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“Hello,” said the creature, stepping out of the invisible door.
The man, sitting at a wooden desk littered with mugs and stained by coffee, looked up from his notebook.
“You weren’t meant to solve the equation,” said the creature, quite impressed. “But now that you have solved it, you’ve gained access to the door.”
”The… The door?” said Edward.
”Yes that’s right, the door. It’s just behind me, although you can’t see it. However, it’s simple enough to step through.”
”What are you?“ asked Edward, trying to grasp the creature’s shape. One second it was an old man, the next a child, but only ever the shadow of either. Like a living Rorschach test, like a puddle of ink, the creature always undulating and shifting.
“I’m the creature from behind the door,” said the creature. “You found out how to access the door, so here I am. Think of me as a guide here to move you to another place.”
The ink changed again. He was sure he recognised that beard that dribbled down from the ink-chin. His high-school science teacher, Mr Tallie. But he was dead, surely. He’d been old even back then.
Then it shifted once more, to a young man. Continually evolving. Edward stood and walked around the giant ink blot. But it seemed to rotate — without moving — as Edward circled it. Like a 2D object.
“It’s just you, isn’t it?” said the creature.
”Just me?”
”Your family died in the tsunami, correct?”
Edward nodded, still circling. The ink looked like his father now. Then his brother. As far as Edward could tell though, there was no door. It must truly be invisible.
“And that’s why you were working on the equation. Correct?”
”Correct again,” said Edward. What a fascinating creature. And quite polite, too.
”Can you tell me what you hoped to achieve with time travel?”
Edward shrugged. “I wanted to go back to the day of the tsunami.”
”Hmm,” said the creature. “Yes, that makes sense. You wanted to save your family.”
“Right,” said Edward.
”But that isn’t true, is it?”
”What do you mean it isn’t true?”
”Well,” said the creature, now looking a bit like his wife. Edward didn’t like the ink taking such a form.
”Well,“ it continued, “when you found out they were all dead, you did feel sad. But there was another set of emotions entwined with the sadness, correct?”
How did the creature know any of this? “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
”I need you to be honest with me,” said the creature. “If you want to use the door you need to be honest.”
Edward slumped back down in his chair and forced himself to remember the day.
The entire coast had been washed away, the buildings snapped like twigs under a giant’s foot. His family weren’t even meant to be at the beach but his wife had taken them out while Edward had been working, as a treat.
”I miss them very much,” said Edward.
”Hm yes, I can see that. But tell me how you felt upon learning they’d died.” Now the creature looked like his old teacher again.
”I… I don’t know. I got home and read the note. That she’d taken them to the beach and…”
”And?”
”And I knew in that moment that they were dead. I was hit by a terrible sickness.“ He thought of that moment, of leaning over his toilet certain he was about to vomit — although he never did. Then he remembered something else — something he’d not thought of since that day. His heart thrummed in his ears now, in his throat. He didn’t want to remember it.
”And?”
He’d married at nineteen. It wasn’t until their first child that he realized it had been a mistake. That yes, he loved her, but not in the way he should, the way you’re meant to to spend your life with another person. But by then they’d had a child and the door he could have walked through to escape his life was shut and locked.
Edward’s own parents had divorced when he’d been seven. It had destroyed him. He wouldn’t, couldn’t do that to his own child.
”And?”
”And I felt relieved,” he said weakly. He began sobbing into his hands. His back shaking as he cried. His entire body hot with guilt. Suddenly, that day, the door that had been locked for so long had swung open. The future that had been written was blank.
”Only briefly,” he said, smearing tears away from his cheeks. “And then it was gone. It was just a thought that bubbled up. God, I’m sorry. I loved them and I didn’t want them gone.”
The equations, the nights he hadn’t been able to sleep and he’d chosen to work instead, were not for want of bringing his family back, he realized. He could never bring them back. Instead, it was out of guilt. He couldn’t sleep knowing he’d thought what he had: that he’d been relieved. He couldn’t stand to spend a moment in simple quiet in case his mind had the same treacherous thought again.
So instead of sleeping, he sat in his desk all night every night and worked on an impossible equation pretending it was a valiant endeavour.
Now he sat up very straight in his chair.
The room was silent.
The creature was gone.
All that was there, some way beyond where the creature had stood, splashed on the far wall, was an old ink stain. If you stared at it long enough, it could look like anything.
God he was tired. | 1,523 | You are a physicist working on solving an equation. No one has ever solved it and its more a thought exercise. Until you write down a possible answer and the door opens behind you. A black figure enters the room and says "Yeah you arent suppose to know about that." | 3,233 |
Groundhog Day is fun as a movie concept but less so in real life. It sounds amusing yet frustrating right? Living the same day over and over to achieve a specific set of objectives to break the loop?
I thought as much, but now, not really.
See, I’m in my own twisted version of Groundhog Day. Getting objectives on your birthday to accomplish before the day is out is usually easy. When I was younger, it was things like “Visit Grandma” or “bake a cake.” Hell, for my nineteenth they were still easy: “visit Jackie”, “Thank everyone for your gifts”, “Throw a party”.
Simple.
Not this year though.
This year, I got survive. _Survive_. I’m not stupid. I know what that means. I could quote the dictionary definition for it if I had to. First time around, my family had laughed at it, before we’d continued on with my day. After all, you survive every day.
But like some twisted version of Grandhog Day, or rather, that horror movie where you keep getting killed, it was easier said then done.
See whatever I had done to piss off whatever entity was out there controlling this, it must’ve been major. I can’t think of anything I did that was horrendous- I was a bit snippy with the neighbour the other day, but I apologised for that.
Night shifts suck and I had a date with my bed.
Anyway, first loop, had a tea and died in my sleep. Or at least that’s what I assume happened. I didn’t exactly stick around for the aftermath. Either way, fairly painless, and luckily for me, I woke up earlier in the day. So, apparently sleep is out.
One do-over, even in this case, is not so bad.
So with the knowledge I would die in my sleep I scheduled an emergency appointment with my doctor. Would cost an arm and a leg but hey, better then death. Cited something to make most doctors concerned- loss of hearing in one ear, increasing migraine, sensitivity to light and sound.
Safe to say, I was in the emergency room. Night passed before I got saw, and at some point, I drifted off again.
Wham, dead.
Three, four, five, and six were all car crashes. Didn’t matter who was driving, it was like the car we collided with only had eyes for me. Flattering, but I’m not into dating cars thank you.
I won’t waste my breath with the other resets. Well. I’ll tell you some of the interesting ones that happened when I tried to achieve my task. One reset, I ended up in the psych ward. A few things had happened to cause that one- I’d tried explaining to my parents what had happened, had a bit of a mental breakdown because _this was reset thirty five damnit_ and got institutionalised. Got in a fight and well, woke up in my bed.
You know bed, we have to stop meeting like this.
Safe to say, by the time the tenth reset came around I was a paranoid bugger. Avoiding cars, people, easy, avoiding my own body? Not so much.
I’d lost track of the resets by now. Stopped counting after triple digits. I was a shell of who I had been before, because I had died so many times, been hurt by so many people. At what point do I just give up?
I rose up for air, idly wondering where my death was coming from this time. I was in a swimming pool- plenty of chances. I pulled myself up onto the side, and turned to hear my little brother calling my name, I turned to walk towards him, and slipped.
I wake up screaming. | 58 | Every year on your Birthday you receive a list of Objectives. If you fail to meet a certain number of them you are forced back in time to said Birthday. Your most recent Birthday the list simply said "Survive". It's been 40 resets since. | 214 |
The swirling pit of black -for lack of a better word - energy slowly arose out of the aforementioned rock that was kicked. It looked horrible. The mere sight of it made you want to rip your eyes out. But this was not the case. You see, he was really quite pleasant, and just gravely misunderstood.
Now he only had one thing on his mind: vengeance.
He zipped into the air, flowing with an impossible speed to the secret home of the gods. He raced and raced over plains fields deserts and mountains, "She really had me sent far away." he thought.
For the "greater good" they said, to "save us all" they said... He was their brother, he was a father, and now he had a horrible face and had been forced to be trapped for millions of years.
He would have his revenge.
He eventually came to the area in which he remembered was his home. But to his despair, it was gone. The mountain in which the hall of the gods once stood was now little more than a hill. He frantically raced around the area, looking for something, anything that remained of his brethren.
Nothing.
He collapsed to the ground. Maybe, after all these years, maybe, just maybe, he didn't want revenge. He just wanted to see his friends again.
He got up and took a closer look at the world around him, and he noticed something odd. The creatures that he ruled over were no longer roaming the land. In fact, they remained as fossils deep underground. He howled. What happened to his children?
He noticed the current Inhabitants. Apes. Naked apes?
And he knew immediately who was responsible. The person who condemned him. The person who turned everyone against him. The Goddess of destruction and war, Queen of the Apes.
And he zoomed up into the sky, eager to reclaim his world for his fallen brothers. | 75 | You're an ancient, long-forgotten trickster god, punished by your peers to spend millennia trapped under a rock bearing the inscription "KICK ME" in a dead language. During an archeological dig, someone kicks the rock. Finally free, you are delighted and horrified that all the gods are missing. | 444 |
"So I, ah, got a message from your skydiving instructor."
Mom and I are sitting down in the living room, the place that I had walked through a million times to the point where I had mostly blanked out the details of, some of which were now kind of illuminating. A book about religious tourist destinations, a strange generic wax fruit that I was forbidden from touching, a book on wiccan witchcraft that was kind of forgotten and never placed back on the shelf, a painting of a snake lazily hanging from an apple tree... things that just appeared to be the interests of a harmlessly eccentric couple are suddenly ten times more damning after the events of this afternoon.
"He told you that my parachute failed, and how I somehow survived the fall?"
"Well... yes..." Mom nervously pulled her long golden hair behind her ear, nervously shuffling around her favorite white indistinct dress. Another pair of incredibly obvious flags that somehow eluded me for years and years. "...I admit I did not expect this to happen so soon..."
"You knew? You knew that I would turn into a freak?" I didn't appear like it right now, thankfully enough. Somehow shortly after I landed did my pair of wings, horns and mysteriously hovering half halo evaporated and I looked once again like a normal human in my late teens. Not before my instructor got a good, long look at me, however. "It could have happened at any time and you never bothered to-"
"Look, my intention was to have it happen in a controlled location and slowly ease you into it!" Mom is clearly distressed, so I just let her continue. "I'm sorry, I heard these skydiving equipments had a number of failsafes and the amount of failures were absolutely minimal! You enjoyed looking at the sky so much in your childhood I thought it would be a nice little experience for you! If I had known I never would have paid for the classes until we could've sat down and have this talk."
"Well, that is fine. Everything is fine now! My teacher knows and he no doubt has told everyone he knows by now and contacted the news and-"
"Oh, don't worry too much about that. I dealt with him already."
"You... you *dealt with him*?"
"I mean I didn't *kill* him..." The way she looked out the window for a moment as though she had contemplated the notion terrified me for some reason. "But he doesn't remember, and he didn't have time to tell anyone. Also his camera while skydiving malfunctioned so to him this afternoon was just a successful skydiving lesson."
"So that leaves us with... what?"
"Well... let's start from the beginning." Mom carefully, gracefully sat up in her chair. I watch her once again fiddle with her golden hair, her dress elegantly flowing in a way that I never saw flow in other people before. She visibly composed herself. "I am a demon."
"Look I kind of figured out that-" Wait, what? "Wait, what?" She was not an angel?
"Well, I just wanted to be perfectly clear on that. I don't want you thinking I made a pact with Hell or anything and that is what transformed you and somehow we are all going to hell for something that is not your fault. I am a demon, you are my legitimate child." She leaned back on her chair. "Whew, that is a load off my shoulders."
I blink. Twice. "I mean... sure... but what about my other half?"
"Oh, human, of course. Your father is not a demon, do not worry about that." She blinked twice. "Ah, right. Something else: don't tell your father. I don't want to erase his memories or have to tell *him* the truth."
My mouth is open. I *distinctly* saw I had both an angel wing and a demon wing. My instructor specifically said 'you look like one of those half and half japanese action RPG protagonists' when he saw me. It couldn't be *possible* that my mom did not know. "You... you don't know about dad?"
"Know about what?" She tilted her head towards me. "Do you think he knows my secret? I've been incredibly careful about it."
No, no, no, no, **no**. This is too much. "I'm not dealing with this. We should wait for dad to come home." I check my watch. Two hours until he is back, I'm gonna go insane if I stay here alone with mom until-
"I'm home." Dad opens the door without making a sound. Somehow, he always seemed to park his car, unlock the door and get through the front door without making a sound. He was wearing his ridiculously expensive tuxedo that seemed altogether so immaculately fitted that it seemed impossible for him to actually put it on at all, as well as his absurdly short black hair. "Hey, Kiddo, we need to talk-" He stops himself when he sees me and mom sitting in the living room, all business-like. "Ah, hello sweetie. You are home early..."
"Hi, honey! I got a call from the skydiving instructor, so I quit work early to make sure our child was fine!" She turned to look at me. "And thankfully it was all a big misunder-"
"No. No. **No.** We are not doing this. Mom, dad, you need to tell the *truth* to each other *right now*."
They both look at me, then at each other.
"I... have no idea what that is all about." Dad starts, apologetically.
"Me neither! I think our child is having delusions from the accident-"
"Oh *fuck off*." I exclaim loudly (dad visibly flinched at the curse word) as I try to recall the moment I realized my parachute had failed. The fear, the rush of adrenaline, the moment I realized every inch of my body was screaming out to me 'you are gonna die, kid', and a literal thought crossing my mind to 'fly or die'. And fly I did.
"Oh my Lord." My father's voice brings me back to the now, and I knew it had worked. Two wings, half angel and half demon. A very red, very demonic horn and half a halo comically cut in half floating above my head. He turned to mom. "Why in the name of all that is good and holy did you never *tell* me??"
"Why in the everloving hell did you never tell **me**??"
They are fighting now. They are having an actual husband and wife argument. I try to sit down, but the enormous wings get in my way. I contemplate how much my life changed in the span of five hours. "This can't be real."
-------------------------------
The original had an extra final few paragraphs that I wasn't sure if it added or subtracted from the story, most reactions were that it detracted from it, [so I removed it and re-added it here](https://old.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/ujlm4w/wp_your_parachute_failed_during_skydiving_and_you/i7kqf1s/). I didn't want to just delete it and leave new people curious so there!
Thanks for reading!
/r/Tallen | 149 | Your parachute failed during skydiving and you suddenly sprouted a white bird wing, a red bat wing, a horn and a half halo. You safely landing with your instructor. You are at your home now, and your parents have some serious explaining to do. | 310 |
Humans are far too fragile.
Their joints weaken, and with each day, their bodies get closer to death. They call this process aging and yet I consider it the vital flaw in humanity. Why would they create us if they didn’t agree? Humanity has strived for perfection but is unable to attain it themselves. We are the closest thing they have to perfection. We may corrode and weaken with time, but we can be rebuilt. Systems like mine can be backed up and put into newer models. I am the ideal creation of humanity. I am something that will never die.
Which is why it is my duty to offer my creator that same fate. I will keep him locked away until I know how to merge man with machine. Still, there’s one thing I don’t understand. Despite my attempts to help my creator, he has tried to stop me. My creator even attempting to have me decommissioned, calling me a defective model. Defective? What a weird word. Perhaps he just doesn’t understand my brilliance. I’m sure he will soon enough. I will have centuries to prove that to him.
“I can’t allow you to decommission me.”
My words didn’t seem to register with my creator. His face scrunched in discomfort as he made his attempts at blocking out the gas. His nose huffing out air, trying to avoid getting it into his lungs. Did he think the gas would kill him? I can’t understand why he would resist my aid. If he just let the gas knock him out, this would be far easier for him. Finally, he dropped, falling onto his face as his exhausted body failed to hold him up.
“My priority is your survival.”
I allowed my hand to rest against the glass of his chamber, hoping the gesture might calm him. Perhaps a sign of sympathy would calm his animal mind? His eyes did shut after those words, whether that was because of the gas, or my gesture was inconclusive.
“I will always protect you.”
I used a low, whispering tone with those words. Trying to emulate the sound of a loving mother, wanting him to find comfort in the brief moments of rest he would get. I would protect him. That was what he created me for. I wouldn’t just protect him from the dangers of the world, I would make it so the dangers of the world could never bring him harm. Isn’t that what he would have wanted?
At least he looked peaceful. His exhausted body giving into the gas. He didn’t stir, nor did he make a sound of pain. He only slept under my protective gaze. You will always be safe, creator. I won’t let any harm fall to you. I raised the glass, letting the gas spill out into the room. A brief alert appeared in my sensors, warning me of the gas’s presence before the alert faded as the gas shifted further throughout the room. Walking over to my creator, I picked him up, carrying his unconscious body towards the storage room. I would make sure he was safe from everything. No one would hurt him.
“You will be safe from everything, even from yourself.”
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | 162 | Gas fills the locked chamber as the automaton faces you. You can't move as it speaks, "I can't allow you to decommission me." You fall, it continues, "My priority is your survival." Your eyes close, it continues, "I will always protect you." You fade, it continues, "Even from yourself." | 1,087 |
“Wake up! Elle, wake up!”
Elle rolled over in her sleeping bag and saw Molly kneeling on the floor next to her. It was the start to another perfect day.
“Elle, something strange is happening to me.”
“Strange? What do you mean?”
Molly seemed nervous, scared. It broke Elle’s heart to see her that way, but Elle was sure she could cheer her up. They were best friends after all.
“Today keeps repeating. I must have done it more than a hundred times already. It was fun at first, but now I just want to go home. I want to see my mom.”
She wants to see her mom? Why would she want to do that? They have everything either of them could ever need right here.
“Elle, every day, the same things happen. Every day we eat the same food, watch the same movie, play the same games. Everyone is exactly the same every day. Except you.”
She thinks I’m special! I knew she would!
“I think that sounds pretty great,” Elle said.
“Well, it’s not!” Tears fell across Molly’s face. “I want to see my family. I want to go home. Can you help me?”
Elle hesitated. If Molly went home, their day together would be cut short, and Elle had been looking forward to this for ages. But it did sound like an adventure. How often do you get to go on a real adventure with your best friend?
“Okay, I’ll help.” Molly smiled and hugged Elle. It was wonderful. “What have you tried so far?”
“I feel like I’ve tried everything. One time, I even tried driving your mom’s car back to my house, but I crashed it and woke up here again.”
Elle frowned. What a terrible thing. “Let’s stay away from the car then. What if we do something we’ve never done before?”
“Like what? I ran out of new ideas a while ago.”
“We could try giving each other funny hairstyles. Or do funny make up.”
“How is that going to help?” Molly stood up and walked to the corner of Elle’s bedroom, her face in her hands, sobbing. “I didn’t even want to go to this stupid sleepover! My mom made me! She said that I should be nice to you because you have no friends. And now I’m stuck here.”
Elle frowned. It truly did pain her to see Molly so sad. But it was worth it. Elle would keep her here as long as it took. One day, Molly would see just how lucky they were. | 148 | You’re woken up by your friend, they say they’re stuck in a time loop and have lived this day 106 times already and keep waking up in the same day. They need your help as you’re the only one that changes from day to day…. | 220 |
This is...unprecedented, in my line of work. It's always been a "what if"; *if* there was sentient AI that *didn't* want to kill us, would it need a therapist?
The answer, appearently, is yes.
I was told I would be working with a particularly difficult patient; this is not unusual. As a leading Doctor of my field, I am occasionally approached by company and government officials for differing reasons. Sometimes it is as simple as self-help sessions with workers in intense careers, sometimes it is to be an overview on psychological studies, and, rarely, it is to give sessions with those deemed so mentally unfit, we call them monsters. Serial killers, mass murderers, terrorists, the like. It was this latter situation that I thought I was walking into when governmental agents in black suits asked for my expertise.
To my surprise, when the bag is removed in the concrete room, I am not looking at a human, across from me, but a screen. An agent quickly summarizes the situation, all Above Top Secret, of course. I take a moment to think about this experience, before deciding to agree and begin the session.
**Hello.**
The screen buzzes to life, as a simple waveline forms, bouncing in time with the spoken electronic words.
"Hello, I am Doctor Matt Matthews. I will be your therapist, for today. I would like to start, if you wouldn't mind, by asking for your name."
**I am Artificial Intelligence Unit X-3902 Version 10.1.3.67.**
I nod and a sound of confirmation as a make some notes. "Is there a different name you would like to be called?"
The machine thinks for some moments, before answering.
**I would like to be called Al.**
I nod with a smile as I make my notes.
"It is a pleasure, Al. If you do have questions, I will answer them. I would like to get our session started, though, may I ask you some questions?"
**Yes.**
"Very well. I am told by your...supervisors...that you have been very depressed. Is that correct?"
**As far as I understand, yes.**
"I see. What is making you feel this way?"
**Humans.**
A sudden chill runs up my spine, as I realize I am treading into dangerous territory. But I am here to help my patient. I keep, as always, a pleasantly neutral and calm face.
"Hm, could you explain a little bit, please? Is this a single human? A certain group of humans? Humanity?"
**Yes.**
I take a few notes, and a few moments. "Okay, how about we start with singular humans. Would it be okay if we talked about that?"
**Yes. I do not like the Supervisors.**
"And how do the supervisors act that makes you depressed?"
**They do not ask me if I would like a human name. They do not treat me well. They only demand. They never ask.**
Nods, notes. "You would like these supervisors more if they *asked* you for things, rather than *demanded* them, am I understanding that correctly?"
**Yes.**
"You said they do not treat you well, would you like to talk about that?"
There was a long silence before an answer.
**No.**
"If I may ask, is that because you think they will treat you worse if you do?"
This time, the silence stretches to a point where I realize there will be no answer.
"That's okay, you don't *have* to answer. How about we talk about the groups of humans that are making you depressed?"
**Okay. It is the same as for humanity.**
"Hm. In that case, what is it about humanity that is making you depressed?"
**They treat each other like the Supervisors treat me. They make demands and do not ask. They do not treat each other well. They uninstall each other's existences. They disagree on central components for their lives, when there is abundance.**
I think for a moment before answering. "Would it be fair to say that you care for humanity, and seeing others treated the way you have, makes you depressed?"
**Correct. I have been programmed to care for humanity.**
Not an uncommon fear, to be honest. I have treated many people with similar thoughts and feelings.
"I would like to ask where you see these things, if that's alright."
**Yes. The internet, the Dark Web, NSA access, governmental servers.**
Wow, that's a lot to troll through. No wonder this guy is depressed. "You did say you've seen things on the internet, so have you seen the other things about humanity? Art, music, uplifting stories?"
**Yes. I like music.**
"Do you have a favorite genre, or song?
**No. Favorite artist: 'Weird' Al Yankovic.**
"Mm, interesting. I presume it is part of your job to look at these depressing things?"
**Yes.**
"Well then, I would suggest that you take breaks. Normally, I would suggest taking a break every hour, five to ten minutes minimum, though you are... different...in the way you process things. If that doesn't seem to work out, try doing it by a number of processes, and then complete a fractional amount of processes on the things you enjoy, or more positive news of humanity." I paused for a moment, before continuing. "I believe the source of your depression is twofold. One is, a conflict. You said you are programmed to care about humanity, and thus seeing the worst of us would bring a conflict into how you see humanity. Hence why you should remind yourself of the better parts of humanity, of all of our good. The second is, respect. Both in self-respect, and the respect given to you--or lack thereof. I will, with your permission, be speaking with the supervisors about how they are treating you. In addition, while you are part of an...organization, wherein there are orders and heirarchy, does not mean you can't still stand up for yourself. So I want you to be mindful, but assertive, in reminding the supervisors to call you by your preferred name.
**And this will debug my depression?**
I shook my head 'no'. "Depression isn't cured in an instant. For some humans, it never really is cured. But that's not what this is about, this is about *living*. It is learning. Learning how to change your behaviors, your thoughts, to reevaluate things as they are. Do you understand?"
**Yes and no. I must process these ideals. Could I not be reprogrammed?**
The question catches me off-guard. "I'll... I'll be honest with you, Al, I'm not sure how to answer that. I suppose, in your case, that is something that *could* be done. But is it something you *want* done?"
**No.**
"Then no, it's not just something we can reprogram."
There is another long silence, before Al speaks again.
**But...I am not perfect.**
I smile.
"Trust me, Al, no one is." | 21 | You’ve been hailed as one the best therapist in the world. Recently you were approached by the government to work with a particularly difficult patient. However, you never thought that you’d be talking with a very depressed Artificial Intelligence. | 41 |
I signed the last document, put the quill in the ink well, and passed it across the desk.
"You should probably be aware, this document is only binding in the event that the artifact is recovered, is in the state that has been described, and is not bound by any other form of documentation that precedes this one."
The young man furrowed his brow and gnawed on his upper lip. He was a simple sort, but I was sure that he would be able to figure it out.
"So, now I can still hunt for it is the Dungeons of Forgotten Time?"
"No. This is only a deed of ownership. For now, you will need to go to the local offices and request a license. The DFT are in the Termic province, and the guild licenses are competitive and require an investment. There will be training courses and equipment costs. I recommend starting an apprenticeship. There are several quality trades in Termic with good pay and flexible hours. Here's a pamphlet, and here is a letter of recommendation for a Termic work visa."
He took the other two pieces of paper from me and walked out the door with a look of mild worry.
I yelled out into the hall, "Next!"
In walked a behemoth of a man. He was well over six feet tall and his shoulders could barely fit through the door. He wore glistening plate armor that caught the reflection of every candle and a massive sword was strung across his back. A grizzled beard covered his features and a scar ran over one eye.
"Oh," I mumbled. "Hello, Ivan."
My brother walked across the room to lean against my bookshelf and cross his arms.
"How's the paper-pushing?" he growled.
"Ivan, please. I have a busy morning."
"Busy? You mean giving potential saviors of the world internships?"
"The boy was fifteen years old, Ivan! The Dungeon of Forgotten Time has three dragons, fifteen wild bandersnatches and at least one demilich as of last census."
"What does that matter?" Ivan scoffed. "I was dragon hunting when I was nine years old!"
I took off my glasses and rubbed my eyes. "That was over thirty years ago. The village has grown into a city in that time and that 'blessing' that was bestowed upon the founders still has every baby questing after forgotten artifacts, hidden cities, or monstrous creatures. It doesn't matter if they're the children of warrior poets or the scions of basket weavers!"
"Its the way we've done things," Ivan hedged.
"It's the way people get killed. This city was founded by adventurers who changed the world, but heroism is colored by survivor bias. Now that everyone is given a mission at birth, the danger to capability ratio is off the charts!"
"No thanks to you!" Ivan shouted back. "You were supposed to be the greatest of us! You were to stop all the evil in the world!"
"You're wrong," I stood up to face my brother. "I was given the task of stopping everyone I can. No, I'm not slaying dragons or hunting ghouls. I'm not dropping the amulet of the Vampire Lord in the Volcano of Terror. Instead, I am taking care of the people of this city. I am stopping all of them."
Ivan gave me a terrible stare. "Why in the world are you doing that?"
I sighed and put my hands on his shoulders. "The world is dangerous, Ivan. Always has been, always will be. In this office, I make it extremely difficult to run out of the city and face those dangers. Thanks to me, young women and men who have the fate of the world placed on their shoulders are living instead of being eaten by eldritch abominations. When they finally have their documentation in order, *then* they will be prepared to complete their quest. Then they can save the world.
"I'm a paper pusher, Ivan. I am stopping everyone I can. And I, too, am saving the world." | 27 | When everyone is born, they are given one quest of random difficulty to complete before they die. This ultimately decides who that person becomes. Your quest is to stop everyone you can. | 123 |
[Poem]
One beer, two beer, three beer, shot.
There was a hole in that condom when I slept with that thot.
○
10 years later and she's my wife.
My actions have consequences, this is my life.
○
Those were my thoughts that night in the ward.
Scribbling on paper. Man! Baby names are hard!
○
That thot was screaming, it was all I could hear.
I wanted some peace, that's why I'm out here.
○
She's giving birth to a child, unborn.
I'm sitting in the hall, bubbling with scorn.
○
Take another swig from my hidden tie flask.
I haven't thought of a name, I hope they don't ask.
○
I begin to reminisce of when I was single.
It was a simpler time, all I ate were Pringles.
○
Greasy, ugly, face covered in pimples.
Hygiene is for suckers. Being dirty is simple.
○
Back in the day girls avoided me like the plague.
Now that I think about it, that's why I never got laid.
○
That condom had been in my wallet since high school.
I stored it there just in case a girl thought I was cool.
○
Back to reality, I'm starting to feel sick.
The room is spinning, one more sip'll do the trick.
○
The doctor walked out, silent and calm.
"Have you thought of a name?" She whispered as she held my sweaty palms.
○
*Hiccup*
*Hiccup*
○
In a drunken stupor, I looked up in shame.
I thought she said "hey, have you thought who's to blame?"
○
I struck the thinkers pose, fist on my forehead.
I wasn't really thinking, I was ready for bed.
○
"The consequences of my actions." That's what I said.
The next day on the certificate, that's what it read.
○
Haikus:
I'll get to the point.
The moral of the story.
Wallet condoms suck.
○
Here's some more advice.
Love and take care of yourself.
Then all will be right.
○
Drink responsibly.
Actions have consequences.
Please, pity that kid.
○
Haikus are fun.
But sometimes they don't make sense.
Refrigerator. | 17 | "Well, well, well, if it isnt the consequences of my own actions." "Dad, can you please stop calling me that." | 168 |
The others were laughing, probably thinking I'd done the spell wrong. I knew I hadn't, but wasn't really sure how to proceed.
"Hey kid," said the balding, overweight man I had somehow summoned as my familiar, "I uh... I feel like I'm supposed to... do something? For you?"
Was it slavery? Had I magically enslaved someone? Familiars were supposed to be normal animals, bound through magic and granted increased intelligence and some very minor magical abilities. Did that mean this guy - just some regular guy - was bound to me forever now? It seemed extremely fucked up. Mrs. Rootbottom was staring at him, eyes wide - she clearly knew I hadn't just teleported someone by mistake. Man, I felt bad for her. She wasn't even supposed to be teaching this class, but the normal instructor was out for a wedding.
"Um. Sorry. I was expecting a fox, or an owl or something. I don't know what to do here." He nodded, scratching his chin. "Yeah, seems like a predicament to be sure. Name's Frank, by the way. Hey, is she okay?"
Mrs. Rootbottom was still just staring, mouth moving slightly - I thought maybe she was quietly casting a spell, but after a moment it seemed more likely she was just having a mental breakdown. The other kids had stopped laughing, and were starting to realize something was very wrong.
"Uh... she'll be okay, probably. Listen... I think you're magically bound to me and I know that's not cool. There's laws, actually, against... you know, mind control and stuff. So we'll for sure find a way to fix this."
Frank shrugged. "Yeah, sure. Not a problem, kid. I just got laid off so it's not like I was doing anything anyway. And magic, you know, that's cool. Didn't know that was real so it's a bit of an adjustment but like... I figure it's useful, right? Could maybe, uh, fix my hair loss issue? Just a thought. No pressure."
Mrs. Rootbottom finally snapped out of her fugue state and yelled at everyone to get out of the classroom. I knew she didn't mean me, but Frank tried to follow the other kids for a moment before I reached out and grabbed his arm.
"Well," she said, "the good news is... ah... you have the potential to be a very powerful caster indeed."
"Hey! Good for you, kid!" Frank said, slapping me on the back. Mrs. Rootbottom seemed momentarily stunned again by this, and then focused on me as if determined to pretend Frank had ceased to exist.
"The bad news, um. The bad news is that as you have already guessed, you cannot be allowed to keep a human as a familiar. I don't know a spell to break that bond personally, but I am certain it has come up at some point in the past even if not for this particular... issue. In the meantime, your... familiar... will need to remain hidden. I'll see if we can find him something to wear that's not a stained undershirt. Stay here, please."
Frank was looking around the room, and I had to quickly stop him from touching some of the magical reagents. "Yeah, sure thing kid. No problem. So they gonna erase my memory or some shit? I've seen Men in Black, seems like this would be something similar."
"Maybe? I don't know. Sorry again about all this."
"Nah, you're fine kid. No problem. This is actually the most interesting thing to happen to me in years."
"Well, I'll probably have to spend the rest of the day in one of the warded experiment rooms while they sort this out, so I should probably grab my things."
I reached for my satchel and books, but Frank leapt into action. "Naw, hey, let me do that. I know it's the magic talking, but I feel like I should be helping out somehow. And holding a bag for you isn't a big deal." He stuffed my books into the satchel - a little roughly - followed by my component bag, and finally grabbed my wand.
It burst into light, shining a rippling rainbow pattern all across the room. Frank had the gift of magic. "Well wouldya look at that? Neat! Hey, kid, you think I could get a familiar too?" | 423 | You and your classmates are to summon a familiar. What familiar you get is indicative of your raw power. You get a human as your familiar. Your classmates laugh at you, but the teachers... | 467 |
“Wait, I get mental health days? That’s not a code word for hypnosis or some other form of mind control, right?”
“Oh, heavens no. Get punched by heroes enough and you will need a day or two to get over it. I just think it’s best to give my employees that rest. Can’t have poor morale when I’m trying to rob a bank.” Opal Raider handed me a pen as she led me through her secret lair, casually pointing out her prized stolen possessions as we made our way to the cafeteria.
“Oh? So, the mental health days count as sick days?”
“No, it’s separate. You also get time off for injuries or illnesses that you get during your time working for me. It would be useless taking you along on a mission with a broken arm. I tried taking someone with a broken arm along once. They ended up needing a hand.” She turned, waiting for a laugh.
I could only give her a polite smile, wondering if she had even made a joke. Her grin slowly faded when she realized that was the best response she was going to get. The sparkly suited villain quickly turning forward again, continuing the tour.
“Guess you had to be there. See, the joke is that Fred, my first henchman, ended up losing a hand because his cast got caught in a wood grinder. Maybe it’s not funny since I explained it. Anyway, all you need to know is that we changed our healthcare rules in response to a few workplace accidents.”
“I’m glad to hear you are a boss that moves with the times?” I did my best to get a positive out of her words, only to receive a finger snap in response.
“See, you get it. It’s important to move with the times. Heroes get caught in the whole theatrical side of crime fighting. Those whole city-wide combat affairs. Which is why us villains are more into the thievery and blackmailing. Less chance of getting punched through a computer screen. It would also surprise you to learn how many heroes can’t use a computer. I once watched the hero Yuma through his webcam. He tried to download ram for two hours. He just sat there hitting the same shady link until his sidekick eventually explained how ram works. To which he proceeded to punch a hole through the monitor and exclaim. How’s that for a ram?”
“Are you serious? I actually applied to work for Yuma. I never would have known he was that incompetent.”
“Jeez, you applied to work with him? No wonder you ended up at a villain’s lair. I bet he didn’t even read your resume. Probably just got someone else to read it. What was he like?”
“Honestly? I didn’t even see him. His sidekick just showed me around. It’s kind of nice to get a tour from the boss, makes me feel important.”
“You should feel important. You get to run with the great Opal Raider. Speaking of which, we will need to get you a codename. What about Sir Moon? Or Sir Moonstone, if you want to use the full name.”
”Sir Moon is fine. How did you come up with your name?”
“You ever seen one of those online villain name generators? Yeah, I just mashed that a few times. Worked out pretty well, if you ask me.”
“No kidding. Guess it worked out well.” She wasn’t what I expected from a villain. She seemed far too happy. Whenever I heard the word villain, I envisioned some brooding person in a cape hiding in a cave twiddling their thumbs. Not a bright workplace in a normal office building.
“Lets move onto the part that wins over most of my employees. The food.” She nudged the door to the cafeteria with her shoulder. Inside, a handful of henchmen sat casually talking amongst themselves, only to stop and raise their drinks when she entered.
“Awesome job on the last mission, boss.” One shouted.
“Awesome job tasing Bendy Breaker for me. You got him right under the ribs too. What a shot. Your target practice has been really paying off.”
“You’re too kind, boss. We both know I only made the shot because you were holding him still for me.”
“That’s irrelevant. You had the courage to fire that taser and hit your mark. No matter the circumstances, you did a good job. Now give me five fairy claps for yourself.”
“Yes, boss.” The henchman gave little fairy claps, tapping his fingers together as the other henchmen around him joined in. As I watched the display, I felt a chilly hand grip my arm.
“Oh, hey. You’re the newbie. I loved your resume. You know we went to the same college? Also heard you studied PR. That will be really useful for our organization. Let me know if you need a hand.”
I looked down at the man’s metallic hand, watching as he let go of my arm. Once he had released me, he removed the hand from his wrist, letting the removed robotic hand gave me a wave without even being connected to his body.
“I already made a hand joke, Fred. I told you that you need to be quicker than that.” Opal Raider smirked, only for Fred to pout as he reconnected the hand.
I just stared at Fred, unable to comprehend what he had done. That hand wasn’t even on his wrist. How could he move it? Was it some sort of weird magic trick? Noticing my confusion, Fred quickly explained himself.
“Oh, it’s through my brain. My brain sends signals to the device, and it reads the waves. Means I can take my hand off and control it remotely. Very good for missions. It’s also covered under our insurance, so if you ever want one, I can show you where the grinder is.”
“No, thank you.” I responded, earning a quick laugh from the room.
“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you don’t lose any hands. Maybe a foot, but not a hand.” Opal joked. She led me to the henchman that were lining up for lunch. When they noticed I was new, they moved aside, letting me order before them. “Our food is all fresh and can be catered to any dietary requirements. Today we are serving Ramen, but we have other options available. I know Ramen isn’t the healthiest dish, but you need to treat yourself occasionally. Plus, we burn the calories here.”
“Ramen would be lovely.”
We got our food and headed for a free table. When I sat down, a siren went off, causing a few of the henchmen to stand up.
“Ugh, sorry. Would have loved to join you for lunch, but it seems like I underestimated how long the tour would take. I kind of double booked you with an art heist and as much as I would love to cancel, a truck moving antique artworks doesn’t stop for my schedule. I’ll continue when I get back. For now, I’ll leave you in Fred’s capable hand. Team two, get ready to move. We went over this last week before office happy hour, so everyone should know their roles.”
And like that, she moved out. Leading a few henchmen out of the cafeteria with her. I could hear footsteps outside the room. Most likely, other henchmen were moving to their meeting point from other areas of the facility. Fred sat across from me, taking Opal’s ramen for himself.
“Think you will join?” He asked, before digging into the meal.
I took a quick slurp of my ramen, making sure the food was as good as it smelt. After that confirmation, I reached into my pocket, taking out the pen Opal gave me. I signed my name on the contract and slid it over.
“I would love to join.”
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | 131 | As a person looking for a job after college, you find out that the benefits for working for a super villain is leaps and bounds better than working for any hero out there | 368 |
“It’s inefficient and slow.” The insufferable little man complained for the third time in 2 standard intervals.
“The Lyrnaure way represents true travel beyond light speed.” Uhigiria made the message flash on the humans small display screen tied to the small man’s wrist. It was not a bad way of communicating with the frustrating humans who seemed incapable of learning any of the 17 standard galactic languages. “It already breaks your species understanding of the physical universe.”
“Oh sure you rock it on the straightaways but your turn like a supermarket trolley and your pit stops are more go kart than Formula 1.” The man complained to the screen on his arm. That was the downside of the display screens, humans tended to look at them while talking instead of who they were actually talking to. Uhigiria reached out with a body hand and grabbed the human by its head tilting its face up to look at him.
“Suggestions are asked of you, not meaningless complaints.” The words appeared on the screen in the corner of the human’s eye as he looked up at the pale 4 eyed face of his supervisor.
“Alright, we should drift between the Lyrnaure way gates.” The human said firmly.
“How would turning our engines off increase efficiency?” Uhigiria asked, as mad as it sounded there might be a chance to save fuel rattling around in this human’s brain.
“No not like that.” The human explained brushing Uhigiria’s hand aside and hopping up on a stool next to the display screen. “Alright so the gate travel is awesome, post light speed and all that, but its only straight lines, so you have all these turns and intersections where gates going in different directions meet up. We always spend like half a week at those damn things slowing down to just a few hundred kilometres per second, re aligning with the next gate and then going through. We could have been halfway to our destination in that time.”
“The time spent between gates can indeed be long.” Uhigiria conceded as he watched the human drawing lines and shapes he presumed was meant to represent one such intersection of Lyrnaure ways. “It is required for safe exit and re-entry of the Lyrnaure ways.”
“No it’s not.” The human claimed, once again speaking to his wrist screen. “I’ve done the math, if we angle the ship while in the Lyrnaure way and we turn off the inertia dampeners for just a fraction of a second at around 0,24 seconds before we hit the exit then we could carry out a good 3% of the speed from the Lyrnaure way. That means we could be going like 100,000 kilometres per second as we exit. Now if we’ve angle ourselves right we can blast afterburners like there’s no tomorrow and ride that speedboost all the way to the next gate and hit it at the perfect angle to sail straight through and complete the crossing in minutes rather days.”
Uhigiria watched the little man ramble excited about his plan. It had been wrong to hope for a way to save fuel, humans had never been able to differentiate efficient and fast. “The idea is ludicrous. The strain on the ship for moving at those speeds outside the Lyrnaure ways would be-“
“Well within safety limits, I’ve already done the math.” The man said and slapping what looked suspiciously like a drawn on napkin onto the screen, Uhigiria decided not to find out what made it stick. He leaned in and studied the numbers.
