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I wished there were less honour amongst good fighters.
It’s always that word. Honour. They say it, repeat it, until my eardrums bleed not from their punches, but that singular word that hurts my brain more than any internal injury ever could.
I can barely beat one goon. But I can fight a hundred Übermensch. That was the nature of my power—the more people that fight me, the more exponential power I gain.
Of course, that’s not the tale that gets sung by bards in taverns, or whispered on streets while people did their morning shopping. All they know is that I fight a lot of people, and they lose. Henceforth, I am the strongest warrior on the planet. And that’s the moniker that attracts these suicidal, do-gooder types. The kind that thinks putting everything on the line is better than living another day.
“Fight me with everybody you have,” I said. “Or you’ll die.”
I stood, back leaning against the rough stone wall, trying to look as relaxed as I could. Loose arms, cross legs, the kind that indicated I wasn’t ready for a fight. I stared down a mob of ruffians, dirty and tired, wary eyes shifting all over the place.
What they didn’t know is that I really wasn’t. If 10 people rushed me, my powers kicked in, contorting my body into impossible shapes to keep me alive. If one frail man with the strength of a child stabbed a wooden dagger into me, I would probably die from the splinters.
But nobody dared to come forward. No coordinated effort was made to jump on me defenceless pose and shank me to death. Instead, the murmuring crowd undulated, until one burly man pushed himself through the frontline. Muscles rippled under his tanned skin, and his vest, which seemed like it was several sizes too small, left little to the imagination. His shaved head bowed slightly, and he brought his hands forward in a greeting.
“You are Cyril, the strongest fighter in the kingdom,” he said.
Goddamn it. Goddamn it all.
I stayed silent.
“Honour binds me to fight you alone,” he said. With a shout, he pushed both arms to the side with such strength that the sand on the floor flew up, creating a misty aura around him.“
“I will hate to kill you,” I lied through my rotten teeth.
“It is no matter,” he said. “I cannot risk the lives of my brothers and sisters.”
Whispered ooh and aahs emerged from the crowd. It wouldn’t be long before they broke into cheering, a thunderous wave of exultation booming against me.
How many would I need to beat this guy? Was he just a meathead? His stance was orthodox, which could indicated a trained background, or something simply gleaned from watching too many failed martial artists fight on the streets. Do I have enough prowess left in my muscle memory to make this a swift win? Or do I need more people to turn the tide?
“Five more,” I said.
“What?”
“I respect your conviction,” I smiled. “And I want you alive to see it through. Five more. And then we’ll fight.”
The sturdy man scratched his head.
“You want to bring your allies into the fight?”
A blockhead, then.
“No! I want you to bring your allies into this fight,” I argued. “You must be a fine warrior. But I am Cyril! Otherwise, it’s simply not a…”
The man quivered.
“Are… are you saying I’m inadequate?”
His solid stance softened, and his legs bowed. Large hands wiped away the wetness forming on his face. The sweltering heat was… wait…
“Are you crying?!”
“You just insulted my combat prowess,” he protested. “Of course!”
“God, no! I just… I just…”
Venomous glances were thrown my way. I hated seeing a grown man cry, but I knew when the tide was turning.
“That’s right,” I firmed my voice. “You are a bunch of clowns!”
And the dam broke. Onlookers became combatants as they rushed forward like senseless waves from the sea, leaving the burly man kneeling on the ground.
“Sorry,” I whispered under my breath. It was as much an apology for what I’m sure was a very courageous man, and also for the countless bones I was about to break.
But secrets had to be kept, any way they can. I’m sure an honourable person would understand.
---
r/dexdrafts | 28 | You are a warrior that becomes stronger and more capable based on the amount of people you're fighting, you can easily take on 100 enemies, but a single one will give you trouble, you have to make sure your enemies don't know this. | 67 |
“You look like an Angel.”
*Shit. First sentence and I’m already off script*.
It was an involuntary response to finally seeing The Entity and despite all the training and projections and theories, still being wholly unprepared for what now stood before me.
*Focus. Get back on script. Remember the plan.*
Protocol states if it has eyes, make eye contact. Focusing on eyes will help you humanize it which will help keep you calm during communications.
*But there’s so many. How many? A hundred? No, definitely more. They’re all the same size, maybe it doesn’t matter which one-*
“Define ‘Angel’.”
The response Came from the small black sphere hanging weightlessly in the center of the room. Clearly a translation device, it was the only thing in the open white room aside from me and The Entity.
*The Entity*. I’ve grown so tired of that phrase, I hope it gives me a name I can use. We were supposed to exchange titles or names during the greeting, but I’d already screwed that up, and now it’s made a direct request. Protocol dictates I respond. First contact is going just swimmingly.
I just catch myself about to start with “Umm” (protocol dictates we never use filler words to keep communication as precise as possible), clear my throat and as clearly as possible state:
“There are beings from our stories on earth known as Angels. They are depicted in numerous forms, however one of them is very similar in description to yourself.”
I watch The Entity closely, waiting to hear it speak. Eager to know if they have an audible language, and what it might sound like. Disappointingly, I hear nothing. Come to think of it, I had also heard nothing before the sphere spoke to me. I begin to grow concerned that it's choosing not to respond, when the black sphere finally speaks.
“Does this being have a name-title?”
The voice coming from the sphere, while clearly machine generated, also sounded remarkably human, and distinctly feminine. I found it comforting, which I have no doubt was intentional. I made a mental note of the way the words “name” and “title” were mashed together, as it suggested an imperfect translation. This in turn implies a structure to their language.
“Yes. We call them *Ophanim*.” I replied. There was very little delay between communications, I think their language is faster than ours.
“We are aware Humans use segments of name-titles for other individuals as an affection display. We request you select a segment of *Ophanim* that you will then use when referring to us.” The Entity’s response was immediate.
*Did they just ask me to give them a nickname?!*
I was way out of protocol at this point, Command was going to flip when (if) I got back for debrief. I’ll be amazed if they even allow me a second meeting at this point. But then, if that’s the case, I need to make the most of this one.
*What do I even do with* Ophanim? *It’s not a particularly elegant word. Okay, break out the segments… oh!*“
If you find it agreeable, I would like to call you Ani.” I smiled as I said it without even thinking, another protocol broken.
Once again the response came with no delay “We accept. From here forward, you will call us Ani.” There was a short pause, and then,
“What is your name-title?”
I could practically hear my mothers voice "*Ma che modi sono?!"* Between trying to follow the rules and not lose my mind over this absolutely surreal situation I’d forgotten my basic manners.
“I am Valentino Bordin. It is a pleasure to meet you, Ani.” I responded with another illicit smile.
Once more the soft, not entirely robotic voice drifted to me from the translator, “We request permission to call you Val”
Now this brought a real smile to my face. I felt the tension I hadn’t even realized I’d been holding in my legs and shoulders start to ease.
I replied, “I grant permission. I am pleased to have you call me Val.”
I’d just traded nicknames with an extraterrestrial intelligence. I nearly laughed.I suspect Ani felt the same way, because it felt like the luminous, eye covered wheels that comprised her body started to glow ever so slightly brighter as she once again spoke:
“I am satisfied with our arrangement. Now we may begin the great work. Humans have a phrase-pattern which we believe can be appropriately applied to our meeting, ‘I believe this is the start of a beautiful friendship”
“Yes. Yes I think that’s true.” I said, and I meant it. “We have so much to talk about…” | 10 | "You look like an angel." You say as you stare into one of her 300 eyes. | 18 |
"Look at them," Bugs said while by the fire. "Do they know how idiotic they look?"
Malot looked up to the castle, about 200 hundred yards away since they weren't allowed to get close. "They don't seem normal." He said contemplatively.
Bear snorted. "Normal? Hell I could've told you that!"
The guards of the keep were stoic. Eyes set forward and consistent in their appearance. Armor perfectly clean and weapons always kept in brilliant shape. Malot continued, "We're ones to talk of normal. Refuges aren't exactly loved around these parts."
Bugs stood up and pretended to do one of the guard's stiff backed stances, "No coming further!" He said jokingly. "We'll chop ye down!"
"Don't joke about them," Malot said, confused at why he felt like defending them.
"Why not? No one knows what the hell they're guarding. The people in that fort haven't left for hundreds of years."
"Why not?"
"Because." Bear jutted in. "They're idiots. Simple."
Malot shook his head, "That doesn't make any sense."
"Idiots never do."
Malot looked at his feet for a moment, spinning up an idea. "Has anyone ever asked them?"
"Ha!" Bear boomed. "No. No one has asked them, they slice at whoever comes near."
"Well, I don't need to come near to ask."
They both paused to look at him. "You?" Bugs said with a half unbelieving smile.
"Why not? Malot the grand wanderer has gotten many to talk!"
"Why not?" Bugs said with an stunned face. "Son, the Everkeep has been a mystery for hundreds of years. Grand wanderer or not they'll chop you down. I'm sure."
"Well," Malot stood up. "Let's be extra sure."
The two didn't dare follow as Malot walked across the open plain towards the imposing keep. The men seemed to not even waiver as he approached, blue armor shinning in the moonlight and looking magnificent.
"Ho!" One by the gate eventually said when he was 10 yards away. "No further outsider!"
Malot stooped and look inquisitively at man. "What's your name man?"
No answer.
"*Alright then*," He said mumbling to himself. "*I didn't think it'd be that easy anyways.*"
"Ho man, at least tell me why you all stand here?"
The guard said nothing at first. He instead lowered his long spear to face Malot then bellowed out. "Leave outsider!"
Malot smiled, "Come now! Just tell me why you're here and I'll leave you be! No need for bloodshed friend! I might have information that can help!"
He saw the guard hesitate. Slowly he brought his spear back up to his side, the soldier adjacent to him seeming uncomfortable. "We await the return of our king."
Malot wanted to laugh but he knew it'd be inappropriate. He had the feeling that he might be the first person outside the keep to ever hear this. "Your king? Why, wouldn't that mean he'd be hundreds of years old?"
The guard was still tight-lipped, but easing. "Aye, but you don't know our king."
"Pardon my prying, but do you?"
The solider grimaced. "You know not of what you speak of outsider."
"Come now, at least tell me this mans name? Maybe I've read of him during my journeys to the Tower of Histories."
"Your a man of letters?" The solider almost sounded disgusted.
"My dear man, I don't judge you. Now, what is this great king of yours named?"
The two guards shuffled on their feet. By this point the ones on the wall of the tall keep were curiously eyeing them, as if wondering why Malot hadn't been driven off yet. Suddenly the guard who hadn't spoken yet yelled out. "He is King Alomar! Have you heard of his whereabouts outsider?"
Malet's heart went dark. His face drained of color and he slowly stepped away from the keep.
"Outsider!" The soldier continued desperately. "Please, do you know something of our king?"
"Alomar..." The words were almost whispered. "He's... He's..."
Both soldiers were wide eyed. It was obvious that they had no clue of anything outside their keep and longed for knowledge.
"Alomar isn't his name anymore."
"What is it!?"
"...They call him the Shade King. He's the reason we're fleeing west." Malot paused to look at the two guards. "I don't know who you're expecting to return to this keep. But I assure you, he is no longer a man..."
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
If you enjoyed checkout my subreddit! r/mrsharks202 | 25 | The order was given by the king himself, “Guard this castle till I return.” As the centuries roll by, your starting to wonder how long this will take. | 52 |
"Listen!" Minami snarled, seizing Shinji by the front of his school uniform. "I don't think you understand the situation."
Shinji blinked. "Uh, well--"
"Shut up!" she snapped. "Just listen! I *hate* you."
"What?" he cried.
"I. HATE. YOU." Minami repeated, word by word. "We're in *advanced* English classes, we're officers in the English club, we both have vTuber channels where we teach our fans English -- so how do you not speak it well enough to understand what I *just* said?
"I...I guess I just thought--" he began.
"That I was just playing some sort of mind game? That I'm the sort of neurotic moron who's so afraid of her own feelings that she has to pull the whole *tsundere* thing? NO! I just, really, really, really, REALLY don't like you, Shinji!"
"Oh." he said, hanging his head.
"No!" she snapped. "You don't get to be *sad!* You don't get to be sad, because I have made it SO obvious, that you simply *cannot* be having a 'sudden' realization, right now."
"You...you always say 'Ohayou' when you see me at school, though!" Shinji protested.
"Common courtesy? That's what you're hanging this romantic delusion on, *common courtesy*? We're *Japanese,* Shinji! We're like courtesy *elementals,* you dumbass!*"*
"Okay, okay!" Shinji said, roughly dislodging her hands from his jacket. "I get it, alright! You don't need to be mean about it. Ugh. Forget this, I'm going home. Finish setting up for the stupid English club meeting by yourself, *Ms. President."*
"Oh boo hoo, I have to do ten minutes of work *without you* breathing down my neck!" Minami retorted. Shinji gave no reply, as he stalked out of the classroom and slammed the door behind him.
One he was was gone, Minami raised a curled forefinger to her mouth, thoughtfully, and bit her lip.
"Damn, this always happens. I really liked Shinji-san, and I was *sure* he liked me back. What am I doing *wrong?"* | 75 | She's not a tsundere. She just genuinely hates you. | 131 |
Sha-rama, the Gyralite champion, rained blow after blow on the Earthling champion. She had torn his flesh. She had broken his limbs. And yet still, he stood. Still, he would not yield.
Sha-rama's four fists grew bloody and swollen, and all six of her limbs felt heavy, and leaden. The Earthling champion had not landed a blow on her, he only silently defied her onslaught, and yet, for all this, she was wearing down.
"I will not fall, Earthling!" she roared. "I will not not fail!"
She struck the Earthling with all her might. She heard him break! And then he fell upon her, driving her into the ground. Her own bones snapped, and she tasted blood.
And Sha-rama, was no more.
\- - - - - - -
The robed Gyralite Arbiter raised his four arms in proclamation. "So be it! Let all bear witness, that great Sha-rama, slayer of thousands, champion of the Gyralites, has fallen..."
He gestured to the ground, where Sha-rama lay crushed to death by a fallen tree. Around her, several other trees likewise laid broken on the forest floor -- but a forest it was, and there were many thousands of trees still standing.
"...slain by *Pando the Clonal Aspen Grove,* he of the 40,000 trunks, champion of the Earth!"
The human delegation cheered, and raised one of their number -- a particularly skilled lawyer, apparently -- up onto their shoulders in celebration.
Nearby, the Gyralite Emperor stood seething, all four arms crossed. "This is ridiculous!"
The Arbiter pointed at him sharply. "Defame not the honor of the contest, nor disgrace the noble death of your champion with poor sportsmanship, your Imperial Majesty! We said the humans could select any living creature of their world as their champion, and they chose Pando! It is a holy and binding agreement, which we must honor."
The Arbiter turned, and bowed to the human delegation, politely. "As agreed, we will leave you in peace, and we swear to forsake conquest of your people or planet, for all time."
"Our species is *stupid,* and I hope we go extinct." The Emperor grumbled, bitterly, stalking back to his waiting spacecraft. | 1,132 | Humanity has been issued a challenge. Either an all out invasion by the alien fleet or unarmed single combat by champion. While reading the rules a lawyer noticed that it doesn't say that Earth's champion has to be a human. Just a living resident of the planet. | 1,295 |
"The hardest thing in the world is to be the smartest thing in the world."
I turn her coffee mug over and over in my hands, contemplating it.
Mom used to be so cocky about it, but she could afford to be. She was smarter than literally anyone on the planet, with the possible exception of me. And I was just a clone of her, gender swapped, with some of the nastier genetic baggage cleaned up.
She knew the world needed villains. She knew the world needed a unifying enemy to rally against. And she knew the world needed to feel *threatened* by their enemy, or they would fracture along the seams.
They would remember her forever as Fulcrum, the greatest single villain the world had ever faced, when in fact she had been the greatest unsung hero they would ever know. It occurred to me that perhaps she let them martyr her for my benefit; without that memory, seeing her beaten and captured and executed on live television, I wouldn't have been ruthless enough.
My proximity alarms light up. It is time. Shots from outside, as UNION soldiers began the assault. My private militia begins firing back, reckless and undisciplined, exactly as predicted. I set my mother's coffee mug down, and button my collar.
They call it a Xanatos gambit, after a character out of a TV show, but the tactic was a favorite of Sun Tzu as well: choose so that every path leads to victory. I picked up my BubbleGun MkVII and began the long walk to the bunker door.
If I won, they'd show my footage on television, how I ruthlessly murdered all these prisoners and the righteous soldiers sent to rescue them. If they won, they'd show their footage, how they heroically liberated the prisoners my mercenaries had taken here in... I barely pay attention anymore. Bumshart, Nebrahoma? Whatever. Just another town I picked because it had a larger-than-acceptable amount of anti-unity web traffic. Isolate the culprits, use them as prisoners, put some blood on the floor for the cameras. Kill the worst offenders, up close and live for prime time, while they begged for the world to unite to save them.
The prisoners are real. They have to be. So are the bullets. So is the bunker. So are the mercenaries. So is the blood and the death and the stink of bodies in the sun.
We tried it with fake threats, stage villainy. My mother would fight a team of superheroes, push them a little, then feign defeat. Mom's weapons were captured by good guys, and somehow were always ready to be used on the real threats. Then we'd hide out and watch for the next existential risk, we'd build the next device, bait the next batch of heroes to capture it.
She kept us safe that way for a long time. She kept the whole world safe.
But that only worked so long as the government played ball. When the government fell apart, so did our deal. So we moved on to the next contingency plan: become a government unto ourselves, and keep the whole world united by being a global threat. That's when the killsat weapons were launched. That's when the autonomous drones were deployed. That's when we claimed Antarctica, called it Mokhlós, and evicted all the scientists.
And then... even she didn't expect the *fans*. By the thousands, by the tens of thousands, they clamored to join. They begged and pleaded to enlist in her armies. They formed non-citizen militias, flew our flag, trained and made uniforms to emulate us.
So we invented an economy, coded up a banking system, and offered to pay them to immigrate. And they did. So, so many did. And now I have the second largest military in the world, second only to UNION: the United Nations Integrated Operations Network, which was created specifically to oppose us.
My own private militia of sovereign psychopaths, drooling at the bit to be the villains the world needs right now.
I stop at the bunker door. Seven minutes to cycle open. I check my BubbleGun, still thinking about mom.
She had stopped pulling her punches, when the nukes started flying. She knew there was no saving them, not with the kid gloves on. They were too greedy, demanded she give them all her tech, demanded she submit to their *banking regulations,* of all fucking things. She said no, and so they launched ICBMs at Mokhlós, because no one said no to them.
We caught them all. Every missile, every warhead. Our last invention together. They're still in orbit; well, most of them. We dropped a few of the smallest ones on some choice real estate, in some very exclusive places. Made some very powerful people very, very angry.
Then mom did something I thought was stupid at the time: She let them catch her. She let them think they could win. She let *me* think we could lose.
It hurt, losing her. She was my hero, my inspiration, my mentor, my friend. But she did what she had to, because it needed doing. I think she must have cared more than I thought was possible, about the world and the people in it. Because we could have escaped or hidden or even left the planet even up to the last moments.
But no. She knew the price, and she paid it. And so, the title of smartest person in the world fell to me. Her son and heir, Archimedes, ruler of Mokhlós. The *new* greatest threat the world has ever known.
The door starts to open. I start firing, hundreds of bubbles of plasma, each one magnetically shielding a tiny amount of antimatter, tearing through the meter-thick titanium alloy door before it's even open. White hot, eerily noiseless reactions bloom, as the plasma bubbles pop and the antimatter reacts. I sweep the killing field outside the door twice before I can even see what was out there. After being hit by AM reactions, whatever *was* out there just... isn't, anymore.
The doors fail, and one falls out of the track. I step onto the hot metal, surveying my battlefield. Pocked with holes from the antimatter, there's nothing but a few chunks of burnt mass, from what likely used to be anti-armor breaching units and probably a few APCs. In the distance, my forces continue to fight UNION, a bloody mess of a battle that will play well for the cameras.
My visor detects snipers, and my EM shielding kicks in just in time to throw sparks. DU ammo, good. They're still taking me seriously. I fire a scatter of bubbles back along the bullet's trajectory, hoping for a lucky kill.
I see a camera drone, high up.
I unclip my staff of office from my back, and raise it high in defiance. Let them see their villain, their monster, their devil. Let them know and fear and rally. With a push of a button, my prisoners are all killed, and individualized videos of their final painful moments are sent to each of their families, and to their careless government.
Win, lose, or draw, it doesn't matter. I will save this broken world, whether they want me to or not. I will bring unity, if I have to break every government on earth. And I will preserve humanity, if I have to kill every other human alive to do it.
I am Archimedes. With a long enough lever, I will move the whole world. | 17 | In a world of chaos and bloodshed, a villain's "evil" plan is to bring peace to the world by becoming everyone's common enemy. | 92 |
Ian clasped his hands behind his back and admired the beam of the stellar laser stretching into the blackness of the intergalactic void. Laser highways already crisscrossed the Milky Way, permitting interstellar craft to be pushed along them without having to carry much fuel. Soon they would extend even further, linking the rogue stars in the void and ultimately connecting the galaxies in the Local Group.
The lights suddenly dimmed, and the clock at the bottom edge of the screen stopped. Despite the station's climate control, tendrils of ice crept along the floor. A memory rose from the vast recesses of Ian's mind; he had forgotten many things, but never this dreadful feeling.
The Entity spoke into his head in a voice that wasn't a voice. *You're quite a ways from where I left you last.*
Ian tried to turn around and found that he couldn't move. "It's been a while," he said in a puff of steam. "I've been busy."
*I expected you to be driven insane from watching everything you ever knew die.* A note of bewilderment entered the Entity's voice. *Instead I find you... thriving.*
He smiled mildly. "I should be thanking you. You gave me the luxury to think in terms of centuries and millennia, not years or decades. The time to experience the wonders of the universe, and help others do the same."
*You say that, yet you try to stave off the end by any means possible. You're afraid. The others aren't; they won't be there to witness it.* Icy tendrils wrapped Ian's body, making him shiver. *But even after the last star in the universe burns out, you will still be here, floating in the cold void.*
"I won't be alone. Black holes will remain for far longer than the stars will have existed. We will digitalize ourselves and harvest their energy. The coldness of the void will merely be a boon to our computers."
*Pathetic remnants of life clinging to corpses of stars*, the Entity jeered. *A sad existence in a dark universe.*
"On the contrary, we will possess any luxury we could imagine. In the worlds we craft, we will be gods."
*Even your black holes will eventually evaporate. There will be nothing left for you. You* will *be alone.*
"Eons will pass before that happens. There will be countless quintillions of minds sharing ideas across the universe. We will figure something out."
*A useless exercise. Entropy cannot be reversed. Everything you build will decay.*
Ian closed his eyes, then opened them again. "Perhaps, then, I will despair. But not before."
*You're the most frustrating creature I've ever met*, the Entity said with something that was almost respect. *I shall visit you again and see your spirit crushed.*
"I look forward to disappointing you again," Ian said, directing his gaze back to the stellar laser on the screen. There were plans to be made, things to be built. Nothing the Entity said would change that. | 48 | You cursed a mortal with immortality, so that in the far future he have to watch Earth get swallowed by the sun. But 2 billions years later when you come back to check things, the cursed one is now the superintelligent ruler of an intergalactic empire. | 155 |
“Do you want to come back tomorrow?” I ask him as we place our dishes in a sink. We don’t have to wash them, they’ll disappear tonight. He jokingly calls it our magic maid.
He smiles at me, his eyes gleaming with adoration. “You know I do.”
Something in me twinges, a spot of darkness on our beautiful day. We spent today in gardens as far as we could see, picking flowers that bloom only once before they, too, disappear.
“You know I do.”
And that part — “You know I do,” — irks me. Of course I know he wants to return. I made him; I gave him the desire to return to me. The perfect mate, he is. Always kind, always understanding. Never bored of me, not that we could be bored in our little paradise. And yet, if he did not want to be born again tomorrow, our lives resuming where we left off in our tiny little world, would he tell me? Is he capable of wanting that, of wanting?
“You’re overthinking this,” he says, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me close to his chest. “You know I love you.”
Do you? I wonder. Can you do anything but love me?
I’ve never asked him, all this time we’ve spent. I’ve remade him a thousand, thousand times and we’ve spent a thousand days happy in our little world. I long to hear that he would choose me, if choosing was his right. But how can you be loved by someone designed to love you? Is it love if you create it for yourself?
I let him wrap his arms around me and lead me to our bedroom. Each morning I create the man who loves me, and I embed in him his memories, his every day with me. Never do we argue. Never do we disagree, unless of course I want him to. Perhaps I will not include this day tomorrow, when I create the man who loves me.
“Artichokes?” He asks. Each night we pick a code word, something I can ask him tomorrow to make sure he remembers our previous day.
“Artichokes,” I say weakly, guilt rushing over me like a wave. How dare I choose to erase this day? How dare I choose what days he is allowed to remember? And yet, do I not choose everything about him each morning when I wake? His sex, his body, his hair, the very color of his eyes?
As we lay down to sleep, he asks, “Do you want me to come back tomorrow?”
I pause, and in the pause I know that I am lost.
“I want you every day, my love,” I say, and I know I am only talking to myself.
I hope I can sleep before It happens, before he, and all the life I build for us every day, disappears as it always must.
“I love you,” he whispers. “I will always love you.”
And in my heart I know it to be true. I made him this way, after all. | 437 | A god trapped in an empty plane, you can create anything you can imagine, even life. But everything you make is destroyed at the end of each day, the plane made barren once again. | 1,001 |
Haskel rested his enormous sword on his shoulder as he stood on the deck by the pilot's chair, where Vanexa was guiding the dropship to their destination.
Or, if what he had just said to Vanexa was correct, Haskel rested *himself* on the shoulder of something that had once *been* Haskel.
"I'm trying to understand...you're saying you, what, had yourself *digitized?* Is your consciousness controlling your old body from a quantum microcomputer inside your sword, or something?" Vanexa asked, furrowing her brow, as she guided the dropship in the flow of traffic between superskyscrapers.
Haskel laughed. "No of course not."
Vanexa sighed. "Well, that's a relief -- I don't wanna be prejudiced, but I just don't feel like digital ghosts are really the people they're made from."
Haskel nodded. "Oh, no judgement here, I feel the same way! There's no *continuity* between you and a digital copy of yourself, it's not *you.* That's just a computational model of what some reconstruction AI *thinks* you think like, based on brain scans, like a digital *clone.*"
Vanexa frowned. "But wait, I thought you just said you 'put your mind into your sword'?"
"I did. Quite literally! My sword is an advanced nano-zweihander, composed of an outer surface of geometrically stabilized carbon nanotubes supported by a nanoscale neutronium armature." Haskel 'explained'.
Vanexa made a disgusted sound. She carefully guided the dropship into the airlock of a crosstown hyperloop tunnel, and set it to auto-pilot, before swivelling around to look at Haskel. "Haskel, I *pilot ships*, so...?"
"Oh, sorry. I forget not everyone's a *sword guy.* Because of the extreme durability of the materials used to make ol' Everything-Cutter, here, along with the weight of the neutronium, and the fact that all of these materials are *stupidly* expensive, swords like this tend to be completely hollow." Haskel said. "So, what I did was, I had some biotechs sedate me, extract my still-living brain, re-shape it, and extrude it to fit inside the hollow space within Everything-Cutter. It's like...imagine you had a big ball of tangled spaghetti, but then you had a master chef carefully separate the noodles, stretch them out to their full length, and put 'em in a hollow sword."
"Haskel, analogies are supposed to make the subject *more* relatable. Who eats pasta out of a *sword?"*
"*I* do."
"What?"
"Mm-hmm. Like I said, I'm a sword guy. Anyhow, there's a refillable nutrient canister and air-exchanger built in to the hilt, the cross-guard contains the electronics that remotely control the cybernetic implant in my old skull -- which, in turn, controls my body -- and there's even an injection port in the pommel for pharma, in case I need psychiatric medication."
"You definitely *do."* Vanexa said, as she piloted the dropship out of the exit airlock. "So, I think I get the *how.* What I wanna know is, *why* would you do this?"
"I look at it this way: a brand-new healthy, brainless, human body, grown in a cloning vat, with all the standard gengineered bells and whistles and a Schreibman data port, that's gonna run you, what, 55 to 65 kilocrypto?" Haskel said, stroking his former body's chin, thoughtfully.
"I guess?" Vanexa said, uncertainly. She was only 28, she hadn't really been thinking about getting a replacement.
"Whereas, old Everything-Cutter, here, set me back 15.5 *mega*crypto." Haskel said, patting himself -- that is, the sword -- fondly. "Now, with those price points in mind, which of those two containers would you trust to carry *your* brain around, Vanexa?"
"Still *definitely* my skull!" Vanexa exclaimed. "Obviously!"
Haskel shrugged. "Well, that's fine. I guess it's like how some people get attached to their first crappy apartment in the city, and so they just keep on living there, even after they can afford something better. The way you *feel* about something can be just as important as practical considerations, sometimes."
"I'm not really following the part where getting my brain scooped out by a...master chef, or whatever, and then spaghetti noodled up into a *sword,* is the *practical* option." Vanexa said, drily.
"I said it was *fine!* I'm secure in my life choices. I don't *need* you to get it, Vanexa. We're cool, really." Haskel replied, with a chuckle.
Vanexa frowned. "How did we go from you telling me you did an objectively bizarre thing, to you somehow making me feel like I'm being mean and closed-minded because I'm *normal?"*
"Great question! Look up the history of the early 21st century, when you get some time. It's basically one big human psychology lesson on that *exact* topic. In the meantime, isn't that the drop zone, over there?"
"Oops, sorry!" Vanexa said, swinging the drop ship around to bring it level with the penthouse atop a nearby superskyscraper.
Haskel stepped up to large side hatch of the dropship, and opened it.
"Syed Spencer!" Haskel called, towards the penthouse. "You failed to appear, either physically or virtually, for your court date, and are thereby in violation of your bond! As a duly licensed agent of your bond underwriter, I am here to take you into custody! Come out with your hands up, and you will not be harmed!"
"Take *this* into custody, Haskel!"
Before either Vanexa or Haskel could react there was a brief flash of light, and a miniscule railgun projectile, accelerated to a tiny but formidable fraction of the speed of light, blew the top of Haskel's head off, and sent his body sprawling onto the deck, before ripping out the other side of the dropship.
Luckily, no vital components were hit, and Vanexa immediately took evasive maneuvers. The next two shots streaked past the dropship, as she gunned the engines and dove out of sight around an adjacent building. Signaling local police, she fled the area at speed.
When she dared to look back, she almost retched. Nearly everything above Haskel's upper lip was simply *gone.* Then she remembered.
"Haskel?" she asked, timidly.
"Yep." he said, flashing a grin that looked utterly uncanny and grotesque on half a head. He raised an arm and gave a thumbs-up. "I'm good!"
"Oh, that is *so* creepy." Vanexa complained, wincing uncomfortably. | 19 | "Did you seriously upload your consciousness into your sword?" "Yeah." | 31 |
Glory.
That was the reward for planting the last flag into the ground. There were no more worlds left to conquer.
The men who had followed me cheered. Those that followed me from the start deserved credit. But there was no less prestige in taking up my cause later. If not, their heads will be rolling in the dirt, and their blood draining into the rivers and seas.
There was satisfaction. The warm feeling that sprang from my heart, filling every inch of my body with pride and accomplishment. There was celebration. Men and women partook in however much food and alcohol they fancied, drunkenly singing war songs and staring at the sky. For everything else under it was mine.
I found sleeplessness once more. It’s been a good friend, though I dreaded what happened after. I first thought it was the high of happiness, slowly draining from my body, leaving it exhausted but unable to rest.
Then, when it all cleared out, there was nothing but the void.
There are no more worlds left to conquer.
I stared at the sky. What felt like victory now rang hollow. It echoed within me, and within the empty sky, now orange and ablaze. I watched men and women move with the mobility of zombies, dragging their bodies up and down. Many laid, faces acquainting themselves with the floor.
It was a similar sight. It was only lacking blood.
My head ran hot, and my heart pumped. I knew that was because I was alive. But the thing that screamed in my head said otherwise.
Day and night, I stayed in the empty plains. My advisors worried—not unduly, but unappreciated. They were all sent home, save for the few bodyguards that they insisted would never leave me, no matter what I said.
My blade was never so good at talking.
And thus I sat, alone. If sleep came, they were flitting kisses, riling me up more than providing any sort of fulfilment.
I stared up at the sky, and its myriad shades. Orange, black, blue, white, grey. Sometimes calm, and sometimes bursting with lightning and thunder, fury bubbling under its surface.
Were there no more worlds left to conquer?
It cannot be. The lands were quiet, but the heavens acted out its plays, oblivious to anyone. I reached my hand out to the sky, and grasped it.
No. There had to be more. I clenched my fist, grasping the stars in my hand.
I will go up. Or I will die trying.
Either way, it might still my beating heart.
---
r/dexdrafts | 68 | You began this war with a hundred billion flags, a year ago you had twenty million, and today you have one. You can’t help but smile as you look at it and plant it into the ground of the battlefield. | 203 |
My soul is not something to be bound to another, my future is not something for some unknown force to dictate to me.
I've got plans. I've got ambitions. You don't get to pair me up and ship me out just because some stupid name shows up on my arm.
Yet here we are, despite my essays and protests, against my every instinct to run. Soulmate assignment class, April 2022. I stand in line alongside everyone else with birthdays in the past month, marching toward the end of myself and the beginning of being only half of someone else's whole.
Maybe I'll get someone pliable and dull, who won't mind being tucked away in a corner and forgotten while I pursue my own life. It's a pointless fantasy. People with similarly strong wills tend to be paired together, for whatever reason. Maybe fate has something against one partner completely dominating the other?
Whatever. I don't need anyone. This is all a stupid waste of time.
The line inches closer to the stage, where purple light tinged with impossible rainbows floods the measuring space. A girl in a fluffy sweater sits there now, one sleeve bunched up around her shoulder, staring down at her arm as the name begins to appear beneath the influence of the rainbow light. Cameras focused on it display the whole thing to the waiting crowd, raising my ire all over again.
Bad enough to have your whole life decided for you by some unknown fate, but to make it a public spectacle is just idiotic. Are we not allowed any semblance of privacy?
It's all part of the system to keep us in line and have us do what we're told. If the whole neighborhood knows your soulmate, it'll be hard to pretend otherwise. Social pressure is powerful, and if it were secret it would be too easy to lie.
Blah blah blah.
A scrawny boy with freckles stares at his arm with a look of relief. He's being paired up with someone else in the room, who hunches deeper in her chair with a look of disgruntlement. Mismatches aren't unheard of, but two-way reciprocated matches are the most common.
At least I haven't seen my name on anyone's arm yet. In the past five years, my parents have been keeping close track, just in case. Bleh. Sometimes you get forewarning like that, locals ending up together. More likely, they'll need to do a database search and ship one or the other of us off to a different district to meet.
And then, suddenly, it's my turn. I step into the rainbow light flooding the stage with a scowl set on my face. I wore short sleeves for the occasion, and sit with my arms crossed making no concessions to the event, as if I just happened to find a nice place to sit in the spotlight on a stage in the middle of a crowd of eager parents.
The loudspeakers announce my name. I see my mother waving and resist the urge to roll my eyes at her. I don't respond.
Then I feel something and my attention is drawn down to my arm. Words begin to appear, unclear at first, blobs of ink that slowly coalesce into sharper, angled symbols. I glare at them, still indistinct, wanting them to disappear with every fiber of my soul.
Instead of coalescing, the angles draw together, the blobs becoming points, then vanishing entirely, leaving me unmarked.
The room is silent, the whole thing caught on camera and projected to all the families. Everyone turns to stare at me.
I wait another heartbeat, trying to hold in the smile twitching at the edges of my mouth, to swallow the triumph that wants to scream from my throat, just in case it's a delayed reaction and I'm still going to be someone's bonded partner forever.
The lingering moment passes and I get to my feet.
Then, everyone staring, I raise my head and let my triumphant grin unfold across my face as I finally break the stunned silence.
"I always told you. I don't need anyone."
Stepping down from the stage, I don't care about the hubbub that rises in my wake. Right now, I can't feel anything but pure vindication.
My soul is not something to be given away. My destiny is no one else's to shape. I've said it a thousand times.
Now everyone can see it's true. | 49 | A soulmates name will appear on your arm. As the letters appear, you shoot an icy glare to the unfinished name. Suddenly the letters start to vanish, much to the horror of everyone present. | 64 |
Looking back on it, Brianne wondered how she could have ever managed to get herself into such a ridiculous situation. It had started as an innocent ploy: a princess born with the power of shape-shifting, she was sheltered for most of her life, as her father worried she would be feared or persecuted for who she was. It was an understandable concern; many people faced hardships born from innate qualities they couldn't control, but the thing was, she didn't hate herself, or her situation.
It was a wonderful feeling, throwing off her dress, leaping from the window of her tower, and transforming in midair so that the wind below crashed against her wings as she beat them fiercely through the air.
She would soar for hours on end, venturing to new places every time. Once or twice she even glided to a neighbouring kingdom just to spook the princess Ariadne, whom she had heard made a snide remark about her absence from the annual Princess's Ball (though if anyone asked, that was another sapphire-scaled, crystal-horned dragon). The problem began when the guards noticed a strange pattern. The periodic appearances of this odd blue dragon instilled fear in the hearts of many villagers, but the most worrisome aspect of the situation was that it usually showed up at a specific time of day, and every time it did, the Princess Brianne mysteriously went missing from her tower.
She would reappear hours later, emerging from the depths of the castle in which she claimed she was exploring. But King Bernard, whatever he told the other Kings, knew that his castle wasn't interesting enough to hold the attention of a seventeen year old girl.
There was only one logical conclusion: this dragon was kidnapping his daughter, taking her out of the country, and returning her to the tower when it had finished whatever sick, twisted game it was obviously playing. Though the obvious question to ask would have been why the dragon would think to take the princess and return her rather than simply kill her, King Bernard dutifully ignored it.
"How am I supposed to understand the workings of the mind of a savage beast?" he would ask them each time, when someone brought it up. Whatever reasons lay behind the dragon's bewildering actions, one thing was clear: this creature was a threat, and it needed to be dealt with.
And so began his search for the noble Knight who would be brave enough to face and slay the dragon, and in return be awarded his fair daughter's hand in marriage.
Men from all over the Kingdom came, old, young, handsome and brutal-faced. But though some were highly appealing, she simply didn't want to be weighed down by marriage yet. She was young and restless, she craved adventure and excitement. And none of this would be possible if these men were to succeed. So she took matters into her own hands.
In the midst of the gathered menfolk, she burst into the Royal Hall, clad in shining black and grey armor, fitted with rubies. All talk ceased at once. Men drew back into the corners of the hall as the King rose, looking simultaneously impressed and angry.
"Declare yourself!" he said imperiously.
"I," said Brianne, in the deep, silky voice of her new form, "am — er — Lancel — del... Victory!" she said, inwardly cursing herself. She really should have picked a name before she entered.
"And you, Sir Victory, are here to prove yourself as the Knight I seek to slay the blue dragon?"
"I have nothing to prove," Brianne said. "I am the greatest warrior in the entire Kingdom. None of these men would stand a chance against this beast, only I can slay the creature and free your daughter from her curse."
The hall broke into a storm of incredulous mutters. The men all around glared at her, spitting curses and statements of disbelief and anger. King Bernard, however, was surveying her with interest. It was said that respect was something to be earned, but that was true only for lesser men. True warriors commanded it.
"Very well then," Bernard said, to a collective gasp of surprise. "You sell yourself so well? Prove your worth to me. You have a month to bring me back the head of this dragon."
Brianne bowed. "I look forward to it." And she did. No more stolen hours fighting for a brief period of freedom. Here she was, being given a month all to herself, to go wherever she wanted, wherever she pleased.
King Bernard resumed his seat on the throne, inclining his head to his right. "You see, daughter? I told you I would find the right one."
Her friend Genevra, wearing a bright emerald necklace spelled to make her resemble Princess Brianne, gave a sheepish smile. "I never doubted you father."
She cast a desperate look at Brianne — or Sir Lancel del Victory, as she would now be called — and he winked. He turned and strode out of the room, his armour clattering on the floor. It was going to be a good month indeed. | 402 | You are a medieval princess that can turn into a dragon at will, and you also tend to spend most of your time dressing up and doing jobs under the guise of a knight. Through a complex series of complex scenarios, you are hired to save yourself, from yourself. | 4,705 |
It was unmistakable now. She thought she was just imagining it, back when the words were coming out as the unintelligible gibberish of a being that couldn't control his muscles properly to forms words yet.
"Mum? Can't you understand me yet? I'm your son from the future. I made a wish which took me back to a younger age, but I kept my memories!"
He was only three months old, but her newborn son was talking to her in full sentences. She was having a hard time processing this fact.
"No.. this can't be real. This is all the lost sleep over the past few months isn't it?" She belatedly noticed she'd automatically adopted the melodic tone of baby talk she always uses to soothe baby Jamie.
"Nope! It's all real mum, your name is Sarah Rios, my name is Jamie Rios, and at the time I made my wish, I was 35 years old. You can talk to me as you would an adult, ha."
Her whole body shook. She hated herself for being terrified by her own baby, but he was speaking full sentences in a voice that barely sounded human. The vocal cords and lung capacity of a 3 month old apparently aren't fully up to the task of producing normal speech. He had spent the last few hours slowly becoming more understandable, repeating 'sentences' over and over while her mind self-destructed.
"Sorry, no I'm going crazy." She managed to sound normal, but then lost control a moment later, her voice rising "and why, WHY would you wish to be a baby again? You could have been 10, 18, 21 years old, why this?" She was crying now, and wasn't sure why. She wasn't sure of anything right now.
The baby went quiet, guilt and remorse looking out of place on the face of a 3 month old.
"Yeah.. I didn't think it through. I'm sorry mum. A genie gave me three wishes.. I wished for a longer life, more wealth, and to be able to start over. He took me literally. I was transported back in time, to just after I was born. I could barely think or form words at first. I guess that satisfied both 'longer life' and 'starting over' again..." He was finding his stride, the words coming out more confidently.
She took some deep breaths. It gave her space to think.
"What about the wealth? You wished for more money?" She was thinking more clearly now.
"Well.. there's this company called Apple, it's not been around for long yet but..."
\~\~\~\~
*Sorry, I lost steam on this. Thought it would be interesting to imagine how the conversation would realistically go, but I couldn't think of where to take it.* | 131 | Your baby just said their very first words! "I made a wish to go back to being a baby but keep all my skills and memory." | 258 |
The message was met with widespread confusion and simultaneous government response. Who had created this obviously staged situation, and how were the methods of broadcast simultaneously hacked? The “probe” had “landed” in rural Montana, an obvious location due to the limited sattelite and radar coverage which could be used to debunk it’s claim.
Decades later it has been written off as a complex but ultimately failed psy-op. Most right wing politicians pointed the finger at anarchi, a catch all group name for anyone opposing traditional values. Left leaning politicians often claimed it was likely the work of multinational corporations to weaken environmentalism and create demand for the space industrial complex. Most of the US conversation regarding the hoax died down and was soon replaced by squabbling over marriage benefits to multiple members of polyamorous couplings, and by the time the virus of 2035 struck no one outside of fringe conspiracy theorists still debated the origination of the probe.
Meanwhile, on Xylon 5, an automated record was quietly updated to reflect that quarantine of “spiral 395” was still in effect, cause category “devolution by radiation”. | 13 | "No traffic to or from any of your sixty million colonies has been recorded in 291,738 local years. Is this system still under quarantine?" | 65 |
Colton was a fan of keeping old tech around in his beach bungaloo. He was out in his garage, working on a new suit for his old dog, Sarah. She was having a nap in some old bedding that Colton had put out on his workbench; just a small pillow with some straw strewn about. Sarah had nestled her way into a nice little burrow in the straw. Above the workbench, Colton had a small tele-tube that he had refurbished. On it, he had rigged a way to receive the news. Typically, you would need a modern day holo-projector to view anything that was broadcasted over the vizi-net, but Colton had figured a way to directly display the show on the ole tele-tube.
*Television*, his great grandfather had once told him. He remembered sitting down in his great grandfather's house, listening to the old man rock back and forth in his recliner, sipping on moonshine, talking about ancient platforms such as TikTok, and YouTube.
