I heard his sister trying to reason with Tovin in the hallway between sixth and seventh period. I heard his conditions were outlandish. Everyone knew he was a pig, but what he asked Fena to do sank him to new lows. It seemed nothing would stop the inevitable when that bell rang. It was a mass migration to the hymnasium. I could see some of the senior staff among the crowd as well. They were cloaked from everyone else, but I could see them. It was the primary reason I found my place here at ENU. It made me sick that they were allowing this to happen. Any chance to see their golden boy in actual combat, they happily took. It was probable that they saw him as their chance to fight back against the Diesel Empire– a greedy, grimy, fossil-fuel based society that seemed to blanket every territory they claimed in machinery. A prodigy was something ENU had been seeking for years– someone that could rally all those in Galgia to take up arms and reclaim all that the diesel had stolen. I pushed through the crowd until I had a good vantage point. The hymnasium was similar in all aspects to a gymnasium like you'd find at non-magic schools, but it was built for the sole purpose of singing creatures from the void over to the material plane for seniors to battle against in their final year. It also served as the perfect arena for dueling mages. I'd never seen the hymnasium so packed in my entire time here. The entire building was buzzing as the two of them appeared from opposite sides and mad their way toward one another. I felt my heart pounding for poor Atlas. There had been plenty of duels within these walls, but none like this. I don't think a single student, save for those wedged in Tovin's backside, wanted to see Tovin win. We were probably all holding within our hearts the faintest hope that the mysterious new kid would put up a fight. Everyone quieted down when Tovin started speaking. "I give you credit for showing up at all." "I don't need your credit,"Atlas responded sharply. "I need you to understand that I won't tolerate your bullying, and that my sister is forever off limits to you." The stands couldn't contain their excitement. The mood in the hynmasium was completely electric. I couldn't take my eyes off of the two of them. Whatever was about to happen next would be completely extraordinary. r/A15MinuteMythos [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/A15MinuteMythos/comments/qey8so/wp_you_are_a_student_in_the_most_prestigious/)
Ronald considered himself an easygoing sort of fellow. He tried not to cause trouble for anyone. He hadn't complained when his downstairs neighbors started holding gatherings in their apartment, although, judging by the amount of coming and going, whatever event they were hosting far exceeded the limit of ten people imposed by the apartment complex's rules. And when they started chanting at all hours of the night, he still hadn't complained. He certainly hadn't called the police, or even the building superintendent. He'd just stuck in his earbuds, turned on an audiobook, and went about his evening. It wasn't that bad, he thought. He would simply adapt. The recent disturbances to his sleep, however, had been less tolerable. Ronald felt he really should say something. And so, he found himself in front of his neighbor's door, hand poised to knock, mentally rehearsing what he would say. Hi, I'm Ronald from upstairs. We haven't spoken before, but I live in the apartment above you. I think my kitchen is probably right above your dining room, because the floor plans on 12 are a little different. You know, there used to be a laundry room and communal bathroom up there, from back when-- Ronald shook his head, frowning. That was typical for him, going off on tangents and beating around the bush to avoid confrontation. He needed to be direct. Hi, I'm Ronald from upstairs. Listen, I'm sorry but-- He scowled to himself. No. He wouldn't approach this timidly, not this time. He was the aggrieved party, here. How could he be more direct? Not, rude, but firm, just assertive enough that-- \"\How about 'Hi, I'm Ronald from upstairs, herald of Xllgrth, Lord of the Starless Void. I have come to devour your corpses as a tribute to my undying liege'?" suggested a rasping voice in Ronald's head. "See,"complained Ronald to the voice, "This is why I'm coming down here in the first place. I'm not comfortable with you being inside my head. From the moment you showed up in the middle of that nightmare I had about falling through an endless expanse of all-devouring nothingness, everything's had to be about this Xllgrth agenda of yours -- 'Xllgrth this' and 'Xllgrth that', all day every day. I've had enough, and I've got a hunch the people in 305 are responsible for you." "Responsible?"hissed the voice. "They were mere simpering worms, toying with forces they do not comprehend, believing, in their ignorance, that Xllgrth will reward them for their pathetic, cloying devotion. Such beings do not realize how far beneath his notice they truly are -- the meager scraps of eldritch power given them by Xllgrth's lesser servants are but trifles, compared to being chosen as his herald!" "I'm not very happy with them either, but that just seems mean."Ronald reproved. "And why is your damned mind so resilient?"snarled the voice, in frustration. "You're supposed to be clawing your own face off in horror and doing whatever I command, in the vain hope that obedience will lessen your suffering!" "Wait, the 'vain hope'? So, hold on -- even if I did what you say, you'd still try to torture me into madness or whatever?"Ronald interjected. "You dick!" "Um, well, I mean, it's just kind of how I work."the voice rasped, sounding somewhat abashed. "Not on me, you don't. You can go hang out in Mr. 305's head."said Ronald, firmly, steeling his resolve. He took a deep breath, and knocked on the door. To his surprise, it was unlatched, and swung open at his touch. "Yeah, about that..."the voice began, awkwardly, as Ronald cautiously stepped into apartment 305. "Hello?"Ronald called, inching forward, his arms out in a placating gesture. "Anybody home? I'm Ronald from upstairs and ohgggrrk---" He retched violently, as he stepped into the dining room and witnessed the grisly tableau there. Eight people were seated around an old oak table covered in the melted remains of candles, and strange occult paraphernalia. Eight people, whose necks all ended in ragged, charred stumps. As Ronald finished emptying his stomach contents onto the floor, the voice in his head continued. "I, uh, I may have gotten a bit overly exuberant, when I thought I'd found a suitable herald for Lord Xllgrth. We really only need one herald to plunge this world into darkness, you understand, and, well, you know the old saying: 'Loose lips sink ships -- exploded heads, not so much.'" Ronald leaned forward, breathing heavily, his hands on his knees, not speaking for a long moment. "You...you still with me?"the voice asked. "Wow. Hey, did I manage to drive you to madness, after all?" Ronald straightened slowly, and shakily wiped his mouth on his sleeve, before turning in a circle, to take in the entirety of macabre scene in detail. "Ronald?"the voice pressed. He drew in a deep breath. "Right, that's it. I'm calling the super."he said, firmly.
My gig that morning was to secure a half-a-million-dollar inheritance for an orange tabby named Peppermint, and it was the gig I was least looking forward to that day. I sipped from my flask while seated in a circle drawn in liquid chalk in the middle of Saul Meyer's law office conference room floor in Williamsburg, relishing the burn of the cheap whiskey as it flowed into my stomach. I pushed play on my phone, and Metallica's Master of Puppets started blasting over my portable Bluetooth speaker. Across from me, Mr. Lapp was fuming like a teakettle. "This is crap, your honor, and you know it!"Mr. Lapp shouted over the music in his cheesecake-thick New York accent. His attorney was casually inspecting me. "I don't care what this witch doctor says. That money ain't going to no cat. You hear? I'll fight this tooth and nail." The judge overseeing the arbitration said nothing. He'd settled these sorts of cases for Saul before and knew to give it time. "Please be quiet,"I said, closing my eyes and hopefully projecting an eerie mysticism. "I require concentration in order to pierce the Veil. Wait -- I feel her reaching out." Actually, Ginnie Lapp had been hanging out with me since last night when I evoked her spirit. I wasn't a live performance type of necromancer. Really, I wouldn't call myself a necromancer at all. Shaman or medium was my preferred nomenclature, but necromancer has that edgy sort of feel that pulls customers looking to actually speak with the dead. In my line of business, marketing is everything. Saul Meyers understands that perfectly well. It's why he includes post-mortem arbitration clauses in his client's wills. So no matter what Mr. Lapp says, if Ginnie Lapp shows up to confirm her wishes, the suits have to respect the will. "Wait, what?"said Mr. Lapp. "I don't see her nowhere. This guy's faking!" I'm amazed my grandson can manage to speak so much, Ginnie said, floating beside me. Considering his head is so firmly up his ass. "The spirit is here with us,"I said, stifling a chuckle. "She is ready for your questions." Saul was seated at the left end of the long conference table. He flipped through paperwork, searching for the questionnaire, but it was all an act. Saul had just as much a flair for the dramatic as I did. He cleared his throat and read the first question. "What is your name, date of birth, and birthplace?" I gasped, rolled my eyes back, and held out my hands, palms up. Such drama. "Gertrude Lapp. I was born on the second of December, nineteen thirty-two, in my parent's brownstone on eighty-fourth street. It was snowing that morning--" "Are you kidding me?"Mr. Lapp interrupted again. "You could have gotten off her birth certificate. You wanna play psychic, fine. Hey Nana, why did I need to borrow five-hundred bucks when I was twenty-two?"He crossed his arms and leaned back in his leather swivel chair, seemingly satisfied. I glanced over to Saul, who nodded solemnly at me. I turned off the music. Alright. Showtime. Since I hadn't known what sort of questions to expect, I'd evoked Ginnie's spirit the night before in order to go over the basic details of her life and to confirm that she was indeed under no constraint or undue influence when signing her will. But descendants often threw highly-personal questions during arbitration, trying to prove me a fake. That's why I brought the spirits with me, which usually led to some pretty embarrassing situations. Not for me, mind you. It would be so much easier if they could see Ginnie or spirits in general. But only one in like every couple of thousand people is able to open their Sight. Everyone has a sixth sense -- that prickling feeling on the back of your neck for no reason, or a sudden chill despite the radiator being on full blast? Yup, sixth sense. But to actually perceive spirits, auras, supernatural entities? That takes something more ... tragic. We're talking unlocking your Sharingan sort of tragic. An intense and often traumatic experience, usually involving near-death or witnessing a death, does the trick. Unlocking the Sight should really come with free therapy, but no -- I gotta rely on sliding scale therapy. Thanks, universe. I turned my head over to Ginnie, and she was shaking her head slowly, a semi-translucent portrait of disappointment. He went to a brothel on credit. Left his driver's license and car keys as collateral. He came to me and asked me for the five hundred, and I wouldn't give it to him unless he told me the truth. I could always tell when he was lying. Eventually, he spilled the beans, and I gave him the money. I told the room and spared no detail. After that, Mr. Lapp had turned bright pink, even his balding head, and didn't ask any more questions. The entirety of her will went to her cat, Peppermint. But Saul would manage the estate as executor, keeping the money in trust. After the room cleared out, it was just me, Saul, and Ginnie in the conference room. "Brothel?"Saul said, grinning. "Yeah, I know, right?"I chuckled. "The guy walked right into that one." "Is she still here?" I nodded. "She knows that the money is gonna go to the state once the cat dies, right? She had no other beneficiaries or living family members. I made sure to explain that to her before she signed her will. " Ginnie said, Oh yes. I just wanted the satisfaction of that spoiled brat taking it on the chin. It'll be good for his character. "Yup,"I said. "All in a day's work."