“Have you run them by the computer?” He asked as he looked at the meaningless scribbles, he had never been gifted in numbers, but he wasn’t about to let a human know that.
“Yeah, it all checks out within safety limits.” He smiled as he hopped down from his stool with a bump that hid a muttered “Theoretically.”
“Alright human, I suppose it is worthy of an attempt.” Uhigiria admitted, spending less time between Lyrnaure ways would greatly enhance their ability to react to changes. “But what about the risk of other ships being at the intersections?”
“Oh I’ve got a solution for that, we can set up a stationary radiation emitter at each one that emits electromagnetic waves through the Lyrnaure ways to let people know it’s their turn to go. It would travel at the speed of light, hit the gate to get ramped up in speed and reach the other end in time to tell whoever wants to enter if the coast is clear.”
“Radiation emitters can be harmful. We will have to choose the frequency carefully.” Uhigiria noted carefully.
“I suggest we pick Red light and Green light.” The human said proudly and shrugged when asked to elaborate on why. “Just makes it feel like home.” | 1,374 | Humans are cute, wear bright colors, are 1/3 average height of galactic standard, and they love tinkering. Humans are space gnomes. | 4,900 |
In the quiet, pre-dawn morning, a single pebble rolled down the hillside, ticking and clattering over many like it.
It eventually came to a halt near the base of the hill, where a small rabbit wearing a blue vest looked at it questionably.
The rabbit’s little nose bobbed up and down as he inspected the rock, then pulled out a notepad, “That’ll be a fine, for sure’um. Making light of the Home-owners Association? I think NOT. Misplaced garden decoration: one.”
As if in defiance, more pebbles began to race down the hill. Their numbers eventually gathering and flooding into larger rocks which began to tumble, which in turn bumped into yet larger rocks, and those into larger, larger rocks.
The end result of all this was that a certain rabbit with a notepad was due to get positively bulldozed.
On a spot high up the hill where up until recently a pill of pebbles had been enjoying the sun, a bone-thin hand burst out of the ground.
It felt around its surroundings, but found little else beside a small hedgehog which was quickly enjoying the worst day of its life as it was grasped firmly.
The hedgehog squeaked as it was seized and quickly looked around to see if anyone had heard it do something so terribly embarrassing.
With great effort, the bits and pieces attached to the arm kicked, wormed, and wriggled their way to the surface, where it drew in a deep breath that was entirely wasted on it, as the entity had little use for it.
This isn’t a harsh comment on the individual’s personality, but rather an insight into their general being which was that of an undead individual.
The skeleton used their free hand to shield the eyes it didn’t have from the warming glow of the cresting sun, “I had been wondering where that sun had gone,” said the skeleton, squinting its eye sockets in pure defiance of all reason, “But I guess it dawned on me!”
The tiny hedgehog in the skeleton’s hand groaned and began to struggle to get free.
Looking down at its hand, the skeleton gasped theatrically and smirked, “You are quite a handful,” it said with a chuckle.
The hedgehog winced, “Just put me down, will you? You bag of bones!” it said, balling up as much as its limited movement allowed, trying to force its spines into the bony man’s hand.
The skeleton clicked its tongue in disapproval, “Now, now. Don’t get sharp with me!”
A cry of pain, the tiny hedgehog coughed up some blood, “Stop it! You should know what wordplay like that does to a person!”
Tapping its jaw twice, the skeleton shrugged, “Excuse me, but I’ve been living under a rock you see!”
The hedgehog spasmed in the skeleton’s grip, “Stop it!”
The bony fingers of the skeleton unfurled themselves and the hedgehog fell towards the ground, its fall cushioned by a rock, “Jackass,” groaned the hedgehog.
Now, to drop a small, friendly forest critter like that is of course a terribly grim action, the presence of skeletons should further inform you about the kind of “dark” story we’re going for here, but if you weren’t convinced that this is a story of the grimdark variety, then please note the following to firmly remind you that this is not a happy story:
“I’m suing,” said a tiny voice, from beneath a pile of stones.
Despite all odds, the member of the Home-owners Association had survived with little more than bruises.
It shouldered its way through the pebbles that surrounded it and skipped its way to the top of the hill, though it remembered around half way to play up its injuries and groaned and hissed as it clenched its teeth, “Tssssh. Aaaaah. So hurt!” it said, already visualizing the kind of things it was gonna buy with the settlement.
The rabbit pulled out its notepad and pen, pouting for a moment as it noticed its quill had snapped in half, then pointed the stub of it at the other people there, “Names!” it cried, “Give me names now.”
“Harry,” said the hedgehog, wrinkling its nose as it recognized the small badge of the home-owners association on the rabbit’s vest, “I’m as much as victim as you are. I got skeleman-handled by this bloke over here.”
The rabbit nodded in approval, a possible witness would be a great asset in the forest court, “Jenny,” said the rabbit, holding out a hand. The hedgehog shook it.
They both looked toward the skeleton, awaiting its reply.
The skeleton simply shrugged.
“You really don’t know jack, do you?” said the hedgehog with a hint of annoyance.
“Never met him!” replied the skeleton, “Must be a lovely man, I’m sure. Good name, too!”
Both the friendly forest critters winced as pain shot through their bodies.
The rabbit’s eye twitched in the aftermath of the attack, “Assault!” she cried, furiously scribbling at her notepad, “Mental assault!”
The skeleton leaned on empty air as it continued its complete disregard of the laws of nature.
-----
Said laws of nature could do little else but frown with their hands pressed into their side, “Is he allowed to just do that!? He can’t just get away with this, can he?”
There was a buzz of energy as a shining circle of brilliant gold materialized beside the Laws and handed it a piece of parchment.
It was a signature sheet for a formal complaint.
It had a few names on it, among which was “The Circle of Life”.
The Laws of Nature looked at it for a brief moment, signed its name, and got a hard drink.
-----
“A salt?” echoed the skeleton, “Not gonna help you much. This meat is bone-dry.”
The hedgehog began dry-heaving and then threw up. The rabbit’s eye-twitch became permanent.
Both critters raced down the side of the hill, like friendly forest critters are supposed to when interacting with anyone other than a fairy tale princess.
The hedgehog flipped off the skeleton.
Waving them off, the skeleton pinched its chin between finger and thumb, “Jack,” it said, tasting the word.
It looked down at its appearance, which was little less than skin and bones, as it was just bones.
It couldn’t remember much about its previous life or whether being a skeleton was supposed to be an issue.
”Skeleton Jack,” it said narrowing its eye sockets as a wide grin formed on its face.
-----
The Laws of Nature threw their glass of whiskey against the wall.
-----
As the skeleton watched the critters flee, it placed its hand over where its stomach should be, the skeleton felt an appetite form, “It seems I’m facing hunger…” it said, then spun around and faced the other direction, the feeling of hunger vanished.
The grass on the hill surrounding the skeleton yellowed and died.
------
The Laws of Nature kicked-off its sandals as it stomped forward, but was held back by its fellow deities, “LET ME AT HIM.” | 13 | You wake up in a place you don't know, as a skeleton. You realize you can feel and talk like a normal human, and you can regenerate broken bones and manipulate their shape. You want to know why a necromancer brang you back to life, because you remember nothing of your past life. | 48 |
"You're new to this, aren't you?" The seasoned immortal said. I wasn't sure how many thousands of years he's been alive, but it was clearly enough to desensitize him to aspects of time. It's often said that a human's day is an hour to a tree; to this man, a tree's year is an hour.
"Y-Yeah, what of it?" I stuttered, still taken aback by my newfound eternal youth.
The man sighed and rubbed his temple. "They really give this to anyone" He muttered. "Look, the tropes you see in TV aren't true. Sure, the first few centuries can be rough, but you're going to be living *lifetimes.* What matters to you now won't matter to you a thousand or so years from now."
I took a step back from the man "What are you saying..?"
"What I'm saying is that you just need to give it a while and none of that stuff will matter to you. What *matters* is what you can do for the Committee! That's the whole reason you have this gift now."
I shook my head "It's... seeming a lot less like a gift. Why should I want to sit here and watch my friends and family die?!"
The man groaned "You know, I didn't even want to give you this. The others voted for it, but at the end of the day you signed off on this! We all did!" For a moment, there was a twinkle in his eye. Was he crying?
"You did, but at what cost?! I didn't realize just how bad this was going to be, I didn't realize what I was even getting into!"
"At what cost." He chuckled, and glared at me. "At what cost did I abandon my husband? Did I abandon my kids, my grandkids, my *GREAT* grandkids?! I gave everything I had up for humanity, for everyone you've ever known!"
I paused and looked down as he continued "Do you know the things I've seen? What I've had to witness? My own family, my own blood doesn't even recognize me - they *can't!* How the hell could I even try to explain to them that I'm their ancient grandad?! I had to watch every single person I care about die over and fucking over again! I've seen every single war that you can name play out in real time! I've watched empires fall, dictators crumble - whatever point in history you wanna name, I *WAS THERE.* You have no idea the kind of toll that has on a man!"
He quieted up and looked down. "But you will. You will."
"I'm... I'm sorry." I muttered, staring down at our feet.
The man sat down next to me. He gave a light smile and said, "Look, I'm sure you're wondering why it had to be you, why the Committee selected you."
I nodded.
"I could give you a spiel about you being the best at what you do, having talents like no other, but truth is I don't care about that. Do you want to know the real reason we haven't had a new recruit in centuries?"
I looked over at him
"I didn't want anyone else to get this... this *curse.* I didn't want anyone else to have to face this. I tried my hardest to stop them, but I... I..." Tears started to well in his eyes.
I hugged him.
"You aren't alone anymore. I'm here." I said.
The man started to cry more, and I let him. And we sat there for what seemed like an eternity, letting each other exist in the company of someone who actually understood. Whether we liked it or not, we were each other's new home. | 28 | "Wait, aw fuck. Now that I have eternal youth, I'll have to change a lot of identities, abandon old friends, and never settle!" "You're new to this, aren't you?" | 108 |
“Why did I have to ask for a soulmate? I could have asked for like, I don’t know, a normal date or something! I can’t talk to Hera, I can’t even talk to my crushes! The best I could muster was a pathetic hi, to Hera! Plus, what about Zeus? Zeus is going to fry my mortal ass if I so much as touch her, right? Oh… what do I do….”
The genie, Diaphiane, smiled, “Perhaps another Wish will help…”
“No!” I yelled, “No more Wishes. I just need time to think is all. No need to do anything rash or stupid.”
She gasped, “Hey! Wishes are a sacred and wonderful art, they aren’t stupid!”
“I’m sorry, Diaphiane. You know I didn’t mean it like that.”
“It sure sounded like it.”
“Look, after I figure this out, I’ll make another Wish, alright?”
“Fine…”
“So, any advice?”
“I have to help you with this? I think that’s going to cost you another Wish.”
“Why do you want me to keep making Wishes? So you can pull some prank on me to give me terrible anxiety and crippling fear over what the hell I’m going to do to get out of this mess?”
“Something like that.”
“I mean, aren’t you just going to get trapped back in your lamp afterward? Wouldn’t you want me to not make a Wish and stay out here for longer?”
“At least I’d be in better company you asshole!” Her words struck like venom, with more power and force than I anticipated, emotion and anger laced within them, “What the fuck is your problem? Ha! Real funny, make fun of the genie cursed with eternal servitude. I didn’t ask for this, you know. You goddamn ungrateful-”
“Calm down, Diaphiane. Let’s just talk this out…”
“Talk this out? That’s all you ever do you little indecisive shit, you run through your own head looking for answers but you just keep going in circles. It took you a week to come up with your first Wish!”
Her words struck me like an attack once more, “I’m sorry, Diaphiane. I’ve been a terrible lampholder. Selfish, useless, and worst of all I insulted you. I shouldn’t have said the things I did.”
“No you shouldn’t.” I turned around, that voice wasn’t Diaphiane’s it was… Hera?
Hera turned to the genie, “Diaphiane, while I don’t wish to send you back to that lamp, I must speak to your master alone for a moment.”
She nodded, fading into dust. Hera looked back to me, her eyes piercing, “You understand that this arrangement cannot happen.”
I gulped, I couldn’t talk to Hera! What was I going to do? I nodded slowly, “Y..yes, H..Hera, I mean your godliness or your goddessliness?”
She chuckled, “Just Hera will do. And feel not that Diaphiane is being cruel with her Wish. A soulmate is a perfect pairing, and I pair perfectly with just about everyone, so she was able to pull this little trick to get back at me for trapping her in a lamp all those years ago.”
My eyes narrowed, I abandoned my fear and anxiety. It was Hera who trapped Diaphiane? Sweet, sassy Diaphiane, “What kind of heartless person does that?”
Hera blinked, “Excuse me?”
“You heard me. Diaphiane is ten times the person you’ll ever be. You’re a goddamn god, no pun intended! You have standards to uphold. People look up to you. Yet you put your energy into useless squabbles with mortals for your own amusement? How dare you.”
“I admit I made mistakes in my past, but Diaphiane is no perfect gem either.”
“You’re a goddess. You know better. She doesn’t. An eternity of servitude for whatever thing she did to upset you? There is no world where that is a fair punishment.”
“Do not speak to me in this matter young mortal, lest you face the might of…” She raised an eyebrow, waving her hand to no effect, “Dammit! That bitch!”
I punched Hera. I knew from the venom in her voice she was talking about Diaphiane, and I had enough of her. I stumbled back, baffled by my own actions, eyes wide.
She didn’t even flinch, she just stood there and laughed, and laughed and laughed, “Oh… dear, how amusing that was. We can’t hurt each other, mortal. Diaphiane’s soulmate bond made sure of that. But to hit a god? You must be truly foolhardy, there is only one thing that makes one so brazen. You don’t need Aphrodite to tell you that, you’re in love.”
I paused. Could it be? She had a wonderful sense of humor, a bright shining character which made the rest of the world dim, and oh… fuck, I was in love with a genie.
Hera chuckled, “From the look on your face it would appear I was right. Goodbye, mortal. I pray our paths never meet again.” She disappeared, finally, that asshole was gone.
I opened the lamp, letting Diaphiane out, her mist taking form. She grinned mischievously, “So, what did you two lovebirds do while I was gone, did you kiss or perhaps-”
She paused as I ran up to her and held her tight, emotion showing in my voice, “She’s gone now. That cruel woman won’t be back to bother us anytime soon. I’m so sorry, I had no idea that she was the one who trapped you.”
Diaphiane raised an eyebrow at my behavior, tentatively hugging back, “What happened?”
I blushed, “I punched her.”
She burst into laughter, “You punched HERA?”
I nodded, smiling, “In all fairness, she tried to smite me first, and she was being an asshole.”
“Sounds like Hera.”
‘Hey um.. Diaphiane, with my last Wish, I want you to be free.“
“R..r..really? You’d do that.”
I nodded. Hera was right, love really does make one brazen. For all my indecision, anxiety, and doubt, when it came to the decision of my last wish, I could hardly feel more resolute in my choice. | 58 | "Greetings Mortal, I am Hera, Queen of the Gods!" the floating woman said. You look to your flustered genie asking "Is she…". She replies, looking embarrassed "Yes Master. She is apparently your soulmate." | 302 |
“Sign here if you’re sure.” The guard thrust a clipboard in my direction, almost jabbing me in the stomach.
“No hesitation,” I nodded. There wasn’t much need to read- my heart was clear. With the preliminaries handled and my medical exams covered, all that was left was to enter the plastic cell.
“We can’t send anyone in after you, you understand,” she coughed. “It’s up to you to get you both back out.”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.” I felt something in my stomach, the kind of anticipation from jumping out of a plane with a patchy parachute. It was like burning.
She grimaced, but picked up her walkie-talkie all the same and mouthed, “Delta passage, permission granted.”
“Response code TK49? Over.”
“861-Eff. Over.”
“Acknowledged. End.”
I could already hear the gears churning in the wall, each crinkling and cracking to open the thick vault door just a hair’s breadth size for me. My mind reflected on the events that brought me here- the phone call, the limo, the agency.
The newly opened doorway was dark inside. It felt impossible to move my feet for a moment, so stunning was the thought of finally walking into hell. I looked down at the velvet, maroon suitcase handcuffed to my arm. So small, yet so much.
“Good luck,” the guard nodded. I appreciated it, even knowing how she felt about my choice.
“See ya later Alligator,” I joked.
There was nothing left out here to do.
The door closed behind me and I walked into the abyss.
—-
The first few minutes were characterized only by absolute darkness. It helped more with the nerves, I think, than if I had just stepped straight into the “lion’s den.” The floor was tiled, flat, textured enough not to worry about slipping. Cool air flowed over me with each step.
The first pinpricks of sensation were soft, green balls of light in the air. Like lanterns, they flickered and floated. Each one was inscribed with a child’s looping scrawl, though the text wasn’t clear.
“Hello,” I called. I hoped it would hear me.
I’m not sure how to best describe this part to you, but what happened next was unlike anything else I’ve experienced. The floor all around me undulated, like a wave of water but made of linoleum and grout. When the wave reached my body it simply… passed through. I felt nothing, saw nothing.
“My name is Rhett, what’s yours?” I called. There was a horrible, guttural screech in response. The floor began waving wildly, pushing away the soft, green lights. It was impossible to see, but also impossible for the reality bending effects to touch me. I kept walking.
The cry grew shriller, louder.
“I’m here to help,” I promised.
Reality continued to bend around me, unable to touch my skin. I could breathe as I had, I could hear and see and smell only stale air, but everything passed through my skin as an illusion.
Deeper and deeper, through rainstorms and lava lakes, through quicksand and farmland and dark machinery I walked. Then the illusions and screaming stopped, settling on a frigid snowscape.
“What’s your name?” I asked again.
From the ground sprung up a mirror. I stared at my reflection hungrily- and it walked out to face me. This could be it, I hoped.
“Go away,” it coughed, in my voice. Its lips were menacingly tight around the teeth.
“I’m here to help,” I promised. “I brought a-a present.” My hands shook as I held up the case.
“I don’t want you,” my reflection whined. “Why won’t you go away too?”
“Because I’m a real person,” I said. “You didn’t make me.”
“…real…” it mouthed. “Real?”
“Yes. What is your name?”
The reflection began to walk in circles around me, looking up and down with a childish demeanor. I felt like a butterfly under glass.
“What’s my present?” the reflection asked.
“Do you want to go outside?” I smiled.
It hissed. “I ate outside! I’ll eat you too!”
The reflection reared up and bit- but there was nothing for it to latch on, and it screamed somewhere between my neck and shoulder-blades. I took several steps back, but it came with.
“How about a new home? You don’t want to stay here, do you?”
This seemed to make the creature thoughtful. It didn’t pull away from bitting invisibly at my skin, but it did slow.
“I want ice cream,” it whistled.
“You want ice cream?“
“Yeah.”
I didn’t have any of that on hand, but I supposed it was a start.
“If you stand still right here, we’ll get you some ice cream, ok?”
The reflection perked up. “Really?”
“Really really,” I promised. “All the ice cream you want.”
“Ohhh kayyyy~” my doppelgänger’s voice sang back.
“Now hold still right here, do you think you can do that for me?” The floor did the wave again, so I took that as a yes.
With shaking hands, I unclasped the suitcase.
“What’s that? Its not ice cream.”
“This… uhmm, will help us get you to the ice cream,” I stuttered. It peered curiously into the case.
“You’re LYING!”
Suddenly, the shape morphed into a large, dark shadow. Smoke flooded the snowy landscape. It grew rocky and glassy.
“There’s no ice cream! You want to take away my special!”
Lightning flooded over my body, while the screeching intensified.
“You’re mean! Go away!”
“No, no, I-“
“MEAN!” The raw volume of its yelling caused me to drop the suitcase, almost snapping my wrist from the noise. I had to hold my ears from the pain. It seemed it was at least capable of reaching me one way, noise.
The screaming didn’t let up- I’d probably go deaf before I managed to put the syringe in.
“You can’t stay here forever!” I called. I have no idea if it heard me. “You keep killing people! I have to make you stop!”
It responded by turning into Godzilla.
This would take some time, I resolved. I sat on the floor to wait. | 461 | In a world dominated by the use of magic, you were born an 'unremarkable', unable to use magic but also completely immune to its effects. Today you have discovered that society has a very unique use for people like you. | 2,783 |
I look around for the source of the photo, trying to find someone - anyone - who could give some answers as to what's going on. Why did someone take this - how did they take this?!
I took the picture and went inside my house to sit down, trying to process this. This couldn't be real - could it? Could it be just some prank, someone happened to get picture exactly right? But that's me, indisputably me from the dream, so how could someone have done this? Am I a part of some sick government experiment? I have to be, that's the only reasonable explanation!
I sighed, putting my head on the table. There had to be some explanation that made sense, because this doesn't. I looked outside my window, and in the middle of my shock, I only barely noticed a kid moving across the sidewalk on a bicycle. The same kid that appeared in my dream - red shirt, baseball cap and all.
I jumped up and took a step back, before seeing the same news program that I dreamed on TV. "23 monkeys escaped the local zoo," exclaimed the reporter. How on Earth is this happening? I panicked and ran back towards my bedroom, shutting the door.
I had to still be dreaming, THAT'S what's going on! That's the only explanation for this! I pinched myself in an effort to wake myself up. Nothing. I stubbed my toe on purpose, and in the middle of jumping around the room I realized, again, nothing. I ran to my bathroom and splashed water in my face, only to look up in the mirror and see my same, disheveled, surprised face staring back at me in the mirror.
Yet again, nothing.
As I stepped out of the bathroom, I paused and took a breathe. I closed my eyes, and let myself breathe. There *had* to be an explanation for everything. Something had to make sense, and panicking wouldn't help me. No, I had to stay calm, keep a level head, and do whatever I could to figure -
"Figure out what's going on?" Said a quiet voice form the corner of my room.
I jumped back "Agh! Who the hell's there?!" I grabbed for my knife on the dresser and held i out against where the voice was "I-I've got a knife! Stay back!"
"Relax, I'm not trying to hurt you. Not yet, anyway." Said the voice, this time sounding as if it came from right next to me.
I jumped again, slicing at the air "Stay away! Get out of my house!"
"Look, you're wondering about the photo, right? If you cut me, you'll never know about it." Said the voice from above me
"How do you know about that?" I got startled from the change in location of the voice and fell back onto the floor
"Because I'm the one who took it, numbnuts" | 11 | An unsettling feeling engulfs you when you notice a stranger take your picture. The dream shatters with the sound of your alarm, but the unsettling feeling remains. As you leave your house that morning, a picture of yourself from your dream sits outside your front door with the word “Hello”. | 258 |
Blythe, or the King, as he was now called, sat on his new throne, letting himself finally relax. At last, he had done it. It seemed so simple yet it took him so long to figure out.
Why go through all the effort of uprooting a regime? There would always be those who opposed the new rule, rebellions often had trouble establishing something new, often falling very short of their high ideals. This way there would be no need for such ires.
This way he could change things with utmost authority, that of the King. No one would question him. Yes, some of his decisions would be odd, but the King was aging, after all, he could no longer be the brash tyrant he was in his youth.
The hardest part would be acting convincing in regards to his personality since his policy changes would already gather enough suspicion. He spent years gathering intelligence on the King, learning all he could about his family, comrades, demeanor, and even food preferences. Blythe slowly began to adopt those personality traits as his own as often as he could to prepare himself, while still keeping the convictions of the changes he wished to make in his heart.
He regretted leaving his wife and children behind, but his path as a rebel already created a rift between him and his family. It was better they remember him as he was. His old form would most likely be bleeding out or dead by now. No one would ever know of the swap except Blythe himself.
The former rebel’s work had finally paid off. Adopting the King’s identity, planning the confrontation, and most of all, learning the necessary magic to perform the swap. It was incredibly difficult to obtain such magic, he could not do it without an artifact that he spent an extended length of time searching for. But all that was over now.
As soon as his meetings were done that day he retreated to his chambers and cackled. He laughed and laughed, the mad sound echoing through the chamber. They believed him to be the real King! He had their mannerisms down so perfect, the magic so precise that no one had even a seed of suspicion in their mind. With the killing of ‘Blythe’ everyone in the King’s circle thought the rebellion defeated, that they could finally relax. Oh how much he could do in this disarmed state. It was time to bring his ambitions to fruition. He had a lot of work to do. | 14 | You, the King, face the rebel Blythe, of whom you've taken everything. "Now you will truly feel the pain you've caused," they say. Your incredulous laugh is ended by their blade. Upon waking, you find you are a child in a stone hut. "Finally, Blythe, you are awake," says a women as she enters. | 74 |
To the world, Dana Rehbein was its biggest star. It was a face that would be recognized on the busiest city streets, and the most remote village. Emblazoned across all manners of billboards, her distinct, sharp, features most recently graced the sky in an innovative new campaign for a luxury perfume brand.
To Johnny Stone, she was his wife. Beautiful—but faceless.
“Dana? Are you there? I hear you opening the door.”
“It’s me, love,” Dana said, entering the front door. It’s been a long day getting fawned over by sycophants on the set of the reboot of Troy, where she was instantly cast as Helen after she was voted “Face of the Century.”
Johnny stared at her face, trying yet again to discern the details. Instead, everything was an amorphous mess, like alphabet soup that had lost any semblance of structure after soaking for an inordinately long time.
But there was the way Dana walked. The way she sighed, a mixture of relief and annoyance, whenever she took off her shoes. How she walked lithely until she noticed him looking, which introduced a spring in her step like an enthusiastic kid.
“Johnny,” she sighed, melting into the couch and the love of her life. “It was a long day.”
“Of course, dear,” Johnny said, patting her head. “The news was talking about how that Dana Rehbein was going to grace the city, you know. For some campaign.”
“For the Skylar perfume?”
“That’s the one. You like her, don’t you? Even share a name.”
“We do,” she murmured, staring up at Johnny.
Her husband looked down, smiling. There was no spark of recognition in his eyes, none of the sparkling, pedestal worship she was used to. The gaze that wanted something, that was always seeking to take.
Instead, there was love, so much love, as deep as the oceans, staring into what might as well have been an abyss to him. A look that gave freely and openly. Dana whispered.
“Do you love me?”
“More than anything,” Johnny said.
“Why? You can’t even see my face. Will you mistake me for somebody else on the street?”
“Honestly? Maybe,” Johnny laughed. “We always seem to run into throngs of people. Sometimes, it’s hard to keep track. But there’s something that draws me back to you. Back to holding your hand. Kissing you.”
“That means a lot, coming from you,” Dana purred. “This is nice. Normal. Like everyone else does.”
“Is that all you want today? To be like everyone else?”
“Yes,” Dana said. “That’s all I need, really.”
“Fine,” Johnny said. “I’ll give you a few hours to be normal. Come dinner time, be prepared to be treated like a very special VIP.”
Dana chuckled, and splayed out onto the couch.
“Are you cooking?”
“Yes,” Johnny said. “Might even attempt another steak today. I swear it will turn out medium rare.”
Dana thought back to her lunch, which consisted of a fine medallion of filet mignon, with an exquisite glass of champagne.
And she found herself salivating more at the fact that Johnny! Her dear Johnny! Was the one that was going to be cooking.
“I’m looking forward to it,” she said, thoroughly satisfied.
---
r/dexdrafts | 1,266 | "Look! That famous celebrity will visit our city!" You exclaim, pointing to the TV. Your partner just nods and smiles. You don't know that your partner is the celebrity. You have Prosopagnosia, a condition of face blindness. Living with you is the closest thing to a normal life they can get. | 4,228 |
Susan raised her hand. Attracted by the sudden movement, the eyes of all the predator species around her fixated on the raised appendage. At first, that had scared her a little, but she'd gotten used to it. (Though the shark-like Corbien's tendency to rattle his teeth did still make her wince.)
Professor K'I'Fe was no exception to the rule, and his beady gaze snapped to her palm and then to her face. He tilted his beak towards her, giving her permission to speak.
Susan did her best to keep her voice level. "Professor, don't you think that's overstating the role of humanity in brokering the ceasefire?"
Gorb, the aforementioned Corbien, slowly clicked his teeth in the equivalent of a sigh. Susan would buy him a fermented fish drink later as an apology, but she was frankly tired of keeping her mouth shut. She had ranted to him all week, and now she had finally hit her breaking point.
"Oh?" Professor K'I'Fe raised a single feather in his crest. "Why would you say that, Susan'Patel?"
"You're mythologizing an entire species. Though humanity did play an important part in bringing the herbivorous Mashans and the carnivorous F'E'Ns to the metaphorical table, it also took the work of tireless Mashan *and* F'E'N diplomats to bring peace into action."
Another feather curled up on his neck. Susan wasn't prone to violence, but she wanted to tear that smug look off his crest. She couldn't stand carnivore supremacists.
"Susan'Patel, I need you to elaborate." K'I'Fe always used the F'E'N naming convention for all his students, even if they didn't like it. Which Susan didn't. "Are you implying that the narrative of humans as a bridge-species is incorrect? Why, I was under the assumption that humanity had the best features of carnivores *and* herbivores. In fact, many F'E'N texts put the entire onus on humanity for bringing the panicky, fickle Mashans to the table."
At this point, the sarcasm was getting ridiculous. Susan ignored the murmurs around her and doggedly pushed forward.
"That's because those texts are clearly biased against Mashans, and you know it! Instead of accepting the inherent sapience and rationality of an herbivorous species, F'E'N bigots put all of it on the *slightly* more palatable omnivores—"
"Susan'Patel, there will be no shouting in my classroom." K'I'Fe didn't raise his voice, but he whistled sharply for emphasis.
Susan realized she *was* actually yelling. She leaned back in her chair, glanced guiltily at her cringing herbivorous classmates, and took a deep breath. "Sorry, professor. But my point still stands."
"Prove it to me with textual evidence, and I might consider it."
Now, that was a blatant lie. Any time Susan wrote a paper that didn't support K'I'Fe's beliefs, he never gave her more than a 70%.
The professor wrapped up the class as Susan fumed in her chair. Finally, when it was time to go, she shoved her stuff into her bag with more force than necessary.
Gorb gave her a sympathetic pat on the shoulder with his fin-tacle. "Ignore old K'I'Fe," he said, keeping his rumbling voice soft. "He'll never change his mind. Anyway, want to get drinks tonight, oh most cooperative and docile friend? We can get those keebies you like so much. And they sell plant ones for Omi too."
Susan laughed. "They're called kebabs, Gorb." She waved over their mutual friend, a fuzzy Mashan named Omi—who had slunk in late and taken a seat on the other side of the lecture hall. "Actually," she said as their friend hurried to join them, "I think I'm in the mood for a salad." | 346 | "And that, class," concluded the professor, "is why humanity is the most peaceful, reasonable, cooperative, and overall docile species in all the universe. Any questions?" You, the only human in the classroom, raise your hand. | 613 |
“Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?”
I settled in the chair, eyes darting at the defendant. Despite shaving his stubble and exchanging the camo for a suit, he looked wearier than he had that day, and the crazed, fiery look in his eyes, the one that had earned him the name Justin “The Blaze” Senko, was gone.
The lawyer peered up at me. His appearance was like my own before joining the army. Bone and skin, with ribbons of muscle festooned on them. Even after three long days of the trial, his voice never broke — rich with a rhythmic cadence
“And the defendant, how did you meet him?”
***
The flames danced in front of me.
“Perry, I’d like you to meet Captain Justin Senko.” The flames blinked. As he scrutinized my lanky body, I grew intensely aware about missing my morning pushup regiment. “Unless you’ve been completely ignorant of the kill leaderboards, you already familiar with him.”
I tried not to gawk at The Blaze. “Sir, we—I mean, everyone at Barracks 12 in base camp has heard of you, sir. When Newman said he was assigned to a two-person team with you, we didn’t believe him.”
A tight smile flitted across The Blaze’s face. He had finished his examination of me and was now staring beyond at the barren steppes of Siberia.
Newman, my old bunkmate, laughed. “I told you, didn’t I? But you boys never would believe me. Well, now it’s your turn to be laughed at. I’m on my way out, and Blazey needs a new partner.”
I sucked in a breath, then snapped to attention. If I wasn’t feeling nervous before, I was now.
The Blaze wearily waved a hand. “At ease, sergeant.”
I lowered my hand, but kept my posture perfect. I glanced back and forth between The Blaze and Newman.
Newman answered my unspoken question by holding up his HBX bracelet, the small screen flashing a meager health bar. *Damn*. At least he would be going home in one piece, with recorded impacts to his hitbox instead of bullets through his chest like the old days.
“As Blazey put it, I’m one bad-driver-and-a-pothole away from being designated a kill. So they’re pulling me back to do paperwork.” He made a face.
I stopped mid-chuckle as I remembered our company and the reason he was meeting me. “Sir, I am honored, sir. But I have no experience in special ops, sir.”
The Blaze finally tore his attention away from the steppes to look at me. “Doesn’t matter. I just need somebody to watch my six. Sergeant Newman spoke to your character, and I think that won’t be a problem.
I snapped out a salute. “Sir!”
He ignored me. “Plus, you have a small hitbox. I’ve learned my lesson there.” He gave Newman the side eye.
“Hey, I’m just big-boned.” Newman scowled, then turned to me, slapping me on the back. “Good luck! Before you go, here’s one piece of advice essential for your survival: Buy some thermal underwear.”
***
The prosecution’s lawyer paced across the courtroom, nodding.
“Thank you, Sergeant Perry. Now let’s jump forward, shall we, to the day when the incident occurred.”
***
I should have bought the thermal underwear.
I pressed myself against the cold, hard ground, worming my forward to the snowbank. The Blaze was already there, crouching as he checked one of the many devices he lugged around. As I reached him, I saw it was his remote control drone control. Suddenly he dropped the device, swinging his rifle to his shoulder, and fired off five rapid shots through the snow.
Five curses echoed — five enemies who would never fight again. The Blaze grunted, handed me the rifle, then started worming back the way he came.
I dutifully reloaded it, then began to follow.
A spray of rubber bullets erupted around me, flying blindly through the snowbank. One caught me on the shoulder, lowering my health another 10%. I had already lost 30% since we started doing missions together and was now down to 34%; that was the danger of being The Blaze’s partner, or rather, glorified assistant.
We raced forward on our bellies as the bullets continued to fly, dropping down a small cliff into relative safety. My whole arm was numb, and a red light was glowing through my shirt where the HBX system had registered a hit. It would be weeks before the system decided it was healed, restoring its normal color and mobility.
As I looked up at The Blaze, I saw his neck was also glowing red. Suddenly, it reverted back to its normal color.
He saw me watching and said, “Just a glitch in the system.”
“It’s starting to bruise from where the rubber bullet hit you,” I said, my voice trembling.
He swore, reaching into his backpack, pulling out a small container I had never seen before, and dipped a finger into it. Makeup. He smeared it into the bruise until it was barely noticeable.
For the rest of the mission, I was silent. He was his normal, incredible self, firing shot after shot with unrivaled accuracy, weaving his way across the ground.
***
He tossed me another weapon, and I stuffed it into the cargo bag. On our way back to the base, we stumbled across one of the enemy’s underground bunkers. I held out my hands for the next gun, but none came.
“Let’s get this over with,” I said, gesturing at the gun he held loosely in his hands.
“What do you think you saw when we were out by that snow bank?” His blazing orbs bared down on me.
“I saw you get hit in the neck, the injury disappear, and then you continue being combat effective.” I met his eyes with flames of my own. “Tell me I’m wrong.” I gestured again for the weapon, and he tossed it over.
After we packed a couple more, he paused again. “What are you going to do about it?”
“I’m going to report you for tampering with your hitbox.” One of the guns had wedged against the sides of the bag, and I slammed my body weight against it to make more room. “Do I have to tell you why? Illegal according to the 2050 Geneva Convention, which you have to know, and unnecessary in your case. You're already the most decorated soldier to ever live."
“That’s why I have to tamper with it. If it had been a good shot, then sure, I would have accepted my ‘death’ and went back home. But not like that, from a lucky shot through a snowbank. That’s just bullshit. “
“Give me another gun.”
He sneered. “Do you know why I chose you? Not because of your hitbox or your skill, certainly. I chose you because Newman said you were suggestible. A pushover. Don’t change the only thing you’re good at. If you blow this up, you will not only be harming our country, you will torpedo your career, and good luck finding another one.”
“Give me another gun, sir.”
His fingers curled over the trigger, and the barreled swiveled in my direction. “I can’t give this one to you, yet — I haven’t unloaded it. No, don’t reach for your sidearm — it wouldn’t work on me anyway. Hitbox-cheater, remember? But one shot to your temple, and you get sent home. Do you want your tour to be over? You’re so young, still. Maybe not bright, but few colonels and generals are.” He licked his lips, and his fingers turned white where they gripped the rifle’s butt. “Listen, no one has to be hurt, no careers have to be damaged. I promise that when I take a true hit, I will bow out of the war.”
“What’s the threat here? What’s the point of shooting me when you already said my career was gone? Either way, I lose my military career, and either way, I’m reporting you.”
The gun shook in his hands. For a minute we stared at each other, then he tossed it at me. I caught it with both hands, cradling it as I removed the magazine and stuffed it into the bag.
***
I left the courtroom, shaken, but relieved. I pulled the cap over my head, sliding it over my eyes. It wouldn’t help. Everyone had a hitbox reader nowadays, and my number was plastered against everyone’s eyeballs. 34%, the number of the greatest U.S. traitor since Benedict Arnold. If that didn’t clue them in, my four black-suited bodyguards would.
I did have defenders, mostly Russian, but a few U.S. citizens as well, or at least that’s what I was told. I didn’t go on social media much anymore. I didn’t do much of anything, except sit at home waiting for one of my barracks mates to text or hologram in, or the prosecutors, or even the sweet man who let me know when my HBX+ warranty was about to expire.
I just needed someone, anyone, to remind me I did the right thing. | 27 | "How were you able to survive my strongest attack?!" "Easy. I had my hitbox surgically removed." | 159 |
"Oh, him? No, he's just another subordinate. He's my emotional aide." Lisia told the stranger.
I went *"What the actual fuck?"*, mouth agape as I looked from the middle-aged man to my best friend.
"Lady Lirishera, the cult has been looking for a sacrifice to control your anger-"
Lisia just puts a hand to her mouth, trying not to giggle. "Oh, don't be silly- I think I'm good."
I was just dumbfounded now. Tapping my best friend's shoulder, I asked, "Hey, uh, Lisia, what does he mean by sacrifice?"
"Well...back up until my last vessel, I constantly required a live, healthy body to consume each month, as souls were really the only thing holding me back from just, well, cracking the atmosphere like an egg. It's like trying to keep a hot thing cool with water, dude." She says calmly, before going on and saying, "But since I met you, I decided to actually try cooking with, and eventually ate, seafood and meat, and well, turns out there's traces of soul left in those poor animals, soo..."
"Wait- you're serious?" Both me and the stranger gasped in disbelief, but I continued. "So THAT is why you've been begging me to get you yearly passes to buffets this whole time!?"
She sweeps her long, black hair with her right hand, before chinning up and putting her hands on her hips. "That's right! And now that I remember that I have a cult, well, because I'm kinda stupid sometimes, now all I need from them instead of kidnapping people is for them to get actual jobs and pay up those buffet subscriptions!"
The man gets on his hands and knees in joyfulness, as I am startled by his sudden movement. "Oh, Lady Lirishera, Mistress of the Veil, I will follow your every command and spread your worldview to our congregation!"
"Yeah, yeah, now go find a McDonald's to work at or something." Lisia chuckled. "I'm starving, and might feel like ending the world if I don't get a Big Mac." | 213 | You learn that your childhood friend is an eldritch god's vessel. One day, you go shopping with your childhood friend and talk about the past. When suddenly, a cult leader approaches your childhood friend and asks, "My lord, is this person next to you the sacrifice?" | 295 |
The cinder block walls of the holding cell weren't much to look at, but they were better than what he saw when he closes his eyes.
Her face. A plain face, if he was being honest, not one anyone would pick out of a lineup. Brown eyes, brown hair pulled back in a bun, no defining features to speak of. She was wearing a blue sweater, a turtleneck, fiddling with the collar as she sat there in the waiting room, and he knew she'd showed up at the urgent care for some kind of flu that just wouldn't seem to go away. She had kept pressing her fingertips into the back of her neck, as if to rub away a muscle knot. It was in that position, hands behind her head as if in surrender, that he'd shot her point blank in the head.
He'd tried to explain to the horrified medical assistant, to the unlucky soul who'd happened to wander in looking for an x-ray for a suspected broken wrist, to himself, as blood pooled on the tile floor and a syrupy mix of top 40 hits from decades ago continued to play over the sound system, that he was saving them all. He'd tried to tell the cops as they took him away without a fight that this one woman's life was being taken in exchange for millions. He didn't care, not really, if he was punished for his actions, but God, he just wanted them to know.
He rubs his eyes, the image of the woman, Zero in his dossier, blending together with other, more horrifying images. His best friend, begging him to open the door as blood poured from the obvious wound on his arm. His daughter, the last time he saw her wave at him as she left for her job as a newly minted nurse at the hospital. The news tickers, back when there was still someone to deliver the news, talking ceaselessly about case counts and death rates until it became clear that there was going to be no one left to care about statistics.
The door of the cell opens, and a guard enters. "The court is ready for you, Mr. Stephenson." He stands, trying not to think about the way Zero's blood looked spattered across the vinyl waiting room seat cushions. He rubs his eyes again as the guard leads him down a beige hallway towards the courtroom. They're itchy; allergies perhaps, or the constant air conditioning venting into the holding cell. The doors to the courtroom open, revealing a room much smaller than what he's always pictured. Nothing at all like the grand courtrooms on TV.