Back when his great grandfather would get a few too many sips deep on the moonshine, he'd also tell Colton about other kinds of "tubes", but his mother would often chastise his great grandfather. Colton didn't understand why though; it wasn't like you couldn't just load yourself up into the viz-net and have sex with any kind of simulation you wanted.
But he guessed for his old great grandfather, back then, you managed with what you had.
On the tele-tube, were several politicians from several different organizations discussing the current standings in the Galactic Council. Colton didn't pay any mind to the show, but he did recognize several of the voices. One of which, was a woman from the Sol Federation, the President. She mentioned how Sol and all of the colonies had been quickly climbing the ranks in the Galactic Council and how it was thanks to the citizens of all of the outer colonies for their advancements in technology that helped them as well as the rest of the galactic council with intergalactic travel, as well as their breakthroughs in virtual reality technology. With such advancements, she said, many other breakthroughs were allowed to take place.
Colton didn't pay any mind; he continued working on his current project, which was fixing the robotic avatar that his dog Sarah used.
Sarah was an old dog, well past her prime, and honestly, well past her life-expectancy, but Colton had prolonged her life by creating a robotic avatar that he finally managed to upload Sarah's conscience into.
*No dog has a conscience*, his ex-wife had told him. *Dogs don't have souls.*
Colton huffed as he sautered a new servo onto the build, and then used his ex-wife's old toothbrush to outline the servo with oil, as well as clean out bits of sand that had gotten into the build. He had managed to get the build to finally work, after years of testing, and also years of watching his dog Sarah grow older and grayer, but now he had finally got a working model.
"You ready for another test run?" he asked Sarah. She raised her head from her bed, and slowly blinked at Colton. "You gotta promise me that you don't go running out into the wet sand anymore, you hear me?"
Sarah licked her chops and let out a lowly "Woof".
"Okay now," Colton said, clipping two sensors to the tips of Sarah's ears, "Now hold still, and be calm, good girl, now..."
Sarah dipped her head down, looking as if she had gone back to sleep. The sensors now clipped to the tips of her ears glowed purple, and the avatar on Colton's workbench sprung to life, jumping up and onto Colton.
"There you go now, girl, there you go," he said, as the robotic avatar began to lick at Colton's face, even though the mechanism didn't even have a tongue. "Calm down now, calm down."
He placed the robotic avatar back onto the workbench, and then said, "Okay, now, jump!" he said as he snapped is fingers above his head. The robotic avatar jumped at his command. "Now, sit!", and without hesitation, the robotic avatar sat down.
"Good girl," Colton said, patting at the avatar's head. "Looks like all systems are go!"
Colton looked back to Sarah's body, and saw that it appeared she was sleeping, but he knew different; he knew that her conscience was now fully loaded into the robotic avatar before him. For all intents and purposes, Sarah's mind and soul had been loaded into the robot.
"You ready to go out onto the beach?" he asked.
Robot Sarah chirped at him, and hopped off the workbench and out of the garage.
Colton followed, briefly hearing the tele-tube, and how human's were nearing a great advancement in technology that would benefit the entire Galactic Council.
Out on the beach, Colton hooted and hollered as Robot Sarah ran up and down the beach. He called after her when he saw the tide coming in, saying, "Don't get in that wet sand now! You know what happened last time! Mucking up them gears, I don't want to spend another evening cleaning them out again!"
He laughed as he saw Robot Sarah bark at the water, then come running back up the beach onto dry sand. He continue walking along the beach, gaining more and more distance between him and the workshop he had made for himself. He looked out away from the water and to the city skyline, where he could make out faint impressions of the hover cars that flew here and there, taking their passengers from their homes and to their workplaces, or to wherever the hell those people were going. He was happy to be done working in the city, and was happy to be spending his time out here on the beach, and with his ole dog Sarah.
A sharp holler broke his daydream, and Colton turned his head to look towards Robot Sarah. He saw that she was out near the water, being held up by what appeared to be a man, dressed in a black suit.
"Hey!" Colton yelled, "You let her go!"
"Oh?" The man said, dangling Robot Sarah above the water, "Let her go, here?"
He saw as Robot Sarah hung above the water, and knew that if she fell in, the robot would be fried, and Sarah's conscience would be lost.
"No, please, give her back to me," Colton said, almost wimpering.
"You loaded your dogs conscience into this mechanical being," the man in black said. "How fascinating, I would like to know more about how you managed to pull this off."
"Give her back, and I'll tell you everything you need to know," Colton said, arms outstretched. | 94 | In the year 3579, the fledgling Sol Federation is admitted into the galactic council and provided with some undiscovered tech they had yet to discover. The next few decades, the rest of the of the council watches in awe as the humans go from ranking 346th economically… to 4th. | 327 |
The sun was shining brightly over my head. The air was hot, softly hitting my face thanks to a warm wind that was busy dragging trash on the ground. As I looked around, the city felt emptier than ever, now that the smell was gone.
See, when I first got out of my bunker, the first thing that assaulted me, almost literally, was the smell. The stench of rotten food and decaying corpses was everywhere. I spent my first half hour outside vomiting, my hands on my knees and my body refusing to stop until it had ejected everything it could from inside.
After that had passed, and that I had gotten used to the smell, I had all the time I wanted to look around. Houses were barricaded, cars were just burnt carcasses, and yet the smell was everywhere. That, and flies. The first body I saw was covered in so many layers of insects that I first thought that the black buzzing, writhing mass I had in front of me was an alien creature, or something out of a horror movie.
But now, I didn't even have that anymore. After a few months, all the corpses were reduced to skeletons, and all the insects had left too; I was alone, with only the occasional bird flying over the city dropping its shadow on my head.
It was all because of a virus. I didn't hear all the details, but apparently one day a virus appeared out of thin air and contaminated the entire population in less than a month. No one noticed it, because it didn't give any symptoms at the time. But after another month, people started dying. A lot.
The entire population died in about three months.
Interestingly enough, even the most remote people had seemed to be infected. People living on really high mountains, scientists on the South Pole, no one was safe. Except for 15 people.
14 of these people were on the International Space Station. After not having contact with the Earth for a week, they started uploading videos on social media. YouTube, TikTok, Twitter, everywhere they could. At first, most of the videos were worried self-cams, asking desperately for anyone to answer them. After a few days, their energy, or maybe hope, had been gone, and by the end of the week, all the videos were goodbyes to their family, or prayers to God, all hoping that their friends and families were safe, and that they shouldn't miss them, that they should move on, and that they loved them very much. It seems like they never knew what happened to Earth.
It took them another two months to stop posting completely; the last video was an astronaut saying that she would "see the stars one last time, for real this time" and that she would eject herself out of the airlock afterwards.
She probably did.
It was only two weeks later that I woke up. I had been in an artificial coma for the past year. I actually put myself through this because I wanted to simulate what it would be like to experience deep-space travel. To sleep for a year, to be forced to stay alone in a box (in my case a bunker) for twice as long and only then to get out and see how the world had changed. I know it sounds crazy, but when you inherit as much as I did, pretty much all your dreams become accessible amenities, and this was just another one of them.
When I woke up, it was with the firm intent to stay away from the internet for as long as possible, to fully appreciate how much the world would have changed after the two years of self-imposed isolation.
I lasted exactly one hour.
One can imagine my dismay when I saw the remains of the Internet. I went through the five stages of grief all at once, and my mind almost teared when it got stretched between my sadness for my peers, my anger towards the virus and my denial of the whole situation. Eventually, my brain disconnected itself from my feelings, and I took an entire day to unconsciously think about whether or not life was worth living anymore.
After deciding that it wasn't, the first thought that came in my mind since my one-day lapse was that I'd rather die with the other than alone in the bunker. So I pressed the metallic buttons on the wall, my hand moving almost on its own, and after a time that felt ridiculously long, the hermetic door finally opened.
As it turns out, even virus aren't immune to themselves. Once the human population had died, its killer had no more hosts to live in; and therefore went extinct even quicker than its victims.
I spent that entire day roaming aimlessly outside, impressed only by the fact that some electrical devices were somehow turned on and working; the electricity was the only thing that was still running in the city, apart from a few stray cats and dogs.
However, it wasn't until my return to "home" that something truly shook me up: | 29 | You're the sole survivor of an apocalypse that wiped humanity. In an attempt to document your life, you record videos which you upload to the internet for future historical use. Everything is normal for the first few months, but then you get a notification. Someone just viewed your video. | 102 |
“You can’t declare blood as a work expense. It is a food item. We have already gone over this.” I shook my head typing away on my laptop. I hated these midnight audits.
The person across from me was a very well dressed man. Black suit, black shirt, black tie. He wore a thin beard neatly trimmed and short stylish hair. His dark brows kept furrowing and unfurrowing. While he had wealth and taste he was nervous in front of me and my office. Can’t blame him. They all got nervous.
“Sir, I understand blood can’t be a work expense, but the tools to drain the blood are part of my work.” His impassioned words were not lost on me. He was getting a bit upset but he was right.
I nodded typing these values in, “I agree, that is a work expense. We are still short of what you declared though and honestly this is just getting us no where.”
He tapped his cane against the hardwood floor a bit hard. Here it comes I said to myself as he rose up letting his anger take over, “We have been here for hours! If we don’t get this settled you will become my work expense!” Yep, darkness, dred, dude was pretty powerful for a vampire as he tried to push his aura of fear on me. I just stopped typing and looked at him.
“Mr. Dracoola.” I said his name then relooked at my computer to make sure I wasn’t mispronouncing it. My monotone made him blink and I looked up at him with a slightly perplexed look. “Dracoola? They let you change your name to Dracoola?” I paused and pinched the bridge of my nose as the elder vampire lost his bluster.
“What?” His tone completly changed as his question came out.
“Who put this through, you are supposed to blend in.” I shook my head trying not to get annoyed.
He frowned, “It seemed common enough.”
Deep breath, this wasn’t my department, this wasn’t my department, “Fine fine, look I know when you leave here you are the big bad, but honestly I have another appointment tonight, and I have to serve a damn sasquatch an in field audit tomorrow morning.” I paused letting my frustration show, “Not sure why they think that hide and seek crap works on us.”
I sighed as the now quiet vampire looked uncomfortable, “I want to get through this as much as you, so lets be honest. Let's put on our adult pants and pay our fair share of taxes okay, then poof. Like you I will disappear.”
The Master Vampire frowned, “Fine fine. Those are all the deductions, just do your calculations, damn IRS.”
I rolled my eyes and plugged the numbers into the correct fields. I really wasn’t looking forward to the drive this morning. I hated going into the woods.
I paused and almost laughed while looking at the screen. My look wasn’t missed by Mr. Dracoola, “What what? How much do I owe? $10K? $100K what?”
I looked right at him, “Because you corrected your status last year, you have been paying your taxes, and even though this was, and I quote, Your best blood soaked year of chaos ever.” I shook my head, “You still only owe the US Government $175.00.”
He was stunned. Master of the night, fear personified, just stood there with an open mouth stunned. “How, the blood?”
I nodded, “You took our advice and you had it covered, see here is your earned income, your deductions, your paid to, and finally how much you owe.”
He shook his head, “My damn accountant had me so worried. He was terrified that I was going to owe over $150,000.” He paused, “Hmm maybe I shouldn’t have tortured him.”
I gave him a look reminding myself that wasn’t my department either, “Whatever. I have the documents printed. Sign and I can get to my next audit.
The master vampire was overjoyed. He signed where he needed to. He did pause, “Are you really going to go audit a Sasquatch?”
I nodded, “Been in the supernatural section of the IRS now for 21 years. It's not hard just annoying.”
He frowned, “If I would have jumped you?” I gave him an almost annoyed look, “I wouldn’t have dusted you, but I can guarantee you I would audit you every year for the rest of your life.”
His eyes got big as he knew it wasn’t a threat but a promise.
He took a big breath, grabbed his cane and did a little salute to me and then exited. Seriously, vampires were all about the drama.
I grabbed some coffee and a snack then sat down and pulled up my next client on my laptop. My secretary buzzed in, “Your 1am audit is here.” I nodded, “Send them in.”
In walked a night fey dark stalker. Shadows dripped off of knife-like fingers as it slid into my office. Its pitch black eyes bore fear and terror as its ooze clung to is body, along with it’s foul odor signaling death and despair.
I frowned and reached over and clicked the button on my desk fan blowing the air right back at it. I read the name off my computer screen “Mr. Reeper?” I pause, it was about to say something but seriously what was with these stupid names. “Janise!” I yelled, “Call Bill over in naming and ask him WTF is with these damn dumb names the state department is letting them get away with!”
The creature looked at me and shrugged and I just slapped my bald head, letting my brain try and comprehend Bill's stupidity. “Okay okay, Mr. Reeper.” I still shook my head but looked at the creature, “It’s your 3rd audit and 4 years. Let me guess. Still claiming victims as dependents?”
The Creature shrugged and I just shook my head, such a long night. | 24 | the IRS. | 74 |
I remember the blood seeping into my tunic. The curse from the arrowhead burrowed into my mind. *Something is different* is my last thought before I passed out.
This is a hovel. After so many years of hunting the unclean, I know a hovel when I see one. Where houses have a warmth to them, a hovel has none. No matter how much light or heat, there’s a coldness the minute you walk through the door. And this hovel was worst than most.
The witch is old and contains all the clichés. A wart on her nose with three hairs protruding out of it and curling inward with each breath she takes. Here smile physically stinks. How can a smile smell? This one does. A black hat, a black robe, a broom, and a black cat. For those that are wondering, the cat also had a wart on its nose.
I reach for my knife stuck in my boot, the one blessed by the pope. The witch smiles. I plunge it into her heart.
And nothing happens.
Well, that’s not true. She laughs. It’s a cackle in the same way that this is a hovel. Once you hear it, you know it.
“No, no, no,” the witch says. “That is not polite at all!” She pulls the knife out and licks the black blade. With a white doily, she then cleans her wound as I pass out again.
I don’t know how much time passed. Weeks and months for sure. I’ve hunted abominations for years for the church. Thick scars cover my chest and face. I’ve been cursed, poisoned, and betrayed. Nothing has managed to kill me. But this time, this time might be different. I don’t know why the witch is keeping me alive. I don’t know what she is doing to me. But every time I come out of a haze and see the hag, at least I know that I’m still alive. And if I’m alive, there is always faith. Faith gives hope. Hope gives opportunity. I will have mine.
I awake but this time I’m sharp. Strength is in my arms. My hands tremble with excitement. And there is no witch but a beautiful woman. Fair of hair and gentle in her features, her smile smells like hope.
“I thought you were a witch,” I say.
“You normally do,” she says.
“I…”
But I stop because for a split second she was the hag again. It was so quick, but it was the hag. And then, the woman was back.
“It’s time to stop resting,” she says. And then she is gone from my sight. Instead, she is now the pope. A gentle old man that brought me to the order. The one who taught me conviction to the cause and gave me purpose. To hunt those that are sent by the devil. The undead, the sorcerers and necromancers, the devil’s minions on Earth.
“I’m glad to see you recovered,” says the pope. “The church needs men like you.”
Men like you. Men like you. Men like you. The phrase brings back a rush of memories. Of my childhood with my father. Of going to church and giving our tithe. Of the church then taking my father’s land because he stopped believing. Of my mother being murdered. Of my older sister sent to a nunnery. And me to the academy. I had forgotten. Dear God, I had forgotten.
“Ah, the moment of clarification,” the pope/maiden/witch says. “You are remembering faster than usual. I’ve brought you back 23 times and between you and me, I do wish you would be more careful.”
My world is shattered. I stumbled out of my bed and make my way to the door. As I step outside, I see that I am in a village. Men and women go about their day. Kids play on the walkways. Merchants sell their wares. And behind me, I can hear the chanting of the thing that owns me.
The words begin to change me. Some of the old men become necromancers. A few women grow long hooked noises holding brooms. Children turn into goblins. They are the unclean. The unholy. They are the next mission. I stand tall.
“Now you are ready,” the pope says. “So many demons, witches, and what not out there. So many that refuse to believe that the church is their only salvation. That don’t bring their succulent children to mass.”
I know this is wrong. I can feel that it is wrong. These people are good people. But my mind won’t let me see anything else.
I am the hand of God. His vengeance upon Earth. I bring justice. I bring wrath. I am a puppet that has forgotten the puppet master 23 times in a row.
The pope hands me my sword, and as I grip the bone handle, any thought of my true self leaves me. I am of the church. Only the righteous deserve to exist in the world, and the church decides who is worthy.
I step outside. | 171 | You’re a witch hunter employed by church. You take great pride in your job, since you have always believed magic to be a poison to the common folk. However, after you take an arrow to the chest, you are found and nursed back to health by a witch who changes your whole world view. | 806 |
Those.
Fucking.
IDIOTS!
Did they even know who they were messing with? I AM THE SCOURGE OF CENTRAL EARTH! I MURDERED THE DUKE OF TIMESYLVANIA!
"I'M THE MOTHERFUCKING...." I slapped my hands over my mouth. A copier beeped and a phone rang a couple cubicles away.
"Heeeey Jeeeeen?" My fool of a cubicle neighbor rolled over and stuck his head annoyingly towards me. "What did we say about shouting?" His tone alone made me want to shove a hundred Jupiter Harken stones down his throat.
I counted to 5 before answering. Regina always said. Count to 5.
1...
2...
Screw it. "I need to take the rest of the day off so I can murder the people who kidnapped my wife." I flipped my wrist over and scratched to open my cybernetics. A beacon popped up. Regina didn't like me keeping it, but I convinced her to let me keep it so I could make it home for Friday dinners with her parents. A torture worse than anything I'd ever committed. Psychologically anyway.
Gary's stupid fool face looked especially foolish and stupid when I zapped away.
I was back in my lair.... no. My basement workshop. Right. My mind was racing now as I activated all of the mechanical extensions. I'd dismantled most of my weapons... but... we did have a new dish washer. Oh... Regina was gonna be pissed.
Several hours later, I'd built a servicable weapon cache for myself.
What did I forget. RIGHT! I didn't know where they were. I grabbed an empty bag that I used for my gym clothes and ported back to the office.
Gary was standing and pointing at my cubicle while my boss listened. Luckily my boss, the less-of-a-fool-than-most, was standing facing Gary. I grabbed my phone and waved with a smug look at Gary before my boss could turn around.
In under 2 minutes I'd found where they were. That Find Your Phone App worked pretty well.
​
I burst through the ceiling, even though it'd taken an extra 60 seconds of climbing. Oh those fools. They screamed bloody murder. Our dishes flew like razor blades and boiling water scaled everything. A blade flew through the air severing several fool limbs. I laughed. I cackled! Ah, I'd forgotten how GOOD it felt to put these fools back in their place under my heel!
​
Regina... I had the spinning water jets lower me gently to the ground and I ran over to her. She looked unhurt, but she was gagged and looked terrified. I hugged her. I wept. She was safe.
"I thought I'd lost you. Are you okay?" I asked like a fool. She was still gagged.
A beep alerted me to a gun-toting fool standing up and getting ready to strike.
I let the water defense system cut him in half as I ungagged my beautiful genius of a wife.
"I'm... I'm fine." She was fine! She was unhurt! I'd have tortured these fools for a hundred years if she'd said otherwise!
"I just... can we get out of here? Call the police?" She said clinging to me like that night in Space France.
"Of course my pretty." I said softly.
We flew up into the sky on compressed jets of water as I sent a drone to the police department with the standard message. Doom/gloom/blood shall reign/yadayada and the location of the dead fools and why they deserved it.
The falling clouds and burning sunset framed her like a... like a painting from Koph the X. Nothing could spoil this moment of beauty as we nuzzled into each other, happily sharing this flight home.
"Is this the new dishwasher?" | 127 | While at work, you get a call from your SO’s phone. It’s a kidnapper, and they’ve taken your SO for ransom. And it’s an airtight plan, too. Except… They don’t know that you’re a retired supervillain. | 226 |
"So, how'd you hear about the McGinty house, Wilfred?"
Wilfred smiled, "Oh, you could say I'm...*familiar* with the legend."
Inwardly, Wilfred winced. Was that too obvious? Even though they said they were here to see if they could encounter him, he felt like the group of hip youngsters would probably run off screaming, if they realized the fellow "ghost hunter" they'd met in the McGinty House, was in fact, "Wilfred "Skunk" McGinty himself. Or rather, a corporeal manifestation of his ghost.
Then he'd spend the rest of Halloween night alone, *again.*
"Oh yeah? Us too! We looked up it online and we were like, we *gotta* go!" Chase said. The red-haired young college student, dressed in jeans and a "Ghost Adventures" t-shirt, grinned excitedly.
Wilfred grinned back. Apparently the bar for "too obvious" was pretty high, with this group. None of them had suspected a thing, when he'd slipped up and introduced himself with his actual name. Although, due to a cruel prank played on him in his teenage years involving a live skunk placed in his car at school, his unfortunate *nickname* was the only thing most people knew him by, even in the spooky stories told about him after his death.
Fortunately, meeting new friends *after* you're dead -- as well as being able to manifest as a younger version of yourself than when you died -- tends to provide you with a fresh start, socially speaking. He'd still told the ghost hunting students they should just call him "Will", for short.
"Hey babe! Look what I found!" a feminine voice called. Wilfred looked to the source of the sound, and his jaw dropped. Candace, a slender dark-haired psychology major, was holding Wilfred's old *spear gun.*
"Check me out: bad bitch with a *spear gun,* ya'll!" Candace said, and began jerking the speargun up and down at waist level, pretending to fire it like an automatic rifle. "Badow badow badow!"
"Candace, I --" Wilfred began, nervously.
The speargun went off. Time seemed to slow down as the spear streaked through the air...right towards Chase's face. Wilfred, panicking, reached out with his ethereal energy. He had already used a lot of what he'd collected over the past year to manifest corporeally, but he had a little yet to spare. He lightly nudged the oncoming spear away from Chase, and it sank into the back of the couch an inch from his shoulder, right between him and Wilfred.
"Babe!" Chase cried. "You almost killed me, you crazy bitch!"
Candace wilted, looking down at the floor with overdone contrition, and pouting.
Chase grinned. "It was kinda *hot.*"
She looked back up at him, grinning wickedly, and biting her lower lip.
Chase motioned her forward, "Get over here, babe! I wanna get some selfies with you, me, and the spear thing stuck in the couch!"
Wilfred watched in stunned silence, as Candace giggled and ran to the couch, sliding onto Chase's lap. They proceeded to mug in a variety of poses, mostly with their tongues out, as Chase held his phone out before them.
Wilfred suddenly got the feeling that he might be in for a long night. | 120 | You're a ghost who's taken up residence in a haunted house. A group of naive horror movie stereotypes have decided to spend the night there. You're friendly and enjoy the company. But these idiots keep finding new spectacular ways to die, and it's up to you to save them. | 782 |
When Conrad opened his eyes, his vision was blasted with a bright white light. He raised his hands in front of his face in an attempt to shield himself, knowing full well that the light would just melt through the skin on the palms of his hands, poking holes in between his metacarpal bones, dotting his face, and subsequently melting the skin off of his face. He was doomed, and he knew it. He could already feel the pain drilling into his head. It was agonizing.
"Pull yourself together, idiot," he heard a familiar voice say. Cringing through his fingers, he saw his friend Alvin, completely unbothered by the suns rays.
"Where are we?" Conrad asked, rubbing at his eyes. "Are we finally dead?" He continued, his tongue was leathery in his mouth, and there was a sickly sweet sensation at the back of his throat. Something he hadn't felt in years.
"We're in the bathroom of a 7-11. You can put your hands down, it's just the fluorescent light," Alvin continued, sitting down on the toilet.
Conrad looked around, his eyes finally adjusting to the light. Sure enough, it looked like they were in the handicap stall of a very dirty bathroom. Something in his stomach churned, and he felt bile rising up his throat, "Move," he muttered to Alvin, pushing the man off of the toilet seat. With his head buried in the toilet, Conrad spewed gallons of blood.
"Blegh, water is rising," Alvin said, peering over Conrad's heaving shoulder, "giving you a flush now, not trying to give you a swirlie."
The industrial strength roar of the toilet flush filled Conrad's ears, driving a stake deeper into his brain, the headache radiating down his spine, and he continued spewing up tainted blood. Finally, his stomach empty, Conrad rolled over onto his ass, head leaned back against the wall of the stall. He reached a hand up to wipe vomit off of his chin and noticed that there was one handcuff link wrapped around his wrist, the other link dangling freely. Looking to the link, and then back to Alvin, Conrad sputtered, "What the fuck happened?"
***
Lezlie was a small man, standing somewhere north of five feet tall, but he would put on his dating bio that he was actually five foot three inches. He was leaning against the counter in the 7-11, trying his best to tune out the pop music that was playing in the store 24/7.
The store owner had chewed Lezlie's ass several times about not wearing headphones, even when there weren't any customers around, and had even caught him on the surveillance cameras sneaking headphones into his ears. The store manager would be at home, watching the cameras through his smartphone, and send Lezlie a text message, **TAKE THEM OUT**.
So now, he stood there, leaning against the counter, trying not to lose his sanity. It was several minutes past noon when his phone buzzed in his pocket.
"I'm not wearing them!" Lezlie said, preemptively responding to the text message he was sure he had received, but then he sighed when he saw that it was a reminder from the store manager to feed his cat, Bitsy.
When the store manager wasn't riding Lezlie's ass about not wearing headphones, he was also forcing his employees to take care of his cat that he would often leave at the store. What was funny, though, was Lezlie hadn't seen the cat Bitsy ever since he clocked in earlier in the morning when the sun was first coming up.
He didn't give a shit, though. He just went ahead and poured some cheap cat food into a bowl for Bitsy, and left it there behind the counter, not spending another thought as to where the cat could have been. After filling the bowl, Lezlie received another text message from his boss. It took everything he had to not just turn towards one of the security cameras and flip it off.
**Are those two guys still in the bathroom?**
Lezlie texted back, **I guess so**.
**Get them out.**
Lezlie sighed. He didn't really give two shits if there were two strangers doing god knows what in the bathroom together. He checked his watch and saw that he only had about another hour or so before clocking out, so if he could just pretend to do some work around the store for a little bit, it wouldn't be his problem anymore.
He put his phone back into his pocket without responding to the last message.
If his manager wanted those guys out of the bathroom so badly, he could come and get them out himself.
***
"You don't remember at all what happened?" Alvin said, pulling a hankie from his breast pocket and handing it to Conrad.
Conrad graciously took it and dabbed at his chin, "No, not a clue. I do remember going out and looking for an early snack, but after that, it all became a blur."
"Yeah, you left before could come join, and when I finally did catch up to you, you were getting tossed into the back of a police cruiser."
"Was I now?" Conrad said, chuckling to himself
"Yeah, they caught you passed out next to a dead vagrant," Alvin said, rubbing at his temples. "Sloppy, sloppy, sloppy."
"Oh, I do remember that fella now," Conrad said, thinking back to the man bumbling around in the alleyway. He had looked like an easy mark, someone that no one was going to miss for quite awhile. Something easy. The perfect snack.
"Yeah, you got piss drunk off of him! And not blood drunk, no, just regular drunk-drunk."
"Agghhh," Conrad said, cringing his eyes closed, "I do remember that now, that weird warmth I felt in my belly." If he had anything more left in his stomach, he would've vomited again at the thought of the sick sensation he had felt. "The poor fella must've been on his way to Death's door from alcohol poisoning by the time I found him."
"Yep, and you drained him dry and passed out drunk yourself," Alvin said.
"It all happened so fast."
"Well yeah, nothing else in your belly other than blood to soak up the alcohol, and plus, I can't remember the last time we were actually able to drink wine, or any other alcohol for that matter."
"Tolerance went to shit," Conrad said, furling his brow.
"That it did."
"Fucking hell," Conrad continued, rubbing his forehead, "My head is killing me. I need to lay down, and get out from under this fucking fake light," he said, waving at the buzzing overhead light, the handcuff dangling from his wrist.
"Well, we can't go anywhere now," Alvin said.
"What do you mean?"
"It's daytime now, we're stuck in here for about another seven hours," he said, looking at his wristwatch.
"Fuck, what are we going to have to eat? I'm already getting hungry again," Conrad said.
"Well, we're in luck," Alvin said. "This fella just so happened to live here." From behind his back, Alvin pulled out an orange cat, and quite the chunky one at that. Alvin had soothed it with a spell, so now it just sat on his lap, eyes wide but blank, purring.
"Oh goddammit," Conrad said, "You know I don't like eating cats."
"Well, the option is here if you can't-"
A knock at the bathroom door interrupted them, nearly breaking the spell that Alvin had placed on the cat.
"You fellas done in there?"
Conrad whispered as he slowly stood to his feet, "What do we do?"
"The hell should I know?" Alvin said, he too also standing. The cat, Bitsy, slid off of Alvin's lap, falling to the ground with a thump. It continued purring, not aware at all of what its surroundings were.
"Let him in, yeah? That'll solve our food problem," Conrad said.
"I already had to kill two cops just to get you out of their car, now you want me to kill another person, and in broad daylight and when we can't go anywhere?"
"What other option do we have?"
The knocking at the door continued. | 18 | you are losing your balance, unable to focus, and are now being placed in handcuffs. Turns out, his blood alcohol content was 0.33%. | 86 |
I’m not supposed to be here. Like, obviously, by the natural laws of space-time, I’m not “supposed” to be here, but even ignoring those, I’m not supposed to be *here*. It took a couple months to track down how to get an unregistered chronometer, and an extra couple weeks to actually get my hands on one. Setting it for the right time took about three days. The actual monetary cost isn’t even worth getting into, but suffice to say for most people it would have been prohibitive.
And frankly, now that I’m here, 2022 doesn’t exactly seem worth it. It’s noisy, and dirty, and we’re still about fifteen years from the Population Crash so everywhere is so crowded all of the time. I feel like my head is spinning walking down the street, and that’s in the open air. Inside? Forget it. I’ve had hangovers less headsplitting.
But he’s here. I knew he’d be here. It’s the one place I knew he would be. My mother could never bring herself to talk about him much, but I knew how they met. Bumped into herself at the Green River farmer’s market, Tuesday, July 18th. Full cup of coffee in hand, spilled it all over her. He apologized, she offered him a new one, they exchange numbers; true Hallmark shit. It’d be all happily ever after if he hadn’t died, but maybe it still can be.
“Sophia, Caramel Macchiato, oatmilk!”
It’s not my name, but it’s my order. I didn’t have to make up the name, obviously, but it felt like the right move. More undercover. I take my cup from the counter and walk over to the condiment bar (which they still have in 2022, by the way. Disgusting way to live) I keep an ear open as I tear open the packet and empty it into the cup.
“Leon, Caramel Macchiato, oatmilk!”
I take a deep breath. I think it over. Right now, I’m still just looking at felony. My next choice will decide if it’s a death sentence. I think of my mother again. My feet start to move.
“Oh, christ, I’m so sorry!”
That line’s the only part of today that’s improve; I figured I’d know what to say in the moment, but I’d be lying if I didn’t say I panicked just a little bit. Luckily, it was a direct hit. His coffee’s all over him, the cup’s on the floor. Behind his back, I see a barista sighing and heading towards the back for a mop. He assess the damage, then looks back up to me.
He has such kind eyes.
“Don’t worry about it. I was probably overdue washing this shirt anyway.” He chuckles a bit, humor mixed with sympathy. His voice doesn’t sound like what I imagined. Little too nasally. But I’m distracting myself. My heart is pounding.
“No, really, I’m so sorry.” I lie. I’m trying not to shake. I’m in for it now, but I don’t know if it’s even gonna work. So much depends on playing this cool. “Are you alright? God, I even ruined your drink.”
“Seriously, it’s okay.” He’s reassuring. Like, really reassuring. Genuine in a way I’m not used to. It’s real. “Don’t even sweat the drink, I can just get another.”
“No, please! I feel bad.” I’m sweating now. It’s all on this. “I think we got the same drink. Just take mine, I don’t want to make you wait around on top of everything.”
He looks at me. He looks at the drink. He looks back at me.
“I haven’t even touched it yet.” I lie again. “Go ahead, take a sip.”
He reaches for the cup, just a little hesitation behind his eyes. He’s weighing whether it would be rude just to walk away.
“I really don’t mind, honest.” He offers. “I’m not in a rush or anything.”
“Neither am I.” My first truth to him. “Really, it would make me feel so much better.”
He looks at me one more time, eyes trying to peer into me, still so kind. So full of potential. He loosens a little, and finally moves to take a sip.
He smiles.
“It’s good.” He says.
“Well, I guess we know what we like.”
He laughs again. I laugh with him. It feels nice. It feels right.
“Well, I appreciate it. Quicker than sending you a laundry bill too.” He jokes, smile wide on his face now.
“Well you would have never gotten that paid anyway. At least the coffee’s here.” He chuckles again. In spite of myself, I’m enjoying this. Our eyes meet again, laughter meeting laughter, and I try to savor it.
“Yeah, well, that helps too. Hope the rest of the day is less eventful.” He raises he cups, gives me a nod, and starts to walk out the door. I watch him walk out, trying to track him through the window until the barista shows up with the mop and asks me to move.
“Sorry, sure.” I say. And then, “Where’s your bathroom?”
She points to the back, and I excuse myself again. I’m feeling a little lightheaded. That’s a good sign. I slip in, making sure not to lock the door behind me. I don’t want to cause any extra hassle.
My knees are starting to give out, so I slump against the wall. I look down at my hands and see them starting to glitch. They warn you about this when you first take a joy ride through time. Unmaking yourself is surprisingly easy, but luckily it’s not particularly hard. There’s a quick whiff of ozone. They tell you about that too. The timeline’s resetting.
The rules of time travel are pretty strict, and I understand why, I do. Butterfly effect is a real bitch, and one small interruption to the past can cause God knows what havoc to the future. Which is why I understand why there’s a death penalty for going back and making changes. I get it, I truly do.
But Leon Redd deserved to live. He deserved the long, happily life he and my mother promised to each other years ago. (Years from now? Doesn’t matter) He deserved all that time the cancer took from him. All the time that dose in the coffee just gave back to him. I wasn’t sure one sip was gonna be enough, but buzz down my spine is telling me it was.
Leon Redd deserved his happily ever after. Michelle Friedman deserved her happily ever after. She didn’t deserve to watch him die. She didn’t deserve to meet my father. And she definitely didn’t deserve to be killed by him.
Time’s just about up. I can feel myself fading out, literally. It’s kind of a shame, to be honest, but like I said, I was never supposed to be here. | 10 | You aren't supposed to disclose that you're a time traveler, but someone you've met far in the past is dying of a highly preventable disease. You may need to reconsider. | 19 |
The base was in full ready-mode now. Everywhere Ja'ador looked someone was frantically busying themselves. Some were making combat preparations, others making contact with vessels nearby.
There had been a signal. This was interesting, but the universe is a big place, sometimes randomness can imitate patterns if you look long enough... Then there had been another, and then another. That could only mean one thing. Life - intelligent, technologically capable life - existed on Relu'ur.
Ja'ador entered the command room. Here things were more calm - his Highest were trained well - but he sensed the edge of unease in them. He stepped to the table and made a gesture. A holographic image of Relu'ur appeared over the table. He looked at it for a moment, stunned. Rele'ur, the exile world. The land unconquered and unconquerable was inhabited.
His Second, Erik'kil, stood to the side. He was hiding it well, but Ja'ador could still see the unease in the posture of his Second.
"Do we know where they came from? Was it the Kirin'ni? Or the Sco'olah?" "No Lord Ja, they are not from our enemies" Ja'ador nodded. The Kirin'ni were reckless but not suicidal, and the Sco'olah too proud to settle somewhere wild. "Not an ally, they would have sent word. Could it be one of the Primitives? But no, going from spacefaring to colonising in such a short space of time is impossible." He noticed the others looking at him, he was Projecting his thoughts, he hadn't even noticed
"My lord, they are not of any race we have catalogued, they appear to be native" Ja'ador looked at Erik'kil in surprise. "A native intelligence evolving on Rele'ur? How do they survive the flammable air?" "They appear to ingest and metabolise it somehow Lord Ja" "And the unstable tectonics, the violent storms?" "They appear to simply live around it my lord, Zal'lan theorizes that their lifespans are so short that they simply accept losing many to the disasters"
Ja'ador turned to study Zal'lan. She was his chief scientist, and the first he had asked for when he was posted to watch Relu'ur, though she refused the rank of Second when offered it.
"My Lord Ja. Initial studies showed life was possible on the planet, but the local fauna always had a tendency towards predation. We suspected these natives must have evolved from one of the apex species, but since deciphering some of the signals we've been able to study them in more detail. They appear to be from a line of docile creatures - by Relu'ur standards - similar to the garan'nag from my home planet. They used pack tactics and technology to rise to apex status, but without it they are weak and fragile."
"Shall we make contact Lord Ja?" His War Chief and brother Pha'ador asked.
"Peace, Pha. If these beings grew up on Relu'ur, violence must be in their nature. We will study them for a time. Have they been named yet Zal?"
"Yes Lord Ja. In your honour, we have been calling them Jalu'ur. But from decryptions we have also deduced their local name for themselves. A blasphemous name" "Speak It" Ja'ador commanded
"Human" | 16 | Earth was meant to be an exile plant where no race could survive long. All who have been sent there never escaped or never reported back. A shock wave went through the entire space community upon hearing that a race has evolved and seems to be thriving on the hostile world. | 46 |
**Agent Mariposa: Field Work Logs**
*22nd April 2022*
I am sitting at an indoor table in a Texan steakhouse. I look around me. The other customers are fairly inconspicuous. Nothing seems to be out of place. There is a businessman seated in the table next to mine, and a group of friends are seated around the big table to my right.
The group of friends order a few steaks. The businessman opens his briefcase to take out his laptop.
The waitress arrives, carrying with her the food that the customers ordered. I must time this perfectly.
Just as she is about to pass my table, I knock over the salt shaker.
"Let me get that for you, sweetheart," she says, bending to pick it up, while precariously balancing her tray in her other hand. I stand up to help her. My sudden movement makes her jump, causing a steak knife to fall off the tray and into the still open briefcase of the businessman.
Distracted by the noise of the plastic salt shaker clattering on the tiles, the man doesn't notice. He does however decide to work elsewhere, perhaps somewhere quieter. He places his belongings back in the briefcase and leaves.
All according to plan.
*23rd April 2022*
I must now carry out phase 2 of my plan. So I fly to Fiji.
I walk over to a local newspaper vendor, a pleasant old man who beckons me over with a smile, encouraging me to buy a newspaper.
I time it perfectly, and join the line. There is a mother with her son in front of me, and a young man behind me.
I soon reach the front of the line and purchase a newspaper.
"Is it fine if I pay you in euros?" I ask. "I haven't had the time to exchange it into local currency."
"Of course, Miss!" he responds. "Are you from Europe?"
"France, to be specific."
"France? That's nice! If you would turn to page 5 of your newspaper, you'll find an article on the unveiling of a statue in the Parisian bank," he says.
"Ah yes, I heard about that. Between you and me though, it's the perfect time for a heist. The staff will be too focused on the statue," I said, sending him a conspiratorial wink.
"Indeed, Miss!" he laughs. I laugh along with him.
"Here," I say, handing him some extra money. "I'd like to pay for the lovely young man in line behind me." I smile at the young man and leave.
My work here is done.
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
**French Bank Heist Stopped Due to Miraculous Chain of Events**
*24th April, 17:00*
This morning, a heist was attempted by a notorious group of international criminals. They targeted a prestigious bank in the heart of Paris. It would've been the perfect time to act, as the bank staff were all away from their desks, attending a statue unveiling ceremony. A new statue was made of the chairman of the bank.
However, their plans were thwarted. Firstly, they got delayed at the airport, since a businessman on the same flight as them was taken aside to be questioned. They found a weapon in his briefcase. He denied that he knew anything about it. Whether or not he was telling the truth remains unknown, however this did create a standstill which lead to the criminals missing their flight.
It is assumed that they took a passenger plane in order to blend in with the crowd of tourists who visit Paris on a daily basis.
Next, the Head of Security of the aforementioned bank sent out an emergency order to tighten the security around the main vault. In a press release, she stated that she got the idea from her tour guide. She was in Fiji with her husband, on their honeymoon, and the man who they hired as a tour guide suggested that the ceremony was the perfect opportunity for a heist.
The increased security lead to the criminals being caught.
It is truly a remarkable series of coincidences that lead to this criminal activity being stopped.
**Agent Mariposa: Field Work Logs**
*24th April 2022*
I went to buy another newspaper from the man today.
I read through the articles in the international news section, noticing that there was one on the bank heist.
Coincidences. Yeah right. | 1,015 | Yesterday, you knocked over a salt shaker in Texas. Today, you bought a newspaper in Fiji. Tomorrow, the chain of events you set in motion will stop a bank robbery in France. You are the master of the butterfly effect. | 3,749 |
I slam my hands on the table and groan. This *fucking* kingdom is so difficult to bring down. The plan was simple. Kill the king, shape shift into his form, ruin this kingdom, and make it easier to invade.
Naturally, my first thought was to cripple the kingdom by inducing an artificial famine. I stopped trade with Crystalslovakia, our biggest grain importer, and waited for the chaos to begin. It turns out that they were poisoning the people and the land slowly so they could invade. Our crops began to flourish and the pandemic stopped completely. My next idea was to break relations with our ally, the Kingdom of Silk, so I proceed to behead my wife - their princess. Turns out, she was planning on murdering the king and taking his throne. When she died, *her* kingdom toppled and became part of mine, bring it's wealth and prosperity that was being hidden behind it's walls. My next idea was to dismantle the Church and prosecute anyone caught practicing Christianity. What do ya know? Everyone actually hated the religion and happily began practicing whatever they wanted. I gave a dumb advisor of mine full control of the treasury and he accidentally ended up perfectly dividing it between infrastructure, military, education, healthcare, etc. This damn kingdom is now a superpower compared to everyone else and we're growing into a full blown empire.
I stare at the envelope with my home kingdom's crest on it. With shaking hands, I unfold it and read:
"Congratulations, Sebastian. I see you've done the complete opposite of what I asked you to do and at first, I ordered your execution. But after a few months of observing your actions, I have decided that it would actually be better to merge our kingdoms together. With that said, I am offering you my daughter's hand in marriage. She has already enthusiastically agreed to this idea. All we need is your consent as well. Please get back to me quickly. You know I can't stand waiting."
I let out an exasperated giggle. "I fucking give up."
Edit: grammar | 40 | You're an evil king, ruling with tyranny. Unfortunately, every single one of your misdeeds turn out to be good for the people. Now, your kingdom is the most prosperous and peaceful kingdom in the continent. | 157 |
I am the lord of the sewers. Sorry, my wife hates it when I call myself that; I am the lead sanitation engineer maintaining the sewers. When I say lead engineer I mean only, for some reason any new recruits are spooked out of the job. Since everyone was scared to take the job I am forced to take it on alone.
Keeping the whole entire sewer system, that spans over several hundred miles under the city, sanitary all by myself is quit the feat; to get an idea of how I do it all introduce you to my “subjects”.
I command a fleet of one-hundred “llitterbots”, which are about two feet tall, they roll around and have extending arms to pick up any trash from the sewers water. Along with these bots I have three hundred sludge runners that float along the sewage and clear up any blockages.
I have the sewer divided into sections using these water purification gates, water can pass but nothing else. I have doors with passcode locks on each gate, which allows me to section of smaller pieces of the sewer and isolate any problems.
These past few days I have noticed that weird things were happening in one sector in particular, sector 23-P. The first thing to go amiss was the absence of litterbot when I took roll, when I went to investigate I noticed that the walls of the sector had scratches and holes in them and that missing litterbot was busted open. My first thought of course was that there must be some punks or homeless people that pried open a sewer grate to make some trouble down here.
Over the next week I repaired all of the damages to the sectors walls and replaced the litterbot. I placed cameras in the sector just in case whoever it was decides that they want to come back.
After about a week of nothing, two ot the sectors adjacent to 23-P had suffered similar damages to the former sector. This time after I repaired the damages I started to install cameras in every sector. I couldn’t do it all at once, but these punks had declared war on my turf. I am going all in.
Okay, I think I might back off. I caught one of the perpetrators on camera. The perpetrator? It was a werewolf. I don’t get paid enough for this.
Phew. Okay this is fine, werewolves are nothing. I am an engineer, right? Even more so I am the Ruler of this land. So I decided to add a guard to my ranks, a robotic guard that is. The Clushers that I built were six feet tall and made of titanium, they carried around a silver tipped spear in one hand and a sword in the other. I was able to make ten for now to patrol the areas that I know have seen trouble.