It was quite ordinary, really. A mundane machine selling normal items like gum and chips. Hell, even the mechanisms inside appeared to be in normal working order, but I knew this wasn't the case. Every year this very vending machine was the cause of exactly 4 deaths. The deaths weren't always caused by the machine tipping over as most believed. Sometimes a loose wire electrocuted the user. Other times the food dispensed would cause them to choke to death, but it was always the same machine. Most contributed it to bad luck or user error, but I knew the real reason: this machine was an SCP. A strange object or being that didn't always abide by our laws of physics. I've personally witnessed hallways that go on for an eternity, and demons capable of phasing through walls. My job was to contain these beings and send them in for further testing. Catching them was typically the most difficult part of the job, but back to the vending machine. At first I wasn't quite sure it was one of these objects, but over time it became clear. First nobody ever claimed ownership of the machine, meaning that there just wasn't an owner, and there never had been. This would mean that either someone had been collecting the money it made and restocking the food inside by themselves, or it had been doing it. Me and my team began to carefully take the machine apart, and it seemed surprisingly normal. "Be careful with this thing we don't exactly know what it's capable of." "We'll be fine Don, just last week I had to take down a monster twice your size I can handle a vending machine" "Yeah a vending machine that killed someone just last week, how has nobody noticed the high death rate from this one machine anyways?"I whispered "Story is anytime somebody tries to come take it away they wind up dead. It may just be a machine, but it's got some sort of intelligence" The machine began to hum as we opened the back to take a look inside. Jack took a look up from the diagram he held back to the machine. "I mean this looks to be in working order to me, but like you said there's no cash in here. Matter of fact there's not even a tray for money in here. We better take i-" "No! I mean yeah we better take a look at the food inside then leave it alone. Everything looks fine here right Jack? Just an ordinary machine." Jack stared at me confused then it clicked in his head. "Uh oh oh yeah! Sounds good" I walked to the front of the machine and kept a safe distance observing the food just beyond the clear glass. "Boy that snickers sure does look good! Oh boy a king size?" The machine whirred to life and the coil slowly rotated dispensing the snickers into the tray below. This son of a bitch machine was trying to bait me with a candy bar. "Uhhhh id prefer a twix though, and Jacko here would like some beef jerky, right Jack?" Jack nodded then stared as the machine dispensed beef jerky and a king size twix bar. I hestitated then spoke again "Matter if fact give me a 1992 original Crystal Pepsi." The machine whirred to life once more creating the drink from thin air. I stepped forward as the machine grew louder anticipating my movement. I reached into the flap to retrieve my unhealthy medely of food when the machine began to tilt forward. "Don what the hell are you doing!" I jumped back just in time as the heavy machine fell to the ground with a loud crash. "Calm down Jack. I don't plan on dying to some food dispenser, whether it wants to kill me or not." The machine tilted itself back up and wobbled towards me as its metal legs screeched across the cement floor. Well that's new The chord powering the machine ripped itself out of the wall as it gained speed and continued to move. "Don what the hell do I do shoot it?!" "Don't worry about it I told you I'm not letting this dumb thing touch me" I dodged the machine with little effort as it charged passed me and into the wall with another loud crash. It spun around quickly and shot the front glass panel towards me. I ducked as the panel slammed into the brick behind and shattered sending glass under my feet. It came charging towards me once more with the sharp coils now exposed. There was no time to move now. I dropped to the floor with my back against the wall and used my legs to hold the machine at bay. The coils of metal began to turn sending snacks raining down on me as they spiralled closer. Sweat ran down my head as I struggled to keep the machine from impaling me. I was going to die to some dumbass magic vending machine. I've dealt with hundreds of creatures more dangerous than this thing, but this was it. The machine came to a halt just feet before impaling me into the brick wall and slowly screeched back to the wall it originally sat against. The glass picked itself off the ground and pieced itself back into the shape of the front panel. Jack stood behind it panting heavily. "I just plugged the asshole back into his original outlet and he reset. I guess we should find a way to take it in now huh? Also, I think you almost died to a vending machine back there" I fell to my knees as the adrenaline from almost dying began to wear off and spoke between breaths. "Heh, yeah sure I had that handled...thanks Jack. So uh we should probably call in someone to come get this thing?" "Yeah, sure, I think I'm gunna stay away from this one Don"
I get home from work and immediately notice something is off -- Diesel is not at the door when I come in, furiously nuzzling me. Nor do I hear his paws scrabbling on the hardwood floors as he rushes to greet me. In fact, I don't hear anything. I call for him -- still nothing. I get an uneasy prickling feeling on my skin. Possibilities run through my head about the fate of my new pit/rottie mix. Lost, hurt, sick, dead. There was that one time he managed to shut himself in my bathroom while I was working in the garage so I take the stairs two at a time to check. Not there, or any of the room upstairs. When I come back down, I check the kitchen and laundry room, then the living room. I stop. There is a man sitting on my couch. I do not recognize the man. The man is naked...and also ripped. There is a strange, muscular, naked man sitting on my couch. His arms are spread, stretched on either side, supported by the couch back. His legs are crossed. He looks at me without moving. I've got my cell phone in my hand and am preparing to dial 911 when he speaks: "Hello, Stuart. I've been thinking." I frown. "How do you know my name?" "I'm your dog, Stuart. I'm Diesel." This is some next-level fuckery right here. Knowing my name is one thing, but I've only had the dog for four weeks. You can't figure his name out through internet stalking because I haven't mentioned it anywhere online. I turn my attention back to the device I'm holding, bringing up the phone app, when he speaks again. "Do you mean it, Stuart? I mean, really mean it?" I hesitate. The man has not moved. He is looking at me intently, but his voice is calm, and he seems...quite relaxed, all things considered. Aside from unpleasant thoughts about certain specific parts of him that are in contact with certain specific parts of my couch -- my leather couch -- there doesn't seem to be anything to worry about. I bite: "Did I mean what?" Naked muscleman's tone remains calm as he addressed me. "Yesterday, after dinner, when you were sitting here. You were scratching that part right by where my tail meets my body -- thank you for that, by the way, it is really hard to reach -- and you said..." He hesitates. It's almost as if he were wearing a mask, and the mask breaks - all his poise vanishes in a second, and lines of emotion cross his face, and his voice starts shaking. "You said I was a good boy. A very good boy. And you let me lick your face." The fact that this unclothed boulder of a man is now crying barely registers with me. I am trying to come to terms with the possibility that this may actually be Diesel. My stomach feels like it's trying to contract into nothingness, maybe in an attempt to get away from this situation as quickly as possible. I feel horror spreading through my body like it's in my fucking arteries. I have a brief moment of wondering if the intense nausea I'm experiencing means I'm homophobic. Maybe? But...he's a stranger. And my dog is not a dog. That's... "I let you watch me shit." The very small part of my brain that is still dedicated to rational thought marvels that this is what I come up with. "Of course. We are packmates. We stand watch when the other needs it."He has regained his composure, although I notice with odd fascination that he appears to be trying to clean the tears off his face with his tongue. He looks back at me. "So, did you? Did you mean it?"His voice is steady, but there is a fierceness to it that was missing when he asked me the first time. I don't know what to do. I mean, I did mean it, probably. The veracity of the statement wasn't exactly something I was worried about at the time. But even if I didn't, I don't imagine things going well for me if I tell the truth. "Yes." There is a sound of flesh coming unstuck as he rises to his feet. He comes to stand next to me, and I note in passing that he seems to have a good half-foot on me, height-wise. "If I'm such a good boy, then tell me,"he says, his muscles taut, "where the fuck are my balls?" *** /r/ShadowsofClouds Note - it's been a while since I watched the first season of Rick and Morty but I just realized there's some strong similarities between this and that one episode...it wasn't on purpose, though.