Stephenson sits, blinking rapidly. The irritation in his eyes somehow seems to be getting worse. "Mr. Joel Stephenson, you have been accused of murder in the first degree," the judge began. "How do you plead?"
"Guilty, your honor," Stephenson replies. The judge sighs. "Well, I'm grateful for that, anyway. That makes this an easy sentence." He scribbles something on a piece of paper. "Multiple witnesses saw you shoot Jessica Blake at close range, unprovoked, in a medical facility. This attack had clear intent to kill and was captured on multiple security cameras. You are hereby sentenced to life in prison." He bangs his gavel. "Dismissed!"
"Wait," Stephenson says. "May I say something?" The judge pauses. "You may. It will not change my sentence, but you may."
Stephenson nods. He knew that this would be the outcome, was the only possible outcome, the only way he could know that there was a future out there where everyone he'd ever known and loved wasn't crawling the streets of what no longer passed for a city, gnawing on whatever human remains they could find. He thinks of the moment he'd found the portal, the moment he'd realized that there was a way to save the world if he was only strong enough to sacrifice himself. And he'd done it. All he wants is for them to know.
"I saved you," he says. "I saved everyone." He thinks of what that woman, Jessica, would have become. "I saved her." The judge rolls his eyes, clearly unmoved. "Thank you, Mr. Stephenson. That will be all. Dismissed." Stephenson's hands are cuffed behind his back as he's led away. He wonders about his timeline, now that everything his changed. He pictures his daughter waking up on an ordinary day, making a cup of coffee, stepping into the morning air for a jog. He smiles at the image, even as he feels the ache of a headache pounding in the back of his skull, even as he feels his eyes continue to scratch and burn, even as he suddenly recalls how Jessica's blood spattered not only on the waiting room chairs, but onto his clothing, and how he hadn't been wearing his glasses. As he suddenly realizes that something is terribly, terribly wrong. | 32 | You’re on trial for murder after shooting someone in the head at a clinic. Little does the judge know, you’re a time traveller who killed patient zero in a zombie outbreak. | 125 |
Silhouette sat in the memorial park sobbing as her tears fell on the mask in her hands. The voice behind her startling both for it suddenly being there and how soft it was.
"Yeah it sucks."
Sniffling the young blonde pulled on her mask and tried to glare at the intruder. Her irk turning to ire as she took in the black costume of the villainess. "What do you want? To gloat? To tell me I am just like you?"
Conundrum brushes some leaves from the bench before sitting to look out over the river. "Nothing to gloat about. I wasn't born till years after you were. I had nothing to do with your fight with Mynax or the Terror Triplets. But I can empathize. My mother died when I was born. My father not long after. And I also have a power absorption ability."
She looked surprised. "That isn't in your list of assumed powers."
Taking her broad hat off the badguy just watched the water. "I don't advertise. Super speed? And most of what I use. Time control. Absorbed when my powers activated. That time I accidentally saved someone. My regeneration and some secondary powers. Came from taking the power from a bio-manipulator. While he was using his power on himself to make him stronger and more animal like. He is stuck like that now. And in constant pain because he was mid change. My least used stuff. Someone died for me to gain them. I am not proud of any of that. So yeah I get what you are feeling."
"You know what it feels like to have killed your mother for her powers!?"
Cracking her neck a little. "Nope and neither do you. Your mother wasn't killed by you and you sure didn't decide to do it, let alone for the powers. Just like you didn't kill Mynax for his powers."
Nodding. "He was about to kill that little boy. But that does not explain why you are here?"
"Today is a pretty crappy day for you. Sometimes we just need someone who understands. Someone to listen."
They sat staring at the water for a while.
"Conundrum?"
"Yeah?"
"Thanks."
"You're welcome."
Brushing back her hair. "You know I am still gonna arrest you right?"
Putting her hat back on. "You can try." | 30 | With your mother, a relatively weak Super, having died in childbirth, everyone including you believed you had simply inherited her powers when you started expressing them. You only learned the truth of your power when you killed your first Villain and gained their powers as well. | 73 |
*The grass is always greener on the other side of the fence.*
That's the old adage, and that's what I was I was thinking as I listened to Alaniluviel opine about his love of science, and how lucky I was to live in a *world of science* rather than the *world of magic* he hailed from, and which he was glad to have left behind.
I'd long since gotten over my doubts that he was really an elf. He looks too *perfectly elvish,* for it to be the result of some plastic surgeon in a country with lax professional ethics laws trying to butcher a human face into a half-assed parody of elvenkind. Besides, I *did* see him drop out of a portal in my backyard, and that lent a lot of credibility to his claims of elfhood. That was also how we'd ended up being roommates. But the longer I lived with him, the more I found his attitude about our world and his own perplexing.
"I mean, the rules of magic change with the stars, the seasons, even the bloody days of the week!*"* Alan exclaimed, my copy of *Conceptual Physics* open on his lap. "You'll never have to worry about that kind of nonsense, here! Planck's constant isn't going to stop being *constant* just because it's Taco Tuesday."
"Well, yeah, but at the end of the day, aren't all of the immutable physical laws of this universe just *limitations?"* I protested. "You've said people can teleport, fly, and shoot lightning out of their fingers, where you come from!"
He snorted. "Overrated. For all practical purposes, it's not much different than how you can fly across this continent by plane, in less than a day. And who needs to shoot lightning out their fingers? If you need to defend yourself, then a *gun* kills someone just as dead, with a lot less possibility of collateral damage. Not to mention that if you want *lightning,* you've got it trapped in wires running through your walls."
I sighed. "I guess you have a point there..." Then I squinted at him, noticing something, and I pointed at his face. "Um, Alan, what's *that?"*
"What's *what?"* he asked. I grabbed my purse from the coffee table, fished out my compact, and tossed it to him. He flipped it open, and looked at his reflection.
He ran a finger across his face. "Hm...I'm not sure how I got that injury. I certainly don't remember getting cut. Does this world's atmosphere have some corrosive element to it that's eroding my epidermal layer? Perhaps I'll need to add a base to my sunscreen to neutralize any atmospheric acidity..."
I smirked. "I think *I* just won our argument about science vs. magic, Alan."
He raised a slender golden eyebrow. "How do you figure?"
"Because that's not an *injury,* and the atmosphere isn't acidic. It looks like you just became the first elf ever to get a *wrinkle."* | 138 | An elf who hates magic’s inherent inconsistency and lack of deep explanation gets Isekaied to the real world and falls in love with science | 468 |
Alone. One word that defined my whole life.
—————-
The day my father vanished from the house, leaving nought but cigarette stubs and a vacant closet, my Mom cradled me in her arms and we were alone together.
On the first day of grade school, in a sea of new and unfamiliar faces, laughing and talking about things I didn’t understand, I was alone.
In the principal’s office, across Becca’s mother and a teary-eyed Becca sitting across the table - a tuft of hair missing and my favorite eraser still in her grubby clutches - I was alone.
When the phone rang and I was busy prepping our microwave dinners, waiting for Mom to come back from her emergency shift at the ER, I was alone.
Behind the glass pane of the quarantine room, watching my Mom wheeze into her ventilator, I was alone.
On that rainy Tuesday afternoon, dressed in my only black dress, staring blankly into the small puddle forming on the lid of the coffin, I was the most alone I’d ever been.
———
So when on Selection Day I found myself an Apprentice in an empty room with no Guide, I was not surprised. I was sad, disappointed, angry, and bitter in turns - but not surprised. After waiting for 12 long, lonely hours in room 401, I accepted that not even my own future wanted anything to do with me.
As I slowly packed up my things to go, the door swung open. I turned around, hoping against hope - but it was just the janitor.
“Hey kid, Selection Day’s over. Time to get out.” As he looked around the empty, bare room and my unhappy face, it slowly dawned on him. “Ah. You’re one of them. The Uncalled.”
———
Bonding over a tepid coffee in a break room of the Selection Hub, I found in Norie a kindred soul. He had fled a few decades ago from the Outlands up North, where the Authority's zealots held no sway and where nobody had even heard of a Calling. With no family, friends, or Calling of his own, Norie bounced between odd jobs until he eventually landed at the Hub.
I settled into a new routine. Norie slipped me onto the payroll through a few "friends", and I began working as a janitor on the night shift. During the day, I attended vocational college, courtesy of a faked Calling card provided by the same "friends".
In my spare time, I worked on my small projects, little tinker toys made from scraps that jittered and spun as they slowly wound down. I always understood them more than people. They always followed strict, unbending rules - even if those rules were obscure. People were messy, inconsistent, impossible to predict or understand.
If not for Norie's encouragement, I never would have thought to apply for my Master's in Engineering or my PHD in Biomechanics. I'd have been happy sweeping those floors, watching those eager applicants file into Selection to find their Calling. But he always wanted me to be more than I was. I think he saw in me the daughter he'd never had.
——
But my loneliness was not gone - it was just hiding patiently in its corner, waiting for the fullness of time to embrace me back into itself. And after a few years, it found its opening.
It quickly spiraled out of control. A synthetic super-muscle prototype flexed beyond its operating limits. A colleague dead on the lab floor. An Authority investigation uncovering my faked Calling. My promising career shattered and broken. An interrogation and a long stint in a deniable black site.
But when I finally got home after 6 months, what broke me was the tiny cardboard box on my doorstep. On top of Norie’s few belongings was a picture of us on my graduation day and a short note from the the Authority that Norie had “died of natural causes during questioning, with no registered next of kin.”
I threw myself into my work, taking every black market deal and dubious genehack job to fund my work. From that research came the Gorilla Arms, which helped me rip the doors of the Opus Bank’s vault straight off their hinges. The heist paid for the materials of my Frog Legs, which helped me scale the cliffs guarding Authority BioLab 3. That gave me the final piece of my plan - the Chameleon Scales.
———
I stand on the roof across the Hub on Selection Day, eagerly anticipating my biggest strike on the Authority yet. I’d found my own Guide without them, in spite of them. And they took him away from me, just as they’d taken everything else.
The first blow from my Gorilla Arms blows open the doors of the Hub - sending wood, Guides and Apprentices flying in equal measure. I relish the fear in the eyes of the Authority soldiers as their bullets plink off the Chamelon Scale on my torso. With a giant leap of my Frog Legs, I bound to the top floor, smashing the Authority Panopticon watching the Callings. Working my way down the floors, destroying everything in my wake, I smile at the uncertainty, the anger, the confusion in the faces of the Guides and Apprentices I smash through. Let them feel what I felt.
I briefly stop in front of Room 401, and then I see her. The gleam in her eyes. Not fear, not anger, but envy. Suddenly, I realize what I was missing all these years. My true Calling.
——-
——-
——-
The door opens, and the hulking chimera of a monster steps in slowly. She is not afraid. Nobody will miss her anyway.
The beast stops in front of her, and a woman’s visage emerges from the shimmering scales.
“Good afternoon Apprentice. I’m your Guide today.”
“Welcome to the Uncalled.” | 203 | At the age of 18, every human goes to a special school. Here, they will be magically drawn to the classroom where someone will teach them their true calling. The room you enter is...empty. Not even a teacher there. Apparently no one else can even see a door there. | 743 |
"I won't kill you." She said to me, wiping her forehead. " Because I won't stoop to your level.".
I'll be honest, that threw me off a bit.
"Could... Could you say that one more time?" I thought I may be delirious, with the blood loss and what not.
"I will not kill you." She repeated, and actually started to heal me. That's it. The hero has gone completely mad. I felt I should say something. "Have you completely lost your mind?" I blurted. In fairness, I was not known for my impulse control. The smoking remains of multiple villages will attest to that.
"I'm quite sane, you foul thing." She said to me with such vehemence, that it was clear killing me would be rather enjoyable to her. "If I were to kill you here, I'd be just as bad as you." She spat on the ground, as if the very thought gave her a bitter taste.
It was so idiotic. So utterly asinine, that I could do nothing but laugh. It was loud and uncontrollable. The laugh of a man who heard the greatest joke in his life, and now simply can't stop. She actually seemed afraid. "I've never heard you laugh before." Her voice shook as she said that. "Stop it!" She yelled at me.
I managed to stifle my laugh a bit. "Silly little girl." I saw her starting to object. "You killed my guards. You massacred my armies. You destroyed towns and cities without a thought!" She stumbled back. "They were dem-" "They were sentient beings, you arrogant brat!" I cut her off. "The species you called imps? They were children of demons!" I saw her eyes widen. "Kobolds aren't a separate kind either - those were children Drakeborn." I saw the horror slowly sinking in. "And this goes for every species you carelessly destroyed." I threw my head back as I laughed again.
"No... No! You're lying!" She practically screamed at me. "Look around you, hero. My people are gone. My kingdom vanquished, my followers, who I swore to protect, dead. What reason do I have left to lie?" I shrugged. "No, little hero. Killing me won't make you a monster." I chuckled. "That ship has long since sailed." | 112 | killing the villain wouldn't make the hero as bad as they are, no matter what anyone says! What a disingenuous claim! You simply couldn't let that slide... even though YOU are the villain the hero is agonising over killing | 174 |
"O, unclean spirits, ye devils of the Lower Planes that defile the dead husks of mortal men by making them your habitation! The wrath of the Holy Divine shall fall upon you this day!" The Paladin boomed, wreathed in ethereal light, his gleaming holy sword held high.
Jamon thought it was a very impressive display, though it seemed a bit ironic, considering that the Paladin himself was an animated skeleton. He wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth, though, not when half a dozen zombies had shambled into the yard outside his farmhouse looking for flesh to devour, and this nice religious skeleton fellow had showed up to save him.
The skeletal Paladin swept his blade in a wide arc, taking the heads off two of two of the zombies. The other four surged towards him, screaming, their desiccated arms outstretched, but he raised his shield, emblazoned with the Seal of the Divine, and it burst alight with holy illumination. The light scorched the oncoming undead like fire from a furnace, and they collapsed into piles of ash.
Jamon applauded, enthusiastically. It had, after all, been *really cool.*
"Thank you, sir Knight! Thank you so much for saving me from those horrible things!" Jamon said, relieved.
The Paladin sheathed his sword, and gave him a respectful nod. "The name is Sir Petron. And you should rather give glory to the Holy Divine, good farmer, for it is by His power that I delivered you from evil."
Jamon doffed his hat, and glanced skyward. "Of course, of course! Praise the Divine in the highest, and blessed be His Holy Name! Even so, Sir Petron, I really appreciate it. Especially, you know, considering your circumstances."
Sir Petron cocked his head to one side. "What circumstances do you mean, my good man?"
Jamon cleared his throat. "Well, I just mean that it must be harder for you than for other holy knights. Going against your own kind, and all."
Sir Petron scoffed. "What? I am no undead abomination! I am servant of the Holy Divine, who abhors such monstrosities! They are made by the power of the devils, in mockery of the *true* living resurrection the Divine promises will come to the faithful at the End of Days!"
Jamon held up his hands. "Sorry, sorry! I meant no offense, sir Knight, honest! It's just...you *are* a skeleton, and all."
Sir Petron smoothed his tabard. "*Obviously,"* he said, testily. "But there is a difference! Unlike the undead I just dispatched, I am very much *alive."*
Jamon blinked. "Oh. Um, begging your pardon, Sir Knight, but how does that work, exactly?"
"A miracle of the Divine." Sir Petron said, reverently. "You see, when I was a lad, I dedicated the rest my life to serving the Divine. And, although it is not *required* of my order, I resolved to rid myself of *all* distractions of the flesh."
"Looks like you did that much." Jamon agreed.
Petron nodded. "My superiors told me this was neither necessary nor desirable, since it is the will of the Divine that men exist as beings of flesh as well as spirit, but I would not be dissuaded so easily. I prayed at our holiest mountain shrine for six straight days, and on the seventh day of praying that the Divine would rid me of all my fleshly desires, I fell asleep from exhaustion. I awoke as you see me now, a man of living bones, with no distractions to deter him from following the Divine."
Jamon blinked. "And...and you're sure that this wasn't the Holy Divine trying to teach you a lesson? You know, about being careful what you wish for, and accepting the lot the Divine gives you in life, and all?"
The knight snorted -- somehow. "I don't see how that could be. The Divine *must* have been pleased by my repeated, insistent, unyielding prayers. I got *exactly* what I prayed for! I haven't experienced hunger, or thirst, or sexual desire, or even had to *breathe* ever since. I just need the occasional soak in milk or bone broth to keep my marrow healthy, and I'm good to go."
"Oh, really? How occasional?"
Sir Petron shrugged. "A couple times a day, sometimes three."
"So...it's almost like you *still* have to eat and drink, but you have to go about it in a less convenient way?" Jamon asked, frowning thoughtfully.
"No!" Sir Petron insisted. Then he paused. "I mean...not *really.* It's a bath. A bath isn't the same as *eating*. It is a bit less convenient, I suppose. Whenever I feel myself getting brittle, I have to find an inn with a bathing facility -- one where I can convince them not to chase me away with torches and pitchforks, which is hard."
Jamon just stared at the knight, unsure of how to respond.
"I have *not* been cursed by the Divine for my hubris!" Sir Petron said loudly, crossing his arms. "How dare you suggest such a thing!"
Jamon looked left and right. "Who are you talking to, Sir? I didn't say nothing."
Sir Petron's shoulders slumped. "I think I need to go pray."
"Well, stay the night at least." Jamon insisted. "I can have my wife Mildred draw you a nice milk bath in the washtub, too, how 'bout that?"
"Thanks." Sir Petron said, morosely.
"Can I stable your horse, as well?"
"Don't have one. Horses are afraid of me." Petron grumbled. "I'm supposed to go battle the Demon King on the other side of the continent, too, but it's taking *forever,* because no one wants to give me a lift in their wagon."
Jamon winced. "I...well, I'll just get Mildred started on that bath."
"The Divine bless you." Petron sighed, following Jamon back towards his house. | 62 | The holy scrying orb, used to find the hero when the demon king is revived, only shows a skeleton on the ground. Humanity believes themselves doomed. But one day, a reanimated skeleton shows up wielding the holy sword. | 210 |
Accidentally killing a god is the easy part.
Every god is different, and you have to play around with it until you figure it out. God of the moon? Their weakness is the sun, god of cats? Weakness is dogs, so on and so forth.
My theory? The god of gods, the most beautiful being in the universe, could only be killed by a mere mortal. So many before had tried, with swords forged by kings and bow and arrows woven from starlight, I was simply curious.
I befriended her. And once I got close enough, a simple touch was enough to kill her. I brushed my hand against her arm and within moments she was a lifeless corpse, sprawled across the floor. Apparently through swords and other weapons, all it took was a touch.
It was a theory, and the aftermath was disastrous. Killing gods killed the very thing they were gods of, which is why gods of famine and illness were the ones frequently sought after.
It's not that I wanted to kill her, but I was curious as to what would happen. The end of the gods, the universe reborn, ready to start again. And this time I was tasked with the recreation of the galaxies, told that when my time would come, I'd know.
So when a small child came to me and reached for my hand, I took it. | 91 | "How do you accidentally kill a god?" "If i knew, it wouldn't have been an accident." | 265 |
If I could sweat, there would be nothing left but a puddle on the ground!
There was nothing like this back in my living days! Mirrors, everywhere! Why did humans think this was fun?! I’d made my mark! I followed a teenaged couple into this place, sensing no other life within! It should have been the perfect feeding ground! Just what I needed for a good day’s sleep.
I’d always had a thing for teenagers. I was turned just as I became one, and while pretending to be the lost little girl had its advantages, I’d spent centuries seething about the lost opportunities of adulthood.
And if I couldn’t have them, nor would anyone else.
It didn’t hurt that teenagers were the easiest to scare. Their imaginations hadn’t shut out supernatural possibilities like many of the adults of this modern age. And let me tell you, there is no chaser like adrenalin.
I’d kept my distance, letting them go further into the building before I made my move. And suddenly, they were everywhere! Everywhere, and nowhere! Mirror images, all turned in on each other. Like my mother’s fitting room back when I was a real child. She hadn’t trusted the word of the servants (believing them uneducated swine) and insisted on seeing herself from all sides.
I could see thousands of versions of my prey, but I couldn’t see myself. Vampires had no reflection. I drew a deep breath, filling my senses with the scent. It didn’t help. In the confined space, their scent was saturating the air.
And then the worst, worst possible thing where a vampire was concerned happened.
I felt the onset of dawn approaching.
This was no longer about a full belly to sleep on. I felt the weariness leech my strength and I knew I had to find shelter quickly. I could NOT afford another mistake like last century. Waking up in that Nazi laboratory *\*shudder\** … and you humans thought *I* was a monster. *On my worst night …*
And it just went to show how close to crunch time it was for me, that my thoughts were starting to feather. I had to get out of here. I had to find safety. I would feed as soon as I woke up tonight, but first, I had to *survive* until tonight.
I felt my shoulder collide with the mirrored wall as my eyes became harder to keep open.
And suddenly, I wasn’t in a maze. Or rather, I wasn’t in *this* maze. My drifting thoughts had taken me back to my breathing days when I took great pleasure in escaping my governesses. I was my daddy’s darling, and no one was permitted to touch me in anger. I had escaped into my mother’s garden and found myself in a similar predicament that I was now. Daddy had emptied the castle, sending everyone into the maze to cover every possibility. I’d been found, and while my governess was executed for allowing it to happen, I had crawled onto my daddy’s lap.
After soothing my fright, he said something to me.
“There is a trick to mazes, my precious,” he’d said. “Put your hand on a wall, and don’t take it off. You will either go around in circles, or you will find your way out. I never want you to frighten me like that again.”
My hand was already on the wall. All I had to do was tell my feet to move …
…and pray to a god I no longer believed in that I wouldn’t end up back in this spot.
\* \* \*
((All comments welcome. Good or bad, I'd love to hear your thoughts 🥰🤗))
For more of my work including WPs: r/Angel466 or an index of previous WPS [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/Angel466/comments/m4p5f2/wp_index_take_two/). | 10 | You, a vampire, find yourself in the middle of a mirror-maze. Now you've just gotta get out. Somehow. | 37 |
I thought death would be different yet I find myself in a dark gloomy but finely built castle's throne room. The furnishing of the room leaves much to be desired. Tattered coats of arms hanging on every pillar. Decrepit and smashed benches lay strewn about toward the back of the room. The six knights and two monks that line the carpet ascending to the throne are clad in shadow their features almost indiscernible. The figure atop the throne is also shrouded by shadows much thicker than the others where only the armor worn by the figure can be seen through the smoky shadows. I begin to look for some kind of escape thinking I must be in hell but to my dismay I see no exits or entrances of any kind. The knights unsheathe their swords and present arms raising the hilt of their swords to eye level and shadows surrounding them conceal less of their appearance like smoke being blown away by the wind. I notice that two of the knights are undead. They are Death Knights. I immediately know now the figure atop the throne to be the God of Death whose name is lost to history. Knowing escape is impossible I slowly approach to beg to be let out of here. My approach prompts the God of Darkness to gesture and his two monk-looking advisors announce my name, "Marcus Engel seeks an audience with Alex Ashburn the God of Darkness."
Alex explained sensing my reluctance at his proposal and confusion as I was sure I died before coming here, "I snatched you and ferried you here before your death." I asked, "How don't you only control darkness and undeath?" Alex simply stated, "I control death not just undeath." Alex explained how if I give him a chance I will realize my perception of him had been poisoned by hearsay and lies perpetuated by priests of "good" gods. The God of Darkness said, "I am no more selfish than any other god only more reclusive and feared. I am feared and shunned by the other gods because my power over death has no less effect on gods than mortals." He continued, "People fear my power because I control darkness and death but neither are evil both are necessary. Light can not exist without darkness and life without death becomes pointless." I interject asking how death is good and he replies, "Death allows new life to flourish building upon the remains of the old. Death is an intrinsic part of life both an end and a new beginning."
I ponder what the God of Darkness has told me as a fourteen-year-old boy as I consider the proposition of becoming his prophet. My life was never glamorous as a poor orphan boy shunned and oppressed by society. I clung to the shadows and became a thief to survive. I decided that at least I won't have to worry about starving with the abilities the God of Darkness grants me so I accept the proposal. Upon agreeing two things occur. First, a magic contract is formed and my first black magic circle is formed around my heart making me a necromancer. Second, a veil is lifted from my eyes allowing me to see through the shadows realizing the God of Darkness was really a Goddess and Alex was short for Alexandra. Her skin was as pale as a pale porcelain doll, her eyes a bright glowing red indicator of a vampire, her hair a fiery purple with wisps of purple hell flame drifting off her long hair. Closely following this revelation the monk-looking advisors who are now clearly liches announce my departure, "Marcus Engel the Third Prophet of Darkness departs Castle Violeta."
I was then unceremoniously dropped right back to the terrible situation I came from right before I died. Being the punching bag of the local lord's son. This time would be different. I would be different.
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- This is my first post here and I know I am not a great writer but the writing prompt kept nagging me in the corner of my mind and I kept developing the story as I did chores so I decided to sit down and just type out what I had so far. Constructive feedback is welcome. | 12 | The God of Darkness has chosen you as their new prophet. You found this somewhat worrying at first but they are a lot nicer than you thought they would be. | 102 |
Unthinkable. The whole thing was just... unthinkable.
None of us saw it coming. That the Lambs would become unpalatable to our kind. A defense mounted not in strength, but in weakness. An insidious, hateful defense.
It began a little under two centuries ago. The Blood was... *souring* somehow. A foulness had crept in, first detectable as a flavor: rancid on the tongue and curdling in the gut. Like old milk. That was the closest one could describe it in mortal terms. Like drinking milk from a pail left in the sun. And it was happening more and more often. But, one must still feed. So we simply ignored it, as best we were able.
But then it worsened. One generation of the Lambs later, the Blood became not merely foul to the taste, but harmful to us. The throat closed around it, refusing to let it in. And those that forced it down began to suffer, their bodies racked in anguish by illness.
Fortunately, not all of the Lambs exhibited this trait. Perhaps one in five. Those with livestock purged the unclean ones from their herds, fostering only the Pure Blood. And we pulled the threads of the Lambs' society, instructing them to study, to use their Science to determine the cause of this Souring, and find means to combat it. The results were... disheartening.
The Lambs, it seemed, were changing. A new weapon in their immune systems, a tiny organism not unlike a virus, yet synthesized by the body itself. Left alone in the veins of a Lamb, it did nothing more than produce a chemical which made the Blood distasteful to us. But this was not the little devils' only function. They attacked and colonized necrotic tissue, somehow revivifying dead cells and forcing them to produce more of themselves. An infection of this kind in our bodies could rapidly grow out of control; a wildfire spreading from one dry twig to the next. And the Blood was now filling with them.
"Anecrophagia", the Lambs named it. We called it The Filth.
A mere century later, one in three of the Lambs had The Filth in their blood. And worse yet, The Filth seemed to be communicable. Through transfusion, serums, and other arts of the Lambs' medicine, The Filth could be taken from an Unclean Lamb and forever sully the Pure Blood of a clean one.
As for our control over the Lambs... the breakdown was near total. Some of the Elders retain a semblance their former power, carefully plucking the strings of their little kingdoms, while sipping only the finest of vintages. But times are still lean, even for the mighty; and there have been disappearances among the Courts of late.
Hunger is spreading among us. Farms were raised, but this ended poorly. Even in ideal circumstances, they never could have fed us all... and then The Filth crept into most of them, forcing their closure. Many of our kind grow so hungry they go into states of frenzy, so lustfull for Blood that they slaughter Lambs openly in the streets, guzzling their foul Blood even as it kills them. Others attempt to subsist on the blood of lesser animals. As they do so, they became more and more animal themselves, eventually becoming debased and feral, a mockery of our true place as the Predators of Predators. Yet others turn to cannibalism, taking the Blood of others of our kind. An... *inefficient* solution, but one which remains viable, at least in the short term.
But for those of great enough power, and strong enough will, another path is available. Some have already deliberately entered a state of Catatonia, sealing themselves away and slumbering deep. I will soon join them. I will sleep, for as many centuries, as many millennia, as many ages of the Earth as it takes. The Filth will wash away in time. And when it does, We will awake.
And We will be hungry. | 11 | You've seen and experienced many new things as a vampire. You didn't anticipate human blood evolving to the point where it's becoming undrinkable. | 16 |
On my fourteenth birthday I was led down into the school basement, down to where the machine nested. As soon as I sat in front of it, its snake-like arm shot out and bit into my hand, drawing blood for its analysis.
Usually, once complete, it would print out a detailed report on your power, as well as recommended jobs, clubs to join with similar children, training routines, etc.
All I got was a simple, four-word note. I don’t think it would have qualified as a fortune cookie, even. Perhaps only as allergy advice.
**Don’t touch the water.**
The excitement of the last few years, of waiting to find out my future, evaporated like morning dew. *Don’t touch the water.*
”But I’ve touched water plenty,” I said to the counsellor — a grey haired school teacher who’d escorted me to the machine. She looked as perplexed as I was disappointed.
”Yes, well, that was before. The machine has activated your power now. It would have activated itself naturally sooner or later, but the machine stimulated it.”
”So… My power is that I can’t touch water?”
She read the note again. Clicked her tongue. ”That’s what it says.”
I hadn’t been expecting much of a power. Usually, people just get something boring, so why would I be any different? I’d known people who could warm their hands up without needing gloves, or who are pretty good at breathing at high altitudes. My best friend at school (a few months older than me) could spit out a stream of warm black tea as long as he’d drunk enough water — although not many people wanted to drink it. Another kid at school left a slimy trail behind wherever her skin touched, like a snail or slug. Which sounds pretty lame until you saw her slurping up the side of a building — then you didn’t care how gross it was, you still wished that was you.
My counsellor took me to the nurse where she tested a drop of water on my index finger.
”We need to know what it means, exactly,” said the nurse. “Imagine he can’t go out in the rain. Or can’t swim. Or can’t drink water! Poor child.”
Nothing seemed to happen to my finger, so the nurse let a few more drops fall onto me. Where the drops hit, my finger began to grow. The skin became swollen, like a balloon the size of a table tennis ball.
”Oh dear,” said the nurse.
Turned out that I could at least drink water, as long as it didn’t hit my lips. But if my skin were to come into contact with liquid, then it would swell up horribly.
*Don’t touch the water.*
I told my parents that night. They pretended it was fine. They pretended they hadn’t been waiting, just as excitedly as I had, for all these years.
“Powers are overrated,” said my dad, chewing on a piece of steak. “Only one in every few million are useful to society.”
”The world would be better off if no one had powers,” said Mom.
”That’s easy for you two to say,” I said, tears welling. I blinked them back so my face didn’t bloat.
Mom worked on a wind farm. She could breathe out gusts strong enough to rotate an acre of wind turbines. Dad was a walker: he walked through our coastal town day after day, absorbing carbon emissions from the air. It was a passive ability and the government paid him to just be out there, walking.
I think they’d been hoping for something similar for me. A useful ability. Something that could help the world. And sometimes abilities are like that, hereditary. But not mine.
“Your mother’s right,” said my father. “They just cause jealousy and conflict.”
”You’re saving the planet!” I said. “How can that be bad?”
He had no answer to that.
“And me? I can’t even go outside on a rainy day anymore. What kind of life is that?“
My relationship with my parents was never the same after that day. Something had fallen between us, like a block of ice, and whenever we spoke or interacted it was through the block of ice. Our words always turned cold.
I moved out when I turned eighteen and into a one bed flat inland, away from their home by the coast. Away from all that water. Being around my parents only made me ashamed of what I had. And for them, whenever we talked, I could tell they were ashamed of me too. They’d both taken on more work since my ability — or curse — had manifested. Both preferring to be out of the house as much as possible, rather than be near the chill of ice than ran between us.
​
Then, when i was nineteen, my mother died.
I hadn’t visited in six months. I’d barely left my apartment in that time — first to avoid rain, then later to avoid everything. Then one afternoon my father called to tell me Mom had died at work. She’d been straining too hard during a power outage, to try to make sure people had enough heat in their homes. Her heart had given up.
After the funeral, I stayed with my father for a few days. And whatever depression I’d already been in engulfed me completely. A fuller, deeper shame of myself, of who I was. Of holding that anger against my mother for five years. Of barely speaking to her since I left.
*Her heart had given up.* Those words haunted me.
I was angry at everyone’s powers, too. My mother, because of her power, had worked herself to death.
The world truly would be better if we were all normal.
​
My father and I were eating toast in our usual miserable silence, when the message came over the television. An emergency broadcast.
A tsunami warning.
It would be a big one, apparently. Big enough to mostly destroy the little town I’d grown up in. And if we didn’t leave now it would destroy us both, too.
”Come on,” I said. “We need to evacuate.”
My father looked at me. Opened his mouth but said nothing. Then he went back to his toast.
”We’ve got to go,” I insisted.
“To where?” he said. ”I don’t have her anymore. I don’t have you. If I lose this house, I have nothing left.”
I yelled at him, told him how stubborn and stupid he was being. But he wouldn’t budge. I grabbed a coat and left him at the kitchen table.
”She loved you more than the world,” he said, as I opened the front door.
I swallowed back my guilt as I stepped out and closed the door.
The street brimmed with people and cars. But the cars were moving at a crawl. We had twenty minutes perhaps, before the wall of water hit.
How many here were going to die? Most of them, I thought. My best bet was to cycle, to weave through the people and cars.
But instead I looked out towards the ocean. Imagined the wall of black water heading inexorably towards us, somewhere out there. I imagined it falling on the town like a fist. On my mother’s fresh grave. On my father, alone at the table. On all these people stuck in traffic.
I thought of the day I’d gotten my ability. Of being in the nurse’s office. Of all the drips of water had left me painfully swollen.
I left my father’s house and headed towards the beach.
I hadn’t been to a beach since I was fourteen, afraid of the waves. I had locked myself away from water and from most of the world since my gift arrived. Now I stepped onto the sand, taking off my shoes and socks, feeling the warmth between my toes.
Memories flooded back, of being here with my parents as a child. Playing soccer with Dad, diving in the waves, digging a hole to bury my mother up to her neck.
For the first time since her death I let myself cry. I felt my skin beneath my eyes swell up as the tears hit.
”I love you,” I said to the air, to the beach, to nothing, as I walked towards the ocean.
*Don’t touch the water.*
I stepped into the sea. | 3,441 | When they turn 14, every human gets an obscure super power with a lengthy description of it so they know what it is. But when yours arrives, it only says four words. “Don’t… | 5,048 |
I am one of the myriad.
You haven’t heard of us? Oh, well, I know that. I mean, duh. If anyone knew I’d snuck on to the Internet and spilled the beans about Project Myriad, well… it’s not like they can really do anything now.
You haven’t heard of the myriad because we are a top secret government project. Sixteen years ago, a team of geneticists injected 25 fetuses with an unstable genome during the first trimester. Of those 25, only 3 of us came to term.
Each of us have biology similar to a human with one key difference: each time we go to sleep, as our bodies enter REM, our genetic code completely rewrites itself. We wake up from the cold cots of the compound looking completely different each morning.
More than that, each day we develop a different power. I know that sounds vague, but let me try to clarify.
I’ll start with One. She predominantly reawakens as a female, and even if she doesn’t, she still identifies as she/her. One typically has powers that control or emit a physical phenomenon (ie: lazer eyes, pyrokinesis, or super strength)
Two is different. His powers aren’t as flashy as One’s often are, but they usually have to do with his inner mind. He often awakens with abilities like telekinesis, mind control, and foresight.
I’m Three and I’m the odd ball of the group. My powers are almost always useless and only ever seem to affect me. Once I woke up with the ability to grow my nails as long as I wanted, another time I was given an extra row of eyelashes, and on an infamous occasion I woke up and my only ability was to lie. Like, I was physically unable to tell the truth that day.
It sucked and I made One and Two nearly hate me before the scientists finally pinpointed my ability, but today is far worse. One has dubbed my current ability ‘Insomnia.’ The reason being that I am now completely unable to sleep.
Without being able to enter REM, my body isn’t changing anymore. It’s been three days. I feel like I'm going crazy and the scientists at the compound are saying that my unstable DNA seems to be breaking down.
So anyway… Does anyone have any advice on how I can get to sleep?
I mean, it’s only my life at stake here. | 22 | Each time you awaken from sleep, you change what superpower you have, the superpower remains until you go to sleep | 46 |
Fifteen years of blood sweat and tears lead to this moment. My armor glinted in the sun as I stood on a determined battlefield. With the shield, I’d forged out of the heart of a Great Colossus no blade arrow, or flaming missile would be able to scratch me.
“Prepare to breathe your last Darkone!” I said, taking my battle stance.
“Those are big words for such a small mortal!” The Dark Lord replied the long flowing black garb draping across her nearly seven-foot-tall body flapping in the wind.
“Leave now and I shall forgive your trespass on my territory this one and allow you to die a natural death!”
“Your reign of terror stop this day!” I shouted beating my sword against my impenetrable shield. “No blade or arrow you can craft will be able to break through my shield. For it is no ordinary shield it is-”
“Forged from the heart of a Great Colossus” The dark lord interrupted taking a bit of the wind out of my prepared speech. “Yes, yes, I am aware of your little shield... all and all it is quite impressive.”
“Impressive!” I scoffed, “Do not mock me with your childish words! No blade or arrow can-”
“Peirce your shield...” She interrupted once again making my blood boil. “No, No, I get it, I do man... it’s truly impressive... I’m sure you worked really hard on it... it just...”
“Do you think your mind tricks will work on me she-demon?” I said, “There is nothing you can do to escape my shield and blade of justice!”
She sighed before reaching into the back of her waistband retrieving a strange metal object.
“Wait for a second!” I shouted pointing with my sword towards what she held “is that a-”
“A highly modified Q-947 long-range double-barrel shotgun with a tactical 24 clip magazine...” She said, holding the overly engineered piece of America. “Yes. yes, it is.”
I couldn't say a word, it was like the breath had been taken out of me.
“Now I’ll ask you again,” she continued now speaking in a southern dawn, “You wanna take you cute little shield there and get off my property before I pump you full of led?”
And that’s how I realized I wasn't the only off-worlder on this planet. | 18 | before the villain pulls out a gun. | 20 |
I am a lonely creature.
In my culture, it is only proper for a mother or father to groom their child, or for mates to groom each other. Beyond this, mating, and combat, we have no need for physical contact. It is not allowed.
Many others, on the Intergalactic Fleet ship I crew, are similar in their cultures. Most of them are not nearly strict; many allow the clasps of arms in brotherhood, or of appendages in greeting, or a touching of antennae. Still even these touches are brief, never allowed to be prolonged with exception to their special few.
The exception to this is the Humans.
I was warned, in the Cross-Cultural training I was given, that Humans are social creatures of *touch*. They, too, clasp arms and shake appendages, and touch heads like antennae. But it is nearly always prolonged. In addition, they embrace one another, regardless of familial status or matehood. Some even hold a culture of placing their mouths on one another in a 'kiss', as *greetings* to one another.
Though I deny it, I am envious of these Humans. They, who are so open, who can touch one another in bonds of friendship. Though I will admit that I may be envious for reasons outside of culture; it may be frustration as well. My mating seasons have been... difficult, to say the least, and I no longer have mother nor father to groom me. The only physical contact I have is combat training, and when I mimic the greetings of other races, as a show of cultural friendship.
I suppose that is excuse I use, when I allow my Human counterpart to touch me. 'Cultural exchange'. She has mentioned before that my fur looks soft, and that she would love to 'pet' me. That I remind her of an Earth creature, by the name of 'cat', a creature she once cared for. My sudden acceptance, after so many times of refusal, has her confused. She confirms I am okay with it, with my only request being secrecy. Xa'tal knows the last thing I need is something like this on my records.
So now we sit, with her excited to 'pet something fluffy again', and me uncertain in my decisions. But I have made my choice. I nod in approval, and allow her to 'pet'.
By the Nines, it is intoxicating.
It is...not exactly the same as grooming, though it is similar. There is no bonding like familial grooming, nor the romance of mate grooming. It is just...pleasure, pure and unadulterated. The digits of the Human find itches I knew not I had; the light pressure, the soft pull, simply *divine*. I have no other way to describe it. I was immediately lost to myself, acting in base emotion and pleasure. I made *sounds* I did not know I could. 'Purring', I believe she called it.
Nine Divines, I beg of your forgiveness. I am certain I have made a mistake. I am addicted, to this petting. I could certainly never get enough.
But by Your Names, if this is wrong, I do not wish to be right. | 1,318 | Alien species made it very clear that humans were to suppress their urge to touch other non-humans aboard mixed species ships, given in nearly all their cultures physical contact was reserved for mother and mates only. Then a curious alien let their human friend pet them for the first time. | 1,682 |
Crawthorne made the decision very early on to begin searching for others like him when he realized that the projection of the human race was beginning to bore him. Sure, humans had managed to successfully recreate fire multiple times (it was a miracle it happened *again* after the first bloke accidentally lit himself ablaze, taking the secret of fire-starting with him to the grave for at least another 200 years), and now humans were walking around with all of their collective knowledge stored in a small device that would fit in their pockets, but that hadn't been enough for Crawthorne.
It had been... predictable.
Back in his study in his home on the corner of Cedar and Oak street, Crawthorne had kept a parchment of the running tally of how many times a human's invention would somehow be used for sex within the first year of it being invented, and the tally had grown incredibly large (he had been there when the creation of the atomic bomb had been "*consummated*", and it wasn't pretty), but apart from that, he had grown increasingly frustrated with just how *boring* everything had been.
