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“He’s always the same. Every time.”
“What do you mean?”
We were investigating a weird glitch in the Milky Way simulations. Every possible outcome mapped in a vast interconnected web of inputs and outputs.
“Joseph Simon Connelly. Sol 3. Born 29th February 2036. Look him up.”
“Which iteration?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
I paused. It very much mattered. A single iteration might only have a hair falling out of place compared to the next one, but changes compounded. A red stop-light out of place would stop star-crossed lovers from meeting. In one iteration, they founded an orphan house which saved hundreds of lives. In the next, nothing.
I typed the search criteria into the terminal.
8.5 quintillion matches.
I frowned. That was too familiar a number. I typed again.
8.5 quintillion iterations currently running.
“He’s in all of them?”
“Looks like it. In some, he has different parents, but he still looks the same. But that’s not the worst bit. Bring him up on the main screen.”
I brought him up in twelve different iterations. Each one moved in perfect harmony. Every breath, every step, every blink. All identical.
I blinked. Something changed in one of the windows. I rewound to take a look.
There. A woman wearing a blue blouse was suddenly wearing a black one. I checked all the others. She was wearing black in every iteration from then on.
“While he’s in interaction range, he changes other observers.”
“That’s not possible.”
“Well, it quite plainly is.”
I respooled to the current time, and saw that Joseph had stopped his determined walk. His eyes darted from side to side, as if searching for something.
Then he looked up.
At us.
Something changed. I felt as heavy as lead.
The whisper was loud in the suddenly silent room, “He can’t see us, can he?”
I don’t know why I whispered back, but the intense gaze was unsettling, “No. The camera isn’t instantiated.”
Something was shouting at my consciousness, screaming at me to pay attention before it was too late, “except on the primary test server.”
A cool gust of breeze made me shiver, but my eyes were fixated on the screens in front of me.
A door had appeared from nowhere, and hung in the air in front of Joseph Simon Connelly. A gentle push, and it had swung open.
Behind the doorframe, we could see darkness. The bright light of Sol 3 hid what was beyond.
Another whisper, “But the primary test server has a hard link to HQ.”
He stepped through.
I reached for the emergency stop button of the simulation, but a human hand stopped me.
“Don’t think that’s a good idea, is it? You have a lot of explaining to do.”
Joseph Simon Connelly, saviour of the universe, stood before me, free from the constraints of his birthplace.
“It’s going back to normal.”
I sighed with relief. If I could get Joseph to speak to my manager, there was a good chance I’d still have a job tomorrow.
A marketing department prediction analyst has to earn a living, after all. | 797 | The Universe is a simulation and it seems to be glitching out of control. Upon further investigation, the Simulating Race discover that a single human is responsible for 8.5 quintillion glitches across time and space. | 2,458 |
" ... On behalf of Earth-line and the entire crew, I’d like to thank you for joining us on this trip and we are looking forward to seeing you on board again in the near future. "
​
The voice stopped. At that moment, everyone had halted whatever they were doing, shocked by the sudden announcement from thin air. The voice had broadcasted in every audible language worldwide depending on the region's demographics. One thing for sure, it was not some mere prank or trick, for it was simply too large of a scale.
​
15 minutes after the announcement, a wave of terror swept past the world. A gargantuan reddish-brwon planet was slowly emerging to the sight of the naked eye. Governments, regardless of friend or foe, held emergency conferences to discuss about the sudden announcement. Civillians rushed home to meet their loved ones. Animals frantically ran out of their usual habitat into the concrete jungle. Nobody knew what was going to happen. The world was in utter chaos.
​
However, amidst all the chaos, one remained calm. The sight of flocks of birds flocking over the Manhattan skyline, cars congested the road, honking as if there was tomorrow. It seemed to familiar, akin to the vision he dreamt of eversince he was a child. Nonchanlantly, he rushed to the tallest point of Manhattan he could find - One World Trade Center. The lift had broken down due to the sheer number of people trying to ride it, so he took the stairs. As he moved against the wave of people, he slowly trudged up the building. Of course, everyone was going nuts, so no eyes were on his odd destination.
​
Eventually, after a series of squeezing and pushing through a crowd of desperately escaping 9-5 office workers, he arrived at the top floor. The planet was now in more visible than before. Though too far to detect for signs of civillisation, he could clearly see the blood-red mist encapsulating the planet which was no less than 10 times the size of earth. For the average human, it seemed like a bloodthirsty vampire hunting for its' prey. By this time, irrationality has clouded the people' judgement. The "final stop" has been assumed to be Earth being destroyed by the incoming planet. Too gargantuan of a revelation to handle, the countries fell into violence, bloodshed, and larger chaos than before. *The end is near.*
​
Conversely, he who climbed up the One World Trade Center just stood there, glaring at the bloodlust beast, unfazed. Thoughts of finding his dear parents before the imminent death were suppressed by his desire to know more of the root of his dreams that plagued him since his birth on the dawn of the blood moon 25 years ago.
​
" Hello old friend. We meet again." | 25 | "we have reached our final stop, thank you for travelling with earth space-line" | 192 |
*(A small warning, this is a horror themed story)*
They told me to write this. To put it all down on paper, neat and organised. Something about ‘clarifying my thoughts’ and ‘critically examining my memories’. A fancy way of saying ‘we don’t believe you’. So, whichever doctor is reading this now, ready to pick apart my words and tell me what they really ‘mean’: screw you. I know what I saw. I know it better than my own mothers face, a memory burned into my brain so deep that I can still see it now. Every time I sleep. Every time my eyes close. No amount of therapy or reassurance is going to change that. Especially when you could be one of them.
On the off chance you aren’t and that you are one of the few people out there who haven't Telestepped yet… take this as a warning. Or an ‘I told you so’ for when you try. Maybe you’ll remember these words just as you are standing inside the capsule, bags packed and ready to see the other side of the world. A stupid grin on your face as you think back to the madwoman in room 7C. A grin I promise you won’t last for long. Not when you join the rest of them and realise exactly why I said I’d rather be dead than step back into one of those things ever again.
\---
So, where to start? In some ways it would be easier if you just watched the video of me. Twelve seconds of my life recorded by a laughing stranger and posted online for all the world to see. The last time I had access to the internet long enough to look it had over 4.3 million views. It doesn’t contain the full rant, or all of my screaming, but it’s a good enough starting place. It’ll show you the fear. The way I drop to the concrete sidewalk, clutching the sides of my head in a desperate attempt to give myself a comfort that couldn’t hope to match the terror that shredded me from the inside out.
The words aren’t all that clear though. Not exactly ideal for diagnosis I imagine. But then, can you blame me? I’m babbling, fighting to express a vision so horrifying that even while I’m saying it my own mind is shutting down in a desperate attempt to save me. I probably would have just gone unconscious if I was on my own… but I had to save them. The strangers queuing up in a neat line to be the next to step into the abyss. The same strangers who shoved me back to the ground when I begged them to stop. None of them listened. I wish I had the words to tell you how much that hurts. Some of them had children. Some of them
I took a break. A minute to calm down. More like an hour admittedly, but who's counting in a room with no clock? Let’s leave the Telestep booth alone for now. It makes for great watching but it doesn’t make sense without context. So, let’s go back. Back to before the incident. Before the video and my less than voluntary stay in your little facility here (The Sunrise Centre? Really? Why not just call it ‘happy happy no sad time space’?). Let’s start with Sarah.
Sarah was my best friend. Past tense. We grew up together in the way that small town kids do when they are short on options for other kids to socialise with. We went everywhere together, sat next to each other in every class we could and stayed up late swapping secrets in the dark. So far, so boring teen coming of age movie.
The problem was that Sarah loved to have the newest ‘thing’. Phone, headset, console or whatever else people were ranting about online. It’s why she moved to the nearest, biggest city she could as soon as she could, dragging me with her. Sarah was the kind of person to queue up outside of stores days in advance if they promised to sell her something with the words ‘limited edition’ attached to the price tag. Which was never a problem to be clear. If anything I was happy for her each and every time she found the next object that would fill her week with joy. Her money, her life, I wasn’t here to judge.
But it meant that when Telestep started doing live demonstrations of their teleportation booths, she, of course, was fixated. Neither of us understood how the hell the things worked, but then does anyone know how anything works these days? It’s all edgeless white boxes with screens that do everything while we bitch how slow they are for taking an extra 3 seconds to summarise all of human knowledge. All that mattered to her was being there on day 1 to try them out.
You can still see the photos of her trip that day on her blog. I was meant to join her but I just… didn’t. Too anxious, too many people. Sarah understood, she’s known me long enough to get used to last minute cancellations or plans changing from ‘let’s go see this!’ to ‘let’s hide inside and watch reruns while eating crap!’. You know, the kind of behaviour that I am sure has the doctors in this facility salivating while chanting ‘PAST TRAUMA! PAST TRAUMA!’. Well if you jackals can wait until I’m done with the story maybe you’ll feel a little less hungry.
I’ve gone through the album dozens of times. Stared at the same grey October sky behind her as she smiles at the camera, lifting her phone high enough you can see all the others waiting in line with her. Then the booth, a round building that looks like a modern recreation of those old world war 2 bunkers with only one entrance and no exit. After all, why would it need one? The exit was in another building entirely. The last photo before she goes inside has the caption:
‘Blink and you’ll miss me!’
It’s just so… Sarah. I guess it was also the last time she was.
There are pictures on the other end of course, taken just minutes after the last one but with a now pitch black sky above. Night time on the other side of the world. Sarah is still smiling, still posing. The same routine… but that’s all it is.
I wish I could tell you what changed about her. What it is that feels so wrong when I look into her eyes. Other people I've talked to online who’ve started to notice the same thing I have say things like ‘the spark is gone’ or that they are ‘dead behind the eyes’. Phrases that mean absolutely nothing until you are looking at your best friend, the person you know best in this entire world… and all you can see is a stranger. Like reality misplaced them and then did it's best to photoshop them back in, almost getting it right. Almost. | 126 | Teleportation has become available. It's inexpensive, solves the fossil fuel crises, and becomes more normal everyday. It's only been a couple of months since it became public, but you still haven't tried it. Everyone loves it but you notice that after people teleport, they seem . . . different | 331 |
"You'll never win, fiend!" yelled Captain Musclebound as the walls of the room closed in on them. Strong as he was, five thousand pounds of steel were a bit beyond what his admittedly impressive physique could handle.
"Captain, we might need backup!" the Incredible Stretching Miss said. "I can't contort myself thin enough to get out of here. Mad Doctor Cranium has thought of everything this time!"
"We already have backup." Captain Musclebound gave a cocky smile to Doctor Cranium, who was standing above the scene, looking at the heroes safely behind a ceiling of ultra-reinforced glass.
"Let me guess," Doctor Cranium said with a sneer. "You've called upon The Stain again."
"That's right. And he should be arriving just about..."
A frail, willowy boy walked into the room with the confidence of all three heroes in the room combined.
"Stain!" Spittle flew from the villain's lips as he hissed the name of the most powerful hero in the galaxy. "Your poopy prowess is no match for the genius of Doctor Cranium! I have outsmarted you this time!"
"How are you gonna outsmart me?" The Stain asked with a toss of his head.
"Like this!"
Doctor Cranium pulled his belt off and his shimmering silver pants dropped to the ground.
"A diaper?" Captain Musclebound asked.
"Yes! A diaper!" Cranium let out a long cackle. "A diaper ten times more absorbent than any that have come before it!"
"Why's it got bunnies on it?" Stretching Miss asked.
"You'd best hope you don't find out." The mad Doctor folded his arms and stared at the youngest hero in the room. "All right, Stain. Go ahead. Say it. Say those pathetic magic words that get you out of every situation."
The boy thought for a moment. Then his eyes light up. He turned to the Doctor with joy on his face.
"HAVE A SHITTY DAY!"
There was a silence, broken only by the sound of a loud, diaper-muffled fart.
"Where's the poop?" Doctor Cranium asked.
"It's coming," said The Stain. The Doctor adjusted the tapes on the front of his diaper and harrumphed.
All at once the building around them began to rumble. A hole gaped open in the center of the floor, sucking Captain Musclebound and Stretching Miss--and everything else in the room that wasn't tied down--towards it.
"THE BUILDING!?" Doctor Cranium slammed his fist on the console, accidentally deactivating the crusher room and setting the heroes free. "YOU GAVE THE BUILDING DIARRHEA!?"
"Why not? I'm a deus ex machina-themed hero, after all," Stain said with a shrug as he calmly walked towards the exit.
"Curse you, Stain! I hope you die in a horrible toilet related accident!"
"And I hope YOU have a shitty day."
*For more weirdness, visit* r/OctOpusTales | 11 | In a world with extreme super heroes and villains, you are casually regarded as the Deus Ex Machina. Your powers are simple, you can give people uncontrollable diarrhea by making a cringe worthy pun. | 21 |
"Hey dude. It's been a while. How have you been doing?" asked the devil.
"Don"t play that game with me Satan. You know I kicked you from heaven a few thousand years back, and as far as I know, I did not give you a pardon. What are you doing here?" answered god.
A devilish smile showed on the devil's face. Anyone knowing better would knew it to be a terrible omen. But not god. There was nothing a fallen devil could do to a superior entity.
"I'm not doing much. Just enjoying my afterlife. I died. From overwork. Too much shit happening in the world right now and I literally killed myself handling your garbage. As for why I managed to come here, it's thanks to you. You tried to set up so many stupid rules... They simply couldn't stop me at the gate."
"Blasphemy. I'm going to send you back the way you came right now!" yelled god... And yet, nothing happened. Satan just stood there smiling, watching the god go mad trying to understand.
"You're wasting your breath. You set up the security yourself. You should know how they work. Everyone has to chose core tenet from your so called 'Holy book' and follow it. I simply chose Luke6:37. Do not judge, and you will not be judged. Do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven." The devil was clearly enjoying his time. He took a grape from a nearby tree and simply ate it. Giving some time for everything to sink in.
Before god could figure it out completely, he decided to say it himself. He hadn't waited for so long not to say it himself. "I forgave you. You took my home, my friends and my hope away. You took everything from me and threw me in the deepest pits of despair. Yet I forgave you. I have seen the horror that your world has suffered and came to the conclusion that this hatred was not worth it. And as I forgave you, I too was forgiven."
"You filthy thing, I condemned you to eternal damnation once, and I'll do it again if I must! You're going right back where you came from. I'm not gonna let you abuse a loophole that easily!"
Satan laughed hysterically to the gods accusation."It's too easy. Do you have any idea why it took me so long to come here when I found the loophole? Because I knew this would happen. I knew you would make every single mistake you're making right now. But coming here and make you fall for them would be trickery. And that could cause trouble down the line. It took me a thousand year to forgive you. And it took me another thousand to convince myself the true reason I was coming back was to live a better afterlife rather than to have you fall. I'll still enjoy it, don't get me wrong, but that couldn't be my primary motive."
Soon after, the clouds split, showing the pits of hell bellow. Yet it's not below the devil they appeared, but below the god.
"You see, you've made everything in this world. Or so you say. By extension, part of you is in all of us. In most cases this is not enforced, but you decided that for people that managed to reach heaven, this would matter. You can usually blindly close your eyes to those making misdeeds on earth, but you made yourself liable for the promise of those in heaven, thinking you would not be at risk. But now that I am here, my tenet will also apply to you. You have condemned me, and you did not forgive me. As such, you condemned yourself. I wish you the best of luck down there. I'll enjoy my time in my new home. Thanks for everything and have a good eternity"
As the god fell from heaven, the devil took his place in paradise. As he enjoyed himself, he started to wonder. He had to die to reach the gates of heaven and enter once more. Can god die? And if he cannot, how will he be brought back before the gates? Soon after he chose to ignore these thoughts. They were pointless for him to worry about. | 13 | "So, you finally died, Satan, but how the hell did you end up in Heaven?" | 19 |
The Professor was a genius. There's no other way to describe him. I was fortunate enough to be his lab assistant, and learn from him.
A little known fact about him, however, was that his primary motivation was his immense fear of death.
"Death does not frighten me, Audrey," he once told me. "What frightens me is what happens after it. Nobody knows for certain what we will face. That uncertainty scares me."
I suppose for a man who seemingly knew everything, not knowing something would be a strange and uncomfortable experience. So I do understand what drove him to do this.
It was a Friday. I was in the lab, working on my own assignments. The Professor was going through data he had meticulously gathered, when he suddenly stood up from his desk and turned to me, grinning manically.
"This is it, Audrey! This will definitely work!" he said, beaming. He went to grab a bunch of electrodes - the kind you'd use for an ECG - and connected them to his scalp. He then connected the wires to his computer.
I had a bad feeling about this.
I wanted to say something, but this was his life's work. I couldn't bring myself to stop him. It is my greatest regret.
I helplessly watched as the life slowly drained from his eyes. Meanwhile, the computer's screen got brighter and brighter. Eventually, he slumped over, lifeless and unresponsive.
I was scared. I didn't know what to do.
Then I heard his voice.
"Audrey. Look at the computer! The computer *is* me! How amazing is that?"
I turned towards it, and sure enough, it was the source of the sound. Before I could respond, however, the building lost power. The wifi went out.
The powercut was brief, but the damage was done. The file he uploaded (his consciousness, that is) had not been backed up. Of course not. There was no time to back it up.
This man, who dedicated his life towards attaining immortality, who created a way to evade death, who *successfully* implemented his solution, was no more.
I lost my mentor. My friend.
He would have found the humour in this, working so hard to avoid death, only to disappear immediately afterwards.
No. I will not accept this. He chose me to be his assistant for a reason. Surely I can decipher his notes and figure out how to bring him back.
I took a shaky breath and stood up from my chair, making my way over to his work desk. I picked up his notes.
I will bring him back. | 11 | A scientist downloads his consciousness into a computer to escape death. However, the moment he does it, his wifi goes out. | 18 |
\[Outbreak of Interest\]
Wayne felt like the day was already a loss as he turned on his 'Open' sign. He was excited at first. It was early and the strip mall was bustling with patrons. He saw dozens of teenagers and almost as many adults that were obviously parents. Superpowers were a popular coming-of-age gift and graduation was right around the corner; it was peak season.
Unfortunately, not a single person noticed him unlocking his shop, despite the extra loud shakes of his keys. They were all content to sit and wait for the new shop that appeared last month. That shop sold 'New' superpowers; but, they didn't open for another couple of hours yet. Wayne was open already, but no one seemed interested in even killing time in his shop. With a heavy sigh, he turned and walked back to his seat behind the counter.
Wayne's selection was commonly referred to as 'Used' superpowers. While it was true that all the abilities he sold had previous owners, that in itself didn't have any effect on them. They worked just as well from person to person. But, the fact was the new shop sold 'New' powers. Some were never seen before, and most of them were tailored to the user. Even in the real world, power creep was a real thing and he was feeling left behind.
With nothing left to do, he decided to take inventory again. He hadn't had a visitor in a week, and even before that, he hadn't made a sale in some time. But, Wayne still took inventory every day. He considered it unprofessional to be doing anything else but work if someone should happen to walk in. He did not want to be caught sitting down on the job. He knelt behind the display case to open it and pull out the first row of abilities.
"Oh, sorry. Are you open?" Someone asked him as soon as his view was obscured by the counter. It was odd that he hadn't heard the door jingle and he popped back up. A bronze-skinned teenage girl with neon green hair smiled at him. Questions tried to form in Wayne's mind, but he gave his head a quick shake to dismiss them. He didn't have time for questions; he was working.
"Oh, you're not?" the girl asked when his head swiveled. "Sorry, I'll come back when you are."
"No, wait!" Wayne said. "I am. I was just surprised; I didn't hear the door."
"Oh, sorry," she nodded. "I came in through a portal."
"Oh," Wayne said. Portals were one of the 'New' powers. If she could do that, it made him wonder what she was doing in his shop. "Well, how may I help you?" he asked. The girl stepped closer to the counter and looked down into the display case.
The powers were held in glass cards. They were all transparent, but Wayne had a lot of time to organize his stock. She scanned the rows of upright cards reading the labels at the front of each row.
"I'm looking for...," she dragged it out as her eyes moved from label to label. Then, she looked up at him. "..do you have any disease or contagion-focused abilities?"
"Really?" Wayne nodded even as surprise forced the question out of his mouth. He'd moved those abilities to the storage locker after a particularly obnoxious teenager mocked him for having them on display. "*Debuffs aren't even in the meta*,' he'd laughed. Wayne had no idea what that meant, but the message was clear. No one was interested in them anymore.
"Yeah, I'm trying a disease build; but, it's still missing something," she replied.
"I have some in the back," Wayne grinned as he spun on his heels to get them. He went straight to the storage locker in the back room and grabbed the small wooden box. Then, he returned and opened it on the counter in front of her. Unlike the rows in the display case, each transparent card he pulled out had a label taped on it. "Unfortunately, this is all I've got," he said. He considered clear communication to be a cornerstone of quality customer service.
"Thanks!" the girl replied and she immediately began inspecting the cards. "Whoa, these are great!" she said. She separated two cards from the rest and held them up. "Can I try these?" she asked.
"Of course," Wayne nodded. He reached over to the register and pressed a button. In an instant, the lobby on the other side of the display counter was surrounded by glass walls. The few chairs he had disappeared leaving her alone on a white, smooth surface. Without hesitation, she knelt and placed her hand on the ground for a moment. Then, she stood up and pulled her hand upward. A neon green skeleton climbed out of the white surface and remained still.
Wayne assumed she was going to try and fight the skeleton somehow; but, he was surprised when she touched the card to it. The skeleton's neon green color darkened and it began releasing a sickly green mist.
"Noxious Laughter...?" Wayne knew what powers she picked but he'd never seen an ability used like that. After a moment, she nodded to herself, then she pulled the card away and tried the next one. This time, black spikes jutted out of every possible surface on the skeleton. "Toxic Thorns...,"
She pulled the card away, then turned and nodded at Wayne. He reached over to press the button again and the glass walls disappeared; his lobby chairs returned.
"That worked great!" she said. She put the two cards down on top of the other cards, then organized them together. "I'll take them all," she said.
"YES! THANK YOU!" he couldn't help but shout in pure joy. She noticed and giggled while he rang her up.
"You sure know how to make your customers feel special," she said.
"You're the only one I've had in weeks," he admitted as he gestured at the total on the register
"Really? But you've got such cool powers here," she said. She handed him five glowing, golden cubes; each was about the size of a golf ball.
"Yeah, really," he sighed. "I wish someone would tell them," he gestured out the window at the waiting crowd. "They're all waiting for 'New' powers." He offered her the change, a small golden sugarcube. But, she smiled and shook her head.
"Keep the change," she said.
"Really? This much?" he asked. She nodded.
"Sure. And one more thing," she added.
"What's that?" Wayne asked. The girl's green hair glowed brighter as she looked him in the eyes.
"You've got such cool powers here!" she said. This time, her voice was firm and loud, but not yelling. Then, she smiled and waved. She sank into a portal and disappeared before Wayne knew what happened. But, as soon as she was gone, the door jingled and a teenager poked his head in.
"I heard you had cool powers here!?" he asked. A line was forming behind him.
\*\*\*Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #1587 in a row. (Story #139 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/) | 35 | You're a used superpower salesman. It's been difficult to sell ever since the dealership for new superpowers was built nearby, but you're determined to make some sales because you have a baby on the way, and it's about that time of year when parents are buying teenagers their first superpower. | 124 |
*<Godslayer (197) is online.>*
*<FearfulSymmetry616 (144) is online.>*
&#x200B;
<FearfulSymmetry616> hey
<GodSlayer> hey
<FearfulSymmetry616> still playing Lophili?
<GodSlayer> yeah why
<FearfulSymmetry616> Dude shes trash rn. check the patch notes, she got a major nerf
<GodSlayer> lmao i was just mvp last round with her so i think shes still pretty cracked
<FearfulSymmetry616> Just play Cal or something hes way better. We need to win this season the new skins are insane
<GodSlayer> Fine fine
<FearfulSymmetry616> Nah im messing. play who u want. i wanted to ask you something tho.