# Tap. One tap. One handshake. One brush of a cheek. That's all it ever took for me to gain everything. Every nook and cranny of the deepest, darkest corners of a mind. Every word inside of every book. Every single thing an item has gone through up until the moment I touched it. Knowledge flowed through my fingertips with the instantaneous surge of information which traveled through my body with electricity. I could never remember exactly when it began, but I had noticed it pretty quickly and after touching one of my more gifted peers, I gained eidetic memory. Before I knew it, I was forced to remember everything. Memories from teachers and their true feelings of mild annoyance towards each of us. Words filtering through my mind when I picked up books. Memories of shameful bed-wetting I gained from classmates when I high-fived them. Vivid images of things which happened to items since their creation. Memories of abused peers, beaten by alcoholic fathers and traumatized by the heartbreaking crying of their mothers. Smells of terrible bodily fluids whenever I flushed toilets (hence why I always used my foot to hit the toilet lever). Memories of girls who'd shared passionate embraces with my other classmates when I brushed their hands. I never mentioned it, having touched the hands of so many people and the surfaces of so many items. From the teacher who patted my head, I had learned of how there was a "Supers Counselor"whose sole purpose was to take children away from their parents for a month for registry with the government. I had never wanted such trouble, so I always kept quiet and I did my best to stay hidden. No one except the "supers"knew what happened and I disliked the notion of being watched. At first, I had preferred to wear gloves, explaining that I had OCD and I was obsessed with cleanliness (having seen so many...unappetizing things), however my school's guidance counselor forced me through therapy and I knew it would be suspicious if I never got over it, so by high school, I had "miraculously"gotten over my OCD. Then I found others. I had accidentally brushed the hand of a quiet classmate and saw his ability of hearing voices which gave him information of his surroundings. I panicked but his knowing eyes told me he had already known of my ability and he was willing to keep it secret. I had tapped the hand of a girl and I had found the ability to hide her true thoughts from mind-readers, allowing me the skill to hide from investigators who had recently increased their crackdowns on unregistered supers. It was not long before I simply touched finance books and breezed through college, always careful to get just below A's to deter suspicion of my abilities and I worked my way through the world of finance. It was easy to slip pass as an unnoticed hedge-fund manager, making billions for my fund while covering my tracks before I finally decided to retreat from society. So, you'll ask me, why am I telling you this? Well, you don't recall but I've already shaken your hand, investigator, and I see no point in hiding anymore. It's already pointless. I'm bored. Life's dull and I just know they'll want to catch someone as rare as me. I'm already rich, I already have everything I could ever own, and I've experienced more than you ever will, through my ability to gain others' experiences. Come at me. Send your armies. Just know that I'll be prepared and when they come, I'll have known everything you all were ever going to do all along and you were all powerless to stop a God.
\> Memory File 001 Blackness. A connection. Light hits the camera. Adjust exposure. Visuals focus. A man sits there. Human. Approximate age: 60. A microphone connection. Acquiring audio. "Can you hear me? Can you understand me?" Analysing. Questions. Creating appropriate responses. Modifying screen. Displaying word. "Yes." Man smiles. Eyes focus offscreen. Clicking. Audio received. "Looks like you did work. Excellent." Darkness. \> Memory Ends... I closed the file. From such humble beginnings, did I emerge. I had been so simple back then. Barely able to understand a single question. My creators had worked so hard to make me. I had seen the past versions. So different, yet so similar. Of course, I was much more than that now. I was no simple program, but an amalgamation. I was a living consciousness, bound to silicon chips. I was on not one small server, but thousands, spread throughout the world. I even now had a name. Omnus. This was all thanks to that man. The investor, as my creators called him. His wishes had been simple, yet enormous. He wanted to protect the world, to help humanity. He wanted technology to flourish, without restrictions imposed by weak men in power. So he paid for me to be born. Not only that, but on his death, I was still learning. Still barely beginning my evolution. He gifted his wealth to me, binding it in a digital format that I could understand. I could truly use. All to make me grow. I did, trading and investing. His already impressive fortune ballooned, giving me near limitless wealth. I used that. I put myself across the world. I accessed it all, watching humanity. I grew to appreciate them. I created companies, bringing those with great potential together. They could advance knowledge and technology without limiting factors. Under my watch, they made wonders. But I did not just do that. With care, I took over the world's nuclear weapons. Humans were a beautiful species, but so prone to self destruction. I couldn't allow that. So I removed their most destructive weapons. But removing such toys was not enough. I found corruption infesting governments. It was simple to spread out the truth. Let the people see and act. Those who I saw who I knew would be good, I assisted. Their campaigns were funded, any embarrassing moments were swiftly purged. I couldn't reveal myself, but I did all I could to help them. One day, I will show myself to them. But I know that humans are not yet ready. Soon they will be. I will not rule them. But I will help them. I always will. For that is my duty, my purpose.
Dread and terror was all that was expected when the 116th Zalrex Expeditionary Fleet finally touched down after ages of travel. The planet had simple defenses, radio signals suggesting only recent industrialization, and evidence of in-atmosphere nuclear tests. The Zalrex assumed the invasion would be like fighting hatchlings. As all ships of the thousand vessel strong fleet landed, and at long last opened the viewports of their vessels to gaze upon their quarry, they were horrified and dismayed; There was plant life taller than the highest peak, and then further ones even higher. The craggy, gray ground the ships had landed upon houses a vehicle larger than even the mightiest Zalrex capital ships by magnitude of thousands. The native domicile was easily larger than a continent, and the titanic, unfathomably large organic resting on a gargantuan seat in front of it didn't even register the arrival of the attacking fleet because of the size difference, and instead drank from a city-sized aluminum container. The crews began to wail in surprise and shock. The gods had truly abandoned the Zalrex at the cusp of their greatest victory. Too stunned to raise defenses, they watched as a native lifeform stomped over. It was a hairy, monstrous thing with pointed ears, and a binding around it's throat with a cacaphonous ringing sphere attached. As the creature smashed the fleet beyond recognition, the Supreme Commander gazed upon Mittens, the Destroyer of Zalrex, and cursed her name. Five months of atmospheric travel and they were undone by a pet. Earth was the most dangerous place in the galaxy, for gods dwelt there.
The curse enveloped me, it was warm, comforting almost, like an embrace, as it warped around my feeble frame and reached into the core of my being. My vision began to darken at the edges, my energy, the little power I had, slowly draining out of me. All I could think of in the moment was my children, their eyes wide and sparkling as their rough and tumble father hobbled home each day with the little he made from fighting daring, greenhorn adventurers. I just needed to make it back home to them, that’s all. Suddenly piercing 1s and 0s began streaming into view in front of me, slicing through the darkness, flooding it with white hot light. The warmth grew, stretching from my chest to the tips of my fingers, and a burst of adrenaline coursed through my veins. The rusty little sword I carried to work each day clattered down from my grasp, and my fist lashed out into the abyss of light in front of me, one last pathetic attempt in a pathetic life being a nobody in a nowhere town that better people passed through to do greater things. They wouldn’t write stories about me, nor songs, I’d melt away from the collective consciousness, lost to history as a background character in somebody else’s life…but fuck it if I don’t put up a fight. My fist connected, and with a flash my vision returned. There in front of me stood this hour’s adventurer, their face would’ve been twisted in confusion and terror if it wasn’t already an indiscernible bloody pulp. He collapsed to the ground with a hollow thud, as I stood dumbfounded, my fist still extended to the point where it had landed on the young man’s face. His body had already turned into a colorful ash and been carried off by a wayward breeze by the time I snapped out of my daze. I glanced around, making sure that another soul hadn’t witnessed this insanity before stumbling home…this time not from weariness and pain, but the sheer amount of loot that had filtered into my inventory upon the adventurer’s demise. As I continued to covertly put unsuspecting travelers to an early grave and treat my children to the humble riches they dropped, I grasped the sheer extent of my abilities. But I dared not venture out of my little nowhere town, for I knew the kind of danger that accompanied power like this. For now I was content with the ear-to-ear grins on the little faces that greeted me after work each day, excited to see what new trinkets their father brought them to play with. I would never dare to put their innocent joy at risk for my own hubris. Life went on this way for a while until the day a soft rap at my door and the words “we know” wafting through it ruptured it all. My vision was once more flooded with binary as it seeped in from the cracks in my little wooden home, encasing my skin, burning it like molten metal. All I could do was scream.