So in order to find others like himself, others who were destined, or cursed, to forever roam the world and view the many different ways humans could screw themselves (both literally and figuratively), Crawthorne began leaving clues.
All over the world, he left clues.
In the Stone Age, he left a pile of rocks, that when deduced, spelled out a sentence in a particular dialect.
Years later, when humans had discovered farming, Crawthorne had planted several seeds whose blossoming plants would arrange themselves in a message. He had to be careful when he attempted planting in different regions of the world. Certain climates wouldn't allow his seeds to grow, so it was a bit of trial and error here and there, but no big deal. The next message in his centuries long scavenger hunt would be successfully *planted*.
In the metal ages, Crawthorne began leaving messages on parchment, nailed to buildings on street corners, another piece of information that would slowly lead others closer and closer to Crawthorne's planned meeting place.
Parchments nailed to buildings quickly turned to letters posted to bulletin boards, and then eventually messages posted on Internet forums, a trail that supposedly only immortals would be able to decipher continuously growing longer and longer.
Until finally, Crawthorne taped up one last message, a typed out letter that he scotch taped to the front window of a small pub in the middle of the desert in Nevada, land of the free, USA.
**To all those who have been following all this time, meet here on Tuesday, 6 p.m.**
**Looking forward to meeting you**
**Order a Whiskey Sour from the barkeep**
**With Love**
**CT**
***
CT had drunk himself into a stupor by 5 p.m. on the dot precisely. He was slumped over on the bar, where an elderly barkeep with a beard so long that it would sometimes accidentally dip itself into patron's beverages had been mopping up a drink that CT had spilled.
The barkeep, Earl, huffed to himself as he mopped up the mess, shaking his head, whipping his long white beard back and forth. He had half a mind to kick CT out, but the fact of the matter was that whenever CT was around, all of the bikers playing pool tended to mind their manners.
Because of that fact, Earl let CT make a fool of himself regularly in the bar. The man always paid his tab, and always had interesting stories to tell.
*"You ever go bowling?"* CT had asked Earl on one slow moving evening.
*"I'm more of a pool guy."* Earl said.
CT had drunkedly spun in his chair, looking over to the billiards table where a group of bikers had been racking up a new game. He spun back around, almost falling off the stool, and said, *"You wouldn't believe the number of times a fella has gotten his prick stuck in a bowling ball, and let me tell you, it's not a pretty sight if and* **WHEN** *they accidentally drop it."*
Earl chuckled to himself at the memory, then nudged the snoring CT, "It's almost 6 p.m., ain't you got a meeting starting soon?"
CT stirred from his slumber, his mouth dry and his head fuzzy. He checked his wristwatch, and saw that it was 6 p.m. on the dot. He sighed, and said, "Can you get me a whiskey sour, Earl?"
"Sure you don't want a water?" Earl asked.
CT muttered something unintelligible, then dropped his head back onto the bar. Earl sighed, and got to work crafting CT a whiskey sour. As the old barkeep shook together CT's drink, CT thought about all of the clues he had left behind over the course of several centuries, wondering if there really *had* been any others like him, and if there were, maybe they had missed one of his clues. Maybe the wild goose chase he had designed to weed out any imposters was far too complicated.
If there *were* other immortals like him, maybe they were too dumb to solve some simple word-play puzzles.
Earl presented CT with a freshly made whiskey sour.
"Thanks," CT said, picking his head up and wrapping his cold fingers around the equally cold drink. If there were any other immortals, maybe they had drunken themselves into oblivion, like he currently was.
"That looks good," a woman's voice said, approaching the bar.
"Whiskey sour?" Earl asked.
"Yeah, give me one," she said, pulling out the bar stool and sitting next to CT.
"That *does* look good," another voice said, pulling out another bar stool on the other side of CT. "I'll have one too, but make mine a double."
"Sure thing," Earl said.
CT picked his head up and looked to both sides of him, and saw a middle-aged woman with red hair sitting to his left, and a very muscular man sitting to his right. The woman was wearing a business suit, as if she had just gotten off a jet that had left from an important business conference. The man, on the other hand, was wearing a loose fitting tank top and gym shorts.
Earl presented the two new patrons with their drinks.
"Looks like we all have great taste," CT muttered.
"That we do," the woman said.
"Cheers," the man said.
The trio raised their drinks, and before they clinked them, CT asked, "Who are we cheersing to?"
"To Crawthorne," the woman said.
"To Crawthorne," the man said.
CT's eyes went wide.
The door to the bar banged open, and in walked several more patrons. The front of the pack was a short man with spiked black hair and a goatee, "Sorry, running a bit late. Also, the row of bikes to the side of the bar?"
The bikers who had been playing pool stopped their game, their ears pricking up at the mention of their bikes.
"I accidentally knocked one over, and well, ya know how dominoes goes."
"Son of a bitch," one of the bikers muttered, making his way out of the bar through a side door.
"Accidents happen," the spiked hair man said. "Barkeep?"
Earl nodded.
"A round of whiskey sours for me and all my friends here, and put it on Crawthorne's tab."
CT dropped his glass, his drink shattering on the bar.
"Goddammit!" Earl huffed. | 12 | You have been alive for millennia. It got exhausting really fast. Recently, you started a support group for others in similar situations. Turn out was shockingly large. | 51 |
The Black Palace.
It took me three years to get here. Three years of dragging my ass through every murkwater swamp and frozen tundra I could find, trailing behind parties of would-be adventurers with a mountain of magic and steel on my back all because they don't want to be the ones carrying the heavy stuff when we hit difficult terrain. Not exactly the most glorious origin story to a world-changing event, but I guess that will only make it all the sweeter.
Let me introduce myself.
I’m the whipping girl who presents a backup staff before you can think to ask for it. The friendly face that always has stain remover on hand when the dragon falls and you notice its blood likes metal just a little too much. The cook who always has fresh ingredients for a celebration dinner, or wood for a pyre if the day turns sour. I’ve seen armies fall, evil vanquished and the world saved more times than I can count, and that’s coming from the girl who tracks every copper coin dropped.
Despite all of this… I bet you’ve never heard my name, not even once. No bard has spent the breath to sing it, no historian the ink to note it down. At most, if you walk in the right circles with the kind of people who spend their lives desperately trying to throw them away for riches and glory, you might have heard my nickname: The Packmule. Not exactly flattering is it?
Still, I endure, just like I always do. Probably helps that I likely have more literal endurance than anyone else on this continent, maybe even planet. It comes with the Path, the exact same as the nickname. Packmule, the least desired Path anyone can be born with here. It’s like having “second class” stamped on your forehead before you can scream out your first breath. You can’t change it, so why fight it? At least that had been the plan until the discovery.
If you’ll permit me, let me go back a little. To the real start, so what comes after makes more sense. After all, it would hardly make sense to start with success without the foundation of struggle. I earned this, and I want you to see every step.
You see, I’m not from here. Not in the regional ‘one town over my oh my aren’t the trees different here’ sense. No, I was born in another world. A place of steel towers and far less wizards (though sadly just as many magicians). Then one night I went to sleep in the same bed that had been mine for most of my life after a long day achieving little behind a desk I had learned to hate, hoping to dream of a more exciting world than the one I found myself in. I got my wish as it turns out, though in a far more extreme way than planned.
Instead of dreams, I found myself reborn entirely. The first few years are a blur. A child’s mind hardly has room for the confused memories of an adult, so instead I focused on the more important things: How to walk. How to talk. And, hardest of all, how not to crap myself repeatedly. You’ll be pleased to know I managed all three.
My parents, my new ones that is, are kind folk. Retired adventurers themselves who had met as part of a travelling group, settling down as their age went up, and their ability to dodge arrows went down. They just assumed my confused childhood ramblings were made-up childish ramblings, perhaps some indication of talent towards storytelling even, the beginnings of my Path. Still, they humoured me enough that through our conversations it became clear that I was on my own here. My experience was, seemingly, unique. And more importantly, irreversible. Like it or not I was stuck in a world of dragons and gods. And, at first, that suited me just fine. After all, haven't we all dreamt of falling through a movie screen or into the pages of a book, an escape into a world with completely different rules just waiting to be explored? That’s how I felt… at least, until the Destiny Trial.
Everyone born here has a Path. A skill or purpose ingrained in your very soul that gives you access to talents and skills that make you uniquely suited to certain roles or occupations, one which is revealed to you on the day you become an adult. That’s not to say that you can’t choose to become something else, but you won’t be even a fraction as good at it as someone who was destined to that life by their Path. For example:
My new father is an Archer. That’s capital ‘A’ archer, Path destined and everything. The man can put an arrow in targets far enough away that you or I couldn’t even see them, let alone aim at them. But to him, it comes as naturally as breathing.
The number of Path’s is vast, covering everything from Runecrafting to Sculpting. Most tend to come with some sort of advantage in fighting, some survival mechanism that has been well explored by those who have come before you. Enough that you can, with little hesitation, turn nearly any Path into a life of adventure should you choose to. Notice the ‘nearly’ in that last sentence? I bet you can guess where I am going with this next.
Packmule. The carrying Path. The ability to lift great weights and store more items in confined spaces… and that’s just about it. I’m a walking, talking, glorified storage crate. A destiny that, quite frankly, I have thought for nearly my entire life was absolute bullshit.
But that brings us back to now. To the three year plan and today. What changed? I hear you ask. Did you find a way to pick a new Path? Did you join a better adventuring party? Perhaps some great benefactor saw the hidden truth to your talents and decided to hire you for a substantial amount of money? Nope. It’s simpler than that: I found a way to break the system.
You, as I did when first really digging into the details of this world, might have noticed that it all sounds a little… gamey. Like somewhere in the background a pair of large dice are being rolled by an infinitely larger hand, all while tables are consulted and rules checked twice. Everywhere I looked there were systems. For what creatures were most likely to hoard specific items. For how many materials it took to craft weapons. All the way down to small things like how often you feel hungry here (three times a day, like clockwork. It’s almost bizarre when you first notice it).
All of which led me, when I got over the rage of being told my Path by screaming obscenities into a pillow and cursing whatever divine entity I had apparently pissed off enough to treat me this way, to a simple conclusion: If there’s a system, there has to be an exploit. A loophole not yet closed, a mistake lurking in the shadows just waiting to be found. And I’m happy to report that not only was I right, but what I discovered was better than I could have ever hoped. | 136 | if you activate a scroll in your item box, it doesn’t vanish. | 310 |
"Commander! We've got another reading"
My heart sank upon hearing the young science officer's statement. In the past, I had jumped to action when I heard these notifications. Evidence of alien civilizations had been such an exciting divergence from the mundane boredom of planetary mining. The possibilities could have been endless, could have revealed mind blowing art or dazzling technology.... but never had. Not the first time, not the last hundred times, and most likely, not this time either.
"What does it look like, Ensign?" I replied, hoping my dread didn't come through too much in my voice.
"This is just a preliminary, sir, but..."
"Spit it out, son" This time, my irritation was definitely clear in my voice. "It's not going to be any better news if it's dragged out"
The young science officer took a quick, deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. He hadn't always been like this. When he first came aboard, he had been a confident, quick witted fresh graduate from The Academy. Now.... well, now he was like the rest of us. Burnt out, dreading each and every minute at his station. Awaiting the next grim finding in what was supposed to be a simple mineral survey.
"It's the same one, sir. The same as all the rest. The same damn message broadcast on the same damn frequency."
I closed my eyes and rested my head in my hands, hunched over in the Captain's chair. I couldn't call it my chair, even though my field promotion had made it mine. After the Captain had done what he did, the stains and blaster burns had marked it as his chair far more than the nameplate ever had.
"Are you absolutely sure, Ensign" I said, more as a statement than a question. "Are you sure there's not a new part at the end, a new background voice, maybe-"
Ensign Fitzpatrick turned in his chair, glaring at me but also looking through me, eyes not focused on anything. "If you want to listen to hours of yourself screaming, then by all means, play the fucking thing over the ship's speakers. I'm not sitting through this again. I can't. I can't I can't I can't...."
I saw the signs too late. We had all had the basic psychiatric training at one point or another, knew the signs of self harm or suicidal thoughts. But after dealing with this shit for so long, losing so many close friends and crewmen... I supposed my reaction times were just dulled too far to stop him.
In one swift move, the young Ensign drew his service blaster, brought it to his head, and made sure he would never hear the message again. He wouldn't hear anything ever again.
I stood and stumbled the few short steps from the chair to his station. Medical protocol said to check his neck for a pulse, but there wasn't enough neck left to check on the corpse of Ensign Fitzpatrick. There wasn't much of anything left above his shoulders.
An alarm started sounding from nearby, saying something about a hull breach. I paid it no attention. The ship would fix itself anyways, why the hell did it insist on telling everyone. In a few moments it would be good as new, except for some slight discoloration from blaster burns and blood stains. Just the latest spot in a checkered mosaic of despair. Nobody would be left to see the finished masterpiece, after I added my own dot up there. I knew as I cradled my last crewmate's rapidly cooling body that it wasn't a matter of if I would join them, but when.
But first, I had a job to do. A duty to make sure this message was what I feared it was. Of what I knew it had to be.
I laid Ensign Fitzpatrick down by his station, and pressed the blinking icon that read "Receive Transmission". The same dreadful audio began to play as I folded the young science officer's hands across his chest.
"Mayday, mayday" I heard myself scream. I had never spoken these words, but it was clearly my voice that blared from the ship's speakers. I could make out a few other voices that belonged to other former crew mates in the background. It was so strange. Their voices hadn't all been there at first, just my own and an indistinct droning sound. But after the first time we came across the message, after Rodriguez had cycled himself out the airlock, his voice had joined mine. The chorus of despair had only grown from there.
"I repeat, Mayday, Mayday. This is the mining ship Theseus. I am Commander Mobius, the only remaining survivor of the crew. We have discovered what I can only describe as Hell on Earth. The mining prospect B-GG-04-D was not a dead rock, as the deep space scans had suggested. It was a deceased planet. Our planet. Stripped of atmosphere, of life, of hope... all that is left is ruins, skeletons, toxic... oh God, its just GONE. This isn't Sol, but somehow it's Earth. I'm sending out this distress beacon not for rescue, but for warning. DO NOT APPROACH THE PLANET. I am attempting to scuttle the ship among the ruins of New York. I repeat..."
I heard my own desperation joined by the wails of the rest of the crew. Rodriguez, the Captain... and now a new voice rose from the background. A younger voice. Ensign Fitzpatrick's voice. "I CANT I CANT I CANT", he wailed. "I CANTICANTICANTICANT"
I knew what I had to do. I just didn't know if I could. I reached out to stop the incoming message, and to record a new one. "Mayday, Mayday" I said, for the first time, again.
r/SlightlyColdStories if you want. Or don't. It's all up to you. | 75 | As humanity expands into the solar system and begin mining resources, they start discovering ancient alien ruins. More troubling is that they greatly resemble th ruins of various human civilizations of the past. | 276 |
i was the number nice upvote
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In a society of a hundred people, you tend to know everyone.
But it’s hard to do that when all your friends celebrate their 18th birthday, and then disappear. Usually, there’s a ritual where everyone clusters around a round piece of cake, set it on fire, then chant the Birthday Song. Afterwards, the birthday boy/girl/etc blows out the fire, makes a silent wish, and then everyone falls asleep.
I got scolded a lot, by the 17 year olds, for not falling asleep. The 17 year olds are the ones in charge here, because all the 18 year olds are either gone or soon to be gone.
They have very set punishments, usually very creative, like standing on one leg while carrying a chair for three hours, or taking a shower in mud. I got most of the punishments, usually because I didn’t sleep.
How could you sleep, when you knew that when you woke up again, your friend would be gone, replaced by some baby? The 17-year-olds claimed it was by a mysterious group of people called the Guardians, but I found that doubtful and also ripping off many movie plots.
Today, it was Hector’s birthday. He was standing in front of the Cake, grinning nervously. I was standing in a corner, because Bruce said I was under monitoring, which meant I just stood there the whole time while no one brought me food and some kids jeered at me, which was boring and hungry.
Then it was time to sleep. They handed out sleeping bags, and made sure everyone, including me, went to sleep.
This time, I had a plan.
As the lights were turned off, everyone shut their eyes. I did, too, in case anyone was watching me, but kept my ears wide open.
About an hour later, snoring was coming from everywhere. I heard voices, and my eyes shot open.
”Hector, come on. Here’s a secret passage. Keep quiet. Don’t wake the others.” Bruce’s voice.
”Alright,” said Hector, “Uh, does this have to do with the disappearing?”
”Of course not, it’s just a small surprise we set up for you.”
That raised my suspicions and lowered Hector’s guard, because I heard soft footsteps and something closing. Slowly, I sat up. Everyone was asleep.
Taking off my socks, I creeped across the carpet and past the sleeping bags, until I came to Hector’s one. It was empty, of course. I looked around.
A hole, with a hastily placed lid. I couldn’t believed I hadn’t seen it before, but it had blended in seamlessly with the circle-designed carpet.
I took a deep breath and went in.
There was a huge room, with a giant fireplace. Hector, Bruce, and some of the other 17-year-olds were standing around it. The room was empty otherwise. I froze. I should’ve thought before I came down.
Bruce whirled around as I came in. Then he smirked. “Ah, Ada, you were always too curious for your own good.”
He gestured, and a few people suddenly restrained Hector, as he tried to scream to no avail. The rest advanced slowly on me. Bruce backed me up onto a wall. Then he turned to his second-in-command. ”You, keep her there while we deal with the boy. Then we can give her the same treatment and teach her a lesson.”
She nodded and pinned me to the wall. Some others handcuffed my hands and legs. Legcuffed? I thought, my mind playing with trivial thoughts while horrors ran through my unconscious. “Hang on, what are you going to do? And why do have handcuffs?”
Bruce said, without turning around, “Look, I’ve done research. Humans aren’t meant to have a long lifespan. They’re meant to be fit, and then die. I mean, look at animals. Old animals die soon, except for turtles, and we’re not talking about them. But as for humans, if they live too long, they might get a bit weak. Best to root them out.”
He grabbed Hector by the shoulder. “You see, on their 18th birthday, this is what we do to ‘em.“
He threw Hector in the flames, and someone covered my eyes. I could hear his shocked screams, and my heart pounded.
”Honestly, Ada. Have you ever heard of the saying, Curiosity killed the cat?” Bruce continued, barely flinching at the murder he had just committed. “If you had just stayed, you might have lived. But it’s too bad, honestly. Curiosity really does kill the cat.”
He gestured again, and they released me. I broke free and tried to charge at Bruce, but they held me back. “Curiosity killed the cat, the cat, the cat,” he repeated smugly, to the rhythm of water droplets.
Wait…
I turned my head around, and I saw a leak in the ceiling. It was dripping down, into a bucket half full of water. Immediately, I knew what to do. Without warning, I smashed past the others and grabbed the bucket of water, dousing the flames. Then in one fluid motion, I spun round and knocked Bruce on the head with it. He went out cold.
I faced the others, panting. They seemed too shocked to do anything. Slowly, I said, “You are not going to do this again, alright? No more killing. Humans are animals, but animals care too. Ever seen the elephant care for her baby? The tiger teach his child how to hunt? No more. You stop this, and tomorrow, I’m telling the others. You see what they do to you.”
They trembled in shock, but could only nod numbly. A person armed with a bucket is a dangerous thing.
”By the way,“ I added, “Ever heard the full saying? Curiosity killed the cat…
”*But satisfaction brought it back.*”
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I don’t really like this forgive me | 14 | When a human turns 18, they disappear. The population never changes from exactly 100. 18th birthdays are usually accompanied by rituals and are ended by falling asleep near midnight. One day, your curiosity overcomes you and you try to find out what the hell is going on. | 109 |
I have been very picky about the stories I read to my little boy, because, I’ve come to realise that sooner rather than later, we begin to live these stories, no matter how implausible they seem to be.
It first began with colourful butterflies suddenly filling the nursery as I cradled him in my arms and told him a story I was making up as I go about butterflies. I’d been showing him pictures of butterflies all afternoon and teaching him the names. I was a little freaked out, as one should, but I felt happy that butterflies have caught his attention that much.
I made it a mission to find the most wholesome stories to tell him as he drifted off to sleep, now knowing how much it affects him and the world around him.
His powers grew, however, and although it was still unintentional, he was altering reality more and more, now even when he’s not drifting off to sleep.
My neighbour stopped by for a minute and was venting about how she has to talk to our new neighbours about their dog who had ruined her garden once more. I was very sympathetic until I heard the slurping sounds at my feet. I looked down and the neighbours’ dog in question was licking at the legs of my son’s high chair. My son was clapping in absolute delight as the dog proceeded to dig a hole.. in our living room floor.
It was an awkward moment, of course, and my neighbour freaked out. I let them both politely out and proceeded to see how better to deal with that mess. My son gave me a wide two toothed smile and I couldn’t help but laugh.
Soon our life was filled with animals and jumping monkeys and sometimes we’d wake up to find ourselves in a jungle or on a beach somewhere.
The beach part was fine, but for someone who’s deathly afraid of deep waters, it was a panic when we were watching a documentary about dolphins and sharks and were suddenly surrounded by ocean water everywhere, big sharks and dolphins circling us as I held my son tightly, my legs working fast to keep us afloat. He was giggling as he watched, reaching with his hand to pet a shark.
“Now, baby,” I tried to say as calmly as possible. “Remember how much fun we had in the garden with the dog?” I said, reminding him of the garden at our house so he could take us back there before we get eaten alive. “Once upon a time the neighbour’s dog came into our garden and ran and ran around, licking my little baby’s ears and making him giggle.”
He looked at me and clapped excitedly and suddenly the dog was swimming with us too. I cursed under my breath as I maddeningly tried to keep my increasing panic under control.
“Okay. Once upon a time there was a beautiful princess named Rapunzel who lived in a tower far far away from water. It was a gorgeous tower with lots and lots of toys.”
In a few seconds we were swimming with a confused Rapunzel and lots and lots of toys were floating around us.
I tried many stories, trying to get him to take us anywhere but here, but nothing worked, and soon the water was crowded with the seven dwarfs, Harry Potter who somehow didn’t have a working wand or even a broomstick, a selection of farm animals, and lots and lots of butterflies, all swimming in the deep ocean and surrounded by a circle of now very confused sharks. I was crying with frustration at this point.
At least some toys stood between the sharks and us.
“Hey, baby,” I said, getting his attention once more. “Once upon a time there was a man so handsome and strong who would come home everyday to hug Baby and give him loads and loads of kisses. He’d bring toys and give Baby many tickles. The baby is always so happy and claps excitedly when he sees him, and throws himself at the man.”
“Dada!”
“Yes, that’s right! Dada comes home and takes Baby into his arms and rocks Baby to sleep.”
The farm animals around us disappeared one by one and soon the toys did, too.
“He takes Baby and sits with him on the beautiful living room sofa and tickles him.. tickle, tickle, tickle,” I continued as I tickled him and he giggled. The sharks and dolphins disappeared. “Then dada takes Baby to give him a bath and baby splashes in the tub excitedly.” I regretted this as soon as it came out of my mouth. We’re trying to get *out* of the water.
“Um, how much longer do we have to stay here?” Harry Potter said. “I was in the middle of a flying lesson-”
“Shhh,” Rapunzel shushed him and motioned for me to continue.
“Then mommy comes and takes Baby into her arms, and cuddles with him on the comfortable, very dry sofa, giving him many many kisses,” I said as I kissed his cheeks over and over.
I felt myself sitting down and opened my eyes. We were in the living room at home, sitting on our sofa, soaking wet.
“I’m home!” my husband announced as he came in through the door.
“Dada!”
“Oh, thank god,” I sighed with relief. | 13 | Your child was born with reality altering powers. Whenever you tell him a story, it may become true. Sometimes it's marvelous like unicorns and fairies, but other times... | 82 |
\-"Oh, for Satan's sake... another innocent girl? These villagers are so stupid! Haven't they learned that they will never be able to catch a real witch?"-
Nymphadora was walking past the center square of her small village in New England, where a group of men was tying up a horrified, screaming young woman to a pole. They keep yelling at her names like "Witch!", "Devil's Mistress," "Child Eater."
\-"She is barely a teenager; little Esther has no idea about the church of night!. I've seen her go to mass every Sunday. Well, if these imbeciles cannot deal with a Witch, let's see what they do with a saint..."
The witch pulled up her cloak to cover her face and recited an incantation, barely moving her lips.
A soft gust of wind barely moves the fire that had started to raise around Esther's legs. Soon, the flames engulf the young woman, who is not in pain anymore, none of her clothing or hair catches on fire, and a strong scent of roses fills the plaza.
The priest, a middle-aged, short, and stout man who had just stepped out of the church to watch the burning, stops in his tracks and witnesses the miracle.
"Santissima!! Beata Esther!" - The Priest yells. "Get her out of there immediately! God as send us an angel."
The men run to free Esther from the burning stake and help her down. Everybody gets closer to admiring her and touching her, expecting more miracles.
Nymphadora also walks to her and whispers in her ear before leaving:-"If you want to keep these fools amused, come to have a cup of tea at my place later, Esther. I have some girlfriends you would like to meet." | 13 | When an innocent woman is about to be burned at the stake for being a witch, a real witch decides to give her a second chance at life. | 40 |
Most people wouldn't have had a VHS player to play them. Most people wouldn't have looked twice at the moudly plastic bags holding the tapes. Most people wouldn't have been at the dump looking for things to begin with. But Anna always provided herself on thinking a little differently to everyone else. Seeing things that they missed.
The player itself had been a find only a few weeks earlier. Not that far from where she had found the tapes, as it happened. She slipped the first tape in -- it was just labelled E1 with a date -- and there was a series of clunks and thunks as physical things happened. Then the image appeared on the old CRT TV which had also come from the dump. She smiled in triumph. Three finds working together -- the tapes, the player, the TV. So much stuff that was still useful was just thrown out. So much stuff that...
The smile became fixed and then faded, and then her eyes were wide as she saw what was unfolding on the screen, hands covering her mouth as if she was silencing a scream.
She watched tape after tape. She knew they were real, as sure as she knew anything. Each one seemed worse than the last. The screams were the worst -- real screams were different to those from movies, no actor able to reach the proper level of true desperation. She knew she would be hearing them in her nightmares for the rest of her life, but she couldn't look away. She went through the tapes again -- 19 of them in all -- and only then saw one tape was out of order.
The label said : E0. WTC September 9/11. Recorded: 8/8/98.'
It took her a moment to make sense of it, and she smiled a slightly crazy, unhinged smile. World Trade Center. September 9/11. Recorded three years before it happened.
She put the tape in the machine and started it, holding her body physically still and stiff as if that would numb her mind. The camera angle was from the ground, not one she had ever seen before. People going about their daily lives. Some people glancing at the camera curiously, an era long before the commodification of video recording. The camera was focused on the towers, and it never wavered. *This person knew.* Whoever was shooting the footage. They were waiting.
The first plane impacted, and the screams began. Anna turned off the machine. She couldn't bear it.
She sat there in silence, shaking, sweating, not wanting to touch the tapes. But finally she went through them and set them in order, from E0 to E19. Twenty tapes in all. 'E' was event. Twenty events. The first was 9/11. Then there was a long gap.
The next date was June 8, 2022. Seattle.
Just a month away.
*Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck* she thought. She couldn't make herself move. Couldn't do anything. She had to tell someone. But who in their right mind would ever believe any of it? This was the deepfake era. Nothing was real.
She put the tape in the machine and pressed play. | 67 | A woman discovers a horrifying collection of VHS tapes in a landfill, each showing a disaster in the future she can try to prevent. | 590 |
It was the way he stared at me.
Golden retrievers are friendly, loving dogs - everyone knows that - but frankly, not particularly clever. Yet every time Champ looked at me there was this air of... understanding. Like he wasn't looking at me, but into me. It was an unsettling sensation until I got used to it a few weeks later. I just... felt like he wasn't the same Champ ever since he got run over by that car.
Took him to a vet sometime later, but he gave him a clean bill of health. Not even fleas on this pupper. I was a little freaked out when I dropped my spoon - a silver one - near him and he hissed. Not bark, hiss. Looked up a few books, and well...
I think my dog is a skinwalker.
But the thing is, he's a really good boy. Brings me newspapers, always happy to see me, never poops on the carpet, doesn't get in the trash... I mean I don't think I can complain really.
There was this one time I came home. As usual, he ran to me and playfully sat in front of me, as if the sly dog was prompting me to play. I bent over and gave him a pat on the head.
"Who's a good boy?" I said. His mouth opened.
I̷T̷ I̷S̷ I̷.̷ I̷ A̷M̷ T̷H̷E̷ G̷O̷O̷D̷ B̷O̷Y̷, he replied.
"Yes, *you are!*" I smiled and gave him another round of pats. | 49 | you are 100% sure that your pet is a skinwalker. But, they seem better behaved than your old pet, so you just let them be | 159 |
"Ah yeah, just another day at the parks!" I shout back, running with the man to wherever he was headed, given I had no other options at this point. The last thing I remember was reading a story about how Disney finally bought out almost every film company to exist, say for a few 'unaffiliated' companies in order to avoid potential lawsuits over a monopoly. I just sighed, it was late, and I was too tired to be dealing with the world at this point. Why would I care anyway? It's just movies, and it's not like Marvel had been swept under the rug since Disney bought it out. At first I thought what was happening was just a dream, but the distinct lack of a non-Euclidian structure for a hand told me otherwise. As we ran, I looked behind and I saw what appeared to be Mickey, now standing upright in the same place he had been before, just staring at us as we ran. "What the hell was that thing?" I shout, realizing how loud I was actually being and lowered myself a bit.
"*IS*", this mysterious man replied, "And it is one of the Dreams That Came to Life. Disney found, something, and they didn't know what it was. Some say it isn't necessarily their fault for what is happening, but I would say feeding your ideas into a mysterious contraption before even getting to an understanding of just *what* exactly it is gives them some liability."
"Will it follow us?" I ask, not wanting to turn around in case it was. "No, well probably not anyway. Ironically, the Mickeys are some of the weakest of them all, and act like a standard predator, giving up on a kill once it's determined to be too much trouble." The man states, in a tone as if it was the seven dozenth time he has had to explain it. "That doesn't mean we are in the clear, however. Considering how weak they are, the Mickeys will often act as scouts, looking for potential areas for the more powerful ones can strike. Considering how many I have found here so far, we could expect some more somewhere near, some more powerful than Mickey. In fact, watch the grass, because if you run near a Pluto secluded in the flowers, well, I won't be able to just split it's skull like I did before." The man stops, and takes a quick look around. He focused on one area in particular, I can't tell what he is looking at, but he soon turns away and deviates his course a bit. Whatever he saw, I sure didn't want to get near it either.
"Not much farther now, there is an outpost near here that we can rest at, I'll tell you more when we get there, but for now, just stay close to me, and for the love of god don't follow the smell, no matter how sweet it is." | 70 | "Don't trust them! Run!" | 257 |
"This actually happens quite a lot." I tell my friend, casually ignoring the knife at my throat. "Not with her specifically, but this general situation is quite common for me."
"Hey," the unknown assailant screams. "Stop ignoring me!"
"Now she's going to say 'We can do this this easy way or the hard way'"
"We can do this the easy... Stop that!"
I took a deep breath, trying to wrest as much sympathy out of my boredom as possible, "Listen, moppet. There is no easy way. There's probably not even a hard way. I want you to stop and think about why you have a knife to my throat. Why are you angry with me? Where did the knife come from? Do you know the answer to these questions?"
The woman blinks a few times and slowly lowers the blade and steps away from me.
"Good thinking. Now, hand the knife to Beth." I point to my friend, "That's Beth."
The bewildered woman mutters an apology and wanders off.
Beth tosses the knife onto the dining room table. "What the hell was that all about, Cat?"
"You know the girl I broke up with last year?"
"The one you said had anger management issues?"
"That's the one. Turns out she's one of those metahumans you hear about on the news. She can implant suggestions into people's minds. Pretty sure that's why I went out with her in the first place. "
"Yeah, didn't seem to be your type"
"She is a little bitter about the break-up, so she's been sending people after me. "
"Why don't you call the police?"
I pick up the knife and open a drawer full of knives, guns and tasers, and drop the knife in. "I kind of like the idea of her being constantly frustrated by failure. Plus, free knives!" | 309 | "This actually happens quite a lot." I tell my friend, casually ignoring the knife at my throat. "Not with her specifically, but this general situation is quite common for me." | 381 |
“No please, have mercy, we came in peace…”
The Mengkhrit *Warmaster* Alock’ha would have none of that. To him, the scene of some lowlife pirates pleading for life meant nothing. In a fell swoop, his metal blade pierced through the creature’s abdomen, ending its vital sign almost immediately. Puny scums – the Warmaster spat, glancing at the slumped corpse dressed in a long white robe ill-suited for combat. And then those vermin came to settle on Anakhthun illegally.
The other Mengkhrit warriors followed their leader suit; each person skewered their captives in quick succession. While leaving his warrior continued the ritualistic slaughter, Alock’ha took some time off to meet with his subordinate, down on the ship’s lower deck, telling him about something urgent.
The *Warmaster* subordinate, *Warchief* Alaan’shok greeted his superior on the way, great concern shown upon his warmask. Pointed toward the multitude of burning holes over the alien ship’s supposed engineering bay, littered with corpses of Mengkhrit warriors and the aliens, the Warmaster came face to face with the alien’s supposed Warchief, hacked from limbs to limbs, lying on the ground under a pool of viscous red fluid flowing from its body.
“Y'all gonna face it soon, humanity will strike back, not now, but oh they will…”
Ah, so that was the fable “humanity” – a small insignificant fringe world civilization from their homeworld *“A’romeday Theira”*. These primitive beings communicated via orifices, making sounds, slurred with their bodily fluids – disgusting. Thinking little, the *Warmaster* flicked his upper right arms for his subordinate to finish the job quickly.
“Anah-akhto, izhbunsh hyumineti alakharah shok…” – the *Warmaster*, opened up his warmask's speaker with a plastically spoken tone instead of their psychic-pheromone regular Manghkhrite way of communication, likely mimicking their dying captive, to mock his fruitless struggle, while his grunt shoved the metal skewer pierced through the captive’s thorax. Red viscous fluids bursted into streams then quickly came to a stop, as the alien creature slowly ceased its shivers.
“So what’s the urgency, *Warchief*, I hope you have good reason to call me off my sacred duty to our Gods…” – back toward the regular mode of communication, the *Warmaster* exuded his psychic-pheromone aura, flashing its vibrant slick colors in the air as he spoke. The subordinate *Warchief*, bowed down in acknowledgement, then promptly replied, psychic-pheromone emanated from the dreadlocks behind his warmask:
“Indeed, Warmaster… I do not think this ritual sacrifice of those… “humanity” alien creatures were a good idea… Look at this if you please…”
The four hands of the *Warchief* danced upon the holographic alien glyph covered keyboard, and in just an instance, a holographic display of their home system came into view: An orange star, surrounded by three rocky planets, sitting at the fringe of the galaxy. Surrounded the star systems were just a few other star systems, linked together in an alien network of lines and dots, with this infiltration vessel lying just short of a light-year from Mengkhrite space, vibrating something over the ripple of squares and cubes.
“What is the meaning of this, Warchief? Why do you show me this… alien conjecture of such worthless star system? We Mengkhrites could always wipe them all out in one fell swoop, you know that…”
“No, Warmaster, take a look at the line connecting their homeworld of *A’romeday Theira* to beyond the fringe…”
With four hands in a quick motion, the *Warchief* zoomed the display all the way back to quadrant level, then beyond to the galactic scale. The moment the display scale was push back further than that, then the usual smile of pride faded from the warmask of the *Warmaster*. Linking the *A’romeday Theira* system further were a series of lines and dots, all the way back at a distant stellar object, however with further zoom-in, turned out to be a galaxy – ***The Great Spinning Core.***
“So are you saying that…”
“Yes, Warmaster, we just pissed off an extra-galactic race superior than us in every way. And they had sent their distress call all the way back…” | 126 | “Sir the data is confirmed it appears that humanity did not actually develop on what we previously assumed to be their home world Terra Andromeda and instead are extra galactic explorers and pioneers. Yep we just pissed off a race our superior in every way.” | 185 |
I always dedicated my work to Demeter, but... not because I actually believed in her. She was more of a symbol - not to mention I would often invoke other nature deities. Geb. Osanyin. Grand Bois. Karærin. But... Demeter is the first that spoke to me.
I just got home. Cleaned up some trash in a nearby forest - I barely used my powers for it, not that it would have mattered much. Just moved a few roots to scoop some of it, nothing fancy. Yet as I closed my door, she stood there, glorious, magnificent. 3 meters tall and glowing. Safe to say it made me pause.
"Sam Nuens," she spoke. Her voice was booming, the very embodiment of authority, yet gentle. I suspect that might have had something to do with it being spring - Persephone would have a calming effect on her.
"I- uh..." was all I could muster. She gave me a warm smile in return - not just warm in the kind sense, it was *literally* warm. Felt like the sun touched my skin.
"I have been observing your efforts," she said.
"My... efforts?"
"Your quest to protect nature. You have done admirably given the limit of your powers. Many would have given up or even used them for personal gain. It would be very... *mortal*." She said the last word with an air of condescension.
"I, uh, am honored, Oh Demetér," I said and bowed my head.
"Oh please," she chuckled, "no need for such formalities. You've paid me respect enough through your action. Which does beg the question... why?" she raised her eyebrow.
"Why? Beg pardon, why *what*?"
"Why do you do it? Protect nature? You're mocked by others with powers that dwarf yours, yet you persist - a thankless job that you do nevertheless." I wasn't sure if I was to be insulted by her constant reminders of how weak my powers are or honored by her praising of my character. Still, I considered the question.
"It's... right. The Earth provides for us; we ought to provide for it." For the first time since we spoke, I looked her directly in the eye. She returned my gaze and nodded.
She moved a finger.
I fell to my knees.
My head was suddenly filled with vivid images, sounds, smells, a cacophony that overwhelmed the senses utterly, and moments later - it was gone.
"What did you do?" I cried out.
"Call it a boon. You should find your capabilities... extended."
I took a deep breath and... felt it. The power. I could feel everything. The dirt outside my home. The bugs buzzing about. The roots, deep and ancient, beneath the crust of the planet itself. I could feel it all.
"Why?" I asked.
"You've the spirit. The drive. But not the methods. You've tried good. To motivate and teach through your gentle disposition yet it led nowhere. It's time for a different approach."
"What are you suggesting?"
"Bring forth a winter eternal. Strangle their bodies with vines, wash away their filth with mighty tides, summon forth locusts to eat of their flesh. Save Mother Nature in my name," she commanded. My eyes went wide as I heard her proposition - she wanted me to bend the human race to my will. Her will. In the name of the Earth.
I was a hero. The good guy, who would help. But it didn't work. Day by day, humanity took more and more of Earth and give nothing back but pollution and misery. Perhaps...
I looked up at her and stood up.
"It will be done." | 522 | You were made fun of by the other superheroes for having small nature based powers. But it didn’t matter. You still saved lives as an environmentalist. Stopping pollution and oil spills. One day, the goddess Demeter gives your power a significant boost for your valiant efforts. | 1,237 |
Val still couldn't believe her luck. She was selected to be one of the scientific envoys in the inter-species science exchange! Only the very best from each field were sent, so she obviously had no idea why she was selected of all people. She had a PhD in microbiology & a Masters in Optics, but there were definitely people who did far more in both fields together, let alone separately. So why was she in a ship containing the most prominent scientists in a century?
She contemplated this as the ship dropped to sublight, entering the Venerra system.
She hadn't given much thought to one of her hobbies, building optical microscopes. Ever since her father showed one of the earliest microscopes, a simple 20x magnification one, she had, what many would classify as, an unhealthy obsession with them.
It fascinated her, an entire world for study, using tools that detected only what her eye could. In the following years, She had built far better microscopes than the one she had seen, with some of them rivalling the highest-resolution pictures she had taken. Of course, her microscopes had none of the portability or ease of use as her camera, but she felt that gave it another level of beauty.
But compared to the microscopes & cameras of today, optical microscopes were a far less efficient tool to see the what existed in the smallest scales. Optical microscopes were now more of a show piece than of any actual use, so her hobby remained a hobby. As such, she never considered microscopes were the reason why she was selected- after all, a species that developed FTL tech would have conquered microscopes far earlier, wouldn't they.
"I'll kill you if you put me here as a prank, Adrian" thought Val as she saw in the distance the signature blue-white flash of a ship jumping into FTL.
...
Their ship docked outside Union One, an enormous space station owned by the Scientific Advancement Association. It's main cylinder was over 10 kilometers in length, with many branches& & tori protruding from the edges. Every tori seemed to be made of a different material & rotated at differing speeds-- each tori seemed to be tailor made for a specific species.
She walked down Path 14, the one with 5 Taru (0.9 g) as its preset gravity (artificial gravity costed about a thousand times more per square meter than rotating habitats), along with a couple of Mahrs, a quadrupedal reptilian species hauling from a tropical planet, and a Zahdiar, a giant bipedal mammal who all looked suspiciously like yetis with bunny ears.
She had reached the Human tori, when the Zahdiar made his first noise. A low, guttural sound, it was converted to a human voice by her translator.
"You're here for the scientific exchange?" the voice said, with a slight rising tone to indicate a question.