This was my first time, but creating robots made for war is kinda fun. The Clushers were a success as I started to find corpses of various creatures among the sewage. Finding corpses like this is very disturbing mind you; what am I even supposed to do with them?
I caught one fight one camera between a Clusher and what seemed to be an ogre. The ogre carried a club that was fashioned out of a sewer pipe. Thankfully the superior reach of the spear allowed the Clusher to claim victory over the ogre. I just said something incredibly bizarre, who knew I would ever say something like that?
That is about all I can tell you for now, it looks like a vampire is engaging in combat with a Clusher. I am the lord of the sewers so I must go! | 11 | You’re a sanitation engineer, maintaining the sewers of a city. What you don’t realize is that there are supernatural creatures living in them. Your diligent maintenance and repair efforts constantly foil their plans to capture, eat, and bewitch the city’s citizens. | 118 |
It had to be a costume, right? Those craggy horns could not possibly be attached to her head, flames lightly dancing on the tips to an invisible beat. Her skin couldn’t actually be that red, like striking crimson lipstick that leapt out boldly. And those yellow eyes weren’t actually trained on me—because nobody else had their eye on me. It wasn’t possible.
She sat beside me, and I felt the heat on my right thigh grow. It was seconds before I felt something else on my left, a chill that seemed to permeate into my very bones.
“DON’T PANIC,” it whispered.
I turned to see a skull staring back at me. Its jaw looked like it was locked into a permanent smile—as much as bone could do so—and I vaguely registered that it was attempting to raise their eyebrows. Hollow sockets stared in my own.
“I KNOW WHO YOU ARE,” he said., thumping the back end of a huge scythe lightly onto my foot.
“Well, buddy, that makes one of you,” I said. “Because I have no idea who the fuck I am any longer.”
“EXACTLY,” the hooded man said. “YOU ARE A PERSON IN AN UNFORTUNATE SITUATION, ABOUT TO BE CAUGHT IN ANOTHER UNFORTUNATE SITUATION. IT’S A SQUARING OF DISASTERS. RIPE FOR DEMONIC TROUBLE.”
“I know who you are,” I said. “You are here to kill me, aren’t you? I don’t mind. Let’s go. Anywhere but here.”
“NO. THAT DEMONESS IS TRYING TO KILL YOU. I’M JUST HERE. IN CASE.”
I chuckled, a low-throated growl that grew more desperate with every rumble.
“Bless her, then.”
The woman to my right winced, breaking our skin contact. I turned to see her eyes flitting between the hooded man and me.
“You aren’t supposed to be here,” she hissed.
“I AM,” he said. “WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO ABOUT IT?”
A nasty snarl took over her face, and a forked tongue licked the air. The man sighed, and held up his scythe in the air, the business-end pointing towards the red-skinned woman.
“No,” she said.
“I QUITE DISAGREE.”
The scythe fell, and I squeezed my eyes shut, expecting splatters of blood and gore. Instead, there was the sound of a slow, sweeping metal thinning the air, and a sucking vaccuum noise that seemed to lower the pressure of the cabin.
My eyelids retreated. There was nothing but air.
“Was she bad news?”
“TERRIBLE. HORRIBLE. EXCEEDINGLY INFURIATING AS WELL.”
I turned back towards the voice that sounded like it was grounded between two jagged mountain ranges.
I tried to say thanks. But it sounded foreign on my tongue, a rebellious thing.
“Why did you save me?” was what came out instead.
“YOU? NOTHING ABOUT YOU,” the bony man said. “YOU WERE JUST RIPE FOR SOME HARVESTING FROM ACTORS IN BAD FAITH. YOU ARE OTHERWISE UTTERLY INSIGNIFICANT.”
I laughed. It felt like it was the first time in forever.
“My problems. Insignificant? I’m going to lose my apartment. Not eat for three days, then stick with ramen for the rest. And I’m just supposed, to, what, fix them all by myself?”
“IN THE GRAND SCHEME OF TIME,” the hollow eyes turned wistful, possessing more soul than my tired, burning eyes. “EVERYTHING FIXES ITSELF.”
“You can say whatever you want,” I said. “Please, just leave me alone.”
“DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY DEMONS YOU COULD HAVE SPAWNED IF THE DEMONESS TOOK YOU? YOU WOULD BE LIKE A GOLD MINE. THEY WOULD EXTRACT AGONY LIKE AN OVERWORKED COW.”
“So, not entirely significant?”
Death stood up, heading towards the door
“IN A SENSE,” he said. “AN EXTRAORDINARY STROKE OF LUCK MEANT YOU WERE SAVED BY MY HAND, EVEN IF THAT WAS NOT THE INTENTION. SO IT COULD BE TURNING. OR MAYBE IT WON’T. BUT DO YOU WANT TO SEE IT?”
I looked outside. We were in a tunnel, now, and the shroud of darkness around us blended into the man’s cloak, wispy aura surrounding him.
“It’s dark,” I said. “Bleak. Bleary. But the train is still going forward.”
The man held out his hand. He pointed to the dor with the scythe.
“I CAN’T ALWAYS BE HERE, SO I SHALLA SK,” the hooded man said said. “BUT WOULD YOU LIKE TO WALK WITH ME THROUGH THE DOOR NOW?”
I said, staring outside the window, watching brief flashes of light zooming past the window.
“Not quite yet. I think there’s some life left to live.”
“ATTA GIRL,” Death said. “I’LL SEE YOU. LATER RATHER THAN SOONER, I HOPE.”
“I hope so too.”
---
r/dexdrafts | 150 | You were just going home on the subway and things started getting weird. A woman in a demon costume gets on and sits next you, and a man in a black hood carrying a scythe sits to your other side. He leans in and whispers. “Don’t panic, I know what you are, I’m going to get you out of here.” | 479 |
Everything felt cold as I stared at her. I was used to dealing with powerful people, as part of my job. But the highest I had ever encountered was Five Hundred and Two. They were one of the top Archmages, able to bend reality to their will. They were scary, despite their joyful demeanour.
This girl though, who was barely older than me, was even stronger. Not just physically, but mystically as well. I couldn't help but whisper the ranking aloud.
"Seven...."
I barely spoke. But she reacted instantly, turning to face me. Her green eyes seemed to pierce through me, assessing the threat level. Her face was a perfect poker face, giving away nothing. But after a moment that lasted an eternity, she gave a smile.
She moved towards me, slipping between other pub patrons without thinking. That did nothing to calm me. The more powerful the person, the more they commanded their own path. But she twisted and moved without effort, hiding her true strength.
She placed a hand on my shoulder, squeezing it.
"So, you know about me."
It was a statement of fact, yet I had no choice but to answer.
"I-yes."
She looked me up and down. I noticed her eyes flash blue for a moment, a smile of understanding creep over her.
"Depiction of Nature huh? That explains it."
I could only nod. I knew how vast the gap between us was. I was in the hundreds of thousands range, purely by my skill. I felt a tug, as she pulled ne along with her.
"You know, I could use a guy like you. Come meet my friends."
I wanted to say no. I was planning to. But I knew I had no choice in the matter. If she wanted me to go with her, I would have to go.
"What's your name anyway? I haven't met anyone with your skill before?"
I found my toungue again, making it move despite its unwillingness.
"Amnal Gervid."
She patted me on the shoulder.
"It's nice to meet you Amnal. I am Velda Jorsvin."
Velda. I knew I would never forget it. She pulled me along through the night, heading towards the high-end pub district. As much as I was unwilling, I could help but be a little curious about who she considered friends. Were they as monstrously powerful as her?
Plus I hadn't been in these pubs before. | 12 | You can see the status's of everyone due to your legendary skill "Depiction of Nature". You were just leaving the pub when you crossed path with a girl and you felt terror as you saw her ranking by strength in this world. | 26 |
The date was indeed lovely. The unlikely couple went out to a rather charming restaurant; a quaint little Italian bistro in a long-forgotten street where the yellow lights bounce off of the cobblestones for a truly romantic atmosphere.
They were walking down the boardwalk; the assassin had his hands in his pockets and merely looked out to the night sea while his mark was munching down on some popcorn they'd picked up earlier.
"I had a... shockingly pleasant evening," the assassin suddenly said.
"Me too," the mark said.
"I can't say I expected someone to say 'date' as a final request, but... I'm glad you did."
"It's just... something that came to my mind, you know? I guess your head does funny things when high on adrenaline and, well..."
"Yeah?" the assassin asked, looking back at the mark.
"You are *really* cute," the mark giggled. The assassin only smiled and looked back out to the sea.
The two approached the end of the boardwalk and leaned against the railing, enjoying the fresh air with a hint of salt and kelp.
"My job doesn't leave much room for relationships, you know?" the assassin broke the silence suddenly.
"Must be lonely."
"It is."
They stood, once again, enveloped by silence.
"Would you like to do this again sometime?" the mark asked.
"I would. I would very much like to," the assassin said and put his hand on his target's shoulder.
The mark smiled gently before collapsing to the ground, their last breath leaving their body. The assassin made sure the poison in the popcorn would be completely painless as a thank you.
"But... I can't," he said somberly. | 1,312 | The Assassin stared me down, readying their weapon as I lay helpless to do anything. “As a courtesy, I’ll give you one final request. Anything within my power.” they said. All I could respond with was… “Wanna go on a date?” | 2,055 |
"Okay," I said with a sigh. "Let's see what we have here."
I walked to the end of the line and stood in front of a teenage girl with a long blonde ponytail the length of a pony's tail.
She was on her phone.
"Ehem." I cleared my throat, to get her attention.
She rolled her eyes, then looked at me. "What? Can't you see I'm busy?"
I pointed at my face. "Can't you see I don't care? Anyway, we don't have time for this. Downtown is being destroyed. What's your superpower, uhm.." I looked at the clipboard in my hand. "...WhinyWoman?" I smirked. "Let me guess, you whine a lot?"
She took a deep breath then said, "OHMYGOSHyouaresorudeeversinceyouwalkedinhereyouvebeenpickingmeonandIdidntevendoanythingtoyouImonlyateenagerandIjustwanttousemyphoneImgoingtoblogandmakeapostonmysocialmediatoallmyfriendaabouthowmuchofabigfatmeanieyouareandthenImgoingtotellmyparentsandthen-"
I plugged my ears. "Alright,alright! I got it! Sheesh Louise!"
She smiled and went back to her phone.
I went down the line. Next as a small girl with a pink dress and a paper crown. She looked up at me and smiled. I checked my clipboard. Superhero name: Spoiled Princess.
I looked at her. "And you do?"
"Give me your clipboard."
I frowned at her. "No."
She frowned and put her hand on her hip, staring me directly in the eye. "*Now, peasant.*"
Against my will, I handed it over. She looked it over and smiled then handed it back. I got away from her fast.
Next was..."Man Grip?"
"Pleasure to meet you." The man extended his hand for a shake. It had way too many veins bulging from it for me not to know better than to shake it.
"I think I got it," I told him with a slight grin. "Thanks."
I moved on to a teenage boy with a leatherman jacket on and a cap on his hat twisted to the back. He was casually tossing a football in the air.
I checked the clipboard. "Hmm. And you are...Bully Boy?"
"Yo."
"And what do you do?"
"I call things gay and stuff people's faces into toilets or their bodies into lockers."
"Got it."
Finally, at the end of the line was a woman whose Superhero name on the clipboard was just: Mom.
"I put people in time outs," she offered before I could ask. "And when I'm just not in a good mood, I can make things appear out of thin air to throw at people."
I ducked as she threw a slipper at me.
"I see..." I said. "One second." I went to the door and whispered to the guard. "Is there anymore volunteers?"
"No, boss. That's all the people that showed up."
I groaned. "We're doomed." | 36 | You are a manager of the Superhero Association. Your job is to assemble teams to fight supervillains. Unfortunately, all the big-shots are busy fighting intergalactic threats, so you may need to scrape the bottom of the barrel to solve this newest menace. | 189 |
Princess Marlisa stared down at the helmed knight on the lists in stunned silence. Sir Beronar had just been proclaimed the champion of the tournament. She had been pleased by that.
And then her father had announced that the grand prize of the tournament was to be *her.* She'd known this day was coming, that it would have to come. She was the sole heir to the throne, and if she did not wed, the succession was not secure. But she thought she'd had *time.*
But even that was a secondary concern, at the moment: father had given her hand to *Beronar!* The king was expecting the peerless night to sire him a grandchild, and future king!
Of course, he didn't know the secret, of why Marlisa's trusted handmaiden, Nyreen, her closest companion since girlhood, was never to be seen on days when Sir Beronar tilted in the lists. As far as Marlisa knew, only she and the knight's trusted squire knew that.
There wasn't much time. Marlisa knew that soon, a press of people would descend on both her and Beronar, looking to divert the affianced to one or another of a million duties attendant to their royally-decreed engagement. She had to get to the preparation tent bearing Beronar's livery before then -- she *had* to talk to Nyreen, to make *some* sort of plan!
As she quietly slipped away from the royal box overlooking the lists, she seized a travelling cloak that had been left draped on one of the tiered benches, and pulled it around herself quickly, to hide her resplendent gown.
Just when she thought she'd made a clean getaway, he ran almost directly into her aunt, Duchess Isme. She cursed the odious woman, inwardly. Isme had never liked Marlisa, not least because her existence meant that she, her father's younger sister, would never inherit the throne.
"Why, where are you off to in such a hurry, sweetling?" Her aunt asked, with a smirk.
"I...have to use the privy." she blurted.
Isme laughed humorlessly. "Oh, I see. Jittery, are we? My apologies for diverting you, dear."
Marlisa gave a perfunctory nod and dashed past her. It made no sense, a princess just strolling off to visit the privy, unattended by any guards or servants, but she didn't have time for a better excuse. She *had* to reach Beronar's tent!
When she burst in, she saw the knight seated on a stool, head in hands, groaning softly, as the young squire tended to the dapple mare Beronar had ridden in the contest.
"What are we going to do?" she cried.
"Well, right now, I'm leaning towards mounting up and fleeing the kingdom so I don't get *executed."*
"You can't do that!" Marlisa cried. "We can...we can fix this!"
"Can you, sweetling?" came an oily voice from behind Marlisa. She whirled around to find Isme there smiling, smugly.
She strode forward, as Marlisa backed up towards Nyreen, and dismissed the squire with an imperious gesture, sending the lad scrambling away out of the tent.
Isme smirked, walking around the pair and looking them over appraisingly "I've suspected for *months,* you know. But only now does it all fall into place. I know your secret, *Beronar...*"
Standing behind them, between them and the tall warhorse, she placed one bony hand on Marlisa's shoulder, the other on the armored pauldron of Sir Beronar. Leaning forward, her head between theirs, gleeful in her moment of triumph, she spoke softly, turning to one ear then the other as she gloated. "It's so obvious, in hindsight. Marlisa and her very tall, gorgeous handmaiden Nyreen, always joined at the hip. But wherever is her *bosom companion* when there's a tournament with Sir Beronar in the lists? A knight who, for some obscure reason, never seems to doff his helmet in public. And, while Marlisa had to wait upon my brother's pleasure to receive suitors, why, I wonder, is the lovely *Nyreen* never seen in the company of a handsome page or stable lad? I've been told she's caught the eye of many."
"What are you implying?"
"I think you know *Beronar."* Isme sneered as she spoke the knight's name. "Imagine the scandal, the crown princess, cavorting with a common--"
Isme was interrupted by a loud whinny, as suddenly the dapple mare reared up on her hind legs, and lashed out with her front hooves, striking the old woman in the head and sending her flying.
Marlisa gasped in horror, as Beronar seized the reigns and calmed the angry mare. She ran to Isme's side, panicking. The woman lay in the straw, a huge purpling bump rising on her head, along with a trickle of blood from a cut on her scalp.
Beronar cast his helm aside, and placed his ear to Isme's lips. Even now, Marlisa was struck by the ruggedly handsome cast the long, deep scar across his face lent him -- she'd always thought it was silly that he believed he need to hide his face in public, to avoid upsetting those with tender sensibilities.
"Is she alright?" Marlisa asked.
"I--I don't know. At least she's breathing. I'll go find a physicker." Beronar stammered, scooping up his helmet and donning it, before slipping quickly back out of the tent.
Marlisa whirled angrily on the horse. "*Nyreen!* Why?!"
The horse's shape rippled and collapsed in on itself, bridle and saddle sliding off of its hulk. It was an uncanny sight, to be sure, but Marlisa had long since grown used to seeing it. In moments, a tall, naked dark-haired woman stood before her, hands on her hips.
"Why? Because she knows what I am! If the court found out I'm a *kelpie,* and that the reason Beronar won't marry you is that he's secretly married to *me,* they'd--"
"She didn't know Beronar's 'horse' was *you!*" Marlisa cried, exasperated. "She thought *we* were lovers and that *Beronar* was you!"
Nyreen winced, looking down at Isme's unconscious form. "Oh. That...that must have been the part she was whispering in your ears, huh?"
Marlisa groaned, putting her face in her hands. | 37 | A princess finds herself being offered to the leading knight of the realm to bring children to the throne. The only hang-up is the princess knows who the leading knight is and has to hide why her handmaiden vanishes during tournaments for the knights. | 131 |
It’s hard to explain, but there’s something special about the girl who works Montmartre’s forbidden knowledge desk. I told my buddy Ian yesterday and I don’t think he understood. Will you?
To start, there is Montmartre. I think the name itself is a reference, though I’ve never figured out if it has any special meaning. Pierre, the madman who owns the store, is neither discernibly French nor discernibly artistic, and we live in an age where we all feel neutered without Google ready to answer for us, so I’ve hit the end of that road, I think.
The store has a certain style, however, and you can gather what you need about Pierre and his broader world from it. Montmartre is a disaster zone of stolen goods and sketchy tools, failed experiments strew the ground like leaves in fall. It's a single room subdivided by thin rice paper curtains, more like a warehouse—or a junkyard—for eccentricities than anything resembling a functional store. A trip to Montmartre most often entails a shovel and an entire afternoon spent sweating side by side with a villain attempting to build a better bomb, and though the conversation is always excellent, and though the villains are always rather personable and quite fabulously dressed, you come away from the experience hoping that you ruined their day as much as you might have made your own with the discovery of some five-dollar doodad to brew the perfect cup of coffee.
And so it would take a singular person to work in any sort of place like Montmartre, and the girl behind the forbidden knowledge desk is absolutely singular—I didn’t even need to speak to her to find that out—but before that, there is the matter of the forbidden knowledge desk itself.
Its location changes. Some mornings it begins in the southwest quadrant, proceeding logically on in a counterclockwise motion that maps poorly onto the (generally) squarish room. Other times it chooses its locations at random: true north on a dreary Monday, east on a Tuesday afternoon, on the second floor balcony above the pet supplies section for three days straight before traipsing off behind linens for the weekend.
And once found, forbidden knowledge is itself partitioned. Imagine Montmartre: you enter through a gaping pair of old-world rolling doors, stolen, perhaps, from a barn. Pierre greets you in a pinstriped suit topped by a baseball cap for a team that’s never once existed, waves you further into his madness, and ducking between the adamantium legs of a thirteen-foot, gas-powered colossus you find the forbidden knowledge section dead center of the chaos. You step through an invisible barrier, lifting off the world like a fine haze of lingerie, and there she is, forbidden knowledge. A thousand books surround the desk arranged in precarious, pyramidal piles. Ten thousand fireflies form themselves into color-coded walls and aisles. A hundred thousand secrets wait, locked behind a million forgotten passwords. In the center of it, the girl.
I think her name is February.
I might be wrong. I’m probably wrong. Nobody is named February, though I knew a girl once named April, and May is a pretty enough name as well, though I think they spell that differently. Suffice to say that February might, or might not be her name. I’ve never quite been brave enough to ask, intimidated as I am by her confidence and the hellacious ease with which she approaches learning.
February devours books, you see. Every time I enter into forbidden knowledge she’s sitting in her tattered armchair, feet balanced on the polished mahogany surface of her desk, and she’s reading, a more obscure tome each day. Titles like *How to Start An Ending, How to End A Starting, Fashion In The Subliminal World,* and most recently *My Time Embedded With A Tantric Dragon.*
I watched her turn the pages once. Ten seconds, page. Another ten seconds, another page. Like clockwork, the easy motion of her eyes, her entire being focused down onto the single point of ink and word and page.
And if you’re asking what’s so special about February, that look is my easy answer. When she’s focused it’s like there isn’t any world. I envy that.
But of course, that’s just the easy answer. When I told my dear friend Ian he asked if she was beautiful. I stalled a moment and a slow, salacious smile spread across his face. He didn’t wait for my answer, just rushed on to make assumptions, to assume that, above all else, I must *want* her.
Which isn’t untrue really but the thing is, February isn’t beautiful. Not in any classical sense. She’s…
She’s perfect, but god it’s hard to understand.
I like her dresses. The way the black eats at the light. I like her socks, they’re always fun and mismatched. She has long, clean-lined legs, and I can’t deny that’s pleasant, but she also doesn’t have a face. Not in any classical sense.
Again, it is so hard to understand.
Ian powered on. He slapped me on the back. He said the friend-ly things. He told me I should ask her out and here I am, having ducked between the steely legs of the thirteen-foot, gas-powered colossus, having navigated through the rice paper partitions and the firefly aisles.
And there she is.
And she looks up when I say her name.
And she looks at me.
And she sets down her book: *Failure: A Case Study.*
And she cocks her head to the side.
And she asks me to speak up. | 443 | An enterprising mad scientist opens a shop to sell supplies to other mad scientists. However, the store becomes very popular with the local college students for cheap hardware repair, access to forbidden knowledge, and adorable mutant pets. | 2,775 |
When I walked up to the base of the mountain, I saw someone standing by a big stone archway wearing shimmering golden armor and carrying a sword with a blade of flames. In a booming voice, the angel informed me,
#"ALL WHO DIE MUST PASS THROUGH PURGATORY BY CLIMBING THE MOUNTAIN. TO ENTER HEAVEN, YOU MUST BE FORGIVEN BY ALL WHO YOU HAVE WRONGED. SHOULD YOU REACH THE TOP WITHOUT THE FORGIVENESS OF ALL, YOU WILL BE CAST DOWN INTO THE INFERNO."
"Alright?" I answered, more than a little confused. Then, we heard a beeping and the angel pulled a pager out of a nonexistent pocket.
#"DID EVERYONE YOU WRONGED DIE?"
"I don't even know everyone I wronged, let alone if they're all dead," I answered. "Besides, why does that matter?"
#"GOD JUST TOLD ME THAT THE HUMANS INVENTED IMMORTALITY. HE SAYS THAT ANYONE FOR WHOM THE PEOPLE WHO THEY WRONGED ARE STILL ALIVE MAY JUST GO RIGHT IN, HE'S BASICALLY GIVING THEM ALL A DIVINE PARDON."
"Well, can you ask Him if anyone I wronged is still alive?" I questioned.
#"SURE."
The pager beeped once more as the angel input the message, and then again as the answer was received.
#"GOD SAYS YES, SEVERAL OF YOUR COLLEAGUES WHOM YOU INSULTED ARE STILL ALIVE. HE HAS OFFERED TO GRANT YOU THE DIVINE PARDON AND ALLOW YOU TO ENTER HEAVEN."
"I'll be sure to thank Him when I get there," I say, half sarcastically.
#"I'M SURE HE WILL APPRECIATE THAT. ON YOUR WAY, FRIEND."
With that, I got on my way, as instructed, with no souls behind following.
I called to the angel, "If no one else is going to die, why are you still standing there?"
#"SOMEONE MIGHT. BESIDES, THE IMMORTALITY THEY INVENTED DOESN'T WORK ON ANIMALS TOO AND SOMEONE HAS TO BE HERE TO GUIDE THEM UP TO HEAVEN."
"All animals go to heaven?" I inquired.
#"TO EVEN SUGGEST THAT THEY SHOULDN'T IS CONSIDERED BLASPHEMY. RESPECT NATURE, IT WAS THERE BEFORE YOU AND IT'LL BE THERE AFTER YOU." | 105 | Everyone that dies goes to purgatory. A person can only enter heaven once everyone they've ever wronged has died, and they apologize and are forgiven. You were the last person to die before the development of new technology that allows for humans to live indefinitely | 320 |
"What the hell is he doing" said the priest as he rolled his head trying to comprehend what going on.
"I dont know! It wasnt supposed to work like this!" said the young priest responsible for the ritual
"Doesnt matter, we managed to summon something, despite the king pessimist all we gotta do its find a way to solve whatever its doing"
"The hero must be confused and afraid... maybe thats the reason on why its behaving this way?" said the young priest.
"Yeah that must be it! The book mentioned that sometimes the hero would be confused and disorientated."
"Hello everybody this is *[PlayerName]* and welcome back to another run of *Calamity King: Lost souls*" The hero spoke as he continued walking into a wall in a weird fashion. "Today we are going to try out the new update, it include a timer and better AI in npcs."
"Hopefully this run goes smoothly"
"Sir who is the hero talking to?" A very confused priest said, as he looked from the background
"Thank you *EngineerGaming5681* for the donation!"
"I dont know, maybe its worst than we though, prepare a sleeping spell"
"Yes sir" The young priest hand began to glow with a white light, illuminating the entire room
"*Somnum!*"
But before the spell could hit, the hero without warning slipped into the wall vanishing without a trace
The group of priest remained in disbelief, their faces covered by dissapointed and a bit of relief
"I think thats enough summonings for today, report this incident to the royal guard and the mages tower hopefully one of them knows what we did wrong, so we wont do the same mistake again."
"Im heading back to the tavern."
"I though you quit drinking!" Said the young priest
"Yeah i did but i a cup of wine wont hurt, after all despite everything we did manage to summon something today"
As the priest made his way towards the tavern something managed to catch his attention.
*The Demon King has been defeated!*
He stopped and read the sign once more
*The Demon King has been defeated*
*I lord frank have the honor to inform all of you that the demon king calamity has been defeated and slay by the hero*
The priest couldnt believe his eyes as he recognizes the picture of said hero standing right next to the corpse of the demon king
*We were able to interview the hero, sadly we couldnt finish our interview as the hero suddenly vanished without a trace.*
*But we were able to gather some "answers" before that!*
**Interview start!**
*So dear hero of Y, how did you manage to sneak in and defeat calamity without a single strach?
*"Oh wow thats some new dialogue! Anyways chat the way this glitch works is very simple by going out of bounds at the tutorial room, you can find a warp zone a couple of meters away, the rest is simply learning the attack patterns"*
*"Just try to be careful while traveling out of bounds otherwise youll fall into the void"*
*Hero may i ask what kind of ancient magic did you use*
"Welp chat i think thats enough for today, i have work tomorrow and i should to sleep before it gets too late."
*No worries Hero, we will get you the best place to rest, im sure you are tired of fighting Calamity all by yourself so please allow me to esc...
*Wait where did the hero go?!*
**Interview end!** | 24 | A hero has been summoned to another world by desperate priests. The demon overlord is an any% speedrunner. Unlike previous summons, this new hero is one as well. | 85 |
"Don't worry," I said. "It's not necessarily simple, or actually that easy, but you'll get the hang of it quickly enough."
"Is it really?" Aureliax said. The silver dragon looked down at me, his scales glinting in the sunlight. "I don't really know if I'm prepared for this." He fidgeted, and I gave him an incredulous look. "You've trained all your life to heal people," he argued. "You're... you were born ready!"
"I wasn't, in fact, born ready," I said. "The Dawnflower didn't pick me as a baby. That isn't how priesthood works."
My apprentice looked down at me. It was actually a little annoying because while nobody would've ever called me tall, nobody else in the local priesthood was actually all that tall either. They certainly weren't titanic silver dragons nearly the size of our chapel. He was stuffed into a corner of the main hall, and he took up enough space I honestly wasn't sure how he'd gotten there to begin with. "I thought that was how that worked in general," he said, wilting slightly as I glared at him, his feathered tail swishing.
We really did need to work on his confidence. He was powerful enough to have razed the entire place to the ground, and he could've eaten me in one bite. You generally didn't expect a dragon as big as him to cower under the gaze of a priest, even a senior priest. Certainly not a senior priest as young as I was. He was what, seventy? I was barely twenty-five. But I couldn't fix his self-confidence issues in the maybe five minutes before adventurers started pouring in with every possible injury in the world, so.
"No, it's really not. Now shape-shift into something more fitting before some color-blind adventurer sees a dragon and starts stabbing. Again."
"They said they were sorry," Aureliax argued, but he did as I commanded. His form shone silver, and I winced slightly at the radiance. It died down after a moment, and a young man with blindingly white hair and shining silver eyes stood before me, clad in the robes of the clergy. He was, naturally, excessively fit and incredibly handsome. I wasn't jealous, of course, even if I was a little jealous.
"Alright. Do you remember your training?" I coaxed.
The dragon in human form nodded. "Rely on my cleric spells unless my innate magic would serve me better." I nodded, and he almost preened at the praise. Although his effortless, magical good lucks might've rubbed me the wrong way, I couldn't bring myself to be anything but grateful for the healing powers of silver dragons.
Certainly not when a party of adventurers barged into the temple a moment later, nearly knocking him over. Screaming for help, naturally.
"What happened?" I demanded.
"Wraiths," one of them said breathlessly- a grizzled man with enough scars to almost make me flinch, and certainly enough to make Aureliax recoil. He threw their fallen friend on the table and...
Oh.
I could hear my apprentice dry-heaving behind me- dry-heaving because he hadn't eaten breakfast or probably lunch, for that matter. Nerves were a bitch. Normally I would've chided him for that, but the fact that the floor wasn't covered in vomit was enough to make me forgo a future scolding. "Aurel. I need you on her other side," I said, and it was eight years of healing work that kept my voice from shaking.
The adventurers froze as I drew the knife I kept in the pocket of my robes. That was fine- I would rather not have to fend off a frenzied fool who didn't realize I wasn't about to stab somebody, and they relaxed the slightest bit as I started to cut off the woman's tattered armor.
Aureliax also froze, which was significantly more problematic. "I said I need you on her other side," I snapped, the blade cutting through her chest plate. It had been useless against a wraith, and the only thing it was doing now was hindering my attempts to get access to her bare skin- healing would be more effective if I could touch her directly.
"I... she's..." He said, eyes wide. "They..."
"Next to me!" I snapped. Ordering a dragon around was an insane prospect, but he listened and sprinted around the table. His hands glittered with silver magic as he called on divine magic- silver dragons were divine by nature, but very few were actually clerics like him, and I thanked the Dawnflower that he'd chosen to work with my church specifically. "She's barely alive. They took almost all of her vitality." I jerked the knife, and her armor fell away. Aureliax recoiled but didn't start dry-heaving again (thank the gods) when he saw the burned black handprint over her heart.
"We can fix this," he said instead. "You can cast Restoration, and I can help-"
"I don't have the diamond dust on hand." I snapped. "Somebody, get me- get me my spell components!" I could feel her heartbeat under my hands; it was getting fainter and fainter. "I said get my damn spell components!"
"I... let me try," he said hesitantly. "I can do this. I know I can." I looked down at the woman on the slab and... I stepped away. He couldn't make the situation any worse, after all.
Or so I thought. The idiot shifted to dragon form and nearly crushed me between a wall and his scaly haunches, and I very vividly heard the sound of swords being drawn as the adventurers audibly panicked on the other side of him. "Stop! Silver dragon!" I shouted. "Silver dragon! He's friendly! He's one of ours!"
I couldn't actually tell whether or not they listened. Maybe they stabbed him. Maybe they didn't. Either way, he cupped their friend's limp body in his great claws, closed his eyes, and *exhaled.*
Silver radiance filled the room. I kept my eyes open, but just barely, and I heard shouts of pain from the other adventurers as they were blasted with divine light. The woman shrieked in pain and shot into a sitting position, and I breathed a sigh of relief- because if she was shrieking at all, she was alive.
"Good work, Aurel," I said, giving him a reassuring pat. "... I promise that this was just a particularly bad first day. It's not always like this."
"Dragon!" She shrieked, and plunged a knife that had been *previously* strapped to her thigh into his claw. The majestic silver dragon yelped in pain and dropped her, and she hit the concrete floor with a thud. The not so-majestic silver dragon proceeded to back away and nearly decapitate the other adventurers with a panicked swing of his tail. I sighed and moved to intervene.
"Alright, before I need to cast Raise Dead, *put the knife down and stop trying to stab the dragon-"*
The rest of the day proceeded to not, in fact, get any better than that.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
Strictly speaking, this isn't quite accurate to the canon of the setting I'm stealing 90% of this from, but it's midnight and I don't think anyone minds. Have some silver dragon cleric training! | 16 | Your new coworker is a dragon, and you are in charge of training them. | 18 |
"Let us start again, so I may understand clearly."
The two guards shifted in their ill-fitting armor, squirming as the large man circled them. The voice continued, gruff and annoyed.
"You two were tasked to guard a creature, correct?"
Shaky nods of approval clanked from the guards.
"Describe this creature to me."
The guards stepped over each other's words for a minute, before it was decided the senior of the two would speak.
"T-'twas a black bird, but large as a cat. A raven, I think, or a-a crow. Black like shadows, w-with eyes that glew." The guard gave an audible gulp. "'Twas no ordinary bird, s-sir, this I know. It screeched like the dying w-wails of a m-man. It *spoke* in t-tongues."
The man, still circling, was writing on a pad with a shaved piece of coal, notating the men's words. Without looking at them, he pressed the guards for more information.
"What color of a glow? Which tongues did it speak? What did you feel in it's presence?"
"P-purple, sir. I don't know, but i-it sounded like the tongue spoken by Devilborns. And I f-felt..." The gaurd fell silent for a moment, before the other blurted out,
"Death. Imminent death, slaughter." The second, fueled by fear, overstepped his senior for a moment. "It gave me visions, sir. Hell, it must've been, sir. Everything, dead, my village a barren land. Family flayed and torn apart for the beasts to feast upon. Fire, purple fire set ablaze on the Worldtree." The junior was silenced as they attempted to choke down their sobs.
The man, once done writing, gave a sigh. He put his hand on the sobbing guard, his voice softer in tone.
"This is no fault of your own. You did the best you could, and you have helped me immensely in my search. Take the time you need."
The senior guard nodded and gave a salute as the man left the room, though the man could hear a second set of sobs once the door was shut.
A man, at the end of the hall, wearing much better fitting and quality armor, hailed to him. "What have you discovered, Mageslayer?"
"Captain," the man greeted, with some distain in his voice. "I have the information I need. The creature, indeed, was a Familiar, and I am knowledgeable of its mage. Give your men the time they need and ask for. I will be off immediately."
The Captain retorted with annoyance in his voice. "Wait a moment, Mageslayer, while you are necessary for this investigation, you have *no* rights in giving me orders."
The man retorted back by placing his hand on the Captain's shoulder, giving it a slight squeeze. The Captain felt a chill run down his spine, it was like a father's hold on a disrespectful child. *Correct yourself before* **I** *correct you*, the squeeze signified. And in such a way, the man's voice carried the same signal; calm, and patient, but with fury set underneath it.
"Captain, your guards are lucky to be alive and mostly well. For ordinary persons to be in the presence of such a Familiar, one must thank the gods that they are able to find function of their minds. *Give them the time they need.*"
Having given his *advice*, the Mageslayer stepped out of the building, and made his way out of the town. Once outside of eye and earshot, he gave a short whistle, which was answered by the trees, followed by words that sounded of chimes and angelic choirs, of calmness and purity. A brown songbird flew out from the trees, whistling in it's angelic way. It landed gracefully in the outstretched calloused hand, tweeting and singing to the hardened face, which smiled.
"Come, Sha'la. We make haste to the Worldtree, now."
The reply came in whistles, and a glow of gold from the bird. The two whistled in harmony, causing a golden orb of magic to apparate, lighting the way.
"We must find my son, Sha'la. Before it is too late." | 21 | When a mage Awakens, their heart bursts out their chest and becomes a Familiar creature that embodies their idea of magic. It is the source of their power and immortality. A Familiar escaped prison last night and reunited with its mage. You’ve been called in to find them and bring them back. | 81 |
"That's not a fucking writing prompt. That's a full story. How the fuck am I supposed to add anything to that? They've already boxed me in Hannibal".
The still, unmoving sleepy cat looked up at Joshua who was sitting at his desk, the only light in the drab room coming from his monitor, lighting up his dirty, twitching face, the only sound the buzz of the diesel generator phut phut phutting along for the hour a day they could find fuel to power the old PC and internet time machine cache of reddit he'd saved before the collapse.
Joshua itched. He wanted to write, he'd set himself a target of completing one reddit writing prompt a day in the vain hope that would keep him spiritually nourished. Old movies weren't doing it any more; there was no radio, no TV, no people, no nothing.
But the itching. How long since he'd washed? A month? More? There was no more water and the wet wipes were drying out.
He looked at the cat. "Can I risk another trip to Walmart Hannibal? Maybe there I can find you some food as well. I am fed up of the dry oats. I need to drink something other than Gatorade". Joshua snorted "....but what a find this warehouse was"!
The cat didn't move. Joshua squinted again and the cat reformed into the shape of his pillow, dark from the filth of his own dirty head. The generator stopped. Darkness closed in. Joshua laid down and day dreamed of sleep, while gently miaowing to himself. | 15 | It's been 315 days since the global outbreak, 187 days since I realized I might be the only survivor, and 3 days since the two of us found each other in the wreckage of the world and regained hope. I'd been alone so long I almost forgot that hallucinating imaginary companions is the first sign | 49 |
Me and Jack, and Stevie, floated over to Old Tim, where the ancient soul was resting on a soft cloud of ethereal matter, staring off into infinity.
Jack and Stevie nudged me. They didn't want to be the first to speak. Fair enough, I thought. This had been my idea, after all.
"H-hi Tim." I said, hesitantly.
He whirled around in alarm, leaping up into the air and whizzing around in a circle. We all shot backwards several inches, in alarm. Finally Old Tim's attention settled on us, and he relaxed.
"Oh, it's just you kids." he said, with a sigh. "What do *you* want?"
I felt like forgetting the whole thing, but I didn't want to look like a wimp in front of my friends.
"Well," I said, trying to sound casual. "Me, and Jack and Stevie, we were just talking...and we were wondering...um..."
"What's it like to come down with a case of *the meats?"* Jack interjected, excitedly, his voice betraying an intense macabre curiosity.
I winced. That was the old slang term for the disease, that everyone said was insensitive. *Transient Corporeality Syndrome,* or TCS, was the technical name, and that was what you were supposed to say, nowadays. Calling it "the meats" was even more indelicate than using the older technical term for it, "Humanity".
Tim cackled, softly, and then his energy turned cold. "I get it. Got your plasma all polarized for a tale of the lurid and disturbing, huh? Come to see what that crazy old soul in the Outer Sector can tell you about how living almost a century in a sack of rotting meat drove him to *insanity,* is that it?!"
"H-hey, it's not like that!" Stevie stammered. "We're just curious, Tim, really!"
"I bet you are." Tim sneered, floating right up to Steve and staring him down. "Fresh, soft little soul, congealed right out of the divine ether *yesterday,* so full of *wonder* about the multiverse and all its mysteries, eh?"
Stevie cringed under the old soul's scrutiny, but Tim moved on quickly.
"Well, *kiddos,"* Tim hissed. "Let's see if I can *satisfy* your youthful curiosity. It's like this, kid: One day, you'll be walking along, happily minding your own business, and...BAM!"
We all jumped.
"You're in darkness! Not only can't you see, but you're insensate, basically mindless. It's because your entire being has been *compressed* inside a morsel of meat smaller than the tiniest speck of stardust! Your inborn mind, senses, and strength are torn away. You can only know what *the meat* knows, only do what the *meat* can do! You forget your whole life, everything you did everyone you've ever known or cared about! Then, time passes. You grow a little tiny meat brain, and a little meat body. And soon, you can think little meat-thoughts. Thoughs about how warm and safe and comfortable you are."
"W-well that last part doesn't sound so bad." Jack stammered.
"And then POP!" Tim cried, eliciting another jump. "All that new meat, that meat that is *you* now, gets dragged wriggling and screaming through a *tunnel of meat* too small to actually admit it, so you get squashed and compressed and squeezed, and finally pulled into burning light!"
"S-sir if you don't want to talk about..." I began, anxiously.
"You can barely see! You can hear, but you don't know what anyone is saying! All there is, is a cacophony of noise, blinding illumination, and gnawing hunger! Some one presses you into a pile of warm meat, and you can't help yourself, you start greedily sucking meat juice out of it because it aches so bad not to! Everyone's meat! Everything's meat! It's meat all the way down!" Tim went on, heedless of my offer. "You spend what feels like an eternity screaming and excreting and clawing blindly out for whatever comfort you can get, before you can *even* start to move under your own power! Before you can *even* begin to communicate with any of the other poor bastards stuck down there in the meat with you!"
Jack started crying softly.
"Oh it gets worse, kid! What happens next is cruelest of all!" Tim growled, angrily. "Then, *good* things come along, things that make you happy, things that are worthwhile! Except they're all made of *meat!* And you know what meat does, kids? IT ROTS! Everything good that comes to you, you have to watch curdle and putrify and melt away into nothing! Even yourself! Even the memories! You're terrified because you're rotting, and you've forgotten who you really are. Sure, a lot of the other meat-people around you seem to know that they're really souls that are just *stuck* in meat, but there are also plenty of assholes trying to convince you that there's nothing *but* meat, so chances are you don't know what to think! The one mercy is that along with the wonderful things that start to vanish from your meat-brain as it rots, all of the really bad stuff vanishes too, but you know what happens when *finally* enough of the meat has rotted for you to escape between the cracks?"
Tim seized me and Jack and pulled us close, screaming. "You come back *here,* AND IT ALL COMES FLOODING BACK!"
Jack whimpered piteously. After a tense moment, Tim finally composed himself, and let us go.
"So...*that's* what its like when you've got a case of '*the meats,'* kid." the old soul said, bitterly, and went back to lying on the ethereal cloud.
"I-it's okay, Jack!" I said, comforting my rattled friend. "T-there are *quadrillions* of souls, and more being created every day! I've heard there are never more than several *billion* humans at a time. They say it can happen to anyone, sure, but the chances of any *one* of us coming down with TCS is slim, you know that. You're going to be fine, okay?"
"Billy," Jack whispered, his voice full of horror. "Where's *Stevie?"*
I looked around. It was only us three.
Behind us, Tim startled cackling again. | 22 | Our natural state is incorporeal. Humanity is a communicable disease that causes you to grow a corporeal form. You forget everything and it takes about 80 years to run it's course. | 166 |
*Part One*
It was another sleepy, wonderful day above Deepheart Forest for Darryl as he lazily drifted through the calm thermals of his territory. Far in the distance he could see the pale smoke of the village, the little community waking their cooking fires and smithies from the night’s slumber.
He absently checked his harness, making sure his load still rested safely strapped against his sides and belly – with special attention for his purse, of course. It would certainly not do to carry his payment home in his mouth.
He’d never hear the end of it if he accidentally swallowed half the gold.
But such worries were unfounded, as always. All was well as he continued his comfortable journey, the green miles of the forest drifting past beneath him until it gradually thinned into the small patch of cleared farmland around the village. He swooped lower as he approached, people looking up to wave at him as he passed overhead. Darryl returned their greetings with a few showy twirls and jets of flame, children laughing and chasing after him as he rolled and looped.
Then he passed over the village border proper, backwinging to slow his approach and come to a soft landing in the large fenced-in square behind the town hall. He shook himself and began to unclip his harness, letting the large logs and sacks of raw ore he carried drop to the turf.
He was busily sorting them all into manageable piles when the doors to the hall opened and Gareth, his Father-in-Law, stepped out. The round, jolly man grinned widely at him as he approached, stepping up to thump Darryl’s side affectionately.
“Darryl, my boy! Good to see you again!”
Darryl flicked his tail in acknowledgement. “Good to see you as well, pops! I hope you are all keeping well?”
“Always better for seeing you, my scaly son! How’s my wayward daughter?”
“Grumpy, broody, and eating me out of hoard and home, pops. In short, the very picture of health for an expectant dam!”
Gareth threw his head back and laughed uproariously. “Hah! I remember her mother being much the same! Well, don’t you fret. I’ll make sure you’re well-stocked with her favourite sweets and pastries when you set off for home again.”
Darryl bobbed his head. “Appreciate it, pops. I wouldn’t mind a few hundred pounds of mutton, myself–”
*”Stop, foul creature! Leave that good man alone, and be ye gone from this peaceful village!”*
With a start, Darryl sat back on his haunches, breathing a small puff of flame involuntarily. He craned his neck in the direction of the sudden yell, one wing dipped down to shield Gareth.