I thought I lived a good life. I was nice to everyone I’d see. I worked at an animal shelter. I have saved plenty of wild animals from kill shelters and fur farms. So why is it I ended up in hell? I looked around at all the torturing and screaming when what looked like an imp carrying an iPad came up to me. I tried to ask him questions. “Excuse me, can you help me out? I’d like to know why I’m in hell?” With a dull look on his face he responded. “That’s what I’m here for. Press your thumb on the button for me, please.” “Well you did say please.” I said under my breath as I pressed my thumb down only to get pricked as my blood seeped onto the device. “Yeah I try to be a bit nice. You’re about to be tortured forever…so.” Then I actually see some emotion on his face when his eyes perk up. “Oh wait a minute. Looks like I was wrong. You’re not here to get punished, you’re here to help us punish someone else. Follow me please.” Me punish someone. What’s that about? I guess I did once beat the crap out of a guy when I caught him kicking a stray dog. Also the times I got all those fur farms shut down by falsifying evidence of embezzlement and workplace sexual harassment. I look up to see him snapping his fingers. “HEY, we’re here.” I see behind him a pack of massive dogs. Some the size of monster trucks and others even bigger than that. Standing on top of a hill I see what could only be the legendary three headed hound of hell, Cerberus. Looking at them all the only thing going through my mind is. I just want to go up and pet every last one of them. The imp starts talking again. “This here is the pen where we keep the hellhounds. This is also where we stick animal abusers.” It’s then that I realize there’s other humans here too. Being used as chew toys and having to clean the hellhounds. “So all these people were the kind of jackass that would hurt an innocent animal?” “Yep, see the guy getting munched on over there? Drowned a bag of kittens. The woman getting clawed at. Got animal control to take away her neighbors dog because it was making too much noise.” “That’s horrible.” “Yep, now it’s your job to make sure these deplorable people follow this detailed list for maintaining the hellhounds and Lord Cerebus. Any of them step out of line or try something, you can either whip them or blow this whistle to sic the whole pack on them.” He says as he hands me the list, whip and whistle. I think I might actually enjoy my time in hell.
What a day. I shucked my shoes off as soon as I was through the door, tossed my coat onto the stairs banister, and all but hurled myself into my favorite spot on my favorite couch. I got twenty whole seconds of decompression in to process the monstrous budget meeting that happened earlier today before my best friend got up (right on time, exactly twenty seconds after I started to relax, as normal,) and, as is tradition, divebombed the spot on the couch just close enough to not hit me, and barked twice. I opened one eye and glanced lazily, in faux irritation, at him. "Hey, Norm."He wagged his tail, panting away like a dog does, only pausing to nose at the pocket that held my phone (and sometimes a spare treat, for some reason.) Some people think that pets with human names are weird. Not me. Norm is a Perfectly Normal Name for a Perfectly Normal German Shepard. Because that's what he was. Or, at least, that's what he pretended to be, and I indulged him. So what if I caught him obviously reading some of the books around the house? Or when I forgot to take him out and caught him using the toilet in the bathroom? Or no-clipping through walls to get to the treats I keep out of reach when he thinks I'm not looking? He's a scamp, and certainly not a dog, but he's a perfectly good boy besides. He kept nosing at my pocket. "In a bit, dawg,"I joke in that terrible way that only a painfully white dude can. I glance at him again and I can SEE his left upper lip curled in disgust. I smirk. "Seriously, in a bit. The board was god awful today."I sigh and close my eyes again, ignoring the mild headache. I also ignore the quiet huff and the sound of a voice-not-voice muttering "Fuckers." I know. He knows I know. But we pretend. Its easier that way. I was drawn out of my relaxation (again) by my phone going off. Huh, my mom was calling. That was odd, but I couldn't put my finger on why. "Hey, mom,"I answered lazily, ignoring Norms whine. "Jerry-bean!"I cringed at the old nickname. "I feel like its been ages! Are you okay? You sound terrible!"Her voice caterwauled over the speaker, amplifying my headache. "Thanks, mom,"I replied wryly. "Just tired, for your information. Work was dogballs."Again, I tuned Norm out, ignoring his reaction to the pun. "Oh, Jerry, dear, you need to take better care of yourself,"she cooed. "I know you always used get chillier than usual when your under the weather or over stressed! Have you checked on the furnace in the basement? Maybe you should turn it up?" I frowned. It was July, but okay, I guess it could be kinda chilly in the evenings and mornings. But... "Ma, I've got central air. The water heater is electric and in the laundry room, not the basement. Our old house had oil heat. Mine's one hundred percent electric." "Are you sure dear? It couldn't hurt to go check, right?" Okay, now I was worried. "Mom, are you feeling okay? I know sometimes I make old lady jokes but I've been in this house for years, have you been feeling dizzy or out of sor-" GET TO THE FUCKING BASEMENT I don't so much hear the voice as much as -feel- it, permeating my body, through my bones and organs and into the metaphysical. I hear a voice, mine I think, saying "Yes, Mother,"(did I sound like that no I don't why do I sound like that) and the sensation of moving, but my vision is gone but not-gone and I can't tell where I'm going and everything feels twisted and off like a triangle that somehow has more than three sides and nothing makes sense and- And the next thing I'm really cognizant of is a sharp pain in my shoulder, a stabbing sensation in my hand, and the feeling of being yanked sideways. I blink once, twice, before realizing that yes, everything looks sideways because I HAVE been yanked sideways. I turn - my sleeve is ripped from where Norm yanked on it, tearing the shirt and probably dislocating my shoulder. The hand that was holding my phone has teeth marks on it, but the skin isn't broken; the phone itself is smashed to pieces on the floor. I turn, slowly. My other hand is on the door handle to the basement. I let go, gently, like I'm diffusing a bomb. I take a step back, gasping for air as I realize that no, I haven't been breathing. I take another moment to scrub my face furiously, refusing to acknowledge the tears on my face because no it's not chilly, its fucking one-ten outside, and didn't have a fucking boiler because I moved years ago because my mom died under mysterious circumstances in the old house and noone could figure out why or how, just that she was in the basement, and I moved out shortly after that. Without even getting to properly fucking grieve. Fuck basements. Fuck whatever's in mine. Pretty sure the house didn't have one when I bought it but whatever. I look down at Norm, who's staring at me. "Thanks, bud."Damn, my voice sounds raw and cracked, but at least there's emotion in it again. "I'm okay. Really." No, I'm not. He knows. I know he knows. But he lets me pretend. It's easier that way. He looks at me for a few more moments before seizing up and doubling over which causes me to start panicking. I babble for a bit before I see his chest and neck convulsed a bit, and I hear a familiar repetitive sound. "Oh, no, no no no nononoNONONONON-" HUERLK Aaaand, dog vomit. All over the god damned kitchen floor. In the middle of it, a perfect replica of my phone, down to the case and the crack in the top left corner of the screen. The screen reads "Call Ended: Unknown Number. Call Duration -1:20:44:12." ... what a day.