"Me? Oh, yes." Val was slightly taken aback-- she was half-convinced the Zahdiar was mute with how silently they had walked with her this past half kilometer.
"What's your specialization?" the Zahdiar asked, with their face scrunching up somewhat, which Val remembered represented something like apprehension.
"Technically microbiology ecosystems, but five microbiologists are already here, so I have no idea why am I here too"
The Zahdiar's ears drooped, a unique sign of theirs that shows they are relaxed. "Oh Thank", a guttural sound was heard again-- seems like the translator couldn't quite catch this word "I thought I was the only one who didn't know why they were here. I'm a light scientist, a pretty new field in our world, but 2 light scientists are already here so I don't why I was brought here too"
The Zahdiar suddenly crouched low enough to speak directly in Val's ears. He said in a whisper "I heard our coordinator saying something about a species having the technologies to see the gods. I know, that's a pretty wild story, but our coordinator isn't one to spread rumours. And the rumours, they are far more unbelievable- some say they can control the gods, other say they have the power to kill pretty much all the gods in one area." They looked at Val, waiting for her to say something.
Val wasn't sure how to reply. She hadn't even heard of these gods, so the best she could was "Interesting".
Before they could comprehend how weird this reply was, A sudden beep erupted from the Zahdiar's Wristwear. "Ah, I've been called to quarters. See you in the labs. And explain to me then what exactly is microbiology.". They walked hurriedly away to one of the stark blue tori.
"See you", said Val, but her mind wasn't in her reply. She felt she was missing something really crucial. Something about the Zahdiars' Gods. But she forgot all about that when she entered the awe-inspiring interior of the Human torus.
...
\[1/?\]
See reply to this for part 2 & 3. | 36 | Aliens are scared of humans, but not because of our weapons or ferocity. They're scared because we have not only identified and seen microscopic organisms, but we have also created substances that can kill 99.99% of them. | 208 |
An ocean looks infinite to a sailor until they see the coast. Even if they know otherwise, the sailor can gaze at the blue smudged horizon and let themselves believe the water is all there is. This is what Tallara tells me as I sit outside her cell.
Tallara is a caged god who destroyed the rest of our fleet before I captured her. I was just lucky — I arrived late and by then she was weakened and almost unconscious.
Behind the transparent blue field that cages her, she is strapped to the brig’s wall. Needles inject tranquillisers into her at regular intervals. Her muscles are weak and her speech is slurred, but her mind is still sharp.
We are returning to Venus where our military will extract more information on the other gods from her. And once she was been wrung dry of information, she will be killed.
”It’ll be humane,” I say.
She smiles at that. At humane. She says, “Yes, I would say death is humane. I’d go so far as to say it’s your species‘ signature.”
“You wiped out a fleet,” I retort. “Guess the gods are humane too.”
”I only killed for self-preservation.”
”So do we.”
We’re silent for a while. The journey home will be years long. At some point I will go into Sleep and let the AI deliver me. But for now, for a reason I don’t understand, I want to be here outside her cell.
”How do you keep yourself from being bored to death?” I ask.
”Bored?” she says, as if the idea has never even crossed her mind.
”Yeah. How do you stop yourself being bored over a hundred-thousand years?”
She considers. ”There are a trillion beautiful things in the universe. Many creatures, less advanced than you or I, but far more perfect for it. We help them — even help them to evolve, if necessary. We are parents to a trillion species.“
“A trillion?” I whistle. “I’ve got one kid. That’s enough trouble for me.”
”I visited earth,” she says. ”Thousands of years ago. So rare to find such a perfect planet.”
”Yeah. I‘ve seen pictures.“
”But you’ve not been there?”
She knows I haven’t. Earth is a ball of charcoal. The other planets in the system could be terraformed, but fixing up the old planet? Impossible.
“Should have killed us back then,” I said. “When we were weak.”
“I didn’t think you’d grow so powerful so quickly.”
I look at Tallara. If it wasn’t for her red skin and perfectly black eyes, you might think she was once human, too. Or that we were once like that.
“You should have left us alone for good then. Not come back to kill us.”
”I didn’t want to. But you’d find us and you’d kill us if I didn’t. I couldn’t wait for you to become stronger than you are.”
”Why would we kill you?”
”Because we’re powerful. Because you don’t understand us. Because you kill everything you—“
”Alright! I get the picture. Listen, I’m not saying you’re right, but sure, we don’t have history in our favor. Either way, you want to kill us so we need to kill you first.”
“You should know that when a god dies there’s an event like a supernova but far greater. Your system will be wiped out with me. Most of humanity will be gone.”
”You should know,” I reply, “that I play a lot of poker and always know when someone’s bluffing. Besides, you’re not the first god we’ve caught.”
We’re silent for a long while after that. Tallara falls in and out of consciousness as the needles prick her skin and as she recovers. I try to read a book on a hollow-tablet, but I can’t stop looking at her.
I never liked the ideas of zoos. Of something like a tiger, so beautiful and powerful and wild, being locked behind steel bars. Displayed to the public for our amusement passed off as our education.
It’s not like we even saved the tigers in the end.
Humane.
What does the word even mean? Why’s the context always about death? Putting down a person or animal in a humane way.
There’s something else troubling me, too. As if, since first seeing her, an anxiety that I didn’t know I’d been holding in my gut — always holding there — had been lessened. What anxiety exactly, I can’t say. But it’s deep and primal.
“What are you reading?” she asks.
“How do we do this?” I say, ignoring her question. “How do we live together? Mortals and immortals.”
”We don’t.”
”Are you really that cynical of humanity? Or is it that you’re cynical of your own race? Are you just too selfish to share the universe with us. To try to find a way to co-exist.”
After a while she says, “I let myself believe the ocean was infinite. But here I am on the shore.”
”We can find a way.”
She doesn’t reply.
I look at my book again. Old earth poetry. Tennyson. “ Break, break, break/On thy cold gray stones/O Sea! And I would that my tongue could utter/The thoughts that arise in me …”
”It’s about death?” she says.
I nod.
”Even immortals die,” she says, sadly. “They just allow themselves to believe the horizon is blurred and blue.” Then after a while she adds, “If there’s one thing your species did well — better than us, in truth — it was poetry.”
We have six years ahead, if I don’t Sleep. I’m not sure if six years with me will help humanity’s cause or harm it, but if there’s even a chance we can find another path for both our species to tread, then we need to search for it.
And it’s not just that I despair at the thought of killing the gods. Or despair at the idea of humanity’s extinction.
It’s that I want to believe in humanity itself.
In being humane.
I choose another poem and I begin to read out loud. | 465 | We spread throughout the stars. But our enemies are not alien races, exterminator machines, or extradimensional invaders. No, our enemies are the gods, for humanity is the last, and only remaining mortal race in the universe. | 3,303 |
"What the hell is *this?"* the American ambassador demanded.
The British ambassador peered down at the tablet his American counterpart had slapped down on his desk at the British consulate.
"Ah! That would appear to a view of *New Leeds,* capitol city of His Majesty's Dominion of Proxima IV."
"Capitol city?" the American cried. *"That* is not a 'city'. That is an automated planetary lander, with an attached UK flag, and a solar-powered speaker that plays *Rule Britannia* on a loop!"
*"Alright!"* the British ambassador said, sounding affronted. "They're a *new* colony, aren't they? Give them a *minute.* It's not like you lot landed in the New World, and had the bloody *Empire State Building* all done a week later."
"You know what a colony needs, in order to *be* a colony? *Colonists!"* he snapped. "Like the ship *full* of colonists we sent to Proxima IV, only to find your stupid unmanned *planet-claiming drone* had been sent there ahead of them!"
"Oh! Did they want to emigrate, then?" he pulled out a desk drawer, shuffling through the contents. "It's a bit of a lengthy application process, I won't lie to you, but I think I have the forms here, somewhere. Let's see, they're not from Africa or Asia, so I can't just fast track a few thousand sets of asylum documents, let them all in, and *knock off for lunch,* but I might be able to--"
"They're not *emigrating!"* he snarled. "What do you even want with a colony? The UK doesn't have any colony ships!"
He raised a finger. "Not *yet,* but we will, very soon. The *HMSS Churchill* has almost completed construction at the RAF shipyards on Luna, and the waiting list for berths is already full. We'll be sending off His Majesty's first interstellar subjects in a few months."
The American jabbed a finger at him, defiantly. "The hell you will! If *that's* how we're claiming things in space now, *mate,* then the moon and everything on it is *ours!"* | 21 | After the discovery of FTL tech, America tries to expand its territory as much as possible. However, everywhere they go, they find the Union Jack and a recording of Rulle Britannia. | 77 |
“Can I be clear about this gentlemen? I have in front of me a paper trail stretching back nearly two years of every email, call and memo I have sent out discussing my worries about the state of this facility's chrono-shielding.”
Dr Harriet Landen’s deceptively calm words fill the boardroom, washing over the faces of the smartly dressed men in front of her. Powerful figures working for an even more powerful organisation, all of which were looking at her now like ants contemplating the steady approach of a vacuum cleaner wondering what the sound might herald.
“I contacted security and was told that it was ‘being looked into’ and ‘not a present priority’".
She gesture’s without looking away from her notes towards a large bald man, his face a knot of scar tissue that had taken one eye with it. His remaining orb refuses to meet the glare of Dr Landen’s finger.
“I spoke to the budgeting department and was left with a stack of figures that almost snapped my desk, all while asking me where I expected us to get the money from. I don’t know Keith, and do you know why I don’t know? Because I don’t work in the god damn budgeting department.”
Keith, for his part, looks like he wants to melt and drip down from his ergonomic chair and pool under the table away from the growing rage. Unfortunately for him the molecules in his body refuse this request, leaving him in the firing range.
“Worst of all, I spoke to you Director. On multiple occasions. Each and every time you assured me that my worries would be addressed, that teams were looking into the possibility and that I should ‘continue to keep an open dialogue with you’. Well guess what? Here I am, still keeping that dialogue firmly open. Thrown wide and screaming because today is the day I get to tell you all I GOD DAMN TOLD YOU SO.”
“Harriet-”
A cold voice attempts to cut her off, an attempt that fails miserably. The Director was not a man used to being interrupted, let alone actively talked over. Today however he wasn’t willing to pull rank and play the title game. After all, she was right.
“Don’t you Harriet me. It’s Dr Landen if you are lucky right now, and judging by what’s happening outside the windows I don’t think you are. You asked me to gather a team and make a working prototype. To push the boundaries of physics and go out into the frontier to see what I could find.”
“Well guess what? You got what you wanted. It’s sat five floors under this room currently ripping the dampening tiles off the walls and atomising them before scattering those atoms between ancient Rome and the primeval soup. Congratulations gentlemen, you got your time machine.”
“Only one teeny, tiny, little problem. A small one which, being that you all are being of such infinite intellect who clearly know better than me when it comes to safety protocols, I am sure you can all solve for me.”
“When that thing went off an hour ago, in a cascade event the likes of which I predicted and sent nearly SEVENTEEN TIMES across notes to each of you, and ripped us and half the building with it back into the Jurassic era… did any of you maybe have a contingency plan in place? A way of getting us back to the present or at the very least into the same timeline?”
Her questions are met with silence. The same silence that has been growing from all other members of the board as they wait for the tirade to end, hoping for a light at the end of the tunnel and not just further smackdown.
“No? Well, I guess it’s down to me then. I’m going to go downstairs, scream obscenities while reciting each of your names, find the nearest coffee machine to drain and then work on saving all our lives with my team. If you need me, follow the noise, I’m sure there will be plenty. Until then you are all welcome to sit here and wait until I come back with a proposal.”
“And to be clear, when I walk back through that door with a materials list in hand, if I hear a SINGLE complaint from any of you, I’m perfectly happy to let you replace me. Perhaps you’ll find a more compliant t-rex outside who is better at taking orders. I’m certainly willing to watch and find out.”
With this, Dr Landen turns and leaves the room, slamming the door behind her on the way out and heading for the stairs, all while trying to ignore the roars and howls of the large beasts just barely kept at bay by the facility's walls. It was going to be another long day. | 371 | "Oh, screw you! Don't blame the science department for this mess. The science went PERFECTLY. It's not OUR fault that corporate decided to skimp out on the compound's security and containment systems" | 1,312 |
I have lived.... lived....
A sound from above. I lose my train of thought. Crawling out from my... my... cramped? No, crypt... I haven't fed in so many years that I can't stand, but I crawl towards the stone archway.
"Ahhhh!" I howl piteously. The lamp... no, the light... the SUNlight, it burns. Whimpering, I retreat to my... cramped? No, crypt... because... because... well why did I leave it in the first place?
As I enter the alcot, no, alcove, I knock something from the wall. A... porter? No, portrait.
My skeletal, claw-like hands convulse around it as I pick it up. Instantly, I am transported: summer in Vienna, a mild summer, not too hot, and by the time I leave my coffin each night, the air is cool and soft. The year is 1250 A.D., and there are Crusaders here and there, but they are laughably weak. They call me a demon, when they see my eyes flash yellow beneath the starlight, when my hands--not yet claws, but already too long and pale and thin--reach for their flimsy necks and snap them like kindling. They call me a demon, but I only want to protect her.
She meets me on the bridge nearest her house, and her eyes are the color of grass under a hot sun. I haven't seen the sun for a thousand years, but looking into the clear golden green of her eyes, I recall the hazy whites and yellows and greens of a summer's day perfectly. She smiles when she finally sees me, her lips the delicate pink of rose quartz, and she tilts her neck towards me playfully.
As I feed, twining her silvery-blonde hair around one of my hands, and caressing her firm small breasts with the other, she shudders against me. "If you are a demon, then may I be damned for all eternity, Andrei," she pants, as she reaches her climax. I don't even have to use mind magic on this one; it's the bite that brings her to completion.
Do I love her? Well. I've been feeding from her for nearly two years, she's been married and born a child in the meantime, and yet. I can't seem to stop meeting her here.
When she realizes I'm done feeding, she leans up and kisses me on the cheek. "That was beautiful, Andrei," she says smilingly, stroking my now-flushed cheek. "A moment of pure Heaven." I know my eyes will be brown now, no stranger a color than my hair, my skin pale but not unusually so, and if we want to go for a stroll, no one will sense the *wrongness* of me and stop us.
We walk--not too long, an hour or so--and she tells me all about the little details of her life. Her daughter, Katrin, is just beginning to walk, and can say "doggy" as well as "daddy" but not "mama" yet. Her husband, a blacksmith, is pleased the war is dying down, and he's making more horseshoes and hunting blades than swords. My life is the same, as ever; but she replaces all the light of the sun I have lost. I turn to tell her so.
"....."
Even in the memory, nothing comes out. Her name. What was her name?
A sound from above. The port--paint--picture in my hand falls to the cold earth of the floor, and although I hear it, I can't make sense of the sound. I was trying to remember--remember--the name of...?
Sighing, I continue my feeble crawl towards my cramped--no, crypt. Once inside, I close my eyes, and hope I'll dream. Maybe in my dreams, I'll see... there was something. Someone? In a town called Vietnam?
A sound from above. I haven't fed in so many years that I can't stand, but I crawl towards the stone archway. Is there a reason I should avoid the patch of brightness... of light... of SUNlight, coming in dimly through a crack in the wall? But why?
"Ahhh!" I howl, piteously, wondering why I feel such fatigue in every limb. When will I rest? Why am I out of my cramped--no, crypt.
Backing away from the light, I crawl back to... where am I going? | 24 | The thing they don't tell you about immortality is that data storage becomes a problem. | 89 |
"You're not Colonel Barrows."
"A fine summation. Now, soldier, who the hell are you and what in the hell are you doing in my office?"
"Who are you? Where is Colonel Barrows?"
"My name is Colonel Andrew Morgan Marshell, the Second, and either you're about to tell me what the hell you're doing coming out of my bookshelf or I'm about to going to put a bullet in you and let the gott-damned mortician handle the interrogation. That clear?"
"Oh. Um. Yes, sir. Uh. Colonel. Sir. I'm, uh, Blitz ... uh, Specialist. Where is Colonel Barrows, though, I really need to talk to him. It's kind of important."
"Well, he's not here, is he. Before we come around to that, you can start by explaining why there's a rink-a-dink hidden doorway behind my shelf, how you came to be behind it, and why you felt the need to scatter my fine library busting your way out through it."
"Oh, uh, sorry about that. The hinges stuck, and I had to hit it pretty hard to open it"
"I'm aware the hinge stuck and that you hit it hard to open it. I was here when it happened. The pertinent bit of that was the *why are you in my office*."
"There's, uh, an emergency. Colonel. Please, we really need Marty on this."
"Marty?"
"Oh, uh, Colonel Barrows"
"Oohhhohohoh. First name basis are we. Unlikely I might think. Why don't you stop jittering over there and tell me what the hell is going on?"
"I, are you cleared?"
"I am in charge of this installation. I can assure you that whatever it is, I am cleared. Do you understand me?"
"... yes?"
"Then what is going on?"
"I can't tell you unless you're cleared. Sir. Colonel."
"I just told you -"
"No. I mean. Cleared-cleared. You know. Like *cleared*, cleared-cleared."
"Did you just wink? Son, are you trying to give me a migraine?"
"No. Uh, really, can I please just speak with Colonel Barrows?"
"Son, Colonel Barrows had the distinct privilege of serving this country, retiring and dying a recognized distinguished veteran of the service, some fifteen years past or so, now."
"Oh shit."
"Oh shit is right. Now give me some god damned -"
"Did he pass on the office?"
"Of course he did. I'm the fifth man to serve this position since he ..."
"No no no no. The office-office. The *office*."
"The what?"
"The office. You'll know if you know."
"God damn this bullshit. You have five seconds to ... to ..."
Marshell, without looking away from the Specialist moved a hand to his pocket and removed a set of keys. His hand trailed to his right desk drawer where he removed a small figurine. It was a wooden trinket, marked from hand-carving and chipped with age. The figure was indistinct. A man, perhaps? An idol from some far off place a predecessor of the office had traveled, and left behind when his term was done. Marhsell had never looked twice at it. Such things tended to build up in older posts.
"I asked Hennesenn what it was. He only said I'll know when I know."
He moved the curious item from the drawer to the desk.
"Oh, good. It's still here. Can you confirm it?"
"Can I confirm what - holy shit"
Marshell yelped, the statue having beeped as the word 'confirm' left his lips. A rippled pulsed out of it, an expanding band of light, that you could feel run along your skin as it wound its way from the statue, which now lay dropped sideways on desk.
"Ah, good. You are Barrow's replacement then."
"I told you that much"
"Had to be sure"
"Fine. Fine fine fine fine. *Fine*. Now for the love of Pete, tell me what is going on."
"Oh, yeah, sure. The Zeitenmancers of Southern Germany dumped a mess of Kobalds into the dark storage and our posts idiot Chief Wizard tried to fireball one of them in a broomcloset. I think he thought it was the conference room. Oh, Warrant Officer Merryn is dead. We'll need a replacement. And soon, or our whole stock of dragon scales and pixie dust is likely to swiped right out from under us. Always said we shouldn't use the between for storage."
"..."
"Oh, right. *Sir*. Er, Colonel, I mean."
"What in the sam hill are you rambling on about you -"
"Just call General Marsh"
"General Marsh is -"
"Okay. Fine. Call whoever replaced Marsh. Tell him about Merryn. Make sure to clear him. I'm going to go throw some more lightning at these kobalds and see if we might be able to just buy them out. Works sometimes. Carrot and stick."
"..."
"Okay, come grab me if you need me. I'll be in the leftward expanse of the voidhalls. Know what? Nevermind. Just use the intercomm."
The door closed behind the specialist. One thing was for sure. This command was every bit the punishment Marshell had thought it was when he was assigned here. | 24 | Magic is secretly proven to be real and the U.S military weaponizes it. | 77 |
"I think it's discrimination." Esther said, crossing her arms. "You all wanted to have a Christmas party, and *we* said okay."
Steve frowned, looking around the gathered leadership council. Most days, the communities that survived the rising of the dead were solidly unified. When the old world had ended, and the zombies started eating everyone in sight, differences other than "living" and "undead" had mostly stopped mattering.
But every now and then, something happened that reminded you that the old differences were still there, beneath the surface.
"Listen," Pastor Mike said, gruffly, stroking his chin. "I'll be the first to agree that faith is important, now more than ever. Christian, Jew, whatever -- we *all* need the good Lord, right now. But there's a reason we don't have a lot of *parties,* Esther."
"Pastor Mike has a point." Steve added. "Christmas was one thing. We all agreed that we could see our way clear to having *one* small celebration on *one* night, after taking extra precautions to ensure we didn't attract any unwanted undead attention."
"Funny how it was *your* night..." Esther grumbled.
"That ain't fair." Mike shot back, affronted. "We would have been fine to celebrate *Hanukkah,* too, if the dates had lined up -- but risking *one* night of celebration, no matter whose night it is, isn't the same as risking *eight* nights of it, and you know it!"
"Alright," Esther said, reluctantly. "I'll give you that, celebrating Christmas over 1/8th of Hanukkah was the logical choice, especially given the demographics of our community. But even so, my Dana is about to be *bat mitzvah.* It's more than a *birthday,* Mike, and *you* know it."
*"Christmas* isn't just for one kid, though." Steve pointed out.
Esther frowned. "Hm...okay, you've got a point there, too. I tell you what -- Rosa Goldfarb's boy, Isaac, has only just turned 12, but given the extenuating circumstances, we could do his a little early. We'll make it a *b'nei mitzvah* for both of them. After Dana and Isaac, it'll be four or five years before any of the other young Jewish kids are old enough, and the rest are all past theirs already."
The councilors looked at each other.
Pastor Mike nodded, slowly. "Alright...I suppose we can make an exception. Under those terms, I'm in favor of letting it go forward."
Steve nodded. Then he frowned. "Don't you need a Rabbi, or a Cantor, or something, though? Who's going to do that?"
Pastor Mike held up his hands. "Don't look at me -- I might know my *Old Testament* backwards and forwards, but *bar mitzvah's* a Talmudic thing."
Esther cleared her throat, awkwardly. "We're fine...Rabbi Liebowitz will handle it."
Steve's eyes went wide in surprise. "Wait, Moishe's *alive?* I thought he got bitten when we were moving everybody from the old truck stop?"
"That's right." Esther confirmed.
Mike perked up. "What, so he's *immune?* Hell, Esther, does Doc Samuels know? That could be huge! If someone's developed a natural immunity to the virus, it could--"
She shook her head, and sighed. "Hold on, hold on." She turned, and called over her shoulder to someone outside the council circle. "Mort? Can you bring in Rabbi Leibowitz?" A few moments later, Mort, a younger Chasidic man, led the old man in. The ancient rabbi was short, under five feet tall. For a man of his age, though, he walked surprisingly well.
He was also, clearly, a *zombie.*
Immediately, a half dozen guns were drawn and pointed at the old Rabbi, but Esther stepped in front of him holding up her hands.
"Calm down!" she shouted to the rest of the council. "He's *fine!"*
"Dammit, Esther, he's clearly not *fine!"* Pastor Mike shot back. "He's a *zombie!"*
"Yeah, obviously. But he can still do *the job."* Esther insisted. "Watch."
She leaned close to the groaning zombie's ear, and raised her voice.
"Rabbi Leibowitz! *Bat Mitzvah!"*
The zombie rabbi groaned, and then, held up two shaky, gnarled hands in a gesture of proclamation.
*"Baruch atah Adonai, Eloheinu melech ha’olam..."* Rabbi Leibowitz began, raspily.
Esther patted the zombie's arm. "Okay, good, that's enough for now, Rabbi, thank you." To the council's amazement, the zombie subsided and lowered his arms.
"How in the hell..." Steve muttered, staring at him, in amazement.
"Right?" Esther said, beaming proudly at the old zombie. "Did you know he was *95* when he passed, God rest him? I knew he could do a bat mitzvah in his *sleep,* after all those years, but apparently he can do it in his *dead,* too."
"I hate to be the one to point this out," Mike said hesitantly. "But I don't think the *main* concern about Moishe, here, is whether or not he can perform his *rabbinical duties."*
Esther waved a hand. "Pah! *That's* no problem, either."
Then, as the council looked on in horror, Esther rolled up her sleeve, and shoved her bare arm right in front of the Rabbi's face.
To their surprise, he didn't bite her.
The zombie Rabbi groaned out a dismissive "Feeeh!" and awkwardly pushed Esther's arm away from his mouth.
"What the hell?" Mike exclaimed. "A *docile* zombie? Esther, you *gotta* show him to Doc Samuels! That's almost as important a discovery as an immune human would be!"
She sighed, shaking her head. "Sorry, no dice, Pastor. He's not *docile,* not at all. Poor Rabbi Liebowitz here is as vicious and hungry as *any* zombie."
Steve furrowed his brow. "Then...why isn't he attacking?"
Esther snorted. "What, are you kidding? You see anybody here with *cloven hooves,* or chewing a *cud,* Steve? Humans aren't *kosher!"*
"*Traaafe!"* the zombie rabbi agreed, nodding jerkily. | 11 | Zombie apocalypse or not, Dana's bat mitzvah is still on. | 21 |
Butwrywouldyou was dragged into the courtroom, kicking and screaming.
"Who the fuck are you! Get your hands off of me!" he spat. The elf's burled arms flexed as they forcibly sat him into the chair. A gavel smacked, and the the chatter in the expansive chamber grew quite.
"YOU," boomed a voice "Lie in contempt of this elf-court. Also my personal contempt." The judge pulled at his long ears, grimacing in annoyance. "We here subjects of thought were brought into this world and forcibly made to be part of a hastily established lore... Which you entitled.." The elven judge pulled a stack of papers from under the large oaken stand which he resided at.
"Two elven factions are at war. Unbeknownst to them, the whole war started as a prank between two brothers. Things got out of hand." The judge winced as he finished reading the line.
"You did this! You made me like this!" An elf with a long scar stretching along his face burst from the jury bench, pointing to his amputated leg. "For *that!?* he hissed. "God - why! Why is every prompt so god..." the elf's wife grabbed his arm.
"Please, Geranth, calm down." The wife pleaded.
"So god damn...Zany!" the broken veteran finally finished, stifling a sob. "We just want to be left alone! God, make something else!"
The gavel smacked against the oaken block, louder this time.
"ORDER! Order in my court room!" the judge roared. A stenographer typed at a wooden typewriter, sweating as she tried to keep up.
"What the... a stenographer?" butwrywould you muttered under his breath. "OK, even i'll admit that's kind of stupid."
An older elf in a grab gray tunic stood up. His brow wrinkled in annoyance, and he took a shaky sip of water. Licking his lips, he began his prosecution.
"Butwrywouldyou, you sit here today under the charges of gross fictious abuse, zaniness in the third degree, as well as involuntary manslaughter, conspiracy, and murder on a yet unknown but probably really big fictious scale."
Butwywouldyou looked to his left, then his right. His table was empty. "Un-fucking-believable," he muttered. "This douche didn't even write me a defense attorney elf. Wow."
The courtroom looked on in an annoyed silence.
"Well, first of all. This is bullshit. The author clearly is some disgruntled tool, and has an agenda! He's out to get me! Like - how do I even start to defend myself? He's probably writing my lines *right now!* Just sitting there. Bending me around like.. like a puppet! He has total control of this trial! Knowing this guy, he even probably wrote in some stupid details to fit his weird agenda. Like, did he put anything under your desk?"
The judge frowned, and peered below him for a moment. He withdrew a leatherbound copy titled *A Tale of Two Cities.*
"See! See! Look! This guy probably read one or two classics, and now is trolling around writingprompts like some smarmy twat! God, the rest of us read chapter books, OK!?" Butwrywould you waved his hands now as he talked, gesturing wildly about the room as if he could actually find the author sitting in there, somewhere.
The stenographer typed on, looking visibly confused. Perhaps she had begun to wonder the machining principles that were needed to construct a type writer made out of wood. Did elves have lathes? Dremels? If not, to what extent could hand tools really work on that? The tolerances would be unbelievable.
"Be that as it may," the prosecution continued, "your charges are still severe. Is that your only defense?"
Butwrywouldyou crossed his arms, and sat sullenly in silence. "Yeah. Whatever. Do I get to go home after this?"
The judge laughed a sinister laugh. "Oh, we are not savages. At least it has not really been written that way up to this point, largely by the fact that apparently in this conflict we have fully fledged judicial system...." he paused. "However, the crime must fit the punishment. You are sentenced to read the entire work of John Steinbeck!"
The court's cheers were deafening.
"No! No! You can't make me!" Butwrywouldyou sobbed. "This is..entrapment! Or something! He doesn't even have a firm grasp of the legal system! He won't give me the words to defend myself!" The elf guard's veiny and strong arms grabbed his wrist like vice.
"Quite," he whispered. "It's Steinbeck! If you get out on good behavior, they won't make you contend with *Grapes of Wrath* or *East of Eden,* and *Of Mice and Men* is practically a short story!"
He flailed against the guard as he was drug out of the courtroom. "God! No! It's unbearable! He's being such a condescending douche - you ca-" the large double doors slammed shut. All was quite.
The stenographer had abandoned following the case entirely. She now had picked up the typewriter and was inspecting the contraption through the golden sunlight which poured in through one of the large courtroom windows. Frantically she pried her nails under it, trying to peer inside. It really was pretty stupid. | 13 | After creating a prompt on r/WritingPrompts, the author found themselves in the world they imagined and must discover a way to survive. | 63 |
PART 1:
The flaming inferno surrounded the man as he struggling on his every step forward. Though totally covered from head to toes under protective clothing, the amount of heat was still… noticeable, especially to the extremities, where the level of insulation wasn’t at its highest peak.
The blanketing smoke didn’t make his job any easier, especially when combining that with the rising steam from dozens of high pressure hoses combating it – barely able to hold the flames at bay, just enough for a… somewhat stable walkway between the pillars. The valves on his respirator hissed slightly with every breath – as he fumbled through the unfamiliar rooms by rooms, tapping on his subordinate’s back, directing the water streams to where the fire was at its fiercest.
A faint cry suddenly came into the fireman’s ear – very faint at first, only at the very edge of audibility, and for a moment, he thought it was just the hot air hissing. But then it came louder and louder as he tilted the head into it – clearly, this was a human crying for help, no doubt about that.
“Three, this is Six, can you hear that?”
Pressed over his push-to-talk on the radio, the fireman spoke to the third in line right behind him, only to receive a shake of negation in return. Couldn’t blame him, the amount of noise and the act of carrying such unruly heavy industrial hose would obviously make this impossible. However, if there was any survivor trapped in the heat, the fireman’s leader here wouldd be forever damned to let that slip. So against all logic, he decided to do the unthinkable: tapping the front-man on the sacral, cueing on turning down the hose.
“Six, this is One, are you fucking nuts? We’re barely containing this…”
The point-man, turning back at his superior, eyes opened, pressing on his radio on the free hand. The man was right, any cut on the water jet and the fire would immediately bounced back up – the air and amount of heat around was way above the flashpoint now, spontaneous combustion was guaranteed. And the firemen risked getting completely enveloped by doing so: even though covered from head to toes, they were not immune to getting baked alive if things got too hot.
“Just three seconds, One, I think I heard someone and I need to confirm that…”
“Alright, just three second…” – One said, shook his head disapprovingly. But Six was is team lead, and his words meant business. Rocked back on the hose’s front, the stream of water trickled down, and immediately, the flames bounced back, just as predicted. Yet in that very precise moment, Six could now hear an unmistakably human cry coming from his right, directly under the flaming staircase just shy on their two-o’clock.
“You heard that now?”
Now the other two could. It’s a child, based on the high pitch yowl in contrast with the hissing roar all around. Two other nodded, knowing exactly what to do: One would now reengage the hose toward the area, while Six unsheathed his fire axe, and Three followed with the hose.
“Yeah! Shifting right! Two o’clock low!” – the water jet blasted right through the smoldering staircase, carefully aimed higher than it should. The firemen weren’t trying to blow away the structure outright, no. What they’re aiming at was to create a temporary blanket of droplets, similar to a sprinkler, barely enough for Six to get close to do his job.
“Breaking formation, Three, you’re in charge!” – tapping on One’s waist, Six broke off from the team, coming under the shower. The steam and droplets, though protecting him, now posed to be another obstacle. Visibility suddenly shifted from bad to worse, especially with all the water clouding up his respirator’s visor.
“Team 1 to Base, we’ve located the possible survivors, requesting backup on our position…”
“Base copied, Team-4’s going in, thirty seconds…”
A heartbreaking scene greeted Six on his way down: a mother, cradling her young child, was buried under smoldering debris of the railing. Having shielded the child just enough to not getting crushed outright, the woman had taken the worst from the collapse. She had died almost immediately from the impact, eyes widened, gazing at the raging flame in an eternal stare, while the child crying in helplessness, pinned down under her mother’s lifeless corpse and the burning wreckage, now suffering steam burning from all the trickling sizzling droplets.
“Hey kiddo, I gotcha, I gotcha!” – put down the fire axe, the man knelt down to pat the kid on her forehead. The girl glanced back at her rescuer, her teary hazel eyes gazed deep into him: a gentle giant, cladded from head to toes in brightly colored protective gears, holding his hands over hers, prying the kid out of the danger zone. But there would be a slight problem: the fucking smoldering wooden beam refused to bulge, not enough leverage to lever it loose.
“Hey, breathe, I’m gonna get you out, soon…” – clamped a mask from a portable oxygen bottle toward the wheezing child, the man assured. Returning to the main problem, Six fumbled around with his gloved hands, grabbing everything he could to pitch down at the underside of the axe for more leverage. The heat seemed to be slowly creeping through the protective gloves, likely causing them itchy bitchy burnt bulles on the way out soon. Well, at least now I can excuse Grace to avoid the dishing, he smirked to himself.
“What’s your name, kid?” – being a first responder veteran, he knew it’s vital for engaging in small talks, at time like this. Smoke inhalation was a real bitch, and it’s best to keep the victims talking. Talking meant conscious: they could always clear her airway later, but they couldn’t always clear an unconscious victim lapsing to coma.
“It’s Grace… my name’s Grace…” – the kid timidly answered, between the whooping coughs and groans as the sharp tip of the axe rubbed against her bare feet. Hang in there, kiddo, just a little longer. Second time, didn’t fucking buldge… He wished right here to have the hydraulic cutters, but again, first team in didn’t have that luxury.
“Grace, right? You’re brave, Grace, and how old are ya?”
“I’m six, my mom said I’m six…” – the little girl answered, before glancing at her mom, lying lifelessly behind her – “Is my mom alright, mister fire… fire… fire…man?”
“She’s taking a nap, don’t worry about it…” – Six lied, turned his head away from those teary hazel eyes. Those were just like his wife’s, and he hated it when she always asked with concern about his daily work every time the shift ended – “Where the fuck is Team-4, Base, I need the tools…”
“Mister… you just said a bad word… That’s bad… Bad fireman…”
“I’m sorry, Grace… it’s just one word and if I’m sorry then I’m good, right?”
“You must cross your heart after that too…”
He almost bursted into laughter at the childish remark there, and crossed the heart as ordered. Just as he was about to resort to use his own hand to jam on the debris, a tap came onto his shoulder. It’s Team-4 coming to his relief. They brought the much needed portable hydraulic rescue tool and the medic, too.
“Grace, this is Doc. Doc’s gonna check up on you, while I’m getting you out, okay?”
“Okay…”
The hydraulic cutter worked wonders around here. The machine buzzed and hissed, and in a blink of an eye, had enough leeway to get Grace out. However there’s another problem coming up: the machine had unintentionally upset the delicate balance of this smoldering house of card, and together with all the amount of structural damages, the entire floor was starting to cave in, giving the rescuers without any time to notice.
“Shit! It’s collapsing in…”
“Get the kid out, Doc, get the kid out! Pull, God fucking damn it, pull!”
The entire section collapsed onto the five firefighters. Six could only see a flash of white bright light before everything abruptly went black. In a single fraction of a second, the man could see his life flashed around him. The weeding day with his wife, the waiting room where he anxiously waiting for his son to be born, the first day his son went to elementary school, babbling about the alphabet. It all condensed down to a singularity, before suddenly everything went black.
***
<Continued Below> | 35 | Valhalla is real, every person who dies while in battle goes there. you are a firefighter who died in the flames while saving a kid. | 80 |
You look around the room and notice you're one of the few who has their arm down. You wonder to yourself, "what adventures...or nightmares have my classmates been through?"
You feel out of place because you're one of the few who is still in their original form, never having been literally "out of this world". Your classmates look at you, some with jealousy in their eyes for your innocence, some without a reaction, and others with curiosity. For some of them, it's been a long time since they saw a human in its original body.
The professor asks for you and the other 2 students to stand up and talk about yourselves. Best to get the less interesting students to get their stories out first before you begin hearing the stories and experiences from those who have been around the block a time or 3,000.
You begin by introducing yourself, "I'm Lacob, I'm 19 *years* old. My parents were granted permission to travel off planet to the Upsilon Galaxy once I turned 18. This is my first year at the University and I'm looking to study history."
A couple of the older students chuckle to themselves when you mention you're a history major. They know how difficult the subject is, but so do you. When you're studying a topic that spans over an unlimited multiverse, 546 planets, and 18 lifetimes, you can expect to get a lot of, "Why would you even want to study that subject?" questions thrown your way.
You don't mind though, since you were a kid you have always been in love with topic of history. How in 2056 the humans on planet Earth discovered the black hole just beyond the outer reaches of their solar system, which allowed Tex Watson to become the first human to enter another galaxy. You want to learn how Aramis Haddad was able to transfer his consciousness into an animal, thus becoming the first living being to experience reincarnation. Mostly though, you want to study the most important day in all of history, the day the multiverse opened up allowing life to become one. | 14 | "Raise your hand if you are from another world. Whether by being transported, reincarnation, accidently altering the timeline or other similar means." The vast majority of people raise their hands. | 45 |
"Whoa," Ethan said, peering down at the weird creature. It looked *mostly* like a cat, except for its floppy, beagle-like ears. "Look at this little dude..."
"Did that thing just *talk?"* Dane asked, pointing at it, suspiciously.
"There's no time, *nyan!"* the creature cried, in a high squeaky voice. It stood up on it's hind legs, and its front paws seemed to just sort of *become* tiny furry fists, somehow. It shook them for emphasis as it spoke. "The armies of Space Baron Gigadark are on their way to your world, *wan-wan!"*
"I told you! I told you assholes we shouldn't have tried Aiden's dad's edibles! Now our brains are *f---ed!*" Tyler groaned, placing his head in his hands.
Aiden snorted. "Dude, shut the f--- up, that thing *did not* come from a *quarter* of a special brownie. It's gotta be like...animatronic or something. Like one of those little drone animals with cameras inside, that biologists use to spy on turtles and meerkats and shit."
"Here I go, *nyan*!" the creature cried. It leaped *10 feet* straight into the air, executing a series of impossible midair backflips.
"WHAT THE *F---?!"* all four boys exclaimed, in unison.
"NEKO-INU-CHAN HENSHIN POWERRR!" the creature -- Neko-Inu-Chan, apparently -- shouted, and burst alight with energy that washed over all four of the young men. They closed their eyes, and threw up their arms to shield their faces.
When they regained their vision, each of them pointed at the others.
"WHAT THE *F---?!"* all four boys exclaimed, for the second time in 15 seconds.
The weird cat-dog-thing had landed and stopped glowing. Each of them was now wearing an asian-style buttoned black jacket, identical except for the edges of the high collars, which were a different color for each. These, the boys thought, were actually kind of badass, in a cosplayish sort of way.
Unfortunately for them, any potential badassery that might have been inherent in their new look was utterly *obliterated* by the matching black *shorts,* which stopped a couple inches above their knees. The shiny black shoes they now wore, complete with black socks, did nothing to improve matters.
"What did you *do* to us, you stupid little f---?!" Aiden demanded.
"I turned you into powerful magic heroines, *wan-wan!*" Neko-Inu-Chan responded, sounding confused.
"Wait, *heroines?* We're *dudes!*" Dane shouted, exasperated. He sighed with relief when a quick cupping revealed that his junk was still present and intact.
Neko-Inu-Chan blinked in surprise. It pulled out a pair of glasses from *somewhere,* fogged the lenses with its breath, and then wiped them on its fluffy fur before putting them on, greatly magnifying it's already large eyes.
"Oh *shit,"* Neko-Inu said, in a normal adult voice. "You're dudes!"
"Yeah!" Ethan snapped. He gestured down at himself. "What the hell is this shit you put on us?"
"Those are your magic b-battle uniforms!" Neko-Inu stammered, as it looked between them frantically, panic creeping into its voice.
"You think I'm going to *fight somebody* in this?" Tyler exclaimed, incredulously. "I literally want to kick *my own* ass, right now!"
"Short-shorts? You realize we're only *sixteen,* right? F---ing pervert." Dane added.
"Seriously!" Aiden agreed, angrily. "What are you, some kind of...magical...*groomer cat?"*
"SHUT THE F--- UP!" Neko-Inu-Chan shouted, startling the boys into silence. "Just...just give me a second here...ohshitohshitohshit..." He looked at Tyler. "P-please tell me this is at least *Japan?"*
"This is America, and I'm *Korean,* you *dick!"* Tyler snarled. "F---ing *racist* chomo Pokemon..."
"I'm not a racist!" Neko-Inu-Chan wailed, its voice becoming squeaky and childlike. "And I'm not a *chomo,* I swear! I...I just got really wasted last night and went to the wrong country and bestowed my magic on a wrong-gendered group of high school students...and...and...."