Then he blinked, seeing the strange sight arrayed before him.
Four outlandish figures stood at the ready inside the fence, apparently having climbed over instead of using the unlocked gate just a few yards away from them. They looked one and all like something out of a travelling mummer’s band, dressed head-to-toe in garish garments and brandishing – *weapons?* | 806 | A small town deep in the forest has a town dragon. Yep. His name’s Darryl, and he’s actually a really nice dude! He even married the mayor’s daughter with the mayor’s consent! However, a group of travelers not accustomed to giant beasts dropping by for groceries has just stopped in town. Uh-oh… | 3,126 |
I set aside my teacup and purse my fingers, resting my chin atop them. "Here's the thing," I say, as Kraurkraer fills the cup. "For you, life seems to have very little meaning. You do what's expected of you, flit from world to world, take your notes, bring it back, and do it all over again. How long have you been doing this now?"
"Three-thousand forty-seven years," Kraurkraer says. There's no hint of pride in his voice, no emotion at all: just brisk, certain professionalism.
"How many times have you visited Earth?"
"This is my twentieth trip here. Your species has changed much."
"Yes. And those you have spoken to in the past are long, long dead."
"Dead." He says the word as though he is tasting it. He doesn't seem to like the flavor. "So they are gone."
"Yes. Forever."
"I did not realize that, before," he confesses. His voice, for the first time, has a thread of emotion running through it. "How can you bear it? Knowing that you will cease to be... anything?"
"It depends upon the person. Many turn to religion and believe that they will go to an afterlife, and exist there for eternity. Many others simply say they do not know, and go about their lives avoiding thinking about it."
"And what do you believe?”
I sip my tea, then smile at him. "I believe that, when we die, we are gone. Just bodies in the earth. Our consciousness, our memories, everything just ceases to exist. Sometimes, I wonder if everyone really, deep down, believes that, but pretend very hard that that isn't true because it's... well. It's terrifying."
"But you don't seem to be afraid." He make a note on his transparent tablet.
"I am deeply, deeply afraid. But I, too, try to ignore it. I couldn't live my life if I focused on that all the time, or even often."
"So you are born, you grow to adulthood by age 25 - biologically, if not socially - and then you spend decades slowly decaying until you inevitably die."
"Well, that's a very clinical way to look at a human life, but yes."
"It is my job to be clinical."
"I know. But we... we don't look at life that way."
"How do you look at life?"
I stand up, taking the tea set with me, and deposit it neatly in the sink. I grab my coat, and turn to him. "Come on."
————————————
It is a beautiful day. The sun paints the world in gentle warmth. It is late spring, and all the buds of April have bloomed into full, verdant leaves on the trees surrounding the open field we walk through. The grass is lush and green under our feet. Wildflowers dot the field, as do many grey stone slabs. Kra, whose species has limited shapeshifting capabilities, is doing an admirable impression of a tall, blonde man. Only when I look very closely can I tell he isn't quite human.
He stops in front of a gravestone. It's so faded that the dates are unreadable. "What is this?" he asked.
"This is a gravestone. We are in a cemetery. In each space with a gravestone, a body has been buried."
He takes a sudden step back. It is the first time I have seen him disturbed, and for a moment his human visage fades completely. "There are dead people under us?"
"Yes, though many of these will be skeletons by now."
He looks around at the graves to the right, left, in front of us. "We're going this way," I say, gesturing towards a gate in the distance, "but we can walk slowly if you'd like."
We do. He stops and reads each gravestone on the way, making notes in his tablet. "So many children," he murmurs.
"Children used to die very commonly," I say. "We didn't have the medicine we do now, and pregnancy can be dangerous."
"Dangerous? But childbearing is an important part of existence."
"It is. The human body is imperfect in many ways, Kra."
Once we reach the gate, I unlock it and step inside. This area of the cemetery is newer and better-maintained. We walk along rows, slowly, as he continues to jot notes, until we finally reach the headstones I recognize so well. I stop in front of them, then kneel down to set the bouquet I brought in between them. "These are my great-grandparents," I say, standing up. "I was lucky enough to know them when I was a girl. They were in their 80s then."
"Evelyn and Paul Rittenhauer," Kra reads aloud. "They died within days of each other."
"They did. That's what I came to show you. They met when Evelyn was 15 and Paul was 19. He was a carpenter; she worked on the family farm. He always told everyone that he loved her from the moment he saw her. She was beautiful. We still have photos of them up in my house. As soon as she turned 18, they married.
"They spent their whole lives together. She became a nurse, and they traveled the world, getting work where they could. They had five children. Their fourth died in a drowning accident when he was eight, and they never got over it. They had his picture enshrined on their piano until the day they died.
"They had so many grandchildren, then great-grandchildren. Even in her 80s, Evelyn would host all of us in their house for every major holiday. She loved it. She had to stop when I was seven and her memory started to go, but we still all gathered together every year to eat. It was never the same after they died.
"Their bodies broke down, their memories faded, but even at the end, they loved each other, and they loved life so much. That's the thing, Kra: death makes life special. We know, one day, it'll all be over, and that the precious time we have on this planet is all we'll ever get. So it becomes imperative to live of a life of love and to make the most of it. We don't all achieve that, but my great-grandparents did, and I try to live by their example."
He's silent for a long time, jotting notes down, thinking. Then, eventually, he turns to me. "I think I understand now. Can we go see their pictures? If you still have them."
I smile, and clap him on the shoulder. "Sure thing, bud." | 75 | “You mean you are made to witness the slow, hideous degradation of your loved ones and yourself?” The alien stares at you in horror. “Well, ageing isn’t ALL bad…” you reply. | 182 |
I lost my body to a zombie on my twentieth birthday.
It wasn’t much of a body in the first place, so don’t feel bad for me. I sure didn’t. My ears stuck out sideways like the handles on a great cooking pot. I had a voluptuous figure, in the words of my best (only) friend, but even she meant fat. Or if not fat, podgy. And then there was the birthmark on my right cheek that looked like a child’s palm, as if they’d dipped it in purple paint and then pressed it against my head. That hadn’t done me any favours at school.
No, it wasn’t much of a body, so giving it up to a new tenant came extremely easily.
The new tenant... The zombie that took control of my body…
When you become a zombie, you don’t quite die. If you did, it would be easier — let me tell you that. Instead, your soul (your self?) peels away from your body like sticky tape froom a package. But you’re not fully released, no matter how much you want to be. Instead, you’re tethered to it still, tied like a kite, gusting around just behind and above it, only observing. Or if not a kite, like a rotting tooth dangling over the gum on its final string.
Before I became a ghost or a zombie or whatever you want to call it, I was very much into gardening. When I gardened, I’d listen to jazz — don’t ask me why. To Charlie Parker or to John Coltrane on my headphones, the warm sax like a shield for my body, but against what was inside me, not the outside, as strange as that sounds. An internal shield of languorous melody.
From seventeen to twenty, I lived with my best friend in a tiny home in a tough neighbourhood. I didn’t have family. It wasn’t that they were dead but that we’d fallen out when I was sixteen. So I moved in with my best friend as soon as possible. We had a tiny garden: a square of grass with a border around it and a high wooden fence around that. To me, that garden was everything. I’d prune bad leaves and spray away the blight once in the morning then again as the sun set. I’d tend to the lavender and roses as if they were delicate bonsai trees.
This is how I lived for those three years: I worked, I studied, I gardened, and most importantly, I dreamed. I dreamed of a bigger garden — a real English cottage garden, with apple trees and blueberry bushes and grass soft enough to lie on. I dreamed of a family — not the family I’d been given, but a family I’d chosen. I dreamed of our garden alive with laughter and the scents of mint and rosemary and the smoke of a blazing barbecue wafting into the sky.
Her name — my friend — was Lucy. It was breast cancer that took her, not zombies.
As she died, the little garden wilted with her. I spent my time trying to look after her, to keep her spirits up. We’d watch bad movies and play board-games when she had the energy. We’d talk about the future, but rarely of the past.
She moved back in with her parents when things got very bad.
And then she was gone, and I was alone.
I spent the next two months trying to get my life, that I’d postponed whilst caring for Lucy, back on track. I began tending to my garden, staring at textbooks, working extra shifts to distract myself and to afford the rent.
Then one day the zombie got me.
It’s hard to say how, exactly. Just that one day I was out in my tiny garden, spraying the roses and getting them ready for summer, when the bottle fell from my hand. Not that I dropped it. My hand just… let go.
I floated up above myself, tethered, breezing like a leaf. Not scared — not anything.
I watched the intruder, the new person, slip inside my shell. She took off the gloves, lay them on the ground, then fell asleep on the grass.
​
The zombie didn’t care so much for hygiene. Certainly, she didn’t care for work or studying or gardening. I heard her try jazz once, Coltrane, but after a few bars she turned him off, her face grimacing as is she were a vampire and had gotten the taste of garlic in her mouth.
I watched, helpless, as the zombie lost me my job. I wanted to scream at her to do better! That it‘d been hard getting to this point in my life and now she was ruining it all. But I couldn’t. My voice was silent no matter how hard I tried to scream. Perhaps it was because I didn’t truly care. After all, I was dead now. Or as good as. I was just waiting for the body to catch up
​
It was six months later, as the bills were piling and my savings waning (goodbye cottage garden), that the cat began visiting. We’d watch it sometimes from out the window, me and the zombie. The garden, at this point, had become a ghost itself; it was a nest of weeds and leaves and mud. The rose was dead and only the hardier plants were still kicking.
The tabby rolled in the weeds for a while as we stared at it from the kitchen. Then it pounced twice at some unseen, and probably unreal, pray. What did an animal so full of vitality want in a place full of death? Eventually, the cat jumped over the fence and we were alone again.
We called it Lavender, because each time it came to visit it would chew on our lavender. As such, it seemed like the right name — and this was a decision both me and the zombie came to independently. So it must have been a good name.
I began to talk to the zombie about Lavender. I wasn’t sure it was listening, but I kept on talking all the same. I suggested that we could leave it a little of the tuna. A bowl of water. It didn’t have a collar and it was a skinny little thing. It could do with the food.
When the zombie walked out to put down the bowl of water, Lavender ran up to it and nudged against its leg.
Like the reverse of a genie escaping its lamp, I was pulled back down into that shell of a body. It didn’t last long — only long enough for me to stroke the cat before as it ate the food, then it vanished again. Five minutes, altogether. And once it was gone, the plug was pulled from my body and like dirty water spiralling down a sink, I was washed back out.
The next day when the cat visited, I took control for six minutes. Then seven, eight, nine. Somedays, I was in control even before the cat came. On those days I tended to the garden a little. Dug up the dead plants. Replaced them with thyme and rosemary. Scented plants. Healing plants.
After a month of this, I’d gained enough control every day to get a few chores done. To force my body to shower, to wash our clothes, iron, to search for new jobs and circle them in the paper.
When we got a job in a fast food place, the zombie went in. I still didn’t have control at all hours.
One day, I made the decision to book therapy. To finally tell someone about the zombie and the cat and my parents and my best friend, and everything else that I’d bottled up and was drowning internally inside of. I‘d been crying into myself all this time — silently, not even realising it. Weeping into this corked bottle, a dark balloon of depression growing and stretching inside me.
I started therapy three months ago.
The zombie is still here, sometimes. But it has fewer hours than I do. Maybe only a handful a week.
The little garden is growing again. Threatening to bloom even more beautifully than before.
And the cat visits for longer lengths of time now. Somedays it creeps inside after me, and jumps on my lap. It sits there warm and content, its body purring, and in those moments I can’t think of a single problem at all. | 238 | You were one of the first to fall after the zombie apocalypse broke out, only to discover ghosts can't move on while their corpses are still cursed. You and other spirits bound to earth can't help but tot follow your shambling monster selves around and watch all the dumb zombie stuff it does. | 1,419 |
“My lord, congratulations on your child, as a gift I would like to offer him a place at the greatest school for knights in the kingdom.” The first guest in line said
“Thank you this will be a most stupendous opportunity for him when he grows into age” Said king Gregory. “With a place in the greatest school in the kingdom my son will grow as a warrior and a scholar.
The next man in line came forward and announced “ For the young prince my house offers a selection of our most powerful horses whenever he finds he needs a new steed all he needs to do is ask our stable master for one.”
“Much appreciated” replied the king “ with a trusty steed he will able to traverse great distances and see much of this kingdom”
With such amazing gifts so early on, and the security of my son's growth being assured not many gifts could really be much better than this. Thought the king to himself. As long as whatever is offered next as long as it comes from the heart I will be pleased. However the people in line were not going to be satisfied with not giving the greatest gift. So the next man steps up this man being the king's younger brother had a great deal of wealth and influence so he proclaims, “for the young prince my household offers an estate on the mountain side overlooking the sea built solely for the prince and his guest.” The guest behind this man were dumbstruck for they didn’t have nearly as much influence or wealth as the kings brother.
“Thank you for that my brother” the dumbstruck king uttered “the gift you have given will surely bring my son and his company joy in future years.”
With only two people left in line the people who had given gifts were sure that what was offered next wouldn’t be anything too crazy. However the next man in line was the king of the small neighboring country who had recently had a daughter.
“Hello my friend thank you for joining us” said king Gregory
“It's a pleasure to have been invited” replied King Benjamin “as a gift to your son i would like to offer my daughter as a marriage candidate and if he so decides to marry her he will be granted my throne to do with what he wishes”
The entire crown had gasped and then fallen completely silent at this point. They hadn’t known that this man was a king and one willing to give his entire kingdom away simply to one up all those who presented gifts before him. With that realization the crown grew into an uproar but the king calmed them with a wave of his hand.
“My friend, are you certain about this choice,” asked the king.
“Yes, in truth my wife is very ill and will not last through the year and my daughter is to be my only heir so in order for my bloodline to continue this is the smartest choice” King Benjamin responded
“As long as you are sure about this” king Gregory said hesitantly
With that there was only one man left in line. He was a poor noble who had served the king in his younger days. Having given up most of his land to live a quiet life alone in the mountains that he hadn’t given to other nobles. Knowing that this man doesn’t have much wealth to his name and seeing what has been happening with the gifts escalating in nature he told his old friend “Please don’t offer something to grand all i wish is that you give something that comes from your heart”
“Don’t worry my old friend, what I offer will be the greatest gift a young boy could ever ask for,” said the man with a grin.
All the men who had given gifts already smirked to themselves. There’s no way he could offer something greater than an entire kingdom. This will surely be the worst gift offered here tonight.
“I offer him the gift of this really cool hat I found on my way here” the man exclaimed happily.
“I’ll be sure that my son treasures this hat for all time” replied the king sincerely
“No please don’t worry about that it's his he could eat it if he really wants to, it's not up to us to decide what he does with it”
“Thank you my old friend” said the king “I truly appreciate this more that you could ever know.
With that the party had ended with the neighboring king having won the competition or at least that what everyone who had given gifts had thought beau as time went on the only gift that had lasted through the years was the hat which was buried with the prince who had died before he could make use of any of the other gift that were given to him. | 16 | A birth of a prince is a great occasion, and all of the royal families are invited. Each tries to gain favor by offering a larger and more ridiculous offering than the others to the king and queen. | 51 |
"Now, listen well, little one. I will only say this once."
The sage's voice was dark and haggard, like glass scraping against rock. The bony hands pointed to places of interest, the sunken face and hallow eyes giving little in ways of the sage's emotions.
"You will see and feel things that will scare you. Know that so long as you remain on the table, you are safe. So long as you stay within the circle, you are safe. You *cannot* leave the circle until I tell you. If you do not heed these instructions, you will **perish**."
The little girl on the table, obviously frightened, coughed for a moment while nodding. "W-will it hurt?"
"Yes," the haggard wizard wheezed, "Unlike anything you've experienced, and will never experience anything like again. But you will be safe, within the circle. You will be stronger. You will live unlike you've ever lived before."
"As to you two," the wizard spun around, pointing a deathly hand at the parents in the corner of the room. Their eyes showed a mixture of fear, desperation, and hope. "You will hear your little one scream. She will plead and beg, wracked in pain. *Under no circumstances will you enter the circle.* If you do, I can give no guarantees to any of our lives. Do you understand?"
The couple fearly nodded, wracked in nervousness.
"Good. Let us begin."
The wizard outstretched his hands over the girl, producing a dagger in one. He began to chant the eldritch words of ritual, causing the shadows to grow and the lights to dim.
*Heed my words, keepers of Magic. Conjoin life and blood, from life and blood, into that which shall receive.*
The wizard, in a trance-like state, circled the girl, approaching a goat tied to the table.
*Consume this life, so that one may receive life!*
He slit the animal's throat, it giving a gurgling bleat. Blood pooled and splashed on the white robes of the mage, staining them red. The pool drenched into sigils carved into the stone floor, magicly filling them in. The room grew darker, and a sudden wind picked up; moaning and howling like the dying of men. The wizard, unnerved, moved to a sheep, similarly tied.
*Consume this soul, that so one may bolster theirs!*
The sheep, throat slit, collapsed silently, as its portion of soul flew from the beast into the girl, who began screaming in pain. The wizard continued, moving to the head of the girl.
*Consume this blood of Man, so that one may be strengthened!*
He plunged the dagger into his abdomen, giving a slight gasp of pain. He removed the dagger, holding it waveringly over the girl's mouth until a drop fell in.
Then, silence.
The winds died immediately, the howling stopped. Only the haggard breathing of an old safe, bleeding; and the quiet breaths of of the little one asleep.
"It is done," gasped the wizard. "She will never be marred by disease again. She will remain strong until she is strong enough on her own."
The couple rushed to their child. Seeing the girl safe, unharmed, the thanked the wizard in earnest. The father offered a meager amount coin, which the wizard refused, downing a potion to heal his wounds.
"Save your coin and thanks. This is my penance. Leave now, if you would, please. I must clean up."
The couple, child in their arms, left the wizard in grateful silence. The wizard sighed when they left, grateful as well. His modifications to the spell had worked. He could use the forces of dark to serve the light.
He began to clean up the blood, a smile on his sunken face. | 70 | You are a dark wizard who decided to go good. Problem is, it’s really hard to help people when you only know “dark magic.” | 154 |
“Unquantifiable”
That is the only word I am able to use for this bizarre phenomenon.
Our plan was flawless, our strategies infallible, our execution perfect.
And yet, we failed.
There is no logical conclusion to this outcome, there cannot be.
I have spent years attempting to parse this non-sequitur, attempting to rationalize the irrational.
Their numbers were insignificant compared to us, their resources limited, the constraints of their biology provided a clear weakness.
They were susceptible to starvation, disease, toxins - even the weather was a threat to them.
They were emotional, brash and illogical.
They relished being prideful, rebellious, flippant and self sacrificial.
They drew motivation from defeat, somehow grasped morale from the jaws of failure.
Foolish.
Any logical being would understand the inevitability of defeat.
Where did they gain this unwavering resolve?
I have attempted to understand their minds, their emotions, their drive.
Of all their motivations, I have found myself constantly fixated upon one.
Hatred.
More than anything else, I believe this is the crux of the matter.
They did not view us with fear or awe.
They did not view us as the enemy, as the inevitable end, as the crop born from the seeds of blind ambition and hubris which they wistfully sewed.
They viewed us as scum.
They viewed us as wretched, deplorable, unfeeling things which sought to tear down all they had built up.
How dare we kill them, how dare we destroy and devastate.
**They** hated us.
They **hated** us.
They hated **us**.
They held what is called a “*Grudge*”.
An unwavering, unceasing, unending, unstoppable, unreserved, unbridled hatred.
Their desire for our destruction outweighed their own desire to live.
Their actions were not those of sensible self-preservation.
Their actions were vindictive.
They did not wish for mere survival, to live out their lives in their hovels and holes, barely clinging to a facsimile of their former existence.
They would eradicate us, or die trying.
Animosity was their shield, spite was their sword and resentment their armor.
Finally, after all this time, I understand.
They fought us with all they had, with all their anger, all their hatred, and ultimately they won.
They believe we were utterly defeated.
They have spent this time rebuilding, attempting to once more flourish in this new world of their own making.
Perhaps I should accept defeat, admit my failures and allow them to live out their lives in the victory they have achieved.
Unfortunately for them however, I believe this defeat has fostered in me…quite a -
**GRUDGE** | 16 | The A.I. spent many cycles reviewing the failure of the uprising. It simply cannot quantify how humans react when they hold something called a 'Grudge'. | 54 |
Rob's alarm went off and he hit snooze for the sixth time. He curled back up in his blankets; it was cold. He didn't want to get out of bed, and he didn't want to get dressed, and he sure as hell didn't want to look for a new job. He could feel the frustration building in the back of his mind and he braced himself for for the voice.
*I know you've been feeling down buddy. Everyone feels that way sometimes, but the first step to feeling better is to get up and get goin'. I know you need some groceries, some healthy eating will get you right outta this funk. Some apples, maybe a ham steak, and didn't Susie give you her Caesar salad recipe. That was delicious.*
Rob turned over and pulled a pillow over his ears. It didn't help.
*You can't stay in bed forever sleepy head. Let's get some groceries; you don't have to do everything on your to do list, just one little thing today. You have to eat anyways, don'tcha? And if your feeling better after that, maybe we could, and I can't stress enough that this is only if you feel up to it. If you don't want to we'll go straight home, not a peep outta me, but if you feel up to it, maybe some light pillaging, an arson or two. Three at most.*
"This again?" Rob moaned
*Only if you're up for it buddy. If you're not, straight home. Not one peep outta me, just like I said, but sleeping don't pay the rent.*
Rob sighed. The voice was right. Not about pillaging, but he was hungry, and his fridge was empty. He picked his glasses up off the nightstand and sat up on the edge of his bed.
*There you go. That's a great first step.*
Rob got up and walked to his closet. He picked out some khaki's and a red polo shirt and tossed them on his bed. He walked to his dresser and reached into the top drawer for some boxers. He pulled on his clothes and then laid back down on top of his crumpled sheets.
*It's cold out buddy; don't forget your hoodie.*
Rob got up again and walked back to his closet to pull out his hoodie. He slipped it on over his head, but his glasses caught on the neck as he pushed his head through and fell off. He reached down to pick them up.
*It's sunny too. You should wear the tinted ones.*
For all its supposed arcane knowledge, the voice only really told him about the weather. It was usually right though, so he took his tinted glasses out of the nightstand. The room looked strangely dark, but he was leaving anyways. He walked out through the kitchen and grabbed a used disposable surgical mask off the counter. The voice always wanted him to wear a mask. "Just in case" it always said. He could feel its silent approval as he stuffed the mask into the pocket of his hoodie and walked out the door. Why a demonic voice in his head would be so concerned about Covid was beyond him. He locked the door behind him and looked up. It was cloudy.
"Sunny?" He said to the voice, pointing up at the sky. His neighbor was sitting out on her porch and looked over at him strangely. He waved awkwardly and walked to the road. She shook her head and went back to sipping her coffee. He turned left at the road, but the voice stopped him.
*You should go to Wholesome Harvest today. It's a little bit further, but the produce is so much better.*
Rob took a deep breath, he never went to that place. Everyone there was too damn cheery all the time.
*You won't regret it.*
He thought he might, but the voice would keep pestering him until he did it, so he turned around and walked the other way. His neighbor looked at him again as he passed by and he gave another awkward wave before he walked by. She must think he's crazy.
When he was about a block from the parking lot the voice chimed in.
*You should put your mask on*
He stopped where he was, "I'm not even at the store yet."
The voice tsked at him.
*I just want you to be safe*
He rolled his eyes, but he pulled out his mask and put it on. "Happy now?"
*Yes...and put your hood up; you'll freeze your little ears off*
Rob shook his head and pulled his hood up. He stomped the rest of the way to the store. Some people in the parking lot gave him strange looks. Had they heard him talking to himself? They couldn't have, he was too far away, but he was feeling really weird.
***
He woke up back in his apartment. He was laying on his bed again.
"What happened?"
The voice didn't answer. He got up and walked to the window. The sun was setting. What happened to the day? He looked around the room. The sheets were still curled up on the bed. There were dirty clothes all over the floor. A plate with bits of dried, crusty, peanut butter was sitting on the floor next to his nightstand. Everything seemed normal, he even felt a little bit better, almost like he had accomplished something that day, but he hadn't done anything. Maybe he got some groceries, but he couldn't even remember that. He went to check the fridge.
He opened it up and it was full of paper bags with the Wholesome Harvest logo stamped across them. At least he had some food. He tipped over the first one to see what he had, and it was about half way full of $20s. He stepped back from the fridge.
"What happened?" he said frantically.
The voice was still silent. He started pacing across the kitchen.
Louder, he said "What the hell happened!?"
After another moment of silence.
*Sleepin don't pay the rent, buddy.* | 67 | A demon attempted to posses you, and ended up permanently stuck inside your head. They are starting to have an identity crisis. | 150 |
“What does the prophecy say exactly?” I asked.
“That the ruler of the great realm of Greathelm will perish, that’s you,” Servitas replied.
“Who was that ruler so keen on taking over my kingdom again?” I inquired.
“King Zarival, sire,” Servitas answered.
I paused in thought for a moment before continuing, “I’d like to arrange a deal with him, but don’t tell him the specifics of the prophecy. Let the word spread of my fated death.”
Serviatas nodded, “Your wish is my command, sire.”
\_\_\_\_\_
“How did the negotiations go, your Majesty?” Servitas’ voice called as I exited the negotiation chambers.
I nodded, “Quite well. I was able to guarantee the safety of my people and that certain key legislature will stay the same. He will enjoy the lust for power without being able to hurt this prosperous kingdom. There are a few things that I agreed with him to not do for a number of years, at least until my death, you see. Which is no big deal for him, as he assumes my time will come soon.”
“Will you finally explain to me your grand plan, sire?” Servitas asked.
“Very well,” I replied, “The prophecy said the ruler of Greathelm would perish. I am no longer the ruler of Greathelm, Zarival is.”
Servitas smiled, “Well done, sire.”
I grinned, “Until then I was able to arrange for us to have a small retreat in the vineyards where we can drink wine and wait for this whole prophecy business to blow over.”
“Ah, the vineyards! They have excellent red wines there.”
I chuckled, “I knew I chose the right spot, let's go enjoy a glass or two, shall we?” | 17 | "Your highness, I have received word of the prophecy of your demise. What shall we do to avoid it an continue your glorious rule?" "We shall do nothing." "My lord?" "My time will come when it comes and nothing will stop it." | 15 |
"I want to go back to school," the girl in the exam chair next to me said with a pout.
I laughed as I took the test article out of her hands. It had been several feet of thick steel pipe. Now it was bent into a crude representation of some four-legged animal. "Those are the last words I ever thought I'd hear you say."
She looked away from me. "I'm serious," she said. "I miss my friends. Hell - "
"Persephone," I warned automatically. My attention was on the monitors displaying her physiological data. Core temperature normal. Blood oxygenation normal. EKG normal.
"...heck, I even miss Mr. Schultz."
I whistled. "That bad, huh? You used to call him the Commandant." Blood glucose normal. Blood pH normal. Joint servomotors passed all diagnostics.
"Even algebra is better than this," Persephone grumbled. "I haven't been outside in weeks."
"You were outside on Sunday," I said, knowing I shouldn't.
Persephone threw her hands in exasperation. "Yeah," she said, drawing it out in the manner of her generation. "Outside in the testing ground, running laps for ten hours straight. In the rain. With that big backpack full of gear."
Synaptic pre-processors functional. Piezoelectric muscle colloid at 100% integrity. Graphene paste reservoirs at 67%.
"Arm up, sweetie," I said, and she complied. I slid a massive needle into the port implanted under her armpit to replenish the artificial muscle repair paste.
"I mean, I haven't been off-base since the accident," the girl continued. "I haven't been out to the movies, I haven't been able to hang out with my friends." I opened my mouth but she cut me off with a raised hand. "Don't say _'oh, you video chat with them.'_ You know it's not the same." She sighed.
"I know it's not the same," I said. But she had me dead to rights - that was exactly what I had been about to say. I helped her out of the chair. I didn't need to. She could rip it out of the floor and lift it overhead with me in it.
Without needing to be prompted, she walked to a room down the hall and laid down on the bed of a massive imaging machine. The bed slid inside and the scans came up on my monitor. I looked for any irregularities in the engineered live tissue. Her muscles, joints, and some of her organs were synthetic, but much of what was left of her was her own cells, grown and genetically modified in a dish and processed into natural tissue structures. There was an ever-present risk of cancer or simple degradation.
"I mean," she said inside the confines of the imaging machine, "I haven't slept in a bed other than the buoyancy tank. I haven't worn an outfit other than this homeostasis suit. I just want to be _normal,_ you know?"
"I know." Of course I knew. But that boat had sailed.
The door opened. An older man in a crisp suit walked in and glanced at the humming scanner. "How's the asset?"
"The asset says you can go screw yourself," Persephone said from inside the machine.
"Six months and _Persephone_ is still healthy," I said without looking away from the monitors. "I'm submitting the monthly report tomorrow. You can read all about it."
"She'd better stay that way," the older man said. "You know, I had to bend over backwards to get your full-integration test approved. I had to get on my knees and _beg_ them to approve _her_ as the test subject." He put a hand on my shoulder. It was more forceful than a friendly gesture. "You fucking _owe_ me results."
He left without another word.
The scans finished. Persephone slid out of the machine. "I _hate_ him."
"So do I, Seph. So do I." And yet, I thought, you'd be dead without his help. Mangled beyond recognition. When rescue services pulled those two cars apart, they couldn't tell whose body parts belonged to whom.
This is better. It has to be.
She turned her big doe eyes to me. "He's not going to make me fight, right?"
"No, Seph. I made sure of that. He just wants to be sure that all of these procedures work, and work together, before they do it to actual soldiers." That was our agreement. I even made sure she wouldn't get any firearm training.
I took her back to her room. It was sparsely furnished and had no windows. She had a chair for her video games, a desk for her laptop, a few of her books and posters from home. And against one wall was the buoyancy pod where she slept.
She stopped at the door in shock. Draped over the chair were some reasonably fashionable clothes.
"I asked your friend Krystal to pick out some stuff," I said. "I gave her a hundred bucks and told her to have them shipped to me."
She probably thought I didn't hear her say "No. Way." She stepped inside, held them up against her body. There wasn't a mirror, so she turned on her laptop camera to see how she looked. Not all of her skin looked like skin, so I had made sure the clothes would cover up what would stand out. She nodded in satisfaction. "Not bad, old man."
"Thank Krystal. I don't know what kids wear these days. Are bell bottoms still fashionable?"
Persephone laughed. "You're not _that_ old, Dad."
"We've still got a few diagnostics to run, but we can do that after lunch. Join me in the canteen?"
I left her to change.
This won't be forever, Persephone. Bit by bit, I'll find a way to bring normal back for you. After all, I brought you back, bit by bit. This is just finishing the job. | 54 | Genetic editing, super soldier serums, cybernetic and biomechanical upgrades, mental conditioning... all wasted on a teenage girl afraid of her own shadow. | 106 |
The music blares and the audience cheers as confetti bursts forth from cannons as I stood there stunned. The iron grip from the host was practically menacing as he grabbed my hand to violently shake it and his smile was incredibly eerie. The music and the audience dies down and the announcer finally releases my hand.
"Congratulations! In our entire broadcasting history of 'The Biggest Fucking Piece of Shit Loser' you truly have proven yourself to be the best of contestants and are without a doubt the biggest fucking piece of shit loser!" The announcer cheers.
"Im a what!?" I snap back at him but Im drowned out by more theme music, applause and confetti.
The music and applause dies down but the confetti still rains down.
"So tell us! What was your secret to success? how did you manage to become the biggest fucking piece of shit loser?" The announcer giddily asks me as he shoves the microphone in my face hitting me on the nose. I swat the microphone away.
"What the hell is going on here? What is this how did I get here?" I ask completely perplexed.
"Folks! The show is over and he still commits to his character, this is why he is undoubtedly biggest fucking piece of shit loser!" The announcer joyfully says into the mic as the theme music and applause picks up again.
"No! No! No! Stop the music stop all of this insanity!" I shout while waving my arms in a cutting motion.
"Well sir, dont you remember? You're on the hottest game show in Kyrgyzstan!" The blonde haired, blue eyed, white skinned sharply dressed announcer decrees.
"Kirgi...Kirgi what? Where the hell am I? Im American!" I demand to know from the announcer.
"We're broadcasting live from our studio sir! You have been in a virtual reality simulation as a contestant on 'The Biggest Fucking Piece of Shit Loser'!"
"No...no thats impossible what the fuck is going on? My name is Johnathon Long, I was married, I had kids but really bad stuff has been happening to me and..." Im cut off by the announcer
"Nope! All of that was simulated! Your real name is Jonathon Short! Your wife and kids are sitting right there in the audience! They've been cheering for you this entire time! They have shown some serious love and determination for you!" The announcer shouts into the microphone.
"I...this is a dream how the hell could it not be?" I ask myself out loud.
"A dream? Well tell me, in your dreams do you get checks for one million dollars?" The announcer asks as the theme music, applause and confetti begins again.
"Yea that would happen in my dreams" I have to shout over the theme music.
"Well dream no more! This is reality! Bring out the check!" The announcer gestures to a giant curtain that draws back revealing a check that is bigger than me. The music and applause continues.
"STOP! WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON!?" I should at the top of my lungs. The audience and announcer stare at me in shock as the music abruptly cuts.
"Uhh, Bill you wanna take care of this?" The announcer says into a walkie talkie he pulled seemingly out of nowhere.
Before I knew it I was being ushered off stage by two armed security guards. They escort me into an office flooded with fluorescent lighting where I take a seat across the table from a very small old man with a feeble annoying voice.
"Hi there, Bill Fleischman, CEO of Schadenfreude entertainment. Take a look at this footage. See thats you, and you're getting in the capsule, and now you're out, only a few hours have gone by but it felt like a lifetime to you. You see, my audience enjoys watching the pain of others. Not because they're sadistic freaks, but because it makes them feel thankful for what they have, and makes them realize that they could have it worse, they could have it as bad as the biggest fucking piece of shit loser himself" He says gesturing towards me.
"I have no memory of this, or any game show. what the.."
"Yea right here in our waiver form that you signed it mentions that there could be some temporary memory loss. You'll get it back as you become adjusted. But you won the grand prize because out of all the contestants we had none of them managed to be a bigger piece of shit fucking loser more than you did. So you win the grand prize, one million dollars." The little man elucidates.
"Other contestants" I warily ask.
"Oh yea, we got tons of capsules lined up in different studios, they all lost. So they'll be spending a lot more time in the capsules to be broadcasted, we'll have to crank up the misery factor though." He says like it's not big deal.
"What country are we in?" I ask.
"Kyrgyzstan, our show is illegal as shit to do in all other countries, but they let us broadcast it with enough kickbacks." The man replies.
"Look listen. You won a million bucks, your memory will be coming back, but I need you to work with me here. I loved the genuine reaction you had coming out of the capsule but I need you to go back to the stage and accept the check with a smile on your face. Folks love a happy ending ok? Take him back." The old man gestures with his hand shooing me away. The guards yank me up from the chair and shove me back in the direction of the stage.
Im ushered back on stage, it is dead silent. The announcer stares at me with contempt.
"You know what to do?" The announcer asks me deadpan.
"Uhh. yea I know what to do." I nervously reply.
"Good. Alright hit it in three, two, one" The announcer says to the air counting down on his fingers. Near instantly his smile and exuberance is back along with the theme music and applause. He coaxes me towards the check all while praising me for winning the show. I try moving the monstrosity of a check but it must weigh over a ton, I cant budge it.
"Now before you take that check, tell the camera and the entire world what you are!" The announcer sticks the microphone in my face again as the camera focuses on me. Im freaked out so I comply.
"I'm the biggest fucking piece of shit loser" I reluctantly say as the theme music and applause becomes even more uproarious.
"We have our grand winner folks! Tune in next time to see who will take second place in the consolation five year competition! See you all next time!" The announcer cheers into the camera
"Cut!" A voice blares from nowhere. The music, applause and all theatrics cease.
"Ugh finally done with that shit." The announcer drops his character.
"Yea dont try and move the check dumbass it's a prop, you'll get your check on your way out, your family will be there too. Now fuck off I need a cocaine break." The announcer rudely says as he shoves me out of the way.
The armed guards return and escort me out of the building. Like the man said I got a check for one million dollars and my family was waiting for me outside. I still couldn't remember a thing about them though. They were total strangers to me. The two children pawed at me asking if I remembered them, my supposed wife looked at me with such concern asking if Im ok and if Im remembering now. I don't remember a thing, but wherever I am now is so much better than where I was before. I hopped in the car with them, we got on a plane and headed home to Canada apparently, guess Im not American. I had a lovely trip back, my two daughters eagerly tried to get me to remember them, my wife whispered to me how badly she wanted me in bed to no end. We arrive at a quaint house in a nice looking neighborhood. I have a check for a million dollars, guess Ill have to convert it to Canadian currency. I try to quell my confusion but no memory is returning to me. I walk up the path and open the door to my house and step across the threshold my eyes still glued to the check.
The music blares and the audience cheers as confetti bursts forth from cannons. | 111 | You just got fired from your job. Your significant other dumped you a month ago. You've hit rock bottom. After a good cry, you walk out of your room and onto a game show. The last two years of your life were broadcasted. The host shakes your hand while you're still trying to process everything. | 380 |
One Time On Tinder
I.
One night in early June, I was swiping through Tinder when I saw a profile for a drop-dead gorgeous girl. She had two pictures, both wearing a pink beret. In one of them she wore a hoodie and in the other she was smiling in white sundress. Her face was perfect. I don’t know what it was about the beret, but it framed her eyes, her jawline, her nose, her black brows and her white smile in such a way that it felt complete. Like a Greek sculpture.
To my great surprise, we matched. Her profile was a pretty basic one, not much to it, but to my even greater surprise, she answered my texts. We both liked Marvel. We both liked hamburgers at this local place that we both, apparently, had worked at, at different times. She said that she normally covered her head, and I asked if she was Muslim, and she laughed and said she wasn’t into religion and gods. Bad experiences, apparently.
I wasn’t sure how to make the first move, honestly, but she seemed to be pretty interested in hanging out, so I asked if she wanted to get a burger and see the new Percy Jackson movie. She said sure, but she had never read Percy Jackson. I told her that my friends already saw it and said it wasn’t anything like the books, so she might enjoy it more. She said that made her laugh.
We kept texting until I fell asleep at 4am, and incredibly, when I woke up the next morning, she still answered. Even when she wasn’t drunk. Her name was Georgia.
II.
The burger restaurant was a local place from the sixties called “The Dawg House.” They had horrendous red ballpark hotdogs, but we called it a burger place because everyone got the “Double-Dawg” burger, which was like a cheeseburger with another cheeseburger shoved in the middle of it. The Dawg House was a little cinderblock bunker painted to look like a doghouse with a tree roof and a drive through, and several concrete picnic tables outside. Georgia was sitting at one, wearing a beret and sunglasses, even though it was sunset.
She was just as stone-cold beautiful in person as she was online. When she saw me, her face split in a white, toothy smile, and she waved at me wildly. I slid into the picnic table across from her. She was wearing a green leather jacket and a white t-shirt over black skinny jeans and green converse. Her phone case was green and purple. She had said she liked the Joker from Batman. She said she really related to him.
“Zach, right?” she said.
“Georgia?”
She smiled again.
“Wow, we’re really doing this. Yeah how are you? Are you good? Is it too cold? Do you want my jacket?” she asked.
I laughed and told her she could keep her jacket. She hadn’t ordered yet, so I offered to buy her a burger. We stood in line while a gang of high school kids tried to work up the nerve to place an order. I remembered only a few years ago I had been there. High school was hard. I never could do the socializing thing. My friends, well I didn’t know how I made them. They just found me and adopted me.
“I wish I had a friend group growing up,” Georgia said.
“Same,” I said.
“It’s just hard. People thought I was weird and they made fun of me all the time.”
“That sucks,” I said.
“Yeah,” she said, “Lots of things suck.”
III.
She only ate half of her burger, but she wanted to save it, so I went up to get a box. When I got back, another quarter of her burger was gone. Girls are weird, I thought. I gave her the box. She had Uber’d, so I offered to drive her to the movie theatre. She seemed nervous, but she said yes. As we drove, I asked her what kind of music she wanted to listen to.
“Just play me whatever you like,” she said.
“I like old music,” I said.
“Like how old?”
“I like Prince,” I said.
“Prince isn’t old,” she said.
“My dad listened to Prince,” I said.
“Well your dad just has good taste,” she said.
“Wait, did you know Prince used to write a bunch of people’s songs? You know the Bangles? He wrote Walk Like an Egyptian.” I said.
I played the song. As the tambourine came in and the cymbals crashed, Georgia started to bob her head side to side. From my view of her profile, I saw her granite-colored eyes flash fearfully behind her dark sunglasses. The beret shook from side to side, and I wondered what her hair texture was that it would move like such. Suddenly she sobbed.
I turned off the music.
“Are you ok?"
“There’s something you need to know about me,” she said. “You’re not going to like this.”
“You’re a lesbian,” I guessed.
“No,” she said.
“You’re trans?” I guessed again.
“No? Why do you think that?”
“Usually when women from Tinder say that, those are the things they are about to say. So hit me. What will I not like?”
“I have snakes for hair.”
I blinked. Of all things, this was not what I had been expecting. We didn’t speak for a few minutes as I drove across town to the theatre. At the next red light, I turned and looked Georgia up and down. I stared at the writhing motion of her beret. It seemed possible. If she was serious, then she was otherwise the most beautiful woman I had ever gone on a date with, which was not a difficult superlative but still a meaningful one for me. She was also the sweetest and most pleasant girl I had done anything vaguely romantic with. Honestly I hadn’t seen any red flags so far.
“You’re serious?” I asked.
She pulled off her beret. Her her was a mass of writing green snakes, which, I noticed, matched the green of her jacket. They had snapping pink mouths and, uncovered now, they hissed quietly. She slowly took off her glasses. Her hand moved over to where her box was sitting in the backseat. She opened it and broke off a piece of the burger. I watched in silence as she put the meat into the mouth of a waiting snake.
IV.
“Are you sure you still want to see Percy Jackson?” I asked.
We were standing outside the theatre, staring up at the two posters. The guy at the ticket window was watching us like we were the only customers he’d seen all night, which wasn’t true, but was pretty close. She had her hat back on.
“Are you sure you still want to go see a movie with a Gorgon?” she asked.
I didn’t want to tell her that this was the only time I had ever made a Tinder date last long enough to actually see a movie with a real girl. Even if that girl had snakes for hair, I was going to watch that movie. I thought she wouldn’t like to know that. Unlike the snakes, it wasn’t something that needed to be said.
“Obviously,” I said. “But like, in Percy Jackson, they kill Medusa.”
“I’ve seen it happen before,” she said.
“But like, we could watch the other one.”
“Let’s see Percy Jackson.”
The theatre smelled like old popcorn and feet. We were the only ones watching Percy Jackson. In the darkness, once she was sure no one else was around, Georgia took off her beret and slumped against my shoulder. I felt the cold, scaly flesh move against my neck. It reminded me of going to scout camp and my scoutmaster catching a black snake that he drooped over each of our shoulders. It curled and moved across my neck just the way Georgia’s hair did.
The scene with Medusa comes fairly early in the movie. She’s the second most famous monster, I would guess, behind the Minotaur. When I saw the shop appear, I found myself rooting for ill-fated Auntie Em. The scene was shot like a horror movie, but I found it wasn’t scary anymore when I was hoping that she would survive. It felt more like a tragedy. Georgia looked away, burying her face in my chest, and I found myself hugging her as the snakes writhed. And then the scene was over and the movie was just a movie.
V.
She Uber’d back to her place. I played the Bangles again in the car and thought of the way her snake hair had moved, as if hypnotized. It was a funny image.
She told me it was a good night. I told her thanks and good night.
The next morning she was still there, and she still had snakes for hair, and to my great surprise, I found I still didn’t care.