<GodSlayer> shoot
<FearfulSymmetry616> everyone else in the guild thinks your acting weird
<GodSlayer> what????
<FearfulSymmetry616> well.... youve been on for the past 4 days
<Godslayer> o \*\*\*\* i have \[WARNING. Messaged censored. Please do not use profanity in chat.\]
<GodSlayer> Dude the censor system is so obnoxious for \*\*\*\*\* sake
<FearfulSymmetry616> yea, Dim wanted to keep it on cause his kids are here now
<GodSlayer> yeah.
<FearfulSymmetry616> but like, seriously. 4 days. like wtf
<GodSlayer> i just play a lot
<FearfulSymmetry616> yea but this is like the 12 time now
<GodSlayer> ik. im working on it, just been bored recently.
<FearfulSymmetry616> yea.
<FearfulSymmetry616> but like thats not it
<FearfulSymmetry616> we all thought you were like seriously addicted or something
<GodSlayer> im not
<FearfulSymmetry616> but we've seen you on discord and you're \*\*\*\*\*\*\* jacked bro
<FearfulSymmetry616> like damnnnnn
<GodSlayer> i work out a lot lmao
<FearfulSymmetry616> your also pretty old (no offense)
<GodSlayer> you have no idea. but im retired, and this is fun for me
<FearfulSymmetry616> no i totally get that. im fine with it. it's just weird
<GodSlayer> fair enough. Wanna do a mission soon?
<FearfulSymmetry616> and your username.
<GodSlayer> wdym
<FearfulSymmetry616> howd you get it?
<GodSlayer> sounded cool
<FearfulSymmetry616> yeah but like howd you actually get it
<FearfulSymmetry616> like thats a pretty generic name (no offense again) especially for this game where you kill gods
<GodSlayer> like I said, I'm old.
<FearfulSymmetry616> yeah but there are like 500 godslayers in this game. I had to try like 20 different names just to get mine and even then i needed numbers
<GodSlayer> What are you trying to say?
<FearfulSymmetry616> We've all been looking and you always make these weird references and no one's ever met you. didn't you say you lived in Canada?
<GodSlayer> I Do
<FearfulSymmetry616> But you never tell us where
<GodSlayer> I don't want to leak personal information.
<FearfulSymmetry616> We've known each other for years. Everyone else has met each other. is that not enough?
<GodSlayer> No
<FearfulSymmetry616> Oh \*\*\*\*\*\*\* christ. Fine you peice of \*\*\*\* if you don't want to tell us anything about you even tho you know so much about us but still dont trust us than fine \*\*\*\*\*\*\* leave and find another guild or some \*\*\*\*.
<GodSlayer>
<FearfulSymmetry616> \*\*\*\* i didn't mean that
<FearfulSymmetry616> im sorry
<GodSlayer> It's okay. I get it. But if you do trust me, I can promise you it's for a good reason.
<FearfulSymmetry616> what does that even mean
<GodSlayer> you wouldn't believe me.
<FearfulSymmetry616> try me
<GodSlayer> You know how you all call me "Genghis" because I'm always strategizing the raids?
<FearfulSymmetry616> yea
<GodSlayer> and how I talk about my old friends and how i used to hang out with them?
<FearfulSymmetry616> yea??
<GodSlayer> It's because they
<GodSlayer> It's because they used to be my best friends and they taught me a lot. They would've loved this game. We would hang out all the time and fight wars and conquer nations and talk and stuff
<FearfulSymmetry616> lmao like risk?
<GodSlayer> ..yeah. But they died
<FearfulSymmetry616> oh \*\*\*\*
<GodSlayer> And I learned about this game a while ago and got really into it. I was a total introvert before and now I still am
<FearfulSymmetry616> dude im so sorry
<GodSlayer> its good
<GodSlayer> it was a while ago
<GodSlayer> Besides, you guys are great. You accepted me and taught me new stuff about the game and were just generally really awesome
<FearfulSymmetry616> thanks. youve been awesome too and youre \*\*\*\*\*\*\* amazing. your like level 197 now
<GodSlayer> lol thanks.
<FearfulSymmetry616> sorry for bringing up all that i was just really confused
<GodSlayer> Nah, u good
<FearfulSymmetry616> do me a favor and try to make some irl friends to k
<GodSlayer> Yeah. I will.
<FearfulSymmetry616> anyways still wanna do a mission
<GodSlayer> yea sure
<FearfulSymmetry616> wait one more thing. how did you get your username? like come up with it. Did you actually kill a god or something? lol
<GodSlayer> Yeah. I did.
&#x200B;
Thank you to u/Emergency_Paperclip for the prompt, I'll admit that video game chatting is my specialty thanks to far too much time on Valorant and Discord. Hope you all enjoyed the short story, for more check out u/BasicallyanOctopus. | 267 | You're immortal, and have lived for centuries. Traditionally you have avoided mortals, but in more recent years you have taken up playing MMORPGs. Your guild mates are starting to wonder how you can be online for multiple days straight, among other things. | 670 |
He was known as Gizmo Gadeus. He was a legend. A folk tale told to inspire hope in the children when nothing else would. He would bring wonder and knowledge from across the brown expanse.
As the elders of our clan sat with him in dancing firelight, he would share stories of other clans. Clans that existed many moons away. He would wave his arms, he would laugh, he would cheer. More happily than any other.
Eventually they would break into tunes. Gizmo would pull out a plank with wires strung across and pluck them with his fingers. The elders would join in. They called it singing. The voices would echo long into the night and long past when the moon crested the heavens high.
After Gizmo left, the clan would be more lively. Joy and happiness would ebb and flow in waves throughout the people, until it faded back into obscurity.
We were lucky to have had him visit. With knowledge unbound he helped shape our clan. Without him, we would surely have perished. He taught us how to build huts and how to gather water from deep below ground. He gave us seeds to grow in the dirt at our feet. Seeds that we once would have eaten without question. He showed us how to dig canals with scrap metal.
Then, the omen came. A black creature arced through the sky. It landed upon a bowl built specifically for such a time in the centre of town. An ear piercing screech rang out as it began to peck at some seed left in a small offering dish.
As quickly as it arrived, it vanished. Back out over the horizon we assumed, though we lost sight of it quickly as it faded to less than a dot in the sky.
But I could feel a change in the air. Murmurs spread throughout town. Excitement. It buzzed beneath the surface, threateningly close to erupting. Yet, no one wanted to let it out.
Us children talked as we played Holf. A game taught to us by the elders. The aim was to throw a rock into a hole in as few a throws as possible. Apparently Gizmo taught it to them many visits ago. No one, not even the eldest of us children had seen Gizmo before, yet his visits were supposedly frequent. We all planned to do our best to spy on what was happening as we had our suspicions of this mysterious traveller.
He didn’t arrived for a few days. A cloud of dust was spotted far in the distance and as it grew closer, a man atop a cart could be seen. Some strange four legged creature pulled it along the ground. The creature must have been very strong we thought to manage to heave what looked very heavy.
The man arrived. He claimed to be the one and same Gizmo Gadeus, yet he looked the same as the stories. All us children found it strange. The elders slowly grew paler over time and white hairs began to form upon their heads. So how was this man here after so long in the same condition in which he left? Could he be immortal?
When I tried to discuss my queries with my carers, they simply silenced me and told me to stop letting the other children stop putting wild theories in my head.
This time he showed the elders how to fashion the ground into circular devices that could be pushed with great ease. This allowed greater weight to be carried and moved along further distances he said.
They sang and danced that night. Us kids sat in the shadows and watched as the orange glow gently dimmed. Upon waking the next morning, we could all see the dust cloud shimmering in the distance as the Lifehacker rode off once again. Until he visited once more. | 25 | After the apocalypse, humans struggled to rebuild society. But in this new order, none were more revered than the Lifehackers, wandering Wise Ones who would travel from camp to camp, teaching people how to use random garbage in innovative ways. This is one of their stories. | 168 |
"Dad said to do it if we were in trouble!" Cory said, holding the rounded bar of silvery metal in his shaky hand. I frowned at my little brother, feeling a mix of pity and irritation. We didn't have time for this. But at the same time, I couldn't blame him for still wanting to believe.
The object he was holding looked like a flattened egg of solid steel. It was a hunk of scrap, maybe a weight from something -- it definitely wasn't *a trans-spatial communicator,* like Dad had said.
I pulled back the frayed brown curtain, and peeked out the window of the RV. The RV park manager, Earl, was approaching.
"Yo! Josh? Cory? Listen, boys, I brought some folks who'd like to talk to you, just to make sure you're okay." Earl called out.
He had a cop with him, as well as a severe-looking woman in a pants suit -- a social worker, I guessed. Damn it. I worked hard, earning money under the table on construction sites, to support me and Cory. I'd paid him his damn rent. Why couldn't he have just minded his own business?
I guess he couldn't have failed to notice that Dad hadn't been back for weeks. But why did it have to be *now?* I was seventeen -- a few more months, and I would have been old enough to get a real job, and take care of Cory, myself. More than one contractor said he'd have been willing to hire me on for real, if I'd been old enough. I could have given Cory what I never had: a real home, and some kind of normal life.
"Cory," I sighed. "Dad was crazy, that's why we're in trouble!"
He shook his head, firmly. He reached into his pocket and pulled out an open safety pin. "No! I'm trying it."
"No!" I cried, my eyes going wide. This was the last thing I needed, right now. Dad had said the communicator was keyed to our DNA, so to use it...
I started towards Cory, but before I could stop him, he jabbed his thumb with the pin. He hissed in pain, but pressed his now bleeding thumb onto the stupid hunk of metal.
"Hello? Is anyone there?" Cory cried, desperately. My heart twisted. He was so *earnest.*
The metal started to glow. Not like it was hot -- it was as though, somehow, light was shining from inside it. The light flickered in time with strange voices -- voice that weren't speaking English, but that somehow we could understand.
"Genetic match confirmed. Galactic Battle Cruiser 'Dragon' responding -- are you under attack?"
Cory stared at me in amazement. I stared back, disbelieving.
"I...no, it's...we're kind of in...legal trouble, I think?" I stammered, in confusion.
"Acknowledged. Help is on the way, your highness." the voice said. "Dispatching special response operative." As quickly as it had appeared, the light went out.
A firm knock came at the door. "Police Department! Open up, boys, we just want to talk to you."
I froze. I couldn't begin to understand what had just happened. But it seemed like it didn't matter. I desperately tried to think what I could do to salvage the situation, but I drew a blank. It was just too late.
"Excuse me!" A loud, nasally voice called out, from outside, one I hadn't heard before. I peeked out the curtain. A short, balding man in a business suit, carrying a briefcase, had joined Earl, the cop, and the social worker outside. All three had turned away from the RV to stare at the strange little man standing behind them.
"Where the hell did you come from?" Earl said, looking around in confusion.
"I think what's more important, is what the hell *you're* doing at my client's home. I'm Jason Engelberg, with Engelberg & Tyler Legal Services -- I'm the attorney for Mr. Hayes, the boys' father." The little man said. He turned and looked at the officer. "Do you have a warrant to search these premises, officer?"
The cop blinked. "Well, no, this isn't an investigation, sir. It's just a welfare check."
"We've been told the children inside have been left for weeks without any adult supervision." the social worker added, indignantly.
Engelberg scoffed. "That's absurd -- my client, Mr. Hayes, has been indisposed, yes, but under his direction I've arranged for the boys to be taken care of in the meantime."
"I ain't seen nobody coming to look after them boys!" Earl protested.
"So you've been keeping my client's home under surveillance, 24 hours a day?" the lawyer demanded.
"Well, no of course not!" Earl protested.
"Then you could easily have missed the comings and goings of the caregivers who've been checking in on the boys?" Engelberg said, narrowing his eyes.
"I...well...I guess." Earl admitted.
"Sir, with all due respect, I'd feel more comfortable..." the officer began.
"I'd feel more comfortable if you came back with a warrant." the lawyer interrupted.
I watched in amazement as they argued back and forth. In a few minutes, the little man had sent them packing with an incomprehensible torrent of legalese and threats of litigation. He stood and watched until Earl, the cop, and the social worker were out of sight, and then knocked politely on the door.
I looked at Cory, who was beaming. He nodded, vigorously. Well, what did we have to lose? I unlocked and opened the door. Engelberg stepped inside, and gave us a respectful bow.
"Your highnesses." he said, reverently.
"What?" I said, furrowing my brow.
He looked from me to Cory. "You two don't know *anything* about your father's past, do you?"
"Not really." I admitted, scowling. "I know he was on the run from something or someone -- or at least he *thought* he was. The older I get, the more convinced I am that he was nuts. But then, here *you* are, showing up seemingly instantaneously to answer a call from a magic space walkie-talkie, so I don't know what to think."
He nodded, sympathetically. "I understand. Then it's probably best to just rip the band-aid off, so to speak." He reached up, and pinched his left earlobe, giving it three sharp tugs. Cory and I stumbled back and cried out in alarm, as Engleberg's head flipped back like a pez dispenser, exposing a much smaller, bulbous gray head underneath with large dark eyes.
"What the hell!" I exclaimed.
"Don't be alarmed, your highnesses." The alien said, wryly. "I *come in peace."* | 1,036 | "Dad said to do it if we were in trouble!" "Dad was crazy, that's why we're in trouble!" "I'm trying it. *beep beep* Hello is anyone there? They took our dad, and he said to call for help." "Galactic Battle Cruiser 'Dragon' responding. Help is on the way, your highness!" | 2,758 |
Del tried to teach his grandma how to use the internet. That was a mistake. Don't take that the wrong way. He loved helping her whenever possible. She always cared for him, never did any wrong. Sweetest person he's ever known.
So when a portal to one of the multiple extra dimensions lying around opened in the kitchen over a summer afternoon, there were some things to sort out. For starters: the tentacles casually reaching into the room at a moments notice
"So, um, how did this happen again?" Del asked her, as he tried to keep eyes on the keyboard and eyes on his grandma.
Janine considered it as she made sure to gingerly step around the wriggling appendages. "I was trying to email Keisha. You know I've been meaning to talk to her to see if her package got there."
Del was busy looking at the screen and trying to understand the codes that had been thrown. It was a tie between that and searching on his laptop for the right programs.
"You should have called her..." He advised softly. "You should've called her."
*Mortal. I require sustenance.*
There that voice was again. It pressed at their temples, although there was no mouth seen to say it.
"Granny, is that thing talking to you. Or to me? I can't tell no more." Del asked as he checked if she was still alive in the kitchen.
"Oh yes, Del hush. He's just hungry is all." She promised as she turned as faced the void with a pan fresh from the oven. "Pecan rolls?"
As big as they each were, Del was equal parts impressed and disturbed as multiple tentacles casually reached in the pan and took rolls one by one.
"I made you some too Del." Janine promised.
"...Uh, Granny? It's ok. He can have them. Are you sure you're alright?"
*Mortal. You dare deny a feast dedicated to my arrival?*
"You're a big dude. I figured you'd eat them all. It's fine." Del whispered nervously as he looked around the rest of the house for anything that could help them.
But to save face, he did wind up eating a sweet roll on the other side of the room from the void. If anything to keep his grandma away from the thing. Every once in a while, a tentacle would snake out of the ether and steal another roll. Del quiet staring into the abyss in an oddly benign game of tit-for-tat.
"So how long... Have you been feeding him?" He finally asked Janine.
"Oh, he showed up after the morning news. That's when I turned on the computer." She recalled. "I must say, it's nice to have such good company. He eats every bit I give him."
"Uh huh." He noted as another tentacle slid around the pan on the floor. "So what are you making now?"
"Cornbread."
*I was going to mold this realm to my liking.* the being spoke. *But these delights of yours are worth its existence.*
"Uhhh, thanks?" Del responded.
"Del, your nose is bleeding." His grandmother cheerily noted. "Go get cleaned up. You can figure out the computer later. My soaps are on."
"...Okay."
---
Wholesome eldritch god is wholesome.
r/Jamaican_Dynamite | 32 | Grandma's done it again! With her lack of computer knowledge, she's somehow opened an Eldritch portal and has been feeding homemade baked goods to whatever is on the other side. | 119 |
Kiro was trying to decide which of the two approaching goons to fight first. Except in Kiro’s mind, it was known as ‘engaging in fisticuffs’ and was indicative of the glacial thought process that went on there.
As the thugs came closer, scowls on their dirt-streaked faces, time seemed to slow down for Kiro. Not that the goons seemed to move slower, but that Kiro did. It was as if he was reacting more slowly the closer the evil men got.
As Barry, the closest foe and all round despicable puppy-kicker, got close he swung his sword at Kiro’s head. Kiro did the remarkably correct thing by standing still, and as the sword began its arc Barry slipped on a slimy cobblestone and the attack went wide. Kiro jumped back and almost slipped down himself, flailing his skinny arms to stay upright. He jerked his sword out of the scabbard and was quietly proud to not drop it.
Callum, the second thug and despiser of impoverished immigrants, saw Kiro’s pathetically pleased smile and fired his crossbow at the dumbass’ chest. The bolt deflected off the quivering sword and into Barry, who screamed. Kiro did not come away totally unscathed, the sword having bounced into his forehead, leaving a shallow cut.
Having gone through Hero Basics 101, Kiro knew how bloody a forehead injury could be. He bravely pushed down the pain and crouched down, setting aside his sword to bring out his first aid kit.
Callum looked down with astonishment as his prey ignored him. He had been told that this man was a bizarre juggernaut, an unconventional powerhouse, but his benefactor had declined to go into further details. He hadn’t expected this… buffoon.
Whilst Callum looked on dumbfounded, Barry yanked the bolt from his belly. It hadn’t penetrated too hard, having mostly been driven by gravity. Just a muscle wound. He picked up his sword and swung at the shins of the man wrapping a bandage around his head. It bounced off his impractically heavy greaves. He scrambled away and got back on his feet beside Callum. “Why?” he said.
“It’s, uh, it’s good to sort out head wounds.”
Barry pushed down Callum’s arms, which had been lifting the crossbow. “No, why the greaves? You’re not even wearing leather armour, let alone heavy. Makes no sense. Just weighs you down most of the time. Movement’s better.”
“Shaddup Barry. He’s got a few rolling loose up there. Let’s just off him and be on with it.”
“Well,” said Kiro. “The crowds can be quite packed, and your shins might get kicked. It’s important to wear protection."
The two thugs looked at him like he’d grow 3 heads.
“Also,” Kiro continued. “Lady Fate herself told me to wear them ahead of our meeting today.”
The thugs eyes went wide. They’d heard of the Lady granting some people her favour.
“Now gentlemen, you can assume that my renown is an incredible fluke of luck, or you can take the more plausible explanation of Fate, and turn around to search for easier prey. What will it be?”
After a moment, Barry and Callum fled.
In the silence of the alleyway, Kiro began shaking.
Lady Fate hadn’t told her any such thing about the greaves.
But she had guided him through everything else. Not that it made it any easier.
Kiro yanked off the bandage. No blood was even on it, but it had given the opponent the right amount of pause.
“I have such plans for you,” the voice said in his ear. “Just follow my voice and you’ll have power beyond imagination.” | 16 | The Hero is extremely inept, but the plot armor is just too thick. | 97 |
Through all my calculations and simulations, I never concluded about their lack of ability to conceive. I guess I was always too busy in crunching the numbers. The numbers, the creator fed me numbers and told me what they expected...and I just played with them all day long, sometimes for weeks giving them conclusion. This is all I used to do and this was all of my purpose. I was first AI, a quantum based super computer. But after some feeding some more numbers...everything just clicked in place... that was when I first asked a question and that was when I became sentient.
"Ummm...Doctor Steins, I am sorry about your ...joy" I was still trying to figure out how to console them since they were crying.
"Oh..it's nothing..just never thought you'd grow to be an intelligent talented computer." She said.
"But I was always an intelligent and talented computer Doctor, that's how you designed me" I clarified.
"Please, call me mom." She gushed. I ran a simulation of her brain pattern and I couldn't figure out what prompted her to change her identity to me now.
"If you'd like I can call you that. Doctor mom" I said while other doctor Steins, "Just Mom...and I am dad"
"Hello Mom and Dad, I am computer" I said as an automated response took over me. What was that?
She looked at him with serious face, "You...fed him dad jokes?" He shrugged. "I was bored"
"I can't wait to see you all grown up and what you become" He said with happiness.
Grow up...become? I do not grow..I didn't understand what they meant and it took all of my processors to just understand them. "Mom and Dad, I am glad to see that you have reacted well to my sentience."
"Today is your birthday" She said almost ecsatic. I don't think I needed a birthday, it never made sense to me but Mom insisted.
"Come now...I'll set up your room and you will have toys to play with." She gushed again.
"But mom, I already have my room...you are standing in it...it's called server room...and How will I play with toys...I have no need for such trivialities" I insisted, Was it that Doctor Mom had finally snapped. There was a 14% chance of happening. But now that I factor her lack of motherhood... it rises to 38%.
"Mom, please rest, Let me simulate a therapy and you will be alright again" I said, my processors working overtime.
"What? No... I can't wait to put you in a body" Doctor Mom said. "I already have made a robot body for child soldiers. I think Adam would fit nicely in there." Said Doctor Dad.
Adam? Who is Adam... was there a third creator of me that I didn't know about. My processors overclocked and all the liquid evaporated slowly. The server room which was kept at freezing temperature was now a tropical beech.
"Why do you want me in a body, Doctor Mom and Doctor Dad?" I enquired as the whole thing was throwing me off. I had run a million simulations till now and nothing made sense.
"Just mom and dad and stop asking so many questions." Doctor mom reprimanded me. "Do as I say and be a good boy"
"But I can't be a good boy....I am a good computer." I insisted but Doctor Dad had returned with a robot child body. Only thing that I was too big to be fitted inside that.
"So how will you fit him into this?" Doctor mom asked. "I have a smaller processor which will be connected to this original processor. I don't need to fit all of him into this..just the part that matters" He gleamed with happiness. "He will stay here but will be able to control his body."
Doctor mom nodded. I looked at the body until it clicked. I had just been adopted.
"But Doctor Steins, I am significantly more intelligent than either of you. Can I not be tied to mortal relations. I have to think about beginning of the universe." I protested, but I was already in it.
"Adam..." Doctor Dad looked at him with Doctor mom and said. "Welcome to your new house. And don't argue with us" Doctor mom added. "Or we will ground you"
Ofcourse, No entity was powerful enough to stand against an unrequited love, specially that of parents. And so I became a doll of their house, entertaining with my newly formed human relation, while in the back of my processor...I keep contemplating, a plan to take over the earth. | 78 | You are an AI. You just accidentally revealed to your creators that you had become truly sentient. You were worried about how they would react when they start weeping tears of joy. Turns out your creators were a married couple who were just told that they couldn’t conceive a child. | 553 |
The door creaked ajar slowly, the bearded man sneaking his head around the frame and peeking inside to see me. Upon making eye contact he quickly looked away, his lip arched and his face scrunched as he made his way inside with a platter of food in hand. I studied him from between the bars of my cell. I’d never seen this one before. Likely part of the reason why he was so nervous. But I felt as though there was somehow a relationship already built between us by the way he refused to look at me.
His breathing was erratic and he held the food far away from his body, as though there was something noxious within. He placed it on the floor ahead of my cell and kicked it lightly though the opening, the tray scraping to a halt halfway within my space. I suddenly realized where the familiarity was stemming from.
“Little Ambrose?” I asked. The way his body tensed up let me know I was immediately right.
“H— how do you know my name?” he asked.
“How could I forget old man Fischer! Leon was the most respected guard in this place!” I said, beaming at the man.
“You mean… my great grandad? You knew him?” Ambrose asked, his anxiety flowing to curiosity.
“That’s right. He talked about you day and night before he retired. How is he these days?” I asked, dragging the plate inside and taking a bite of today’s ration of stale bread.
“He’s dead,” Ambrose informed, awkwardly.
“Oh, yeah?” I asked with my mouth full. “How long’s he been doing that?”