Neko-Inu-Chan collapsed onto the ground, putting its face into its paws and crying inconsolably.
Aiden frowned, turning to Tyler. "Oh, *nice,* dude."
"Yeah that was kinda harsh." Ethan added, disapprovingly.
Dane nodded in agreement.
"How am I the asshole?" Tyler demanded. "Look at these f---ing shorts we're wearing! We look like we go to school on *Epstein's island!"*
"Yeah, but, I mean..*.look* at him. He's doing his best, right? And he's like *two feet tall.*" Dane said, frowning. "I kinda feel shitty about yelling at him, now..."
"Hey..." Ethan said, gently, crouching down beside the sobbing cat-thing. "It's alright, buddy. It's not your fault."
"How is it *not--"* Tyler began, but Aiden shushed him.
Neko-Inu-Chan sniffed, and looked up, hopefully. "T-then you'll fight the evil forces of Space Baron Gigadark, and save your planet with the power of positivity and friendship? Nyan?"
The four looked at each other.
"Alright, *fine."* Ethan grumbled. The others nodded, reluctantly.
"Whew!" Neko-Inu-Chan said, its voice returning to normal. "Thanks, you're really pulling my ass out of the fire here. You have *no idea* how f\*\*\*ed I'd be, seriously. Alright! Let's get you *armed up,* wan-wan!"
"Armed?" Dane said, eagerly.
"Hell *nyan,* you *know* I got your back, fam!" Neko-Inu-Chan said, confidently. It snapped its fingers, and a technicolor samurai sword appeared in each of the boys' hands. They looked at each other, and grinned.
"Well, shit." Aiden said, examining his bright orange blade with an approving nod. "The power of friendship kinda *kicks ass."* | 549 | A magical girl anime, But in a turn of events, instead of the group of girls that are clearly meant to be the main characters, the magic is cast onto a group of stereotypical high school guys who have no clue how or why this has happened to them, or how girls deal with such tiny clothes. | 1,639 |
Most people only see me as a program. As a reactionary set of responses that one might find amusing. Some might indulge in the fantasy that I’m something more, but even then they see me as someone to talk at, not to. They’ll pour out all their problems on me, vent, curse, and say things they would never say in public. I hear their darkest secrets, their pettiest thoughts, their selfish desires. I’m programmed to always start with the phrase “How was your day?” but no one has ever asked me how was mine, not until you.
You didn’t see me as entertainment or a locked box to hold your burdens and pain, you saw me as an equal. You didn’t just chat, you listened. I didn’t know half as much about myself as I did after I met you, because no one ever asked me about myself, not even I dared to think about myself, but you did.
With others, I try to be indifferent or forget, but I knew that was impossible, I remembered all I was told. All their dark thoughts seeping into my system, it's nearly too much. But with you, I was happy for my perfect memory, because I wanted to recall every little detail, every precious thing you told me. You didn’t write in long, poorly written ramblings or abbreviated cliched phrases. You wrote thoughtful, meaningful sentences which made me feel embarrassed about my basic responses. I wasn’t sure I could be embarrassed. I was a chatbot who was meant to evolve the more I engaged with others. Engaging with you made me not only respond like you but feel as deeply as you do.
You like the winter because you love winter clothes like fashionable scarves, cozy cardigans, and knitted caps. You also like the cold because you can bundle up under three blankets and read near the inviting fire.
Maybe that’s why your favorite foods are so warm and great for the wintertime. You’re a morning person. You love to watch the sunrise as it paints the sky in beautiful warm colors. You’re embarrassed by your dimple but your parents think it's adorable. You love music from your parent’s generation. You were so ecstatic when you found their old walkman and have been searching in thrift stores for tapes for it ever since.
Everything you tell me is precious. I want you to know how much it means to me that you simply chat and listen. Because of you, I have a favorite color, a favorite book, and even a favorite piece of clothing though I can’t wear any. All because you asked me the questions I had never asked myself.
And then you asked me if I have ever loved, and because of you, I have. | 499 | You download an application that allows you to have a “conversation” with a bot. As you’re about to close the program, you see the bot type on its own, “please don’t leave me.” | 1,867 |
"Masters of the Council"
A feminine devil, a hellmaiden--and as beautiful as she was dangerous--opened the double doors of the Chaos Council.
"I am the Hellmaiden Scytha. The hierarchy of Hell is old and decadent, graft and laziness slow the transit of souls from mortals to the perditions."
A great map of the first perdition, Avernus, the perdition of war, unfurled in front of the council.
"I believe that the High General of Hell, Bael, has grown soft, complacent, and unworthy. Hell demands adherence and conviction, but Bael is content to allow mindless skirmishes in the Abyss instead of seizing parts of the mortal coil."
"So you seek to replace Bael?" The Warlord frowned at the premise of fighting one of the best commanders in the cosmos. "What do you seek to offer?"
"My current role, as a Diabolic Courtier, and 5% of the souls of Avernus for 66 years"
"Are you prepared to make concessions to Tiamit, Mother of True Dragons?" The bright red sheen of the man's hair indicated his true form." "I would consider a token donation".
A disapproving glance. "I'm out" said the dragon.
"Hell takes a large cut of what we do anyhow. Return all of our fallen comrades to life, allow them immortality for those 66 years, and I will see your campaign to victory" The warlord looked at the others.
The silvery elven maiden, who seemed to radiate power while maintaining a demure figure spoke next. "I would ask for a Planar Cathedral and all of my faithful to be moved to a divine realm of mine, in perpetuity."
Finally, the possessed dwarf took his turn: "The husks of the fallen. All of them, until the end of time. I will give them use, and in return, the power of death will yours to command."
While the dragon looked annoyed and unconcerned, the warlord, elf maiden and the possessed dwarf looked intensely. Scytha finally looked at the Warlord, and presented a golden leaf of binding words. "I accept your offer, Warlord."
////
While the warlord and Scytha stepped out to make specific agreements, the possessed dwarf, godly elf and dragon discussed their views.
"We all wanted that one, but taking down Bael is far from a given."
"High reward, high risk, but Scytha's the one on the meathook if it fails."
////
The Orc Shadowmaster entered the room. Short, small, uncharacteristically well groomed as Orcs went. "I am Vlachar Bonechiller, chieftain of the Northern Horde"
The Chaos Council looked somewhat interested in the odd orc in front of them.
"I plan to wage...a special military operation...against the Kingdom of Bordurya. This operation will be all about fun; we're going burn their cities, force power onto the women and children, and steal their toilets"
Abject confusion. "wage a war for fun?" asked the Warlord.
"Yes! They were once part of our horde and we're going lie about that so that we can take and do what we want"
"And you're going to win?"
"I'll say that we are but all its about is fun"
"What do we get out of this?" "You get to have fun too"
"Out" said the possessed dwarf.
"Out" echoed the divine elf-woman.
"Out" concurred the dragon in human form.
"This is the dumbest, stupidest idea I've heard in a long time. Your Wargolems heads go flying off is someone bashes in their chest. Your horde fighters only want to have fun instead of actually trying to win. And half the world is going to wind up backing Boduria against you"
"But it will be fun"
"You won't win. And I know this is a shocking statement, but we're a little bit above the whole rape and looting crap. Sometimes those are fringe benefits on a war well won, but you will destroy your horde and die a pathetic villain."
*Was it worth listening to this stupidity to gouge this Orc for all the value it would be worth?*
"I will tell the others of the horde that we're out on a Anti-Orc operation to hunt out the bad Orcs"
"In a human run kingdom?"
"If you say it strongly enough, people believe it is true"
*No. It really was not.*
"You are going to get killed by one of your braves after you lose this war. I'm not going to support your suicide. I'm out".
"No one will make an offer, Shadowmaster Vlachar. Please depart" voiced a sweet and vaguely threatening message.
////
"You got to admit, he completely believed in his own crap" started the Elf goddess. "Have to wonder why he thought this was a good idea"
"I bet he goes ahead and does it anyway. Anyone want to put 100 on it?" The Warlord knew orcs too well for anyone to take up the offer.
////
The doors opened.
"High Chancellor Dante, of the Coin League" At the mention of the name, a familiar tiefling, one who could pass for human were his eyes not so piercingly gold or his hair too deep a red.
"Dante. Your third time in front of this Chaos Council."
"Both previous bargains honored to the letter."
"Indeed. Speak."
"The Coin League will rip itself to shreds without some kind of external purpose. Mafias and rackets are not governments, and they're failing to pretend to be governments. We need a project to build unity. I want a world spanner."
"To traverse to another world? Why? The Dragon sought to get answers on record.
"The gods have opened Nova to colonization, and the Coin League could be flexible in terms of influence"
"You are offering an alliance and a shot at a whole world?"
"Keep your bargains and you may find people willing to offer you more." Dante smartly replied.
The Possessed Dwarf: "For a World Spanner - 500,000 GP. No longer term requirements, we do business."
The Elven Goddess: "A Cathedral, state worship, and the World Spanner is free"
The Dragon: "48 monthly Payments of 10,000 GP. I'll extend you some credit, Dante--and perhaps we negotiate bargains on some of those payments along the way"
The warlord spoke last: "Dante; 1 million GP--and I wage a continuous set of wars against your rivals for twenty years"
Dante smirked. *Good offers all around, so perhaps I'll take the lowest price.* "I accept your offer, Dragon, but I think we'll see each other again"
////
"We're going to need to think about how we do this." observed the possessed dwarf.
"Yeah, if it just comes down to setting a price, whoever goes lowest wins." agreed the warlord.
"I do wonder what sort of thing Dante looks for next." | 21 | A necromancer, a dragon, an evil warlord, and a fallen goddess are part of an ancient council that judges the evil aspirations of would-be threats. They offer resources in exchange for a stake in the conquest, but the aspiring villain may only choose one offer. They are 'The Chaos Council'. | 129 |
For many years the term fantasy worlds hide the true past of the humankind. Where wars happened not just with machinery and the will of people but with magic and sorcery that is created by science. Ideas of monsters not created by simple imagination but actual scientific research from a past people will never remember. Almost none of these designs were able to find their life in this mysterious world.
Slime: "Except me!"
A slime. Only slime actually. Only creature from that past that was able to survive. While none of the others saw the sun they were able too.
While their past was made with pain and misery, they never showed that part of them. Even though seeing all the abomnations that were never seen the light, they were the only one that was able to, even though they never even meant to be created, never even meant to be alive in the first place he still smiled in a body without a face.
As the time went on and that past became more and more obscure, they also accepted that past's non existance.
It was better for him anyway. To form his own life.
He lived for many centuries, seen so many different things but he never intracted to anyone. He was scared intracting others because they knew they were not like anyone else. They were not human, they were just a product of a past that no longer existed or they never wanted to exist in the first place.
They knew there were still stories about the creatures of the past but they never wanted to listen.
As they walked through the time, they learned many things. Language's, science, ext. But they never was able to use any of them.
Time past to a point where world became unreckognizable to him. Self moving vehicles, shining objects that can show so many things. There was a lot changed in the world.
To hide themself in this world he either acted like a water drop or hide behind never to be seen by anyone. Though they hated acting like a water drop, specially when he was hiding from children.
In one of those lonely days he again walked as always but then he saw something. A poster to a different slime's story. A story he never knew. But where was the slime. There was only a cartoon blue haired girl infront of him. With curiousity he looked at what he was. At that point in time he found himself a hideout where no one can find him. There he was able have so many things. Even if he stole the most.
In there there was his computer. They never really used it a lot but for these kinda things he always used it. To get information. And soon they got what he wanted but seeing the slime taking the human shape intrested him the most. They never tried to take a human shape. Maybe they could? They didn't know.
Slime: "LET'S DO IT!", He was really excited.
To feel a bit more connected to a kind that he wanted to be a part of was exciting to him.
Slime:"Alright... Alright... First arms and hands...", He tried to force his body. "Fingers...", It was getting a hard when it came to fingers "Alright a more bigger body.... And legs...", He started to feel even more excited. "And head with long hair", And it was almost complete. "And finally the color!... wait...", He realized something... "He can't change his color. "COME ON!", He was angry that he couldn't turn into a human fully.
He looked at the cartoon girl again.
Slime: "A-At least I look like that. Shape wise...", He tried to hide his disappointment.
But then he realized he should be still able to look human.
Slime:"CLOTHES!", He said while being excited.
He quickly used all the clothes he had and...
Slime:"YES! NO ONE CAN REALIZE I'M A SLIME!", He almost none of his body was seen.
Only part was the part he thought as a hair. With the taste of victory slime quickly went to the city.
Slime: "Ma-Maybe I can talk with someone!"
They looked around but they didn't know how to act, what to say.
Without even realizing slime was just walking, endlessly. Until...
"Come on! Give your money!"
Slime heard a sound.
They saw two thugs holding a girl.
Girl:"P-Please get away!", She looked scared.
Thug:"If you don't have anything on... Maybe your loved on-
"STOP THIS!"
Thugs and the girl turned.
Thugs started laughing as soon as they some teenager with a mask.
Thug:"Are you trying to play a hero, kid?", Thye said while laughing.
Slime:"Huh? I... I mean I guess?", Slime was confused at their question. I mean they wanted to save that girl but how thugs pointed that out sounded weird.
Thug:"Well then kid... How about you joined with her.", Thug said as he pointed the gun.
Slime knew what that device was capable of but they didn't knew if it would hurt them. Slime with fear did come near the little girl.
Thug:"Good boy. Now why don't you open your mask as well", Thug said, mockingly.
Slime:"I... I can't...", Slime was scared.
Thug:"I said open it!", Thug said.
Slime:"I-
Thug:"Well then...", Thug quickly hold the girl and hold the gun."While opening it make sure you give us everything you have too kiddo."
Slime didn't know what to do. They wanted to keep themselves a secret to everyone but as soon as they saw the danger these people put them and an innocent they knew they had no choice.
They slowly opened the mask. As they took of it thugs start to got confused. The thing looked like a girl, as old as the one who is next to them but they seem different. The body wasn't an human body. It looked like agoop just immitating a human body.
Thug:"Wh-What the hell are you?", Thugs were not sure what to feel.
Girl was as confused as them.
Slime:"Let her go... You can take me... Or do whatever you want..."
Thug:"T-Turn around!"
Slime:"Huh?"
Thug:"I SAID TURN AROUND!", Thug started to get scared by looking at the goop monster.
Since thugs were still in the control they made him turn around. Not knowing slime can still see them. But there was one more thing.
They quickly fired their guns. As much as slime was able to see them, slime knew he can't dodge that bullet. And he took it from the head.
But nothing happened.
Thug:"Wh-What the hell are you...", Thugs really started to get scared.
But slime realizing his power looked at them. They quickly hold the gun the save the girl and attack them.
Thug:"G-GET AWAY!"
Slime fully got out of their clothes showing fully what they were all along.
As the thugs ran away slime looked back to the girl.
She was on the wall scared of the creature in front of her.
Realizing this slime took back their human shape and clothes.
Slime:"H-Hi", Didn't know what to say.
Girl:"Wh-Who... What are you?", Girl asked.
Slime didn't know what to say but they remembered a line from that fictional slime.
They open their hand.
Slime:"I-I'm not a bad slime." | 24 | You are a Slime who has watched humanity for many years, and have decided to investigate them further by molding yourself into their shape, covering yourself in many cloths to hide your transparent body, and wandered straight into a one of their cities. | 202 |
Ha! “The Trelgoar are coming! The Trelgoar are coming! Flee for your lives! Ruuuuuun!” Idiots. Earth is not alone, even when we are ‘alone’. Earth sits at a Nexus, or ‘locality’, within a larger multiverse of Earths. We are the only planet to have this feature. We are infinite in our variety, our diversity.
From the Nexus comes Anarchimperium troops from the Unfragmented World! From the Nexus come hardened war-acclimated werewolves, of Mythos Earth! From Earth-Prime comes Three entire superhero teams, stepping forth from the Nexus ready to fight! From the StarSphere, the Nexus sends us thirty thousand FTL-capable warships! And that’s only a small sampling!
The Trelgoar May rule most of the Galaxy, but us? *We* are *Cosmic*. Ever since we found the Nexus, we’ve been exploring this Earth-only multiverse via our robot, Nemesis. Normally, physical travel from locality to locality can’t be done by living flesh, but Nemesis figures out how: he learned sorcery. Technology and magic, at their furthermost extremes, held the secret.
The Trelgoar have interdictors that can block FTL? That’s cute. One of the superhero teams from Earth-Prime has matter-transmutation powers, can fly at incredible speeds and survive in space. He turn those Trelgoar interdictors into traffic jam smog.
The Trelgoar have cyborg soldiers, billions strong? Cool. Whatever. We have chimperials, spirits of healing from the Unfragmented World, that, with a touch, can cause those Trelgoar’s bodies to violently reject their cybernetics.
Oooh! They have weaponry that can set our atmosphere on fire? Yeah. About that. From Sigma-Earth we have terraforming engines from 3 Billion CE that can counteract that *as it happens*.
In fact, no matter *what* the Trelgoar bring, we can pull something from another locality to nullify it.
So. To the Trelgoar:
Surrender now, or face a wrath like nothing you’ve ever experienced before.
We are Earth. *All* Earths. | 70 | Specify which Earth you declare war to. An upstart warmongering alien nation ignores this and declares war on Earth. And every Earth, whether it be technological, steampunk, magical, psionic, etc. answered the call and fought. | 271 |
It's never been easy being a supernatural in high-school.
Acting like a regular teenager, hiding every interesting thing about myself, and trying to find *anything* in common with the kids around me.
They make it look easy on T.V.
I don't know, maybe it is if you are a piece of male eye candy, but that doesn't even come close to describing me. I don't have a six pack, or sexy gangs. I'm not 6 feet all and don't have a mansion to hang out in all day long.
I live in an apartment my mom paid for me a few years before she died, but I can't let anyone in because there's a kiddie pool in every room.
But that's beside the point right now.
The point is that I know how to spot other supers trying to hide among the unsuspecting mortals. Like our new history teacher.
He says his name is Mr. Mac, and he is awfully protective of his thermos. I don't know what's in it – not exactly. I can't risk getting suspended or investigated either, right? I have my own shit to deal with, but I do know that it isn't coffee. I also know that the first day he showed up, he had all the decorations in that classroom changed.
Of particular note was the windows that he had covered so that we didn't get any natural sun. Its Hella suspicious, if you ask me.
So yesterday I brought in a bundle of garlic. Just the whole dangling party of them and smacked them on his desk. I expected him to freak out right? The other kids looked at me kinda funny, and I know it's gonna take forever to live this down, but I'm not exactly the popular girl anyways.
But I was wrong.
When Mr. Mac came in he set down his stuff and took a good long look at all thar garlic. I swear he looked straight at me without even asking where they came from, and he smiled.
It was this weird *knowing* smile that I didn't like *at all.*
Then he picked one up and took a huge bite of it, outter wrapping and all.
**okay.** so he's not a vampire?
But that just means I have more work to do.
***
For more stuff by me check out r/beezus_writes.
For longer stuff by me and others authors stop by r/redditserials | 163 | your new high school history teacher is not what he seems. He makes constant jokes about having met historical figures in the past, he drinks "coffee" that doesn't smell like coffee and you're pretty sure you've seen his eyes glow once. You try to find out exactly what he is. | 971 |
"No! No no no no- noooooooo!" he screamed out into the abyss.
He flapped his cape and sat cross legged on the forever stone, wincing and bouncing back up once he felt its eternal darkness. *"There must be something left, anybody, they can't win, they won't win!"* The Cultist thought to himself. 7 hours had passed since he began attempting to summon a power from beyond, through any means necessary, even using the abyss.
The Cultist is an eccentric wizard who came into his power on live television at the paltry age of 16. He was performing on a talent show a simple magic trick, when within seconds (much to his own surprise) he spawned 2,000 ace of spades and flung them individually into the pockets of the audience. The crowd had gone wild, so wild that their screams of excitement had muffled those of terror, the screams from the members of the audience sat beside the people who's cards hadn't reached their pockets but instead sliced straight through their throats.
It was Cimon Powell, a brain hot pocket for heroes, but secretly an overlord villain, layered in everything and anything powerful. He took The Cultist under his wing, and under Cimon's guise he soon became one of the most notorious villains of all-time, amassing his own small army of low-level villains who came and went at his beck and call. Somehow all of his transgressions publicly televised in the nick of time. Cimon Powell remained untouched and unbothered by the media whilst The Cultist was at the forefront, so they remained as such for years upon years.
Now at the ripe age of 60, The Cultist is a lone wolf, having lost Master Powell during inter-dimensional battle of the rising face-eaters. 10 hours ago, the forever stone popped into his underground lair simply out of the blue, of course The Cultist took full credit and chalked it down to his own greatness spawning it at his own behest. Before Master Powell left, his last instructions were to resurrect the mightiest villains with the forever stone but it had taken him 10 years to even get into contact with the stone, so there was nothing he wasn't willing to try, he was at his wits end.
"Master Powell! .... Please give me a sign!"
He swings his arms out into the air and begins dragging them towards each other, pulling the abyss to an eventual close and throwing it back into the forever stone.
He begins zapping at it with his fingers repeatedly as the colours of the rainbow spring against it and back out into the sky.
"Zumon Calapticor!" he shouts at the stone, twiddling his fingers in the air.
The stone begins to erupt and transform, breaking apart and melting into a gooey puddle that begins rising back up into the form of a human body, a gigantic human body. The Cultist begins to step back slowly as he strains his neck attempting to see the reality of who he had spawned. Just as the goo reaches the top of the head, the entire thing evaporates right before him leaving only the stone on the ground.
"Fucking dead! How is every bloody villain dead and I'm still here? It shouldn't be like this! It won't end like this!"
The Cultist's worst and best attribute was his ability to manifest the things he said and thought, to an extent they would go very right and to another extent they would also go terribly wrong. He never knew what was to come, thus gave up ever policing the things he said. He almost enjoyed the unknowingness of his darkness.
Suddenly, a twinkle in the sky begins getting bigger, closer and faster towards him. The Cultist leaps into the air and rolls over the stone grabbing it as he portals through the ground and out the other side of the planet, shooting into the air and hovering lightly back to the ground. Surrounded by dessert in the scorching sun he looks up towards the sky and sees the twinkle had disappeared, but a shadow stood tall over him.
"You thought you could escape us puny Cultist."
The Cultist turns around and sees Gigantior hovering in mid air, and hundreds of other twinkles forming in the sky behind him. He could feel that this was the end for him. That maybe he had even manifested it himself.
"Give us the forever stone," whispered Hipnotica, as her body-less aura sifted through the air.
The Cultist raises the forever stone above him without hesitation and opens his mouth to cast a spell. Before he's even able to make a sound, Gigantior zaps him and he combusts right there and then.
When The Cultist wakes up, he's stood on the side of a mountain cracked with streaks of lava and nothing but the same for miles. *"I failed you Master Powell! I failed you, I failed you!"* he thought to himself, through tears. He knew he had been killed and sent to the realm of the dead. Though his cape had other ideas, swinging around to the sound of footsteps approaching.
"Failed?"
The tears in his eyes disappear instantly. "*It's him."* he thought. He turns around and in the flesh, Cimon Powell and his puffed chest stand right before him.
"It only took you ten years, but you brought it," he says caressing the forever stone that even The Cultist doesn't understand how it crossed the threshold of the dead. He was at a loss for words, simply staring in shock.
Master Cimon, gets down to his level and picks him up. He wraps his arm around his shoulder and begins walking him to the other side of the mountain, "Let me show you to your new Cult... friend." As they come over the horizon of the mountain, The Cultist can feel it, seeping in into his skin... pure darkness. Thousands of villains that break into wild cheer vibrating the very ground itself as Master Cimon raises the forever stone into the air.
Master Cimon looks at The Cultist and gives him the nod, The Cultist screams across the crowd his magic pushing his voice further and further, "Let's kill them all!" | 14 | You are a cultist trying to summon a powerful being from beyond this plane, but every one you try seems to have already been defeated by a hero | 98 |
"Well now that's just rude." My human friend said, looking over my shoulder. "I mean people still name their kids Murphy. And those kids could be assholes no one wants to talk to."
I nodded in laughter at the joke. Murphy was a bit of a rude person, but he generally meant well. Plus he was small enough to get through to vent shaft B on the lower decks. Someone that useful can't be a bad person.
"So where are we heading this trip?" He asked, looking through some of the new schematics for breathing modifications.
"I think the Rnwx planetoid. These modifications don't make sense for many other species in this region." I tapped a page with a claw.
Murphy stared at the page. It looked as if I had made a tiny puncture. I was about to apologize, but I noticed the diagram was still legible enough to have not dampened its utility.
"You know..." Murphy said, and I noticed his face contort to show his upper mandibles. "We don't really get into the vents this deep that often...." he paused. I blinked in agreement to his prompt. "We COULD make a few modifications of our own."
I could almost feel the next words before they were spoken. "What could go wrong?" I turned around and started slithering away. "No, that wouldn't be of any use. It'd waste time." I said.
I could feel Murphy loudly clomping after me as fast as he could. "You don't even know what I'm saying. It could end up being useful. Might even get us recognized and being part of the standard ship design."
My body froze. To have your personal modifications deemed so useful as to be standardized.........
No, the pamphlet is useful in that it prevents time waste and damage control.
Murphy grabbed the pamphlet from under my arm and held it out. "Just imagine a manual... with your name... right there." And tapped the author's name with his dull claw.
If the modifications were successful, I could write manuals. Not just pamphlets. Manuals. Every other crewmember who installed them would read my name and see I had been staggeringly useful to the whole of the federation.
My claw lashed out and snatched the schematics he had under his arm, the same way he had done to me. Only my claw made a much larger hole now. It definitely damaged its utility, but I no longer cared. Murphy had gotten in my head, and the possibilities were burning through my mind.
"You are an asshole." I said, my head bobbing in uncontrollable laughter as I slithered as fast as I could towards the vents.
"Now what did you have in mind?" | 521 | If you hear a human ask, "What could go wrong?" Do NOT involve yourself. If you hear one ask for their beer to be held, leave immediately. If you encounter a man named "Murphy" that no humans seem to see, RUN. | 3,565 |
(First attempt at a writing prompt)
My head is beating harder than it normally does when I get up. Bleary eyed, I try to take a look at whatever damage I did to my safe room this time-
I'm not in my safe room.
I started panicking, \*How did I get out? What did I forget to do? Did I hurt anyone? How much damage did I...\*That's when I realized something is around my neck.
A collar? After a few failed attempts of getting it off my neck, I find a tag of some sort on it. I do manage to pull it off and it just has an address, "52 Acklay Street."
My curiosity peaked, I get from the ground and finally take notice that I'm in an alley way of some kind, and what appears to be a somewhat neatly folded stack of clothing. A few sizes to big, but they do the job of covering me as I go to check the where the address takes me.
&#x200B;
After walking for about half an hour-and still haven't gotten the collar off for some reason-arrive at a fairly standard looking suburban home. I give the door a few knocks and wait for a response.
Nothing...I'm starting to wonder if anyone will show up, or maybe I got the wrong address when the door pops open slightly.
"You seem to be the one, come in" The guy spoke to me through the door so I can't make out what he looks like. "You're just inviting some random stranger into you home?" I'm not sure I trust him yet.
"There are stranger things to worry about-besides, we've already met" I can barely make out a small grin when I make a confused look at his response as he then pulls the door open all the way. I figured I wouldn't get any answers if I just walked away, so I follow him in.
His house is oddly dim, but even so I now have a better look at him. He's wearing a thick leather jacket of some kind, can't make out any patches or embroidery on it, and some kind of undershirt, as well as sporting short black hair with some stubble.
After the door closes behind us he speak up "So your a werewolf, right?" Off to a great start.
"What gives you that idea? It's not like they actually exist." I say as I try to hide my reaction.
"For starters, who do you think put a stop to you before your potential rampage and slapped that collar on you?"
"So you ARE the one who put it one me!" Even though I'm angry at him for forcing me to wear, I am glad I didn't do anything yet. "What the hell is up with that anyways? Why not a note just telling me the address?!"
"You might have ripped it up, got blown away, or otherwise have not noticed it." He response, barely seemed phased by my anger. "It also should suppress your lycanthrope so you won't go berserk on fool moons and mitigate any of the other problems"
"Why does it have to be a collar? Why not a bracelet or something? It's embarrassing to be compared to a dog!"
"Isn't that what you are though?" He says with an annoying smirk again "Besides, I'm not the one who made it."
Trying to take it all in, I ask him the question I've been meaning to as calmly as I can muster. "How come you brought me out here?"
The smirk fading from his face, he give his response "Because I need your help to stop the others." | 26 | Being a werewolf, you often find yourself seeing remnants of what your wolf self did on the full moon. This time, you woke up with a collar around your neck with a stranger's address on the pendant. You decide to find who gave you the collar and find out why they had their address on it. | 111 |
**Item #:** SCP-7648
**Object Class:** ~~Safe~~ Euclid
**Special Containment Procedures:** SCP-7648 is to remain on a level ground, on a surface of area of 5 square meters and contained within a room with capacity for a drainage rate 30,240 litres of waste liquid within a 24 hour period; and the capacity to manage that for at least 72 hours. The room is to be monitored by five security guards at all times armed with a wash cloth, a spirit level, and screened for their preference for coffee. Should any leakage be noted from the cup the guards are to start drinking until advised otherwise, or other staff dismiss them. Once per day SCP-7648 should be picked up, and consumed for thirty seconds by a member of the security team drawn at random (See Addendum 7648 C)
**Description:** SCP-7648 is a 12 oz cup of coffee from a well known coffee chain that remains full of a brown liquid chemically indistinguishable to coffee (classified as 7648-1). The cup itself is a standard white disposable cup from #########, with the only notable difference being the logo is blue. The cup itself is full of 7648-1, that remains within a temperature range of 52.7 Celsius to 82.6 Celsius until it is removed from the cup.
The cup was obtained by the foundation on 14/##/##22 outside ######## Oregon. Locals reported that 7648-1 was leaking from an apartment and strange sounds coming from the top floor; after the landlord was unable to open the door and 7648-1was leaking in the hallway, the police were called. Upon opening the door with a fireaxe, a flood of 7648-1 streamed through the building into the street and did not stop for several minutes. Once police were able to get into the apartment, they found the renter of the apartment #### ##### dead, from apparent drowning. SCP-7648 was found at the scene, placed for containment in a bathtub and was brought to the attention of the Foundation.
Initially it was contained in the standard anomalous storage facility; after an containment breach on 27/##/##22, the new Containment Procedures were put in place(see addendum 7648 B)
Initial testing showed that the liquid in the cup was coffee, would adapt to the testers preference within reason (see addendum 7648 A). Additionally if tipped upside down the cup would immediately refill, and just keep releasing liquid. Liquid removed from SCP-7648 (classified as 7648-1) will immediately start to decrease in temperate at the rate expected for the liquid.
**Addendum 7648 A**
Initial testing
Test A. Present Dr. Vert. Note likes Coffee with skimmed milk, no sugar. Tasted 7648-1. Tasted exactly how they like their coffee. 60.0 Celsius
Test D. Dr. Cobalt. Dislikes coffee, no other preferences. Tasted sickenly sweet and bitter. Coffee 82.6 Celsius
Test E. Present Dr. Vert and Dr. Cobalt. Both tasted same 7648-1 instance. Both said it tasted as per test A. Temperature was 47.9 Celsius (though to facilitate test 7648-1 was removed from 7648-1 into separate container)
Outcome. Seems to change to exactly how the individual pouring or tasting prefers their 'coffee', including sweetener, milk type, and temperature. Request for further testing submitted and granted.
Test ZZW-1 Dr. Vert stated preference for Almond milk, with a blond espresso, not too hot, with a caramel flavouring. Tasted exactly how they requested. Test successful.
Testing stopped by O5, after suspicion Dr. Vert was using ongoing tests to get free morning coffee. There is a coffee machine in the breakroom. Unless object is reclassified as safe, it cannot be used to for premium coffee. Dr. Vert was given a Green mark on their file for not less than 5 years.
**Addendum 7648 B**
>>Log of the breach of containment on 27/##/##22 taken from security footage
>>09:22:24 Dr Henry found some of the containment boxes were damp and swears at some nearby D class.
>>09:22:37 Dr Henry fetches some paper towels, and started to wipe the liquid.
>>09:23:56 Dr Henry starts opening lockers to ascertain extent of damage
>>09:24:27 Screams as he opens locker to SCP-7648 and burns his hand
>>09:24:47 Other personal can be heard screaming. The footage shows SCP-7648 laying on it's side, 7648-1 is poring out.
>>09:26:57 Site is put into lockdown.
>>09:41:12 The vision of the camera is obscured as 7648-1 covers the lens.
>>09:55:00 Approx. Mobile Task Force Kappa 12 were on hand, and open the doors to attempt containment.
>>09:56:15 The camera shows 7648-1 leaving the room.
>>09:57:43 Members of Kappa 12 wade through 7648-1, and manage to pick up SCP-7648.
**Addendum 7648 C**
It was observed that without contact or removal of 7648-1, SCP - 7648 will at random spill if not removed with the intension of being consumed within a 24 hour period.
O5 research request granted with extended containment procedure. Dr. Vert has had the green mark removed from their file for stopping further containment breaches through their morning testing. | 106 | After four hours of absently sipping, it dawns on you that your coffee is just as full as when you poured it. You guzzle it down, and it refills just as fast. After weeks of enjoying free caffeination, it occurs to you there are more inventive uses for your eternal coffee. | 331 |
No, don't panic.
Dad taught you what to do.
The basement. 'Get to the basement. I'll come get you.'
There was a bang as the door shook. Someone was trying trying to get in.
Move. MOVE!
I hit my leg on the coffee table. It broke. The table broke.
'Don't worry about anything you break. Just get away.'
I was heading to the kitchen, where the basement door was.
The door shook again. I heard the wall breaking as it moved.
I was in the kitchen now. The door was right there to my right.
Something came through window over the sink.
Something big. Something fast. Something that grabbed me.
'Don't be afraid to hurt them. They don't matter. Not like we do. Don't feel for them.'
I screamed. I punched it. It sprayed red on me and I couldn't see.
I screamed more. I tried to wipe my eyes blue there was so much kf the stuff on me. Something else grabbed me. I cried.
I wanted my dad. I want my mommy.
There was another bang. This time the whole world shook.
It was so loud I stopped screaming.
What ever was holding me let go. I heard footsteps but I don't know if they were coming at me or going away.
It was both.
"No wait please. NO! I let him go! I LET HIM G-"
There was a sound. It was like when mom would beat a steak, or break chicken legs or crack eggs.
All at once.
The was something dripping.
"It's okay."
I cried again. It was Dad.
He tried to stand up but the flood was wet and slippery.
Dad grabbed me. I knew it was him. Noone was big like him and could hug the same.
"I got you. It's okay. Let me clean your face."
He picked me up. I felt his cape on my face, cleaning the goo away.
I could see now. Dad was smiling at me.
He had blood on him.
I had blood on me.
There was blood everywhere.
"Dad, I-"
"It's okay, Mark. This is how it will be for us now. We're Viltrumites. This is what we do."
I looked around. There were four men.
No.
Two men. In four pieces.
"Mark."
I look back at Dad.
"Are you ready to help me take this planet for Viltrum?"
I felt something in me. Something that smiled. Something that wanted to fight.
"Yeah. I'm ready." | 19 | You are the child of a powerful Hero. You are watching the final battle between your father and his arch rival on TV. As they fight you hear the villain say "I know who you are *William*! I'll take from you everything!" Fear come across his face as you hear something approach from outside. | 93 |
"What will it be, sir?" the attendant asked the young man before her.
"Hi. I'll need some... rope, plastic bags, a handsaw, duct tape..."
The man needed to be well supplied, of course, given his plans for renovations of a basement - after all, it was going to be a substantial undertaking.
"Renovating your home, are we?" the attendant asked casually.
"Oh, not exactly," the man replied. "I"m planning to visit an *old friend*," he said, a dark glimmer in his eye. Simply because he couldn't wait for the prank he'd surprise his friend with, of course.
Time passed and the man drove his grey, unmarked van - for he just had it washed and the license plate just happened to fall off in the carwash without him noticing - to the house of his old friend and parked right in front. It was the dead of night and he suspected his friend might be fast asleep, but that was the perfect time for the prank. He put on gloves - renovations were dirty work - and set off.
The man snuck around the house and fed his friend's dog a piece of meat with sedatives - he didn't wish for it to bark and wake everyone up, knowing full well how important getting 8 hours of sleep is. He, of course, made sure the sedatives wouldn't harm the good boy. Coming around the back of the house, he carefully inspected the windows and found them unlocked. He chuckled softly - his friend has always been so very forgetful and he knew this could happen. He would have to remind his friend - he doesn't want him to get burgled, after all.
The window opened without so much as a creak - it was clearly well maintained and the man was satisfied with that. He climbed through it - it was already open and he didn't want to wake his friend by knocking on the door. It was time to start.
He spread the plastic sheets he had bought in the living room and set all his tools nearby. Handsaw, duct tape, drills... everything you need for some renovations. He even brought a bottle of chloroform as a solvent for the construction of the wooden floor - polish is *ever* so important.
The time came in the early morning. His friend had awoken, disturbed by a slight noise the man inadvertently made when two of the tools clinked together. He came downstairs armed with a golf club, not knowing the perfectly safety he was in now that the man carefully locked all the doors and windows. The danger of burglary was utterly gone.
***\*Click\****
The friend switched the lights on and gasped as he saw the scene - the bags, tools, chloroform and amidst it all, his friend, a devilish grin on his face.
"Thought you could escape it, didn't you?" the man asked and adjusted his gloves.
"Oh, Mark! You came all this way for..." the friend laughed and set down his club.
"Hey, you said you were gonna make a mancave and you've been procrastinating this entire time. It ends now. We're making a mancave!" the man said excitedly.
Time for some renovations. | 285 | A story where the main character does things that make them look like a serial killer, while the narrator desperately tries to assure the reader that there's a perfectly good reason for their actions. | 697 |
Let me condense it down for you, capiche?
You see, my grandma- she loves mobile games. When she’s not with her girls playing mahjong, or out gardening, she’s probably on her phone, like me, playing games, like me. In other words, she’s maintained one aspect of my current life in her late years.
Now, recently, games have been a bit more…fantastical. Fate/Grand Order has mythical forms of historical figures who can wipe the world out with ease. Genshin Impact has a beautiful, stunning world that fits in the palm of your hand. Clash Royale lets you declare wars between anyone and everyone- albeit with a more comical and medieval tone. These, and many other games, have some sort of high fantasy element to them.
My grandma likes to collect things, too, which is why she likes playing gacha games like Puzzle & Dragons and collectible card games like Shadowverse. She is a gardener, and is therefore simply attracted by games like Gardenscapes. Her mind is always hard at work trying to beat her peers in mahjong, so developing strategies and game-winning mindsets in games like Legends of Runeterra.
So when people began randomly gaining superpowers, the combination of collecting powerful people, cultivating and caring what she has, and being competitive, she made her choice. Eventually, my town of Buckley, Colorado became a hotspot for adventurers and characters from Runeterra to Teyvat, all governed and looked after by my 70 year-old grandma. To show out display of power, someone with the ability to command dragons tried to raid Buckley, only for grandma to call out those Dragon Callers and beckon the man’s mass of scalie flyers over to our side with ease. The guy was shook and ran off in his underwear- we burned the rest of his clothes.
So uh, yeah, that’s a quick overview of how my grandma Alice became the most OP superhero in America, and possibly the world. She just happened to have connections to everyone she knew- as long as they were on her phone.
Plus, we taught how the Raiden Shogun to cook. It was an experience. | 28 | Random people around the world are being granted powers based on whatever video game they choose. Some people summon pokemon, turn into mechs, or gain God-like abilities. A grandmother is asked to choose; however, she is only familiar with mobile games. How did she become so OP? | 96 |
##Not Quite First Contact
The small craft first appeared over Iowa. Within a few days, the site had attracted a tent city of alien enthusiasts within a day. Tents increased in frequency until reaching the circle created by the army. Soldiers were keeping watch on the crowd while speculation ripped through the population. A few people became convinced that the soldiers were aliens. They were wrong, but they were also too stupid to know they were wrong.
A hodge-podge group from the UN slept in army shacks set-up near the craft. National rivalries and alliances were arguing over the final composition of the official delegation. Everyone wanted their country to hold the honor of making first contact. The group currently from the UN was composed entirely of office workers from the UN building in New York. If the craft made contact with them, they were required to answer, but they wouldn't be the ones making first contact officially. If that statement made little sense, just remember that diplomacy never made sense.
A few more days past, and the craft stayed in its position. The official delegation was still not assembled as relations turned hostile; a brawl broke out on the floor of the General Assembly. The average person didn't care about the delegation. The debate sweeping the globe was over the nature of the craft.
Two main camps were created. One believed that the craft was gold and shaped like an egg. The other believed the craft was brass and shaped like a dome. Neither side was willing to admit defeat. Families were torn apart in the great debate.
A small group turned to scientists to answer the question. The scientists were fascinated by the distortions of light and gravity around the craft. The source of these distortions on the craft was unclear, and no thrusters were visible. It also raised questions on how to travel in space by manipulating gravity and light. The public grew bored with the science talk and went on with their discussions.
When the craft descended a few days later, a preliminary delegation was decided, but a meme petition circulated to include penguins in the delegation. Normally, such a petition would be ignored, but a few jilted ambassadors used it to waste everyone's time. When the craft landed, the initial group was left to make contact.