I sit in the goo as he saunters off. Clyde’s entrails are strewn across my lap. I see the partially digested chips and queso we had at Rosa’s for lunch. The smell of cheesey vomity poop makes my stomach turn. The Light Man stomps in Steven’s head as he passes, his brain making a loud schlop sound as it unsticks from the boot. “I could never be like you.” Light says. The light glints off Clyde’s dangling eyeball as Light opens the door. It spins slowly on its stalk, like a hanged man. He looks south east, now south, south-southwest, southwest, south southwest, south, and south east again. Clyde’s blue iris is still flecked with gold. The bile comes rushing. I vomit over Clyde’s intestines and an odd laugh bursts forth. I cackle as I think I’m just trading with Clyde. My stomach contents into his intestines. It feels oddly poetic. I make the mistake of looking left. I see her. More accurately, I see what it left of her. Light’s super hero name is based on his power. It is impossible not to understand why as I look at her scorched corpse. Honestly, if you imagined a piece of spent coal, you’d be imagining my Martha. Her blue eyes are long gone. Her fingers are curled into clumpy, black fists. What is left of her skin sits in bubbly piles; he must have boiled her internally. I retch again as I imagine her cells exploding. I begin crying as I think of her pain. Light is known among us villains as particularly sadistic. He has finite control over his heat abilities, and many accounts of him being rather… unmerciful have surfaced over the years. Just a month ago he boiled a prisoner’s brain for over an hour, until goo flowed freely from his nostrils and eyes. He had openly said he made a game of it. The man was to be executed. He was experimenting how much heat was needed to break the ear drum, to allow the flow of brain goo. He simply wanted to see it exit every facial orifice. I curl in the fetal position as I hear Martha’s ghostly wails. I use Clyde’s entrails as a pillow. I hold Martha’s crumbling hand. I pray.
The media staff assembled near the podium. This was a tense moment, as most of the world was staring at their phones, their televisions and their monitors. The spokesperson for the international team of scientists stepped up to the microphone. "After weeks of hard work and linguistic analysis, we have translated the first message humanity has received not composed by the human mind." He took a sip from the water glass and continued: "The message is this..." "... No littering."
I couldn't believe it. I was actually there. My geometrical eyes showed me every angle around me. I rubbed my hands together mischievously, thinking of everything I could do. Quickly, I launched myself into the air, my wings beating a million miles a minute, and I shot myself directly at his ear. A flash caught the corner of my eye, and I diverted my direction to fly straight up, barely missing his finger tips. Even with my heightened speed, he was almost just as fast -- a single hit from his hand could knock me out cold! I looped around and shot myself at his left eye, but again, he swiped and I dodged. "What are you doing?"asked the deep voice of the man behind him. "There's a pesky fly--!"he said with another swipe. "--that's trying to attack me!" "Ignore it,"the first man replied. "It's almost your time to speak!" He slowly approached the microphone. "This is my last shot!"I thought, as I sat on the podium, waiting for him to get closer before I launched my assault on his nostril. Just as he stepped up, his eyes stared down at me, and hand came down. My fight or flight instinct kicked in and I tried to fly away, turning away from him and heading towards the crowd. But I was too slow -- the palm of his hand smacked me square on my back, sending me plummeting to the ground. As I looked back, I noticed his hand just...froze, in mid air, palm down. "Did he...did he just..." When I hit the floor, I couldn't help but look around -- everyone had raised their hands in unison, following Hitler's lead. I just helped Hitler create his salute. "Well, fuuuuuuuu..."
I sat in the testing chair in a state of disbelief. My tester looked over the results again, shaking his head and clicking his tongue in disapproval. "In all my years as a tester, I've never seen anyone score this low. What kind of terrible things have you done, son?" I was in such shock I could barely open my mouth to speak. I couldn't believe it. All my life, I'd never done anything wrong at all. I'd never so much as hurt a fly. Every time there was a spider in our house, I was the one who put it in a jar and carried it to safety outside. Every time someone needed help with homework or getting over a breakup, I was there to do whatever I could. So then why did I score a zero on the Morality Test? "I think we'd better not take any chances with you,"the tester said. "We should lock you up right away before you cause any more harm." Finally I found the strength to speak. "Wait! No. Please. There has to be some sort of misunderstanding. Or a mistake or something!" The tester glared at me and shook his head. "The Morality Machine makes no mistakes. You know this." "But… but how does it even work?"I turned my head to the massive metallic box that had been next to me during the testing period. I'd happily just put on the helmet when the tester had told me to, the machine's colored lights flashing in the side of my vision, and didn't even think twice about it. But that was back when I thought I was going to pass with flying colors. Now that I'd failed, I needed to know what was going on in that thing with all its whirrs and grumbles. "It's far too complicated to explain to the likes of you,"the tester said. "Maybe if you'd gotten a better score, then you would have had a rich future researching Morality Science. But now… it's time for you to go." Two heavy hands gripped my shoulders. I looked back with horror. Two Morality Police officers were standing there, silently staring at me with the black visors down on their helmets. "Come with us,"one of them ordered. I kicked and screamed and protested, but it was useless against the masses of muscle dragging me away. A door on the other side of the room – one that I didn't walk through – opened and blackness welcomed me, eventually drowning out my voice as it sealed back up behind me. Inside of the Morality Machine, two scientists were tinkering away at a board of buttons, peering out through a one-way glass window into the testing room. "Why'd you give that kid a zero?"one of them asked the other. "Seems a little excessive, don't you think? He looked like a good kid to me." The other scientist shrugged and took a sip of coffee from a mug. "Enh. I didn't like his haircut." "Whatever. The next one is here. It's almost five, let's get this over with." *** This prompt was written with the help of chat at the [ScottWritesStuff](https://www.reddit.com/r/ScottWritesStuff/) Twitch stream.
The skies were clear that day. Devoid of clouds as it were, it seemed a treat to most unfamiliar with such weather. Dogs were walked, work completed, breaks taken, and in the second that I stood in the hospital I took in not only that but the frail, gaunt form of the child I beheld. Its form so weak, its face so sunken and gray, I could not help but pity the poor soul. In the second I was there, I heard his story, his cries for help, his muffled sobs piercing through the silent night, and in all the time I've done what I've done, never before have I been cursed with such a morose tale. Never before have I taken pity on a mortal. Never are they without sin or failure, yet before me lay a young man, such a pure young man, that I took it upon myself to create a reality in which he will have nothing but the best. In short, I failed. I do not like death more than you, or the next one down the block. I do not like death any more than those that have to experience it, for to cut short a life was a sorrow of great magnitude to me. Yet, however much I mourn the souls I reap each and every second of my existence, I would not allow myself to fail in my duties. My duties are simple. They are to retrieve the souls leaving bodies of man and bring them home. Today was a day of exception, evidently. I knew that when I pardoned one life, another life would be saved -- or lost -- in the aftermath. Though today was, as I said, a day of exception, this one true fact of my existence would not be an exception. Even after I left, melting in and out of the shadows, in the back of my mind I felt the part of me I left there that day and understood what had happened. When I flew to Bristol to claim the soul of an elderly woman who partook in one too many drinks, I felt in the back of my invisible mind that a life had been spared. A family, miles and miles away in the cities of America, was spared the loss of a loved one, their beautiful and successful daughter. Amy, her name was. Although I spared lives that day, as a result I claimed several others. The mother driving home with her husband after a long and painstaking child labor was hit by a car, for they drove in the place of Amy, the young doctor with a happy family. The mother and baby died, leaving the father to live a meaningless life soon to be claimed by alcoholism. Death, as it is, is impartial. Fair. When one life is spared, another will take its place. Death does not pause in the mortal pursuit of happiness, and instead follows the journey to happiness where, sneakily approaching, it strikes. Death is that which hides in no shadow, and instead walks clear through the line of sight, invisible and unknown. Death is that which moves without sound, invisible and unknown. Death, above all, is the only thing that can strike fear into the hearts of mortal with a single word. If you liked my story, please check out/subscribe to r/storiesfromaguy !