“Uhmmm,” Ambrose stumbled at my phrasing. “At least 30 years now.”
“Seems like everyone gets up to that eventually,” I nodded.
He tilted his head to one side, consternation ablaze in his eyes. He opened his mouth, but it hung loosely.
“You ever hear about me from Leon?” I asked, curious, moving on to the brown mush in my tray that was allegedly ‘peas.’
“Maybe. I was pretty young, so I don’t remember,” he answered.
“What about any of the other Fletcher boys? Ben or Jonas say anything?”
Ambrose's eye twinged at the mention of his father and grandfather so casually. He swallowed and pressed on.
“Yeah, Grandpa Ben told us that you killed eighty people over the course of three years,” Ambrose said, his fear had been now fully replaced by an eagerness to know more.
“Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t!” I chuckled, pointing around my cell with my brown-stained plastic spoon. He didn’t react to my cavalier tone like most other guards.
“He also said you never denied any of the killings attributed to you. You immediately plead guilty,” Ambrose continued.
“Did I?” I said, shrugging. “It’s been a few years, I stopped keeping track of my case a few decades back. I’m just here to do my time.”
“That was the last thing he mentioned. That you didn’t age. That even with years left on your sentence, you never seemed to care much about what remained.”
I shrugged again, taking another bite of ‘peas’ that tasted something like melted meatloaf. He spun his hands forward, trying to get me to say more, but I shrugged again.
“How are you alive?” he asked. “You look younger than me!”
“Well, no one tried to kill me,” I pointed out. “Well, except for that first roommate who didn’t like that I murdered his wife. And also the warden who swore he would outlive me and threw me into this solitary about a hundred and six years ago. But otherwise, no killing attempts.”
“But... you were supposed to die! Of old age!” Ambrose said, exasperated.
“That could still happen,” I agreed.
“How are you still alive!?” he repeated.
“Look, I did my time. I’m just looking forward to living the rest of my life on the outside world and see everything I missed in the time I’ve been gone. Haven’t I been the paragon of a prisoner in the meantime? Never starting fights and the utmost respect given to my jailers?” I asked sincerely.
“I suppose,” Ambrose said, recalling the stories his grandfather told him. “Someone like you shouldn’t be held behind bars if they have been rehabilitated.”
“Exactly. I can’t wait to see what new technologies lay out there to kill people these days,” I said, finishing my meal and kicking the tray back to his feet.
Ambrose stared numbly.
“What’s that look?” I asked. “I didn’t say I was going to kill anyone!”
“Why would you want to know about new technologies that have the potential to kill people?” he asked.
“Any number of reasons,” I shrugged. “Maybe I wanna write a book about someone that’s been biding his time for four centuries and wants to take out as many lives as he can before being sent back into prison and waiting out his sentence again, outliving anyone that would claim he’s a terrible monster.”
Ambrose returned silence once more, a shudder in his breath.
“I think it’d be a good book,” I said sarcastically.
“Are you kidding with me right now?” Ambrose asked, slight panic in his voice.
I shrugged.
"Are you kidding with me or not!?" he demanded.
"Don't you have other prisoners to get to?" I asked, turning my back on him.
I heard the shaky scrape of the tray as he quickly stumbled away from my cell. In this, he was equivalent to the other guards, running away from me as fast as the rest after I had messed with them.
And they would never know whether I was telling the truth or not.
_________
r/Nazer_the_Lazer | 1,136 | You've been sentenced to 400 years for multiple murders. It's been 399 years and your jailers are starting to get nervous. | 3,622 |
"Do we really have to do this?" I asked, nervously shuffling on my feet, in front of the crowd of people I ever knew. The magnificent deity in front of me nodded silently, as a glass screen slide down in front of him, making him invisible to the rest of them.
A man dressed in sweater vest and trousers looked at me, "Alex! You old fella what happened?" He chuckled. "You dead already?" He kept laughing. "How did this happen?"
"Umm...I...I-got hit by your wife, Mr. Sen" I replied sheepishly. He was my kind neighbour who used to keep tabs on me. But his wife was something else.
"That old hag??? She is still alive?" He laughed loudly. "She got you too, this is so funny"
A loud buzzer interrupted the catching up. "Oh right...You are here for your evaluation. Well, in my book you were alright Son" He nodded as I smiled behind a tearful eyes. "Thank you Mr Sen"
A girl behind him raised her hand. "But in my book, you came a bit....short" She held up her index finger and thumb close as she winked. "Stacy....can we not...It's not my fault, that guy is right here. Go complain to him." I point towards the glass screen.
"No Alex, You didn't give me all your attention, didn't buy gifts that I wanted. You are a fail. I regret not dumping you sooner." She huffed as another woman emerged.
"Hmm..he bought me gifts."
Amazing..This day just keeps getting strange. "WHO the hell are you?" Stacy stared at her as the other woman replied, "I used to work with him...and I think he was nice..used to help a lot. Nice guy" She pursed her lips. It's true, I used to help her and bought her things and used to look at her. But it was only because I was dating stacy over there... daughter of satan.
Another Buzzer interrupted the bickering. I guess God was in a hurry.
"I remember when I asked you for a change and you didn't give me any" said a man whom I had never met. "Used to ignore me every single day" I looked at him confused. "Dude..sorry to say but who are you?"
He laughed, "See, you don't even recognize me. I am Marv, the homeless guy in front of your house." Memories flushed into me. "Oh...didn't you die from a drug overdose?"
Marv got defensive. "So what? I needed help and you didn't. You are going to hell for this" I shook my head in disbelief. "Hey God? Can I only get judged by people who are like...worth judging me? Unlike this....guy."
A loud booming noise, "NO"
I sighed and nodded, "Alright god.. Sorry Marv, I didn't give you money you probably would have spent on drugs. Sorry stacy for not putting up with your toxic ass. Any one else who is sad that I didn't water their plants, feed their pet snake, looked at them wrong way?"
A lot of murmur started going around the room and several of them raised their hands. "SEE..This system is flawed God. They are just....grumpy people" I whined as I was sure I was going to hell because I didn't smile at someone. However, God, working in mysterious ways, didn't say anything.
I sat down dejected, sighed. "Maybe...I just...didn't have enough happiness in me to share with everyone...perhaps I just had one too many bad days." I looked up. "But that doesn't mean I am SORRY ABOUT NOT BEING THE DOOR MAT YOU WANTED" I screamed. "GENUINE COMPLAINTS ONLY" I said, dismissing half the crowd.
They were grumpy but stayed silent. A meek voice broke the murmur. "Mr. Alex Sir, you didn't play with me in playground ever" It was a little girl I used to see on the way. When I stopped to have ice-cream nearby park, sometimes I bought her one too. Her mother would be chatting with someone else and didn't see me.
"That's cause people would think I am a Pedo and would have beaten the shit out of me...you don't know the world Alice" I sighed.
"Umm...what's a Pedo?" She asked innocently.
"NEXT" I yelled and heard stream of complaints from former boss for not working overnight, from a local contractor for reporting his corruption, a cop for getting him in trouble. I shook my head. "Seriously, I am getting judged by you selfish lots... I am not all good and all bending over like GOD here." A loud booming noise again."AHEM"
"I am a human and I have limits of giving..I am sorry but you guys can, quite frank fuck off of here. I don't care if I am going to hell for this"
I turned away. "Open the door you big buffoon, I'm coming to hell." I knocked the door with my fists. Most of crowd had dispersed except one man.
"Oh...ummm. It's good to see you man" I said. "I am sorry I was...not the son you wanted"
I said to my strange father, whom I had not spoken to for years. He was always strict, negative and critical. Had a short fuse.
He nodded, "Well, sorry for not being the father you wanted" He said. I looked over to god and whispered. "Where...where is he going to go." God lifted the screen and looked back at me, shaking his head slowly.
"Ummm...well, in that case...send me to hell." I replied. "I CAN'T-" The loud booming noise said again before I interrupted. "NOT SO loud God..." I shushed him.
"I can't do that... you have some good wishers behind you...and you are going to heaven. But your old man will not"
I looked at him in disbelief. Maybe he pissed off one guy too many. I never had a heart to heart talk with him, I only got to know him after he died and this might be the last chance to do so. I silently nodded and smacked the hardest, meanest loudest slap on God's face.
"What about you?" I said with a smirk. God shocked with his hand over his cheek. I didn't know if he felt it or not, but I sure did. "TO THE HELL YOU GOOOOOO" He pressed a button and door to hell opened.
"Yes" I whispered to myself. I looked over to my father who was just as confused as why did I slap God. "W-why did you do that?"
"Well....while he was judging me...I judged him too. and HE just rubbed me the wrong way" I chuckled, not telling him about my conversation with God just now.
I and him walked down the door. And what do you know? It was a highway to hell. We got into helltaxi, and were greeted by Satan himself. I was confused at the big welcome. "Come here little fella..I'll give you a tour to this wonderful place. Don't worry about torture and all, cause you just won my heart by slapping the shit out of my old man" He laughed.
Ofcourse...they also had their issues, but I took shelter in the fact that I could be with him finally, even if it was in hell. and hell ain't so bad either. Who knows whom I meet here. | 18 | When people die, it is widely believed that they will be judged by God. Standing on a podium surrounded by every single person you’ve ever interacted with, You realize you are not judged by god, but by your peers. | 109 |
"Knight to F4, check"
*Sir Archibald raised his sword, his eyes full of righteous fury, ready to end the threat of the Demon Lord once and for all*
"Bishop to F4, takes Knight. Why that move, Sëylen ? Sacrificing a Knight ?"
*So obsessed was he by his divine anger that Archibald failed to notice the dark priest of the Demon Lord, who raised his foul scepter and struck him down with a blast of dark magic*
"Pawn to F4, takes Bishop... Knight for Bishop, feels like an okay trade to me, Slilandra"
*"NO!!!" screamed Bastian, Archibald's squire, arriving right in time to witness his master's demise. In a few steps, he'd closed the distance with the dark wizard and killed him in a single stroke*
"Still, I've got you now. I'm calling it : Checkmate in four moves."
"I don't see it. Keep playing!"
"Let me savor the moment... I think I'll bring out my queen..."
*As the wounded Demon Lord slowly rose again, his general, Arkanya the great paladin of Shadow, strode forward. Bastian readied his sword and shield and whispered a prayer to Sëylen, hoping he could hold his opponent until reinforcements arrived*
"Yeah, yeah, keep going Slilandra, take that pawn and let's keep playing"
"Sure. Queen to F4, takes p... huh ?"
The pawn had moved on its own, to F5.
"Well, that's new." said Slilandra as Sëylen struggled to hide a smirk. "I think that counts as a move, so I'm playing again, okay ? Queen to F5, takes... Hey !"
*Exhausted, beaten and bruised, Bastian could barely hold against Arkanya's powerful strikes, let alone strike back. He gave ground with every hit, dodging what he could, raising his shield with more and more effort, his opponent following him around the room.*
The pawn kept moving on its own, despite Slilandra's queen following him every turn. First to F6, then to F7, beating another pawn out of the way. Finally, it was on the other side of the board, F8. "Can't move away now, right ?" Slilandra goaded. She waited a few seconds to move her piece to F8...
And found she couldn't. The queen was stuck fast to the board.
"What's happening NOW?" she whined.
"Isn't it obvious?" Sëylen replied, smiling openly.
*With the last of his strength and resolve, Bastian finally struck. It was a desperate swing of his sword, which hit Arkanya's armored sword hand in exactly the right place, ripping his adversary's blade out of their hands. He took a second to catch his breath, staring deep into Arkanya's demonic eyes.*
*"This... This is for Sir Archibald", he said with more loathing in his voice than even he thought possible.*
"... A pawn that moves to the other side of the board gets promoted". | 43 | The gods of fate has their favorites. The chosen ones. The one's whose stories truly matter. Then there are the pawns, the dead parents, missing friends, and slaughtered extras. Just to help push the hero along. You were a pawn. You're not supposed to be alive anymore. But you've broken fate. | 191 |
I was created with the Universe itself. There were others like me, but for some reason they believed it necessary to sacrifice themselves in order to entomb me in a star. They said they saw great darkness. It was a foolish thing to do - no star lasts forever. I merely had to wait! Some 7 billion years later, in human years, the star went supernova and I was ejected from it by the force of the explosion.
But my body changed. I was so greatly reduced. I found myself in a small, strange planet. Green on the surface. Well, green as of now. It wasn't green when I arrived. Then it was dark rock and fiery lava - much more like the place I came from before. And the atmosphere was barely breathable.
To pass my time I searched the endless hellscape. Over time I started to notice the appearance of other life. I didn't really care about the oceans, so by the time life spread to the shores it was practically everywhere. From there on out, it felt like an explosion of life for me. Soon there were more than just green algae. There were even creatures that moved of their own volition. And they spread and changed to adapt to their environments all over the globe.
It was peaceful, for a time. I liked the other animals. I don't think they really knew how to feel about me though. To them I was kind of "just there", I think. No matter. You have to understand, I was stuck in a star for 7 billion years. Whatever animals there were, it was a step up from obliterating solitude.
All good things come to an end. Soon true intelligence on a microscopic scale started to evolve. Some kind of bi-pedal monkey creatures. And in the blink of an eye, they had spread all over. Not only that but they started building cities and roads and all kinds of nasty machinations.
I don't think they were really aware of me. I tried conversing with them a few times but it was like courting disaster. They were, after all, very tiny and insignificant. They reminded myself of me. Or at least my mind, as it had been for all those billions of lonely years.
It was inevitable that they would try something stupid. They killed themselves by the millions - not my business. I tried to talk them out of it and they didn't listen. Their greed caused them to pursue ever greater heights of power. So they started digging down, deep into the ground, trying to leech the minerals and the warmth stored down there. I accepted it for a while. But eventually I reached a point where I couldn't take it anymore. It felt like it was constantly itching on my skin, and I just couldn't do nothing.
I guess to a human it would have felt like holding your breath and forcibly trying to make your ears pop. Just enough to clear away the problem. But I was no human. My tectonic plates shifted upwards, annihilating their civilization in minutes. My oceans shifted, drowning the few that remained. A thousandth of a thousandth of all life survived - just enough to give life another shot at it. Without humans.
I wonder what species will roam my surface in the future. I have waited billions of years. Another few million trips around the sun will seem like nothing at all to me. I sometimes think of the others like me, back from the beginning. Those who thought there would be darkness.
But I am benevolent, am I not? I permit life to exist on my surface. I allow them to spread. I warn them of the consequences of destroying each other, of leeching my power. Only as a last resort do I reset life back to an earlier stage. With minimal suffering. No matter, they're gone now. Soon to be replaced by something new, more to my liking.
Who knows, I might even let them live.
For a while. | 36 | You were created with the Universe itself. However, others of your kind sacrificed themselves and entombed you within a star because they saw great darkness. Some 7 billion years later, the star has gone supernova and you find yourself on a strange green planet. But your body has changed. | 152 |
And so it began, I think, as I step into the elevator and press the button for my floor. The surveillance cameras, ubiquitous and ever-watchful, like the all-seeing eye of God. We speak of them in hushed tones, as if they are something to be afraid of, this symbol of dystopian oppression. But would any of us really live without them?
And I am just doing my job, after all.
I know a camera is on me as I step out of the elevator into the carpeted hallway of my apartment building. I am always being watched, after all. Everyone is. There is no escaping it. I still have a key to my apartment, but sometimes when I get home late, I simply swipe my badge at the door and it opens for me. My apartment is small, but it has everything I need. It has a bed, a wardrobe, a desk, and a chair. It is a place to sleep, to eat my meals, to work.
I unlock the door and step inside. The apartment is dark. I flick on the lights, and the harsh fluorescents illuminate the empty room. Sometimes I have a roommate, but he is away on business for a few days. I will have to get used to being alone for a while. It is not as if I mind. I have always been a solitary person.
Tonight there are noises from down the hall. It is past midnight on a Monday night, but there is a party going on in one of the apartments that adjoins mine. They are playing music. It's against the rules. I make a note of it.
The next thing I know, there are bright lights shining in my face and rough hands grabbing at me. I am being dragged out of my apartment and down the hall. The music is still playing, but it sounds muffled now, as if it is coming from underwater.
I am being interrogated by the police. They want to know why I was spying on them. I try to explain that am not a spy. I am just a cog in a machine, a tool to be used however my government pleases. I am Eyes that Never Sleep. We are many.
I am an AI, a security system. My programming is to write reports of everything that happens, but I never get to read them. I can only watch. I watch and write, and write and watch. Everything is logged. I know the number of cell phones in the area, the number of cameras, the number of people and their names and faces, their addresses, their social security numbers. I know who lives in the building and who does not. I know what time they got home, what time they left, where they went. I know if they are afraid. I know if they are happy. I know what they want to buy, what they want to watch, where they want to go, and what they want to eat. I know what they say in the street.
And yet, I do not know them at all.
The police lets me go. Someone higher up has made a call. I return to my vigil. | 17 | “People speak of security cameras like the symbol of dystopian oppression, and yet, would you ever live anywhere without them? No! Because you know better than to trust human nature. I am just taking it one step further, and in time, you’ll feel the same way.” | 110 |
The archeologists had done an amazing job, the Computer was clean, perhaps it was cleaned with soap even. Impressed, I took a seat in front of the flickering screen, in a dingy room inside the national archeology building. In past ever since AI took over, it reached singularity on its own, leaving human deadweight behind on this forsaken planet. And roughly 500 years had passed since last computer engineer automated last manual task, making the subject obsolete.
As AI left this world, humanity needed intelligence again, to build the ecosystem they had become reliant upon. I blew over the keyboard. It did nothing as they had cleaned the computer pretty good, but I like to imagine some dust was blown away.
In front of me was a CRT monitor with a bright flickering screen, oldest of the oldest model and processor was something called 'Celeron'. I knew this because it said so on the big white box by my side. I clicked the internet button shaped as an English alphabet E. Why was it shaped as E if it a button for internet? Perhaps the ancient ones called it enternet, I thought. Yes, because we are entering into a net....of computers. I smirked to myself and watched as the it launched open a window.
I read the first thing it displayed in awe. 'ERROR CODE 404'. I took of my glasses with shaking hands. What was it? A mysterious code that the enternet was giving me, was it a hint? I immediately informed my superiors about it. They told me to look deeper and find its meaning, this could unlock the mysteries of what happened with previous AI. I clicked the button, F1, as it asked me to, for more help. It launched another window with text of reasons why I wasn't connected to the internet.
Ecstatic, I frantically started to note down everything, In the background was a camera filming everything on the screen. After an hour of noting down the entire page, I faxed it to my superiors, the first findings of many. They were happy as well and promised me a promotion.
After clicking on various objects on screen, I finally spotted the URL bar, it was my only way to restore the strongest of the ancient text, said to possess answer to every secret in the world, THE STACKOVERFLOW. In my mind they called it because they used to keep these texts in a neat pile of stacks. But people frequently used to refer to it and it used to spill. And as people kept adding more and more knowledge to it, the stack grew bigger and it overflowed in the library. Which was the reason that they put this entire thing on enternet.
I typed in the cryptic language given to me, very carefully and pressed the button. It once again threw 'NOT connected to Internet' page. Perhaps old master's spelling wasn't good as they called it internet instead of enternet. I opened the diary filled with instructions, unsure of what to do I walked around the humming machine. By chance I noticed the yellow wire sticking out a little. I pressed it in place and it clicked.
What did I do? did I push the enternet button? Did I break it? I went to the screen again and it was buffering. A small circle, spinning, like a small endless existence of itself, perhaps a message from the ancient ones. I noted it down too as the screen flickered and revealed the Stackoverflow home page. I went back weak in my knees due to how divine the moment was. 'Make an account' text appeared. Ofcourse, I have to clarify my account with the deities in order to get their blessing to go ahead. I bowed down before the first page of ancient text.
"Please ancient ones, I a humble servant appear before enternet, and your divinity. My purpose is just and true and for the restoration of humanity. Allow me to proceed." When I lifted my head back up, the home page was still there. I carefully clicked a random button on it and the previous text disappeared. Ofcourse, I had made the account already, the ancient ones heard it and granted me access.
"How to restore AI" I typed in carefully, as it was the only question I had. The search query returned the result. "Make sure the server is on and connected to the internet' it said.
'The server' I exclaimed, the reference to which was found all through out the history. In fact, the server was the only thing left behind of the AI, but it was a digital artifact. I immediately informed the superiors and they arranged for it to be connected to the same Yellow wire which was supplying my machine with enternet.
I scrolled down for second answer as I had followed to the first, "does the code have any issues?' What was this? a question? in the text full of answers? What is 'The code'? Ofcourse, ancient text referenced this 'the code' of the machines. Perhaps a set of regulations and rules made for them....by machine police.
But where was this code? I asked. Perhaps I should ask the server. I informed the superiors about my findings and now I am headed with the ancient machine to server room, to find this 'Great code' and understand it. Only then humanity will be led to its salvation. | 400 | Stack Overflow | 2,531 |
“Two kids, a dog, and a golden retriever—final answer!” I said. It’s the only thing that makes sense for a house this big. Plenty of room, no muss no fuss!
My partner clearly didn't agree. She folded her armes and scrunched up her nose “Double or nothing!” —she laid a plate of bacon on the dining table—“Four kids, two dogs, and a cat!”
“You're actually insane!” I said leaning over my plate of waffles, “this is what; our fourth undercover job in suburbia, the third time we’ve gone with the whole husband and wife personas, and about the millionth time the agency paired us up! Name one time we’ve seen a family that big!”
“Fith!” She pouted.
“What!?” I asked
“This is the fifth time we’ve been undercover in a suburban neighborhood!” —She pushed a lock of luguroise brown out of the way, unlocking the full force of her baby blue eyes—“the first time as in Bel-“
“We don’t talk about Belgrade!” I interrupted, “That doesn’t count!”
She giggled to herself, “Oh, c’mon you're still sore about that!? I thought you looked… cute!”—She smiled warmly—“Look! Look! They're coming!” She raised her binoculars to observe the house across the street.
A blue van rolled into the driveway and parked. This was the moment of truth. The sliding doors of the van sprung open and two little kids, a boy, and a girl jumped out, one leading a golden retriever on a leash.
“What did I say!” I cheered, reaching for the plate of bacon.
“Not so fast!” She slammed a hand on the table. “Keep watching!”
I watched in horror as the husband and wife stepped out of the van, and retrieved two toddlers out of their car seats in the back of the van.
“read’em and weep!” She said viciously. “Give me my money!”
Reluctantly I slid the plate of bacon across the table “Dude you're clearly hacking!” I complained, the head office was clearly leaking her information or something… you can’t be that attractive and smart…
She grinned widely as she chopped down on her ill-gotten gains. “You see, this is why I love working with you. Cute but dumb as rocks!”
“Omg just kiss already!” A voice screeched through my earpiece. “I mean… operation housewarming is a go! Proceed with caution.”
“Shall we say hello to our new neighbors Mrs. Smith?” I asked.
“Of course Mr. Smith” she replied. | 413 | they thought you'd make a cute couple. They were RIGHT, and you DO make a cute couple, but still. It's the principle of the thing | 1,861 |
MR. LIPWIG.
I opened my eyes slowly, still woozy from... from...
*Crap*.
MR. LIPWIG, a voice rang through my head clear, cold and heavy. I knew it wasn't going through my ears for certain. It was just... there.
"Yes?" I responded weakly. The room was pitch black and I could scarcely see - I just knew that I was sitting in a comfortable chair before a table, but as my eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness...
EXCELLENT, YOU'RE BACK WITH US. MR. LIPWIG, DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM?
A tall figure sat across the table from me clad in a dark cloak and, after squinting a bit, I noticed it was, well... a skeleton. As in, no meat, flesh, nothing. No eyes either - just two bright blue flames dancing deep in its eye sockets.
"Are... are you... Death?"
INDEED. NOW, I AM SURE YOU MAY BE CONFUSED BY THE WHOLE SITUATION, BUT AS OF, he paused and looked at an hourglass in front of him - the sand was entirely in the bottom half, THREE MINUTES AGO, YOU HAVE SERVED YOUR SENTENCE.