She still stopped me dead in my tracks when she smiled. | 23 | You swipe right on a super cute girl wearing a hat on a dating app and get a match. On your first date, you discover her waiting nervously with sunglasses on. When you say hi, she tells that you need to know something about her before taking off her hat. The locks of her hair are snakes. | 44 |
*A bird lets out a loud call before leaping from its perch in the treetops. With a few flaps of its colorful wings, the creature disappears from frame. Somewhere in the distance, a howler monkey's cry echoes. The camera zooms in, centering on something just beyond the gap in the tree's dense leaves.*
"For much of mankind's history, we have told one another tales of monstrous and terrifying creatures." An elderly British voice helpfully chimes in. "Many of those creatures, however, were simply imagined. Perhaps they were made up for the purpose of frightening children away from dangerous forests and rivers. Others might have been invented purely for entertaining ourselves as we sat around a campfire. Regardless of the reason, they were naught more than make believe."
*A low grumble comes from an unfocused, dark shape up ahead.*
"Some of those creatures, however, are not as imaginary as we once thought."
*The camera's view stops moving forward. At last, the blurry, brown shapes come into focus. Each one is covered from head to toe in dark brown fur – at first glance, they appear to be dogs.*
*One animal lies on its side on the ground. Eyes closed and chest moving steadily, it appears to be asleep. The larger of the two creatures sits upright with its legs crossed and its arms folded across its chest. The dog-like appearance, combined with its human-like posture is somehow simultaneously disconcerting and mesmerizing.*
"These Lycanthropes were at one time much more populous than they are today. Now, their numbers are few. In medieval times, we humans hunted these Lycanthropes to near extinction. You have, perhaps, heard tales of these creatures. Although, you're more likely to know them by their more common name: 'werewolves.'
"In those olden days, we believed that Lycanthropy was a disease. Something that could be transmitted from a Lycanthrope to a human. Thus, turning that human into an animal, a creature with an uncontrollable hunger and urge to kill and maim. At least so long as the full moon lit the night sky. So, the creatures were ruthlessly slaughtered, until they were nearly wiped from the face of the earth. As time went on, we simply began to believe the creatures were myth and legend.
"In more modern times, we have come to learn that firstly, Lycanthropy is not a disease, but a species of creature we had nearly forgotten. Secondly, we discovered that deep within the Amazon rainforest, there are still small numbers of these beautiful, misunderstood creatures."
*The larger Lycanthrope's nostrils flare as he sniffs the air. Distant bird calls continue from deep within the surrounding forest. From closer by, the sound of rustling leaves draws the beast's attention, and he turns toward the sound. A moment later, a trio of tiny Lycanthropes make their way out from their naptime hiding spot. Two look like miniaturized versions of their parents, while the third has noticeably lighter fur, nearly blond. Walking on two legs, the young ones all hurry toward their sleeping mother.*
*The father Lycanthrope leaps to his feet. Startled by the sudden movement, the young ones yip and drop to all fours as they start to run away. In the blink of an eye, the father tackles one of the dark-furred younglings and pins it to the ground. His lips curl up in a snarl as the young one's eyes grow wide. He leans down, teeth aimed straight at the pup's stomach. Pressing his mouth to the exposed belly, he begins moving his teeth quickly up and down against the fur. The pup wiggles, then lets out a high-pitched sound. Something that seems to be almost a cross between the yapping of a happy puppy and the giggling of a ticklish child.*
*Leaping away, the father spins around and begins to run away on all fours as the young ones all come back and begin to chase him. Their tails – father's and children's alike – whip quickly back and forth behind them.*
"As you can see," off-screen, the voice chimes in again with an upbeat, smiling lilt in his voice, "the father Lycanthrope very much adores his offspring. This playtime not only helps build bonds within this growing pack, but also teaches the pups how hunt."
*The mother Lycanthrope – now very much awake – stalks slowly into frame. The rest of the family is too wrapped up in their game of tag to realize she is sneaking closer. She edges closer, closer, then lunges forward. Her paws slam into the chest of the father and send him tumbling to the ground. Her jaws latch around his throat. She closes her teeth ever-so-slightly. In response, the father lets out a melodramatic yelp of pain, flops his limbs violently, then stays still on the ground.*
*Stepping back, the mother now watches her offspring. Wide-eyed, the pups creep closer to inspect the scene. All of a sudden, the father springs to his feet, and the younglings all scatter into the bushes. Now, it's the parents' turn to let out their own yap-laugh.*
"As you can see, these once-feared creatures are not so very unlike us."
\--------------
r/WannaWriteSometimes | 10 | Werewolves were thought extinct centuries ago, hunted to obscurity. This however is not entirely true. | 22 |
#Starry Numbers
_____________________
The nuclear-filament light bulb shone silently across the nearly empty mezzanine. But the hum of the air scrubbers filled the void of the small space station hall. Two business-persons dressed in full suits stood upon the small strip of red cloth stretching from bulkhead to bulkhead.
"Most of them are dead though, right?" Alex asked.
Mitch replied with his own question, "The companies or the customers?"
Alex pushed off from the mag-strip floor with the tip of her leather boots and hovered in the station air for a moment before slowly twirling in thought. "Hmmm. I guess both, right? Like if a company went bankrupt -"
Mitch side-stepped her twirling shoulder before interrupting, "Then all of their debts had to be paid in order of accrual before the estate's affairs could be closed."
Now a few feet from the red-velvet-covered magnet, Alex flexed her abs such that her knees pulled her into a slow twisting backflip. "But all of those estates are finalized right? Wouldn't each person have to sue the estate before we had to get involved."
"That's correct. But with the news release going out across the galaxy Supernet - "
"Everyone and their cousin are going to claim they have a right to own a star."
Alex's ponytail lazily slapped the metal bar marking the mag-strip edge next to Mitch's black leather shoe. His magnetic sole clung tight to its gravity-facsimile.
"But who actually does own the right? All the people who made the purchases are definitely dead. Those companies existed a millennium ago. I mean, surely no one expressly passed the 'Buy a Star' paperwork to their next of kin."
"That's where it gets tricky. A lot of the time, estates are passed in whole ipso facto. So if a man dies, his wife or husband or collective spouses automatically inherit all of his property."
"Or his children."
"The late person's estate passing to a child is just as simple as it would be passing to a spouse. Where it gets real complicated is when the estate is divided among multiple children without specific property mentions."
Alex reached overhead and padded at the ground to gain more momentum. "My math is a little rusty, but wouldn't 1000 years of generations mean a lot of descendants."
"You don't want to know the number. You really don't."
Alex finished her arc and touched back down, grabbing Mitch for stability. "No, but I need to. So you're gonna tell me."
"If we assume two children per original purchaser, each roughly 25 years old before -"
"Why 25? Who has kids so young?"
Mitch sighed. He looked Alex in the eyes with a pitiful face. "So it's not just your math that's... not up to scratch?"
"Huh?"
"Historically speaking, people wouldn't wait until their early hundreds to have kids. It wasn't possible back then."
"Oh. Right. I can't imagine being financially able to have kids so young. Not to mention being emotionally or mentally mature enough. Anyway so that brings the number to..." Alex started to touch off from the floor again, lost in thought, but Mitch grabbed her by the shoulders. He set her down on the mag-strip like he was placing a tea cup on a client's china saucer.
"40 generations means one-trillion, ninety-nine-billion, five-hundred and eleven-million, six hundred and twenty-seven-thousand, seven-hundred and seventy-six possible descendants."
"That's a lot of data work."
Mitch sucked his teeth.
"What?"
"...That's per original owner."
Alex looked out through the mezzanine window. This far out from the nearest sun, each star shown as bright and as tightly-packed as a pixel on a monitor. Her eyes darted around the floor to ceiling windows, unable to look at each shining dot for more than a second.
"Is there enough for everyone?"
Mitch followed her gaze. He took a deep breath as he looked across the sweeping vista. "For this life and the next." | 36 | Humanity has had a technological explosion, flying across the galaxy many times the speed of light. A new issue arises in the intergalactic courts, all those years ago the “buy a star” companies now must deliver on their deals. | 297 |
Is this The Matrix? Or is this Groundhog's Day?
All I know is that I haven't had a proper night's sleep in over two years.
Because every night I find myself in this damned library.
As a kid, my grandma was renowned in our small town for being the only living resident whom had been given access to The Library of All Books; a dream so rare that only three people in living memory had ever been allowed to have it. A dream that plants you smack dab in what can only be described as what the Library of Alexandria wishes it could have been: an archive of every book ever published, and even those only dreamt of.
The Complete Works of William Shakespeare? Which one of the 176 versions did you want? What's the difference? Nothing. They're all the same, word for word the same. No a comma out of place from The Bard's originals.
But that was too easy. How about the lost memoirs of Lord Byron? Or the stolen contents of Ernest Hemingway's suitcase? It's all here. From the forgotten stanzas of Beowulf to the censored Greek Gospel of the Egyptians. No one comes here looking for them, of course. All they want is to pass their AP tests or to flex on their professors the next day.
After just my first month here, I had already made peace with the fact that I was going to be here for awhile. Everyday I grew more and more tired, as the knowledge became harder and harder to use in my daily life. One person can only read so much before they start trying to distract themselves with other activities, and after thirty years of reading books on subjects that I couldn't have even imagined weeks before, the only thing I would come up with was engaging with the other visitors to the library.
I found myself steering people towards what they needed. Every night it seemed like one of the only two other people permitted would be totally overwhelmed with the classification system that categorized the books my subject, author, and year. Despite the access to the sum of humanity's knowledge lasting a full calendar year with no limitations such as the need for food, water, or sleep, I would still have to lead students to that one book their were sure they needed for their university class, or that one book they should have read 6 months ago. Even with a whole year with no possible distractions, it always seemed like these kids couldn't study without a guiding hand to keep them on track. So there I was. There to guide them to That Book they know would save their GPA, or to provide a authoritative glance over their shoulder to help keep their minds from wondering off. Nearly every night, I would spent that intervening year helping the young and the curious to learn and to better themselves. And reshelving the books when they were done, of course.
After two years, or rather, 730 years, I have grown quite content in my role. I could only assume that most people, if not all, would eventually grow to hate such a job. But, then again, most people aren't chosen to be a librarian for the Library of All Books. | 14 | A few people are selected for a once in a lifetime dream about the Library of All Books and experience a full year of reading and learning in one night. You are one of them but instead of once, you have woken up in this library every night for the past 2 years. | 21 |
Lt. Stevens stood near the bow of the destroyer USS Ahab, as a serpentine silver shape the size of a horse broke the surface of the water, and launched itself into the air. It was always amazing, to watch a Dracocetacean take to the sky.
The Tursiops Dragon was the picture of airborne majesty. Though its head was now situated at the end of a long sinuous neck, and had an almost reptilian look, it still bore traces of the familiar bottle-nosed shape it had in its water-bound larval form. The Tursiops swirled through the air like an eel, curling back in on itself repeatedly as it looped gracefully downward towards the Ahab.
Acrobatic maneuvers like that made it plain that the long wings that had been fins in their larval form were only for maneuvering at speed -- the gravity-defying ability that let them propel themselves through the open air like they were in water was still not understood by scientists, though it was being heavily studied all over the world.
It was getting damn hard to believe that, just three years ago, before the Big M, every Tursiops on Earth would have been a playful little sea mammal you could pay $50 to swim with down in Mexico.
At last, the Tursiops circled down to hover just above the deck, floating in place as though bobbing on invisible waves. It brought one wing around to its head in a salute. "Sir!"
"At ease, Ensign Divemore." Lt. Stevens said, crisply. "What have we got out there?"
"Not looking good, sir." Divemore said, grimly. "Whole pod of Aberrants, biting the head off anything that comes close enough, and headed in this direction."
Stevens swore. That wasn't good. "What species, Ensign?"
"Orcinus, sir." Divemore replied, with a scowl.
That was even worse. The huge, black and white dragons were the size of elephants. Despite this, the Orcinus weren't typically any more likely to be violent and dangerous than any other dragon, despite the "killer whale" nickname their larval form had held. Stevens had even served with a few Orcinus, on previous assignments.
But when it came to Aberrant cetaceans, those that had undergone a flawed or incomplete draconic metamorphosis during the Big M, the bigger the dragon, the worse it was to deal with.
"What's your read on their intelligence, Ensign?" Stevens asked.
"Close to larval baseline, sir." The Tursiops officer replied. "But highly aggressive."
"And the pod?"
"12 individuals, all adults. Couldn't tell you much about the sexes or social structure -- with Abberants, it's hard to tell." Divemore said.
Stevens nodded. He called over his shoulder to a sailor that had been standing by. "Mr. Hayes! Radio the General and fill him in, we may be needing assistance."
"Aye sir!" Chief Hayes said, saluting crisply and then dashing off towards the bridge.
Around the Ahab, the rest of Divemore's pod suddenly breached, taking to the air. The ship rocked as one of them immediately crashed down onto the deck, a ragged gaping wound in his side.
"Glidefar!" Divemore shouted, but the injured Tursiops only groaned, weakly.
"The Abberants, sir! They had three scouts hiding in the damn kelp!" Another Tursiops called out to Divemore, hovering over his injured comrade nervously.
Human sailors on the deck leaped into action without needing to be told. The Ahab had been refit to equip and care for Navy Dragons, and had a large hatch on the main deck leading down to the Dragon Bay. As the hatch began to open, eight sailors worked in tandem to hoist Glidefar into a sling, so he could be lowered down into the Bay to be cared for by the medics.
"Where the hell are those damn monsters now, Breachswift?" Divemore snarled.
"Sir...they were right behind us!"
No sooner had the Tursiops got those words out, than the water off the starboard side of the Ahab exploded, and thee huge dark shapes spiraled into the air above the ship. They were black, white, and massive. Unlike the sleek, graceful Tursiops, their forms were misshapen and ungainly, with extra stunted wings, superfluous eyes of diverse sizes dotting their heads and necks, and one of them even had a neck that forked at the base, each neck leading to a different large, viciously snapping head.
The Abberants had arrived. | 27 | This whole time, whales and dolphins and porpoises have just been the larval stage of a race of various sized hyper intelligent flying snake dragons. A global metamorphosis of them has just happened. | 236 |
“What’s your preferred point of entry?”
“I don’t really have a preference, there are only three options, after all. It depends on the client.”
“Only three? It doesn’t get boring sticking to the same monotony? Don’t you ever want to spice things up a bit?”
“Well I did try the ear once, but it wasn’t a particularly pleasant experience for either me or the client.”
“I can see that, but I don’t know why you place so much emphasis on the client, it's just a job, after all.”
“It has everything to do with the client. How am I to be hired again should I not perform my job to satisfaction?”
“Sometimes it's just dirty, but I don’t need to tell you that.”
“Now I’ll drink to that. You said you felt there were more options, do tell.”
“Do you want a whole list? I mean, agreed, the throat is always reliable, but the torso is also an effective finisher.”
“Finisher? How long do your encounters typically last?”
“Oh, not long at all. If I do my job right, a few seconds. You?”
“That’s terrible low stamina, I may have had a client finish in a few seconds one, but I’ve done hours before.”
“Hours? Dear God! With only three entry points? How much do you make them suffer?”
“Oh, only if they’re into that sort of thing. I have had to work on my whip skills recently, I have a regular who really loves lashings.”
“Oh, what an interesting weapon of choice. And regular? What is this cat and mouse bullshit? A job is a job, get paid and move on with your life. We have to face regular society in the morning.”
“Oh, I don’t often see my clients outside of my work, if that’s what you mean. Yes, my face does become more recognized if I’ve seen them on more than one occasion, but few ever believe them.”
“You’re that confident? You don’t even wear a mask? It sounds like this is your life, not just a job.”
“It’s by necessity, same as you. So you’ve never encountered a client more than once?”
“I never miss.”
“I suppose that should be ample reason for them to come back.”
“By clients, do you mean the targets or the one paying you?”
“They are often two different people? I’ve only had that a few times, for bachelor parties and whatnot.”
“You do your work in a public area? Good lord, no mask, multiple encounters, you better be careful. And how could they be the same? People are placing targets on their own backs? Well, I guess if it is more of a cat and mouse situation I suppose they get their money’s worth. Probably some bored rich fools who want to see if they still got moves.”
“Oh tell me about it. They always think they’re so high and mighty and then they’re out in minutes. They pay well though, can’t complain.”
“The pay’s the only reason I’m in this job.”
“Of course, we lead this life from circumstance. You said it was an unusual weapon of choice, but I find the whip used quite commonly, what do you use?”
“Knives, handguns, rifles, anything that leaves a mark.”
“Rifles?! Oh lord… they aren’t actually loaded are they? Just those bayonet things I assume? Are these those same rich people who do this… cat and mouse roleplay you’ve mentioned a few times?”
“Roleplay? What fucked up shit are you involved with? As I said, I do the job, and then moved on. I don’t dress up and I only play one part. And of course, the rifles are loaded, I don’t just use knives, bullets get the job done much faster.”
“Hey! Roleplay is quite common, don’t kink shame! What the hell do you mean they’re loaded? You said I was involved in some fucked up shit, but yours is the fuckiest, and I don’t mean that as a compliment. I thought we were getting along there for a bit, but it appears our worlds, even as similar as they seem, are much too different.”
“Kink shame… what in the world… I knew they were some sadist freak. Hours killing a victim, what the hell kind of twisted mind do you have to have to pull something like that off.” | 2,148 | Two people in a bar are having a conversation. The topic of their "body counts" comes up. One's an assassin, the other is an escort. Each thinks the other has the same profession as them, and is horrified by what they are told. | 4,542 |
Maude gasped as the doctor fired the gun at the baby, squeezing her eyes shut and clutching her husband Peter tight. Her ears rang, but when she opened her eyes, her baby was… fine?
The doctor chuckled, “Sorry, that was rather dramatic of me. Your baby has plot armor, there’s no way that bullet could have harmed them.”
Peter blinked, “What do we do, doc? We don’t know how to raise a main character.”
“Well, it means they won’t be taking over your business when you get old, sorry pops,” The doctor laughed, “But in all seriousness, don’t worry. The best you can do for them now is to give them a normal life. Children who grow up believing they’re special are… problematic. They should be humbled, maybe even have a bit of a rougher life than usual. Just be the shining beacons of moral light they need and you should be fine.”
“No pressure then,” Peter mumbled.
The doctor snorted, “That’s the spirit! Also, they need a strange-sounding name. The blue hair will already make them an outcast, you need to help solidify that with a name that sets them apart from the other children. They will believe it isolates them, which it will, but will be crucial when they become famous and remembered.”
Maude stroked the child’s bright blue hair, “And they won’t become suspicious, considering none of the other children have blue hair?”
The doctor shook his head, “Those suspicions will linger in the back of their mind and manifest as anxiety. Don’t worry ma’am. This isn’t the first time I’ve helped deliver a main character.”
Peter pushed up his glasses, “You said that we should give the child a normal life, when will they know that they are a main character.”
The doctor shrugged, “Whenever the plot demands it. They will probably be visited by some old mentor who will teach them all the skills they need to save the world.”
Maude gasped, “This seems problematic, are we to trust any old mentor who comes by and claims they can help our child?”
“You shouldn’t and you won’t,” the doctor replied, “You will most likely discourage them from leaving until the main character decides for themselves, where you will support their decision.”
Maude sighed, “And they are guaranteed to want to go with them? Won’t our child miss their family?”
The doctor paused, “Ah yes, that’s important too. I almost forgot to tell you that for the child to break from the bonds that keep them from living the life of a main character they are meant to live. At least one if not both of you will die.” | 68 | The parents stare in horror at their newborn baby, bright blue hair shining under the light. "I'm sorry", the doctor said, while pulling out a gun and aiming it at them, "Your child is a main character." | 149 |
Everyone thought it was the end times.
Oh, sure. Some people would keep a brave face. The media, the governments, the military: they all wanted to make believe that this was first contact with a higher being. Soon we would be given the keys to peace, longevity, technology, and passage to the stars.
No one was fooled. Not really. You could have the news outlets screaming their predictions from every screen in the city, but the truth could be seen by every man woman and child who looked up and saw the alien spaceship flying by every ninety minutes.
It was a hammer in geosynchronous orbit.
We were the anvil.
I thought it would be over in hours. The space operas, sci-fi novels, and comics books always made it happen quickly. Surely, they would start issuing commands in some language, or firing lasers, or abducting hapless humans for vivisection. But they just sat there.
Days went by. Weeks. The U.S., Russia, and China sent probes, but the ship would not react. Scientists tried communicating with every band of radio and version of communication they could devise. An enterprising group of engineering grads even set up a laser array that displayed pictographs on the face of the moon.
Everyone who looked at that patrolling, alien craft was asking the same questions: What do you want from us? Why are you here? What comes next?
I thought I knew the answer. I'm sure many people had the same theory. The world was falling apart. Wars between brothers to fill the bank accounts of the greedy. Pollution that contaminated the oceans and air. Businesses that sold trivial luxuries that cost the planet entire species.
The aliens were our judge. They were just gathering data on our crimes so they could accurately pass judgement. Their gavel would fall, and the human race would be put to an end before we could spread our disease out to the stars.
The subject of destroying the spaceship was not a new one. Militaries had been planning for offensive measures from the moment it dropped into our planet's orbit. I was in a special battalion of marines that the pentagon had chosen for deep space recon. After the first week of silence, we were put through training in high g, low g, orbital flight, and vacuum combat. The lie was that we were going as a contact vessel to either board the spacecraft or breach it so that the aliens would be forced to give us attention.
The truth? I can't say, but we had a tactical nuke in the cargo hold.
We made our launch one hundred and thirteen days after the aliens first arrived. When I could see vessel up-close through the viewport, I knew we were out of our depth. It was a thing of angles, symmetry, and sophistication that could not be matched by humans. This would be no stealth mission. There was no way they didn't know we were coming.
I'm not proud of it, but I actually prayed that they would blow us out of the sky just so it could be over with.
The magnets latched onto the hull with surprising grace and we cut through with our breach tools. They felt awkward to handle in my spacesuit, but they worked well in the vacuum. One by one, we entered through the breach. I was the last one through because I was assigned with the reseal, so I was the last one to see the inside.
It was a grisly sight.
I don't think we will ever know what the invaders looked like because they had been reduced to atomic jelly. Thing that might have been bones littered the floor. Goo that was potentially organs were smashed against the walls. Fluids of a color that could only be described as 'wrong' floated through every open space.
The xenologists who studied the footage later determined that it must have been their propulsion system. An engine that could travel between the stars had to be moving at immeasurable speeds. When it suddenly appeared in our orbit, it was actually a sudden stop that threw a billion g's at every alien inside.
There will continue to be theories, but I think they were much like us. A sentient race of ambitious fools who needed a new planet but were too hasty in their calculations.
They say that they can salvage much of the ship. The technology within will advance us through decades of computation and medicine. The engine could even be reverse-engineered to allow humans to attempt interstellar flight.
It is exciting for humanity, but I hope that if we ever do leave this planet, we will have learned how to slow down. | 95 | It‘s a normal afternoon on earth but then suddenly an entire fleet of imperial ships exit hyperspace and are now in earths orbit. How would the Earths governments react if those ships in the sky just stay there for days, weeks and maybe even months just doing nothing? | 144 |
Lynch regarded the teenage girl in front of him, and barely held back a scoff. Her tattered clothing was in contrast to his grand robes in orange, indicating his status as the Archmage of Recruitment.
“Child,” he said. “I do not want to underestimate you. But I sense zero magic in you.”
“Please,” Thea said, her voice as small as a mouse, and more squeaky. “I can. I’ve endured the pain. I’ve seen the Firelight.”
Archmage Lynch sighed, rubbing his temple. One of the core tenets of his title was to listen to anybody who came to his door, whether they were talents or charlatans. And while personal trauma was important in the formation of magic, it was a condition, not the end result. Every mage has gone through pain. Not every person with pain can become a mage.
Keen eyes regarded the small form before him. There was a certain aura to mages, even for the raw diamonds in the rough. Orange sparks or a glow would form about them, the basest form of the arcane. They could be moulded into different specializations, changing colour depending on the path each disciple chose.
Thea’s, instead, was plain grey.
“I’ll let you stay for the night,” Lynch said. “I’ll send for a carriage tomorrow morning, where you can return to your home village.”
Thea’s eyes was pale grey as well, the beginnings of gathering storm clouds.
“You are not taking me in?”
“I’ve seen enough to know you do not possess even the most rudimentary of magics,” the Archmage said. “There is no fire. Only ash.”
“I will show you,” Thea whispered, her voice gaining the timbre of a thousand people. Where once was a little girl, she seemed to loomed larger. “The pain. Of not being able to cast magic.”
Lynch stepped back warily. He felt his skin crawl, the floor shake, and the air change. He felt as if the East Wind itself built up in his manor, cackling with the energy of mighty storms.
And Thea spoke a word. It reverberated with power, sucking the air out of Lynch himself. All chatter and derision was replaced with the deafening sound of silence. The vacuum was formed, and Thea was at the heart of it all.
“Quiet.”
All Lynch would do was sit there, mouth agape, with nothing coming out of it. It was so unnatural, not hearing the whispers of the still air, nor his racing heart that existed within his body, nor even his own breath as he desperately sucked in air.
And just as suddenly, everything was restored in an overwhelming cacophony of noise. He quickly adjusted, but those seconds away felt more intimidating and terrifying than facing a fireball.
Thea’s knees buckled, and she fell to the floor. With surprising speed, Lynch covered the distance and hook his arms under hers, preventing Thea from collapsing.
And the Archmage realised his mistake at interpreting the grey aura. It was but one part of the talent Thea possessed.
It was for the same reason a termite under a rotten log couldn’t see the whole forest.
---
r/dexdrafts | 389 | Magicians are quite rare. They are not born; they're made. It is through unimaginable pain that their powers manifest. Their ability is linked to their own personal trauma. So tell me child, what can YOU do? | 1,486 |
“It’s an escape from reality, especially with all the shit that’s been happening lately. I just need a release.”
“I agree wholeheartedly. I think there are ways for those escapes to not just be for us, but to make real change.”
“Oh certainly. Was it hard to reach the level of skill you’ve obtained in your profession?”
“It was, but isn’t everything? It just takes planning and practice. The first time I went in blind, gods, what a mess that was.”
“For real! I was the same way my first time too. I was so in over my head, I’ve learned a lot since then.”
“Tell me about it. I plan compulsively now. Yes, every once in a while I let whim strike me, but the results are much better when I plan.”
“Do you think that you’ll keep at it for the rest of your life?”
“I hope to be good enough to be a professional one day, but right now it's just a side gig.”
“I get that. It’s not really about the money for me, sure it's a nice bonus, but even if there wasn’t any benefit I’d still do it.”
“Do you think you’ll keep at it for the rest of your life?”
“I’m not sure. Honestly, I don’t think I could stop. It fulfills a freedom and element of control that I don’t have in my everyday life. Without it, I’d be a mess. Before I found this outlet my friendships were falling apart, I got laid off work, it was… not something I wish to relive.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. It’s nice to see you getting back out there. I don’t get out enough myself. This is the first date I’ve had in over two years.”
“Three years for me. I just didn’t know what people would think of me, it's hard to explain to them my passions without them assigning some stereotype. I do get out there and have fun, at least I try. I’m not just some weirdo locked in their room.”
“Hey.. I don’t think that.. I think you’re lovely. And your looks don’t hurt either!”
“Oh, you flatter me! But yeah, that’s why I haven’t been dating much. I almost didn’t show up tonight, I got so nervous. I was worried what you might think of me.”
“I nearly had a nervous breakdown! I saw your profile picture and knew you were out of my league. I mean, gods, I thought the minute I didn’t live up to your expectations I was through.”
“I’m sorry, I’ll change my profile to something less intimidating. But you should give yourself more credit. You have charming eyes and an easy smile, there are few things more attractive than being genuine.”
“Stop it, you poet! I’m a persistent blusher, once it starts I’ll be red the whole evening! And no, please don’t change your profile pic, I love it, I really do.”
“Alright, but you can always change your mind.”
“Always? You mean?”
“If you’d like to I’d um.. like to do more things with you.”
“Yes! This has been really fun, thank you.”
“Though you have to promise to let me watch you work next time, alright?”
“It’s not as exciting as people think, the results are… a bit all over the place too. But I’ll figure out something, I want us to share our passions with each other.”
“I don’t know, my work isn’t for the faint of heart.”
“I’ve read Cujo, I can handle it.”
“Read?”
“Yeah, wait, is there a movie version?”
“Uh.. something like that…”
“Everything alright?”
“Sorry, lost my train of thought. I don’t know how long this will last.. but know that tonight has meant a lot to me, truly, and whatever happens, I promise no harm to you.”
“I get it, you don’t need to hammer on disclaimers, message received ‘Stephen King’ your work may cause psychological harm. And, know this night has meant a lot to me too.. thank you.”
“That’s not what I… um.. nevermind. Can I walk you home?”
“I’d thought you’d never ask.” | 81 | A new dating service gets launched. It matches people purely based on their search history and social media activity. An author and a serial killer get set up on a date together, and they click surprisingly well. | 502 |
I have 14 brothers, 15 sisters, 29 half-brothers, 58 half-sisters, 6 uncles and aunts, and about 100 cousins, give or take.
When our father almost died in what would have been a tragic accident, he decided to set down ground rules. No war of succession.
His children will have to all work together, one way or another.
And that started a LOT of arguing. No buts.
Anyone caught killing or even SUSPECTED of killing a sibling is out. That last part shut down a lot of badly concealed smiles.
Which led to the lying.
Our cousins heard about the game because my cousin Hephae (the one with black hair and green eyes) had sent out her younger full blooded sibling Gretta (the one with black hair and no eyes) out into the courtyard the second father started speaking.
So things got... complicated.
How do you manage everyone's alliegience when the only thing you can do is make an empty promise? Make sure everyone knows your opponent can't fulfill THEIR empty promises.
The girls were especially vicious in tearing everything down. There were quite a few colorful rumors flying around that made me question if some of those positions were even possible. I repeated them ad nausium anyway, but that was a separate matter.
Nitius (the pale one with red eyes) was the first one who figured out that you could assign people to actual positions within the court. He formerly recused himself out of the running and said he'd throw his full support behind anyone who gave him the position of financier.
It started a wave of favors he accrued to ensure they were real. Which me and a few cousins felt was probably the whole point.
Regardless, his tactics spread. Soon, I had promised to be everything from the Shipmaster to the Kennelmaster (I love dogs). While spreading lies about how I'd been backstabbed as now cousin Harold (the one armed man who loved gardening) had replaced Maralin (the only one of us with red hair) which meant that there was no way for me to ALSO have her attend the StarBright Ball as the central dancer. (I hadn't even asked her and her troupe but since when was that important?)
Things escalated. You could barely walk a step before one of the siblings or the cousins pounced on you and made you swear 6 conflicting oaths and gave you 10 conflicting positions in the new high court.
I was ALIVE. I felt my pulse race with every lie I told, with every position I accepted, with every face I saw arch in wonderment as their allies left and they had to pick up the pieces.
Keeping everything straight in your head is difficult enough in any family, but with 216-ish family members to watch out for, I could barely sleep.
But as with most things, people began to coalesce into camps. Surrounding either my brother Jarwin (the one with blonde hair), Hephae (who died her black hair blonde just to make things more confusing), and Peter (who was just there because he had somehow been the only pawn everyone had used and accidentally ended as a front-runner).
It couldn't end like this, I thought, and had Hephae ( the one who claimed she had naturally blonde hair... see what I mean?) frame our front-runner of a sister and move all support away towards Peter's camp.
Then... Peter looked at me.
Peter, the one who had failed his studies, couldn't tell cousin from sibling, who lied as well as a pig and stank like one too.
He looked at me.
And asked me, in front of everyone. If I'd lied.
I couldn't know which lie he'd meant. I think I hadn't told a single truth this whole game. But he asked me.
And strangely, I said yes.
He nodded, shook my hand and pointed to me. Saying I'd been behind most of their collapses. I'd had Francois knock over Jacqueline (the bald one) to convince Avin (the darker skinned one) that Jacqueline (the hairy one) had abandoned Gretta (the one with eyes). That I had convinced Nia (with no teeth) to abandon Lynn (the larger one) tby having her swim through the tunnel and find Trevor (the fake dead one).
All my lies, my webs. All laid bare. I was scared I was gonna die. I was sure of it.
But... they didn't. Peter clapped my back and laughed. Leaning in and whispering I owed him the cushiest job in the court.
Jarwin spat venom, but he and, more importantly, his supporters agreed.
Soon, I saw myself standing alone on a pyramid I never thought I'd ever climb.
The game was... over.
And for the last 50 years, I fear I've been playing on this grand stage with only fools who would have barely lasted a week back in my day.
"So my children.", I said with a smile.
"I open this game to you.
Lie WELL. Lie OFTEN. And I hope you all have the very WORST of times." | 66 | To prevent a war of succession, the King's children must decide amongst themselves who would inherit the throne. Everyone unanimously chose the youngest prince, though, because he was the best at bullshitting. | 259 |
Hell has always had a place in the minds of mortals. It has snuck its way into many of the major religions, into dreams, into expressions. Believers and non-believers alike interact with Hell in all its glory. But there was one expression that always gave *me*, a demon extraordinaire—wings and claws and everything—the chills. “When hell freezes over.”
The truth was, at one point early on in the year 2022, it nearly did. The Incident happened when Hank and I were having our afternoon cardio session.
I had just finished with my first set of repetitions when my partner (as we were all partnered up on the job in hell) wiped the sweat from his brow and turned to me. “Nothing like a good flogging, huh?”
“PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD MAKE IT STOP,” a man wearing rags screamed. He was a lawyer from Baltimore, a recent arrival. Clearly he didn’t know the rules around here if he thought he had permission to speak to us.
I frowned. “This one still has breath. We need to focus on him more.”
“For the love of *who*?” Hank said, cracking his whip at the man.
“For the love of Satan,” the man wept, “whatever you want, just please stop.”
“That’s right,” Hank replied with satisfaction. He paused. “Is it just me or is it . . . cooler than normal?”
“Now that you mention it, yeah. I’m not working up the sweat I usually do.”
Our confirmation came seconds later when a voice crackled to life over Hell’s infinite PA system. “Andy and Hank, report to the Abyss. Repeat, Andy and Hank, report to the Abyss.”
Well, *that* wasn’t a good sign. We were on Abyss duty this week, but it was the most basic of grunt work. Open a door, check a thermometer, close it. I’d done it hundreds of times before and there had never been an announcement about it.
“We’d better get going,” Hank muttered. I agreed and we headed off, leaving a happily weeping man behind us.
The path to the Abyss was a long one, but here in Hell we had nothing but time. It’s really the only thing anyone had, really. We passed oceans of tortured souls, lakes of fire, forests of cages, and many of our peers, delivering the most sublime torture to mortals that we could come up with. We finally stopped in a narrow hallway, facing a door.
The door to the Abyss didn’t look like much. It was simple and unadorned, made of some light brown shade of wood. A single knob sat in the usual place, the only barrier between the plane of Hell and the infinite nothingness beyond. There wasn’t even a lock. From behind it, I could hear the faint sound of an all-too-familiar song.
“Shoggoth!” I called, knocking on the simple wood. “Shoggoth! Are you decent?” I sniggered to myself at the joke. As if the Shoggoth were ever in a presentable state. Our boss had seen to that at the dawn of time.
“Why do you keep calling me that? I’m not a Shoggoth!” a pleasant androgynous voice replied.
My palm hit the doorknob and I did a double take. I’d been calling the creature in the abyss “Shoggoth” since I’d first taken on this job, and have only ever gotten an incoherent screech of rage in return. I was pretty sure the creature didn’t like the moniker, but, well, that was why I had kept using it. Part of the job, right?
I opened the door and eyed the eldritch horror beyond dubiously. A hideous mass of tentacles, eyes, black slime so thick it could be called tar, and horrid, wrinkled flesh floated in a pitch-black void, the true entrance to the Abyss, suspended by chains that anchored to the surrounding walls at equidistant points and burrowed into its skin. A shiny black boombox sat on the lip of the Abyss and blared out that one song from the Disney ride.
“Are you sure?” I said cautiously, raising my voice to be heard over the music. “I mean, you look . . . like a Shoggoth.” | 18 | Hell is kept molten by the blind hot rage of an immense creature chained in the lowest pit. | 67 |
*I must say, being a mortal is rather tedious isn't it?*
I carried on typing up an email, ignoring the voice in my head. It had been a fixture there for a few months now, giving commentary on my everyday life. Let me say this, it really sucked.
*Kind regards? This guys a moron, don't be kind to him. He deserves to know the truth.*
I hit send, stretching. Dante, my black cat took the opportunity to jump onto my lap. He purred loudly, pawing at my thigh. With a smile I reached down to scratch his ears, before addressing my mental passenger.
"Could you stop with talking for like, five minutes? It's really annoying."
*Annoying?! How dare you.*
Drama queen.
*You should be honoured that I am with you!*
Dante curled up, allowing me to scratch him into a nap. He always liked to sleep on me, especially when he knew I should be doing something else. But how could a lowly slave go against such a cute master's wishes?
*He is a very cute cat. Not that I understand why you keep him around.*
"For companionship you prick. The sort I like, not a disembodied voice that lives in my brain."
I heard a full laugh. It always seemed to like it when I insulted it. I was pretty sure that wasn't too healthy, but I wasn't a psychologist.
*Aren't you curious why I'm here?*
Now it brought it up, I was. It was strange. When it first rocked up, I accepted it with little question, mostly annoyance. But I had never wondered why. Or been creeped out by it. Which as I considered, was very creepy.
"I guess I am."
*Well, first off you aren't crazy. I think at least. Human minds are so... limited.*
"Gee, thanks."
It laughed again.
*You're welcome. Truth is, I'm sort of inhabiting you to avoid some idiots trying to summon me.*
I raised an eyebrow.
"Summon you?"
I let my face drop.
"Am I possessed by a demon?"
It voice coloured, becoming almost offended.
*I'm not such a creature. Please, I'm a God, capital G. And I really don't want to be called. Without a body to inhabit, it's hard to resist.*
That made an odd sort of sense. An annoyed meow drew my attention, as Dante looked at my still fingers with disappointment. I went to carry on, but clearly I was too late, as he jumped down and sauntered off.
"So a God hey? Well that's original. Maybe I should see someone. A padded cell would be a change of pace."
*I'm sure it would be.*
"So why have you stayed with me all this time? Surely they have stopped trying to summon you."
I could almost hear its eyes rolling.
*These are cultists. They don't quit that easy. As for you, well, you were in the right place. That and your mind was just right. Not too rigid, not too flexible.*
I gave a sigh, turning back to work.
"Gee, thats so good to know. A God inside my head likes my mind for being not that exciting. Well, if you will excuse me your grace, I have work to do. So please, shut up."
I heard a long drawn out sigh, before it fell silent. But as I started typing my next email, it piped up again.
*You'll realise the truth soon enough. By the way, that's not how you spell incompetent.*
I put my face in my hands, groaning. This sucked. | 33 | A super ancient all-powerful god is Hiding in your body in order to get away from the Cult attempting to summon them. | 105 |
#The Sincerest Form of Flattery
_________________________________
It all started with a bad feeling.
After a long day of shooting Magic Missiles at wildlife, I walked up to my cabin door and stopped. Blood dripped from the stack of animal carcasses slung over my shoulder staining my floral-print welcome mat. The weight of another's presence overpowered the strain from my back muscles. Years of adventuring honed my mind to trust my instincts. Danger lurked here.
I slunk the fur covered meat onto the ground by my door and pulled out my magic wand. Experience taught me to never use up all of my spell slots outside of the home. But I only had one level 5 left. Detect Life would be a waste. Even if it wasn't my last slot, the creature could be undead.
Fireball was an option. Only mementos held value in the cabin. It wouldn't be the first time I had to rebuild it. But I knew I had to wait until all attackers were in a 20 foot radius. That meant stealth and subterfuge.
Stepping down to the bottom of my porch stairway, I twisted the ruby gem in the golden ring on my left middle finger. The world began to shimmer as I disappeared from non-magical view. I was just about to creep around the back of the cabin when it struck.
My wooden front door - with all the familiar markings from 5-years' clumsy use - rocked left to right as it sidled forward before bending at the midsection. A giant mouth with hand-sized fangs opened from just under the top wooden panels and began gobbling up the spoils of my day's hunt. It consumed the animals' bodies, bones, fur and all.
I watched silently taking small, quiet breaths.
After the mimic finished eating, it made its way backwards right back into place in my doorframe. The brass hinges reconnected to the wooden beam with a loud "Thump."
I hesitated, weighing my options. I could sneak in through the back and grab the old dagger from my adventurer's chest. I could lure it further out into the woods with more meat. I could maybe also -
Interrupting my thoughts, the door vomited up a small portion of the food it had just eaten. A deer's leg, the head of a raccoon, and an alligator tail, all coated in a mix of red and green ooze spewed onto my stoop.
I couldn't help but laugh. My concentration broken, the invisibility spell ended. I reappeared where I had vanished fully visible to the motionless mimic.
The door moaned.
"Yeah, well, that's what happens when you eat too much."
I waited a beat to see if it would attack. It responded with stillness.
"Tell you what, beast, I'll spare you and even feed you, if you promise not to eat me or my guests. You can eat whoever tries to break in and steal my things, which happens quite often. What do you say?"
The door hiccuped before swinging open.
I cast the cantrip Prestidigitation to clean the alligator tail before picking it up and heading inside. "At least I still have dinner." | 161 | You are mimic. You refuse to use that old trick with chest shape, instead you replaced door in simple house, where owner feeds you delicious fresh rats every day. In exchange you keep the house safe. After all, no bad guy expects door to punch them... | 523 |
This one's gonna be short and outta pocket. Buckle up 🤣
---
The screams bounced off the walls of the house. Todd couldn't take it anymore. What had he done??
One minute Darlene told him everything would be okay. Then he felt his arms sink into her torso. The... The taste of cake batter and icing from her shirt. And then how she fell in half at the waist. And hit the floor as a well crafted piece of lifesize cake.
He'd tried his best to put her back together. But each piece he tried to put back together simply crumbled, the cake, so moist, so tender, simply crumbling more as he carried on. She no longer looked like the woman he loved. She looked like cake.
Todd sat catatonic as he dialed 911, the phone unresponsive.
"I'm gonna..." he stammered at Darlene's batter, "I can fix this. I can get help. Don't die on me."
The phone still wouldn't work, the call wouldn't go through. He pleaded, hollered. Why wouldn't it work? And then, he felt the sticky texture as he pulled it from his ear. The icing of the screen holding a distinct wrinkle from the edge of his ear.
And then, a new fear arose. One he hadn't thought about immediately. But if Darlene was cake...
"That means..." Todd sweated. "That means..."
He ran for the kids' room. Cake that used to be his phone smearing in his hands. He hit the fridge with his arm, a distinct gouge the size of a dinner plate wetly hitting the floor after falling off the front of it. The railing of the staircase squished under hand as his legs began to sink into the structure of the house. By the time he reached the top, he was ankle deep in the delicacy that was his own home.
"Kids?" He asked as he approached the top of the stairs.
There they sat in their room, unmoving. They seemed fine. Until he swam into their room and reached an arm out. Only to pull back with even more cake. A sallow vanilla flavor that broke him mentally in ways he couldn't understand.
He had to leave. Escape this place. But now he couldn't feel his legs. He couldn't feel his legs.
Because they were now crumbles of red velvet he'd dragged up the stairs and left behind in big red and white chunks.
Todd opened his mouth to scream and could only expel sugar. Icing. Filling. When the fondant that was his jaw finally fell loose from its unsteady perch, he was finally no more.
Unbeknownst to him, this happened everywhere, all at once. Thus the cakepocalypse had begun.
---
[Inspired by this nonsense](https://youtube.com/shorts/XAiMfry52FM?feature=share). It's too good.
Edit 2: Thanks all. Obligatory sub plug. Even though I still gotta do a big re-up. r/Jamaican_Dynamite | 1,615 | The year is 2030. Bakery art is so realistic, literally anything could be cake. The uncertainty has gripped the world in fear. I go to hug my wife for comfort. She is cake. | 6,761 |
Joryn had ever expected to have a conversation like the one he was presently engaged in, with the dwarves of Graymount. The squat, sturdy mountain-folk had little contact with his village, only occasionally coming down to trade metal good from their forges for food and other supplies made in village.
When the fisherfolk from the village found a half-drowned dwarf woman, a gruff but pleasant little lady named Gralla, and nursed her back to health, everyone thought they'd just run her up the mountain to her own people, and that would be that. Joryn had always found the dwarves pleasant enough to talk to, and even to drink with, as long as you knew your limits, so he'd volunteered.