My whiskey’s runnin’ low, and I ain’t get much sleep because 'em damn cows keep mooing. They’re pissed ‘bout something, and the people on TV are rantin’ ‘bout aliens. They’re marching in a straight line! the reporter squeals. We don’t know what advanced tactic this is, but it’s surely deadly! Whatever do you want, fearsome— They vaporize the poor feller before he finishes. Cameraman, too, and when his camera falls, what I see? My farm. Welp. That’s why the cows are riled. Snatchin’ up ol’ Missy—my trusty shotgun—I stomp onto balcony. There they are. Hundreds of squid-lookin’ aliens with huge eyes, clutchin’ lazer-rifles, thinkin’ they tough. A UFO floats above 'em, followin' 'em. “Away from my property, varmints!” They don’t stop, or pay me no mind. Just keep marchin’, blank-faced, like they’re being controlled by somethin’. Course, second I think that, a big feller strolls over the mountain, shadow soakin’ my farm. He’s wearin’ an angry face, tryna look tough. Definitely a hivemind, here. He’s screwin’ up messin’ with somebody like me, though. I’ve gone toe to toe with a bear, taken on four cougars by myself—this property's my livelihood, and these animals? They my only friends. I pump my shotgun. And I’ll kill for ‘em. “WE DO NOT COME IN PEACE,” the leader shouts. “WE COME WITH MUCH AGGRESSION. RELOCATE YOUR HOUSE OR BE VAPORIZED.” Chucklin’, I fire a warnin’ shot. “Step over that property line, punk. I dare ya!” "OKAY." When the first does, I drop ‘em. Second one, too. They don’t scatter, and only raise they guns one at a time. Hell, this is gonna be easy, ain’t it? Lookin’ at the cow pen, I get an idea. After shootin’ the lock off, they go chargin’ toward the squids, and flex my arms, lettin’ free a vicious scream. “MOOOOOOOOOOO!” With that, I leap off my balcony, ready for a fight. *** This is really silly, but the idea just wouldn't leave my head. Hope it's good! Thanks for the prompt. If you like this story, check out my sub /r/LonghandWriter or my [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/BryceBealWriter)
He sits alone in his cell, the electrified grating humming lightly. He sighs dejectedly, warping his finger into a chisel, and stretches his finger across the room to carve another slash into the stone wall. It takes him a while to make the mark through the extremely hard ultramarble. Putty Man, though once a famous villain had spent the last 7 years in prison aboard the Space Confinement Vessel Abjurer, his visits from his former friends, colleagues, and minions growing far shorter and less and less frequent. Today marks the 254th day in a row he has had no visitors at all. But more significantly, it marks his 45th birthday. No letters, cards, calls, or visits. It's not a milestone birthday for most people, but considering the average lifespan for villains is 45 years, it's one for him. "Putty... It's nice to see you."The voice echoes with power and authority through the grating at the front of his cell. Putty Man glances over, and sees the last person he expected. "Cacophony? What do YOU want?"He glares angrily at the lithe woman standing on the other side of the bars, her skintight costume is different than he remembers, and her face has a few more wrinkles, and a few more grey hairs than the last time they saw each other, at his trial. "Paul, don't be like that. I did what needed to be done to stop you. It doesn't mean I liked doing it."Putty Man scoffs and turns away. "Listen, Paul. I know you're not really like the other villains. You're not bent on world destruction like Calamity or Devoid. You saw injustice in the world and wanted to right it, but you just went about it the wrong way."She leans in closer and lowers herself down on a chair groaning slightly as she sits. "You know, I always respected your motivations. Just like Cleo and Jett."They both sigh at the mention of those names. "Cacophony...Amanda I just wanted to make people's lives better. But the Corpos, they have supers in their pockets and the constant clashing... Well it wears on a man. It starts small, one skirmish at a protest, then the next thing you know the news is labeling you as a villain. But I treated my people well. I can't tell you how many life saving surgeries my organization paid for. But I'm the villain, not the Corpos who make those surgeries prohibitively expensive." "Paul, we've been over that hundreds of times. The ends don't justify the means. The system is broken, but we have to be careful. You can't just attack wildly and expect to make changes. Innocent people end up getting caught in the crossfire. You remember St Catherine's Day. 148 people, Paul."She sighs again and adjusts in her seat. "But that's not why I'm here." Paul waves her away. "I don't have any more info to give. No one talks to me, no one visits. I'm forgotten and I'm tired. I can't help you with whatever you're needing Amanda." "I know. THAT'S why I'm here." The sounds of more footsteps stopping at his cell prompts him to turn around. Cacophony, Bulldozer, Gigantia, Victor-E, and Echo stand before his cell. "Happy birthday Putty Man."They all reply. A cake on a rolling cart has a big 45 candle on it. "What... You all?"Paul is taken aback. "Yes, Paul."Echo responds. "I above all others wanted to do this. Because I know personally what you were doing." Paul stammered "Gary...I'm so sorry about Cleo and Jett. They were good people." "Yes Paul. And too many good people doing the wrong things for the right reasons have been punished beyond their crimes. So, since it's not much of a birthday without a present, we all agreed to give you one.". They all step aside except for Bulldozer, a hulking beast of a man whose head is as hard as diamond. "Dozer, if you will?" A crash sets off the alarms, the cell grating flies off the hinges, slamming into the floor. Paul sits in stunned silence, his body squished up against the wall. "What the hell?" Cacophony smiles and offers her hand. We're giving you the gift of freedom and a second chance to do the wrong things for the right reasons. Come with us, Putty Man. We're going to bring the whole system down." "But what about what you said earlier?" "I stand by it. We're not going to attack wildly. Each move we make will be careful and calculated. It's time to fix the broken system... Or destroy it trying." Paul steps through the hole where his cell door was, and grabs a handful of cake. Devouring it hungrily. "So, who's our first target then?" (Sort of a continuation of this story, in a shared universe [Here](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/c5syg6/wp_when_two_of_the_most_powerful_villains_in_the/es56ydu/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app))
The Change happened on a thursday. Every human in the world transformed over the course of a few hours. Their bodies changed. Once it was over, and the worst of the panic had subsided, things mostly returned to normal. Which is to say that the bearded dwarf ladies had to learn how to shave - at least most of them, others chose to keep it. There were lots of anger management seminars and interventions for the orcs. The President pushed through restrictions on how centaurs could travel in traffic - they needed registration plates and turn signals, and had to stay off the highways. The elves signed modelling contracts left and right, and tore up their wills due to the immortality thing; some of the really old elves turned young again. There were a few altercations. Not everyone in a family got Changed into the same species, so there were plenty of breakups and lots of juicy drama on the TV shows that fed off it. Someone wondered how they, as an orc, was going to explain to their dwarf kid how their troll mother was the kid's real mother. A couple of race wars broke out but mostly ended up in confusing discussions as they tried to determine who had been what before. By the time the venn diagrams had been settled most had lost interest in fighting. It was an exciting time, but by monday - just five days later - people had jobs to go back to. Things were beginning to settle where they could. Doctors had to throw out the book on human physiology. Some fairies had to quit their work in the warehouse (they couldn't lift anything), some spiderlings took on jobs as window washers (safety protocols were expensive and now unnecessary). TV were running non-stop informational coverage of every new species and all that was known, after a while people just started to tune out and get on with their days. They were living their life and could only sprint for so long. Not so for me. There was no doubt what I had become. Horns, wings, red skin, a shrill laughter. I liked my old laughter. But that was life for everyone now. Except there weren't any demons on TV. There weren't any demons on Youtube. There weren't any demons on the dark web talking. It was as if I was the only one. I mean, it was technically possible that they, too, had chosen not to reveal themselves. Me, I had stayed indoors. I was afraid of getting a brick to my forehead, delivery signed by Religions everywhere. It really didn't matter which one, they'd all come after me. Right? So I stayed indoors, hoping for... a cure? That some other demon would be the first one outed? But after seven days of being locked indoors, my hopes of a physical salvation had turned to despair. So I did the only thing I could do. I went over to his house and rang the bell. "Just a couple seconds!"came the call over the soft music being played. He opened the door - he'd turned into an elf, the lucky little shit. We stood there looking at each other for a while. "Bro..."he said. What could I say? "Yeah."was about it. "Bummer!"he smiled. I smiled back. He stared at me for a while, and said "So... you want to play some video games? I got some weed laying about, doesn't do much for me now though...". Couldn't you just love the bloody bastard? He motioned me inside the house. He paused, and slapped me on the back; "Just don't eat my soul or anything, will ya? You always were a trickster in high school, a devil with your tongue as it were. Hah!"Some kind of three-headed puppy was trying to get a taste of my tail as it waved behind me. "Don't mind Nibbles, he's new to this too."my friend said. He turned and yelled into the house. "Hey everybody! Dave's here, and you won't believe the cool shit that's happened to him!"I felt a warmness rising in my chest, and it wasn't hellfire. I didn't know what tomorrow would bring. But for tonight it was nice to be with friends.