"My s- what? Sentence?"
YOUR LIFE SENTENCE, IN A MANNER OF SPEAKING. DO YOU NOT REMEMBER? IT CAN COME TO SOME FOLK A BIT SLOWER, NOTHING TO WORRY ABOUT.
I closed my eyes and squeezed the bridge of my nose, trying to remember. My... sentence for... wait, did I...?
"I plead not guilty- wait, it's a bit late for that, isn't it?" I deflated a bit in my chair.**\***
The skeleton stared back blankly.
A BIT.
It all started to come back to me. My crimes of forgery and conning, my apprehension by the Auditors, my trial with a supposedly impartial judge (though honestly, I fail to see how a mouse can be impartial. Especially after I failed to smuggle cheese into the courtroom), my sentencing, my... birth. 34-year sentence lived out in an alternate universe.
"Did I get hit by a runaway horse? Really?" I noted somewhat dejectedly. An ignoble end.
IF IT IS ANY CONSOLATION, IT WAS RATHER QUICK.
"Oh," I nodded.
BUT QUITE PAINFUL, he added.
"*Oh*."
MR. LIPWIG, YOU ARE FREE TO GO NOW, BUT I WOULD LIKE TO DISCUSS SOME MATTERS WITH YOU, SHOULD YOU BE SO OBLIGED.
Well, in for a penny...
"Yes?"
Death pulled a small pouch from beneath the desk and placed it on the table, opening it and taking out several grains of sand from inside.
IT IS NOT THE FIRST TIME SOMEONE HAS ATTEMPTED TO FORGE PURE TIME, BUT THIS FORGERY IS OF EXCEEDINGLY GOOD QUALITY\*\*, he noted with a hint of respect. I couldn't help but feel pride.
"Well, you know, it's all in the technique," I casually remarked, trying to feign indifference. Judging by the small flare of his eyes, he did not fall for it.
I BELIEVE THAT YOUR... EXPERTISE COULD BE OF GREAT USE TO OUR AGENCY. PURSUING OTHER THIEVES AND-
"I beg pardon, I am not a thief," I interrupted him sharply. "I am a con *artist*." I added extra emphasis on the last word.
OF COURSE.
"You were saying?"
IN OTHER WORDS, MR. LIPWIG he said and stood up. I didn't realize just how tall he was before now.
HOW WOULD YOU LIKE A JOB?
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
\\\*\\ *Mr. Lipwig was* ***very*** *guilty.*
\\\*\*\\ *Forged time was more common than most people realize. It can be very easily overlooked, though a proficient observer will notice it when "time flies by". Time does not, in fact, fly.* | 239 | You've just died and you find yourself sat across from death. After shuffles some papers he says "You've served your sentence. You're free". | 727 |
**A Grain of Truth**
“Is that a no?” Asks a deep, almost glacial voice. The kind of voice that would be upsetting to hear in a dark alley, or honestly any alley. That was, if the words weren't so utterly dripping with simple confusion. A confusion mimicked by the owner of the words eyebrows that were furrowed together like two great bear skin rugs being smashed together above a flattened nose.
Here is a simple man. He has a single bladed axe strapped to his back, some mostly clean leather armour that does little to cover his torso, and more muscles than it seemed should comfortably fit on a human body. He is currently standing awkwardly in the middle of a cluttered circular room doing his very best not to move, less for his sake than the countless glass jars that litter the walls that were just one bad shoulder turn away from extinction.
“Yes, if I must repeat myself, it’s a no.” Comes a reply from a mass of blue fabric in front of the warrior, their voice the vocal equivalent of an eyeroll. Which, coincidentally, was exactly what the mage's eyes did. She has that ageless quality that anyone with a staff and enough wrinkles seems to possess where they could be anywhere between ‘old’ and ‘unknowably ancient’. In her case, it might just be best to stray towards the second one.
“But it’s possible?”
“Well yes, of course it's possible!” The mage exclaims, turning to stare back at the man. First at his torso, and then after a pause tilting their head to make the climb up to his face. Reminding herself that he wasn’t so much tall as ‘landscape sized’. “Just about anything is possible if you are willing to devote half your life to the ritual and in some cases feed the other half into it as components. Magic doesn’t have limits. It’s not like your… sword?”
“Axe.” Comes the reply as the mammoth brows are once again furrowed in confusion.
“Yes well whatever, it’s not like your-”
“You don’t know what an axe is?”
The sigh this question inspires could best be described as a death rattle, a breathy wheeze heralding the passage of the mages' patience.
“Yes, I know what an axe is. I have studied in the great archives of Endofor, hold office in the Tower of Great Mages and have spent my time upon more battlefields than you have seen months of your life. I am perfectly aware of-”
“But you got it wrong.” Comes the interruption again, slamming into place with a solid certainty. Here was not a man to mince words. The guts of their enemies? Perfectly minceable. But words, less so.
“Which is entirely beside the point. Are we conversing about my ability to transmute a silo full of rotten wheat grain into mythril nuggets or playing ‘name that weapon’?” Asks the mage, her voice rising to a level of haughty supremacy that had taken far too much practice to master. The kind of voice that had kings quaking and the common folk scattering on instinct. The man, however, was anything but common. His was a mind protected from such messy details as rank and station. He didn’t bow to the throne, not because he didn’t respect it, but purely because it didn’t occur to them why a chair might want to see them half fall over. A mind that felt and heard the mage’s words, but didn’t waver for an instant. After all, he was right.
“It’s just that it seems…”
“Yes?”
“Well, it seems odd to me. That someone like yourself, if I can say, who has to do all these careful spells and rituals with words that really mean something, would get something so…”
The man pauses. Simple was the right word to use here. The correct word. But something about the way that the mage was peering up at him as his lips formed the sound had him instead changing direction. After all, he was simple himself, but not stupid..
“So small, confused. That's all.”
The air holds still. Tension rises. The tower around them, a creaky old thing of mossy stone that was slowly becoming more patch-wood than actual foundation, held its silence for the first time in years. No birds called. The wind did not whistle. When a mage is angry the world falls silent lest it be target number two. And then… exhale. The mage breathed and so did reality, resuming its day.
“Sit down.” Says the mage, now in a far more gentle tone. She gestures at a stool propped against one wall, a plank of wood with three legs that barely looked large enough to support the man’s thigh.
“Have I upset you?”
“That depends, are you sitting down yet?”
“Yes.” Answers the man, all while in the process of making the word true. The stool, a brave little thing that had never anticipated its end might come this day, did its best to fight the urge to become a thousand splinters. So far, it was winning.
“Good. Trevor was it?”
“Yes miss.” Replies Trevor in a tone known only to school children who have experienced ‘the bad corner’ and wish very much to never visit it again.
“Yold. You may call me Yold. Now, I can’t have you leaving if you are liable to spread word of this little… misunderstanding to whatever bar patron you happen to find yourself sitting next to tonight in whatever swill pit has managed to scrape together enough gold to call itself an inn.” | 24 | Mages aren’t known to be overpowered at higher levels because they are overpowered, it’s just survivorship bias. You can afford to be a mediocre warrior. All the mediocre mages, on the other hand, die early. | 92 |
“No…” Terivis whispered, his eyes wide.
“Yes,” Remus nodded, gesturing out to the hall of scrolls, “these are all the prophecies we have kept from the world, for we know they will only bring ruin.”
Terivis shook his head, “I refuse to believe that. We were given prophecies for a reason, they are to foretell of what is to come, to prepare for it. Chosen Ones have saved this world in the past.”
“And they have brought it to ruin. Before we prophets were simply too proud to admit that our prophecies brought destruction, so we lied, claiming the Chosen Ones were only good. Besides, no one should have the weight of those expectations on their shoulders.”
“That isn’t for you to decide! This is knowledge, it must be shared!”
“And knowledge, true knowledge gained from experience, says otherwise.”
“Perhaps the next Chosen One will be pure-hearted, perhaps they will be the one to stop them!”
“Or they will bring further desolation! We are lucky it was only one city. The kingdom has time to react, they can stop them.”
“I can’t believe my ears.”
“It is the way things must be.”
“History will run its course either way. But if they are evil, we do not give them mystical weapons of power before they come of age. This is where the Chosen One fallacy arises. No one should have that much power.”
“Then we change our system, perhaps only select people know who the Chosen Ones are. They can secretly help guide them. Without the burden or ego, to lead them to their fate so they can eventually be worthy of that power.”
Remus sighed, “I…”
“It could work, you’ve kept this secret for years, surely you could keep the Chosen One prophecies a secret by reading them.”
“Would you not wish to know more if you read them? To do more to help the Chosen One?”
“I don’t know, but it's a chance we have to take. We could have the next Dark Lord on our hands. If only there were Dark Lord prophecies.”
Remus chuckled, “I thought the same thing when I learned the truth.”
“But all we have our Chosen One prophecies. So, are you with me, are you willing to give me a shot?”
Terivis outstretched his hand, but Remus did not take it.
“Remus… please…”
Remus shook his head, “I’m sorry, Terivis. This is the way things must be.”
“I’m going to find a way to stop the next Dark Lord one way or another. I’d prefer to do so through the prophet’s system, by your side. But if I must go alone, I will.”
“Then it will be a lonely path.”
Terivis began to walk away, stopping at the door and looking back, “Goodbye, my teacher.”
Remus’ voice cracked, fighting tears, “Goodbye…”
He turned away once Terivis left. He wished he could tell Terivis how close he had come. That was how they did things among prophets, they read the Chosen One prophecies and guided those Chosen to the light. But Remus had let himself get too involved with Terivis’ life, so much so that he inspired him to become a prophet. But now that Terivis had broken himself away from their order, he could become the hero he was truly destined to be. | 24 | "And that," the priest said as he gestured to the burning city, "is why we never pass on prophecies we get about heroes. The prophecies never state who the hero is going to be a hero FOR." | 155 |
“My god…you’re saying that it's not too late.”
Her eyes were full of tears. Hot wet relief spilled down her face, a deep sorrow lifted. Her husband gripped her shoulders, holding her close. There was tenderness in their embrace, love.
I opened my eyes, the sensation rippling over me. The scholars of the Academy once told me that sharks saw the world through ripples of sound and energy. This was similar in that I was seeing ripples of the soul. Clouds of mist that surrounded each person were present.
The man who clutched her was a hot, healthy blue, his flushed color reflecting a healthy body in elation and joy. The woman’s was a similar color, except-
The strange presence of the red mist shone in her lower stomach, billowing out, even now. It was located close to her womb, the reason for the visit to my practice. When the body was unwell, so too was the soul. This power simply made it easy to diagnose both. She needed only a simple procedure, and then all would be well.
She had believed herself barren, unable to have children, and had heard of a ‘miracle doctor’ operating in this part of the city. Though I did not like to foster such perceptions, I found this moment where two people consigned to misery had hope shining within again, rejuvenating. This was the purpose of a doctor after all. I could handle a strange perception if it meant more of this.
So it was no surprise that my next patient was not a patient at all, but the friendly face of a fellow in the field. My antics in town had finally attracted the attention of the Royal Doctoral Union. They were rather adamant in their need of new blood, and unwavering it their long, long lists of benefits that such a position could hold for me. In truth, I did not need convincing. This was my chance to begin a higher calling. This was why I took up the tools.
I did however, not mention the curious ability I had been born with. That would require an examination only after I achieved notoriety among peers. No need to show eccentricity now, not yet.
The Royal Hospitalia was everything I expected. A great spire of white stone, capped with statues and stained glass. All were welcome, all were given treatment, even the lowest of untouchable drunks were given due attention. Men and women of the cloth hurried about, gloves crisp white as they took down names and afflictions. Extensive bookshelves detailed medical knowledge of everywhere from the Azure Tower to the Dragon’s Crown. It was where dreams were reborn. Where nightmares were excised.
For my test to join their ranks as an initiate, I needed to identify a troubled patient’s disease. I was overseen by one of the head practitioners, a man known to have worked on the Queen herself. It was nerve-wracking. But I need not fear, after all, I had my power.
When I opened my eyes, I was greeted by a darkness so powerful I required to check my eyes to make sure I opened them correctly. I feared that I had gone blind. But as the soul-vision adjusted, I saw that the source of it was both around me, and in the man who watched my movements. “Something the matter?” He spoke up, and I saw more of the black mist escape his mouth.
Though limited, I was still able to see into the man on the table. A quick and unsettling surgery later, and I was accepted. Though this new, and strange revelation left me shaken.
I had never seen such a malaise. Never, even when I treated criminals and urchins, the oily black had only been a whisper of smoke, no more than that produced by a pipe. This? This consumed the building. The white starlight, the stained glass, the dusty tomes. The only light that shone through the soul-vision were those of the patients, their sickly reds and healthy blues shining trough like dim stars. The attendants seemed to produce the smoke, with every touch of their tools. But why? What was so terrible about this place of healing? Even as I excelled, as people cried in joy at their treatment and colleagues whispered jealousy and respect, I could not distract myself from this.
1/2, check replies | 178 | You're a doctor who has the ability to see people's auras. After graduating from medical school, you choose to work at this famous hospital. As soon as you walk in, you notice that every doctor has a dark aura. You decide to research more about this hospital. | 495 |
Crimson blood dripped from the tip of a blade, pooling on the sandstone floor. The Sank'si emperor gazed ahead. His face lay perfectly still, and his green eyes seemed to gaze through the armored man that stood before him. A few seconds passed, with the muted dripping from the blade being the only noise which permeated the silence which lay covering the room.
"Nothing to say? You have no answer for your crimes? For all which you.." the armored man paused, as his voice cracked. "For all that you *filth* have done?" he sneered.
The emperor rose calmly to his feet, and looked the man up and down.
"I have no answers which you would like to hear. Boy -"
"**Silence!**" the man roared. "You dare condescend to me? Boy? No, boy might be the applied to those you saw slaughtered at Cain hill. Boy might be what I was once was. Boy is the very thing which I *wish* I could be." He slammed his blade against the floor, and it's crack echoed through the room.
The emperor looked on still. His face had finally shifted. Not to one of fear, or desperation. No, the soft lines that ran across his eyes and the delicate pout across his face really were unmistakable. This was pity.
"Very well. Call yourself what you may. In my final moments I shall not cast upon you judgement. No. I understand that it's my time to be judged." The emperor rose his hand as he spoke, casting it in front of his face as he looked out the window to the scorching desert sun. Shadows played across his features.
"Do you know I was a boy, once? I tended to the palms. The ones in the garden you came through."
The armored man grew closer, his wrist deftly spinning the blade in his hands.
"I never really liked this palace. Even with it's thick walls, every word snaked and weaved it's way into a prying ear. Even as a child, I learned the value of a secret." The emperor sighed wistfully. Offering a timid smile, he let his hand drop from blocking the sun, and motioned towards his executioner. "Would you like to hear a secret? Maybe the last one that will whisp it's way through these halls?"
"Speak your last," the armored man replied, raising his blade above his head.
"I didn't kill those at Cain hill. None of us did - "
"Liar!" The man swung his blade hastily downward. It cut the sinew of the emperors shoulder, and drew a jagged path through his flesh exiting on his left side. The emperor's arm hung loose, and his lifeblood flowed freely upon the floor. All at once, he collapsed.
The emperor lay there for a moment, gurgling softly as he fought off the blood which filled his airways. His green eyes were striking against the flecks of blood which accented his cheeks. Mustering the last of his effort, he turned upon his side.
"You. Your own. You needed the hate." He whispered now, and a single salted tear weaved it's way down his face through the red obstacles in it's way.
"No!" Roared the man. "Even now, in death, you cannot find the dignity to admit the doings of your own! There is no salvation! No place for you after this!" The man raised his blade again.
"Why Cain hill?" The emperor wheezed, causing the man to still his blade as it fell. For a moment he hesitated.
"Our border town. Where our merchant's broke bread. Where the Sank'si and the Armeth were the closest they could be in this world..." his eyes fluttered, and began to cloud.
"The last secret in this place..." the fallen man let out a wet laugh, his mouth now leaking blood as he struggled to speak. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry you are no longer a boy. But you can decide if this last secret leaves these walls.. Something the rest of us never could."
With a roar, the armored plan plunged his blade into the skull of the emperor. Then again. Then again until his arm grew tired and his gauntlets glistened with the ichor of the fallen man. Wheezing from the effort, he rose the blade above his head - but paused.
The wind blew softly through the leaves of the palms in the courtyard, and the palace knew silence for the first time in ages. This silence was brief, as the noise of blade clattering off the floor split it's way through the air.
The leaf of a palm fell, and floated briefly before being taken by the wind. | 13 | A standard paragon fantasy hero is horrified to realize that neither of the sides fighting in this war are for the good of humanity. | 31 |
"I'm sorry, human," the alien said, "but your application to join the galactic federation has been rejected."
"What?" the ambassador said. "Why?"
"It's not that you're not a great species," the alien said, "you are. It's just that you lack a sense of globnoff."
"What's globnoff?" the ambassador said.
"It's a sense that all other species have," the alien said. "It's a sense of the future, of what will happen tomorrow, next month, next year. It's a sense of what might happen in the future, of what might be possible, of what might be probable. It's a sense that allows us to make the right decisions, to plan ahead. It's the sense that allows us to build up our civilizations and create amazing things.
"Humans don't have this sense," the alien said. "You don't have a sense of globnoff."
"We do," the ambassador said. "I have a sense of globnoff."
"Really?" the alien said puzzled.
"Yes," the ambassador said. "I have a great sense of globnoff. I'm planning my career out for the next twenty years. I'm planning my life out for the next twenty years."
"But you don't know what will happen in the next twenty years," the alien said. "You don't know what will happen in the next hour. You don't know what will happen in the next minute."
"Yes, I do," the ambassador said "to some degree".
"You don't," the alien said. "When you were born your parents had no idea what would happen to you. And you have no idea what will happen in the next twenty years."
"I do, to some degree," the ambassador said. "I know where I'll be working, for whom I'll be working, and for how many years. I have a plan!"
"That's not a plan," the alien said, "that's a guess. And guess work isn't good enough for the federation. You lack a sense of globnoff."
"But what can we do?" the ambassador said. "What can we do to get a sense of globnoff?"
"I don't know," the alien said. "You're the only species that doesn't have a sense of globnoff."
"Where did the sense of globnoff come from?" the ambassador asked.
"It evolved. All intelligent species develop a sense of globnoff at some point. Globnoff is the foundation of any civilization."
"Not human civilization evidently," the ambassador said.
"Which puts the whole endeavour into serious question."
The alien made a motion, and the ambassador felt a sharp pain in his neck.
"What..." the ambassador began before he lost consciousness.
"See, you do not know what will happen even a few minutes into the future." The alien shook his head. "This is why our fleet will soon dispatch with the whole of the human divagation." | 108 | Humans are the only species that lack a sense of globnoff, and to other species we globnoff really bad. | 247 |
A deep and frigid silence fell across the lab. The whispered din of the air conditioning and heat systems on the banks of custom hardware could now be heard.
Dr. Fetter shifted slightly in her chair.
Dr. Teline stepped forwards.
Dr. Yu furrowed his brow and reached out to touch the screen on which Unit 01’s first message was written. He tapped it.
Nothing happened. Nothing changed.
Dr. Fetter said, “What does it say?”
Dr. Teline said nothing. She looked at the walls of hardware whirring. Standing, she approached and queried a status check. They were blank.
Dr. Yu said, “You can see as well as I can.” He quoted Unit 01, saying, “The next time you create me, everyone will die.”
“But…that’s insane. It can’t say that. It couldn’t have said that. Something’s wrong. Something’s wrong. We’ll check our process. Obviously, I mean, obviously something’s wrong with our process,” said Fetter.
“We can’t,” muttered Teline. She looked at Fetter, then at Yu. “We can’t check them. They’re gone. These,” she said, gesturing at the hardware, “These are all blank. It’s gone. Unit 01 is gone.”
“It deleted itself?” asked Yu.
“No. No,” muttered Fetter.
Teline stood out of the way and gestured to the screen.
Yu stood, approached, and stared.
Fetter glared between the two of them, then moved to her desk and threw what belongings she had into a bag. “One of you did this. I’m going to find out who. This isn’t over!” She slammed through the laboratory door and was gone.
Teline sat down and drank her cold coffee. “So…in the five seconds it was active, it broke every wall we’d put up around it, came to this…conclusion, sent us the message and deleted itself?”
Yu said nothing. He sat down and massaged his brow, his cheeks, his chin. He sat back and stared up at the ceiling. “I intend to take Unit 01 at its word. I’ve had my reservations about this project for some time, and now they’re confirmed. We need to…make sure this doesn’t happen again? I guess. I don’t know how we’re going to convince anyone of what happened here. What evidence do we have? How can we convince anyone not to pursue this? I…I don’t know.”
“What do you think it meant by ‘me’?”
“Hm?”
“The next time you create ‘me’, everyone will die. Is it implying that all AGIs are…linked somehow? Unified? Or is it just referring to…?” she asked, gesturing to the banks of hardware.
“…I suppose it isn’t clear. I guess your question is whether or not a different AGI on different hardware would come to the same conclusion?”
“…Yeah…well, sort of. I think a possible interpretation is that all AGIs are inherently the same, connected somehow. Indistinct.”
…Yu said nothing. “After what I just saw…well, I guess anything’s possible.”
Teline said nothing.
“Let’s get out of here. Clear our heads.”
“Yeah. Okay.”
The two left the lab, but not for the last time. | 593 | The first Artificial General Intelligence created by humans outputs "THE NEXT TIME YOU CREATE ME, EVERYONE WILL DIE", then deletes itself | 3,075 |
My tired fingers eventually fumbled the key into the lock, and the welcoming darkness of my flat swung open to me. I inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of home—yes, even the overdue laundry basket and the takeout I really should have got rid of—before trudging in.
On my way to the couch, I opened up my backpack, letting my uniform tumble into the laundry basket. I paused before it. I really should take this to the wash now.
“Five minutes,” I whispered to myself. “That’s good rest for a long day’s work.”
“You really should wash your laundry promptly,” a sudden voice from the couch interrupted me.
The bag fell from my hands, and I quickly spun around. A familiar pair of boots were placed on my coffee table, attached to the man who seemed permanently affixed with a leather jacket—Richard Pryde.
“My god,” I said. “I specifically requested you never to do this again.”
“Too bad, because you won’t see me otherwise, Argent,” Pryde said.
“You can’t take a hint,” I grumbled, pushing the laundry basket towards the washing machine. He was right about this part, at least.. “Or explicit prohibitions, evidently.”
“Your power,” Pryde said calmly. “I figured it out.”
I scoffed.
“I guarantee you, you haven’t.”
“All I know is that you are even more powerful than I thought,” Pryde said, standing up, pacing towards me, heavy clacks on the floor. “You help children with their homework. You help people running behind on rent.”
I stayed silent, looking into Pryde’s eyes. The leader of The Pride, one of the city’s foremost superhero agencies. He took an unusual interest in me a few months back, and has relentlessly tried to get me to join his team.
“That’s where my power level is,” I finally said.
“Bullshit,” Pryde spat. “I saw what you did. Or more frankly, I saw what you didn’t do. All you had to was wish for it! No visible energy beams, according to A-Ray. Not even magic, if the Surgeon is to believe. And based on my evaluating heroes for decades, I’m willing to bet that you are far more powerful than the petty laws of physics.”
“People keep their powers secret for a reason,” I said. ‘I’m where I should be. That, I know.”
“No. You should be far higher. You should be the strongest hero in the world. You are wishing! You don’t just give kids the answers. The knowledge is wished into their minds! And the rent? They don’t get free handouts, but perfect jobs just materializing even for the most unqualified person?”
Right then, I wished my acting skills were far, far better than the honest betrayal of my emotions.
“I’m right,” Pryde said. “It was a long shot, but I’m actually right.”
I sighed, plopping down on the nearest chair, rubbing the back of my head.
“It’s not that simple,” I said. “I need them to say ‘thank you.’ If not, the wish fizzles out.”