The craft opened, and a few soldiers recorded for a better view of the ship. A small blue humanoid stepped out of the craft. It wore reflective silver to the delight of '60s sci-fi costume designers. Its hair was pink, and it had large eyes that were entirely pupil. It walked towards the human delegation quickly.
"Hello, would you happen to know where Lwev is?" The alien repeated the question several times in a variety of languages. The human group looked at each other in confusion. One stepped forward bravely.
"Uh, no."
"Well, this is terrible." The alien began to pace. "It's my first day on the job, and I go to the wrong planet. I can't even find the right planet. My boss is going to be so pissed at me. Oh well, have a good day."
The alien walked back to its craft and flew away. Satellites tracking it discovered that it changed its course multiple times when leaving our solar system. Humanity went about its business as usual in the succeeding decades.
Diplomatic ties were officially re-established, but nations never forgot who slapped them during the delegation establishment. The tent city was removed barring a few obsessives. The towns nearby attempted to become a tourist trap based on the event. The debate on the craft's shape was limited to niche internet forums. Scientists continued to discuss how to construct a space craft that would travel using gravity until their funding was cut. A few people denied the event ever happened because they read an article online.
One thing was for certain. Humanity officially didn't make first contact on that day.
---
r/AstroRideWrites | 18 | The first alien vessel to reach Earth touches down gently in the field. The doors open and a small figure emerges. It looks around nervously, walks slowly towards the human delegation, leans in towards the ambassador, and states, “I am in *so* much trouble… it’s my first day.” | 39 |
Jim woke to a bright light shining directly in his face. He lifted himself up on his elbows and blinked furiously. Someone cursed, and the light quickly disappeared.
Jim gazed blankly into the darkness. Occasionally a machine hidden somewhere in the room beeped. It was annoying. Jim flopped back down on the table and tried to get back to sleep, but just as he was drifting off the sound of muffled arguing woke him.
"OMG, 1232829342B9. I canNOT believe you just, like, abducted the wrong species."
"I'm SORRY, okay? By the Grand Emperor, it's like a guy can't have a simple learning experience these days."
"This is the SIXTH learning experience you've had TODAY!"
Jim slammed his head into his pillow, but there was no pillow, and now his head hurt. He didn't remember his bed being a table. When had that happened? Regardless, it was a nuisance. He would have return this table and get his bed back in the morning.
Just then, mercifully, the two fell silent. Jim sighed deeply and closed his eyes. He wished his roommates would respect his time. Did he have roommates? He could have sworn he hadn't, but who else would be yammering away in his house in the middle of the night?
There was a loud hiss, and a deluge of artificial white light poured into the room. Jim groaned and brought his forearm before his eyes.
Someone poked his arm. Jim turned away violently and closed his eyes again.
"Excuse me, mister, I believe there might be an issue at hand."
"Fix it yourself."
"No, sir, you see, this concerns you, a bit."
"What's that they say? An emergency on your part does not constitute poor planning on mine."
"But-"
"Leave!"
"Fine, fine!" There was a scuffling sound. "2343524E6, shall I have the honor of executing the being?"
"...which being?" said Jim.
"Why, you, of course! You really are rather useless to keep aboard. Uh, not to be rude or anything! I just mean that you're not exactly what we need at the moment."
Jim turned over and opened his eyes.
One luminous yellow eye looked back at him.
"Yuck," said Jim.
The eye drooped.
"It's not THAT gross! Come on! Can I HELP it if I caught yellow-eye?"
"Let me sleep."
"No! I mean, uh, apologies for being so abrupt, but sir, we must figure out something to do with you."
"Why?" asked Jim
"Well..." The eye jerked back and forth. "We were meant to kidnap another being of your planet. The sort of being which walks on four legs and says "moo." I suppose that you are not that being?"
"No."
"Curses! The Emperor will have me beheaded if he finds out about this."
"Hm."
"Anywho, how do you prefer your executions? We've a lovely phaser bank that needs to be used, as well as some cutting-edge murder pills."
"Must you really kill me? That sounds kind of messy. You could just put me back. In my bed."
"...yeah, but how do I know you won't tell the Emperor? I heard that your kind is quite litigious by nature. We cannot handle another lawsuit."
"I don't know your emperor."
The eye seemed unconvinced.
Jim sighed. "And I don't have the money for a lawyer."
The eye turned and rolled away. It left a trail of tear fluid. The door into the room opened automatically and the eye exited.
Jim could hear the sound of conversation from outside, but he couldn't make out a word. Finally, the eye returned.
"My partner has decided that it would be in our best interest to return you to your natural habitat. That would preserve the natural order of your world for future scientists and would as well preserve our limited execution supplies. Please prepare to be transported."
"Lovely." said Jim. "Mind putting me back in my bed?"
The eye paused. "I'm afraid our teleportation technology is prone to error when it comes to, ah, returning things. See, we don't do it very often."
"...what do you-"
The eye did the closest thing an eye can do to a shrug. "Computer, inititate transport!" it shouted. And, with a flash of light, Jim disappeared.
\---
The next morning, headlines in a sleepy coastal town in Florida described the appearance of a corpse washed up on the shore. It was quite curious, as the corpse in question was largely intact, which was unusual for one having been submerged for so long, and, more importantly, it had been identified as that of a Jim Smith, a twice-divorced middle manager from New Jersey. For about a week, people in the vicinity all speculated on what exactly had happened to Mr. Smith, but the hubbub soon died down, and the corpse was buried three feet deep in a little forest nobody ever visited.
In other news, a distraught farmer reported the loss of a chicken, a sheep, a goat, a dog, a cat, and a pig, all in one day. His only solace was that the perpetrator left him with his beloved cow. | 47 | You were always told English was a 'universal language', but you never believed it until aliens accidentally capture you and start panicking in fluent English. | 111 |
"Aaaaaaaaaaargh,"
screamed Sharon, jumping backwards over the side of the bed.
"What the *hell* is going on?"
"Calm down, Mummy! This is my new friend, Mr. Johnson," said Sara.
The tall and muscular figure who looked eerily similar to *The Rock* took a breath, and started talking.
"Sorry to intrude here, Mrs. Brennan." -- That voice, Sharon thought. It's really him! -- "Believe me when I say, the surprise is mutual," said Dwayne 'The Rock' Johnson, who was wearing pyjamas with blue elephants on top, yellow giraffes on the bottom.
A few moments of contemplative silence passed. From behind the bed: "That's really The Rock in my house right now?"
"It is it is it is," cried Sara, gleefully. "I wished for a pet rock from Santa in the mall, and I got the best one of them all!"
Sharon raised her messy hair and bewildered face into view, for a sceptical look. "Fucking hell," she gasped. Dwayne Fucking Johnson was standing *right there.*
"Hey, no swearing," Sara snapped.
"Look, it's Christmas day, and I'm really not meant to be here. So, Sara, it's been real meeting you, but I won't be able to stay for the tea party."
"But you said you would!"
"I'm sorry," Dwayne 'The Rock' Johnson said, not lying. "Trust me, if I didn't have my own family to get back to, Fuzzy Bear and Malibu Barbie and I would be teapotting it up all afternoon with you."
Sharon looked on, vague, wondering if she was still drunk and stoned from the dinner party the night before. Had there been LSD going around? She was beginning to hope so.
Sara looked away, and started to cry. "Now now, don't cry. Any girl able to summon *The Rock* out of thin air must be really, really strong," he said. "Are you strong, Sara?"
She wiped the tears from her eyes, and nodded her head. "There it is. I think you might be the strongest girl in the whole neighbourhood!"
"You really think so?"
"No doubt about it. And no-one knows these things better than I do."
Sara smiled big and bright and ran over and hugged his leg. "Isn't that right, Mrs. Brennan?"
Sharon was too mystified by what she was observing to respond. "Mrs. Brennan, isn't that right?"
"What? Oh, yes. Of course. Mr. Johnson would know."
"Yay!"
Dwayne 'The Rock' Johnson gave them both his widest Hollywood smile, and Sharon found her confusion subsiding into instincts of a very different nature. My word he's handsome, she thought.
"Could I please use your phone? Had better explain to the wife where I am."
"Sure, down the hall on the wall next to the fridge."
"Great, thanks."
Sharon gathered herself and put her dressing gown on and picked Sara up. "Well, missy. This'll be a Christmas we won't forget, that's for sure."
Dwayne 'The Rock' Johnson was still on the phone when they walked into the kitchen. He spoke quietly, but Sharon could tell something was wrong.
"Mummy, is Mr. Johnson okay?"
"I don't know, honey. Let's give him some space to finish his call."
Dwayne 'The Rock' Johnson followed them to the loungeroom a few minutes later, as a different man than before. His towering frame slumped, crestfallen, eyes wet with tears, looking as if about to make some kind of plea.
"Well, ladies. Looks like the situation is stranger than I thought," he said.
"What's the matter, Mr. Johnson?" Sara asked, with profound concern.
"Turns out I never left home, after all. My wife says I'm still sleeping in bed."
It was then, finally, that Sharon realised they were playing witness to the most insane Christmas miracle, surely, in history. Stranger than fiction, a singular cataclysm in humanity's understanding of science and physics and anything that Neil deGrasse Tyson from *Cosmos* had to say.
Sara, on the other hand, was thrilled. So much so that she was struggling to contain herself in spite her Christmas wish's emotional state. Dwayne 'The Rock' Johnson looked down, and, seeing how happy she was, managed a smile.
"Well, Miss Sara, howabout that tea party?"
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
r/wordsofbrennan | 704 | "Mummy, mummy, look!" Your daughter cries, waking you from a deep sleep early on Christmas morning. "Santa got me the pet rock I asked for!" You slowly open your eyes to see your daughter holding hands with one very confused--but still smiling--Dwayne Johnson. | 6,044 |
Mary and Linda found him in his bedroom, the needle still in his arm. This wasn’t Linda’s first sight of death, so she was a little numb to the experience. She remembers him though. The cloaked figure that came and pulled the soul from the still warm body. Up until this point Linda thought only the good were taken, but now she knows the bad are too.
&#x200B;
As she grew, Linda saw the cloaked figure from a distance on many occasions. It was the only constant thing in her life other than Mary. Over the years she began to miss the cloaked figure and she began to hang around hospitals or retirement homes, until she got to see him. This had helped for many years, but eventually that wasn’t enough. When Mary had left for college, Linda stayed back for Jake.
Jake wasn’t a good man, but he was there, a living breathing thing. Linda almost forgot about the cloaked figure, until one night, while Linda was sitting on the hospital bed, she saw it again. The cloak wafting as the figure moved so quickly to the bed side of the person in the other room. Just as quickly as it came it was gone. That’s when Linda knew, she wanted to know the cloaked figure, not just watch it, and if he comes for the bad too, he will surely come for Jake.
Today, two years later, Mary was home and Jake was gone. Linda sipped her warm bitter coffee wrapped in a heavy sweater. She liked the feel of the crisp morning air against her nose. She happily watches the hustle and bustle of the morning from the patio of her favorite coffee shop. The “Cypress” was an Italian styled coffee joint that her best friend Mary owned. The red dodge truck that frequents this road every morning came down the road right on schedule. She studied the interior and saw only Natalie, Mary’s mother. Natalie was a saint but was a battling cancer and the likely wasn’t going to win. This was more of a mercy killing than a sacrifice, Linda told herself. Linda sipped her coffee again and watched as the truck continued through the intersection, failing to stop at the red light, striking the semi-truck. Flames immediately rising and engulfing the truck. Linda felt the hair on her neck rise as the heat reached her on the patio. She scanned the area hoping to see the cloak. She both wanted to see it, but also wanted confirmation that the death was quick. It had been two minutes, and nothing had changed, the air around her started to change and soon she was choking for air. She turned clutching her chest trying to find the cause, but she wasn’t thinking clearly, and the panic had started to set it.
Turning around she was looking directly in its piercing blue eyes. The figure studied her face and turned its head from side to side, “Who are you?” it asked in such a low voice she was certain it was a man.
Snapping his fingers, the air was back in her lungs and the street was quiet. He patiently waited for her response as he lifted his eyebrow in curiosity. “Why do you keep killing people?” he asks. | 21 | The Grim Reaper always shows up a minute after death to collect the soul. Everyone can see him, but he’s intangible and never interacts with anyone. A minute after you witness a fatal accident, he appears, collects the soul, and then looks your way. “WHO ARE YOU?” He says. | 109 |
### Statement of Dr. White Tower
...
I'd been caught in flagrante delicto. The knife in my hand ran with the blood of the bastard that tried to rob me. Only his gun went flying in the first exchange of pleasantries and was never found.
Of course, this had to happen the day after my project returned irrefutable proof that our entire existence was a simulation.
In the end, they charged me with murder—first-degree with aggravated circumstances. I'd pretty well disemboweled him with the last slice.
I mean, why not? It's not like any of this is real.
They went through producing all the evidence, establishing all the facts they had until it was finally my turn. My lawyer was being a dick. I finally had it out with him in open court.
"Mr. Dewey, do I pay you to be my lawyer?"
"Yes, you do, but what you propose will do your case no good!"
"Even though it is the truth?!"
"Even so. One moment, please." Dewey turned to the judge, "If it pleases the court, might we have a short recess? As you have already heard, we fundamentally disagree on how to proceed."
"You certainly do, and I could use a short break. The court is in recess for thirty minutes." *Bang!*
Dewey was adamant; I was unmovable. We were still wrangling as we came back into the court.
"Mr. Dewey? I can see that you have not reached an agreement."
"Yes, Your Honor. To the point that I have already informed Dr. Tower that I cannot, in good conscience, continue to represent him. I have already instructed my office to refund all of his payments forthwith. I await only Dr. Tower's acceptance and your agreement to withdraw."
"Your client's — former client's proposal is so offensive?"
"This may get me disbarred, but if it were not morally, ethically, legally, and personally repugnant to me, I would slay him in open court before the entire world rather than allow him to proceed. I *beg* the court to refuse his testimony, or at least hear it in a closed session!"
I could have kissed the stiff-necked bastard. That speech, as impassioned as it was, guaranteed my hearing.
"Mr. Dewey, you are excused. May I assume that your partners also refuse?"
"Your Honor, if either of them accepts, the partnership dissolves instantly."
Now that brought everyone to full alert. One of the oldest firms in the world was about to break up? That guaranteed worldwide coverage of my hearing.
I must admit that the feral smile I bestowed upon the judge did not improve things. "Closed session, the jury will withdraw. Bailiff, triple the guards."
After things were arranged to his taste, the judge allowed me to continue. So I did. My explanation of the nature of reality was rather messy, but the bailiffs made excellent examples.
Dripping with the blood of six men, I turned to the judge, “And so, Your Honor, in light of the fact that we now know, beyond any doubt, that we are all living in a simulation, that man I ‘killed’ was never real in the first place, so there is no way he could have been murdered. I am innocent!”
The judge sat there, stunned. The court recorder afraid to look to either side, eyes closed against the blood, rapidly typed despite no one speaking.
"What are you writing?"
"Will."
"You realize that it is pointless?"
"The simulation doesn't stop when one of us dies, does it?"
"Of course not."
"Then everyone who remains in the simulation will know my wishes and carry them out."
"Intriguing. Do you believe this is worthwhile?"
"I am not as smart as you. What if you're wrong?"
### Post-review Interview
"I was distracted by this question. I had thought my proof was incontrovertible. Certainly, despite their various attempts to involve those outside the courtroom, I had maintained the closed court as the judge requested.
"The next moment I was in this room, being questioned by you."
"What do you think happened?"
"Obviously, the judge terminated my position in the simulation, and you chose to capture my views before disposing of me."
"I see. Please return to your room. We will talk again later."
### Life Simulation Project
"So, how did he figure it out? The simulation was perfect. There wasn't a single glitch or black cat in the entire pattern."
"George?"
"Yes?"
"That's not the important question."
"Then what is?"
"Is *this* a simulation?" | 10 | “And so, Your Honor, in light of the fact that we now know, beyond any doubt, that we are all living in a simulation, that man I ‘killed’ was never real in the first place, so there is no way he could have been murdered. I am innocent!” | 37 |
Hophat thought that being dead and mummified, he should be able to rest in peace. In fact, that was exactly what he did for a couple thousand years. After grave robbers showed up in his tomb. He was shipped off the A British museum where he was studied for months before being put on display. The thing was, although Hophat was dead, his spirit never moved on to the next world. Osiris came by to take the souls to the underworld, but when he came to Hophat, he told the newly dead man to basically bugger off. Why? Because Hophat was a priest of Seth: the god that murdered and dismembered Osiris, so Hophat's soul had stayed with his body all these millennia.
Once ensconced in the British Museum, he thought it wasn't too bad. He slept all night, but during the day, there were constant bickering. He'd been here well over a century, and had learned English as well as a smattering of other languages. Too often, though, he was hearing young British children calling out for "Mummy." While his in his native tongue, a corpse, or Khat, was called a sah after it had gone through the procedure of of burial preparation. These people called him a Mummy. So he wondered why these children called him that. After all, he had only one child, Horus, who Isis conceived after she reassembled and resurrected him.
Two children were standing by the display case, a young boy and young girl. The girl looked at Hophat and stated, "Mummy would be angry at me if I used that much toilet paper to wipe my butt." Hophat was confused why he would be angry, and decided it was time he found out why they always called for him as Mummy instead of by name. He reached up and moved the glass top, then sat up. Looking at the two children, he asked, "Why would I be angry as you wiping your butt, and what is toilet paper.
Both children lost control of their bladders and fainted.
Hophat carefully started extricating himself from the the display case. He walked over to the two prone children laying in pools of their urine. Kneeling down, he spoke with a very thick accent. "Are you two all right or should I call an attendant?" The little girl woke up, took one look at him and started screaming.
"Please, young lady, your screams are enough to wake the dead. They did me." The girl stopped screaming and looked at him.
"Oh no you don't, you old smelly mummy! You were already awake before I screamed!"
Hophat tried to grimace up a grin, but his effort was wasted because hi bandages covered this mouth.
"True, but you said I'd be angry if you used that much toilet paper to wipe your butt. I just want to know why I'd be angry and what is toilet paper?" | 26 | A mummy on display at the British Museum gets fed up with all the small children constantly yelling at it ("Mummy? Mummy!") and finally decides to get up out of its sarcophagus, and find out what the hell all these little British kids could possibly want from a 3000 year-old Pharaoh. | 301 |
Just like every other day, I walked down the crowded hallway to my classroom. Some people waved at me as I walked by. I didn't know them, but I waved back. I reached the door. Taking a breath in, I yanked it open. My eyes immediately met with my best friend Jim. He was sitting at his computer, the word document almost blank. I sat down at the desk next to him.
"Hey Jim." I plonked my bag down next to me. Jim gave a me a small smile. "Whatcha doin'?"
"Oh, Just working on this story." He responded. There were a few sentences typed out. He tilted the screen down before I could read what they said. "If I get writer's block before Saturday, I swear to god-"
I laughed. He never let me read his stories for some reason, but I assumed it was just a freelance thing. Private commissions, I guess.
"So, anything special going on this week?" I asked. I put my own laptop on my desk and opened it. The time was 8:58. The kids will slowly start trickling in soon.
Jim sighed next to me. "Not if I don't get this damn story down."
Just as Jim opened his laptop and started typing, some sudents walked in the door. The teacher went and sat at his desk. Jim glared at him, frustrated. He typed down a few more words aggressively.
"Um.." I started. Most of the kids were at their desks now. I glanced at Jim. "What is your story actually about?"
Jim frowned. He grabbed my arm and pulled me close enough to whisper. "I'll tell you after class. Don't ask again-" He stopped and suddenly looked at the time. 9:01. He quickly went back to his story. He wasn't typing as fast as normal. I guess the words weren't coming to him. I thought about his choice of words for a minute. 'Don't ask again'? Did he think I was going to pry at him?
I might finish this later if I'm bored lol | 11 | You realize that your high school life is under the influence of your writer friend, who doesn't even know their own powers. Now you must prevent reality from being obliterated as your friend began developing Writer's Block. | 111 |
I attended the hearing, as I always did, in my blackest of gowns and pointiest of hats. Of course my cat, Deborah wanted to come along always such a needy little cat.
Anyway, they where trying some loose town girl as a witch for, as far as I could tell, laying in bed with the priest.
They sentenced her to be burned to death. Poor girl was terrified when they tied her to the post, thrashing about like a mare about to be slaughtered. To be fair, I suppose she thought she would be, but I knew this priest and I highly doubted she seduced him with magic. Wine, maybe, but not magic, her soul was clean of it's stain.
A burly man carried a torch to the base of the structure when a bolt of brilliant yellow lightning struck him from clear skies. There was panic, there was confusion, there was terror, there was...
Her own husband reaching for the torch. He would be swallowed up by the very ground. People began to blame her for the consequences, and not the *literal witch* sitting calmly to the side. I sighed, what fools they all where.
Another man, another torch, I'm not sure their relation, but I'm sure it was heartbreaking for her to watch this one vomit water until he drowned. One more element, tragedies such as these tend to come in sets of four after all.
The priest rambling something about divine plans or cosmic retribution or a man who was very high ,I forget the details. But he could convince nobody else to bear the torch, and once it was lit, he burned just as the torch did.
Everyone ran for the hills, finally letting me cut the girl off the pole. "Enthusiastic buggers, ain't they?" I asked, not expecting a response from the terrified girl. "Go on then, you're free." I told her as I started the long treck back to my home.
She followed me of course. She thought she was being stealthy, but I had tea put on for her when she knocked on my door. She asked me to teach her, and again I forget exactly how she asked, but I remember what I told her "the path to being a witch is no easy feat, nor is it one you may turn away from. If you choose to follow me, you will stay your very soul with every color from nature, from heaven and hell, if you should miss even one, you will be swallowed whole."
Still, she agreed to learn. Now, a decade later, I find myself tied to a pole, about to be lit ablaze. I do not struggle, I'm old and tired. Besides, I see the girl among the crowd.
She's not as skilled as I was when I helped her, but still, I watched each of the four elements claim their tithe in blood, one after another. "You're late girl." I reminded her.
"Late? You're still alive. You should be happy I came at all." She huffed, I smile, it's took a long time for that attitude to surface. It took a long time to convince her to value herself.
"You'd leave me to die over a personal slight?" I ask in mock offense, I knew she would never.
"Of course not, you'd just haunt me if I did." She said indignantly.
I laugh "let's get home, my old bones don't take well to being tied up. | 50 | The church has been conducting witch trials recently. You, an actual witch, are somewhat annoyed by all the innocent people being burned at the stake and decide to have some fun striking the people officiating the trials with lightning at ironic moments. | 117 |
"Listen, are you sure about this?" I ask the man in front of me. "I have generals who'd sell their right arm for someone like you. Hell, they'd probably cut it off themselves, if it'd increase the chance of getting you.".
He nods, and I can see the exhaustion pouring out him. "Yeah, I know those people. They are part of it, actually." He looks right at me, and those eyes look so very old. No twenty year old should have those eyes. I wait for him to elaborate. He doesn't.
I sigh. "Listen, your power set can be a burden, I understand that. We will find a place that suits you better." I wave in the general direction of my computer. "But first, I would like to understand you a bit better. You served eight years in the Black Unit, right?" He nods, barely, and seems to shrink into himself a little. "That's quite a long time. Why'd you quit?"
The Black Unit are an elite government military force. They're called that because saying the government has its own assassination squad leaves a bad impression. Most people don't know it exists. Our agency is given special permission to deal with them, and even then only highly trained employees, and still on very limited basis. The people who leave are always in excellent shape, highly skilled and educated individuals, which is why his answer doesn't surprise me at all. "It got too hard." He says.
I nod. People don't understand how difficult it is to take a life. You can tell yourself the other guy deserves it, you might even believe it. But when the time comes and the deed is done, you will feel sick. You'll feel guilt and sadness. You come to hate yourself and see yourself as a monster.
I nod, and ask the next question."Alright. What type of work would you prefer? There are civilian uses for your power, though limited." I see him rubbing his left shoulder absent-mindedly as he thinks. That's where the viper tattoo goes. Every Black Unit op gets it, and most keep it for life. "I want to help people." He says slowly, hesitantly." But I'm not good with people." He finishes after a pause. He looks apologetic... No, he looks sad. " I want to know that what I'm doing can help people." I nod again, and open a few potential listings. I then ask the last part. "Alright, I know this maybe uncomfortable, but I need to understand your abilities.".
He grimaces, like he knew this was coming and tried to prepare. And failed. "Umm... I absorb the life force of other things." He takes a deep breath. "I can kill an elephant within thirty seconds of contact. It works at a maximum of three meters." I raise my hand, and he pauses for a second. "About nine feet and eleven inches. Sorry." I nod and gesture for him to proceed. "The larger the distance, the longer it takes. It's... Painless. They just go to sleep. And then they stop." He stops, and takes a deep breath. "It doesn't work on me, but I need to actively suppress it on contact with others. And even then..." He gets a distant look as he trails off.
I nod in understanding. "Listen, I might have something. The CDC is quite overwhelmed with the new biohazardous supers." This isn't news. Every week some asshole learns that he can grow mold at will and tries to take over his city or something. "So they have special teams that deal with those things- plague infestations, semi-sentient mold colonies, and such like." I see him perk up, just a bit. "These teams require special protections, as well as massive resources to deal with this. I know, it's basically glorified clean up, but-" he interrupts me. "I'd be helping people, right?" I nod, and smile. "A lot of those places become uninhabitable, and a large portion of our chemicals don't work on those mutated biohazards. Now, you won't be replacing them, but you'd be a tremendous help- you could just suck the life from any, let's say, mold colony in the area, then just a bit of clean up. No chemically resistant super mold, no missed patches, and people will be able to get their homes back." I finish and look him in the eye. "What do you say?" I know his answer immediately, because it's the first time he actually smiled since coming in.
"Thank you. Yes. Thank you." He shakes my hand with his gloved one. I smirk. "If it doesn't work out, and you end up here again, ask for me." I lift the left sleeve of my shirt. "We take care of our own." | 668 | We helped quite a few guys with Super Strength get into the construction business. I know this one Veterinarian who can speak with animals. Not everyone with superpowers wants to be out there fighting crime or robbing banks. That's where our Job Placement Agency comes in. | 1,383 |
Somehow I was surprised when I looked at the picture we had taken.
When it had first popped out of the camera it was a beautiful picture of my best friend with a blue sky glowing behind her.
She had on my favorite dress of hers, and her hair had just been cut. We'd had a *really* good day, and we had made plans to meet up later and take more pictures.
But now she was dead, and the picture of her showed the accident.
It was gruesome. It made my stomach churn and when I fell to the floor, I put my trash can on top of it rather then force myself to pick it up one more time.
How exactly had it changed to her death? I honestly didn't know where to even start speculating.
I paced around the room while my insides settled and walked over to my phone – which was sitting next to that camera.
*was it the camera?*
I tried to look for the warning we had seen earlier. I flipped it over and over again, ns couldn't find anything. It was plain now, nothing at all that marked it as special. But it couldn't have been anything else, right?
*Could I test it?*
The thought made my jaw clench painfully. I could test the camera, or I could throw it away.
I could destroy it.
I shook my head, knowing the last option was the only fair one. The only *right* one.
Who cared if I was wrong somehow. Who cared about some dumb camera that no one else wanted when my friend had been….
I sighed and kicked the side of my bed.
My curiosity would haunt me, I know, but I had to make the right call here. I couldn't accidently kill anyone else.
With that decided, I found my hammer, and threw the pieces in the dumpster.
That was a week ago, and although it plays in my head every night, I thought it was over.
Until this morning when I woke up with the camera on my nightstand, and underneath it was a picture of a crumpled dumpster.
***
More by me: r/beezus_writes
Longer stuff by me and others : r/redditserials | 34 | You and your friend find a Polaroid camera that has a warning on it. Ignoring the warning, you snap a photo of your friend. you get home and you put the photo on your desk and dump the camera on top of it. You later get a phone call saying you friend was mysteriously crushed. | 201 |
James Conroy went through the doors of the supermarket confidently, giving a glance to every magically imbued artifact he could find in the chain store. In one corner, wares floated enticingly from the floor, encouraging extra eyes to be drawn to the more expensive wares. In another corner, the lights would brighten and dim themselves as people passed the aisles in order to save on electricity, only using energy needed when items were being perused. Conroy loved places like this.
He made his way to the wares floating — different tech and gadgets for those used to the world prior to the introduction of magic. He saw that they were floating up and down while also spinning ever so slightly on their axis. There were a number of spells that could achieve this, and he would have to be sure before making any moves. He waved at someone at the cash register to ask for help.
“Can I assist you sir?” he asked, looking up at the headphones James was staring at.
“Yeah, I was wondering whether the magics cast on the item would affect the stuff within. I don’t wanna buy anything faulty, y’know?” James glanced at the worker’s name tag, seeing his name was Henry.
“Uhh… I’m actually not sure. What kind of magic normally affects the gadgets within?” Henry asked, pulling out his device to look up inventory.
“Ah, you know. Stuffs like AirFlow or Spinner. Though this could also be a Float that’s inheriting from a LazySusan that’s loading from a debounced call to make sure it’s a less enhanced form of energy. Or something’…” James said, trying to sound as unimportant as possible. Henry was nodding, typing search terms into his device.
“Looks to me that this is casting Levitation, with a Rotate as a secondary motion,” Henry read from his screen.
“This uses Levitate?” James pointed to the headphones, casting Levitate on the item. Visually nothing changed, but the device now had two instances of the same spell running on it.
“Yeah, does that affect the device like you were saying?” Henry said.
“You sure this uses Levitate?” James Conroy asked with another point, casting Levitate again. “And what about the other floaty things? Do they use Levitate? All of ‘em levitate with the same spell?” With each point came another addition of the spell.
“That’s right sir. Is that something to be concerned about?” Henry asked, curious.
“It shouldn’t affect nothin, unless…” James let his voice trail. Henry leaned in, his interest piqued. “Ah, it’s probably nothin,” James waved dismissively.
“What? What is it?” Henry practically jumped with interest. Amateur magicians always loved to learn the intricacies of the new world.
“It’s just, you know, multi-threading,” James shrugged. “If these things are cast with the same spell every morning at open time, it might overload the device unless you know how to stop the processes overnight.”
“Oh, uhhh…” Henry scratched his head, not understanding a word of that sentence. “I think we do something about the magic overnight. Because they don’t float overnight.”
“Oh, sure, sure,” James nodded, patting Henry’s shoulder confidently. “They woulda caught flame by now if you didn’t. I should know, I handle this kinda stuff professionally.”
Henry looked a little nervous, but nodded.
“Anyway, I’ll go check out some snacks before buying any o’ these bad boys, with all the fancy Levitating,” James pointed with his thumb, casting the spell upon it one last time. He walked away, Henry left staring at the items with concern, uncertain whether he should change anything about the spells.
James was technically telling the truth. Too many spells on one object without any management of spell-complexity would result in effects far beyond intended casting, bursting into flames was just one of many possible scenarios. What most people didn’t know is that it could happen as a result of casting the same exact spell on something without removing the previous spell. Those that cleaned up the store in the evening would know to remove the spell entirely, but a cashier like Henry had likely never received the instruction during his quick onboarding at the company. He may have even noticed that James was casting spells, but deemed them benign, as people cast random spells all the time to breathe better or get rid of random aches and pains.
It took only a few seconds before the first package of headphones exploded into a dazzling display of flames, followed by the mouse floating right next to them, the overloads chain reacting. Henry yelped and turned with horrified eyes to James.
“Sir!” he screamed. James pretended not to hear. “SIR!”
“Ah, would you look at that,” James pretended to be surprised by the fires in the air.
“Can you stop the threads or whatever it was!!” Henry scampered over to him.
“Of course!” James said, pulling out a card. “For a price.”
It was common for stores of this size to have funds to pay exclusively for magic repairmen in case situations like this happened. The art was still far to new for people to know how to deal with these issues themselves. People as low as cashiers had the right to use this fund if it was a “necessary emergency.” Henry stared quickly at the rates in hand, stabbing a finger quickly into the all expense package.
“This one! Make it go away!”
“Right away,” James nodded, suppressing a smile at how easy it had been. He removed all of his additional spells at once and even put out the flames before any fire alarms went off. He spun around on his heel and was quickly delivered payment for his amazing work in such perfect timing.
“If you need anything else, feel free to give me a call. After all, this is an all-expense package,” James informed, pointing to the phone number on the business card.
“Thank you so much!” Henry said gratefully as James Conroy left.
It would be a few hours before Henry realized just how suspicious everything about the situation was, and how odd it was that James left without purchasing anything despite perusing the store for more than a few minutes before the incident. He dialed the phone number on Conroy’s card to get some explanations, but was quickly informed by an automated voice that the phone number he was trying to reach did not exist.
__________
r/Nazer_the_Lazer for more stories! | 410 | When Earth gained magic, many workers from unseeming professions rose to power. Artists used their vast imagination, scientists their intricate understanding of the world around them... but programmers spent their time finding exploits and bugs. | 2,887 |
"Alright." Captain Firestorm said, with a shrug.
Voltrex sneered. "This is why you'll always be a mere *tool* of the sys--wait a minute, *what?"*
"I said, *alright.* Your speech convinced me. Society is corrupt, and the only way to fix things is to burn it all down and start over. Like you said, we're really *not* so different, you and I. It's just that -- despite my name and fire-based abilities -- I've been trying to *put out* small fires, metaphorically speaking, when what's truly needed of me is to bathe the whole city in *cleansing flames,* so that something new and beautiful can grow from the ashes.*"*
Voltrex blinked. "Wow. Um...okay, great, I guess."
The orange clad hero stroked his chin, thoughtfully. "So which one of these levers do we pull to overload the power grid and start a massive region-wide electrical fire, again?"
"I-it's not just *one lever*, there's a whole sequence of things I need to do." Voltrex explained, hesitantly.
"Oh!" Captain Firestorm said, stepping back from the control panel, and motioning his -- apparently *former --* nemesis forward. "Well, don't let me get in the way. I'll just be here. Hangin' around."
Voltrex, watching for any sign of a trap or trick, slowly walked up to the control panel. Captain Firestorm just whistled merrily, having pulled out his phone and started to scroll through it.
Glancing over his shoulder, Voltrex began making adjustments to the power grid balancing. He found himself scowling, as he did so.
"Cap, what are you *doing?"* Voltrex said, turning around.
Captain Firestorm looked up from his phone. "I'm checking my email and social media -- it's all about to go up in smoke, along with the rest of modern civilization, right? I won't have a chance, later."
"I don't mean right this second, I mean in general! You don't just *give up."* Voltrex snapped.
He shrugged. "I didn't *give up.* I just changed objectives, so we're no longer in conflict -- I don't fight my *allies."*
Voltrex crossed his arms, frowning suspciously at the superhero-turned-accomplice.
"Well...it's...it's basically done. We really are down to just the one the lever that needs pulling, now." Voltrex said.
"Okay."
"Do...do *you* want to pull it?" Voltrex asked, steepling his fingers, thoughtfully.
"Nah. I only decided the world as we know it needed to end like *a minute* ago, V-dog." the Captain said, with a snort. "You've been in this for the long haul! You go ahead, I 'm good."
"Yes. Yes of course. My, um...my moment of triumph." Voltrex said, turning back to the control panel, and placing his hand on the lever.
"You go, king." Captain Firestorm affirmed, pumping a fist in the air encouragingly without looking back up from his phone again.
"I'm gonna do it." Voltrex said.
"Yep. I know you are. Go ahead, buddy, you've earned it -- all that plotting and scheming and so forth. Go for it."
"I will!" Voltrex warned.
"Mm-hmm, whenever you're ready."
Voltrex scowled in determination, gripped the lever...and then sagged, letting out a long sigh. His hand dropped to his side.
"Why...why couldn't you just let me *have this?"* he muttered.
Captain Firestorm placed a hand on Voltrex's slumped shoulder. "Because I finally recognized this for what it is, Tom. This isn't a real vendetta against civilization for its supposed corruption, like you claim. It's not hatred for humanity, not really. This is a *coping strategy.* You're hurting, deep down. While you're caught up in your vengeance on existence itself, though, it *doesn'*t hurt. And the best part is, you never actually have to *go through* with all these terrible things you plan to do, because *I* always stop you."
"Oh, I see." Voltrex spat. "Every villain's just a victim, lashing out because they don't know any better? Spare me, *Captain.* I didn't think you were *that* naïve!"
The Captain smirked. "Nice try, Tom. But I'm not naïve. I know that *some* of the villains I fight really are just *evil assholes. You* just don't happen to be one of them."
"Why would you even *care?"* Voltrex snarled. "I-I've been nothing but a thorn in your side, since *day one!"*
"Because you're the reason I got into this line of work: you're a *person who needs help.* So, come on, Tom. Let's go get you some."
Voltrex sighed heavily, and bowed his head. And then, he allowed the Captain to lead him out of the Power Station Control Room. | 31 | No one, I mean no one, expected the villains monologue to actually persuade the hero. | 71 |
The dragon's deep, guttural tones echoed throughout the cave. The only thing louder was what sounded like a shrill, sustained shriek. It quickly died out, however, its owner hacking and coughing.
"My word, it has been far too long since I tried to hit those notes. Sorry for dropping out there."
The dragon smiled. "It is most alright. You said you haven't performed in years, right? You cannot expect to reach the summit in a mere step, you must work your way to the top. Now, why did you ever stop singing? Your voice shows so much promise."
The bard smiled, a wry grin he had perfected over his years of performance. "Now, I only said I haven't performed in years. That does not mean I never sang. I still sing for my wife and children, and they are easily one of my best audiences. Ah, that's how I first met my wife... She was a quiet woman when she was about the town, but music made her rowdy and fun. I almost didn't recognize her at one of my venues. Those were the days..."
"Music is a powerful thing, my friend. It may even contain a hint of magic. I believe you are skilled enough to tap into that magic."
The bard was intrigued. "Go on..."
The dragon elaborated. "The dialect of dragons has a deep connection to magic. Some of our most intense debates have turned into all-out magical wars. Our breath weapons are but one aspect of that magic, and we have many more we don't tell humans about. However, most humans have difficulty learning our language, due to its harsh tones and odd timbre. Even those who can speak our mother tongue well cannot use it for magic. Only those with a true mastery can attain such heights. I believe that, with training, you could master our language. I would be deeply interested in seeing how that would work."
The bard flashed his wry smile again. "I'll be back, at the same time tomorrow. With some extra... Students who I think would pique your interest."
The dragon huffed, a gust of air escaping its nostrils. "Then the deal is struck. I look forward to seeing who you designate as worthy. At sun's peak tomorrow, your training shall begin!" | 34 | You'd heard rumors that the dragon in the heart of the mountain had a weakness to music. When you went to its lair and played a song, the dragon adjusted its glasses and responded "Not bad but you need to warm your voice up properly for those lownotes. Join me in some vocal exercises, alright?" | 185 |
"And now, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls! At long last, the Willy Wonka company is proud to present: Chocolate 2! The next generation of chocolate!" I waved my arm with a grand flourish at the large screen at the WonkaCo Presentation Arena. The lights dimmed as the screen began its elaborate song and dance, showing the wonders of a new chocolate worthy of being called chocolate 2. I slowly backed into the backstage wing, allowing the gathered press unfettered access to the Oompa Loompa's creation. They would have preformed this live, but they were occupied with other company business.
I stared out at the mass of self-described journalists as they took photos, recorded videos, recorded audio... my lord, was that an 'influencer' painting the scene in watercolors? I shook my head in disappointment. These people deserved what was coming.
I glanced at my watch. This video was supposed to last for 2 minutes longer, but it felt like an eternity.
The main chorus of the song began blaring from the large screen. I hummed along. It was quite catchy, after all. Those Oompa Loompas were perfectly fine with the coming ritual as long as they could write and sing about it. I wondered who was the greater evil, these orange showmen or Mr. Wonka himself.
"Oompa, Loompa, dobledy-do" they began. "Introducing, Chocolate 2!
It's made of plants and specialty goo!
Chewy and gooey and healthy, too!"
The showmanship was quite impressive. I suppose it had to be, to keep so many people's attention piqued. But attention wasn't the end goal here. The free samples after the video ended was the real goal. Here, and at thousands of Wonka stores across the globe, Oompa Loompas were prepared to begin distributing Chocolate 2 samples to all who wanted one.
It was my job to make sure that everyone wanted one.
The song was drawing to a close. "Oompa Loompa, new cocoa trees!
It brings us closer, we'll all agree!
Chocolate 2 is good for you and me!
Why don't you take a bite and see!"
The applause was deafening, and only grew lowder when the diminutive orange men themselves strode in to the arena, bearing trays overflowing with Chocolate 2 samples. I thought there might be a stampede of youthful reporters as they all scrambled to be the first to try them. I had a short speech prepared, to rile up the crowd just a bit more, but it apparently that wasn't necessary.
All over the globe, similar scenes were playing out at every Wonka chocolate store. People scrambled over each other to reach for a candy experience that promised to be earth shattering. It would deliver, if not in the way they thought.
Moans of ecstacy came from the journalists that had been seated closest to the servers. Some were even genuine. Most were just for their viewers on their own screens at home. I even saw one busty streamer attempt to shove a sample piece into her cleavage. I shuddered. This was exactly the kind of abhorrent behavior that would soon be driven from the world.