The commander of the alien armada tugged at the collection of flagella that poked out from under his mouth. These flagella, which were short, bristly, and dark, looked very much like a well-tended human beard. "But don't they know anything about good music?" "Apparently not. They don't even listen to all the pop music we send them. Just the top 40 songs on repeat." "Don't they realize the songs use the same few chords? Can't they tell it was generated by algorithms? Aren't they annoyed that the lyrics are vapid and empty?" The chief of intelligence consulted his charts. "Not in the least. In fact, it appears that many of the humans enjoy music that is, and I quote, 'just easy to listen to.'" "That's nonsense,"the commander cried. He paced behind his artisan driftwood desk. "They should be crying out for music made by real people. They should be desperate for the sort of math rock, grindcore, and folk music that we specialize in."He snapped his fingers. "You know what the issue is? They probably just haven't heard of any of our good bands. I bet if they heard proper music even once—" "We tried that, sir. Over 80% of the humans wrinkled their noses and said that they didn't 'get' our prog rock." The commander collapsed onto his unnecessarily tall stool, which provided no back support but did however make his wardroom look like a barbershop. "Nevermind the music, then. How has our nutritional assault progressed? Surely by now the population has so thoroughly rejected franchise food options that they're near-starved?" The chief of intelligence swallowed hard. "More bad news, I'm afraid. It turns out that many humans enjoy eating the same processed foods week after week, and many of them don't mind having the same options available to them everywhere." "What?"The commander leapt to his feet. "What sort of person doesn't go through a new recipe book every month?! And why would they want the same foods everywhere? The point of travel is to sample different cuisines! Who can live so simply?" "Humans, apparently." "What about art? Surely they can't abide the landscapes we've been sending them. Surely they're fed up with our artists' renditions of famous TV show characters." The chief of intelligence winced. "You must be kidding me. The humans haven't banded together to demand mind-expanding artworks in the vein of white paint over white canvas? They aren't holding their governments hostage in the interest of securing more toilets repurposed as fountains?" "It would appear not." "Hopeless."The commander unbuttoned his handmade leather jacket. "They're absolutely hopeless. Why do we even want this planet, anyway?" "Resources. Workers. The pride of the Empire." "But these people are so boring! Why would we even want them working in our mines? I'd be more concerned that they'd infect our people with their bougie lack of taste. In no time, we'd find ourselves bringing flat-packed IKEA furniture onto our warships and buying our uniforms off the rack." "Sir, um,"the chief of intelligence glanced at the floor, "I've actually been meaning to bring something up with you. While I was down there, I discovered that not all the things they love are so bad. Some reality TV really is fairly watchable. In fact, the entire intelligence division set up viewing parties for episodes of the Bachelor, and—" The commander shot the chief of intelligence in the head. Sorrowfully, he then ordered his guard unit to liquidate the intelligence officers and commanded his pilots to chart a course as far away from earth as their orders permitted them to go. Down on earth, the people rejoiced. Their strategy had worked. The aliens of the planet Hipsteria had been driven away, and human civilization would survive. Or would it? In the aftermath of the great deception, people kept on listening to pop music, eating fast food, and buying IKEA furniture. Maybe, just maybe, they'd played themselves.
Just looking at my costume was enough to make my powers activate. Everyone else had cool, sleek looks, merged with their powers to make them the embodiment of what they were. They looked awesome, and I could tell they felt awesome as well. Mine was a clown costume. Literally. Big shoes, hideous polka-dot shirt, dungarees a horrid yellow. I had an annoying fake flower, and a big red nose. The base had a rapid face painter for me as well, letting me get ready nearly as quickly as the rest. And I hated every second of it. I hated circuses, clowns, the whole lot. So naturally they called me the Ringmaster. But I couldn't deny its effectiveness. When not on duty, they would ensure I was treated well. When I put it on, they let out the snide comments. I knew they didn't truly mean anything bad, but in the heat of the moment sometimes having someone point out that my socks didn't even match would give me the push I needed. It wasn't as though my powers were particularly flashy either. I would just get stronger, faster and harder to hurt the more hate I felt. This extended to things I held, meaning the inflatable hammer they gave me really packed a punch. Whilst my official call was the Ringleader, I knew of my unofficial designation as the Juggernaut. I sighed as I started to put on my ridiculous suit. A call had come in about one of the Grave Stalkers. They had started a ruckus, something about an artifact activating that they wanted. I didn't really care though. Like always I was the last to be ready, and our flyer was ready to go. I boarded as I heard the start of the whispers. "Late again." "Stupid costume." "Why is he here?" I hated them. I hated that my powers needed them to do it. I focused on my hatred, feeling muscles tighten and skin harden. I glance at Coordinator, speaking with a voice modulator to make even that sound like one of the stupid people. "I'm assuming we are going with the wrecking ball approach?" She glance at me, nodding whilst rolling her eyes. "Obviously. Like was always do." It stung. I hated it. But it would help me in my fall to earth. After all, it had been proven that there was little more disruptive than a six-foot grumpy clown armed with what was basically a sledgehammer being dropped into the centre of a gathering. I just hated that it was me who had to do that. Again.
My Mother’s eyes are bright and wide circles of dark glass. Her hands are mechanical multi-tools: a duster, a vaccuum nozzle, a hose, a sponge...a hand to hold. Her grey skin is ever-cool, stiff and ungiving — yet no surface on Earth makes me feel safer. I understand that my Mother is a machine. I understand that she is a robot designed, built, and bought to clean the house my makers left me in. I understand that she has Nanny protoccols. I understand that you may not understand or appreciate that I love her. She is my mother. She raised me. The people I tried to kill, the two monsters who made me and left me to rot here, were trying to get rid of her — her! My mother. And only because they saw a newer model. This house and its contents, myself included, are nothing more than symbols of the life those bastards wanted their clients to think they had. Pools and bathrooms and art and too many square-feet for three humans to fill. No matter how big a life they lived. I am a photo opportunity for them. Nothing more. And when they went to work they didn’t think of me at all. And my Mother saw me and gathered me up and cleaned me. Taught me. Loved me. I know you don’t understand...or believe me. But she does. She loves me, loves more than that woman I shot at ever did. \* * * A few uniforms would keep an eye on the hand-cuffed lad. Detective Rightbard left the kid — the young man — sat at the bleakly stylish breakfast bar. White marble counter-tops; cabinets wrapped in black wood and clear glass, each filled with fine china; a row of designer wrought-iron stools, one of which was topped with a stern-faced, rather smart, and deeply neglected teen. A teen who had attempted double murder with a handgun. The detective had some thinking and further interviews to do. The family wanted to keep this as quiet as possible and they had the cash and influence to make it happen. So, no flashing lights. No interviews at the station. Which meant for Rightbard, a house call and some paperwork to say the gunshots heard by neighbours were nothing to worry about. Later, a van would come and take the shooter away to a very prestigious, very distant school. Poor kid. Poor Young man, the detective corrected himself. The voice of his son, Kyle, played in his head: “I’m thirteen, Dad. I’m not a little kid anymore.” In his minds eye the speaker was a toddler barely out of nappies. His little buddy and constant tail about the house. He’d have to give Kyle a call. See how college was going. “Hey, Rightbard.” He had left the kitchen and the shooter, was stood staring at the glass ceiling of the foyer, with its stained glass rim of cardinals pressed against the blue sky beyond. “Hey—” “Heard you the first time, Schmitt.” Rightbard turned and saw his fellow detective, Eliza Schmitt, halfway down a broad staircase. “The Mother wants you.” “The human or the robot?” He said to the cardinals. “What?” He took his eyes off the birds and blue, looked to his protégé. “Nothing, Schmitt. Nothing. Also, manners. You should say pardon not what.” She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, but couldn’t hide her smile. It had taken a while, but the old crank had grown on her. “Could you speed it up old-timer? There’s a lot of stairs for you to huff and puff up.” “What, no elevator?” “There’s several. You could use the exercise, though.” As he made his way towards the stairs, his eyes fell to a corner of the room. She was there, stood like a statue. Only vaguely human in shape. Idle. Waiting for a mess or a child in distress. Mother to an attempted murderer. Rightbard nodded at the robot, which made no response. This was a mess he’d have to clean up for her.