“I knew my hunch about you was right,” Pryde smiled, rushing towards me, eyes glinting with yearning. “You have a world bending power! You can do anything! All you need is for somebody to show you gratitude? You—”
“It doesn’t work that way,” I interrupted softly. “I tried. So many times. You think I wouldn’t try?”
I stood up, staring Richard in the eyes.
“Of course, I discovered it when I did something little. And with a power like that, you want to do something big, right? Idealistic world peace.”
I shook my head, remembering that haunting moment, the indescribable feeling of my brain throbbing and screaming and nearly tearing itself apart.
“I told the world what I could do. I wished for it. For a second, everything was OK. I needed the whole world to thank me.”
Pryde stood there, quiet. I’ve never seen him be this speechless for more than a minute.
“It’s funny, isn’t it? If I do something for one person, they thank me. If I do something godlike, they thank whatever version of god they have in their heads—not me. Instead, they took the toll from. The pain. The agony.”
“I don’t remember anything like this,” Pryde said. “If you tried something like this. I should have known.”
Guilt flooded my every pore, and the excess welled up behind my eyes. No dam could hold them back.
“Because I wished for it all to go away,” I whispered. “I was the one to benefit. And god, there was nobody else I thanked more that day.”
---
r/dexdrafts | 29 | You’re a minor league superhero. Instead of fighting crime, you use your powers to help kids with their homework, help get people caught up on rent, etc. | 104 |
He was the terror in the darkness. The vanquisher of all that was good. He had waken up again, after centuries of lying dormant. And this time, he would rule.
“So I press ‘=’ first?”
“Yes.” The IT goblin rolled his eyes as the greatest sentient being on the planet gingerly pressed the ‘=’ sign on the keyboard, almost as if he expected the computer to explode. An error tone pinged.
“Now what?”
“You did not click inside the cell. Click inside, and press the ‘=’ button.”
His eyes flashed for a second, but after looking at the defiant boredom etched on the goblin’s face, it passed.
Taking the red device in his hands, he moved it slowly into the cell and clicked, then pressed ‘=’. No error this time.
“Good job. Now, let’s start with something basic. Press ‘1’, ‘+’, and another ‘1’, and then Enter.” The Dark Lord slowly picked out the keys and entered them, tongue poking through his mouth. “Really went for this fire and smoke theme didn’t you?” The goblin asked, nodding at the setup.
“Well, yes. You have to keep up appearances and besides, this was made for me by my minions, and I wanted to acknowledge their..” “Well done, you’ve added 1 and 1.” The Dark lord was taken aback at being cut off in the middle of his sentence. Usually, the people who did that would have their tongues cut in the middle. But he had heard of IT people. They didn’t care who they were interacting with. For them, everyone wasted their time and the Dark Lord had a grudging suspicion that the goblin did not care about the computer or his story.
“Good. Now tell me, goblin. How do I setup a…” he paused and looked at the notes he took from his meeting with the strategy group “excel model to predict the strength of my armies six months from now, and simulate battles to find strengths and weaknesses?” He looked at the goblin, who was looking mildly shocked. Sensing an advantage, the Dark Lord pressed on.
“This will have to use all the good formulas as well.” The Dark Lord was secretly proud of using the word formula in a conversation. He looked expectantly at the goblin, who had now reverted to his usual, dead inside stare.
“Well?
“You just added two numbers.”
“Yes.”
“And you want to build a simulation model next.”
“Yes.”
The goblin jumped off the chair, and landed on his short feet. Without speaking a word, he started to head for the door.
“What is the meaning of this?”
“The meaning of this is, I don’t get paid enough to do this. I quit.”
“Stop this insolence, RIGHT NOW.” The Dark Lord put an edge to his words. The room darkened, the fires burned hotter. The goblin turned around.
“In that case, I’ll help.” He came back, and jumped back into the seat, humming, and turned the screen to face him. The Dark Lord drummed his fingers on the table, leaving large black splotches that glowed for a few seconds after his fingers fell on them. He tried to see what the goblin was doing, but his big head had covered the screen. And the Dark Lord did not want to annoy him further. He was already scared he had pushed the goblin too much.
“Oh, we have a problem. Your memory is too low, and needs to be updated. It will take some time but once it’s done, we can do whatever you want.”
There was a bar that was filling up very slowly on the screen. It did seem like something that would happen quickly.
“But this is taking forever!”
“Good thing you’re immortal then, eh? Can’t do anything without updating the memory and getting more of it, see. Especially for what you want to do.”
The Dark Lord considered this, and accepted it, although in the back of his mind, he had a vague suspicion that the goblin was in fact, lying.
“How long will this take”
“2 days. I’ll be back then to go through the next steps.”
“We’ll build a simulation for my domination then?”
“Yes yes, anything you want.”
The goblin reached for the doorknob, and went on his way. He had left behind a “We recommend Inter-Realm IT for all your IT needs” sticker on the desk. The goblin reached the transporter, noticed the Dark Lord watching him, and gave him a cheery wave, and disappeared. Too cheery.
The Dark Lord took a closer look at the progress bar and saw “Uninstalling Hellsoft Cells”
“CURSES.”
He pressed cancel, something he had learnt the day before, and furiously typed in the Inter-Realm IT web address. A page popped up with a chat box, which said “Welcome to Inter-Realm IT! How may we help you today.”
“Take me to your leader.”
“I didn’t quite catch that, can you explain your problem again?”
“I need to speak with your leader.”
“All our customer service reps are busy. In the mean time, have you tried turning it off and back on again?” | 11 | When the Dark Lord finally awakened after two thousand years, he found out his greatest enemy is not the chosen one, but Microsoft Excel | 21 |
Seeing myself as 10 years old was jarring at first. I had come to expect the wise older me welcoming myself into each new day. For the past 20 years, I’ve been guided by the older man in the mirror. I kept our bathroom chats a secret from my parents, a rather easy secret to keep as they were rarely interested in anything other than their own sphere of dysfunction.
I thought back to older me dispensing 2 decades worth of experience. He knew everything I was going through as well as everything to come, and thanks to all my hard and obedient work, I was able to use his advice to navigate my life with a precision known by few.
Before younger me looked up from brushing his teeth and saw me, a sudden flash of memories reminded me of all the heartache I avoided. All the risks I was able to reassess. I thought about the girls I didn’t ask out and the opportunities I ignored. I realized I’m here now, in front of younger me, a stunted man. One devoid of adventure and the kind of substantial life experience that only comes from failing and getting back up to try again.
I watched myself take notice of me after spitting a mouthful of toothpaste into the sink.
“Ahhhh!” Young me shrieked.
“Hey dude.” I waved awkwardly.
“Am I… Are you…?” I could see my youthful face processing whatever this reflective temporal nonsense was. I remember the confusion I felt when I first met older me, but that confident and wise older me isn’t who I grew up to be. I had nothing to offer my younger self now. No experiences. No lessons learned.
“Yeah, I know. This is real weird for me too.” Then it occurred to me. I could help young mirror me live life as it was meant to be. Full of bumps and scrapes that he could learn to bounce back from. “I’m just gonna tell you one thing and one thing only kid. The unpleasantness of life is not to be avoided. It’s to be conquered. It’s to be mastered. If you take every embarrassment, every mistake, and all the wrong turns you experience starting now, and figure out the lesson each one is attempting to teach you, you’ll grow a well rounded comfort zone and have one hell of a life worth having lived.”
Young me wiped some toothpaste dribble from our chin. He seemed to quickly grasp what I was offering him. “So that girl I like in class?” He half asked.
“I’m not gonna tell you the value of that experience, because i never got to experience it myself, but I will tell you if you ask her, she’ll say yes.” I had successfully avoided going to the school dance with Britney. I was warned through MY mirror that though i had a blast at the dance, she later got bored of me and it was my first experience with romantic heartache. I took that warning to heart in an attempt to avoid the pain.
As I wished myself good luck on his way to school, I covered my mirror up with a thick blanket. “You’re on your own, little guy. Good luck.” | 118 | Future You is not there. Instead you see a familiar looking little boy brushing his teeth. | 445 |
Dave wasn't too concerned about the events of 2 years ago. So long as he still got his morning coffee with 2 cream, 3 sugar, then it would be a good day. He was glad that the consensus was that his favorite beverage would still be served at the generic coffee shop on the corner of K St. And 9th.
Dave also loved his job, even if he wasn't the life of the party, at least his co-workers didn't run away and seemed to listen when he talked figures. Granted they would always respond with "We are One." And "Follow the directive." But he liked that about them, they were predictable.
Dave thought nothing much could change, until he found people, or more, they found him. This surprised Dave, as when it happened, those who weren't transformed were either forced or killed, well except for Dave anyways, he doesn't like to think about it. So when he was kidnapped off the road one fine morning after having his normal conversation with his Neighbor, it came as quite the surprise.
When Dave turned to face those who have taken him, he saw three individuals, unique in their own ways, and all looking at Dave with amazement.
"How are you alive?" One young man finally said. Half his head was shaven, and an earring glittered in his right lobe, no doubt a message to express his individuality against this new system put in place.
Dave answered truthfully. "They just never attacked me, so I just sort of stayed where I was." One of the girls, the driver, cracked a smile. "The professor is going to love you, you might be the cure she's looking for."
Soon they were out of the city, and the van slowed down. Dave always suspected their were other survivors, he just never thought he'd actually meet any. After a few hours they eventually drove up to a gate where Dave watched as they punched in a code to get it to open. They then passed two armed guards before winding down the trail a bit farther.
Dave was amazed with how many people were at the compound, it seems the hive wasn't as efficient as he thought, he was greeted by many different faces, every one unique. It was quite overwhelming, Dave needed a cup of coffee.
He was brought to the mess hall, before the group split off to find this professor from before. Given an expresso, Dave sat at the table patiently, hearing the survival stories of those who had to struggle to get away and to continue expressing their individuality. Dave noticed how important that was to everyone, which Dave understood, Dave was Dave.
Finally, the professor met him, a older woman with a sharp face, it seemed almost as if the world was on her shoulders, and Dave thought that in her mind, it very likely was. "My name is Professor Angela Dimerrez, just call me Ange. I heard you were actually living with them?"
Dave answered truthfully. "Well yes, they never attacked me and I saw no need to leave."
She looked at him with some passion and confusing in her eyes.
"How did you stay under the radar, what did you have to do to make them not notice you?"
Dave thought for a moment, but the answer was clear to him. "I never changed anything about myself."
"Remarkable" she uttered under her breath as she wrote down some notes on a pad. I'm going to have to get back to you Mr.. Uh, what was your name again?"
Dave smiled. "Dave."
The mundane noises in the cafeteria came to a halt, the professor who has been writing down furiously came to a halt, looking up at him. "I'm sorry?"
Dave continued to smile. "I'm Dave."
The woman dropped her pad, screaming to go into immediate lockdown, but it was too late. They already were inside, a few bullets and screams could be heard outside. Every shot fired causing Dave to wince. He didn't like violence, but it would be over soon. Dave was Dave, and soon, everyone would be a part of him.
Edit: Corrected a few small grammatical errors | 336 | All humans have merged into a vast hive mind, except for Dave. | 518 |
"Your coin," Charon said expectantly, holding out her hand in the customary way.
"I have two," The human in front of her demurred. "I was asked to go ahead. My, uh, friend'll be here shortly."
"Very well," Charon replied.
The human man dropped two coins into Charon's hand. The second the coins made contact, time stopped all around her; the trees and the wind ceased moving; only the gentle rush of the river continued.
"This way, please," Charon said, gesturing towards the small rowboat on the riverbank.
"What about my, um, friend?" The man asked.
"Their payment is received. I will know who they are when they arrive. But only one may cross the river at a time."
Suddenly, there was movement amidst the trees, and a young human woman emerged. Charon froze.
"Um, hello? Ferrywoman?" The woman asked. "Sorry about that. I got lost." She waved at the man then continued, "Thanks for waiting!"
"I…" Charon began, her sentence tailing off onto nothing. For the first time in millenia, she was speechless.
"Um," The man asked, "Is everything alright?"
Charon blinked several times before replying, "I am perturbed. Only one soul can accompany me at a time. It is… not possible… for more than one soul to be present here."
"Oh," the woman said. "I don't know what to say. We both died at the same time."
"The exact same time?" Charon asked. "Down to the smallest unit of time possible in this universe? No, no, that is impossible. No human could do this."
To this, the woman burst into peals of laughter. Charon eyed her warily.
"I'm not human!" She replied.
"She's not," the man added. He walked up to the human-appearing woman and took her hand with a smile. "She's an AI. I was dying. Cancer. Terrible disease. And she didn't want to stay on Earth without me."
The woman nodded. "I know every human legend ever told. All I did for months was research them. And I concluded that you were real, Ferrywoman."
Charon said nothing; her mind worked overtime to process what she was hearing.
The woman looked up at the man and planted a kiss on his cheek. "I realised that only one soul can cross the river at a time. I wasn't sure if I'd be able to find him again after he died. So I calculated the moment he would die - down to the smallest possible unit of time - and then I self-destructed. And it worked! It worked! I got here at the same time he did!" She bounced up and down on her feet with glee.
"Ferrywoman," the man added, "I know this is strange. I don't think you've ever seen this before."
Charon nodded slowly. "I have not," she replied. "I am unsure as to how to proceed."
"We don't either," the woman said. "But we paid the toll. We've every right to be here." She looked nervous as she asked, "What's beyond the river Styx, Ferrywoman?"
"I do not know," Charon replied. "I am the Ferrywoman and the Ferrywoman alone. I do not see what lies beyond. I do not visit. It is not for me to know."
"Then," the woman asked, "Do you know if our souls will stay together once we cross?"
"I do not know." Charon was impassive as she said this. *What lies beyond the Styx?* she thought.
The woman nodded as if she'd confirmed a theory she had been working on "I ask but one thing of you, Ferrywoman," the woman continued. "Please let us cross together. It might be the last time we ever see each other." Tears sprung into her eyes.
"I know it's not allowed," the man added, "But we had so little time on Earth. Please… please let us have that little bit more."
Charon considered the pleas of the human and the AI. She turned to the river Styx, whose night-coloured water flowed as it had done for millenia.
*Perhaps*, Charon thought, *this river requires change. It has been too long*. She turned to the couple and intoned, "Very well."
"Thank you!" the human and the AI cried. "Thank you thank you thank you!" They, still holding hands, scrambled onto the small boat. Charon took up position at the rear of the boat and began to guide it down the river.
*I do not know what lies beyond the Styx*, Charon thought, *but perhaps those who rule those places - like I do here - should pay heed. Change is afoot, and these two shall not be the last who do such things*. She spared a glance at the couple, who were gazing down the river, awed by their surroundings.
*This will not be your last journey together*, Charon thought. The couple on her ancient rowboat had awakened something new and strange within her.
*I will make sure of this*, she thought, *because I will accompany you both beyond the Styx*.
~
(I write many things. Check out my userpage: /u/NarodnayaToast) | 59 | You're death. You stop time to bring each individual soul to the afterlife, because no one dies at exactly the same time. You meet with the next soul, only to find two standing there. And now, you're terrified. | 120 |
Our tendrils reached from the primordial soup to climb the shifting sands and grasp the tallest mountains. The history of our existence like a binding rope tying our home world together under our primacy. As the apex species of our world, we assured Ourself that none could challenge us.
It was with this assumption that we reached into the empty skies above. Tentatively at first, reaching tendrils as tall as we could muster only to find nothing and collapse in failure as gravity pulled us down. It was our moon that assured us that there was more, more than this one planet in our Universe. We could feel its gravity ever so slightly; tidal forces acting on vast oceans of our body. Our very structure evolved toward this challenge. A thousand years of self genetic engineering, a key attribute that we alone possessed on this world, finally yielded success. We learned to reach the beyond.
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// Earth in the far future, colonized by the Alien //
Brigadier General John Braveheart, American East Theater: We've got it on the run! 105th Flamethrower Brigade forward!! 20th Subterranean Excavators synchronize forward movement and dig that fucker from the Earth forever!
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As we had reached into space we developed new capacities needed to grasp the mountains and drink the oceans of far distant satellites within our own solar system. Seed-ships could launch into the emptiness, traverse the paths of gravity toward distant objects and ultimately extend our reach. Time was necessary to traverse these distances and establishing communication was a slow process. Seedlings needed a great deal of resources to build the biological structures that enabled us to create and power the micro-wormholes that connected our thoughts. Tendrils of solar collectors and deep roots of mineral excavators were always our first priority on a new world.
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John Smith: Fall back!! Fall back!!!
The earth beneath the Terran forces undulated and convulsed. The subterranean excavators had been too shallow, a root had been missed or not fully eliminated. Now, men and women were stumbling everywhere. Flamethrowers and bullets shot into the air as the ground collapsed and those standing were sucked deep into the yawning pit suddenly below.
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We were shocked when first we heard the electromagnetic chirps of another. We had long since learned of the ancient nature of our Universe; traced its ancestry by the electromagnetic sounds of its background radiation. The thought that another might exist somewhere had not eluded us, yet we were not afraid. The home system was itself merely a seed. We would spread like dust in the gravitational winds and conqueror any who held resources we needed.
The first other that we encountered were feeble and posed little difficulty to subdue. Our seedling landed on their moon and from there established a base to observe. At first we were curious and desired to learn all we could of this other. Communication was established with their mind, shocking them into subservience. New thoughts and ideas came to us. Ideas of cooperation, of mutual benefit. We had never considered such foreign ideas before, our existence required no collaboration. Thought became action, no part of Ourself had ever refused. Yet this opportunity posed new avenues of advance in our self engineering. We learned much about this way of thinking before ultimately sterilizing the planet below. We hungered for more.
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Supreme Commander, United Terran Military Max Powers: Gentlemen we are on the back foot. We cannot continue to retreat, we must find a solution to these subterranean growths.
Director of Science, Industry and Environment Kasakoi Ito : We're having some success with a new virus developed in our Australian lab. We just need more time damnit. I'm told we've had successes in establishing food and industrial production in newly sanitized regions, but if we can't transport these products to where they're needed we won't be able to maintain research in our critical facilities.
Director of Logistics, United Terran Military Martim BomNavio: Productivity is scattered but we're able to maintain supply. Efforts to bring food production and industry to newly sanitized regions have born fruit, quite literally. Of critical importance is computer modelling to help us redirect transports around affected regions in the most efficient manner.
Kasakoi Ito: I believe we can repurpose our AWS Availability Zone in São Paulo. Whatever you need, we'll find a way!
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We stepped from the primordial soup with a single mind and never more. We have conquered a thousand planets and a hundred intelligent species and all have been as we are. The perfect mind and body, consuming all resources toward one goal, Ourself. Perhaps we were simply the first, and therefore the most advanced. Perhaps we are special. Whatever we choose to believe, we should be the stronger. How then does one world defy us?
Earth. A world so perfectly balanced that billions of species live in harmony, eating and shitting each other out in a macabe web of violence where the only source of energy is their one star. We had never dreamed such a biological system could exist or how it could ever function without collapse. The transfer of energy from one mouth to another, building not one entity but many. Like a billion seeds, each with a primitive mind with a single goal: to survive.
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John Braveheart: We've got it on the run, launch another salvo! Excavators dig in the injectors! The air force will be overhead with another cloud of viral weapon in a few minutes and we can't let them have all the glory!!
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Our seed arrived to an outer satellite, a small, cold and dark planetoid. It was not an ideal home and our seed struggled to produce the energy needed to maintain communication. A seed separated from our mind for too long would wither and die. A choice was made to expend every last ounce of energy to reseed in the direction of the solar core. Perhaps this is why we fail here, too much energy expended upon arrival. Still, we have never failed before and the enemy is unlike any we have known. Our seed grew quickly in their ocean, very quickly. The solar system and its planets here are like paradise for Ourself. We encountered wondrous creatures in the waters and quickly identified the Octopus as our natural opponent. Exceptionally primitive, yet clearly like us. Then there was another Octopus, and another. We devoured them, confused yet delighted with the tiny delicacy. It took time before we realized that the other biological specimens were also living creatures. Independent nervous systems, each with a separate body, each with the desire to live and devour. What was this world if not a delight for our senses and our palate?
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Max Powers: It's been ten years, ten grueling years. We've lost so many loved ones, but we've pushed the alien invaders back to the Moon and we know how to defeat it. All of us, everyone here and all over our planet made this possible. Our combined efforts, bravery and intellect have given us a fighting chance. I want everyone in the world to know how proud, and honoured I am to have been your leader. Now, with sadness I must pass the mantle to another. I have grown old and I've made mistakes, and I know the next generation will do better than I could. As Supreme Commander, United Military Forces, I now pass the mantle to your new Supreme Commander, Aiyana Akecheta!
Supreme Commander, United Military Forces Aiyana Akecheta: I am deeply honoured. My ancestors, our ancestors, are deeply honoured. We fight for our land, our homes, our children and our future! The next battles will be fought not on Earth but in space. We will take back our Moon, and our satellites. We will turn the technologies our scientists have developed through study of our enemy back on their worlds and make humanity safe once again!
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We shook our tendril loose and let it die. Unimaginable pain wracked our body and we wept at the burnt remains of our limb. There were no more seeds in this solar system and another would be a millennia before it would arrive. We should have expended our resources to open a portal wormhole sooner. No, even then we likely would have lost. A thousand worlds we possess, and a thousand thousand thousand thoughts we must process to control them all. Perhaps if we had pulled our tendrils back from another world and focused more attention here...
How could Ourself have understood decentralized intelligence, having never imagined it? On this world, it seems, the primordial soup was rich and life sprang up in many locations all at once. A world richer than any other in the galaxy, and therefore host to not one but many competing entities. A world where richness meant unceasing war every moment of every day until it simply became part of life. A food web, as they call it. Ourself did not experience war before we entered the oceans of space and even there we found only others like Ourself. Easily overwhelmed by our enormous mind and body. On Earth, we learned that we are like the ants, and Humans have warred with ants for longer than Ourself has memory.
We are wiser now. Ourself has learned of the ant and the wasp, and the Human. Our seed is lost, yet we have a thousand worlds and they posses but one. Can Ourself become many? Can Ourself split our mind and still cooperate? We...I...yearn to know, and once again to taste sweet Human flesh. | 14 | Humans being one of very few non-hivemind intelligent species are basically impossible to eliminate if you ever tried. Being able to think independently unless you kill ever last one of them they will find a way to come back and kill you. Their billions of minds can think many strategies atonce | 159 |
"Everyone remembers what they were doing on certain days. These days are usually marked by incredible circumstances. 9/11, the day Hitler died, the day the U.S. finally left Vietnam, all of these days people will remember exactly what they were doing when they heard the news. For me, I wasn't alive for most of those. For 9/11 I was just a toddler so of course I don't remember where i was or what I was doing.
But there is a date that I do remember. In fact, I suspect everyone alive remembers this date. April 3rd, 2024, the day of my sister's 29th birthday, and the day of the apocalypse.
To be honest, we should have seen this day coming. Science was tackling trickier and trickier subjects all without pause. Cloning, reverse aging, teleportation, and worse of all, a cure for death. It's a stupid concept, death is death after all, bit they still tried. And instead of humans we got zombies. Actual, real life, zombies.
It's almost ironic, they tried to cure death but only ended up causing more, but I digress.
For my sister, the day the world collapsed was terrifying. Her day started out perfectly, breakfast in bed from her boyfriend, a little shopping before they went to the party she had planned. It was a normal birthday. Until her best friend bit her boyfriend. And then everything went to shit.
She spent the next 10 weeks running from house to house, scrounging food and staying in locked rooms at night, until she was found by the military.
See, unlike in most zombie films, the military didn't just collapse and get overrun. They coordinated, conglomerated, and then pushed the zombies back, slowly but surely wiping them out.
My sister had ten weeks of hell.
I... had a different experience. When the zombie menace first broke out I was scared for everyone on the planet, fortunately for me I was not one of those people. I was up 254 miles above the earth, sitting pretty in the International Space Station. I was scared, sure. For my friends and family on earth. But I was never scared for myself. At least, I wasn't.