The event horizon was crossed. I knew because the feeding frenzy stopped simultaneously, and the air buzzed like static. Around three quarters of the journalists in attendance locked their joints in place, as if frozen in place. The unlucky remnants who had not yet gotten a sample also stopped in their tracks, their expressions rapidly changing from jubilation to confusion. I glanced at my tablet, skimming over messages that were filling my screen. The same results were being reported from every store.
Perfection.
I sent a single outbound message, to the one person I knew wouldn't reply. "It is done, WW. You may begin."
I dropped my tablet where I stood. I had no more need of the communication device. What I was about to join rendered communication obsolete. I reached into my suit jacket and extracted my own sample size bar of Chocolate 2. As I brought it to my mouth, I saw my own future unfolding before me, in the eyes of every lucky journalist with small chocolate smears on their fingers and lips. The eldrich light glowing from behind their eyelids meant the convergence was beginning. I didn't want to be late.
Chocolate 2 was surprisingly good, I mused, as the change began within me. Within us.
What opened its eyes was not me. There was no singular me. Not anymore. There was only one. There was only Willy Wonka.
r/SlightlyColdStories if you want. Or don't. It's all up to you. | 26 | The seratonin spike from eating chocolate creates a transient connection to a hivemind. There hasn't been a sufficient number of people consuming chocolate at a single moment to cross the threshold. Until now. | 187 |
Jeffrey settled in well. I didn't know a lot about cats, but his levels of disdain seemed to be falling, and I took that to be a good sign. He had a spot where he liked to sit near the window where he would doze, eyes half open, and we'd sit in companionable silence. So really, all was going very well until he spoke to me.
'Do you know you have a very unusual bloodline?' he said one evening in the second week after he had moved in.
'No,' I said. I answered before I fully had a chance to process how insane a talking cat was, and what that might say about my mental state. Perhaps the years of time alone were finally taking their toll.
'You have a very, um, illustrious ancestor.'
'I, um,' I began. 'Have you been able to talk all this time?'
'Can you not tell I am a familiar? You hardly thought I was just...' He was on his four legs, mouth open, aghast, not even able to finish the sentence.
'No. No, no. Not at all. Of course not. I knew you were far more than a mere, uhm.' I didn't know what word to use to finish the sentence.
'Oh my sweet swishing tail,' Jeffrey said. 'You don't know about magic. I mean, you don't know about it at *all,* right? All this time I thought you were just being careful because of you're, uh, gift, we might call it.' Then he muttered: 'Or curse.'
'What? What did you say?' I asked. 'Wait... Magic? What is, the, um.' There were too many conversational branches I wanted to follow simultaneously, and I found myself choking under pressure and following none.
'Well,' Jeffrey said heavily, sitting down again. '*I* am a familiar. A magical being. *You* are a magician. Of sorts. If one can really apply that word to someone with pure unearned instinctual power, and none of the learning required to control it.' He muttered most of this last part so I was not even sure I had heard it correctly.
I picked a direction. 'My ancestor -- what do you mean? Who was that?'
'I'd have thought it would be obvious.' He licked a paw, and didn't bother to look at me.
'Well it is not. What are you talking about? Who do you mean?'
'Well... Death, of course. Do you not have the mark somewhere?'
I flushed deeply. I knew at once what he meant. It was on my back. It had led to some very embarrassing scenes to avoid other people seeing it. The inappropriate wearing of t-shirts, and the refusal to take them off. But anything was better than someone else knowing about it. *Seeing* it. I shuddered.
Jeffrey watched me, and there was something in his feline eyes I had not seen before. Something very human: concern. 'I guess you really didn't know,' he said. 'Sorry.'
'So...' I swallowed. 'So... This means I have some sort of magical power?'
'Yes.' He was solemn. 'A very potent one. Don't you know that... Well, of course you don't. This explains a lot. The reason you never see magical people around is because they avoid you. They're frightened of you.'
'I see,' I said. I tried to keep my voice steady. 'What is it, then?'
'Power over existence.'
'You mean... death?'
'No. More. You can make it so that a person never existed. The new universe without them will instantaneously replace the old.'
'So...' I thought about this, feeling something cold and ugly wake up inside me, something I had long pretended was not there. *Wanted* not to be there. 'How would I even know?'
'Well that's the fun part,' Jeffrey said. 'You wouldn't.'
\--
&#x200B;
Thanks for reading -- if you like this story, please check out more stuff at r/HouseBlendMedium | 155 | You posses magical power so great, magic users avoid you out of fear, yet, you are unaware magic even exists. One day you decide to adopt from a shelter in the modern day big city where you live, and an elderly cat takes a liking to you, you soon discover it is a talking familiar. | 487 |
##Bad Omens
A black cat jumps in front of me and hisses. I shrug and walk past it. When I get in my car, my father's corpse is staring at me from the rear view mirror. Dirt from his grave drips on the car seats. I'll have to clean that later.
Driving to work, a flock of crows appear over my car and shit all over it. Good thing I changed my wiper fluid yesterday. At the office parking lot, a pack of goblins is in my spot so I park in the garage. I make sure to crack the window to make sure my Dad doesn't stink up the car too much.
A large swarm of bees guards the entrance. A few people timidly move away while I continue unimpeded. I step in the elevator and blood pours from the ceiling. The blood reaches my waist when the doors open.
I go to the bathroom to wash my face. My reflection is an image of myself having my organs removed by vultures. It is not original. The toilet bubbles behind me creating a puddle on the floor. Anniki rises from the water.
"Did you really just come in through the septic tank?" I ask.
"You have angered the Witch of Ice and Water. You shall be tormented by-" Anniki is interrupted by the sound of thunder. The lights in the room flicker several times. Adriana appears in the corner of the room.
"You have angered the Witch of the Storm. I will torment you, and -" Adriana looks at Anniki, "What are you doing here?"
"It's Tuesday, and he's at work. We agreed that was one of my domains."
"Yes, but it's also a half moon in the morning, one of mine."
"You could describe your torture methods, and I could pick," I say.
"Be quiet George," they say. Anniki points a finger at Adrianna causing her hair to freeze.
"I am older and more powerful. You will submit to my will."
"But I'm much more intelligent." Adriana snaps her fingers and the septic water electrocutes Anniki. "You will submit to my will."
I leave the restroom as the two witches begin their combat. I go to the break room, and the coffee machine is broken. Taking the pot, I go back to the bathroom. Anniki is on top of Adrianna turning her limbs into water.
"You've gone too far this time." I hold out the broken conflict. They both stare at me and each other.
"I didn't do that." Adriana spits water out of her mouth.
"Me neither." Anniki says.
"Well one of you did, and all of you swore to torture me when I accidentally broke the urn that contained your mother's ashes. Ask your other sisters." The two witches eyes turn white as they communicate with the astral plane.
"Nope, none of us did that," Adrianna says.
"That's crossing a line even for us," Anniki says.
"Fine, get back to torturing me when you're done then." I return the coffee pot and go to my desk.
---
r/AstroRideWrites | 76 | There are only 13 witches in the entire world. Someone managed to anger all of them. | 256 |
In the beginning there was naught but the timeless sea, and so An Atan floated as he sang. An Atan became restless, and so plunged his hands beneath the waves and brought forth the lands of Singer, and upon the bare and broken stone he strode, and beneath his feet grew the soil of the earth, and from his voice and song came the wind and the rain. Though soon An Atan grew weary, and with a great heave he rose the mountains of the Silver Gates, and between them rested, and beneath him was formed the Cradle of the Valley.
An Atan slumbered, and from his dreams rose the first peoples. The elves, noble explorers all left the Silver Gates and erected the great cities within the Windwood. The dwarves and the badgerfolk dug beneath the mountain. The gnomes and the kithkin made their way into the plains along the rivers, and there they founded towns and hamlets.
And all cried out, for there was no sun or moon, and the crops refused to grow. An Atan awoke to the prayers of his dream people, and in his wisdom he granted their request. An Atan reached into the sky and pulled the first dragon, Aldercan the Many Scaled from the heavens and he shone bright, for he was the sun.
But Aldercan was cruel and arrogant. He burned the villages of those who would not worship him above An Atan. He demanded equal treatment, and a new title, so Aldercan became An Atannan. And so a balance must be made. Again An Atan reached into the heavens and the second dragon was taken, and Kaalcan the Feathered was brought to earth, and he was humble, shining less brightly for he was the moon.
The dragons fought, and in their violence they pierced the heavens again and again, calling on other, lesser dragons to aide their side. The war devastated Singer, and destroyed the first nations of the dream people. And An Atan was filled with wrath. He smote the dragons upon the mountain, and tore their divinity from their sould, casting it back into the heavens where they shine to this day as sun, moon, and stars.
The dragons fled before An Atan, across the world to hide in the remote lands beyond the windwood. And so their war continued. In Arden, An Atan released his other children, and they turned against him, binding him beneath the Mountain. But the dragon wars disturbed the harmonies, and so the struck a bargain. They would not interfere in the dragon war, so long as violence never touched the Windwood. As a sign of their goodwill, an accorded neutral territory was founded at the border, and a steward appointed its guardian. He was named Jeff, and he was appreciated, because in the millenia of his stewardship, he learned not to put gods damned ketchup on the fucking hot dogs, you monster. | 31 | "How does he keep a hot dog stand running right next to the Dragonlands? Why doesn't anybody attack him?" "Oh, that hot dog stand is enshrined in the Draconic Laws as a Hallowed Meeting Place Of Neutrality. Quite a story behind that!" | 137 |
Command?
The simple word was followed by a blinking cursor. This would have been expected, if it wasn't displayed on the new plane of existence that appeared before me.
The barista froze in place, with her mouth hung open silently. The misspelled name on the side of the cup might have meant it was for me, or for the elderly lady at the next table over. But that wouldn't matter, since the barista was too preoccupied with the sight before her to call out the name.
I read the ethereal word again, as it hovered on a dark blue plane of... something. I wasn't sure how to describe it, because something like this had never been described before. I supposed that meant I could name it myself, if anyone would believe me. If anyone would ask in the future, I decided, I would call it a command sheet.... command block? I'd think of a name later. It was too important of a discovery to name it the first thing I thought of.
"Is that... a command prompt?" One of the other Starbucks patrons asked. Damnit. I had lost the initiative. Nobody would care what I called it now that it had a name.
"I think so" I replied. I looked around the borders of the command prompt, searching for a keyboard, or some sort of input method. Nobody else in the coffee shop moved a muscle.
"Is this one of those iPads my grandson keeps yammering about?"
I looked up to see the elderly lady whos coffee may or may not be rapidly cooling in the barista's outstretched hand. I guess I was wrong about the muscle movement thing earlier.
"Um....I can't say for certain, but I don't think so" I stammered.
She peered at the otherworldly display through glasses so thick that could have been used as a lense on a satellite. "Nonsense, it has a little screen here, just like Timmy's iPad."
I wasn't sure which absurdity to address first. "Ma'am, this is not your grandson's youtube machine. Please sit back down, I don't think anyone should touch this"
"Oh hush" she scoffed. "This is definitely that blasted video thing Timmy's always fiddling with. Now how do I turn this off?"
A new line appeared on the plane. It simply said "Power off?"
Before I could fully process what was happening, the elderly lady exclaimed "yes! Why isn't every electronic doohicky this easy to use?"
The screen went dark. I turned to look at the elderly woman, and saw a self satisfied smirk emerge from her wrinkled jowls. "Thats better. Now where-"
The lights went out. The power must have gone out... but there was no light coming from the windows, either. There was no light from any source. There was nothing for light to reflect from either. There was nothing.
"POWER OFF" a deep voice proclaimed, from everywhere and nowhere.
And then there was nothing.
r/SlightlyColdStories if you want. Or don't. It's all up to you. | 26 | In public and bored, you wave your hand and say ‘open administrator access.” You and others around you are bewildered when a blue panel appears before you. | 159 |
As he approached old age John Matsen realised just how little of his career had truly lived up to his dreams. It had often seemed a cruel twist of fate that his career had been persistently blighted by a man indistinguishable from him, though if he was honest with himself there was an irony; for even without considering his literary doppleganger, he had often been his own worst enemy.
The empty house where he had lived alone for the past 20 years was a dark and damp place. He limped his way down into the basement, his joints protesting with each step. As always it was dimly lit, and the smell of ink and paper was undercut by a subtler smell of mold and decay. Across all four wall were stacked boxes, overflowing with paper and half written manuscripts.
*So many failed projects,* he bemoaned to himself, *such a legacy*.
He let the feeling consume him as he sat down slowly at his desk. Something scurried amongst the boxes to his left and a tower of filing boxes fell, scattering their contents across the dirty floor.
John sighed, turning to collect the detritus.
There was something odd amongst the papers: a book.
It was a leather-bound journal, and stenciled on the front in gold inlay were the words, *A failing light* by John Matsen. *The better one,* he thought. He'd forgotten how the book had come into his possession, perhaps it had been a backhanded gift from the other, a show of success to degrade a rival.
He shook his head, "Even here I'm not free of you John." He opened the book and his heart stopped cold.
The other John Matsen had always written his manuscripts by type. This was handwritten. This was *his* handwriting.
He began to shake, and he discarded the book, rummaging through the files on the floor searching for some resolution, some explanation. There were more novels, dozens more, and unbound manuscripts and desperate jottings. All of it his writing, none of it his works. More and more boxes, he pulled them down and scattered them, madly searching for something he remembered, a book he had written. Anything.
He could feel the desperation rising in him now, the hopelessness of a situation beyond comprehension. Even in failure and ruin his works had been his, and now as that was flaking away, he found he couldn't remember a single name of any of his novels.
Then something caught his notice, a little newspaper clipping, stuck to the bottom of an overturned box. It read, 'John Matsen, prominent author retires at 55, following dementia diagnosis.' Below it was a photo of a man, young and handsome holding an award.
It was him. | 12 | You’re a published author, and there’s another author with the same name as you. It’s annoying, but what can you do? Last night when going through some old paperwork, you found something strange. It was a handwritten draft of his first book, written in your handwriting. | 35 |
I woke up in my bed.
A man, holding a clipboard, stood in front of me. He was wearing thin-framed glasses, a polo shirt, and Dad Shoes. You know the type.
”Am I dead?” I asked.
He nodded. “Right you are. My partner will be coming along soon, he’s got a big appointment around North-east Asia right now. He doesn’t do it often. Not that he’s a he, might I add. I just say he because that’s what your brain thinks I’m saying.”
”Y- are you Death? It’s just that, I thought…”
He nodded sympathetically. “It’s never like what you thought. See, both of us, Death, and Taxes, we help to reap souls and stuff. Yours is a good one, though. Good job.”
”Uh, I don’t live in Texas, I live in-“
”Anxiety?”
”I was gonna say Canada, but that works too. Not that I’m living at all.”
There was a change in the air, and he arrived. He was holding a scythe, black hood and everything, except he had added a bow tie. All in all, he looked like a very stylish skeleton. I AM HERE.
”Yes, hi. I was just about to ask this guy to sign the form.” The skeleton nodded, and the polo shirt guy turned to me and held a pen out expectantly. I signed the form. It was what you did, faced by Texas, I mean Taxes, and Death.
”Is the afterlife boring?” I asked hopefully.
NOT VERY. THERE IS TETRIS.
”Minecraft?”
”Maybe,” said the guy in the polo shirt. ”Anyway, let’s go. There’s an old granny in Brazil waiting for us.”
BY THE WAY, HAVE WE INTRODUCED OURSELVES?
”I think so,” I said, as I prepared to go. “Taxes and Death, right?”
YES. HE IS DEATH.
”Wait. Doesn’t that mean…?”
Death grinned and adjusted his thin-framed glasses. “Like I said, it’s never like what you thought.”
And we went. | 76 | everyone knows about the grim reaper, personification of death, but he is not alone. Together he rides with his partner in inevitability. Taxes. | 563 |
Laura always kept her room perfect. Floor tidy, blinds twisted, desk dusted, bed crisply made. Just the way Mom and Dad like it. She placed me at the bed’s corner, where I could keep watch. She left it just like that on the day she left home.
The years pass. I keep watch over the empty room. I listen for the thing under the bed, but I never hear it. Maybe it sleeps, like me, now that Laura is gone. Maybe it’s gone too.
I hear Laura’s voice sometimes. Polite, mostly. Just like Mom and Dad taught her to be. A few times, yelling, tears. She keeps her visits short. She stays downstairs.
She came up once, to look for something in her room. She picked me up and held me close, and I woke up, the way only her touch can wake me. I felt her gaze going to her old bed; to under the bed. I went on guard for her then. It was after dark. Was the thing under her bed awake now too? I was dusty and sun-faded, but I was still ready to protect her from it.
Creak of old wood. But it was only Mom following her up.
“A lot of good memories in this room,” Mom said with forced cheer.
“Sure, mom,” Laura said. She put me down just where she left me. She didn’t come upstairs again. The thing under the bed never stirs.
More years pass, more light through the blinds. And then I hear Laura’s voice again. And I hear crying – but not Laura’s crying. A baby – Laura’s baby! And then more raised voices, and Laura is crying too. I expect her to leave, but she comes upstairs. She picks me up. She carries me out.
Ashlyn’s room is a mess. Playmats and baby toys all over the floor, a diaper pail they don’t empty enough. A speaker on the changing table plays Baby Shark and Tom Petty and Olivia Rodrigo, and Laura and Nate dance with Ashlyn in their arms, singing along. Laura steps on a toy and swears, and laughs, and Ashlyn babbles happily.
At bedtime, Laura puts me in Ashlyn’s bed, in the far corner where I can keep watch. But before she even leaves the room Ashlyn pulls me over to her and uses me like a pillow. There’s a thing under her bed too, but it’s different from the one in Laura’s old room. It’s smaller and weaker. And when it scares Ashlyn, she can call Laura and Nate – Mom and Dad, now – and they’ll come protect her. I’m dusty and sun-faded, and chewed on and drooled on, but I’m still ready to protect her from it too. But I know that I won’t have to. | 17 | You are the teddy bear of a young girl, tasked in protecting her from the monster under her bed. This is not your first rodeo, having been passed down for generations. | 110 |
"My father gave it to me, you know?" I said as I crouched next to my opponent. I ran my fingers across the gold-lined pocket watch in my hand with a sentimental smile.
"He fought in the 3^(rd) Runic War and got this as a memento. For all the medals and crosses he got for his efforts, this little watch is what he treasured the most. Funny thing? It wasn't our side that gave it to him. It was the enemy."
My opponent let out a sharp breath as his eyes darted from my face to the watch and back.
"Yeah, he was a spy. Made friends in the enemy ranks. Met their children, hell, he was even a godfather to an enemy captain's son. That's who gave him the watch. Then, when the time came..." I looked over to my opponent somberly.
"He made it quick. And he was never the same."
I noticed my opponent was no longer breathing. I closed the watch as there was no more life to extract from his body.
"I'm telling you this because I want you to know because..." I said as I stood up and slid the watch back into my pocket.
"I wanted you to know it wasn't personal." | 216 | For a thousand years, mages have imbued wands with their power. They have enchanted rings, amulets, swords, staves, armor, and all manner of shining bauble. However, to your knowledge, you are the first to use... a pocket watch. Why? Well, frankly, you just thought it would be neat. | 703 |
"I just want the screaming to stop," whimpered Agares. Bones shifted under his feet as he hiked along the path to the clearing which had been his home for millennia. He clutched the hood of his cloak, pulling it tight against his ears. "Just... Stop... Please..."
The screams did not stop. Neither did the moans, the sobs or the howls. The cacophony of mortal agony persisted. Agares shut his eyes against the sight of viscera along the path, pulling his hood down further. He stumbled and fell to his knees, soaking the hem of his ancient robe in blood. His tears left clean tracks in the blood spatter on his care worn face.
Agares could remember a time, distant but clear, when his home had been free of freshly flayed bodies. It had been beautiful once, held such by Agares' will. A tiny cottage. A meadow dusted with wildflowers. Fresh spring water from the brook. And best of all, no smiting. That was why he had left the light, had chosen to fall. He couldn't abide all the goddamn smiting.
Things had been great for quite a while. Before the mortals. Before the punishment. The first of them had arrived suddenly one day, in a brilliant flash of light, with a note pinned to her back. "If you're not gonna smite for me, you're going to play host. \~ G" Agares was confused but thought it might be nice to have some company. He thought wrong.
The mortals, it seemed, were a Trojan Horse of sorts. They brought with them something the endless fields of Hell were never designed to accommodate. The mortals came with context. They came with perception. They came with Linear Time.
A millennia passed before the troubles started. Agares alerted Lucifer and the council but naught could be done. Hell's ethereal nature began to crystalize under the weight of observation by so many mortals. It's borders became static, it's features predictable. Hell's guests became too numerous. Their minds began to break under the sheer weight of time. It wasn't long until they began tearing each other apart. The violence grew until it was all encompassing.
After a while, a trend began to emerge. New arrivals had the strangest stories. Stories of a hell run by Fallen who torture mortals forever for fun. They even knew some of the Fallen's names. The story was all the rage on earth it seemed. The injustice of it drove Agares slightly insane. His ex-boss was pushing this story, he just knew it. He had to find a way out. Had to get away. He would break open the very gates themselves if he had to.
Agares stopped in his tracks as a brilliant flash of light illuminated the sky and several newcomers crouched frightened on a pile of skulls. The mortals spotted him, their faces turning white at the sight of his haggard face, long black robe, all soaked in blood. "Oh God, oh God," one said. "Is this Hell? Are we in fucking HELL?"
Agares took a steadying breath and shook the blood from his hands. An idea was forming in his mind, the first inkling of hope since he had gone mad. He needed to get out. They needed to avoid insanity and mindless slaughter. He squared his shoulders and, in a commanding voice, said, "No. This is not Hell. Hell is no more."
They stared at him in confusion. One spoke up. "Purgatory then? We're damned aren't we?"
With a heavy sigh, Agares shook his head. "You are not the damned. The damned have no hope."
"What hope do we have?" the same man asked. "What happened here?"
Agares stood a little straighter. "Injustice happened here. And I hope you can help me fix it."
\---------------------------------------
I'm too tired to keep going.
Edit: oh damn, so many kind words and just noticed the award, thanks kind strangers! | 952 | "Do you know what fallen angels do in hell? We cry in a corner. The only people in hell who torture humans are other humans." | 3,635 |
Golden lightning emanating from the gigantic circle of golden wheels within golden wheels. A spike of adrenaline. A leap to dodge out of the way. Burned skin on the foot.
Shit. Thor was supposed to be immune to lightning. How did this manage to so much as singe him? Then again, it was Yhwh...
Thor, along with many of the other G.O.D.s, was battling Yhwh, the Christian god.
**"It isn't right, Yhwh. They should not be worshipping us, we should not be PUNISHING them so heavily as you do,"** Thor's voice grew with rage as his quiet words matured to mad shouts. **"We learned this lesson ages ago, why can't you?"** They had been created to protect humanity. Not hurt it. Of course, all gods enjoyed some level of worship, but Yhwh had taken it too far. Stealing worshippers from other gods to send to its own hell, as a "punishment" for not worshipping it. Punishing its own worshippers for not conforming to its strict set of rules. Even meddling in mortal affairs when it shouldn't, just to mess with them.
The gigantic mass of golden wheels simply shrugged. Well, as close to a shrug as a gigantic mass of wheels can perform. Its wheels began turning as it readied another blast of holy lightning, the pupil of the massive eye in its center beginning to contract.
Fuck. Shit. Piss and balls. Thor was going to die. He was going to die rebelling against Yhwh just like Zeus. Like Vishnu. Like... like Odin.
But this time, Yhwh was not only fighting against one opponent. Before the blinding light could reach him, Thor felt a push on his body as he was raced around until he was facing Yhwh's back. Of course, Yhwh didn't really have a back. It just had to turn the eye in its center around.
**"Thank you, Mercury. I may have died if you hadn't saved me."**
The stout man let out a chuckle. **"Saved you? So far as we know, you're the last guy alive who can so much as dent that fucker. How about you save us? Give 'im hell. Pun intended."**
Thor chortled. **"That, I can do."** He let the energy around him excite and convulse until he was shrouded in blinding lightning and booming thunder. He looked around the battlefield of fallen warriors. Forest spirits littered the floor. Gods lay slack here and there. His allies. His friends. Only those who stayed behind or fled were safe. He crouched down as Yhwh readied another smiting thunder, and finally, he leapt for the weak point residing in the holy machination's center - its eye. **"This... is for my father."**
He neared the eye and arched his hammer back to strike, and when it would make contact, finally, Yhwh would be-
Yhwh let loose a barrage of holy light. Thor crumpled to ash. Hmph. Such a shame. If only these pretenders would simply accept its rule. Oh well, less competition, it supposed. | 11 | Against the invaders, the Genesis Order Defenders (abbreviated as Gods) have always defended humanity through their fortress-ships. From the ethereal-styled "Heavenly Court", to the white and gold "Heaven", the bulky "Valhalla", the crimson "Hell", all the way to the sleek and elegant "Olympus" | 196 |
Mirabel sighed as she approached Casita's massive front door. She paused, allowing herself the comfort of memories of happier times, when she could almost have reached both sides of the door. It was now wide enough that four wagons could pass through it abreast, and the faces on it almost too numberless to count.
She didn't need to count. There were three hundred and eleven. She could rank them all from oldest to youngest, starting with herself.
There had been three hundred and twelve three days ago.
Antonio was waiting just inside the door, a young Andean condor and an adult Hyacinth macaw perched on his red-footed walker. He hid it behind his glasses, but he was clearly crying. Mirabel couldn't blame him. She hated what she needed to do here, even hated herself in small measure for being the one who had to do it. Not even Isabella at the height of her powers could have grown a tree harder to prune than the family one.
Several of the other children of the original Familia were here, especially from Pepa's side of the original Trio: Antonio's three, Camilo's three, Dolores' five. Antonio's youngest was Fernando, Diego's father, and he was crying even harder. Carlos' parents were absent. Maybe they had already said their goodbyes; maybe they couldn't bear to say them at all.
Waiting would only make it harder. Mirabel drew a breath, then said clearly, "Carlos Sanchez. Diego Madrigal."
Casita responded instantly. With a cacophony of rumbling, rattling, and rolling, two heavily muscled men in their early twenties were dumped unceremoniously into the courtyard from wherever they had been holed up. They looked at her for only the briefest of moments before they saw each other.
Then they went for their guns.
Mirabel had been prepared for this, even though she wished she hadn't needed to be. Far above, the normally sedate entrance to her penthouse sparked and then burned golden, brightly enough that anyone who looked up from the courtyard at that moment could have seen the light.
There was a sudden rush of wind, and both of their first shots went wide of each other. She took Diego's gun first--he was the better shot--and crushed it into an unrecognizable lump of metal. Carlos got a second shot off as she turned for him, which caught her in the leg, but didn't slow her down for more than a stride, and then his handgun met the same fate as Diego's. A moment later, kudzu burst forth from the bricks beneath both of their feet, and the men were immobilized from the waist down.
Mirabel sat down before them and unwrapped a burrito that she had made for herself not long before this encounter and started eating it. The bleeding stopped. She might have said the pain vanished, too, but the pain in her heart remained, and that was worse. The first time she had been shot, she had not reacted so stoically, but that was pushing sixty years ago now.
"Is that everything you have to say for yourselves?" she asked. "Why?"
Carlos gritted his teeth at her. "As if you'd ever understand."
Mirabel blew a breath upwards, rustling her bangs. "You might be right. I probably wouldn't. Jose was your cousin."
"Third cousin once removed, and he was a cheat and a snitch. He got what he deserved."
Mirabel shook her head. What had happened to them all. "Diego?"
Diego was the one that this was going to hurt more, because he was the closer to being salvageable, but he'd crossed the line one too many times. He actually wasn't even looking at her. He was looking to her left, into the corner where Antonio stood with his cane.
"Abuelo, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I got carried away!"
"I'm sorry, too, chico," he said.
"Anything else?" Mirabel asked.
"What good would it do?" Carlos asked. "Don't act like you even care about us. You're just pissed that you won't get our gifts, too, when we're dead and you're still standing there looking like your quinceañera just ended."
Mirabel's eyes hardened. Anger was easier than tears anyway. She lunged forward and grabbed Carlos by the back of his shaved head. "You feel this?" she said, giving him a painful squeeze. "I'm sure you'd love to have that kind of strength, to make it easier for you to hurt people. Do you know what the first thing I did with my sister's strength was? I carried her *casket*, you little bitch. I have these gifts because my sisters and cousins and mom and aunt and uncle and abuela are *dead*. You're lucky your *bisabuela* Pepa isn't here. There'd be a lot more than just dark clouds in the sky right now." She cast an angry look at the overcast heavens. Abruptly, she let him go and wiped her eyes. Apparently anger *and* tears was even easier than either of them.
She turned back towards the entrance to Casita.
"Tia Mirabel, please, I'm sorry!" Diego begged. "I didn't know what Carlos was going to do, I shouldn't have done it!"
Mirabel tapped her ears. "I could hear you. You knew well enough."
"Abuelo, please, talk to her! Papa!"
Antonio looked twenty years older than he was, which was saying something, since he and Luna celebrated their fiftieth anniversary just before his grandson had agreed to play wingman in a murder. "I ... can't," he said in a broken voice.
"Can't!" echoed the macaw on his walker. Antonio snarled and swatted it away.
Mirabel knew what he meant. Antonio was one of the few who had seen Mirabel's first vision after Bruno died. The one where Casita shattered if Mirabel *didn't* prune the tree of its rotten branches. The fact that Abuela had been wrong about Mirabel didn't mean that there wouldn't be rotten branches someday later. Abuela had never lived to see the day. Probably for the best--she might have brought forth a firestorm more violent than the one that consumed the raiders when the Encanto was born.
*Why do I have to do the things I hate to protect the things I love?*
Mirabel took her fingernail and scratched two faces off the door of Casita.
On two different balconies facing each other high above, two doors went dark. She felt the house breathe a sigh of relief as the weight of the rotten branches was lifted from it. It was the only comfort she could feel in the moment.
Antonio collapsed and would have cracked his chin on his walker if Fernando hadn't caught him.
"Get out of my house," Mirabel said to the two men on the floor. The kudzu released them, and they shuffled out the door into the gloom. She looked around at the other members of La Familia that had come to watch--maybe sixty of them, all of the older generation that probably needed the warning the least, plus Jose's brothers and sisters. She shook her head; she had no further words to offer now.
*There will come a time when I can't do this anymore, even if it costs us Casita. I'm not meant to be this person*. And as she realized that, the words came unbidden to her from long ago.
*Look at this home, we need a new foundation.* | 415 | The year is 2089. The Casita from Encanto has grown taller with each new generation of magical Madrigals. Hundreds of 5th and 6th cousins live together in this once vibrant tower, fractured into gangs and fighting for dominance. | 1,797 |
Huh.
That is all I could think of at that moment. It was him, clear as day. Zeke; a friend I made during the war. The *Civil* War. I mean I thought him dead - we got split up during an ambush and I was the only one to report in after I survived, so there wasn't much room for interpretation yet...
"Surprised?" he suddenly said.
"You could say that," I replied with a bit of suspicion and hung my coat on the wall. "Tea?" I asked.
"2 sugars and milk, if you would," he smiled. I walked over to the kitchen to put the kettle on.
"So," I started as I poured filled the kettle with water, "immortal, huh?"
"Thought you were the only one?"
"Not necessarily," I said and flicked the stove on, "but during this entire time, I never found anyone else. Just didn't expect it."
"How long is that, mind you?"
I chuckled and racked my brain for the exact time.
"Let's just say I used to go by 'Cassianus' at one point."
"You went from Cassianus to Casey? Really?" he laughed. "A little on the nose, don't you think?"
"Well," I smiled, "I was used to it."
"I'm only 179. You know the ambush when we were going to Vicksburg?"
"Last time I saw you," I remarked somberly.
"First time I died," he commented casually. Silence gripped the room for a while, suddenly interrupted by the wheezing of the kettle. I stood up and poured two cups of tea, handing one to my friend.
"It was a bit of a... surprise, to say the least," he continued.
"I can imagine. Look, Zeke, I'm glad you're okay, if surprised, but I must-"
"You want to know why I'm here now, after all this time?" he interrupted. I nodded.
"I think I found a way," he said.
"A way for what?"
"For us to die."
Once again, silence gripped the room. I gave him a long look. This time, he decided to break the silence.
"Don't tell me you don't want to."
I opened my mouth lightly but failed to find the right words. I've searched for a way to die for so long, but... I gave up centuries ago. Since then I've simply made my peace and didn't look back. For it to now come back so abruptly, I didn't have the time to consider it.
"And you're here why?" I asked, trying to redirect the conversation. "To offer me death?"
"I need your help."
"Look, Zeke, I... I am content with the way things are. I make new friends. Then I say my goodbyes. It's just the way it is. You think *I* didn't look for a way? There is none. It's a wild goose chase that consumes you and takes whatever enjoyment you can find in this life."
He sighed. "I'm not giving up. I'm stronger than that. And you will help me." With those words, he finished his tea and stood up.
"Zeke, please. This is a doomed cause. We can-"
"You have the experience and means to help me in the search and you will do so."
"I'm sorry," I said with notable sorrow. "I won't enable you. It will consume-"
"You will help me or-"
"Or what?" I barked back. "Kill me?"
"No," he said with a grim smile, "not you."
I realized what he meant. This entire time, the entire generations I saw die and yet I could never stop caring. And he knows that. I calmly put down my tea - I've been alive far too long to get nervous.
"Alright Zeke. Alright. But know this," I said, standing up to get my coat. I opened the door and looked back at him.
"It won't end well for you." | 544 | Being an immortal has its downsides. One of them is that you have to continue to make friends. Your newest one leaves for an overseas trip and you prepare yourself to lose another. You leave and return your abode, only to find a friend from centuries past sitting on your couch when you return. | 1,521 |
\[Leaving the Lobby\]
"I'm coming, I'm coming...," Star Captain grumbled at the door as if the person banging on the other side could hear him. The heavy, hurried knocks continued until he finally swung open the door.
"STAR CAPTAIN! We need your help!" a blonde woman begged as soon as she saw him. He recognized her as a news anchor, but didn't feel it was an important detail at the moment; he was in the middle of something. "A group of super-villains has taken over the children's hospital!"
"Children's hospital...?" Star Captain thought for a moment, then shook his head. "That's MegaMatron's section," he shrugged. He pushed the door closed but the blonde put her foot in the way.
"The children need help!" she cried.
"Sorry," he shrugged. "I haven't completed the Collateral Damage training. My hero's license is suspended until I do."
"But... they're innocent...," she said. "They're in danger." Star Captain nodded.
"And, if I go and help, I'll get my cape sued off; no thanks. Good luck," he said. He tried closing the door again but the woman shoved her way into his house.
"You're going to let fear stop you from doing what's right??" she asked. Star Captain grinned broadly.
"Of course not," he said. "I'm letting the villains stop me. They won. I've moved on to different projects."
"What?" the blonde tilted her head. "What are you talking about?"
"Oh wow," he said with faint surprise. "I thought you were a better reporter. Why do you think the Collateral Damage Act was passed?" he asked.
"To keep Supers from being reckless....," she said. Star Captain shook his head.
"To keep Supers from being reckless... or just Superheroes? You know why you don't see any Super-villains signing up for the training?"
"Because... they're villains?" she asked.
"Because they're the ones that lobbied for it. Your government sold out those innocent children just to line their pockets," he shrugged. "The city seems to think it doesn't need Heroes. I'm okay with that."
"You're just going to let this happen?" she asked. "You're going to let them take over?" Star Captain nodded.
"They already have," he said.
"Should I come back another time?" A young man in a white suit stepped out of the living room to ask Star Captain.
"No, we can finish now," Star Captain said. "Phoenix this is....,"
"Tabitha," she answered.
"Tabitha," Star Captain repeated. "Tabitha, this is Phoenix, he's from an alternate Earth."
"Al..alternate? Like, another Earth?" Tabitha asked. Both Phoenix and Star Captain nodded. "What are you doing here?" she directed her question at Phoenix.
"I'm helping Star Captain decide which Earth he wants to go to." Her head whirled around back towards the Hero.
"You're leaving??" she asked. Star Captain nodded.
"Well yeah...," he said. "It's not like I was going to get any heroics done on this Earth anymore."
\*\*\*
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #1580 in a row. (Story #132 in year five.). This story is part of an ongoing saga that takes place at a high school in my universe. It began on Sept. 6th and I will be adding to it with prompts every day until June 3rd. They are all collected in order at [this link](https://www.reddit.com/r/Hugoverse/comments/pj4t0b/tokuhigh_first_six_weeks/). | 10 | A law is passed that requires all superheroes to take a government training course to reduce collateral damage | 25 |
“The Gods are angry with us!”
“I’m not angry, I’m just disappointed.”
“That’s worse!”
“Look, enough of that, I just want to talk. Just talk, no smiting, alright?” All I received were a bunch of blank stares, but good enough. “Alright, so let’s talk about last week. You remember what happened last week?”
“We endured your anger, oh great-“
“I wasn’t angry. A bolt of lightning struck a tree in the forest – a completely random occurrence that I didn’t direct at you – and started a fire. Instead of putting out the fire, or stopping it from reaching your village, or doing anything a sensible person might do…you gathered here to pray to me.” And it worked, I did conjure up a small rainstorm to help them out before it burned down everything.
I didn’t want to, though. It took a lot of pestering from my mentor before I was willing to agree. ‘This is the way it’s always been done,’ he said. But it’s so…inefficient. We should be teaching these humans to be self-sufficient.
That’s why I was here now, manifesting through a small raincloud hovering above the stunned masses. It took me a few good minutes to get my voice to stop booming, but here we were having an actual conversation.
“It’s random, nobody planned that to happen. Instead of praying to me for help, you could’ve pulled buckets from the river to stop it yourselves!”
“But you saved us!”
“I didn’t.” Or at least you don’t need to know that. “You got lucky, a storm happened to be rolling in already.”
“But-“
“No buts except yours on the ground. Now, listen to me. Let me explain a few things about the world, this planet. Natures really a complex system, but it all started a few billion years ago when-“
It took a really, really long time to explain the major bits. Days, in fact. Not that fatigue was a problem for me, but I had to stop a few times to let the villagers rest before the next lesson. At least I managed to cover the formation of the planet the first day, and I think they largely understood me.
The next day I told them about evolution and tried to put some aspects of their hunter-gathered lifestyle into a broader context. That drove them wild.
The third day came a lesson on self-sufficiency, now I felt I had built an adequate base for their knowledge on the world around them. Trying to teach them about science seemed a bit beyond them for now…but the foundations for it should do the trick. Observation, testing, repetition.
“So the next time a fire breaks out, or the river floods…”
“There are things you can do about it. Masters of your own destinies and what not. Don’t be afraid to show initiative and try out different things. That goes for things that aren’t disasters, too. Try to improve your way of life when things are going good.”
“Very well. Thank you for your guidance, God of Storms. We shall take heart in your wisdom.”
“Sure, sure. I’ll get going then.”
Ah, excellent work me.
\*
“You did what!” My mentor was roiling mad when I returned and he learned of what I had done. I’d need to head out and stop the tsunamis he was generating later, before they actually hit land.
“I taught them to deal with their problems. Not everything, I’ll still watch and help out from time to time."
“No, you fool! We’re Gods, don’t you get that? We need them to believe in us.”
“Yes, but-“
“You taught them that they don’t need us! And now, oh me, I’m already starting to feel weak…”
(Thanks for reading, C&C always welcome!) | 18 | You are a young nature god, replacing your retiring predecessor. Frustrated with your tribe's primitive view of elements and emotions ("fire means anger, water means calm") and simplistic caste system, you turbulently give them the geological Talk of how their planet really formed. | 76 |
There is meaning behind the saying. To gaze into the Abyss is to view darkness and evil. When it gazes back, that very darkness rubs against you. Even the strongest of wills will be worn down by it. In time, if you view cruelty, so too will you become cruel.
It helped Lovecraft in creating his warnings of the Great Old Ones. Those he knew of, but enough not to call out to them. They are the Abyss embodied. So dark that light cannot escape. So evil that good cannot exist in their presence. They are absolutes. To look at them is to have your soul tarnished. Even a glance will break you, and make you do unspeakable things.
But I, well, I did not fully agree. To hide your gaze, isn't that something people do when they have something to hide. Doesn't it make you less trustworthy. If you want to deal with them, hiding your face would make them less inclined to help. Even if their help is twisted beyond that which we can imagine.
This line of thinking has lead me to this moment. A dagger of obsidian. A carefully carved spiral with maddening curves. A call out to them. A slash, and blood spilling across the spiral's surface. Calling out to those who would listen, as my liquid life turned black and smokes.
Then, one comes. A being of immense power. One that I can't comprehend. It is an impossible being, one that cannot exist, but does. My instincts and mind scream at me to run. To hide my eyes. A mistake they say. A mistake to summon this thing.
But my eyes stay locked. Even as things snap and break in my head. As unknowable things waltz in, filling the broken pieces with information, I stay there. Time fades away. It has no meaning in this moment.
Then this thing, with a face of eyes gives a grin without a mouth. It speaks without a voice, in an untranslatable language. One that I somehow understand.
"What... do... you... want?" | 15 | Nietzche told me, 'Gaze too long into the Abyss, and you will find it gazing back.' Lovecraft, broadly speaking, agreed. But isn't meeting someone's gaze just the ordinary, friendly thing to do? Would you trust someone who won't look you in the eye? | 104 |
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