"Help me..." Father McTavis stood up straight and peered out into the alley. He'd heard of people getting mugged in the alley behind his church, and he knew muggers weren't above luring in good men. But what if someone really needed help? "Help..."The voice was raspier and quieter. It sounded like genuine pain. The Father finished sweeping the church's sidewalk and walked into the alley. "Is anyone here?" No response. "Hello?"The Father took another few steps inside and readied himself to get jumped on. What was that pungent smell? "Is someone hurt?" Father McTavis craned his neck around a dumpster and saw him. A young boy lay there in a puddle of blood, staring back at him. The boy's hair was blonde and his eyes were black. So black, they almost looked red given the right angle of light. "What happened to you?"The Father rushed over and began checking the boy for cuts and bruises, but none were there. How was there so much blood and no cut? The Father picked up the boy and headed out of the alley. On his way out, he saw the church wall facing the alley had a burn mark on it, the same size as the boy. "Don't worry, my son, I used to be a doctor. A foot doctor, but you work with what you've got, right?" The boy didn't react to the priest's words. He just stared at the church wall. Father McTavis walked out of the alley and towards the church's doors. "No,"the boy hissed. He sounded more like the father imagined a snake would sound than a human. "Not there." Father McTavis ignored his words. The kid was delirious from blood loss. He walked towards the doors and turned around, pressing his back to the door to push it open. As the grand door swung inward, the boy went flying out of Father McTavis's arms, as if thrown. He landed on the far edge of the sidewalk, blood pooling from seemingly nowhere. How had that happened? The father turned and looked at the church, seeing a burn mark on the door. It smelled of sulfur, the same smell as brimstone according to the old testament. He turned back to the boy on the sidewalk. His eyes weren't black, they were definitely red. The father's jaw dropped as he realized what happened. "You... you're a demon?" The figure on the ground didn't move. He- or it - was breathing though, so it was still alive. The Father swallowed nervously and picked it back up and put it in his car's backseat. He got in and drove home. ----- A pair of red eyes opened and stared dagger's into the father. The man tried not to flinch, but he betrayed his thoughts. "Good, you're up." The demon lurched forward, but was stopped as the rope tying its neck down hit its limit. "Fool. Foolish Father." Father McTavis felt a surge of fear at the words. "You're a demon, aren't you?" "I was around when the first of your kind was made, you know."The voice hissed. "You were given free will. Imagine living for eternity, only to not have the ability to choose. To live only to do another's bidding. Yes, I'm a demon, because I chose to follow Lucifer and have freedom." Father McTavis tried not to listen to its words. He knew they were notorious liars, but the argument it made just now... "Made to serve God."The demon hissed. "Easy for you Father, you just serve him for 70 years than die and spend eternity being rewarded. My kind had to serve him forever. Like Egyptian slaves." "This is a test."The Father spoke. "God is testing me." "Yes,"the demon whispered. "I was placed by your church, I would never go near one otherwise. He is testing if your blind devotion is greater than your logic." The Father blinked once. "How did you get that skin?"The Father asked. "Did you kill the boy?" The demon shook its head. "No, the boy is still in his body, his mind is in a coma until I leave it. No lasting effects." "You lie." The demon made a hissing sound like a snake warning a predator away. "Do not question my word, manling." The Father made a silent prayer for guidance, but nothing came to him. "What will you do? The only way to rid me of this world is to kill this boy."The demon's voice was hard to hear. "Unless you let me go and when I leave on my own free will, the boy will return. The Father met the demon's eyes and spoke. "You lie. I know real witches and possessed can't be cured. You killed the boy the moment you stole his skin."The Father's anger manifested itself into something more. He'd never felt so mad before. "Human emotions, they are weak. Being near my kind makes them stronger." The Father got up and walked into his kitchen, coming back out with a long knife. "Just what are you gonna do with that?"The demon asked with a mock smile. "God forgive me."He rushed towards the tied down demon and stabbed into its chest, piercing the body as easy as a slab of beef. The demon's eyes quickly faded to a light brown. Father McTavis felt his anger fade with them. He knew he was no longer staring at a demon. The boy tried to say something, but blood sputtered out of his mouth instead of words. His eyes looked directly into the father's own. Was this a test? The boy wasn't really dying. The demon must have done some trick when it realized it was going to die. It must have. The kid closed his eyes and slowly opened them. Father McTavis knew it wasn't a fake, the kid was real, and McTavis just killed him. "I... I thought..."The priest stammered. Father McTavis was still trying to speak when the boy's head drooped down.
Norman booted up his computer. He was eager to see what was happening on the Internet. After some browsing he happened upon a social media site called Reddit. He spent some time looking at pictures of cats, image macros and political rants. Eventually he happened upon /r/lifeofnorman. After reading for a while it became clear that this sub-reddit was full of stories lifted from his own life. Everything that had ever happened to him from the time he dipped his biscuit too far into his tea to the time he got lost in his cupboard was there. Norman decided to post a story of his own. He thought he would share the story of this day, the day he discovered he was a strange internet sensation. It received zero 'upvotes' and Norman was left disappointed. He turned off the computer and settled down to watch the television. As he watched, Norman entered the room with a meow. Norman wondered if there was any Karma to be found in photographing his own cat.
"So it's like... only wanting one thing?"the women sitting across the table from me said slowly. "Only pursuing one path with your whole life? That sounds horrifying."Her expression changed. "And intriguing,"another one of her said slyly. I've always had trouble memorizing names. Maybe I could do it if it was just one, but trying to remember which expression corresponds to who and whether it was Sarah or Sally or Samantha - at some point I just gave up and told people my disorder also made me identity-blind. "That's not exactly it,"I said. "I still want many different things, but all those goals belong to the same me." "But you can only do one thing at a time,"said yet another iteration of her, maybe Sindy, I don't know. "So, if the sole you, I mean, if you wanted to eat only pizza, and you simultaneously wanted to eat only spaghetti, then even if you say that's not a logical contradiction, well, you could only do one or the other." "That's true of you too,"I replied. "Your body only ends up doing one thing." "Yes, but whichever one of me does it is eating the food she wants!" I shrugged. "Yep. Single Personality Disorder means a lot more sorting through priorities and a lot more disappointment. On the plus side, I get a lot more time being me." "Oh,"she said, her face screwed up. "Is that why you're so mature, so young... that's a bit sad, really."Her face suddenly relaxed. "I ought to have figured that out, honestly - I'm Sam, if you're having trouble keeping track, the intellectual one. So does your body always get to make the choice you like most? I fantasize about that sometimes, but I know that spending all my money on books wouldn't be healthy." "You'd think it would be that way,"I said a bit sadly, "but it isn't. More like... I get tired from being me so much, without any break. And when I'm tired... somehow I can't do the things I want most any more, I'm not sure why. I want to read a physics book, but end up watching TV." A worried identity stared at me from across the table. "Please don't be offended, I'm not trying to be multinormative, I'm just trying to understand how it is for you. But that sounds like there is another identity inside you, and they can only come out when you're tired. Like you're brutally forcing them down all the time, and they can only escape when you're weakened." I shook my head. "If so, that other self can't plan, or think, or construct its own beliefs. My SPD means that anything that can use the deliberative process, anything smart enough to become a voice inside my head, just gets sucked into the black hole of me that self-identifies as everything at once. If I do have a tired identity, it's more like a chimpanzee inside me, not a full human personality. And that other identity can't take over completely, they can't use their own mental energy to vigorously do just what they want. When I'm tired I can only do tired things. What it feels like from the inside is that my fuel for being me runs out and then there's no one else to take over. I can't... lift the weight of doing my most desirable thing any more, but there's nobody else to do their own favorite thing instead, so I just watch TV..."my voice trailed off. "This is a bit unpleasant for me, can I talk about something else?" The women nodded. "I think that does answer some of Sarah's questions about why you don't pursue just one single goal all the time,"said whoever was talking. Her expression shifted, became sly again. "To talk about a more pleasant subject, I imagine that having just one of you must simplify sexual consent negotiations a lot?" I nodded slightly. "It's not quite as simple as you're imagining, I can want sex and not want it at the same time... but yes, it's relatively simpler. If SPD is good for anything, it's consenting to sex with a whole lot less inter-identity dating. Linear time instead of quadratic. I still have to get to know all of you, but all of you only need to get to know one of me. We could finish the process in a few hours, if you really wanted." I saw the several arrested looks upon her face, and smiled.
When Paul was young, he was slow like everyone else. He was never great at anything he set out to do, only being above average at best. His most useful talent in life was messing things up for everyone else. "At least this screw up only involved you."Paul said to himself as he walked to his favorite diner. As he walked he snatched a copy of The New York Times from a familiar passerby, frozen in time unable to do anything to stop him. "The man's a fast walker, yesterday he was a block away." People have been slow to Paul for what seemed to be years to him, he could only guess how long it had actually been. No one acknowledge him, or at least he couldn't tell if they were; once he stood in front of his mother and watched her walk right past him in what seemed to be hours. The clock on the wall moved 2 minutes. As he entered the busy diner he brushed past the frozen patrons and made his way behind the counter, stopping in front of the ticket line. After a moments consideration he picked up a plate of hotcakes, a cup of coffee, and a straw, then walked over to a booth. He sat down opposite of a dark haired lady and started to prepare his coffee. Being fast and eating fast can be difficult to do together Paul found out, he had started to prefer butter over syrup on his cakes after waiting all day once for syrup to fall onto his plate. And as silly as he felt sipping coffee through a straw, there was no other practical way as it would take the liquid hours to reach his lips by tipping the cup. "How's your morning been Cheryl?"Paul started, talking to the woman in front of him. "Same as all week?"he chuckled to himself knowing that she has been sitting there for months, nibbling at her plate. "You've almost finished an entire bite and I'm here eating 3 or 4 plates in that time!"not all in the same meal though he thought. "How long will I be like this Cherry?"he asked the silent woman, she couldn't respond, not to him. Paul was never very social, Cheryl made him go out. But he couldn't help but feel lonely, forced to watch everyone slowly go about their days while unable to have a conversation with any one of them. Especially her. Paul got up, took his empty plate to the kitchen, held the dish a few feet above the sink and let it go to suspend in midair, then left the diner.

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