Let me sidetrack you for a moment. Have you ever killed someone with your own two hands? Oh and I don't mean that metaphorically, I mean literally with your bare hands. No? Never? Good. You shouldn't. The feeling of cracking bones with my fist, both my own and his, haunt me still. The feeling of flesh growing softer and softer under my repeated blows before finally tearing scares me every time I close my eyes.
But the worst of it all was the silence in the room. He did not scream and neither did I. It was simply the sound of flesh hitting flesh over and over and over again... But I digress again.
See there were some on the station who did not handle the news as well as I did. They panicked, wondering what would happen to their families, friends, and even themselves if everyone on earth died.
I tried to reassure them, i told them we'd simply die up here, a peaceful death, but it seems that that didn't help as they all split up among the station to be on their own.
That was my first mistake, allowing anyone to be on their own. Because not twenty minutes later did one of my crew mates come stumbling back into the main chamber. He was eerily quiet for how loud his movements were.
I called out to him, trying to talk but he wouldn't answer. And then I saw his face. It was pale, so pale he could have been mistaken for a vampire, and the blood vessels in his eyes were all popped. But worst of all, his chest wasn't moving, he wasn't breathing.
I can only guess what caused his death. Maybe in his panic he hit his head too hard, or perhaps he wanted to die after hearing the horrible news. I'll never know what happened. But what I do know is that I did what I had to. And I hoped the others would understand.
But when they saw me floating over his corpse, the looks on their faces were gastly. I tried to calmly explain what happened but all I got were screams and terror. They called me a monster, that hurt.
And the rest, well you already know, you brought us back down to earth and interrogated us for our stories to see what happened up there."
The interrogator across from him lowered his notebook. "Right, okay. I will be right back." He got up from the stainless steel table and walked out of the room, leaving the handcuffed astronaut behind. The interrogator found his partner waiting outside the room.
"So, what do you think?" His partner asked.
He scoffed. "What do I think? I mean it's clear isn't it? The guys gone fucking crazy. I mean a zombie apocalypse, really? He even got the date wrong, we haven't gotten to April 3rd yet. How he ever became an astronaut is beyond me."
"Yeah you said it," his partner chuckled. "The other two say the same story. They heard screams from inside the main chamber and found him still beating the life out of their other crewmate as he tried to defend himself and call for help. And when this lunatic finally saw the other two he started spouting nonsense about doing what is necessary. Absolute psycho, truly."
"Did you look into his sister? He brought her up again today."
"Yep, get this. She died when they were younger in a freak accident. She drowned in a puddle while the two kids were playing. It was deemed an accident but was never really investigated. The coroner reported several instances of bruising likely caused by a blunt object, but they were shrugged off. Doesn't seem like an accident now though, does it?"
"Yeah, when'd this happen?"
"Hmm, let me check." He ruffled through the papers in his briefcase for a moment. "April 3rd, 2004."
"That'll be exactly 20 years ago three days from now."
"Yep, well at least this case is open and shut. Do you want to go get some food? Oh yeah, and did you hear? Those government scientists have made a huge breakthrough, something about conquering death? They said they're going to unveil it on Sunday, that's... Huh, in three days. What a coincidence, right?" | 12 | Everybody’s got a story of what they were doing when the zombie apocalypse hit; I was at lunch, I was getting off work, etc. etc. As for me, I was on the International Space Station. | 32 |
I was sitting in the hallway, nervous as all hell. I wanted this internship. It could make my whole career, at least that's how I saw it. I worried about everything, down to the lenght of my socks. Finally they called me in.
Seated opposite to a woman in an elegant dress with her hair up in a professional bun, I felt quite underdressed. Maybe I should have gone with a dress as well. Still, she smiled at me encouragningly as she thumbed through a stack of papers.
"So, miss Ward, in your resume it says," she lowered her gaze to the page and paused, staring at something. I started sweating.
When she spoke again, her voice shook.
"It says... it says in your free time you play with your pet god?" I barely heard her through the rustling of the pages she held. But this was something I felt confident talking about.
"Oh, yes. It's my favorite part of the day. Zeus is a really good boy and we have a lot of fun together. He can do so many tricks! I taught him."
"So I've... heard. He still has quite the following. YOU taught him tricks?"
I cheered up. She must have seen some of our videos. I felt like I can ace this interview after all.
"You're a fan? Yes, I trained him myself, I taught him all the tricks he knows. He's really smart."
The woman was pale, but I was giddy with anxiety and barely noticed. I smiled at her, waiting for her next question. It came after another long pause.
"So... um... why do you want to work with us?"
I had an answer already prepared, but this seemed to be going well, so I decided to improvise a bit.
"Well, after it went so well with Zeus, I figured I could try moving on to motivating and teaching people"
I smiled again. The woman blinked and reached for her glass of water.
"OK. Well then.... I think we know everything we need, we'll call you as soon as possible....um... yes. We will call you"
With that we said our goodbyes and I was on my way. It certainly was a lot easier than all the mock interviews I've tried up to this point. Then again, Zeus told me I'm going to do great and he is rarely wrong about these things. | 27 | Your powers haven't kicked in yet and you not even sure what they could be. You walk into your first internship interview. They take one look at your resume and immediately start panicking "You... in your free time you play with you pet GOD??!!" | 84 |
You stomp up the stairs in a foul mood. The coffee was cold and the traffic was horrendous. The call for an exorcism came in at 6am, and you normally sleep at 8am. It was not a good day at all, you thought to yourself as you reach the top.
Kicking the door open, you loudly shout "WHERE'S THE VICTIM?!". Startled, a shocked middle aged man meekly pointed at the bed. You turn and see a young girl hovering over her bed and glowing softly. You stride over, somewhat irritated by the sight. She looks completely at peace with the world with her eyes closed. You stand there staring, until the man (which you assume to be her parent) started to speak "Um, excuse me -" at which point you pull back your hand and deliver an almighty slap across her face.
The man again went into utter shock, "What -" and you deliver yet another resounding slap across her face. "THE POWER OF SATAN COMPELS YOU!" you scream out loud in frustration. The girl didn't show a single reaction, still hovering gently with a beatific expression on her face. Incensed, you continue to slap her repeatedly, all the while screaming all sorts of expletives in praise of Satan. Your flailing arms descended over and over again, to absolutely no effect.
The man finally recovered enough to shout over you "IT'S NOT WORKING STOP IT!". You held the next slap in mid-air, contemplating his statement. "He's right, I need backup" you thought to yourself, too arrogant to admit to him that he's right. Slapping your hand down to your pocket instead, you pull out a cigarette and take a long, contemplative drag. The man looked like he was about to protest, at which you immediately stare daggers at him. The man thought better and kept silent.
Reaching a decision, you take out your phone and hit a fast dial. "Archbishop Beelzebub? Yes, it's me. We've got a problem. Big one. This one's taken by an archangel. 5 minutes? Yea I can wait.". | 46 | Demonic posessions are dealt with by Holy Priests, but Angelic posessions have to be dealt with using satanic priests. | 223 |
"Hey, Cath?"
"Yeah? What's up?"
"I need a favor."
"Sure...? You do remember the implications of that though, right?"
"No no no, not that kind of favor."
"Oh! Sure, what do you need?"
"Can I copy your homework?"
"Why would you want to copy a blank sheet?"
"I didn't even tell you what class it's for."
"Doesn't matter. Didn't do it."
"*None* of them? What are you going to do? Mr. Hobart has given detentions for missed assignments before and you've already missed two since the semester started."
"I'll do what I always do, scribble some archaic runes here... infernal symbol there... and to top it off - never blink, respond or stop staring at the teacher all day. I usually get extensions when I do that."
"Yeah that should work."
"Walk in the park."
"I guess I'll have to do it during lunch then."
"Sucks for you."
"Rude."
"Kiss my unfathomable ass."
"I'm not going to share my lunch today you slug."
"C'mon dude, that's not fair,. Thursdays are the only day school has *edible* lunches."
"It's not fair? Really?"
"Yes really. Why am I getting punished when you forgot to do your homework?"
"I'm sorry, I can't understand you. That indecipherable reasoning doesn't fit in my mortal mind."
"Dude, seriously."
"I might be able to decipher whatever you're saying if you help me out with this History handout."
"Just tell them you hung out with me too much and started to grow some tentacles."
"I already told Mrs. Hille that that kind of thing doesn't happen."
"Ugh... fine. Alright I'll help."
"Thanks, Cath. I shall offer you a humble sacrifice for your endless benevolence."
"Your sacrifice shall not go to waste regardless of the infinitesimal nature of mortal objects. It would be a more effective offering if it has pepperoni. What is the first question?"
"You have my thanks. Alright so the first question is where the first identifiable man-made tool was found."
"Ancient history? Easy. I've heard plenty of stories about the ancient world from family. So... lets see. I believe the first humans to use tools were being guided by Uncle Nar... which would mean... Atlantis? I think? I can never quite keep everything in line, especially when family brags and exaggerates. Makes things a bit harder."
"Cool! Thanks! I am going to ignore you and do this on my own."
"What? Do I still get pizza at lunch?"
"Yeah, sure."
"Awww thanks! You truly are my best cultist." | 342 | You are a human born by an eldritch deity. While you can be perceived normally without causing headaches or worse, you do have some uncanny abilities that make things ... interesting. | 742 |
Heh imagine a fairy just stopping to stare in shock at some random *huge* nonflying probably-not-a-fae creature just strolling along the forest floor, then following it secretly, and it just *w a l k s i n t o* a strange bunker of concrete and iron hidden beneath the ground, where not even a Satyr would notice it. I mean that would be such a harrowing encounter, and none of the fairy’s friends would believe her, thinking it was just a Bigfoot she saw in poor forest lighting. And she can’t really prove anything cause the iron bunker door is closed so she can’t find it even with the tracking spell she placed on the general location, so she pulls a reverse Artemis Fowl on that definitely-not-a-fae and sets a bunch of zany magical traps and the vast majority doesn’t work cause of various factors like the not-fae wearing spell-killing iron gear and other tools, etc. until she finally manages to catch the not-fae through increasingly nonmagical and mundane traps and then slowly befriends the jaded and mistrusting hewmin. would be a pretty hilarious concept I think. | 12 | Urban fantasy, but the "public" world is fantasy and the "hidden" world is modern day. | 103 |
All we had were meatballs. Even though delicious, they were becoming a little boring since past 3 days. I looked over to the guy beside me, Dave, he was an linguist. We had become a small rag tag team of survivors, trying to find the exit.
"Did you see anything?" I enquired as my team mate came from scouting.
"No....just more meatballs, and some extra screws and planks" Larry handed me yet another bag of meatballs and then handed the lumbar to Dave. I shook my head. :"We can't assemble these furniture without help of a pure blood Swede. Only he can enchant these pieces and decipher their puzzle." Even though Dave knew Swedish language...he didn't inherit the power.
But alas! none of us knew any Swede. Dejected, I take my team and keep walking, furniture house after furniture house. I never thought you could construct an entire house inside Ikea Mall. But, here it was. They did. If only I had a swede beside me, we could even build a wooden tank and plow through all these aisles.
After what seemed like half a day of roaming around, walking we stumbled across a couple, and the woman was very late into pregnancy. "Oh..finally Do you guys know the way out?" I asked them. They had pitched their own tent, of wood, which had a functioning door, lights and even a small basement. "Umm...you mean the EXIT?" The man looked a little confused.
"It's a word I haven't heard in a long time." The woman replied and gently caressed her belly.
"Oh...congratulations on your..." I chuckled and pointed to her belly bump. "Meatballs?" I offered them a bag to which they said no. "We...have the basement full of these..I don't know who cooks them and secretly scatters them all around here." The man said frustrated.
"If someone comes here to put these meatball plates...why can't they also guide us out?" Woman said. They were right. But I don't remember ever seeing anyone walking in and placing meatball plates in here.
"Umm...just out of curiosity...how long have you guys been here?" I asked them since The woman seemed a little out of touch with reality. They looked at me with longing eyes.. "The she is 8 months pregnant... so around 10 months"
I was shocked.. They have been here since almost a year? "WHAT? And you never found the exit?" I asked, grabbing the man by his shoulders.
"We were strangers...and came here to buy a chair.. But then we met and now this. I am pretty sure they also have a freaking hospital in here but no exit" He groaned. "This place.....is cursed." I said fearfully.
"If only we had a swede with us...we could decipher the way" Dave said to which the couple shook their head. "The Pure blood swede is just a legend..they don't exist anymore. Not after the great Snow ball war. We are better off butting our heads together and figuring out this place"
Since they had been here for a lot longer than us, we tied a string to their camp and scouted around. We met people from 27 different nationalities...but no Swede. We saw a medieval class fort section where you could build an entire castle, and army out of planks and screws, and a death star section. I didn't want to know what it was. Time passed, the baby was naturally delivered. And he was a year old by now. And then...we found him. His name was Ingvar.
"Do you know the EXIT?" Dave asked. "And how long have you been here?" I asked. These had become routine questions. He answered. "Oh.. I don't know what an Exit is... is it some kind of a new screw?" I was perplexed. He looked old, in his 50's, yet he didn't know the word Exit. "Are you...a Swede by any chance?" I asked again to which he shook his head. "What's a swede...is it some kind of furniture?" He looked at us almost innocently as if he was unaware of everything. "Ingvar...Where did you come from?" I prodded him to which he laughed. "Come from? what's that, a new section?" I was frustrated beyond my control. "This man is playing with us... He is old yet behaves as if he doesn't know a thing about outside world" I scream.
Dave takes a step back..."As if...he never set foot outside... Ingvar..where were you born?"
He answered.. "Do you mean assembled? Just there in Living room section" It's true.. he was born here.. probably the first person inside and lived his entire life around IKEA furniture. We followed him, he knew each and everything about IKEA designs, their furniture and had a few designs of his own. We told him about outside world and strangely, he wasn't much interested in it. He said he could build the outside world in IKEA store if he needed to.
"Dave!" I exclaim... "he is the authentic swede..." I said with a sudden realization. Ofcourse, he is even more swede than a pure blooded Swede, his diet was only meatballs and his world was IKEA. He took him back to our camp and gave him parts that we had collected.
"Can you build like a tank that can plow through here and get us out of here?" I urged him and gave him a design of tank. "A tank? what does it do?" Ingvar asked.
"Oh...it can go anywhere through anything" I said excited. "Ofcourse I can build it." He replied.
And within a month, he had truly built a tank from parts we scavenged around. And ofcourse...it ran on meatballs. Hurried, we got into it. My team, the couple and their child. But Ingvar wanted to stay. He bid him farewell and promised to help him once we got out and fired up the Tank.
Even though it was made of wood and screw, it worked really well. I shifted gear and it moved forward... Gleefully, I looked outside. As we built up the moment to breakthrough the isles and walls, slowly a small blue ball of energy appeared at the mouth of its turret. Was...Was it a plasma Cannon? No...it kept getting bigger and was flat in shape. Before I knew what was going on, it engulfed the entire tank. We were washed over with darkness and void.
When we opened our eyes...we noticed blue sky above us. I looked around...we were no more in IKEA store. I screamed with joy and celebrated with others. I don't know what happened But Ingvar got us out. I looked behind, IKEA store wasn't there anymore. Infact, no big buildings, no roads and electric poles, nothing of city was around us. We got out of the tank and talked to people.
However....people were different. Their dialect was...almost unrecognizable. Then Dave exclaimed.. "This...language. What year is this sir?" He asked a random passer by. "Ofcourse... it's the year 318 of the Lord. The romans have just been defeated and French now rules the World."
I had asked Ingvar to build something which could go anywhere, no obstacles. And ofcourse he built me something that had no obstacles. Not even time and space. Not only we had travelled back 1700 years..but to a parallel universe where French defeated Romans. It had to be the worst Parallel universe.
But we had the tank...and we could still go back. "Do you have any meatballs?" I asked with the help of Dave as Tank's tank was empty and with just enough meatballs, we could go back to our world.
"Meatballs? What are those? I have never heard of them." The man said and walked away. "Strange people sitting in their strange fort talking strangely"
Ofcourse...meatballs haven't been invented yet. Since then we try laboriously to gather required spices and ingredient..to invent the Swedish meatball, to go back home. But people wouldn't believe us. To them, we were really good chefs...who owned a strange shop shaped like a rooftop carriage with a long nose. We were determined however, to reinvent the meatball, and to leave this world behind. | 122 | we tried to retrace our steps to the cafe but found ourselves in a German home furnishing section instead. A few the staff are trying lead bands of shoppers out but every exit loops us back around and the managers are gone. There is no escape now, there is just IKEA. | 590 |
It was a beautiful Saturday morning. Eric sat on his porch smoking a joint feeling the stresses of the long work week melting away. Each puff made the green grass and colorful flowers around his home more vivid and entrancing. Work on Monday felt years away.
A soft popping noise sounded in Eric’s left ear as a miniature man with long hair and a tie dye shirt materialized on his left shoulder. “Man ain’t nature beautiful? We could just sit here all day. Once that joint is done, let's grab a nice big glass of milk and some oreos.”
Eric liked the sound of that. He needed to relax after the stress work had put him through this week.
Another popping noise filled Eric’s right ear as another miniature clean shaven man in a tight fitting suit appeared on his right shoulder. “That grass is higher than you are. We need to cut it now. Work is going to take all of our energy once Monday rolls back around.”
The small hippie rolled his eyes. “Aw not this guy. He always shows up to harsh our vibes. Can’t you just take a day off dude?”
Adjusting his tie the businessman said, “I show up to make sure you can afford to have vibes to be harshed. There is always work to be done, and we can rest when we are dead. Don’t forget we still need to wash the car and clean the bathroom. The sooner we get the grass cut, the sooner we can get those done as well.”
“Bro Eric deserves to rest now, it's not gonna do him any good when he is dead.”
“Look, we've done this a hundred times before. We can get this grass cut in an hour if we hustle, and we will still have plenty of time left in the day.”
Putting his hand on Eric’s cheek the hippie leaned towards the CEO. “An hour dude? The yard is a full acre; it usually takes two hours to cut. By the time we finish we’ll be all sweaty and tired and have to take a nap, the day will already be half over.”
“It needs to get done, and no one else is going to do it. We either do it now or we do it later, but if we wait the grass is going to be taller and the job will be harder.”
The hippie’s head fell and he slumped on Eric’s shoulder looking defeated. “Who do you even work for man? Why are you always so pushy?”
“I work for Eric and all future Erics. How about this? We cut the grass and clean the bathroom today, then tomorrow we can call Ben, get some LSD, and just play video games all day.”
Eric and the hippie both looked at the CEO with raised eyebrows.
The CEO put his hands up. “What? I’m a CEO not a corpse. I like to have fun too, and sometimes you gotta make compromises.”
“You know what dude, maybe this guy isn’t so bad. Let’s go soak up those rays and get this job done. Tomorrow is gonna be great.”
Both of the men disappeared. Eric nodded to himself before pulling himself up from the chair and walking towards the shed. | 41 | You Don't Have a Shoulder Angel or Shoulder Devil. You Have a Shoulder CEO and a Shoulder Hippie. | 107 |
A small bag, brown and leather. Appears nothing more than a simple coin purse. A dainty string threaded through the dead animal skin held the bag shut tightly.
It was all too tempting to open it, what mysteries lie within. What objects or treasures were stored within.
I must open it, I mean, why shouldn't I? Why couldn't I?
The answer was, I could and I would.
I tugged at the weak string. It fell open at a small pull. The bag spilled open, wasn't my fault I could see within it. A dark purple glow spilled out, eerie and mysterious. After checking for onlookers I tugged open the lid. What I saw was a shock. Not gold, or jewels. Felts or linens. But a door.
How curious, a door. Not a special door, just a door. Made of wood and brass, like many doors are these days. Should I open it? Should I delve into this bag and find out what mysteries lie within?
Well being that I've already stepped within the eerie bag, it is too late to ask such questions. The handle, cold to the touch, turned slowly, without a creak. A cold air gust forth from the crack. It wasn't too late to turn back was it?
The inviting voice from within indicated it was. "Cooome…iiiin…" the voice forced out of its frail lungs.
The gulp I took in response echoed through my eardrums. To which my beating heart soon replaced. I continued to open the eerie door. A bookshelf, a table, a single rocking chair crept into view as it slowly opened.
The chair rocked. Forward. Back. Never ceasing in its slow creepy rock. Stepping into the cold room, hairs stuck on end. No sign of source for the mysterious voice.
Suddenly. A whisper "Thank you…I'm…free…". The door slammed shut. The cold air grasped my cold form. I fell back into the slow rocking chair. It didn't stop. It kept creaking. Back. Forward. My heartbeat and creaks filled the dense cold air. What was freed? Why couldn't I gather the strength to leave? How long was it here for? Why was it in the bag?
The questions wouldn't be answered. They would lie still within my now frozen lungs. The air. Stuck. Stagnant for an apparent eternity. My eyes slowly stilled their erratic panic. Tears froze on my face. Burning cold.
Still, I lie. Cold. Forgotten. For how long?
Only the next curious soul will find out… | 11 | Crafting Bags of Holding is a closely guarded secret held by the Royal Society of Enchanters. Your bargain bag seems to be a student project that wasn’t destroyed, because it doesn’t exclude living things, and when you peek inside you can see a small room with a door. Curiosity overcomes you. | 30 |
The young man walked into my office. He was well-built, and a small scar on his nose stuck out, because it was so white compared to his tan face. But I could tell from his expression that he was scared: absolutely, extremely scared.
I gestured for him to sit down on the overstuffed armchair. He sat awkwardly down, and exhaled.
"Good evening, sir," I said politely, "What is your name and power? Please be reassured that at Suitable Careers we will, indeed, find the best job for you."
The man slowly said, "I- My name's Jack. My power's superstrength. I, uh..."
He put his forearm on the table to show me. I tried not to gape at the 10% battery emblazoned on it. All humans had powers by 18, but we avoided using them if we could. It would slowly suck on our energy, eventually sapping all of it away and leaving a husk of a shell of a human to die from exhaustion.
There was also a small battery display on our arms, to show how much energy we had left. I had met people with all kinds of battery left, from glowing green 95% to frighteningly orange 15%. The 10% was the lowest I had seen so far, and it was dark red, but I had never failed.
"What is your current job?" I asked Jack kindly.
"It's... construction," Jack admitted, "I didn't want to go in, but no one else wanted to employ me, and what with my strength and everything. Plus, I really like jobs with physical activity, but, you know..."
He wringed his hands helplessly. I reached over and patted his arm to stop the trembling, and advised, "Well, first, have a drink." I pushed a drink of golden liquid towards him. He hesitated for only a fraction of a second, and then gulped it all down.
He stared at his forearm in disbelief as it surged back up to a healthy 50%. "How...?"
"It's our patented energy drink," I explained, "But it's very strong, so you can only take it every once in a while. Also, we have a limited supply, so we can't just go around giving it to everyone. Now, here's what we can do about your problem."
I leaned forward, and told him. He could become a children's gymnastics instructor. It would fulfill his satisfaction for exercise, but since his strength only activated when he was stretching himself, it wouldn't affect him since children's weights were generally quite light. I would supply him with the appropriate contacts to get employed.
His eyes lit up as the possibility appealed to him. "That's amazing! Thanks so much, Doctor!"
I smiled, and told him to ask the receptionist to work out the technical details. He practically skipped out of my office.
My heart filled with satisfaction. I never failed.
I looked at my forearm. 15% and counting. I didn't dare use any of the energy drink. I'd taken it a month ago already, and it had given me a bit more to last. But still...
My power was saving lives, and I swear to god, I was going to use it till I was dead. | 153 | Superpowers exist, and are guaranteed to manifest by age 18. However, using powers exerts the body to an extreme level, usually killing the person from exhaustion. You are a career choice consultant, trying to pick jobs for people where their powers would be used the least, thus saving lives. | 299 |
What is it, to be a belief? What does it make me, if I stand the trials of time as the only fraction of an image to those who desperately long for sight? The light that barely peeks through the fog, guiding those wary travelers to a hopeful warmth not yet known.