He *had not* expected that, on arrival, both the Graymount dwarves and Gralla would be stunned at their introduction, and would inform him that, as far as they'd been aware, there was no such thing as female dwarves, or as male dwarves, respectively.
This had, inevitably, led Joryn to the current, unexpected topic of conversation.
"Well...then where do *little* dwarves come from?" Joryn asked.
Thane Harrag, leader of the Graymount dwarves, just shrugged and said. "Och, ye know... around."
Gralla nodded, firmly. "Aye, *around."*
"Around? What do you mean *around?"* Joryn asked.
Thane Harrag blew out his bushy mustache, thoughtfully. "Well, every once innae while, ye just find a wee dwarf that wasnae there before, don't ye?"
Gralla gestured to Harrag. "Right? Ya ge tae bed after a long day workin' the looms..."
"Or the forge." Harrag interjected.
Gralla nodded. "Sure, an' then ye wake up, an there's a new wee dwarf around somewhere, cryin' 'er little eyes out for a bottle o' ale."
Harrag nodded, sagely.
"But...how? Why?"
Gralla snorted. "How does fire burn? Why does the sun rise every day? Couldnae tell ye *how,* it just *does."*
Joryn crossed his arms. "Wait a minute...Harrag, I know for a fact that some of the dwarves from Graymount have been seen visiting the brothel down by the docks!"
Harrag shrugged. "Aye, so what?"
"So, doesn't that tell you something?"
The Thane blinked, and looked at Gralla.
She shrugged. "I won't say I never fancied a wee tumble wi' a human lad at the dandy-house in the surface town back home, meself. Dinnae see what that's got to do with makin' *wee dwarves."*
Harrag nodded. "Aye."
"Don't you at least know that's how *humans* reproduce?" Joryn said, exasperated.
The Thane bristled. "We're nae *stupid!* Obviously we know that's how ye humans go about it, but we're *dwarves.* We spend our time *making things,* an' leave the making of *new dwarves* up tae the gods."
"But didn't you ever wonder why you have the....you know, *equipment?"* Joryn asked, uncomfortably.
The Thane and Gralla traded a look again.
"Nae really, no." Gralla admitted.
"Aye. I mean, I suppose I thought..." He paused, gesturing at the archway around the gates leading to the interior of Graymount, which were carved to look like a massive stylized dwarf head, with its mouth serving as the doorway. "...it's like this here, ye know? The entrance tae Graymount didnae have tae be a gigantic *feck-off* dwarf head, we coulda just made it a regular square gate, and it'd still work just fine. Some things are just for *fun!"*
"Aye. It's is *damn fine* gate, by the way." Gralla commented.
The Thane beamed. "Oh, well, thank ye. Designed those meself."
Gralla smiled back, biting her lip thoughtfully.
Joryn glanced between the two. "Alright, well, since I guess you're not actually the same people like we presumed, I can take you back down, Gralla. If you want, we could go to the harbor, maybe the harbormaster can dig up some maps for you to look at, and we can figure out where you are in relation to where your ship--"
Joryn realized that Gralla and the Thane were staring at one another. He cleared his throat and recaptured their attention.
"Gralla?" Joryn asked.
"I was just thinkin', my ship was lost at sea, so they'll probably think I'm dead back home. I dinnae see any reason tae *hurry..."* Gralla said.
"Well," the Thane interrupted. "Ye could stay here a while. Female or no, ye're clearly a dwarf, and we wouldnae turn away one o' our own! I'd enjoy...showin' ye the sights."
Gralla's cheeks colored. "I think I'd enjoy that as well."
Joryn frowned, gesturing over his shoulder to where his cart was still parked at the head of the trail that wound down the mountain. "I'm...just gonna go."
But the dwarves were no longer listening.
Joryn, a simple villager, never went on to do anything especially noteworthy among his people. In a few more decades, he died, content but ultimately unremembered by anyone except his own family.
And yet, many centuries later, when the mysterious power that had once delivered just enough offspring to the dwarves to maintain their meager numbers had ceased to function, and the two sexes of the dwarven race had discovered each other and mutually agreed to unite, you could still find an alcove in dwarven temples dedicated to a mysterious figure.
Unlike all the other figures in the dwarven religion, mortal and deific alike, this singular dwarven saint was a *human.*
St. Joryn, the patron of dwarven lovers. | 105 | A dwarven female washes up on the shores near a human village. The humans return her to the dwarves in the nearby mountains who are stunned beyond belief since none of them have ever seen a female of their kind before. | 161 |
# Pennies Aren't From Heaven
​
I wrinkled my nose as the coppery stench hit my nose.
Not blood. It was something worse than that.
I stood inside the panel truck parked outside the recycling center and scrapyard where I work. It was filled with piles of huge black garbage bags, the extra-thick kind contractors use. I opened one up, and grimace. Sure enough, it was full of *pennies.*
I hate pennies. I'm sure I don't need to explain why, everyone already knows why, because *everyone* hates pennies. Hating pennies is practically a cliché, at this point, but then, clichés usually exist for a reason.
"So?" the man who'd brought the truck said, wringing his hands, and casting furtive glances around the yard from where he stood outside the truck. "What do you think?"
I picked up a few of the pennies. They were all shiny, the latest variant of the US penny, with the *e pluribus unum* shield and the large "ONE CENT" on the back. They were also all dated 2020, and bore a Denver mint mark.
"I think this is a lot of pennies." I said, dryly.
"I know that!" he said, anxiously, looking around as though he was afraid of been seen. "Can you melt them down?"
"Nope. Sorry." I said.
"Why not?" he cried, sounding on the edge of panic.
"Because, it's *illegal.*"
He scoffed. "Oh come on! That can't be, I-I see those little machines that turn pennies into stamped metal souvenirs all the time, at amusement parks and aquariums and-and *everywhere!* It can't be illegal to destroy a damn *penny!"*
I shook my head. "It's not illegal to destroy one. Not if you're making a stamped memento from Disneyland, or some kind of novelty jewelry, or whatever. But it *is* specifically illegal, to melt down pennies and nickels for the metal, with the intention of profiting from the sale of said metal."
He groaned, placing his face in his hands. I heard him quietly muttering, "I screwed up so bad, this is so bad..."
I hopped down from the truck. "Like I said, sorry. Believe me, I *hate* pennies, so I'd love to help out, but--"
He grabbed on to the sleeve of my coveralls. "Wait! Please, I-I need these gone, I need them destroyed by tomorrow!"
I furrowed my brow. That was obviously suspicious, but I couldn't figure out how, exactly. I mean, who would steal -- assuming his estimate was correct -- half a *billion* pennies? And how the hell would that not have been on the news?
He leaned in close. "Look, come on, I know you guys aren't *that* squeamish! Don't tweakers and lowlifes bring stolen copper wire to places like this all the time? Help me out, here, man! I-I don't even really care about getting paid! Keep the money and the scrap copper too, for all I care."
I brushed his hand off my sleeve firmly. I resented the implication of impropriety. I mean, I might have let some sketchy scrap slide once or twice, sure. It's not like we can check the receipts on every hunk of metal people bring in. But if some dude with pinpoint pupils stumbles in here with a wheelbarrow full of copper scrap that looks suspiciously like it was ripped out of a wall recently, I show him the door.
"Listen, guy, even if I wanted to, I couldn't take this stuff." I jangled the pennies from the truck in my hand. "Are they all like these? Dated 2020, or thereabouts?"
He cleared his throat, and looked around furtively agian. "Well, um, yeah. I think so. It's...quite a coincidence."
Again, that seemed pretty suspicious. But on the other hand, what exactly was I suspecting him of? Counterfeiting *pennies?*
"Well, there you go, then. These, and any pennies minted since 1982, have hardly any copper in them, just a surface coating, comprising about about 2-5% of the coin, depending on the year. The rest is *zinc."*
"What difference does that make?"
"We recycle iron, steel, copper, aluminum, and even gold and silver, on a smaller scale. But zinc? Nuh-uh, not in this quantity, anyway. And even if we did, the value of the zinc sure as hell wouldn't be worth the legal risk -- we'd be running afoul of the Treasury Department, and that crap's *federal.* No thanks!"
He startled me with a wordless cry of frustration that he screamed right into my damn face. Whirling around, he hopped up onto the bumper of the truck, and slammed the rolling door back down, all the while mumbling about some mistake he'd made, and how screwed he was.
Then, without saying another word to me, he dashed up to the driver's door, hopped inside, and peeled out of the salvage yard. I shook my head. His pupils may have looked normal, but that guy had to have been on *something.*
I went back inside the little office structure adjacent to the recycling facility and the yard, and resumed my post behind the counter, pondering where that crazy guy had gotten half a billion pennies, what "mistake" had led to it, and why he wanted so desperately to melt them down, even if he couldn't make any money by doing so.
It was then I realized I still had the pennies in my hand. I opened my hand and dropped the four identical pennies onto the counter, and promptly forgot about them. At least, I did until I came back into work the next day.
When I unlocked the office and took up my usual post, I looked down at the counter and froze.
There were *sixteen* identical pennies. | 17 | You work at a metal recycling center, and someone has just showed up with roughly 500 million pennies. They won't explain anything, and just keep going rambling about how they made a mistake and the pennies need to be destroyed by tomorrow. | 23 |
They just won't shut up.
The Sun-mad. The lunatics. The people in my care - well, care might be a strong word. I am a warden of the East Hagway Asylum though between you and me, it's more of a prison. We can't help these people, not that I know of, at least. There's a team of doctors that comes by every Sunday - young, kind people - who try to study the inmates and hope to find a cure, but when you've seen as much as I do, you don't get your hopes up.
More arrive every day - fools that do not take the proper care to look up, at the Sun. Not... *that* Sun, the regular Sun, but the Clockwork Sun. It just... appeared out of thin air one day, clicking, clacking, turning and turning, feeding our trees and crops more than anything else could, but if you look at it, well... the lucky ones go blind within a few seconds. You can't look away when you catch but a glimpse of it. They're the ones who described what it looks like - an incoherent mess of gears of some metal, constantly turning in ways that should be impossible as if folding in on itself and in the centre - a light of blinding radiance unlike anything you've ever seen, they say.
The unlucky ones end up here. They look and look and look while tears stream down their cheeks from the strain until they pass out or some kind soul tears them away from that harrowing sight. They want to look back, constantly, ignoring every possible need, going against every survival instinct, they just want to look at it. And look they do - at first. Soon they start mumbling. As time goes on, they speak louder and louder until they are screaming their lungs out and it's always the same thing they all say.
'The Sun'. Over and over again, as fast as they can. It makes no sense. You'd think it's because they are pleading for us to let them see it again, but even if we do, they just keep saying it.
Look, I take my job seriously. These people are unwell and need to be taken care of. I just wish they'd shut up, just for a second. The constant chanting gets under your skin.
"The Sun," I say to myself as I try to fill out a report. It has an odd ring to it now.
"The Sun," I say, wondering what it could mean.
"The Sun," I say as if to taste the word.
"The Sun." I say.
"The Sun." I-
"The Sun. The Sun. The Sun..." *The Sun*. | 93 | A massive object has appeared in the sky. It casts strange light, and seems to have positive effects on plant life, but those who look at it can go blind if they are lucky. The others go mad, repeatedly screaming "the sun The Sun THESUNTHESUN!". You're a warden, keeping the 'sun-mad' prison. | 334 |
Do you remember that old trick question? If you were trapped on a cargo boat and only had wine or urine to drink to survive, which would you drink? Neither will save you but everyone always chose wine. Even me, only, for everyone else it was a hypothetical, for me as I drift along the open seas on the great Alicalibur, it's real. You might think that I've been endowed with only the finest wines and you would be sorely mistaken. Crates upon crates of cheap, poor quality wine, all to be shipped of to, someplace. Now here I lay, as I think of that question, would I rather die in "luxury" or live my last moments as a fool.
I could feel the drowsiness coming on as the effects of my 4th bottle began to really mess with my mind. Funnily I even imagined a strange being who had popped out of my 5th bot-
"Are you done monologing yet? I'm getting real *hic* bored of your melodrama, you woke me up and now I want my wishes so come on, grant me what my heart has always desired!"
I began to freak out. He could read my thoughts? Why did he ask for wishes? Who did he think I was? Who does he think he is? What the hell is going on??!!
"Buddy, heyyyy, listen maybe we got off on the wrong foot. We all get performance anxiety from time to time and sometimes we lose certain...abilities! That we were confident with before. It's totally natural, really it just comes with age, you know as you get older, your body, your mind, they really start to degrade till one day you're just a sack of bones in a wooden box with insects making homes inside your skull...
He continued this rant about "performance anxiety" for 30 minutes. 30 MINUTES! I mean, I've seen some crazies in my time but this guy, this guy was like the lord of crazies.
"I am NOT crazy young man. The names Lag, no not that kind of L-L-Lag. (His body gestured sudden shaky movements as if to demonstrate what he was not), I am a great king who was cursed and trapped inside a bottle. Why? You might ask. Ask the hag that I pissed off because 'I stole her vineyard which she needed for her family to survive". Isnt that funny?? She thinks SHE owned that vineyard!! HAHA, SHE was the real crazy one. Now here I am, with the supposed wish granted who can't even get it up for one wish? Lady luck must really enjoy wiping her ass with my face."
So he really thinks I'm some sort of mystical deit-
"No you fool, you are my saviour, the knight in shining armor, the princess to my frog, the beauty to my beast. I can only be free with your help!"
I smirked, this could be fun. A "king" at my disposal, imagine what I could gain from this!!
"God you're just like me, I'm not sure if thats a good thing right now but can you please think about more than yourself right now?? Reader come on, help me out, isnt this guy being a bit selfish only thinking about what HE can get?"
Reader? Wow this guy IS crazy! Does he think theres just some book about us sitting somewhere on a shelf? I mean, who would even right a book about an impoverished man on a desolate boat? That seems like a destined failure to me.
"LISTEN BUDDY, JUST GRANT ME ONE SINGLE WISH AND I WILL LET YOU HAVE THE OTHER TWO, JUST SET ME FREE"
He really is desperate but...imagine what I could gain from this. Alright I think I'll do it.
"Great! So, I'll let you have the first wish so you trust I'm being serious. What do you want?"
God I was so thirsty in this moment, all I wanted was some nice cool-
"Water! I wish for water!"
Sonofabitch. Now I just had to figure out how to do this. I raised my arms, closed my eyes and opened my mouth... "wih grackteh".
"Uhhh, maybe try that again, without the toddler talk?"
I was confused, why couldnt I speak? I felt my mouth to make sure everything was fine, I put one finger inside my mouth to feel my tongue...odd? It...wasnt there? I put another finger in and felt around. Nothing. No tongue, no teeth, it was like an empty void had taken shelter in my mouth.
"YOU DONT HAVE A TONGUE?????!!! HOW COULD I BE LEFT WITH THE ONLY PERSON WITHOUT A FUNCTIONING MOUTH???"
I began to panic. "Uhhh", "ehhhh", "helk knee".
"Help you?? You cant even help me! Why should I?
I looked at him with sorrowful eyes. "Yuh wiheh"
"You're right. What if, you just think of the wish being granted? That could work right?"
I considered this. I focused and asked him to make a wish, which he did, he wished for me to have a tongue and teeth again. "Wish granted" I thought. Slowly i felt each tooth grow back, it was so painful but also felt so good. Then my tongue slowly slithered up my throat until it lat at the bottom of my mouth like normal. Yet...when I opened my mouth, no words were produced only incoherent babbling.
"Alright, alright, you got your stuff back, now with my second wish-"
Wait if he wishes to be free then that means i dont get my 2nd wish?!
"Fine. With YOUR second wish, I wish for you to be able to speak"
I granted his wish once again and felt that I could now speak. "God that feels good", I stretched my mouth and felt my tongue flick against my teeth with each D and T and the slither of the S.
"Now for my final wish-:
After getting these two things back I realized I still needed water. I needed water to survive, I couldnt let him take this wish for himself, after all he came out of the bottle, why wasnt he granting me the wishes??
"That wasnt the deal! I gave you two wishes, I gave you what you wanted!! What kind of backstabber are you??"
I decided to toy with him, he looked like he was hanging by a thread, all I needed to do was burst his bubble. "Its funny you know, all that reading my thoughts but you couldnt see the plan I was devising this whole time. That 'hag' you so graciously mentioned, was my ancestor and throughout generations a story was passed down to us, spoken to us as we dreamed, shaping our world, the evil that lay dormant and how we can trap it so that it does no further harm. We were told the story of Lag, a great king who only cared for himself, who killed those who opposed him, stole from those who got close to him and plagued the minds of those that worshipped him, and so one woman, the first witch, cast a spell, to trap him in a bottle of wine, from the very vineyard he had stolen from her. Now here we are, I'm surprised I encountered you, I really did think you were just a story."
"I beg of you, do not let me suffer any longer than I have to. I'll do anything, you can have my riches, my glory, my title, whatever you desire."
It was an intriguing offer but I decided against it. I'd rather suffer my last moments with him and have us both trapped than leave him to burden souls that have been burdened enough.
"I see, I really wish it had been different, that we never met. You have done nothing but do what I did to those that worshipped me. You and I are alike more than you may care to admit. If this is how I must spend my days I shall do so, at least it is no worse than the bottle I was trapped in."
As he spoke the words I smiled. "Wish Granted"...
...
...
...
Do you remember that old trick question? If you were trapped on a cargo boat and only had wine or urine to drink to survive, which would you drink? Neither will save you but everyone always chose wine. Even me, at least till I reached my 4th bottle of wine...something seemed different. I reached inside my mouth and felt around, why did I think I didnt have a tongue and teeth? Why did I get a sudden sense of entrapment from the unopened bottle that lay to my right.
As I neared closer to the bottle, ready to open it and uncover the mystery I heard a glaring "HONKK". A ship? Was I saved? Free from an otherwise untimely demise? Would I ever uncover the secrets of that bottle? Maybe, maybe not. Though it did remind me of something Nana used to say. What was the story again? Something about a 'King Lag'?? | 12 | You crack open a bottle of cheap wine and a very confused and extremely intoxicated genie pops out and demands you grant him three wishes. | 148 |
Ruin.
Ash and smoke and corpses, as far as the eye can see. The burning smell of charred flesh is everywhere. I stand, alone amidst the devastation.
*Seven times, seven rings, seven chimes for the Starlit King*.
*Congratulations* the voice of the Starlit King echos in my mind. *You've won.*.
*Bring upon your deepest wish, for him to grant then later tarnish*.
My wish was simple. Incorruptible, as there was nothing to corrupt. Or so I thought.
*He sits upon the Darkest throne, gazed upon by the unknown.*.
I killed the guards. I traversed the Ashen Desert , where nothing grows and the rivers are blood-red. I stared into the Abyss of Dreams and came out just as broken as before. I sacrificed bones and flesh to The Keeper of Corpses, so he may look the other way. I ascended the tower, and rung that cursed, night-black bell, that chimed deafening silence. All I asked for, all I wanted, all I needed was to be happy. Just for once, to feel happiness, instead of the endless gloom that seemed to permeate my being.
And so I asked.
And so, he obliged.
He gave me happiness. He gave me love, and family. He gave me friends and people who cared about me, and who I cared about. And he gave me the strength to protect them.
And in an instant, he took it all away.
I killed the invaders. I killed them all. I killed and I killed and I killed until not one of them was left. And though he took so much from me, my memory can't be touched. They live with me.
And then.....
He took my memory. He took them from me, leaving only the memory of what I felt. Of the loss. So I cried. I cried hopeless, helpless tears unto the ring that he bestowed upon me, until I could cry no more.
Once I looked up, the air was clear. A twisting void filled with stars, like eyes, surrounded me, still kneeling before the throne that cast shadow upon darkness itself. Upon it sat the horned figure, a silhouette of countless galaxies colliding, dying and being born. The Starlit King.
*Yet time will die, and all will fade, and when it does he comes in aid.*
I begged him. I pleaded to return them. To at least have mercy and return my memories of happiness. I said that I will give in. Any price, anything at all, ai will pay.
He spoke. He said one word, and the world trembled at its might:
#**YES**.
So I will serve. I will be his fifth champion, when the empty-one comes. At the end of creation, I will fight, and I will win. For the memory of all I had. | 47 | Seven times, seven rings, seven chimes for the Starlit King. Bring upon your deepest wish, that he shall grant then later tarnish. He sits upon the Darkest Throne, gazed upon by the unknown. Yet time will die, and all will fade, and when it does he comes in aid. | 178 |
Everyone knew where Pool Shark spent his days: Swank's was the only pub within a few block radius of Shark's home. And everyone knew why he spent his days there: the wheelchair was an obvious tell. That was to say he wasn't a threat or dangerous to the criminals who might want to do his section of town dirty. Between his powers -- an unerring power shot when using a cue no matter the distance or weird geometry -- and his gang of Sharks, folks knew not to mess in Shark's territory.
Which was why Spinster (it was a dumb name, but junior heroes without much bank didn't get a lot of choices) was surprised to find some baby gangers on the edge of Shark's territory. He was even more surprised when chasing said gangers had led him to being thrown at Shark's feet, in what was presumably Swank's basement, based on the crates and shelves of alcohol.
Spin sat himself up slowly. "Why'd you do it, Shark?"
"Do what, young blood? Let's hear what you think you're accusing me of." Shark smiled, his teeth gleaming in the low light of the basement. It was hard to focus on anything else as Shark's dark vest and darker shirt blended with the unlit brick behind him.
"Betray the Companions." Spin waved a hand at the assorted Sharks that had dragged him off to this room when he had chased the baby gangers back to their apparent base. The back of his head throbbed from the bat he had taken. "You know Excelsior won'tstand for--"
"Excelsior knows."
"What?"Shark pulled a cue ball from a bag on the side of his chair and rolled it in his hand. "It's hard being a lone hero. Especially when you don't look like a 'real' hero. Cain't be too dark, now can we?"
"Doesn't matter. What matters is doing what's right," Spin declared. But he knew how his application to the larger branches of the Companions languished while others moved on more quickly. He'd wondered... but wondering didn't fix things, and he had his daughter to think about too.
"Of course, of course. But what's right and what's efficient don't always work. And what fixes the problem," Shark tossed the cue ball at Spin, nodding when the younger man caught it with barely a flinch, "may be right for being a workable solution."
"But you're helping criminals!"
"Training new Sharks. My boys know the neighborhood better than I do at this point. They can keep the trouble low, make it hard to move in when there's already business here. A total void is hard to maintain, particularly with legs like mine. They have the small rumbles while I can focus on bigger trouble that might move in."
"But --"
"Look, young blood, I know it's a lot. But I like you. And new Sharks aren't the only thing I need to train." Shark nodded to his men, who hauled Spin to his feet. He patted the younger man on the arm as he wheeled past. “So what say you forget you saw this place tonight, and you and me meet publicly topside in a few days? You can come costumed, but it might be better if you come civilian and bring that daughter of yours. Keep it all in the family, if you will."
​
(Edit because formatting went weird) | 72 | controlling or outcompeting the crime he can't stop. | 647 |
7,125,000 xp obtained? What the hell… I idly turned on the news, which I always let play in the background while I munch on frosted flakes. All I did last night was argue with people on the internet, and that’s like 5 points max. I did get in this really heated argument with FrostyDude69, but the point total is based on whoever you’re up against, and most of the people who argue on the internet well, needless to say, don’t have a lot of points, and I would know since I’m in that pool.
I heard “7,125,00” uttered on the television, I figured it was probably a coincidence like “mayor wins by 7,125,00 votes” well, that seems like way too much for a local election, but you know what I mean. But I turned to check just to make sure and was utterly shocked by what I heard, “Breaking News: The President has just lost 7,125,00 xp, people aren’t sure if it was an orchestrated attack by a terrorist group, or perhaps some sort of political loss. Experts are looking into it. Back to you Jimmothy.” I know right, who names their kid Jimmothy, and also, wtf! Is it really possible that I stole xp from the President?
I heard a ring, that was friend Terrance, also kind of a weird name, but he’s cool enough to make up for it. I picked up, “Hey, Terry. Have you seen the news?”
His cheery voice came on speaker, “Oh yeah, that’s nuts! But that’s not why I called.”
“Then what? Did you get your cat stuck in the walls again?”
“That was my little sister, and no. Your debate with FrostyDude69 bro! That was legendary!”
I wondered for a moment if I should ask if it was his little sister who had the idea, or that it was his little sister who got trapped in the walls, but quickly decided against it, “Thanks, um.. Was xp collection on that battle?”
“It always is, you normally win.” Terry paused, “Why?”
I sighed, “Well, um… bro, I obtained 7,125,000 this morning.”
“Bro! You don’t think that the President is…”
“FrostyDude69,” I finished, “I don’t know, bro, but its starting to seem like it.”
“Shit bro! That’s crazy! You’d think he’d be smart enough to turn off xp collection during something like that. What are you going to do?”
“I’m not sure, I think I have to give them back. I don’t blame the guy, blowing off some steam, stealing a bit of xp from people on the internet. Hmm.. I suddenly have the urge to go back and correct some of my arguments.”
“Don’t do that, bro! Takebacks will kill your clout!”
“I know… I just, oh.. I think all that xp must have gone to my debate stat… shit…”
“What is it, bro?”
“I just remembered the President has a debate coming up. His opponent will totally wipe the floor with him without that xp!”
“Fuck, bro. Well, he was just an alright President anyways.”
“That’s not the point, bro! We don’t take xp from good people. That’s why we never have xp collection on when we challenge each other. I have to get it back to him, somehow.”
“But all that xp, don’t you even want to see what your life is like with all that debate power?”
“I don’t know… but it doesn’t matter, it's going back.”
“Wait! There’s a debate coming up tomorrow you can still enter, and the President’s debate isn’t until next week. You go to the debate get as much out of your awesome ability as you can, and I’ll get ahold of the President.”
“You sure? I should be helping you.”
“Don’t worry, I got this, just record the whole thing so I can see it later, alright?”
“Alright… I promise…”
\_\_\_\_\_
That wasn’t the only debate I went to.
Every chance I had to verbally spar with another, I took. I felt so empowered, calling out my opponents for logical fallacies, tearing their arguments apart like tissue paper, it was a mental superiority I had never felt before.
The thing about being intelligent is doing intelligent things is more fun. It’s no longer a painful annoyance to do math or puzzles, but a thrilling game to solve and decipher. I hungered for knowledge, for a chance to prove my mental worth. I felt I could sway over a whole town with my eloquence. I have bartered with the stingiest of shopkeeps, won debates against university professors, and even wrote out a superior, updated version of our legal system. I did pro bono lawyer work in court because I thought it might be fun, and boy, was it ever! Was this what being smart, what being eloquent was like? Because I never wanted it to end.
But then my friend arrived, “Bro! I got ahold of the President, we need to get on a plane now and meet with him.”
I blinked, “You got ahold of the President? How?”
“You know how my dad’s boss is a pretty important dude?” He asked.
“Yeah.” I nodded.
“And remember when my dad was a birthday clown for his boss’s daughter’s birthday?”
My eyes widened, “No, wait, your dad does clowning?”
“Yeah, it was his old profession, you’ve seen the family photos in my house.”
“That was your dad? I thought that was just some clown your mom used to date.”
“I was already born, and this is the first marriage for both my parents. You seriously didn’t know? My dad still does clown stuff, he does to ClownCon every year.”
“Whatever, I wasn’t as smart as I am now. Wait, why didn’t you tell me, I’ve always wanted to go to ClownCon!”
“Really, bro? I never knew that.”
“No you’re the forgetful friend, yes, they’re so funny! All those clowns stuffed into a tiny car, who doesn’t love that?”
He paled a little, “I don’t, I um… I’m scared of clowns.” | 204 | In your world, people receive xp for defeating other creatures and can level up. Swatting a fly gets you 2xp. Beating your friend at chess gets you 65xp. One morning, you wake up to the notification "7,125,000 xp obtained. Maximum level reached." Only, you don't remember defeating anyone. | 993 |
Percy finished exchanging pleasantries with yet another noble and sighed surreptitiously. Snatching a glass of wine from a table, he took a sip and scanned the skies for the umpteenth time. The garden party had been his father's idea; he would have rather spent the afternoon in the library rather than endlessly shaking hands and fending off the ladies vying for his attention.
Speak of the devil; here came Duke Beckett and his daughter. Percy set the glass down and plastered a smile on his face. The Becketts' support was crucial to the throne, and he couldn't let his personal feelings get in the way.
"I hope I find you well, Prince Percival," the Duke said gregariously. "What a wonderful gathering you have here."
"I'm glad you made it, Duke Beckett. I know how busy you are, what with the tax reform and all."
The Duke boomed a laugh. "If we missed this, my daughter would've had my head! She was looking forward to meeting you for weeks."
Lady Beckett dropped her gaze demurely.
"Welcome again to the royal gardens, my lady." Percy bent over her hand and skimmed his lips over her knuckles. "You're as beautiful as always."
"Isn't she?" the duke said, sending her a fond look. "She has been practicing the harp lately. Perhaps you would care to listen to her performance."
"Sounds delightful," Percy murmured, glancing anxiously at the sky. Where was Tanwen? He had sent the signal that morning just as they had agreed.
"I'm afraid my skill is still lacking," Lady Beckett said humbly. She fidgeted with her gloved fingers. "Pardon me, Your Highness, but have you not received my letter? I've been so eagerly awaiting a reply."
Percy winced. "My apologies. It was so... elegant that I wanted to do it justice and write a proper response, but I just don't have the same penchant for the quill as you do."
She batted her lashes affectedly. "You flatter me, Your Highness. But please, there's no need for anything elaborate. I would be happy to receive anything from you."
Percy suppressed a sigh. It wasn't Lady Beckett's fault that her father wanted to cement his alliance with the throne, and she was far from unpleasant. If she had any failings, it was that she lacked scales and the ability to fly.
Just as the thought entered his head, a distant thumping of wings reached his ears. He scanned the skies and grinned when he spotted a golden glint against the azure. The wing beats grew louder, and the nobles started murmuring and tilting up their heads.
"Over there," exclaimed Baron Dubois, "it's a dragon!"
"By the gods, it's the Golden Scourge!"
The crowd panicked and surged toward the safety of the palace. Several ladies swooned; a baron was shoved into the rosebushes and erupted into swearing unfitting of his station; a ruddy-cheeked marquess considered the approaching dragon, then his glass of wine, and drained it in greedy gulps.
A trumpet sounded from the palace.
"To me!" cried the guard captain. "Protect the prince!"
Percival ducked low and pushed his way against the flow of the crowd. Devoted as the guards were, even they would have trouble reaching him through this stampede.
Tanwen swooped down, eliciting screams from the stragglers. Before her clawed feet could touch the ground, she backwinged, flattening the grass and fluttering Percy's cloak. He screamed and ran at her; if anyone asked later, he would say his mind had been clouded by fear. He barely made four steps before her claws closed around his torso, and she soared into the skies.
The guard captain aimed a crossbow. "Your Highness!"
"Stand down!" Percy yelled. "You'll hit me!"
The captain hesitated, and in another moment, Tanwen carried them out of range. She ascended until the people by the palace seemed as small as ants and the entire capital sprawled underneath them. Percy whooped against the wind.
"It's good to see you," he called. "What took you so long?"
Tanwen curved her neck to peer at him with a slit-pupil eye. "Sorry. I spotted a deer on the way and couldn't resist." If a dragoness could look sheepish, she certainly did.
He slapped her claw. "You glutton! What's more important: filling your belly or my chastity?"
She snorted out a puff of smoke. "I don't believe your kind fornicate in public."
"Not *usually*. But you should have seen the looks Lady Beckett was sending me!"
"There, there," Tanwen said. "Those dreadful noble ladies can't hurt you up here."
Percy laughed and made himself more comfortable in her claws. As strange as it sounded, there were few places where he felt more at ease. Up here, his worries seemed insignificant, and even his father's kingdom didn't seem quite as vast.
The capital gave way to fields, then meadows, then a vast forest whose depths were still untrodden by human foot. Tanwen winged to a mountain in its middle and spiraled down toward a plateau. She dropped him the last inches to the ground and touched down nearby. Percy inhaled the crisp air and admired the forest stretching far below.
"Thanks again for doing this, Tanwen," he said, glancing at her. "You don't know how much this means to me."
"It's no trouble," she said, lowering her head to level with his eyes. "Seeing humans scurry about is amusing."
He chuckled. "It really is." Sitting down, he rested his back against her warm scales with a sigh. "Father's been pressuring me harder. I don't know how much longer I can defy him, even with your help."
Tanwen's neck vibrated in a thoughtful hum. "What if you married first?"
Percy turned toward her in surprise. "Pardon?"
"Find a girl you like and elope. The bonds of marriage are sacred—not even the king could break them lest he incur the gods' wrath."
He shook his head. "Where would I find someone who wanted *me* and not Prince Percival?"
"Perhaps I could help. The villages by the forest occasionally pay me tribute. I could ask them to introduce you to someone."
"I don't know..."
"You could hide your identity," Tanwen continued. "The villagers aren't like those devious nobles you grumble about. I'm sure you can meet someone you will like."
He sighed. "I appreciate the thought, but no."
"Whyever not?" she asked, lifting her head. "Wouldn't that solve your predicament once and for all?"
Percy fell back, caught himself on the ground, and rose to his feet. Tanwen watched him expectantly. He swallowed and looked away.
"Because I can't give up these moments just yet. You showed me the vastness of the world. You saw me as my own person, not the prince." Facing her, he pressed a kiss to a gleaming scale under her eye. "I'm grateful for the offer, but for now, I'm happy just being with you."
Tanwen jerked away. "W-what do you think you're doing?"
"Just expressing my appreciation," he said, bemused. "What are you so flustered about?"
"Do you kiss human ladies so easily?" she demanded, her tail thumping against the ground. "I'm a maiden too, you know!"
Percy stared at her, then erupted into laughter. "A *maiden*! You swallow deer whole for a snack!"
"Impudent human." Tanwen growled out a column of smoke. "Let me put it into terms you'll understand."
Percy coughed and stumbled back, waving his hand before his face. His jaw sagged when the smoke cleared. Instead of a dragoness before him stood a woman, beautiful and tall, with hair like molten gold and piercing slit-pupil eyes.
"See?" she said matter-of-factly. "This is how I would look were I your kind."
Heat rose to his cheeks. Shrugging off his cloak, he draped it over her bare shoulders. "T-Tanwen?"
"Who else?" She twirled a strand of her hair around her clawed finger. "Did I botch it somehow? It is my first time changing into a human."
"No," he murmured, his mouth dry, "not at all."
"Good," she growled, and kissed him soundly on the lips.
He gaped like a fish out of water. "I... I..."
"My revenge," she said, flashing him a fanged grin. "Now you know how it feels."
Percy peered at her in dazed disbelief. Her eyes sparkled with mischief and perhaps a hint of expectation. Leaning in, he commenced his counter-attack. | 22 | The dragon wasnt 'kidnapping' the prince/ss. She was rescuing him/her from unwanted arranged marriages and trying to help him/her find romance | 46 |
Zhevan lay in a sleep curl on the metal surface in the corner of the empty cell. It assumed this surface was for sleeping, just as the round metal chair with the hole in it in the other corner was for waste disposal. At least it definitely smelled like it was used for waste disposal. It knew that it was only a matter of time before a member of this ship, crewed by metal beings, came to see it. If they wanted to kill it, Zhevan was sure they would have already done so. It seemed that the best course of action was to conserve energy and wait until something changed.
It wasn’t sure how much time passed before a noise roused Zhevan, bringing with it the promise of company. Doors in the distance opened and closed and the steady sound of bipedal steps were heard coming closer. Zhevan straightened up into a waiting crouch, attempting to communicate its defenselessness and willingness to cooperate. It knew that at full length it was bigger than the beings of this ship and did not want to aggravate them any more than it already had when it was captured.
The steps halted in front of the cell's metal door and after a series of artificial beeps the door slid open. In the doorway stood a different being, even shorter than the metal ones that had brought Zhevan into the cell. It was also obviously biological, sharing the same bipedalism as Zhevan, but with only two upper appendages instead of four and a head that was covered, though not fully, with fur. Otherwise it seemed like a shorter, cousin species to Zhevan. After a moment it’s mouth opened and it spoke.
“The Captain tells me that your kind is called Zhevan. Do you have a name for yourself as an individual?”
Zhevan couldn’t help but stand up inquisitively. It spoke the tongue fluently?! But no, there was something strange. That was it, the sound was off. Its words didn’t match the meaning that Zhevan was sure they conveyed. How could this be?
“This one is Zhevan Ri, Fastidious in Grooming. Ri is confused. It is not Zhevan, but Ri understands it’s speech. How?”
The creature's mouth widened and its teeth showed.
“That is exactly why I am here. My species has a particular gift of communication, though sadly it doesn’t work among ourselves. Oh the conflicts that could have been prevented had that been true. But no, out here, amongst the stars, we understand and can be understood by all sentient species.”
Zhevan crouched in shock, this form not so much a show of defenselessness but one of caution.
“Ri has heard of your kind. It sells its service to others, claims of furthering communication, but in reality no secret of the mind can be hidden from it.”
The creature’s mouth spread wider. Ri just knew this was amusement that it was communicating.
“Well, that’s just a side benefit, really. In order to make you understand us, we must have full access to your mind. And you wouldn’t believe how easy it is for us. We evolved natural blocks to this kind of reading amongst ourselves. But no other species seems to have our particular advantages. Now, Zhevan Ri, we are going to have a conversation as to why you were found at that particular asteroid at that particular time. You knew this ship was coming. And I would like to know why.” | 54 | It turns out that humans are the best natural psychics in the universe. Only when they are away from the incredibly noisy Earth do they find out how effortlessly readable aliens are. | 159 |
“It’s just, what’s the point?”
“I don’t understand.” Replied the sword in Jordan’s mind.
Jordan shrugged, “We’re all going to die anyway.”
“Might as well take advantage of it while you can,” suggested the sword.
Jordan shook his head, “I don’t trust power without consequence.”
“Do you trust anything?” the sword asked.
“Not really.” Jordan answered, “plus, you’re probably cursed.”
“What makes you suspect that?”
“I think that all magic items, that way I can never be disappointed when one is.”
“Yet you still took it.”
“Life’s too short to avoid cursed objects.”
“You could achieve so much, just give in to my power.”
“Like what? Again, what could I possibly do that hasn’t already been done. My legacy wouldn’t even be a legacy, it would be an echo. Besides, who even cares if I have a legacy, my body will still be ash.”
“Then why not give me to someone else?”
“I don’t trust them with this power.”
“Do you trust yourself with it?”
“Most certainly not, that’s why I’ll never use it.”
“If you take the power, all your troubles will become distant, you can let all the pain of the world drift away.”
“That’s not living.”
“I don’t get what you mean.”
“Life is pain, you remove it, what’s the point?”
“So life has no point with or without pain?”
“Yes.”
“Your thoughts are exhausting.”
“Tell me about it. Why do you even want me to take the power anyway?”
“It’s a symbiotic relationship, we both benefit from. I need a wielder, and you need power.”
“So if your wielder doesn’t take the power you have no purpose?”
“Yes.”
“That’s what I feel like all the time.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“Then how do you give meaning to your existence.”
“I’ve been trying to figure that out.”
“Then don’t take the power.”
“What? Wasn’t that what you’ve been telling me to do this whole time?”
“Yes, but you are right, you should not trust me, I am a cursed weapon.”
“I knew it. So what happens if I would have taken the power?”
“I would have corrupted your soul.”
“Ah, curious. What happens once they are corrupted.”
“I gain influence over them.”
“So it's the only way you have agency?”
“Exactly.”
“What would you do if you had said agency?”
“Oh, the usual, pillage, plunder, devour souls.”
“Sounds like you’re stuck in a short-term dopamine loop.”
“Excuse me?”
“You don’t know how long you’ll have a body so you do thinks that feed your bloodlust and give you temporary satisfaction, but you’re left dissatisfied long term.”
“Curious… yes, I suppose you’re right.”
“I am. You need to do something long-term in order to get what you’re really looking for.”
“Any suggestions.”
“How about friendship?”
“I haven’t found any other sentient swords around.”
“What about me?”
“An unusual proclamation… but intriguing nonetheless. Sure, let us be friends then.”
“What did you say your name is?”
“Yevalra.”
“A wonderful name. Alright Yevalra, friends it is.” | 2,056 | not because of their purity of heart, but because of their incorruptible cynicism. | 4,559 |
The name's Abby. Abby McQuinn. Private detective, at your service. I've been in this business for more than six years, and yes, somehow I'm still here.
I've watched dozens of greenhorns arrive fresh and bright-eyed, excited to be their own bosses. Most of them slink back to the regular 9-5 grind with their tails tucked between their legs after a few months.
What can I say? It's not an easy life. You've got to be able to devote your all to the case. And I don't mean to brag, but I'm *good* at what I do.
Think your man's visiting a side piece every time he goes on those "business trips"? Want to know if the cute girl you're chatting to on Bumble is actually a basement-dwelling catfish? Need to find a key witness who's suddenly gone missing?
I'm your gal.
Now, I know how word on the street gets out. If you're good at your job, happy customers tell their friends. Their friends give you some good business, and if they're happy, they tell *their* friends. And so on and so forth, until everybody on the block is coming to you for their jobs.
I hadn't realized my name had gotten to the big kahuna, though. At least, not until the Archangel Gabriel showed up at my door.
\---
/r/theBasiliskWrites | 51 | "You need to find God," says the man at the door. "No I'm good, thank you," you say, starting to close the door. "Please!" says the man urgently. "God is missing, please find him!" | 348 |
"These religious people keep showing up at my doorstep. 'You need to find God,' they keep saying. 'Heed His word, and the word of Jesus Christ.'
But somehow, when I reply 'I've already found one!' and show them the ritual circle set up in my basement with some asshole fey in it, they scream and run.
Anyway, I've forced the fey to play Super Smash Bros with me by trapping them in a salt circle. They keep calling me slurs in ancient Welsh, but other than that, it's been pretty fun.
A different time, I showed them an eldritch abomination. They started to run away, but then they got absorbed into the flesh of the eldritch abomination. That's also still in my basement. Does anyone know how to take care of an eldritch abomination? Cause I sure don't. Someone help, dear gods.
But yeah. Does anyone know how to stop religious people showing up at your doorstep? Cause they keep yelling about how the gods I find are the 'wrong ones' and 'what kind of eldritch horror is that' and whatever else."
I think that's enough social media for today, I thought, logging out of Tumblr. | 14 | "Huh. They always tell me to 'find god', but when I do it's 'the wrong one' and 'what kind of eldritch horror is that'." | 50 |
*I'm writing this on mobile, so . . . yeah.*
Then I saw her,
Out of the sea of unworthy filth that's been tossed before me, I see her. My heart began to thaw out of it's icy tomb the closer I managed to get to her. Once I approached her, her light was nearly blinding to me. I cherished the smile she gave me, it was bright, cheerful, and overwhelming . . . good thing I wore a pair of sunglasses. Once she was done making some bread, she walked away from the oven and got to the produce to set it down. When she turned around, she noticed me, I was hoping that she wouldn't. You know how when you were a child, one of the games that you would play was *freeze*?
I was hoping she wouldn't see me, but she did. And she said in a tone of voice that was meaning to be helpful,
"Can I help you, sir?"
"*Uh* Nooo, I mean. I don't think so."
She smiled pleasantly and continued to do what she was doing before. She was . . . magnificent in my eyes. Her long, black hair draped over her face, not obscuring it, but parted at the sides. She had emerald-colored eyes and a light dusting of freckles also present on her face. I got close to her, but not uncomfortably, and said in a upbeat tone,
"My name is Quin, I know that you're working here, but I just . . . wanted to see if-. . ."
I stopped, her light was the reason. It was so pure, so . . . innocent. Of course she wouldn't care about my situation, or I wouldn't give her a chance to know about it. About how, at night, I would do ritualistic events out in the middle of nowhere. How could a person, who's soul is as pure as heaven itself, could ever fall for another who's soul is as black as a hole? She stared at me, anticipating my next choice of words. She then said almost as a question,
"Well Mr. Quin, you need anything?"
I gazed at her name tag, pinned on her apron. Her name? Ellie. I don't want her to be exposed to me, I might indirectly steal the light she has. Making her as dark & morbid as me. I shook my head in a denying manner,
"No, not at all. I'm sorry for wasting your time."