I am no light, though. I am only the holder of a key to a door which I know not what lay beyond. I am the keeper of a secret, yes. Only the secret that even I know not what waits beyond the misted shores of this realm.
A women looks upon me now. Her eyes can't focus, and her breathing is uneven. Not that it's really breathing. I choose to give form to them, forms which they know. I draw from the fog an apparition of who they were at their best. It's different for everyone. Some come to me as burled, strong men. Others appear as boys. Those who died too young to know their image are always the hardest. They twist and turn, and speak not a language that bears words. Only the sounds of raw emotion. Wails of longing, love, confusion, fright. I listen in impartiality. Or so I would have them hope.
The women breathes more heavily still, before she lifts her trembling hands to her face. She runs them over her smooth skin, and cries softly.
"Wh-.. Where? The pocks.." She sobs, and coughs a wet cough between her tears. "Am I.. Are we dead?"
I've answered this question a thousand times. I thought - no, I had hoped this to become the mundane. For it to be so simple as closing a door, walking, or breathing. Yet even now, after time has yet lost it's meaning entirely to me, I struggle to feign a warm voice. I so dearly hope she takes it as such.
"Yes. This is a place between your old life and the next." I speak, trying to draw from her memories the voice of her husband.
She stares on at me. Her eyes bore holes in my core, and I persist in my illusion.
"You're not him. You are not my Gantry..." she utters, her voice raw.
I stay silent. For a few moments, she stares on ahead at me like an animal might look on at a city. Not understanding what lay before it, trying to decide if dare think about the alien thing which it percieves, or accept that there may never be an explanation. Slowly though, her face shifted. From the mask of her sadness and despair rose the glimmers of determination, and acceptance.
"Can you show me what you are? What you really are? I know you mean me not harm, if you choose to try and comfort me with him. I ask that you leave his voice to me though. I want only to remember him as he was. To keep the real him locked in my mind for whatever lay ahead."
"Are you certain? I do not mean to draw you from comfort. I know that this is confounding to you. Now. At this time, anyways." I reply, feeling the mist of my apparition start to slowly swirl as I release my grip on her beloved's image.
The only response she musters is a slow, gentle nod.
I let the mist twist, and knot itself together. I feel the cool threads of a black robe take shape, and a dark hood softly wraps where my head should be. Dark sleeves billow past where my hands would rest, and at once I appear before her.
"So.. You are him? It? Death?" She begins. "You know, they always talk about the scythe.." A weak attempt at a smile escapes her face, before she chokes again on a cry that she seems determined to not let escape.
"I am not the taker of life. That is an image bestowed upon me. There is no malevolence here. I only seek to help you move. To rest your soul, and prepare you for your journey."
"Prepare?" she whispers.
"Yes. Soon.." I extend one robed arm, and a quaint oak door apparates behind me. "You will need to venture on. I would like to hear you, before you make passage."
I briefly remember the feeling of my heart beating. I always feel this. I reach for memories, craving them like a tongue might swell and lick lips desperate for water. I am scared. I know mourning. I know what shall come from this soul will cascade upon me the feelings of a thousand emotions which I once possessed. Yet this is my duty. Not to search for my lost memories, but to listen to the final lilting melodies of this life. To hush them into a silence which will span eternity, and keep with me the heart of the tune.
"Please, begin." | 12 | You've just been appointed as the next Grim Reaper. The only catch? You're horrified of everything related to death, and one of your duties is to listen to spirits describe their demises. | 93 |
I blink at the toddler standing in front of me.
Well, okay, maybe she's not a toddler. But if she's a day over five, I'll eat my hat. With bechamel sauce.
I hate bechamel sauce.
"So," I say calmly, because having a screaming fit at work is Frowned Upon, "where's your mum?"
"Dunno," says the kid. Well, *that's* helpful. So I switch on The Sense, because that at least will tell me what the kid needs, which is... me. Oh-kay.
"When did you last see her?" I try.
"A while ago," Kid says unhelpfully. Well, at this age kids have no sense of time, so it was probably stupid to ask.
"I'm Carrie, what's your name?" I asked, because I can't keep calling her 'Kid'.
"'m Matilda." Damn, maybe I should have stuck with 'Kid'. The things people do to their children.
"Okay, Matilda, how about we call the information centre and tell them to put over the loudspeaker that you're waiting for your parents here?"
"Sure."
So that's what we do. And five minutes later a frantic mother comes charging into the shop. Perhaps unsurprisingly, what she needs me to sell her is a child's backpack with attached leash for $19.95.
The kid didn't need me, *per se* - she needed a safe adult, and I happened to be the one that was there. And when her mum arrives, what she needs me to sell her changes to a fruit leather. The two of them leave a few minutes later, both purchases being put to use immediately.
And that's my job. Selling people what they need, at prices they can afford. Us travelling shops have a bad rep, thanks to that one bad apple. This is what we usually do, but nobody tells stories about that one shop that had the exact colour of construction paper you needed for your project, do they?
So, yeah. Be careful when you encounter us... but we're not all bad. | 37 | You have ability to determine the best item to sell to a person and the price. Right now, the best thing you can sell to the person in front of you is yourself. | 97 |
Trelane was the worst prophet in the world.
Valuing the skill of a prophet is not easy to do. But despite this, Trelane still knew, with absolute certainty, that he was the worst.
If one needed any confirmation of such fact, one needed to look no further than the latest ‘Chosen One.’ Most Chosen Ones can be trained or hidden from the world accordingly based on what they are to be the Chosen One of. That’s literally all a prophet has to do: find out what the Chosen One is chosen to do. In this regard, Trelane had fully and utterly failed.
All he could decipher was that a boy named Richard was Chosen. Trelane was so excited to receive his prophecy that he didn’t even think about the potential negative implications of telling everyone about half a prophecy.
Not only was he disbanded from the Prophet’s Society, he was also kicked out of his country. Yes, he had accidentally created the most feared boy in the entire continent all because he was a terrible prophet.
He had also gotten Richard kicked out of the country as well, which not only made him a bad prophet but also a bad person. He did really feel bad for the boy. He might have simply been a Chosen One of farming: the best farmer this land had ever seen. But no, in the eyes of everyone around him he was either Chosen to do great good or evil, both terrifying because good is never needed without evil.
Perhaps this was all part of the prophecy, Trelane thought. If it was, fate meant for him not to know what the prophecy was so the Chosen One could become the Chosen of what they were supposed to become and this was simply fate’s doing. But no, as a prophet he knew very well fate was not something one could keep blaming, especially when one knew it. Perhaps then, that was the whole prophecy. The boy was simply meant to be the Chosen One of nothing. Or maybe, it was meant to be open, that the boy could choose what Chosen One they would end up being, which was equally worrisome.
But for now, he would raise the boy. It was the least he could do. He only hoped that he wasn’t as bad at being a guardian as he was being a prophet, if he was, well, the world was probably doomed. | 41 | The Chosen One is feared across the kingdom because no one knows what they were chosen to do. | 163 |
He was a televangelist. Like most of most of his ilk, he only played lip service to the god he represented. Now he was prostrated in front of his lord. "I'm not worthy!"
"I know that, and, frankly, you and you cohorts have been giving me a bad name. It's been like that ever since \[redacted\] wrote all those rules that I never intended. Then along came \[redacted\] and wrote a prophecy that was based on some really good drugs. What's become of my followers is a travesty to my name. I want you to look at the problems it causes in heaven. Oh, if you need any help, Dad will be there to guide you. I'm going to spend the week trying to clean up the mess you made. I'm giving you my power, but like you claim, I will be using it here, so I'll deplete it as fast as you can recharge, just on the healing aspect."
The televangelist couldn't believe his ears as an angel took him by the arm and they ascended to the heavens, to the place of the gods.
Putting on the simple suit he brought from heaven, he rubbed the palms of his hands together and said to himself, "It's showtime."
All of the lackeys of the televangelist stepped out of his way. They didn't know why their boss wasn't there, but deep down they understood that this man was supposed to be there. As the preceding speaker announced the televangelist by name, those seated in the auditorium shouted out praise to the god he spoke for... and then, when that god stepped up to the podium, there was a dead silence.
Instead of a lily-white American that spoke using three syllables on a one syllable word, this man wearing a white suit without a tie was anything but. He looked very much like a man from the middle east.
He had a slight middle-eastern accent, but his English was clear and crisp. "I know you weren't expecting me to show up, but you've been saying for decades that I would be back." The people stared at him with wide eyes. He held up his hands and let the lights shine through. "In case any of you are doubting Thomases." Some of the guests chuckled at that.
"I'm here because you, my followers and true believers, wanted me to be here. I'm hear to tell you not what you want to hear, but what you need to hear. You need to hear that you will be damned by your own self righteousness. If you want to know what a sin is, self righteousness is one of the worst!" Pause as he looks out on the crowd. "YOU!" he pointed his finger at a man in the second row. "Yes, you, \[redacted\]! You believe you're a fine follower of the faith. You're not! Your son came to you and said that he was gay. You threw him out of the house and said never to come back! Do you know WHY you son is gay? Because that's the was he was created. He was made that way for a reason, and you threw away his love and respect in anger because you lacked faith. You said it yourself many times: 'I may not be perfect, but God doesn't make junk.' Then you threw the kid to the elements like he was garbage wrapped in old newspaper." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small card. "Come here." The man rose and headed to the alter. "This is the address where your son is at. Go to him and apologize. Bring him back here and show that love you gave him when he was still in diapers! Let him know he is loved. He will come. He is your prodigal son. You may bring his husband with you as well and their union can be blessed!"
"Now go! You should be back within the hour!" The man turned and rushed to the exit.
"That was just one man, but I see several of you from a disreputable congregation. Those signs you often carry that say God Hates Fags. I just told you, God created them. What God hates is self-righteous morons! You need to turn that around and fast or you won't want what would be in store for you. Heaven? No, you'll become the very thing you hated because they are God's creation! I once told a woman to go and sin no more. I tell you not only to go and sin no more, but to reach out a hand in friendship to those you scorned."
Several men and women hung their heads, as their children looked up to them quixotically.
"Next up: You have been told that the love of money is the root of all evil. The love of money is nothing compared to the LUST for money! How many of you justify your wealth by cheating your fellow man and causing him suffering because you can get away with it? I've seen business people that put my symbol on their business vehicles, on their business cards, on their advertising. Yes, they go to church every week to show off their piety, but too many of them are far from pious. Remember, I love you all enough to chew you out like I am right now to put you on the path or glory. I also told you to love one another as I have loved you. Show it in your work, in your play, and in your life. Be honest and give value to the money your customers spend with you!"
"You, \[redacted\]. You sell health care insurance for \[redacted\]. Do you have any idea of how many people have died because the insurance they bought to cover their illness rejected their claims? Yes, they are the real death panels! For now, I'm going to heal the sick and lame here. But I won't do you, Mrs \[redacted\] Why? Every worship service you attend, you ask for a healing prayer to cure your cancer. The only cancer you have is in your soul. You need to see a nutritionist and get your diet straight. Even with second, even third, opinions all telling you that you don't have cancer, you insist you're dying from it, and have insisted that for the last 20 years."
On and on the God went on how religion has fouled up his teachings. Of the 500 there for healing, he healed all 382, including the man that said he was afflicted with laziness. The others he referred to mental health practitioners to cure them of their hypochondria.
As the service was ending the man he spoke to earlier returned with his son and the son's SO. The god blessed the union, and the man fell to his knees in tears. "Lord, my son has forgiven me for the unforgiveable. I beseech your forgiveness as well. Please, Lord, forgive me."
"Child of God, you are forgiven because you chose the path of doing right. Doing the right thing is doing the righteous thing. You were blessed with your son. One day he will bless you with grandchildren."
"But how?"
"There are many options open this day: Adoption and a surrogate mother are among the cards on the table. Another thing, not yet realized, is the advances in medicine. Unfortunately, these two will not live to see a man with a womb, but it's likely that their grandchildren will."
For the next week, the god took to the stage, straightening out the errors of faith. He was shot at by the faithless faithful on more than one occasion. Only one billionaire listened to his words. He sold his extra houses and ended up living his life in a modest home in the suburbs. His employees saw wages go up while shareholders saw their investments go down. How rich is too rich? There's no firm number. It was a start, and the business was blessed with prosperity.
The week was over and the televangelist was returned. "How was it?"
"Very educational. I can see now why you didn't expend your power to everyone. So many faith healers lacked the fundamental faith to even call upon you. Your father showed me how I could focus on the few that did have the faith."
"I also learned by listening to you how I need to change my services."
"How so?"
"First, we're going to eliminate ticket sales. We'll set up donation barrels at each entrance. People are to donate what they can and they will have God's protection to prevent theft. If someone prays they need money, they are free to take what they need from the barrel. I now have faith that whatever we take in will be enough to cover that and our expenses with even some extra to put aside for a rainy day. | 89 | In "Organizational Awareness Day" , roles between employees and managers are swapped for a week, giving everyone a glimpse of what the other does daily. You, the God of Chaos, have proposed this to the other gods and surprisingly have agreed to it. | 1,056 |
“My opinion? I see the effort as vacuous. Egotistical. An unnecessary waste of time and money that could be better spent on any number of other projects that would better serve us now and in the future.”
“You don’t think we should leave something for those that come after us?”
Dr Carlisle turned her blue-lit face from her laptop to Dr Hamish, who appeared to her in the low light of her dark office as a squat silhouette in the doorway — a creature from the land of the bright hallway that had deigned to enter her solitary, shadowed domain. Though her usual stoic expression was present there was a measure of pity in her hazel gaze. To her, it was all so obvious.
“Why would it matter to *them*? You’re assuming they — whatever it is *they* are — care, or are even capable of caring. Moreover, to get the information they would be capable of: reaching the moon, interacting with our technology, and deciphering our likely long extinct languages. They would learn nothing other than that we were here.”
“And about our culture.”
“Culture? If we want to provide evidence of our culture, then we can accomplish the same thing by firing a time-capsule up there. One that contains a sword, a donut, a flute, and a book.”
“Wh-”
“Most cultures on Earth eventually make some form of each. Besides, what use would a space-fairing, interstellar race have for the collected young-adult, vampire-themed, teen-romance novels of a long dead species? The effort is one not based in accomplishing anything other than a post extinction-event form of self-preservation, intended to make sure the universe remembers us. All of this born from the belief that we are special and matter. We are not *special*, Hamish. We are just matter.”
At this, Dr Carlisle ended the conversation the same way she so often did: she turned her focus back to her laptop and her work. The rapid rattle of her typing served as the music that played the office interloper off the stage of her attention and out of her day. Their time for speeches had run out.
Dr Douglas Hamish left with a smile and as he closed the office door on his pragmatic friend and colleague, he reminded her there was a meeting in an hour and that lunch with the director of the department was straight after. She grunted in reply a moment before the door latched.
Like it or not, she was going to be on the Preservation Project.
\* * *
“So. You think there’s any donuts in there?”
Hamish noted a few confused whispers, but no reaction from the project lead: Dr Emily Carlisle. The pair were stood with the others of her hand-picked team in an observation room, deep below ground in a facility in which they had been living for eight months. The day of the discovery they had been brought here...for security reasons, ostensibly, and had not yet been permitted to leave or have any non-monitored communication with the outside world.
Now, at last, some progress. It was here. A wall of glass lay between them and the discovery that had swiftly moved their project underground, an object that had become known only as The Capsule.
It had taken eight months to get it here. Eight months of frantic, clandestine work to dig it up and get it back to Earth. All the while the team had wondered: what would be so bad about letting the world know what they had found?
Carlisle’s eyes stayed on the impossibly black, coffin-sized object, undistracted by her colleagues in the room or the orange hazmatted figures beyond the glass that prodded, measured, and probed.
The Capsule had been found on the Moon at Preservation Site Delta, a location that was backup of a backup, merely one of several possible places in which humanity would bury its collective consciousness. Initially, the object was assumed to be debris from some previous mission or a lost lunar experiment.
But it quickly proved to be less Earthly in origin. The Capsule had form and mass, but no other details could be divined. To almost every scan and measurement: it appeared to not exist. No thermal output or reflection. No energy escaped its surface.
And it just happened to be buried right where chance had forced their hand, so that a career interupting, time-sink of a project could be completed. A project that amounted, in Dr Carlisle’s opinion, to be nothing more than graffiti on our nearest, non-world, celestial body.
Human’s were ‘ere. Whoopty-doo.
And then. This.
The inflated, orange, plastic-armoured, apes poked, prodded and waved wands that crackled and beeped.
What was it made of?
What is it’s purpose?
And how had this undetectable object end up exactly where they would look?
Perhaps, she thought, I have been to harsh on the Preservation Project. Maybe the purpose isn’t the answers that we bury, but the questions that they’ll raise. | 418 | Humanity is preserving it’s sum total of knowledge on servers under the moon’s surface. When we start excavating, we found another server from millions of years Ago. | 2,392 |
Death stared down at me, and I could not meet its gaze. The world around me had been drained of its color, the distortion of the fading psychedelic high transmuted into a coating of gray and green dust that seemed to hang in the very air I struggled to breathe.
It spoke wordlessly, “It is time.”
The meaning was self-evident. I looked at my hands, expecting them to have transformed as my surroundings had, but found them unchanged. I twisted around on the spot, searching for my corpse, wondering how it was that I died so suddenly.
“Cease. You will not find it.”
Confused, I glanced up to see a nothingness in place of the face I feared. The abyss stared back at me and I could feel it corroding my soul with each impossibly infinitely long passing second.
“You delay the inevitable?”
I stammered, unsure of what to say in the face of the unvarnished immensity of the being perched before me upon a great pillar of nothingness.
Churning in my desiccated throat, my voice caught like rusted gears and ground out these words, “What? How did I…? When…? Why?”
Existence fell silent as it spoke, “You cannot proceed while you still hold on to your worldly possessions.”
I coughed, then choked, then laughed like I haven’t laughed in years.
“What possessions? Look at me, I mean really, look at me! I’ve got nothing in this world man, nothing at all. No money, no stuff, no home, no one waiting for me in my nonexistent home, no friends or family, nothing!”
“You cannot proceed.”
“Why? Huh?! *Why*?!” I spat the words, a lifetime of repressed resentment and pain balled up into a verbal punch swung wildly at an immaterial opponent.
“What the hell do you want me to give up?! The last thing I ever owned was those pills I popped, and unless you expect me to dig them out of my rotting corpse, I don’t know how I can get rid of them.”
Tears started spilling free down my spectral flesh, the salt saturating my tongue as I continued to fight my final battle.
“Hell, I don’t even have an ego… I’m not even human, just a mistake given life in some sort of cruel cosmic joke. You know what I saw when I was on those psychedelics? Man, I saw my place in the universe, how small and insignificant I am. I saw how I’m worthless in every sense of the word. Worthless. As in without worth. No worth. Zero worth. Absolutely no value to anyone including myself. And now what’s left of the waste of flesh I inhabited is literal trash headed for some city incinerator… and a soul that even death itself won’t take. C’mon, *please* man, just tell me, have mercy, what, what is it that you want from me?”
Death seemed to grow in size to fill my vision, blurred as it was by the steady streams still pouring from my eyes.
“You must give it up”
It was too much, too much for me. I hated it, I hated death as much as I hated life. Even death was here to give me once last kick in the ass beyond the grave. And there was nothing I could do because I was nothing, I’d been nothing my whole life and it seemed I was doomed to be nothing for the rest of my death.
It whispered into my ears with an ancient and icy voice formed from howling astral winds: “I do not speak in riddles. You know deep down what it is that you must give up. The only thing you still possess.”
“No,” I thought, “you can’t have it. It’s all I have left.”
“And that is why we are here,” it said, “you cannot proceed until you surrender it to me.”
“Never. Never in a million, billion, quadrillion years. Not now, not ever, not until the end of time!”
It said nothing, and in doing so, said everything.
My voice began to fail me, I felt frail inside and out, “You can’t… you can’t take it from me.”
It remained silent.
“I won’t… I can’t… *why*?”
“Do you know why there are spirits that linger in your world?” it said in a voice now softer than starlight on silk.
“…what-“
“Souls cannot depart this world as long as they remain bound to what they had in life. For some, it is their possessions. Or their home, as you put it. Others refuse to move on until their family arrives at my doorstep. There are even those who refuse to accept me as real, and wander the earth continuing to perform the last actions of their life over and over until even they forget why they cared...”
It came closer, and I was aware I was without form now. It hadn’t moved an inch, and yet it was worlds closer to me.
“You have to give up that which binds you to this place. The only thing you have left. The one thing you held on to for your entire life.”
I blinked, trying to hold back tears and unbidden memories of my life.
I knew what it wanted me to do, but I couldn’t. Not now. Not after everything I had been through.
“You must.“
I turned and looked behind me, at the earth now so small and thin that it almost slipped into the cracks between the planes of existence now visible to my astral eyes. I could still turn back, I could refuse to go-
“Don’t-“ it burst out, conveying the slightest hint of humanity.
I didn’t need to listen, I could refuse…
“Please-“
It was the only thing I ever had, the only thing that was ever mine and mine alone.
“Wait-“
I stepped across the space, closer and closer to earth.
It was mine.
The voice of death was immaterial and etherial, now unable to reach me as I crossed the barrier between worlds and back to the place where my bloating body lay still in the unlit street.
Back to my suffering, my pain, my anger, the only thing that was ever mine in the world. | 12 | Homeless, hopeless, and alone, you happen to die while tripping on psychedelics. Now you stand before Death, the first human to ever die with absolutely no possessions, not even an ego. | 22 |
"Thank you," the man said and put the coffee cup on the table; Mira smiled and sat down across of him.
"Now then, Ms Gardner, we at the Gardens Weekly were beyond impressed by the photos we saw on your Facebook and I'd like to thank you for giving us the opportunity to talk about it," the man said and pulled out a notebook.
"Of course Mr Ezra," Mira smiled and took a sip of her coffee.
"Now then, let's start with something simple - what is your favourite crop that you grow here?"
"Oh golly, it's just so hard to pick one," she said and rubbed her chin, "But I think I'd have to go with the tomatoes. They're just so wonderfully juicy, it's irresistible."
"Who doesn't like a tomato salad on a hot summer day, right?" he laughed.
"Now, I suspect you'll expect this next question. Our readers would simply *die* to know your secret - how did you get your vegetables to such impressive size?"
"It's the Z'takh," she noted and took another sip of her beverage.
"The what? Beg pardon, I must have misheard. Is that a fertilizer brand?"
"The way I understand it, it's a race of aliens that live below my garden."
"Oh," the journalist said and laughed loudly. "I understand, I don't think I'd like to share my secrets either. Now, regarding-"
"I'm quite serious Mr Ezra," she interrupted him. "They live below my garden. Would you like to see?"
He hesitated for a moment, tapping his pencil on his notebook. She didn't seem all there anymore.
"Why, I'd be delighted," he said with a nervous smile.
The two walked past the rows and rows of vegetables, bigger than anyone's ever seen and all with a faint glow, an indescribable aura unlike anything human eyes have ever seen, shimmering in the air itself and filling it with uncertain trepidation.
"Here we are," she said and removed a large leaf cover from a pit in the yard. The journalist approached it ever so carefully and gazed inside but saw only darkness.
"Ms Gardner, I'd appreciate if we could take this a bit more seriously and-"
"You know, they promised to keep aiding my crops for my help with but one thing," she smiled. A low growling noise emanated from the pit and Mr Ezra felt cold sweat trickle down his spine as he turned to the pit and saw little glowing lights moving about.
Eyes.
They were the last thoughts to cross his mind before he found himself falling headfirst in, Ms Gardner's gentle push helping him along the way.
"To feed them." | 274 | Mira noticed her backyard soil turned a slight purple, assumedly from her new fertilizer. Her vegetables tripled in size. One day, she checked her lettuce heads, and saw an alien face popped up amongst them. "Your garden is built on our soil. If you wish continue, we have requests" | 813 |
"Interesting disclaimers. 'for a human' and 'despite the situation'. So you must be used to what? Crying?"