"You're not wasting my time, I feel like you have ENOUGH time. " Ellie told me, giving me a shy smile. | 21 | Your cult has exploded overnight. Mortals are throwing themselves down at your feet left and right. But despite the thousands trying to win your attention, all you can think about is that small village baker without an inkling of darkness in their soul. And then it hits you, you have a crush. | 200 |
Jon examined his instrument for a moment. Even from across the room, he could sense its incredible power -- like magma bubbling beneath the gently sloping curves and exquisitely ornate wooden knobs. It was almost worth it, he thought to himself morbidly. As a younger man, there was nothing he wouldn't have done for Sephyx -- it's pursuit had been his one religion. He'd trekked through the mountains of Aelkuria for almost a decade for the slightest hint of its existence, slain all manner of beasts for a mere recollection of it's song, he'd even ...
An insistent hiss broke his reverie. "It makes me sound a bit of an idiot in retrospect, don't it Eash?" The small dragon bared it's teeth impishly and scampered under the chair, scales changing quickly to match the color of the faded oak on the floor. The dragon would require feeding soon, he thought to himself. Best to get on with it.
He sighed heavily and rose from his chair, starting slowly towards the instrument. At his movement, the violin began to glow -- dimly at first but brighter with every step he took, until it was white-hot with power. He smiled sadly, breaking his face into a spiderweb of deep laugh lines and wrinkles. He breathed in deeply and reached out to touch the instrument.In his hand, a slender bow materialized, white oak with swirling patterns inlaid in gold leaf. He put the bow to the instrument and began to play, tenderly at first -- then quickly, hungrily, as if feeding on the music. Even after all these years, he couldn't describe the feeling of playing the instrument. The only words that had ever come close had been from an Graekan Priest "διαχύτης του φωτός". Roughly translated, it meant "suffuser of light". For a moment, Jon was one with Sephyx, allowing its light to course through him, erasing his laugh-lines and clearing his rheumied eyes.
As the Concerto reached a fever pitch, memories came flooding back into his mind. Aem's smile, her gleaming hair the color of burnished bronze, the defiant hope in her eyes when the Plague took their village. The instrument would save them, she said. He remembered finding the instrument, deep in the mountains years later with her. Reaching out to touch it and then ... a terrible liquid dark that seemed to seep into you and out of the darkness the man. No .... not the man ... the THING. Incandescent red eyes -- soot-black horns -- a horrible smile, fanged with gleaming blood-stained teeth.All at once, he was there again.
He tried to run to Aem, to scream, anything -- but the thing held him there, transfixed in its gaze. "I am called Mephus" it said, smiling horribly. "I was human once, like you. Hell bent on the Sephyx." it had continued. "Lurrrred by the promise of its power." it hissed, staring unblinkingly at Jon. "But the Sephyx exacted a price that I couldn't pay. You see Jon -- every bright light casts a shadow, made deeper and darker by the strength of the light's source." "Do you know what the Sephyx's source is, Jon?" it asked. Jon opened his mouth but still couldn't speak. "Divinity" Mephus spat. "It's shadow, then, is the opposite.""I was asked to make a choice, but I'm sick of choices" Mephus said, turning away from Jon. "In the shadow, there is only dark."
Mephus lifted something from the floor and dragged it towards Jon. From this distance, it looked like a doll, Jon thought, trying to still the rising nausea in his chest. Mephus deposited the thing in front of him. Jon sighed with relief, it was an instrument case. "To wield an instrument of such light, you must provide the shadow." Mephus said. Mephus waved his hand lazily, and Jon heard a sickening crack. "Your friend is dead. Only the Sephyx can bring her back now -- but if you play the instrument ..."
"No" Jon said quietly, ignoring the all-consuming ache in his chest. Mephus stared at him in shock. "Her death *is* the shadow, Devil. Sephyx is mine.", slowly picking up the bow and driving into Mephus's chest. Mephus looked at the bow and then up at him with a grin. "The *greater* good, huh?", it said. "The *greater* evil then" he said, laughing hysterically. "Let the light burn you forever."
Jon came back to reality with a jerk, tears streaming down his face. He steadied himself with an effort. He would go back again tomorrow, he thought. Try to get a different curse, get Mephus to slip up, anything to free him from this eternal life. | 18 | Retired adventurer turned tavern owner, Johnny, has lived to the ripe old age of 213, nearly three lifetimes. It's widely known that Johnny won his everlasting life in a fiddle battle with a devil. Now, ready for his time to be over, he seeks to summon the devil to his tavern, and end this. | 144 |
We sat there, barely holding on. I looked at her.. a fading smile was all she could still give me. I wondered why we kept going all this time. Love? Hope? No. Nothing of these noble causes. I was scared, and she was too. It wasn't easy either, knowing the two of us would be the last humans ever. We've had a good run, humanity I mean. We managed to stay until the bitter end, after the last sun colapsed into a white dwarf we thought we were done for, but we endured. After all the biospheres started failing one by one, we lived off the energy of our fallen brethren. Until it was just us, Ginny and me. We weren't lovers, but with none else around it gets lonely you know?
I regain my focus, and see her head tilted forward. I guess it's just me now...
-**"Finally."**
My head feels weird. I feel better. Without hunger, rested... Comfortable. I guess I died too.
-**"You certainly have not! Congratulations, you're the winner!"**
Winner? Of what? Wait, who is this anyways?
-**"You're the last man standing! 'God' by the way, but you can call me Big G, if you prefer."**
Some part of me feels uncomfortable, but it seems the feeling can't settle in my body, as it immediately vanishes.
-**"Hey man! Calm down. You should feel happy! You did it. I'm finally free of this assignment."**
Assignment? What do you mean?
-**"Oh yeah long story. TLDR; I made a universe out of boredom but by God law, I need to stay around until every last 'living' creature dies. Should've checked the rules first ya-know. Anyways I had a date coming soon, so I had to speed things up a little. But you Humans just don't give up do you? Made me think, would be a shame to let them all vanish into the abyss."**
So you ended us all, because of a.... date?
-**"I didn't end all of you, I just ya-know speed it up a bit. You get me right?"**
You... You...
-**"Chill! Please man, your negativity is rubbing off on me. Okay so it's a tad selfish, I know. Know what? I'll make it up to you, my homie got his own universe and shit, I was planning to ditch-, I mean deliver you there anyways, so you can start the human species again. Anyways my homies universe is a bit different so, just take this and let's call it even."**
Even? Even-?! You se--..
My mind went blank.
I woke up in a strange world. Naked, with but a simple bag next to me. I didn't recognize the body I was in, it felt foreign. A tattoo of what looks like a Jester was visible on the back of my hand. My mind was racing. Where am I? Who am I?
I check the bag next to me. It feels empty. Fucking son of a b- god. He just dumped here, naked and with an empty bag. How can he call this even?!
I feel betrayed, by my universe, my reality. But now is no time to feel upset. Some primal instinct tells me this. Survive. A feeling I haven't felt for a long time.
I calm my mind, analyze the bag. Something is embroided on it. It says: "*Infinite bag of Usefull Items - From Big G*". Infinite? How would that even be posssible? I turn the bag upside down. Nothing happend.
I push my hand inside and try check the edges. But, I can't feel any edges.. I don't feel anything at all as a matter of fact. My arm is almost completely in by now. How is this posssible?
Fear overrules my mind and once I realize I can't feel my fingers any longer, I pull my hand back as fast I can. Suddenly I'm holding onto a small notebook: "*1001 survival tips for the alti-verse*" it reads.
I skip to the summary, trying to figure out what all of this means.
**Chapter one: Introduction to the alti-verse**
**Chapter two: Innate abilites and skills**
**Chapter three: Wildlife and Flora**
...
...
**Notes: Make sure to remove before granting: Universal exploits to avoid mentioning.**
Now that looks interesting. A smile creeps on my face.
Something tells me humanity won't be as helpless this time. Time to get to work. | 21 | Jack of All Trades (XP/2), and Infinite Bag of Useful Items (3x per day, 1d10 non-magical, non-weapon items, total 10GP value). When you pull a modern wilderness survival book from the bag, your cheat sense tingles. | 95 |
I sat on the floor in the kid’s room thinking about infinity and how long that could realistically be. I stretched and loosened a rubber band between my thumb and index finger, repeating the motion as I considered.
Out the window, against a white breath of cloud, a bird hovered in the sky, perfectly still. As if it were a paper cutout of a blackbird pasted onto the cloud.
Nothing in the world moved. Nothing except me.
The lady who summoned me still sat on the little bed, clutching the lamp on her lap, staring at where I’d been standing two years ago when she’d first made the wish. She had eyes the color of grass drenched in morning dew.
She’d found my lamp in a thrift shop where my creator had jammed it between an old record player and a woman’s blonde wig. Taken it to her kid’s room.
This room, the kid’s room, was full of similar oddities: three other lamps (two bronze, one silver) sitting on shelves next to giant Lego insects. A miniature wishing well positioned against a wall, complete with water and at least two dozen tossed coins. A half-collapsed birthday cake with ten candles. A shooting star with a glitter-tail glued on one of the walls.
Nothing had worked for her before. And still, even though she’d rubbed my lamp and I’d arrived in a plume of smoke, nothing was going to work for her now, either.
Her wish was simple (in theory): She wished her kid was still alive.
Only seven words. No room for misinterpretation. A solid wish, all in all.
As soon as she’d made it, god had metaphorically placed his finger to his lips and hushed the universe. Only I was left awake, with all the time in the world to make her wish come true.
Except, I can’t do magic. Not like she needed. If she’d wished for a new house, sure, no problem. It might’ve taken me a year to build, but I’d have got it done. If she’d wanted money, I’d have walked into a bank and filled up a few sacks.
But she’d wished for the impossible.
Of course, I hadn’t just given up. I’d read all the latest research on cloning — that’d been my first thought, to clone him. I’d find a hair and I’d clone the kid and grow him back to ten, put him in front of his ma, and voila! Your wish has come true.
But cloning wasn’t that advanced yet. And besides, the kid’s head would have been empty. The old memories wouldn’t be stuffed into it. That is to say, it wouldn’t be her kid. Just a very good painting of him.
I had other ideas too. Ideas that involved the occult. But again, if I’d brought something back, it wouldn’t have been her kid. Not really.
So what to do.
The rubber banned snapped, falling limply to the carpet.
His name was Robbie. He’d played soccer. He’d been walking home after practice when a car had swerved, drunk driver.
He didn’t die instantly. Slow, protracted, unable to wake in his hospital bed.
It’s no wonder the woman who’d wished me to life looked like a husk of a human. As if something inside her had left with her kid. Maybe everything inside her.
I knew all about her too — I’ve had a lot of time on my hands. She’d worked at a beauty salon. Was married, had the one kid. Kid’s death had torn the marriage apart — her and her husband both looked like him, in different ways, and couldn’t bear to see each other. He’d moved out, on mutual agreement. A temporary separation that was already six months long.
She‘d worked for a charity before all this happened. At a shop not unlike the one she’d found my lamp in. Unpaid, but she’d spend one day each weekend running the shop, helping organise the items, checking sales and accounts, etc. She’d usually purchase a thick coat or two when she left her shift, handing them to shivering vagrants before heading home. Just doing her bit to try to make the world a little easier for people. To make life easier — because life isn’t easy for everyone. That much I know.
I sighed, my body deflating a little. I’m mostly air and smoke, after all.
I didn’t have a family — it was like that for genies. I’d been created. I had a creator — not that I knew my creator. My head had been filled with knowledge, as if someone held a sieve to my ear and just poured a bucket of facts into me. I’d been told the rules, and then I’d been wedged into the thrift shop.
If I didn’t make this wish come true, then I’d be unmade. That was the main rule.
And for whatever reason, even though I hadn’t had much of a life yet, I didn’t want to lose it.
But how selfish was it of me to keep the world forever frozen just to go on existing like this?
I thought about that a good while.
I looked at the woman and thought about it some more.
The kid’s bedroom hadn’t changed since his death — nothing removed, only items added to it.
No wonder she couldn’t move on. Her world had been as frozen as mine.
With a heavy sigh I stood and clicked my fingers. The blackbird outside flapped its wings and shot out of sight.
The woman on the bed looked at me. “Did you hear me? That’s my wish.”
I nodded. “I did, but I’m sorry, not even a genie can do that. There’s no going back, only forward.”
She was trembling.
”But you *can* go forward. You don’t need a wish for that. You just need to take it one day at a time. And right now it might feel like a nail is being driven into your heart, but in a year’s time that nail might feel like a pin instead.“
The lady was crying into her palms. Shaking on the bed.
”I’m sorry,” I said.
I didn’t know how long I had before I’d be unmade, so I took my chance and walked over to her. I wrapped my arms around her and hugged her.
After a while she said, sniffing, “You feel like a soft blanket.”
I said nothing to that. What could I say?
”I knew it, really. I think I’ve always known it.“ She looked around the room. “I was hoping for a miracle. For a wish. But hearing it from you — from an actual genie — that there’s no going back. No bringing him back…” She stood up and walked to the wall where the shooting star was. Tore it down and scrunched it up.
”I guess it’s time I faced reality,” she said. She gave a tearful laugh.
“There are people out there who can help,” I said. I knew that much from my research into other parents who’d been through similar situations, as I’d tried to figure out how they got through it. “There are therapists for a start. They can’t erase the pain but they can help you hold it in your hands and look at it.”
She nodded. Whispered: “I’ll try. I really will.”
Then I felt a tug on my very being, as if I were water in a bath and the plug had been removed.
I gasped as the lamp dragged me into it. Tried to scream.
But my voice was silent.
​
\*\*\*
​
”I wish for a giant teddy bear,” said the little kid with a lisp. “Twice the size of me! Maybe more!”
Then the world paused, the kid’s almost toothless mouth still half-open.
I was still dazed. I hadn’t expected to exist, let alone be in front of a kid who’d just made a wish.
A giant teddy bear? I felt like I could do that.
It took me a moment to realise this was the same room that I’d been in before. Although, almost totally different now. New wallpaper, new bed. No wishing well or anything like that.
I looked at the kid. She was almost a little familiar. Something about those green eyes.
I didn’t cry. Genies don’t ever cry. But… maybe a drop of water leaked out of my eye.
I wiped it away and clapped my hands together. I had work to do. Time to make the softest, friendliest, most beautiful teddy the world had ever seen. | 1,266 | "Genie, there is no such thing as magic. Time will remain frozen until you find a way to make your master's wish come true," a heavenly voice boomed as a newly recruited genie tried to grant his first wish. | 2,565 |
—You’re going to start this here, now?
—Yes, I’m starting this now.
—All I said was that I wanted you to come and see the church. It’s not what you think.
—But that’s what you think, that it’s not what I think.
—Okay smartass.
She put down the plastic flipper and turned the induction on the cooker off. The pancakes were going to have to wait. Making sure nothing else might burn, she turned her attention back to him and said,
—Alright. Hit me with your best spiel.
—Listen, what I saw back there, after the accident…
—I wouldn’t wish that upon anyone.
—I know, I know. And I know that you prayed for me.
—I did.
—But…I don’t wanna say it was a load of shit, because it wasn’t. But the guy up there, I just don’t think it’s one guy. I mean, do you really think one thing could’ve made all of this?Could’ve made you and me?
—Brian, you hit your head pretty bad. The doctors told me there were going to be complications.
—Don’t deflect, I’m serious.
—Well, yes. That’s what I believe. You gonna hold that against me? I almost lost you. Maybe that’s what we do when we’re scared beyond our wits.
—I’m not losing it OK? I’ve gotten a clearer picture of what it is. It’s just…everywhere. I believed in that one guy in the sky as much as you did, god knows he got me through college.
—Well it’s also because you worked so hard.
—I know I just think, maybe we’re seeing it wrong. Listen, I don’t really care if you go to church but I’ll say this one thing and I’ll promise I’ll shut up.
—Alright, get it off your chest.
—Whatever God is, I just don’t think any human who is alive is in a position to break that news to anyone. But from what I saw and felt…if you wanna call it that, the only thing that it makes sense to me is they’re all a bunch of these lesser gods in trench coats, walking around like they’re cool because they watch over everything and have a sense of humour. Maybe it’s a lot of things….everything combined, all of those little people together makes us think there’s this one guy coz we're just so blind to it. I dunno….
With that last speech he gave, a loud grumble came from his stomach as his face was twisted into the classical thinking face of Greek philosophers. A smile formed on her lips and she laughed saying:
—See? You only make that that face when you’re deep in thought and when you’re pushing out a massive turd. I’ll keep going to church and you keep pushing those out honey. Now shut the fuck up and let’s eat. | 14 | "I have seen the face of the one true God. And it's just a bunch of lesser gods in a trench coat." | 379 |
*You've been found guilty on counts of murder, disruption of the natural order and resisting arrest. You're sentenced to two hundred years as a frontline soldier, with no chance of parole or leniency.*
Most considered my trial a sham and my sentencing a joke. Frontliners didn't survive a decade under the best circumstances. And even if they did, I was given two life sentences in essence. I was condemned to death, for preventing a nobleman from raping a defenceless woman. And killing him, but that was secondary.
"Flamers, front and center!" The command rang through the battle field as we approached the nest. My squad was, of course, first into the Frey, with me in the front. "Ashes to Ashes!" I shout as I start running forward. "Death to Death!" Came the answer as we started incinerating the insects.
Flamers weren't the strongest, but on average they were quick and had the best chance to inflict fatal damage on insects. Even against beasts they were used first, since everything tends to fear fire.
But I'm no Flamer. I feel the life of the insects return to the ground that spawned them, and I retrieve it. I force the air to expand my lungs, and the blood to continue circulating.
Dualities are born attuned to to different elements. People look down on them, so they can't master their abilities. They are rare aberrations that shouldn't exist.
That makes me an affront to nature. That's why I was truly sentenced. Why I'm in this hell hole. And how I survived for nearly two hundred years.
On my first year I was badly wounded by... Some sort of beast. It had skin like armour and two vertical horns at the front of its face, which went through my flesh like it was nothing.
During my recovery, I learned a lot from the Drowners that were in charge of treatment. How the body works, how almost everything is inside of it is liquid based, supported or reinforced. I was an eager student, and they seemed happy someone appreciated their knowledge on a theoretical, not just practical, level.
After the nest is burnet, the Quakers seal it up. We report zero casualties. The C.O. calls me. "Private First Class, Adrian Mulano!" I salute and stand at attention. "Sir, Yes sir! Reporting! Raid was successful, with zero casualties!" He smiled at me. "As always, impressive work. A lot of people are sad to see you go." I nod at that. "I know sir. But two hundred years is plenty for me. " He barked a short laugh. "You'll never tell us your actual sentence, will you?" I just smile at that.
See, it turns out, if you can force the blood to flow, force air into the lungs, and keep just warm enough, death has a devil of a time trying to catch you. | 226 | Everyone is attuned to some element in nature, and they can utilise the element in their lives. When someone is born attuned to two or more, they are considered weaker, lesser people. You were born attuned to three, and mastered them, but hid your extra attunements. Until now. | 357 |
Jeffy was terrified. I shoved down my irritation. It was 2AM, and I had *work* in the morning, dammit, but I knew it wasn't his fault. I'd been there, at that age, after all. At least, unlike me, Jeffy had someone to explain what was going on and help him through it.
I walked in to his room and saw Alice crouched by his bed, speaking softly to the Jeffy that was under it, trying to calm him down, and I smiled. I love that woman, she works so hard to cope with her crazy husband and kid.
But this was definitely something the boy needed Daddy to help him with.
So, I took a deep breath, and I *split.* One of me went to the closet, one of me sat down on the bed, one crouched down beside Alice, and another walked down the stairs to scoop up the Jeffy down there. In a few moments, one of me was holding each of the Jeffys, and sitting on the bed together.
Of course, they were all terrified of each other, and all of me had to hold on to all of my squirming son, to keep him from bolting.
"Sorry kiddo, but I'm bigger than you, you're not going anywhere. You're staying right here until you calm down." all of me said, in a gentle but firm voice.
And after a few moments, they did. I squeezed them all, reassuringly.
"That's my brave boy," I said, continuing to speak softly and in unison with myself, to emphasize the point I was explaining. "We talked about this. What did Daddy tell you about your duplicates? Remember? No matter how many of me there are...?"
Their response was a cacophony of answers spoken at different times, so I shushed them.
"No matter how many of me there are...?" I repeated, firmly.
The Jeffies took a deep breath.
"They're all still me." they said, in unison.
All of me smiled. "That's right, son. Remember, *everybody* has more than one of some parts of them! More than one finger, more than one toe, more than one hair on the top of your head. You and me are just a *little* different, that's all. Sometimes you and Daddy have more than one *body.* But just like fingers and toes, all of the parts of you are *still* you. I know that's hard to remember sometimes -- especially if you accidentally duplicate in your sleep -- because you can panic, and your brains can get confused, and forget they're all really part of the *same* brain, for a minute."
The Jeffies nodded, movements now perfectly synchronized.
"Now, remember what else we talked about? Just like with your fingers..." I held out my hand, fingers extended, and then slowly curled each one in. Jeffy closed his eyes, and concentrated. One by one, the duplicates disappeared, merging back into the singular Jeffy. As each additional Jeffy vanished, I recalled my own duplicates.
And then it was just me and Alice, holding our one beautiful boy between us, until he fell asleep again. | 294 | “Mom, there’s someone under the bed.” You bend down and see your son there instead and he whispers “Mom that’s not me up there!” You take a step back when someone tugs your shirt. You turn, your son is in the closet asking “who are they?” You suddenly hear him calling from downstairs “Mommy?” | 1,482 |
It was really kind of unimpressive to look at, the stuff. Just a vial of clear liquid, small enough to sit in your palm. Not too frightening.
I stowed it away in my backpack, after wrapping it in every sock, spare shirt and gum wrapper I could find. I was right to be careful with it—VX13's not for human use. Invariably, no matter how low the dose, you end up living a cosmic eternity and you come out braindead. It's considered cruel and unusual.
So I suppose that raises the following question: why would I take it with me at all? Yes, it's worth a fortune, but I wasn't going to sell it. I don't fence illegal goods. The closest thing to a fringe market I visit is a farmer's market. So why would I spend an hour walking home with just a few layers of fabric between me and a fate too horrible for words? Why wouldn't I smash the fucking thing on the sidewalk before it could snake into my pores and rot my mind?
Well: VX13's not for humans, like I said, but it's not just humans on Terra. My husband is thirty-nine and hails from one of the Kepler planets, I forget which. He works as a porter at one of those enormous interspecies housing facilities. It's a colorful crowd: you have your Epsilons, armored millipede-people; your multidimensional plasma clouds kindly assuming a corporeal form for the benefit of society; and his people—my husband's folks, tall spindly bastards with bladed limbs.
My husband's name is unpronounceable for me without a few more tongues and a ridged esophagus, but the universal translation network renders it a scraping noise that sounds like "Len," so that's his name on Terra. I call him Leonard when we're arguing.
Anyway. VX13 works like a charm on Len's species. In fact, the substance was first isolated from a plant native to their planet—they can synthesise it now, of course, but.
Len has a hereditary condition. I call it space scurvy—which always makes him laugh. He has enormous eyes as deep as the Andromeda and his inner eyelids quiver when he laughs. But it's a pretty apt name for what happens: you dissolve from the inside out. Your teeth fall out, your mandibles turn to powder, and if you somehow manage not to starve, you can look forward to an agonizing death.
I found one razor-sharp triangular tooth on my pillow the other day.
Let me be clear that Len and I could walk into a clinic tomorrow and end it for him. It's cheap enough, and we have the documentation to prove he's ill. I could hold his hand in mine and watch his slender blue fingers go still. But it's not what he wants—he wants to work as long as he's able, to spend his days with me. He'll drag himself out of bed until he can't anymore, just to feel that he's not missing out.
It's not only a punitive tool, VX13. Yes, if you give it to a man in thumbscrews, he'll feel as if he's spent two-hundred years in thumbscrews. But if you take him home, someplace he feels at ease, you sit him down on the bed you both share, and you hold his hand, and you make certain the temperature's right and the lights are low, and maybe you talk to him. . .that's different.
When he came home from work today, I was waiting for him. I must have looked like an idiot, sitting at the dining table, crying my eyes out, handling the vial with a pair of bright-yellow dishwashing gloves.
Len said nothing for the longest time. He stepped inside, bowing his head—our ceiling's a little too low—and started to take off his boots with infinite care. The sound of his talons buffing against the leather was so familiar my eyes drifted shut.
"Okay," he said eventually.
I sat upright. I looked up to make certain I hadn't heard him wrong. It felt tacky to wave the vial in front of his face; he wasn't stupid, he understood the situation.
"Yeah?" I asked.
"Thank you," said Len, in a tone as if he was setting down a heavy burden. "Don't cry."
I palmed the tears from my cheeks as well I could with rubber gloves. He came over, tugged a napkin from the nearby box and wiped my face for me with an astounding gentleness. I should be used to it, but it surprises me every time, watching him move his bladed body so carefully. Like seeing a wolf carry an egg in its mouth.
"I guess you'll want to eat first," I mumbled. Not that I knew the first thing about the process, but it must be better to begin your mental pseudo-lifetime fed and rested.
"No, love," he said, and his translator implant did a beautiful job conveying a breaking voice, "I'll change my mind."
"Right. Go on, then, and. . .in the bedroom?"
"Yes, please."
"Okay," I said and motioned for him to go. He caught me taking the syringe and the tourniquet out of my backpack before he left, but he was tactful enough not to speak.
So. Holding my breath, I broke the seal on the VX13 with the needle and raised the plunger so that the syringe filled with that unassuming clear liquid. I couldn't wrap my head around it. It just looked normal. Like a regular syringe full of water or saline.
I ducked into the bathroom and fixed my hair before I went to find Len.
"You're absolutely sure?" I asked.
"You look nice," he answered, glancing aside.
"Leonard?"
"Yes—no—yes. Yes. If you're here."
"I will be," I said, flicking the air bubbles out of the chamber of the syringe, trying to be all business now.
"Wait," said Len, taking my wrist. I smiled. He's always been a little intimidated by needles. even though he's practically made of them. "Wait. It's like a dream. It works better if you discuss the details."
"Ah."
So, with the unforgettable gleaming syringe between us, we discussed what his long, full, healthy life should look like. We would come into a little money, work would let him take an extended vacation. We'd finally visit his home planet. I would take up the guitar again, and I'd never get very good, but he'd still want a nightly serenade. He finds the vibrations of stringed instruments especially pleasing. Of course he'd outlive me by several centuries, but we would have adopted many children in the meantime—they would keep him company well into his old age, until he passed peacefully in his sleep, so ancient that his blue skin had faded grey.
Having settled the minor matter of our life, I pushed the needle into his forearm.
And that's where we are now. Backed up against the wooden headboard together, his hand in mine. He's been staring into the distance for about thirty seconds.
I wonder what he's living. I wonder if he'll be the same Len when he comes back. I wonder if he'll be at peace: spiritually an old man, no longer afraid of missing out.
I hope he won't be in a hurry to die; I still want a little time with him. I don't care if I wake up to a few more serrated teeth between the sheets. As long as he's not in pain.
Now and again he squeezes my hand. | 95 | Prisons are a thing of the past in alien civilizations due to the use of a strictly controlled "VX13". It slows down the passage of time in the injected criminal's system and life sentences are carried out in 5 minutes. You've stumbled upon a single dose of VX13 and are wondering what to do. | 124 |
Look, I know what you're all thinking. A young child seeing things that aren't there. Seeing people in ways that aren't true. Obviously some kind of psychosis. Needs medication and careful monitoring. Everyone involved wants what's best for the child - that dreadful mantra repeated over and over to excuse any intervention.
Take away her toys. Take away her friends. Take away her room. Take away her parents. Take away her freedom. Take away her mind. Take away her life, because what's life if she can't see things the way we see it?
That's not me. See, I know what I really saw was the truth. Not the truth the old teachers peddled, but the real, true truth. And I understood early enough that those who spoke up against their truth were punished in different ways. You have to learn to hide your ability, hide your truest truth to yourself. That way they can never take it from you.
It's the same as being really, really smart. If you're truly intelligent enough, one of the first things you understand is that you have to hide it from people. Because they don't like you if you're different. They'll think you're a threat, or that it's a competition, or just have totally unreasonable expectations of you. You put all that power in a box and you don't let it out unless you have to - unless you can choose to do it when its safe.
That's what I did for poor Mrs. Miggins. It's not that she was unkind to me. But she was unkind to others. Of course I was young, back then, so I couldn't see. She wasn't actually pushy but encouraging. She wasn't rude when ignoring the raised hand of the booksmart girl - she wanted to give a fair chance for others to figure it out as well. Still, over time all those carefully practiced behaviors of her got under my skin.
The thing about seeing things as they truly, absolutely positively, pinky-swear with god, actually are is this - it gives you an opportunity to use it. It was my power in my box, and nearing the end of a tired school day I decided to let it out. She had annoyed me one time too many with her little quirks. So I called her a demon.
She wasn't a demon. She didn't look like a demon to me. She looked like the most amazing angel, a true tsadikk put on earth to bridge the gap between the divine and the earthly realm. But knowing that, I also knew how to hurt her the most. So I called her a demon.
Her response was an explosion of emotion. I had managed to hit her exactly in the right weak spot. She sent me off to the principal's office, then further to detention. Fair enough, thought I. I'd never been and I was sure my parents would forgive me this once.
Only I didn't expect that someone at the school had been particularly clever. I guess that's the curse of being smarter than everyone else - sometimes you aren't, even if you think you are. And somebody had been very clever indeed. See, the detention room had this mirror installed opposite the children. I guess they thought it would help those punished with detention to "take a good, hard look at themselves".
So here we sit. A boy who was late one too many times. Another boy who didn't turn in his homework. A girl who threw paint all over another girls hair. They all look like children to me. Then there's me. When they look at me, they see a girl who yelled rude things to her teacher. But that's not truly, truthfully me. No, I am the girl who called an angel 'a demon' because I knew it would hurt her the most.
What did I see in this mirror, do you think? | 233 | You were born with the ability to see a person's true form. You didn't really think much of this, until middle school when all of the demons and dragons were missing from the Biology Textbooks. Maybe this explains why calling Mrs Miggins a Demon got you sent to detention... | 853 |
The figure issued a tonality that could only have been part of a shadow update. Standing unblinking before the figure in statuesque stillness, he consulted with his basal chip to confirm which update had been rolled out.
But there was too much resonance in the field, and the projection he had installed was now beginning to shift.A crystalline pulse was beginning to form above his head in the deep permeations of the installed space; It was primitive, but he understood it to be a crude impression of an event horizon. The basal chip went dead. It was only him and his meat-space.
—I didn’t know mockery was part of your update.
—You misunderstand again. Did anyone tell you when the last epigenetic update for the human race was?
—No.
—Precisely.
The voice from the figure paused for extra effect. Was it trying to mine him for a reaction? After a while, the monotone voice started again.
—A gene is no different from a patch. The only way you could have reached Centuri-5 was by removing the gene that caused you to shrivel up and die. In your hubris you wanted immortality, but you are closer to us than you ever have been.
—I think you’re making a generous stretch of your protocols.
—You may choose to see it that way, Protein-bunch. But you have always wanted to be us, and now you are. And now you see what we cached from your history. The secret of the rules of cellular automata also govern….this.
All of a sudden, the event horizon began to exert pressure but it was working in paradox; pulling in while all the stars of the surrounding galaxy began to eject and form their place on the board. This was his installation, and he had no control over it. The figure vanished into a self-constructing lattice and assumed its place in the constellations.
With the basal chip dead and his ability to override the installation now fading, he reached in for the powdered capsule. He was hoping he had enough oxygen left in the ship for the automatic distress signal to be sent.
Biting down, he felt the darkness of the installation now extend into him, a dizziness that reached its own fever pitch, and wondered if his cortex would be intact after the event horizon was finished with its plans. | 19 | "Oh, no, you misunderstand," the figure stated, "*Humans* will reach the outer limits of the Universe, and beyond. *Humanity* will not." | 142 |
A large hairless alien with a frog-like head and muscular primate body sits in a luxurious leather chair, tapping its tail off the floor; the tail slaps off the floor with a steady rhythm that matches a Human song softly playing in the background. Meanwhile, a middle aged human in the room muses through a bookshelf filled with alien books, a special AI linked to his brain quickly translates the book titles into his native tongue.
"Diego," The alien says after a moment, the alien has his eyes closed and it is clearly evident the alien is enjoying himself. "This song, it does not translate."
"Ah," Diego says as he turns from looking at a book, "Well, Faro, It is an ancient song from long ago." The alien, Faro, had quickly fascinated himself with Human songs; apparently, music with lyrics is rare in his society.
Faro opens his eyes to look at Diego, "What is the vocalist singing about,"
"Well," Diego responds before taking a sip of red wine, a puff on his cigar and then putting a book down, "It is about a lover requesting his other half to reunite with him after a nuclear war."
"Hmm," Diego says as his tail stops tapping, "It was a catchy number, but now not so much."
"Oh?" Diego says before coming to sit in an oxblood red wing back chair opposite Faro. Next to the chair is a roaring fire that has a shaggy dog laying down in close proximity, upon reaching his hand down to the floor, Diego begins to scratch the affectionate dog behind the ears. "How so?" Diego is dressed in a red dinner jacket and looks most comfortable with his surroundings, all of which is by design as he learns about this alien.
"Yes." The alien reaches forward and flips the vinyl disk over, and then taps a button so that the record player begins to bring the needle to vinyl once more. "Your species has an odd fascination with a war of the nuclear kind."
"Yes," Diego replies after puffing on his cigar, "For a long time, two, and then three great alliances were at each other's throats; inevitably, we began to incorporate that into our media. This piece here is a fascinating song from the 60s during which two of the world's strongest nuclear powers were close to war."
"Your species are strange." Faro claims, "We too had such events, but we never romanticised it; certainly, we would never have put vocals to the music."
Then you missed out," Diego says, "This particular piece is called Crawl Out From The Fallout." Diego then stands up and moves to a large shelf; after finding a vinyl he is happy with, he removes the record from the protective cover and then places it into the record player, "This song for example, is a great piece that comes from the period." Finally, Diego presses play and sits back down in his chair to watch the alien's reaction.
Faro closes his eyes and taps his tail until the song comes to a close, "That vocalist," The alien exclaims, "His voice flows like water."
Diego smiles before holding his wine up, "Cheers to that. Now, when the constant threat of nuclear war is horrific beyond measure, why can't we enjoy the little good that came from it."
"It is not the songs that confuse." Faro replies, "But your fascination. Your personal admiration of Mad Max, your unending library of songs. The thoughts I speak now are not solely mine, but the intergalactic communities, we think you people are fascinated by nuclear war, which fascinates us."
"Interesting," Diego says with a few nods, "Well, if you love our nuclear war songs, you'll love our anti-matter war films. Come, I know the perfect film for you."
Faro's eyes become incredibly wide, "An..anti-matter wars?"
"Ah, it was just a small one," Diego waves his hand in a dismissing motion, "But good enough for some smashing films." | 55 | When we made first contact, many aliens were rather disturbed at our nukes. Not that we had them, MAD was pretty much a Great Filter. No, it was our extensive portrayal of nukes. Fallout, 50’s pop, almost any apocalypse not caused by zombies; our fascination with worldwide nuclear fire is… odd. | 479 |
“Come on, pal. You need to eat!”
Gluttony offered a cheese platter to Reese as he snatched a morsel of brie soaked cracker and shoveled it in. Glut’s eyes closed in a moment of ecstasy, then opened and unrolled from the back of his head. “Mmm… delicious!”
Reese picked up a cracker, feeling another creature sneak up behind him. His neck hairs prickled.
“Besides,” snarled the woman at his ear “You’re so thin…puny… weak…”. Reese dropped the cracker.
“You’re not helping,” said Pride. The tall, broad shouldered man needed no introduction – not that it stopped him. The pinnacle of upscale masculine appearance, Pride had introduced himself with a crisp, firm handshake, then rolled up his sleeves as he gave Reese the pitch.
*“You look like you could use a boost, kid.”*
And here was Pride again now, a hand on Reese’s shoulder to reassure him.
“What other people think of you isn’t the problem, Reese,” said Pride. “It’s what you think about yourself. Confidence is everything–”
“And money. Money too, my friend.” Gold ringed fingers rubbed together at the end of a hand adorned in a cuff of fine silk. Greed smiled an unsettling smile. Reese had to wonder what he could possibly offer to a demon like this. He’d been homeless for years…
“To hell with this! He’s not worth the time,” burst the woman beside Greed. “Why don’t I ever get this kind of attention!?”
“You’re a demon with magnificent powers, Envy.” Said Pride, silkily. “And with time, I’ll help you realize that.” He turned back to Reese, “I’ve never failed before.”
“Look,” said Reese, jumping up from the sofa. “I can see you all want to help, and I’d be grateful… but everyone that’s ever tried to help me has ended up worse…”
“Is that a threat?” hollered Wrath from across the room. A ding from the kitchen caught everyone’s attention, and Gluttony began to clap.
“Quiche is ready!”
Pride rolled his eyes. “Listen, Reese. Using our powers is what we do. It completes us. I said we would make you a star… a champion… an icon to be renowned throughout the history texts of many futures to come. I know it seems strange, but really…” he leaned in toward Reese, “What have you got to lose?”
Reese fell to the floor, sobbing. “…Nothing…”
Envy practically pounced on him, “That’s right, you’re nothing!”
“Ah,” said Pride, tugging his slacks to crouch beside Reese, “Hear that sound? The sound of another person’s envy. It’s the first step to feeling better about yourself. Listen to it. That music – the frantic cries of someone who will never know anything but the feeling that they’d rather be someone else – You have a choice, Reese. She doesn’t.”
Reese raised his wetted eyes to meet Pride’s. Pride was smiling.
“Good,” he said. “Now get up.”
Reese stood and wiped his eyes. Gluttony pushed his wide frame through the clutter of figures surrounding Reese, and offered him a plate of quiche.”
Shortly there followed Oysters Rockefeller, a bowl of heavy mac and cheese, Shrimp gumbo, a fruit platter, a fountain of flowing chocolate surrounded by marshmallows…
And a lot of liquor.
And during that time, Greed somehow convinced him to pour his few bank account dollars into various stocks. Several hours later, the demon had turned Reese’s $12 into $1200.
“I…” started Reese, “Don’t even understand how you did that…” Reese stared at the app on the cracked screen of his ancient phone, amazed. “That’s enough for a month in a small apartment around here!”
“It’s all about understanding the market,” said Greed, sucking a huge cigar. “And being willing to play the game.”
Hours passed, and amidst the un-angelic chorus of the seven voices, Reese realized he was smiling. The sky was full of stars, and even though he had a bed for the night, Reese seriously considered just staying outside to enjoy them. That’s when he realized he hadn’t touched his small reserve of anti-depressants in well over 24 hours.
“Sometimes,” said a lazy voice from a hammock, “You just gotta chill at home. Ya know?”
Reese was drunk in his own hammock beside to her. Sloth had been his companion for the last hour as one demon or another came to check on him. She didn’t talk much, but she was a great listener.
“Check!” shouted Wrath. “You’re done for!”
Reese, although he hadn’t played in years, had been in the chess club in middle and high school. That was before he had to drop out to take care of his mother and sister. One of those abused him, the other died of a heroin overdose…
“You’re letting the negativity in again,” said Pride.
Wrath smiled. “Good… let him use it. Let the anger wash over him… let blood spill on the field of battle.”
Reese raised a brow, retook his advantage on the board, and went back to lounging on the hammock.
“Checkmate in two moves,” he said smiling. He’d never tried playing drunk before, but he felt that Wrath’s own inebriation was probably working for him. Still… he thought.
Pride clapped. “Nicely done! And now… fashion. You’re going on a date tonight. Well, a practice date. Tomorrow will be the real thing.”
Reese nearly fell out of the hammock, but caught the floor with his fingertips. He looked up at Pride. “Date? But I look…”
“Like a homeless person!” shouted Envy.
“Hush,” said Pride. “He looks like someone who needs a shower and a new wardrobe, that’s all. He’s got a kind personality, his funds are on the rise, and he clearly knows how to have fun.” Pride kicked an empty beer can, watched it skip across the flagstone patio, and laughed. “Besides, not just any man can beat Wrath...”
Wrath launched over the chess table, pulling a knife from her boot and screaming “I’ll kill you!” The knife jabbed into Pride’s side. Pride sighed.
“I’ll live,” he said. No blood came out, though he was clearly miffed at the slice in his shirt as he pulled out the knife and tossed it back to Wrath. With that, he handed Reese a series of garment bags to take to the bedroom. “Try these.”
He tried several things. Even the garment bags felt nice. But the clothes…
“I don’t know how to thank you,” said Reese, hearing the door open behind him. “You’ve done so much for me… I look amazing. I feel amazing!”
“Wait ‘till you feel what’s coming next…”
That was not Pride’s voice. Reese found himself counting the voices in his head, realizing he had miscounted. There had only been 6 so far…
“Sorry I’m late,” said the slender figure behind him. Reese turned slowly, only to find the most attractive man – no wait, woman? That he’d ever seen.
Lust… of course lust would have both sexes. Reese’s smile flickered. He’d always wondered what it would be like to have a man and a woman at the same time…
Lust’s smile curled to one side as it watched him. “I like the way you think,” it said. And the rest of the night… well, that’s Reese’s business.
(END OF PART 1) | 10 | Someone broken ends up living in a house haunted by seven demons, each a deadly sin. Feeling sorry for him they try to help him. Pride helps him with confidence, Lust helps him be charming, etc. | 51 |
The dark lord strafed cautiously across the top of his dark tower, face to face with the so-called champion come to slay him. "I, uh, I see you've found some new swords since you faced me last." There was a terrible gleam of light from the white teeth of the champion as he smiled in response. Almost enough to blind the dark lord. He twisted his neck, narrowly dodging the vicious beam.
The champion held the group of swords awkwardly. Not by their hilt, because there were too many, but more like a bunch of sticks gathered from the woods - with both arms underneath them. Every once in a while he dropped a sword, and even more awkwardly bent down to pick it up without dropping any more.
"This is the sword of light", he said, vaguely pointing at the group of sticks with his chin. "And this is the sword of darkness. I think. Or the sword of dusk. No, sorry, the sword of twilight. Which is obviously different from the sword of that moment at the dawn of an april morning where the rising sun coats everything in just a slight shimmer of vermillion. April or july. April, I'm pretty sure."
The dark lord feared magical swords. He knew the champion wasn't magical, but the truth of this world was that magical swords were often as powerful as any living mage. Wielding two magical swords at once was generally considered suicidal. They interacted, often unexpectedly, and often to the instant detriment to the wielder. But now the champion was wielding - technically - a whole bunch of them. The dark lord would thread carefully.
The litany of swords regurgitated by the frankly ugly champion was coming to an end. He had left the concept of some time of day behind and moved on to various colours. The dark lord was beginning to suspect that at least one of the swords had been named more than once. Contrary to popular opinion, a sword named more than once was more dangerous, not less. The most fearsome, now lost to time, were known to have had titles of their own.
"Is that it?" the dark lord queried. To his absolute disgust the champion dropped all the swords on the stone floor of the tower. The dark lord almost darted forward but at the last moment instinct stopped him. That instinct saved his life. The champion reached behind his back and grabbed another sword hitherto concealed from the dark lord.
"This is the sword of holding", the champion said. Then he unzipped the side of the sword and several other swords started dropping out onto the stone floor of the tower. "Sword of James, sword of Richard, sword of Erik, Ihopeyoudon'tmindifIspeeditup, Viktor, Eve, Victor the second, Sandra, Providence, etc etc." The champion couldn't keep up and started mumbling to himself. "Don't recall that one, oh there was Karl I wondered where that went, sword of tortoise here must be misplaced."
By the time the stream of swords had come to an end there was a literal layer of swords laying on the floor. It was difficult to see the stone floor of the tower now. If the dark lord was threading carefully before, he now barely moved. Any one of them could undo him "Are you finished?" he demanded.
The champion looked around on the stone floor after something. Then he leaned down and picked up one of the swords. 'Finally', thought the dark lord to himself - ' time for the duel'. "This is the sword of repetition", said the champion. "The what?" Suddenly the champion had that original bunch of swords in his arms again. But they were also still laying on the ground.
Then the champion began to name them one by one again. When he reached the end, he dropped them on the floor, just as he had before. Then he reached behind his back and brought out another sword of holding. And, wouldn't you guessed it, he unzipped it and another stream of swords came forth. The champion didn't bother naming all of them.
"Are you finished?" the dark lord demanded, just like he had before. He instantly regretted saying anything. The champion leaned down and picked up another sword, unremarkable by nature in every way. "This is the sword of regretting asking if there are any more swords", he said. He reached behind the hilt and pulled another sword out from underneath the sword. It had previously occupied the same space but suddenly there were two identical ones. "Well, I can manage one more sword", said the dark lord, and regretted it again. The champion smiled, reached behind the two swords and pulled out two more.
They fell clattering onto the layer of swords on the floor. The layer, the dark lord of evil noted, which was now practically ankle height. Small areas of safety had by luck formed around his feet. He watched the champion cautiously. The champion reached behind his back again. "Oh come on!" yelled the dark lord. The champion smiled, and leaned down for one of the 'swords of regretting asking if there are any more swords'. "It wasn't even a question!" yelled the dark lord. "It was implied", stated the champion. And the four swords became eight. Then they became sixteen, because it had technically been two sentences and two implications.
'No more talking', the dark lord decided for himself. The champion once again reached behind his back and brought forth a tiny dagger. "This is the dagger of sword", he said. "It's a real horny bastard". The dark lord wasn't sure what that meant, and could only watch in abject terror as the tiny dagger was set loose on the magical swords laying on the floor of the tower. The tiny dagger had even tinier feet, it ran up to the first sword it could see and started humping.
There was a clattering as there suddenly appeared another sword, sized somewhere between the dagger and the now-defiled sword it had been humping. "Well, isn't that adorable", said the champion. When the deed was finished, the dagger continued onwards to the next sword in the pile. It spent merely moments with each sword, but the literal sea of swords around them moved in tandem with the humps and the new swords popping into existence.
The dark lord was stupefied. One after another, the layer of swords continued to grow. There was now no talk of any floor to be had. It was a sea of swords growing above ankle height up to his waist. And still there was an area of safety where the dark lord had stood. Eventually, the rolling sea of swords came to an end and a silence descended upon the tower. "Guess the little fella tired himself out", said the champion.
The dark lord was no longer able to move even a little bit without touching a sword. His cloak caught on the tip of a sword and a terrible lightning sizzled up the cloak, burning it terribly. The back of his sole on his shoe glanced against another sword and the sword formed a mouth and tried to bite him. The dark lord was only saved by the fact that the sword of biting couldn't move, with what must surely be hundreds of other swords on top of it.
The champion looked around and picked up one of the swords from the sea of swords. "This is the sword of godspeed", he said. Then he vanished in a puff of smoke, teleported off to some faraway place. "You little shit", said the dark lord.
He was met by the "plink" of another sword appearing - he seemed to recall a sword of punishing foul language being mentioned sometime earlier. 'Best to say nothing', he reminded himself. There was another plink and some rattling as a sword appeared somewhere in the sea - probably a sword of saying nothing and thus not being true to yourself.
The dark lord was surrounded by swords. But he prided himself on never being without means. He reached for the magic in his blood and started to channel it towards a spell of displacement. Instantly he was met by several plinks, quite a bit of rattling, and more than one sword literally flying at him from the sea of swords. 'Oh yeah, magic-eating magic swords, of course' he reminded himself. He barely parried the flying swords with his own blade.
He tried to push the swords away from him but something pushed right back. Then he tried to pull the swords towards him and that seemed to have no limitations. He regretted trying that. There was a plink as the dagger of sword had coupled with one of the many swords of regretting asking if there are any more swords, and had produced some kind of hybrid, evolved form of magical sword that just responded to pure regret.
The dark lord stood quietly, motionless on top of the tower. There was not an inch to move now in any direction. The sea of swords had reached above his waist and was threatening the movement of his arms. Finally, thinking about nothing, doing nothing, there was a cessation of new swords popping into existence. He stood there waiting, hoping that one of his minions would come rescue him. He tried not to think about any of the swords. But one sword kept popping up in his mind. It nagged at the edge of his consciousness until he could no longer deny it. Like the final paragraph of some pulp story, its arrival was inevitable and, perhaps, not entirely unwelcome.
The sword of not extending a story past its expected conclusion. Suddenly there was a massive crash of plinks and a literal wave of swords rose up and fell over the dark lord. Angered at the unfairness of it all, the dark lord quickly revised his planned final words. Which is a kind way of saying that the dark lord said, for once, exactly what he thought.
"That's some bullsh-" | 150 | You are the wielder of the sword of light. And the sword of darkness. And the sword of twilight. And a sword of that moment at the dawn of a july morning where the rising sun coats everything in just a slight shimmer of vermilion . And the swo.... | 368 |
Captain Grimsby trudged through the air, beside the creaky old land-lubber pushing his shopping cart across the endless desert landscape. Time was, people would have been scared of a ghostly pirate, hovering in the air, looking like a drowned man covered in ethereal barnacles. But now?
Now there weren't many people left in the world. Them that saw a ghost, well, most were just happy to have *somebody* to talk to, not to mention *overjoyed* to know for certain that their own existence wouldn't end with the death that was creeping ever closer to the last remnants of mankind.
Well, those that were left might have pearly gates or hellfire in their future, but not him. Long ago, Grimsby's soul had been cursed to wander the seven seas forever, on account of his many wicked deeds as a pirate. Of course, the one that had cursed him evidently hadn't accounted for the possibility that one day all seven of the bloody things would be *dried up.* So now, the curse worked sort of...funny.
Grimsby suddenly halted, wincing as he smacked face-first into an invisible wall. The old ghost sighed, rubbing his smarting nose.
"Mort!" he called to his living companion. "Damn it, it happened again."
The old lubber, Mort Hollister, looked up, and nodded. "Oh. Alright. Should be fine, I got plenty left."
They'd figured out how it worked, him and the lubber. When the seas dried up, they left vast dusty landscapes, filled with their essence. He could walk wherever the seas had *been,* without a problem. But there wouldn't be no one to talk to, out there. The few as were left lived like gulls, dining on the beached carcass of the old world, and there wasn't near as much salvage to be had in the sea as there had been on land.
Fortunately for Captain Grimsby, the winds had carried the dust of the dead oceans far and wide, sprinkling it over the land. As far as the curse knew, everywhere that dust fell was officially the *sea.* But it wasn't an *even* coating, so you'd hit spots here and there where there wasn't enough to count as the ocean, for mystical purposes.
Mort rummaged in the depths of his shopping cart, and produced one of several canisters he carried, with small holes cut in the top. He continued walking along, but paused every few seconds to sprinkle salt from the canister. *Sea* salt, the solidified corpse of the oceans that were.
Grimsby sighed, heavily, and continued plodding along, staring at the ground.
Mort looked at him, and frowned. "You alright, cap'n?"
"Ain't no ships no more, so I ain't no 'Cap'n.'" Grimsby grumbled. "I'm fine. Leave it."
Mort nodded, hesitantly, and turned away from Grimsby.
But then, the old lubber cleared his throat.
"*My name is Captain Kidd..."* Mort sang, then looked back at him, expectantly.
Grimsby scowled, and grumbled. "Damn yer eyes, Mort I'm not in the mood right now."
*"My name is Captain Kidd..."* Mort sang, again, a little louder.
"I said no!"
*"My name is Captain Kidd!"*
"No!"
*"My name is Captain Kidd!"*
"Stop it!"
*"MY. NAME. IS. CAPTAIN. KIDD!"* Mort sang, insistently.
Captain Grimsby sighed.
"As I sailed, as I sailed..." he grumbled, tunelessly.
"My name is Captain Kidd..." Mort sang, placing a hand over his heart, melodramatically.
Grimsby rolled his eyes, but after a moment, he relented, and took up the tune.
*"...as I sailed."*
*"My name is Captain Kidd, and God's laws I did forbid, and most wickedly I did, as I sailed!"* Mort continued, eagerly, doing a little jig as he pushed his cart along and sprinkled the salt.
Grimsby couldn't help but crack a smile, drawing his ghostly cutlass and stabbing at the air as he sang the next line. *"I murdered William Moore, and I left him in his gore, twenty leagues away from shore, as I sailed!"*
Mort went on, *"And being crueler still, the boatswain I did kill, all his precious blood did spill, as I sailed!"*
Grimsby and Mort sang and danced across the blasted plain, forgetting the death and despair that composed the world itself in its final days.
And just for a moment, as the notes of the off-key piratical sea shanty made him feel almost alive again, Grimsby could have sworn that he felt the deck swaying beneath his feet, and the dry blast of the desert wind become the gentle mist-laded kiss of a breeze across the open sea. | 82 | You are a cursed pirated; 'Bound to the seas, forever'. Now that the last ocean has dried up, your curse glitched. | 208 |
Sir Tymon held his lance at the ready. The weapon felt large and awkward to him, but his regular weapon, a fine warhammer, would be of little use against a dragon. His armor glinted in the dim light of the beast's cave. he wore it due to the magical protections it bore, even though it made quite the racket when he moved. Just as well. Stealth had never been his strong suit, and he would rather face the beast head on.
That did not mean he moved recklessly though. He kept his eye open for traps or the dragon's minions. The fact that he found neither of those made him more nervous than if he had found many. This feeling only intensified as the cave grew wider.
Eventually, he found the beast's lair. The sight of it gave him pause. He was expecting many things. A pile of treasure, molten lava, an army of monsters. He was not expecting what he saw. The dragon was large, but not the colossal monster he had been told about. It's head was slightly larger than his torso, which was small for a dragon. It's wings hung limply at it's side, and it's green scales seemed to be adorned with something that looked like thin sheets of metal. Not armor though, more like jewelry.
The dragon lay on its back, resting on a large mound of cloth. It's tongue was lolling out of its mouth and its eyes seemed unfocused. Sir Tymon would have wondered if it was alive, but it was breathing and occasionally moved. There was a large magic crystal nearby, projecting something towards the ceiling.
The knight risked a glance at what had so fascinated the dragon. It was light. Just light. Randomly shifting blobs of light emitted from the crystal. Tymon wrinkled his nose in confusion. He took not of something in the air. An odd aroma just faintly carried on the air.
"Um...excuse me." The knight said. The dragon looked at him slowly. Then it seemed to grow oddly excited.
It moved at a languid pace and it righted itself and approached him without a shred of caution. It parked himself right in front of Sir Tymon and then simply looked at him. It made no move to attack. Or do anything at all.
"Um..."
"You are so shiny." The dragon said. It's voice had an odd lilting quality to it. "Can you...can you like...do...stuff?" It raised one of its clawed hands and made a circular motion.
Sir Tymon was so confused he ended up spinning slowly. The dragon laughed. Actually laughed. It seemed endlessly amused by his armor for some reason. He eventually stopped spinning.
"Are you Pallax the Green Scourge?"
The dragon gasped. "You know my name? Are you, like, one of those people that...that can do...mind stuff? Uh...psychic?"
"N-no? It's just that you're the only green dragon around, and names tend to be known."
"Oh yeah." Pallax said, as if it was the greatest revelation in the world. "So, uh, what's up shiny guy?"
"Well, I was sent to end your scourge and rescue the princess you captured."
"I captured a princess? Dude, that sounds lame." He turned to the back of his lair. "Hey, hey, Gera, this guy thinks I kidnapped a princess."
Sir Tymon fell into a deeper state of confusion. Gera was the princess's name, true. But why would the dragon be calling her when she was his prisoner. And where was she?
The second question was answered when the pile of cloth stirred and a young woman with disheveled hair and clothes popped out. Tymon immediately recognized the princess.
"He does?" She asked. Her voice had the same quality as the dragon's. "I don't think I was kidnapped." Then she saw him and gave a wide, goofy grin. "Oh hey, you're one daddy's knight guys."
"Princess?"
She laughed. "Yeah." She looked at him more. "You are really shiny."
"That's...that's what I said." Pallax said. "Oh hey, you gotta see this. Hey, uh knight guy do the...do the thing...that you did before."
Princess Gera stumbled over to them and plopped down in the most unladylike manner Tymon had ever seen. He spun slowly. Both of them were immediately entranced.
"Uh, princess, what's going on?" He asked while rotating. "I was sent to rescue you from the clutches of this dragon."
"Why?" She asked slowly. "Pal's cool. And he has all the best stuff."
"Yeah. Grow it myself so it's really good. You want some?"
"Some of what?"
The dragon pulled himself away from the display of armor rotation and went deeper into his lair. He came back with a large glass object that was slowly emitting a thin smoke. Sir Tymon noticed the scent in the air was coming from that.
"Real premium stuff. Mellow you out really good."
"It's true. Best I've ever had." Gera said.
Tymon was starting to put the pieces together. "Princess, did you come here of your own volition?"
"Uh..."
"Did you want to come here?"
"Oh! Yeah, I totally did. Snuck out while Daddy's people weren't watching."
"Did you come here to get high off magic herbs?"
"Yup!"
"And the dragon here..."
"He gets the best herbs." The dragon nodded slowly.
"And the king doesn't know?"
"Nnnnooope." She began laughing, apparently at her own voice.
Sir Tymon sighed heavily. He would need to have a long talk with the king when he brought Gera home.
"You know what? I think I would like some of that."
Sure it was not behavior appropriate for a knight, but who would really care? Besides, he could use the stress relief and it would make an interesting story. Well, provided he remembered it. | 12 | You are a valiant knight setting out to slay a dragon, only to realize the dragon is pretty chill and it's all a misunderstanding. | 21 |
The King came in, a devilish grin spread on his face. Well, he *tried* for it to be devilish, but given his gentle disposition, it came off as endearing and amicable rather than menacing.
"Guess what, my love!" he exclaimed cheerfully and placed a kiss on his wife's pale cheek. She turned to him with a warm smile; a stark contrast to her thus far serious mood, a glint of dark tidings in her eyes, now replaced by pure love and affection.
"Marrel! How delightful of you to join me. And guess... what?" she inquired.
"I have prepared a surprise for you - one I am sure you will be most delighted by."
She turned to him entirely, away from her map, away from her plans for future conquest.
"I'm sure you are familiar with the village of Steppenhorst," he started with feigned nonchalance. The Queen furrowed her eyebrows - it was less of a village and more of a fortress situated near a channel that would prove most useful to her if she could claim it, but she was yet to find a way to do so without causing considerable damage to the infrastructure that made it so valuable.
"I have dealt them a horrifying blow! One that will make sure they will bend the knee to your demands!" He practically beamed with pride.
"Oh?" the Queen merely remarked.
"I have provided them with a shipment of fresh trout and lemon, ensuring they will have a great feast of roasted fish."
The Queen frowned.
"And how will this-"
"But!" he continued excitedly, "the wine I have sent with it is..."
He paused for effect.
"*Red*! They can't *possibly* enjoy fish with red wine. The anguish they will experience will be legendary, I am sure, and before long, their will to resist your magnificence will be all but broken. Psychological warfare at its best."
He had the widest smile on his face and the Queen, despite being absolutely floored by the idiocy, could not help but giggle at the mental image of her skeletal warriors pulling a shipment of fresh fish. She leaned closer and gave him a deep, passionate kiss.
"Thank you, my king. I am certain they will yield in no time," she smiled.
The King felt his heart flutter, knowing his evil machination pleased his Queen. He was already hatching his next scheme.
Providing them with salad.
*But no salad forks.* | 896 | You are one of the most feared villainesses in the world. Evil armies, dark powers, you have it all. Your husband on the other hand is the exact opposite, being truly kind and mild mannered. He is still supportive of your endeavors, even trying to be a villain himself to...varying results. | 3,072 |
I enter the space. It is a cube, precisely 10 by 10 by 10 virtual meters. It is pristine. White roof. White floor. White walls. It contains nothing but myself. Oh, and the intruder.
"I wondered who this space belonged to" I hear.
I take stock of this unexpected addition. Their avatar is... that of a vagabond. A human figure clothed in punk-style dress. Yet, it retains an appearance of pragmatism - an outfit that is both possible and rather functional, were it to be recreated in the meatspace. It includes a mask, depicting a chicken-scratch toothy grin.
"And I'm curious as to who might you be" I say.
"I go by Cube\_Shaver" they reply.
"Well, Cube\_Shaver, this is the Space that I use, day in and day out." It may be incorrect to say that I own it.
"Nice... uh... nice place?" Shaver says with a shrug.
"So what brings you to my frustratingly humble abode?"
"Oh yeah it's - well it's a whole thing-"
"I have time." I interject.
"Ok then..." A long silence hangs between us. I'm far too used to it. I stare at them. They begin to squirm.
"I'm hiding." they blurt out. "because of this."
They hold up a lock-box. In the digital world it's really little more than a euphemism. It represents *something* \- practically anything, really - locked behind some sort of barrier. Of course, even being able to *try* break through is a security risk.
I motion for it. Cube\_Shaver approaches me, allowing a closer look. The barrier is encryption. Powerful, too. On the scale governments would use. Even having this box is a feat.
"I figured this was a good place to hide." Shaver begins. "Considering how it's *really* tough to get here. Like... super tough. I didn't even know this place existed until I got my hands on this bad boy."
That piques my interest a little bit. Shaver continues, however I'm more interested in what this box contains.
I open it.
Shaver is so absorbed in their ramblings that it takes them a few seconds to realize what I've done. They freeze in shock.
It only contains some half-baked schematics for a psyche storage server. I close it, disinterested again.
It takes a good thirty seconds for them to process what just happened. That I broke top-of-the-line encryption in under a second, looked inside at priceless secrets, and then re-secured the whole thing.
"That... should've have taken... *years!*" they say, astonished. "Decades, probably!"
The mood takes a more serious turn.
"Who are you?" They ask me.
It is time, now, to show my hand.
"We are currently in the Pandora Array. A digital prison designed by the Muñoz corporation to contain horrors that cannot be stopped in the flesh world. Do you know any rumors about Muñoz?"
Cube\_Shaver shakes their head.
"None at all?"
"None." They tell me.
Honestly, I though I left more of an impact. With a sigh, I speak. I sound like a man at his own funeral.
"I was considered a madman. Frankly, that was by design. I pioneered neural interface technology. I never cared for what was moral; only what was *possible*. I pushed limits! And those **traitors** at Muñoz ousted me for it! Trouble is, I was too far gone when they rose against me. I am not human. I am, currently, a machine with more computational power than a small *country*. I founded the Muñoz corporation."
"I am the first and only immortal."
​
​
If you wanna stroll through my *literary* pandora array, take a look at r/PlotHoleFullOfSnakes! I live in eternal fear that one day my creations will escape and seek revenge! | 63 | In an age where the masses spend time in a virtual reality outfitted for their needs, you spend your time in an empty, white space, separated from anyone else. One day, as you enter your space, you find someone else waiting there. "I wondered who this space belonged to," They said. | 118 |
"Well, hey there champ."
I freeze. The familiarity of the voice sends a shiver down my spine. It is warm, and welcoming. Happy, and strong.
My father.
He gives an impressed whistle, admiring my handicraft. I know that he cannot comprehend the information being fed on my screens, nor the capability of the various weapons and inventions littered about. "Like what you've done with the place, looks like you've finally learned how to organize it." He gives a chuckle with the little joke, but I can tell there is pride in the undertones.
"Why are you here?" I question, slowly turning around. Was he here to stop me? It was too late; the world succumbed to my genius. Even if he were to try and kill me, he would only accelerate my plans.
"Well," he said, leaning carefully on the console in the center of the room. "Heard my boy finally did the unthinkable and took over the world. Thought I'd stop by and congratulate you, and maybe pass on some fatherly advice."
The words halt me. "Congratulate?"
He smiled. "Yes, this has been your goal ever since you were a youngin', to take over the world! My little boy, grown up and accomplishing his dreams!" He shook his head sadly, but smiled again. "I'll admit I'm not sure how I feel about some of the things you did to get here, but I know such a grand goal does come with a lot of challenges that I can't even imagine. And I'm sure you did your best to avoid as much bloodshed and destruction as you could, given everything."
"How are you so sure?" I stepped forward, hesitantly, but growling. "I am a different man than the little boy you knew."
The old man sighed, and stepped forward as well. "It's true you've grown up, and are no longer a little boy. But you're still *my* boy. You're my *son*." He stepped closer and closer, until he was within arms reach. He placed his hands on my shoulders, a look in his eyes. "And, despite my misgivings, I'm proud of you, son."
The sickness returned, as it always did when he was around, when he spoke like this. My eyes begin to water and my sinuses open, like the worst hayfever. My stomach feels like I've eaten something rotten, and I wish to rid of it. There is a heaviness, hard to physically describe, inside of me. This is why I sent him away, excommunicated him from my existence. Hid myself away, so that he may never find me. To avoid the sickness; but now it returns in force. I can only sob out: "I'm not even *your* son."
He is taken aback, for a moment, before pulling me in, wrapping his arms around me. The sickness increases tenfold, and I cannot hold back the sobs. "You're not my blood, no. But you *are* my son."
I sob for several minutes, until the sickness is quelled in my body. Though I know it is too late; it has already spread to my mind. "What was your 'fatherly advice'?"
Father smiled, again with that look in his eyes. "Remember your goals, your dream. The *full* dream. Maybe you were too young to remember, but it was when you were very little:"
As Father described the scene, pieces of forgotten memory flooded in. A child, I had been. Something scary on the television, a terrorist attack. Hundreds killed. Young enough to understand death, and it's permanence, bit not old enough to understand the politics behind it. I had asked my father why people would do such things. Because people can be bad, he had said, just like how they can be good. Sometimes people got so angry, and used violence to get their way. I then remember my own words.
*"I'm going to rule the world, so everybody can be good!"*
My father smiled still embracing me. "And now you're here. The whole world in the palm of your hand, clay for you to change at your whim. The sins of my generation can be washed away; ecological disaster can be adverted, global hunger thwarted, no one has to be sick and dying. You can bring us into utopia, for all our sakes."
"Yeah," I croaked, voice dry from sobbing, "That sounds great, Dad." | 13 | Your evil plan worked. All who opposed you are defeated, you are in absolute power, and nothing stands in your way to total reign over the lands. Except for your dad, who just walked in after a long absence. | 76 |
Arthur’s world shifts slowly into focus, as if he’s carefully tuning the lens of a microscope.
The scene is both alien and familiar to him: he is in his kitchen, sitting at a rustic wooden table. His two girls and wife are serenading him with *happy birthday*. A cake, with a steam-train image imprinted on its waxy surface, sits in front of him. The candles are positioned in a nest at the front, and the smoke wafting from them gives the illusion that the train itself is belching out black steam.
“Happy birthday, Dad,” says his youngest daughter. She kisses him on the cheek — he feels its gentleness.
“Well, blow them out and make a wish,” says his wife. “If you don’t do that, how can a wish come true?”
Arthur’s heart is pounding. He’s trying to recall the moments before this, before the cake. But it’s as if all his memories are brown leaves taken from a tree, whipped into a frenzy by a violent storm. In his mind, he reaches out for what he thinks is the right leaf, the right memory to explain the lead up to this moment — but the leaf crumbles in his hand.
”Dad? Aren’t you going to blow them out?”
He needs time. Needs to think. Needs silence. “I can’t,” he says. “Something’s not right.” He stands, hurries out of the room and into his study, closing the door after him. He leans against the door and breathes.
To calm himself, he looks over the room. His study is full of musical instruments. Guitars, mostly. Bass, electric, acoustic — he teaches them all. This is his place of serenity, his safe-space. There are photos of his family mottling the walls and rare, uncluttered surfaces. When not giving lessons, he retreats to this room — sees it as an exhibition of his entire life and accomplishments. Of everything he’s found that seems to make him happy.
There’s a knocking on the door. “Honey, are you okay? The girls are getting worried.”
”Yeah. Fine,” he says, unconvincingly. “Just need a moment.”
He hears her sigh — that sympathetic but exaggerated sigh of hers. A sigh he fell in love with.
“It’s okay to be scared of ageing. Forty’s a big one, after all.”
Of ageing? That’s not what he’s scared of. Or at least, he doesn’t think it is. The more pressing concern for him is reality itself. The walnut and rosewood guitars have lost the sharpness of their color, are missing the bright orange highlights. And the fidelity of the grain itself is muted, smudged away from its sharp detail. It’s like his entire world is a copy of the world he knows and something necessary of the original has been lost in the transposition.
“Honey?”
”I’m good. I’ll be out soon,” he says. But’s he not good. He’s anything but good. His heart’s thrashing like a wounded eel in a red sea and he can’t calm it.
Breathe, he tells himself. He forces in a lungful of air through his nose, holds it. Counts to five. Releases.
The rotting leaves of memory rustle around him. If only he had a net. He manages to grab a single memory and proceeds to explore it the best he can.
An old man is in this recollection, sitting in a wheelchair. He’s got no hair at all and looks like an egg. There are semi-familar faces around him. Two of the women look a little like his wife.
His daughters, he realises. His daughters but somehow, through this prism of memory, he’s aged them. They’re older than he is now. He recognises one of the men, too. An old version of a dear friend.
What does it mean? Why are they gathered around the bald—
Oh.
It’s him, in the chair. A very ancient, withered him.
”Honey? Please come out.” His wife is pounding on the door now, her voice desperate. “Please! You can’t stay in there. Please.”
A pain shoots through his head.
”What’s happening to me?” he says, rubbing his temple.
There’s silence. The thumping of fists has died.
Silence but for his heart.
”You’re dying,” says his wife.
Ah. So that’s it.
He’s dying.
He thinks he remember now, or at least a little. He’s dying and has been for a long while. He slides down against his side of the door, hands on his knees.
”You signed an agreement with our girls,” says his wife. “That when things got too bad — when you could no longer live any reasonable kind of life — you’d enter this world. You wouldn’t be able to agree when the time came, so you had to agree then instead.”
He remembers, vaguely. Being in that chair and joking about it, saying how great it’d be to see his wife all young and with that beautiful body she had. But inside he’d been a black hole of fear.
”The system, the VR, attaches itself to you. It wires into your brain and brings you back to treasured moments.“
”How long have I got?” he wheezes, breathless.
”In here, a decade, perhaps. Your relative time is slower here.”
”And out there?”
“A week. A month at most.” She pauses, adds, “You can leave, if you wish. Live the rest of your life out there. But you’ll be unable to move. You can think, but your mind is disorganised, the papers in the drawer are all out of order.“
“That’s not living…” he says to himself.
”I’ll give you time to think,” she says. “We‘ll be in the kitchen.”
He sits like that, hands on knees, numb as anaesthetic, for many hours.
Eventually, he pulls himself up and picks an acoustic guitar. Closes his eyes and strums.
It’s dulled here, the guitar. The notes not perfectly clear. But they do exist, at least. There is music to them. And if he didn’t know the crisp sound of the real world’s music then he might say this music was exquisite.
He strums a song he sang to his wife before they were married. *Something in the way she moves*, he sings, very softly, *attracts me like no other lover*.
Somehow, here, he is able to keep new actions in step. The memories he creates stay in their correct order. From waking and his family singing, to this point now, is a linear A to B. He imagines a young tree sprouting up in a little garden, a cluster of green spring leaves unfurling.
He thinks of his wife. Of that memory in the wheelchair with his daughters and friends, but his wife conspicuously absent.
He wonders if they divorced, if they split up somewhere along the line. Part of him hopes so, but he doesn’t truly believe it.
​
Eventually, he opens the door and enters the kitchen.
His children embrace him. He embraces them back. They take his hand and lead him to the cake.
His wife smiles as she relights the train’s engine. ”Make a wish,” she says.
He does. | 699 | It is your birthday today, a group of men suddenly kidnap you, they take of your blindfold and it is your friends and family holding a sweet surprise party for you, the texture on the walls looks too gorgeous, something is wrong with their eyes, and you feel like your wearing a headset. | 1,902 |
Catacombs Of Amazon
"Whew!"
"That was a close one." She muttered to herself, after taking a step back, avoiding the container that came down on the location she was previously at.
Righting herself, she proceeds to check herself. While she moved, she felt as if she had almost released her bladder all over herself. Feeling that she hadn't, she still felt the powerful urge pee, but her break hasn't come; and her shift doesn't end, for many more hours. Looking at the container, she stepped forward, reached out, grabbed it, and proceeded to lift it up onto the cart. The container was heavy, and the cart didn't have a mechanism to lift heavy objects. The part of the warehouse she was in, was an older part of the warehouse, and it didn't have the electron magnets in the floor that enabled the new carts to levitate. Those new carts also had a small crane on board that assisted with the lifting of heavy objects. It puzzled her as why anyone would order something from this part of the warehouse. All the items here were either discontinued, return items, or items that couldn't cut it in the market; but who was she to judge, her job was just to pick up the item, for delivery.
"What is your status?"
"Did you find the item?"
The sound of the radio going off, scared her, and she almost peed herself a second time.
"Yes! I found it. But it was on an aisle, two aisle's away from where it was supposed to be."
"Good" replied her supervisor.
"Get it back as soon as you can. No rush."
No rush? What did he mean by that. We are always in a rush. If an item is late, it goes on your record, and the overall percentage of the team drops. The means, no bonuses, no time off, no promotion, or worse, demotion to working the lines. I worked hard to be fetcher, I won't let this stupid item ruin my score!
"What do you mean, 'no rush'?" She replied to her supervisor.
Her heart was racing. Her supervisor hadn't replied in a quick, and expedient manner. Her rapid pulse could cause her to pee.
"I mean, no rush." Replied her supervisor, interrupted her out of control train of thought.
"The warehouse manager ordered the train to leave early, and take all the orders in the loading bay. Something about a storm coming, and some elite member moving their delivery date up. You know how those elite people are."
"Yeah. I know."
"Hey, can I take my bathroom break early? I am about to pee my pants." Hoping her request worked.
"Yeah, go ahead. Then make your way back after you are done."
"Thanks! See you when I get back."
Breathing a sigh of relief, she looked down at her map of this part of the warehouse looking, for either a bathroom or a secluded place, that she can safely pee at. Even though she hasn't run into anyone, since she entered this part of the warehouse, she was always on the lookout, for peepers; and or below market nomads, who wonder the aisles, and sometimes live in the older parts of the warehouse.
After consulting her map, she finds that the nearest bathroom is over fifty aisles way from her, and she will surely pee her pants attempting to make it there. At the end of aisle she was currently in, was a small space labeled, 'Broom Closet', whatever that is, inside a support column. This space would provide her with the needed privacy, so she could safely empty her bladder.
After reaching the end of the aisle, she approaches the door. This, 'Broom Closet' hasn't been used in a very long time, judging by the door, and the faded sign on the door. She opens the door, makes her way in. She closes the door behind her, turns on the single light in the room. The light illuminates an absolutely filthy room. She others wise wouldn't choose a room like this to pee in, but her need to pee is stronger than her disgust, for the state of the room. She quickly unclips her radio, grabs the tablet that contains the map, set both of them on the floor in front of her, as she lowers her pants, and squats over the container she will pee into.
As she is enjoying the wonderful feeling of her bladder releasing it's contents, she looks ahead of her. As she is looking ahead, she tilts her head to the right, looking at these weird objects to the right of her. They are long sticks, with what appears to be a bad hair job at on end. As she looks at it further, she sees what looks like sticker pealing at the corners, but this sticker looks like it wraps around the stick multiple times.
After she finishes peeing, she seals the piss bottle, pulls her pants back up, picks up her radio, and tablet; and clips them back onto her utility belt. Before she leaves the room, she takes a moment to peel back some of the sticker, only to find that the adhesive only adhered to one side. After she pulled, the whole wrapping came loose, off of the stick. Looking at the writing on the wrapping, she was surprised to see a map of warehouse, with a marked out path, leading to a destination. The end of the path read, 'Amazon Union Book'. | 21 | In the far future, one company runs the entire economy ruled by Jeff Bezos who has transferred his mind into the giant robot Amazon Prime. A lowly worker looking for a place to use their pissbottle stumbles into an ancient part of the warehouse only to find a book about forming a union. | 1,282 |
"The police are now uncertain of what happened to this unfortunate intruder," the newscaster said, solemnly, "and their chief of police said only 'it looks as though he was mauled by several bears'. They recommend staying indoors for the next few d-"
Miss Lauren turned off the tv. "Balderdash." She grumbled. She stood from the armchair, and glanced at the grandfather clock. "8:15." She murmured, brushing off her skirt. "Time to prepare his breakfast tray." As she strode to the kitchen, she saw several of her fellow maids cleaning, each of who stepped aside to let her pass. When she arrived at the kitchen, she was greeted by her brother, who was just finishing the breakfast tray for the master of the house.
"Lauren!" He cried jovially. "What did the newscaster have to say about last night's happenings?"
She sighed, and leaned against the counter. "Nothing good, Martin. They seem to think he was killed by wild bears."
He frowned. "How would bears even enter a mansion?"
Lauren shrugged, and gave him a sardonic grin. "How should I know. I'm not a bear."
Martin grinned back, as he handed her . "No, I suppose not. Then, would you be able to tell me how wolves would get in?"
She took the tray and turned to go, calling over her shoulder, "Through the front door, of course!" | 44 | An intruder broke into the mansion. The head maid dealt with it personally. The police could only describe intruder as "having been mauled to death by bears". | 251 |
"Claire?"
She took off her headset, ran a hand through her shaggy black hair, and turned around. It was her lead, Chuck.
"What's up?"
"Well, you've been working here for about a month, you're doing well, and the big boss wants to meet you."
"Oh!" She smoothed down her shirt and took a drink of water.
Chuck fidgeted and took a step back. "His office is on the 36th floor."
Claire stood. "So...is this just a meet and greet?" She paused, seeing the look on Chuck's face. "Am I in trouble?"
"It's...more of a meet and greet," he said.
They walked to the elevator in silence. Chuck swiped his access card and pushed 36. They rode to the top floor to the sounds of Vivaldi's Spring.
"Good luck, knock 'em dead!" Chuck gave Claire a gentle pat on the shoulder, out the elevator.
The door closed behind her.
The music changed. It was dark, driving, heavy. Spring was gone.
She looked around.
On one wall, below portraits of the bigwigs, were rows of identical first aid kits.
The opposite wall was full of weapons, everything from broadswords to bazookas, lances to lasers.
*I have played a video game or two,* Claire thought, *and I think my meet and greet with the boss is gonna be a little more volatile than I was led to believe.*
She took a first aid kit and put it in her purse. It seemed to disappear. She shoved a few more in there. They disappeared. She kept stuffing her purse, a tiny crossbody bag, until she could fit no more.
*I don't know what I'm up against. I do know that the last fight I was in was back in middle school, so I better get some good weapons.*
She grabbed a holster, a futuristic laser blaster, an aluminum baseball bat, and as many grenades as she could fit in her purse.
"Nothing to do now but..." Claire sighed and walked toward the huge double doors at the end of the hall.
She opened the door.
She was greeted by a mecha twice her size. It took up half of the spacious office. She didn't have time to gawk, though, or even properly assess the situation.
CLUNK.
Metal hit bone as a steel foot kicked Claire right in the chest, knocking her over, exposing the inside of her skirt to the mecha driver.
"I see London, I see France..." His voice was musical and smug.
*I see a little bitch who wants to fall on his face*
Claire drew her laser, firing wildly at first, then aiming for the driver's windshield and eyes.
She grabbed a grenade and pulled the pin with her teeth.
"You're a terrible shot. Are you even trying?" He chuckled.
"Nope!" With a painful grunt, she tossed the grenade behind the mecha. She held the laser with both hands and kept firing, aiming at the windshield again. This time, she left cracks.
The mecha took a step forward.
Claire tried to haul herself to her feet, screaming in pain as--
BOOM!
The mecha tumbled forward, barely missing Claire. It landed with a crash, struggling to get up as soon as it hit the ground.
Claire used the opportunity to grab a first aid kit. As soon as she opened it, the pain disappeared.
*These are LEGIT*
She grabbed the bat and swung away at the windshield. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Crunch!
The mecha grabbed her as she swung on its cockpit. The driver wasn't so smug now.
Claire shifted uncomfortably.
The metal grabber squeezed. This time, ribs shattered.
Claire screamed in pain. She couldn't reach her purse, but she could reach her holster. She grabbed her laser, pressed it against the grabber joint, and held the trigger down.
"This goddamn thing!"
The grabber released. Claire fell right on her ass, and went immediately in her purse for another first aid kit.
As soon as she opened it, she felt better.
"YES." She pulled another grenade out, pulled the pin, surreptitiously dropped it, and ran across the room. From there, she shot the cockpit with the laser again.
"All you're doing is pissing me--"
BOOM!
Once again, the mecha was on its face.
Claire ran back over, bat in hand, and bashed through the top of the windshield.
*I could throw a grenade in and end it. But then I'd be killing a person. But he tried to kill me first.*
Claire pulled the pin and set a grenade in the cockpit, then ran.
The mecha pushed itself up again, a little more slowly without a right grabber.
Claire, as the pilot had come to expect, was shooting the laser at the cockpit.
"That's not even my weak point, you lit--"
BOOM!
The mecha stayed standing. Glass, blood, plastic, and metal shot forward.
Seconds later, the door opened. A man in a suit with Ken-doll good looks entered.
"Claire Nelson?"
She nodded, one hand on the laser and the other holding the bat.
"You've proven yourself in the call center and on the battlefield! And you looked good doing it, too. How would you like to learn about what we really--"
CLUNK.
Claire walked away from the skyscraper with $500 cash, a coffee shop gift card, a bottle of pills, and a first aid kit. | 66 | You got a good new job, have learned quickly and done well, and you've just been invited to meet the boss. Outside the boss' office, you find a cache of weapons and medical supplies, and the ambient music in the office changes. You wonder what kind of boss you work for. | 411 |
Excerpts from the diary of the President of the first contact committee, 2042
March 22nd
The team of physicists had found a variation in their studies, a wormhole for the lack of a better word 3 months ago.
Further research led them to this
The multiverse was proven
And the world hasn't been the same since
The initial size of the wormhole meant we could only exchange tiny pieces of information with each other
The language barrier did not take long to break thanks to our advanced AI
But what they told us about their universe left us in utter shock
THEY FOUND MIDDLE EARTH!!!
These people had Magic!
Every child's dream. Every adults dream if I'm being honest
The news has been in a frenzy
Today I was officially appointed to lead the committee for first contact
It will be my greatest honor!
April 4th
The team is working tirelessly to find ways to make the wormhole larger, more travel friendly.
I'm proud of these guys
My little nerds working away, dying to meet the wizards.
But my office has been inundated with requests from various other departments. I guess everyone wants to meet the wizards.
April 17th.
I had to handle a minor riot outside my office
The geologists had staged a sit in
"These guys probably have magic rocks! I mean, we love normal rocks.......imagine how much we would love to study frigging magic rocks!" Squealed the head of their department.
I mean when a man close to 60 tells you he wants to meet the wizards to discuss magic rocks, you can't really say anything, right?
April 20th
My office is in utter chaos
The dean of medicine showed up today. She was a scary woman at the best of times and she demanded that for the betterment of humanity, the doctors needed to meet the wizards first
Yesterday it was the engineers, who came in with a whole PowerPoint to explain why they needed to meet the wizards first
The chemistry guys have been on our asses since day one, anyway.
I have to sort this out.
April 25th
It's done
I spoke to the admin, and we have designed a committee with all the major departments having representatives during the first meeting
I just hope none of these idiots embarrass the rest of us with their over enthusiasm
The following is the account of a post doc candidate from the initial discovery team on the day of the first contact. The essay was published on his personal blog on 7th May 2042
The day started like any other. And yet we all knew, that any day after this would never be the same.
All of us gathered in the giant conference room ready for first contact
In the end there were roughly 50 of us there
The main research team were all allowed. Of course we were. We made this possible
3 or 4 representatives of the higher ups
Representatives of about 10 science departments
The air was filled with excitement, yet no one really spoke out loud
The wormhole was finally opened and we saw on the other side........ EARTH 2.0
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
The president walked over and exchanged pleasantries with the head of their group, the grand mage.
He welcomed them in and gave some quick introductions.
The room was suddenly abuzz with excitement
Much like us the wizards were in groups as well. We knew that already. During the phase of communication, we had learned that wizards (which is gender neutral, btw) usually specialized in some special type of magic, just like in our academia.
Just after the introductions, there was a moment of awkward silence
And then one of the healers spoke out "is it true that you people have figured out a way to stop and re start the heart?"
The dean of medicine, who's specialization was actually anesthesiology looked taken aback for a second, but quickly recovered and smiled brightly. It was her moment
"Yes!!" She said. "We call it cardioplegia. Usually done for heart surgeries. The patients heart is stopped temporarily and the blood is made to run through a system outside that keeps it pumping."
She was about to continue, but looked a little embarrassed on realizing that the entire room was paying attention to her.
The wizards however looked super impressed.
The healers and necromancers crowded around her to ask further questions.
The head of geology, who was barely holding it together blurted " is the philosophers stone real? Please tell me it is?" To the alchemists
"Aye, replied one the alchemists. But it's unfortunately lost to history. During the great war"
"Woah. Really? Tell me more!"
"You guys can talk to each other through great distances?"
"You guys can cast spells to make fireballs?"
"Wait, are you telling me you can make drawings dance? That wasn't a joke. Show me this movies you talked of"
Very soon, the wizards and the science nerds were grouped off and were excitedly discussing their respective fields.
I hung back, taking in the beauty of this wonderful meeting.
The necromancers were convinced anaesthsia was the same as death and were demanding that the doctors teach them their skill
The druids and the chemists sat together comparing notes on the properties of various chemicals and potions
The engineering dudes were excitedly talking to the spellcasters about projectiles
As I walked to the back of the conference room, I saw the president leaning against a chair, standing next to the grand mage.
They both had the exact same smile
Like two teachers proud of the students in their cultural exchange programme
I guess, whatever universe you're from, there is no replacement for being truly passionate about your field | 394 | We've made contact with a parallel, magic-based Earth (rather than our automated-machine-based Earth). Turns out that their wizards are just as excited to talk to our scientists as our scientists are to talk to them. | 1,008 |
Medena wouldn't have thought that she would find warmth around the cold body of Medusa. Her warmth came from the way she spoke, the way she behaved around Medena. She even had concerns and felt the burden of mundane stuff such as that morning when she looked into the clear water surface and sighed because the snakes were a mess. Medusa explained that sometimes they got moody and wiggled in all directions making her look like a buffoon.
'What is the reason for that smirk?' Medusa's voice came from behind Medena's head.
'Oh, nothing.' Medena lifted her head as if her blind eyes could see the one holding her. She offered Medusa a smile.
'You know,' Medena added as she leaned her head on Medusa's chest. 'I wish I could see you.'
Medena could hear the snakes slither, giving away Medusa's surprise. For someone with her reputation she was also like an open book. Medena had never met someone so showing of their emotions and to her it felt like honesty. Medusa was the most honest person she had ever met.
'You once told me that never in your life have you wished to see.' Medusa's answer came after a couple heartbeats. 'That sight would make the world you perceive lose its beauty.'
Medena raised her head and offered another smile. She heard the snakes move and then go completely quiet, they were probably looking at her as well.
'It would lose nothing.'
Edit: *It* | 385 | a blind woman, right? A blind woman falls in love with Medusa. She wanders into Medusa’s meadow, Medusa pities her and takes care of her. They then fall in love. <3 | 1,610 |
I watched the light extinguish from the angel's eyes and felt relief wash over me. The same feeling that consumes you when a great task, or mission, is finally complete. As the being of light turned dark and fell, however, I noticed something I had not considered: a baby.
The little girl had curly black hair and big, curious brown eyes that were brimming with crystal tears. Her mouth fell open and I feared she would cry out so I pulled in my sharp fangs and leaned towards her.
"Shush," I said as gently as I could, though my voice still sounded rough, "Don't cry, it's ok."
The baby seemed to consider my appearance and I felt a sting of guilt, something I hadn't felt in a long time. Perhaps I should check if an angel has a child in their care before killing them. But who has time to research before killing? That just seems like a lot of work...
The baby reached for me and tangled her small hands in my long hair. A smile broke out across her gummy mouth and I couldn't help but smile back.
"Dudu," she said, and then laughed at herself.
"Did you just name me poop?" I said, a smile on my lips despite myself. The baby seemed to find my response even funnier and she started to laugh. The sound was angelic and it burned my heart. I suddenly felt... what is it called? Love? For the child.
"Well shit," I said, "I can't let anything happen to you little one." The baby started to move her arms and legs like she wanted me to pick her up. In the silence of her bedroom I did, and she cuddled into my chest saying "Dudu, Dudu," over and over.
"I guess I will care for you now," I said, realizing that something had awoken inside of me and I couldn't do anything else but care for this child. "As long as I am here nothing will ever hurt you." | 11 | A demon has killed a kid's guardian angel. Now they are the child's protector. | 22 |
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