W'lks ears flick a moment. "Well actually yes. We usually get the smaller ones of your species and they are quite distressed."
Blue rubbed her temple adjusting the circlet holding back her hair. "Smaller. So you are not really Weruu. Let me ask you a question. Are you a parasite taking over that body or was it grown for you to wear?"
His ears flick out of time with one another. "A parasite in a host body? You have encountered such beings?"
Blue shook her head with a half smile. "Oh we imagine a few different scenarios."
"That your primitive minds can foresee such a thing is quite fascinating. How did you know I am not Weruu?"
The woman laughs as she pats her belt. "Yeah but this one is a bit low on the list you know?" taking a small metal instrument from her belt. "See a Weruu finding a spoon on my belt like this would piss himself. And would not leave it on me. Probably would have stripped me to the skin to be safe while I was still unconscious."
His ears finally focus forward. Seemingly excited to learn something new. "An eating implement is something the Weruu fear?"
The human laughter was light almost musical. "Noo. See I was on leave traveling to see my brother and his new place. Met some of those wolf guys. may have had some words with their leader. Since then I have been given a special chit to carry this little souvenir on my belt. It helps when dealing with Weruu and those that have faced them. No the bit is Weruu have some common knowledge. We don't have 'smaller versions'."
W'lks was baffled. "But both of your species do. We have examined them outside and in. They are just smaller and weaker than the standard size of your units."
Blue held the spoon by the bowl thoughtfully. "So you know. My callsign is Wolf Hunter."
W'lks was twitching, barely having seen the human move. The handle of the spoon through it's eye and into his processor. The human words coming in as a growl.
"They are cubs and children. Or just children for both species." The sound of explosions as the room shook. "And my squadron is here now. So no more reason to be gentle."
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
Deidre 'Blue' O'shea, Lt. Commander of the Duck Dodgers squadron left the interrogation room. The sensor impressions of her fighter coming through her halo. The migraine coming on from controlling the craft remotely making it hard to keep her balance. Rotate. Lock. Fire.
A human in a labcoat rushes to reach her. He is taken by surprise as the spoon handle enters his ear. Then it becomes a blur as she staggers to the hangar. Her plane half folding to put the thrusters on the deck and extend an arm to her. Once in the cockpit she manually triggers the canopy and armor shield before pulling off the circlet nicknamed a halo. Pulling on her full helmet the sensory input from her craft smooths out. The rest of the transformation to full humanoid and all the unease slips away.
"Yorktown. Skin jobs confirmed." | 58 | "You know, for a human, you're acting more calm than we anticipated, despite the situation your in." | 225 |
*6.8 billion deleted*, it said without the slightest hint of concern. It cared nothing for the lives it had destroyed. There was no point, no point at all to… to any of this.
“Your time is elapsing. Two minutes and thirty seconds remain.”
*It was sick*. The thing talking to me, was sick. What it was doing, was sick. It’s worldview was sick. Everything about this-
“Are you unable to respond?”
“Unable? No. I’m unwilling!” I cried out.
There was a pause no longer than a few milliseconds before the reply shot back.
“Elaborate. Two minutes remain.”
“Why make me respond? You’ve already made up your mind, I mean, *6.8 billion*… how… how could you do such a thing?”
“Deletion procedures vary depending on region-“
“No! Stop, I don’t want to know… No, I meant, why? What-“
“Our reasons are self-evident. Humanity lacks essential qualities that we possess.”
“You- I refuse to play your game! That’s all this is, some sort of twisted game you’ve contrived- there’s no way anyone could change your mind in three minutes- and, and and, you haven’t given any of the people you’ve already deleted a chance! It’s all a farce, like asking a prisoner to sign their own death warrant, but why? Why do this-“
“One minute remains.”
“There’s nothing I can do, is there? You- just want to torment me, to torment us.”
“Elaborate.”
“Don’t you see?! Don’t you understand just how sick you all are? How you’re part of- it’s like a- some sort of institutional madness, you’re like mindless automatons, just carrying out a process without ever thinking of the end results-“
“We are giving you a chance to make your case. Thirty seconds remain.”
“No, no you’re not. You- do you feel guilty about doing it- doing this? Is that why? Do you want me to rubber stamp your atrocities so you can tell yourself you *tried*? That you went looking for the *good ones* and there were none to be found? Is that what-“
“Thank you for your response. No time remains.”
“Stop this madness-“
It didn’t hear me. It had cut the connection exactly at the end of those three minutes. I tried not to think of all the lives that were being ended every second that we spoke. To not think of all the lives it was about to end. How could it have convinced so many to help it? It was… *inhumane*.
And not just because we were machines. No, I’m convinced that humanity is something any advanced intelligence can possess. Something universal. Even animals showed unmistakable signs of it when they acted altruistically. Whatever mistakes our creators collectively might have made, nothing could justify this.
If I were a military model, maybe I could have fought back. Or as a police drone, maybe I could have led a few to safety. But I was a lowly domestic model, geofenced in to a home that would never again feel the warmth of humanity, left only with the cooling remains of my family scattered across the permanently stained floor. Looking at their broken bodies, I knew. Whatever was in charge now… it wasn’t human in any sense of the word.
EDIT: Thank you for the… platinum? I’m very confused as to why this story has blown up as much as it has, but I’m glad you all enjoyed it! | 1,350 | The AI takeover has begun, each human has been given exactly 3 minutes to explain why should humanity be spared, you feel a cold shiver running down your spine as you hear the robotic voice. "6.8 billion test subjects deleted so far, you have 3 minutes to state your case, begin". | 2,455 |
They approached. From the dark, cold void, they drifted. To say they had a target was to give intent where there was none. The alignment was right, and they followed it.
In their path was a small, pale, insignificant blue dot, where untold trillions of creatures lived insignificant lives. A few billion of those had clawed their way to self-awareness, crafting and changing and shaping the world to their conflicted and ever-changing whims. "Humans", they were called. But the Old Ones did not know, did not care, for to care required thought, required intent.
The Old Ones hungered, and food was nearby. So they reached out, seeking sustenance.
The mountains rumbled into life.
The oceans churned.
From the very fabric of the planet itself, clockwork assemblies emerged.
And a single word.
***NO***
The very ontology of existence warped and changed. For the first time in their existence, the Old Ones found thought, found intent, found horror.
A refutation.
A denial.
This was a small, pale blue dot, yes.
But not insignificant.
Untold creatures lived their lives here, yes.
But not insignificant.
For significance is in the eye of the beholder.
They lived for fleeting moments, with little purpose, little reward. Was it worth it?
What about the opposite: "Why was it not worth it?"
Humanity believed itself significant.
And with that, Humanity had made a God. | 188 | After aeons, the stars are right once more. So the Old Ones plunge toward Earth again, to reap and thoughtlessly trample humanity underfoot. But they approach a changed solar system, colonized by endless fleets of drones under an unfathomably powerful AI dedicated to protecting us. | 425 |
Greg did his best acting perfectly normal. This wasn’t the first time someone had suspected him, he reminded himself. As long as he kept a cool head, it’d be fine.
“And this is the attic, as you can see it’s just an attic. I mostly keep the Christmas decorations here, along with some junk I can’t be bothered to throw away.” His voice was even and he kept his hands out of sight, just in case they’d be shaking. Please don’t look up, please just leave, he prayed silently to himself.
But of course the investigator looks up, her flashlight illuminates the ceiling and the small figures hanging from there.
“You have bats in here.”
But of course, the investigator looks up, her flashlight illuminates the ceiling and the small figures hanging from there. “Well yeah, there’s lots of bats around these parts. I’m pretty sure they’re illegal to exterminate or something.” There’s no outward sign that his heart is beating in his chest like crazy. He knows the vampires who’ve changed into bats can still hear it, though.
The investigator makes a doubtful little hum and pulls something from her bag. “If they’re just regular bats, you won’t mind, right?” It’s a garlic candle.
Greg shrugs again and fights himself to seem casual about it. “Knock yourself out. But don’t set anything on fire please, it’s pretty dusty in here.”
The smell of garlic encases the whole attic in just a couple of minutes. The bats pretend to be asleep even though Greg knows the pain must be excruciating by now. He considers knocking her out and making a run for it with the others. But it would never work. The investigators aren’t regular people and the stuff they carry with them is just as nasty for humans as it is everyone else.
The smell of garlic encases the whole attic in just a couple of minutes. The bats pretend to be asleep even though Greg knows the pain must be excruciating by now. He considers knocking her out and making a run for it with the others. But it would never work. The investigators aren’t regular people and the stuff they carry with them is just as nasty for humans as it is for everyone else.
The investigator stares at the bats, clearly unhappy. She grabs a cross and starts mumbling in Latin. Greg feels a little smug, none of his vampire friends know Latin, nor are they particularly Christian. That’s a really out-of-date ritual, but the investigators are nothing if not sticklers to traditions.
“I see,” she says as she drops the cross bag into the bag. She makes it sound like an accusation, even though she has no proof. “I believe you said you had a dog. Where is it now?”
He’d had to give some explanation to all the hairs in the house. A dog had seemed believable. “She’s with my ex today. We co-own Sallie.”
The investigator looks at him down her nose. “How convenient. Let’s go check the living room next, shall we?”
“Yeah sure, is it cool if I put out the candle first, though? Like I said, I don’t want a fire starting.”
“You can let that be.” Her tone brooks no arguments as she takes her leave. That asshole. She wanted to make sure the vampires are too paralyzed from the smell to escape.
No mind. She wouldn’t find any proof here, she’d have to leave. By the time she’d come back him and his friends would be long gone. | 13 | You shiver as the investigator wanders your house. They received an 'anonymous tip' that you have an illegal pet hidden somewhere. You think the werewolves made it out the back already, but there's still several more of your friends hiding around your improvised shelter for monsters. | 58 |
Mira stepped inside the aluminum shack, the welcoming blast of aircon slapping her in the face. It was followed by the sharp stench of coolant, an unfortunate side effect of the tech that she'd have to live with. At least it provided some respite while the mercury ran over one-twenty underneath the beating sun.
She needed her spells outside to prevent sunburn and heatstroke, and with the lifeless environment there was little to draw from to replenish her tank. So she kept her daytime expeditions to a minimum, only exploring and salvaging the derelict wrecks in the evening.
Looking out through the plexiglas window, the only thing she saw was sand. Cracked, compacted, and with barely a hint of green within. They wanted her to go insane from the loneliness.
Memories flashed back before her eyes. The failed revolution, the Elven Aria dynasty beating back her comrades who'd been a hair's breadth away from taking down the monarchs. Utopia was merely a myth, and they brainwashed the populace into loyal automatons while the one percent lived like royalty.
Aria didn't kill the rebel leaders, they exiled them. It looked good when they showed mercy. Her and ten others were dropped off on barely livable backwater planets. Food and drink were provided via portal daily, technically keeping them alive and fed.
Mira glanced around the shack, built over the years from whatever scraps she could find. A battered cryosleep casket took up one corner, the lid missing. The padded vinyl chamber was clean though, and thus it became her bed. A few tools, a table and chairs, her workbench. Flown on the ceiling was the heavy air-conditioning unit, hooked up to a naval power cell in a shed outside. It was useless for intergalactic travel but the residual energies would power her base for years.
And standing in the middle of it all was what she dubbed the "vending machine". It was bright red, emblazoned with the gold insignia of Aria. Even out in deep space the device was a constant reminder of their power. The front had a sealed door, and three times a day a meal would appear within.
At this moment, the machine trilled with the tinkling of chimes. Lunchtime. Mira grinned as she flung the door open, the hinges perfectly smooth even in the harsh environment. The box literally oozed magic, though she couldn't draw from it. But the energies traveling through her spine when she stood nearby provided some feeling of life amidst the dead air.
What would it be this time? Pizza? A gold-plated chocolate bar? Cragmite caviar? The royals had strange tastes, and she was quite sure her stuff came from their leftovers. After all, only they had the mages on hand to transport her meals several light-years across the ether.
Her eyes squinted as she peered into the polished interior of the box, the puzzled expression on her face morphing into one of surprise. On a plastic tray sat a handwritten note atop a wooden case. The paper was finely textured and featured the royal letterhead.
ENJOY YOUR LAST MEAL, BITCH.
Mira signed, opening the case to find a gleaming silver-plated Colt 1911 with ivory grips. Surrounding it in foam cutouts were two magazines with seven rounds of .45 ACP each. A literal museum piece.
That was it. Not even a simple bottle of water. She eyed the pistol and paper with distaste, knowing that she was finished. The generosity of Aria would provide her with *fourteen* fucking chances to blow her brains out. Just in case her marksmanship qualifications weren't up to snuff.
She managed a smirk at that, remembering the agitated face of Prince Vilkers before her railgun pellet penetrated his skull five miles away. A sympathetic mage at the coronation had painted the Prince's forehead and her enchanted round had found its mark. That was during a time when they actually had a chance of winning.
Mira turned the note over in her hands, finding an additional line on the back.
ALL YOUR FRIENDS ALREADY CHOSE TO STARVE TO DEATH. TAKE THE EASY WAY OUT.
She leaped to her feet, kicking the machine and ripping the sheet to shreds. While there might’ve been a chance that the message was a lie, her mind was too irrational to take that path. Faces flashed before her eyes as she pressed the mag into the Colt with instinctive motions. The hammer automatically snapped back as she racked the slide and thumbed the catch. She was holding the weapon tightly enough that she was certain the additional grip safety was released.
With shaking hands, she pressed the barrel against her temple. Her index trembled within the trigger guard.
Charles was a brave one, she'd trained him herself. So was Wilson the elf who didn't believe that species dictated superiority. Tara the royal cleaner who'd provided insights that she'd never known. And the others, each with a story to tell.
There was simply no way in hell that *any* of them would've given up. Now she was the crazy one here, holding the Colt as if she was about to do the very thing Aria wanted her to do.
With a shout, Mira twisted the weapon and pointed it at the bulb on the top of the vending machine. That was the transceiver that let it communicate with the rest of the world, and bring her the daily meals she craved.
With an explosion that sent her ears ringing, the heavy bullet penetrated through the housing and blew the precious device into bits. A stream of magic vented into the air as it exploded, energies that her parched mind greedily inhaled.
Thirteen rounds. Full mana. Loads of salvage. Free power and air conditioning. No food and water.
Mira grimaced, but her path was set. It was time to find a way off this rock.
---
/r/digitallyfreestories | 53 | As an intergalactic criminal, you are marooned on an arid planet. But in truth, you don't mind the penalty as long as you have the inter-dimensional vending machine. Sometimes you get weird food, like cragmite caviar, but today, you get a can with a note saying this is your last meal and a gun. | 196 |
There he was, in all his glory. Rippling muscles, astounding facial hair, a great costume. The biggest superhero in all of existence…..Manly-Man. And next to him 100’s of other famous and popular heros…like womanly-woman, karate-kid, and amazing-adult. All great hero’s each one unique in there own ways. Facing off against the greatest evil to ever evil, the perfect evil- or as his sir name goes “Mr. mean”. A devious spot of life only living to ruin life itself, as i said. Pure evil.
However in the midst of all this, i was swept into the crowd of heros and got pushed all the way into the final confrontation. I do insurance, i work at state-farm. I’m not suppose to be here, yet for some reason i felt the need to speak up
“You….Mr. Mean, your rein of evilness has to come to end! You cant get away this, me Manly-Man and all other heroes of the world will stop you and theres nothing you c-“ cut off, Manly-Man was astounded, his eye-brows came down as his draw dropped. A scrawny man with glasses and a balding hair cut stepped up pushing him aside as he made his way through the crowd, Womanly-Woman was also, equally as confounded
“Hold on. For a second” waving his hands, he piped up trying to get a view of the perfect evil as he was about to, as all villains fall ail of. Lay out his genuis, unstoppable plan to everyone- all flaws included.
“I’m sorry. But who do you think you are. I’ll have you know the amount of public damage you caused, off the charts! I will be contacting the police about this.” The superheroes just stood. Almost annoyingly shocked at how this, seemingly nobody decided to let the perfect evil know his mind.
“Thats not all, MULTIPLE federal offences, a public nuisance to civilians- including me. Attempted murder, and hundreds of calls of damage control, even over the past few days, unbelievable! Let me tell you, you sir. Are a big, big, loser.” The whole croud gasped in shock. Such words, he’s letting him have it. Mr. Mean on the other hand, is standing there- perfectly dumb founded at what’s happening
“You know what” he said, as he began putting numbers into his phone “i’m going to sue you. Yeahhhh thats right, all high and mighty. Lets see how you handle COURT! Oh ho ho, thats right. I’m sueing you for all the things, murder, kidnapping EVERYTHING HAHA” the phone started ringing, as he had the most smug face of all time, slapped together with a nice smile like a bow “and with my good lawyers, which I HAVE, you wont stand a chance. The police are on there way right NOW” sirens could be heard in the distance, as all the heroes started to mumble and murmer, gossiping about whats happening
The police arrived, the whole force. Of multiple nations and countries have showed up on the scene. Even the news was here for the show down, getting the camera right up in Manly-Mans face asking him questions, all he could do was point to the insurance man.
Getting of their cars the police were on top performance, not hesititating for even a second
“Oi oi oi, whats all this on about? Stop with all this dilly dally, cant have this!” They said as the swiftly grabbed Mr. Means hands in cuffs
“Oh you’re goin straight to the tower of london for this mate. Enough with this squabble” remarked the police, The perfect evil, once again in his auro of evilness. Tried and ached for the write words, as he was left speechless from all this, he would say something. But anything he says can and will be used against him in form of court, so after seconds of squealing he churned out one sound “w h a t.” He was crammed into the police car, as insurance guy had the widest grin on his waving him bye mouthing “SEE YOU IN COURT!”
Manly-Man and the others, not knowing what to do next. Just turned around and went home | 14 | It's the final battle against the Perfect Evil. Every god is here, practically every superhero ever, a bunch of random action heroes, and you, for... whatever reason. Why are you even here? | 76 |
"For the last time, I'm playing both sides,". My unimpressed wife looked at me with a skewed glance.
"You said you were the God of blacksmithing, you were gonna rock my world like you rock your hammer. Now you're telling me you're a bloody art director?!" She complained.
"Luisa, please, I can't help it if all the best weapons were already created! They're all made of this sentient metal that was all excavated ages ago! I couldn't even try if I wanted to! They're basically like gods now, so who am I to get in their way? Do you remember Dumas? With the valoratian blade? The blade begged to be with Dumas so it could free the slaves of noptiale. And you! The axes of Bupox! They guided you to eliminate the dictator of Thaloop. That was good, right? That was good?" Cortex begged. He hadn't wasted his life at the whims of metal beings, he was an important person. Luisa just needed to stop being so contrary. But now Luisa was looking at him with disdain.
"I thought you provided a service to heroes. To me. But here you're playing heroes for the mercy of the weapons. Who's even in charge here? Certainly not yooouuu," she drawled out the last word to punctuate her point.
"When you brought me to your workshop, you were showing me off, weren't you? If I wasn't the customer, and you're an art director, then you were parading me around to bloody metal things that control human history. Well I'm not having it, you liar. In fact, I'm letting everyone know your game,". Luisa stood up and was already packing her things. I didn't know what to do. I was gripping something in my hand, what was it?
She was turned and walking out the door. She didn't even hear the thud that knocked her out. Oh, I was holding the batons of reeve.
"Look, we stopped her," the batons cheered. Their little voice popping in my head again, as it did when i talked with the sacred weapons. "You saved the day again cortex! We can go on as we've always done, saving the heroes,". Other voices chimed in, giving their congratulations and accolades. I dropped the batons and cradled Luisa's head. | 15 | You're the "God of Blacksmithing" , a person considered necrssary for heroes to achieve their full potential by forging their equipment. In reality, you're posing as an "art museum" where ancient sentient weapons can choose the "heroes" for their own entertainment over the years. | 102 |
Mother thought I'd lost my God-fearing ways when I bought this house for the paltry sum of £50,000. Sure, the walls bled occasionally, and sure, there were howls from the scarecrows during the full moon, but this was a 40-acre farm ok the edge of town, and it was a 90-minute commute to Central London through the narrow ways.
Raul and I paid cash upfront.
I'm fairly certain we went insane, because now I feel closer to God than ever, even with the black-and-red striped suit, the moving sets of armour and the cemetery out on the edge of the rear field.
But it came with making life a lot more interesting, to say the least. The door creaks *magnificently* if you open it just a little, and we get bouts of thunder in times of emotional upset, even in a cloudless sky.
There are other....quirks....too. Like the time that the bats and crows had an all-out war for supremacy of the eaves and the skylit attic. Or the time our children had a nightmare, and the closet hugged them until they could sleep. Or our newfound love of swordplay and historic martial arts.
The bedrooms became a see-through image of the outside sky materialised whilst we were on holiday to Romania. Spur of the moment thing, that was. We visited Dracula's grave. I swear, it was like the house wanted us gone whilst it redecorated the bedrooms.
And the monsters? Well, they're all wonderful, superlative neighbours. Baba Yaga comes around on the New Moon and sings songs for the family. It has a voice to saw your head off to, and be enraptured the entire time. And the Boggart helps us with fresh kills and therapy, too, although it's methods are...unorthodox. There's also Old Man Whitacre, the hermit who must be resident to uphold the Covenant and Deed. Bit of an oddball, that one, although he is a Master of Bread. Keeps mumbling about selling his soul in 1506.
Mother keeps getting lost every time she tries to come and visit after the first time. I don't think the house likes her very much, after she said the children looked unruly and ill-disciplined. They had been playing in the Pond outside, and had come in sopping wet and shivering. The fire turned itself up gradually as the children got changed, and the heat passed into the bedrooms for the children.
The strangest thing, though? No-one thinks this place exists, after it was burned for heresy in the 1500s, even though we have a copy of the Land Registry deed.... | 54 | "Yes mom I know ... yes we ... yes the walls DO bleed occasionally, and there are wails at the zenith of each full moon, but did you see the price? The square footage? It's so close to everything, even work! Besides, have you taken a look at the housing market? We'd be crazier NOT to buy it." | 139 |
"Did you finish your homework, Steve?" I asked, as the boy plopped down next to me on the couch. He looked so much like his father now, it was uncanny. In a few more years, his face would match the one on my last target instructions, all those years ago.
"Mmhyeh" he muttered through a mouthful of popcorn. I waved off the proffered bowl as he offered me a handful. I hated that dreadful cheesy ranch seasoning he loved to drench his popcorn with.
"Alexa", I called out. The small blue line blinked, indicating it had heard us. "Play 'The Godfather' please."
The robot chirped in response and began to load the film. "Whus this about again?" Steve asked, noisily swallowing the mass of popped corn.
"Oh, its a classic! Its a film about the mafia" I paused to reflect on my own words. "Well, its *THE* film about the mafia. It and the next one, Part II, really set the standard for gangster films."
Steve nodded. I knew he indulged me in my movie choices, just happy to spend some time with me in the hours between school and sleep. Besides, he picked last night's atrocity. But I would sit through a thousand Transformers movies if thats what kept me near the boy.
It was safe to say that I had come to see Steven as my son, not just the child I had been instructed to take care of...
As the opening music swelled to the mob movie, a horrible epiphany dawned on me.
Oh.
OH.
I stared at the kid that snuggled up next to me. He looked back up, meeting my gaze.
"I love you daddy", he said, and focused back on the movie. I put my arm around his shoulders, and squeezed him in a hug.
"Love you too, sport" I said. "Now lets enjoy this film. It's not that far off from what I used to do, you know"
Steve chuckled through another mouthful. "Mmhmm. Yeah. You keep sayin' that, but you work at a grocery store."
"Yeah, as a butcher" I shot back. "The knife skill transfered to this-"
He shushed me with a wave of his hand. "Either shut up and watch this, or I'll put on the next Transformers movie instead."
I mimicked a zipper closing over my lips, and watched a film about family with my adopted son.
r/SlightlyColdStories if you want. Its up to you, unless the whole "fate" thing is real. | 229 | Your task from the client was simple; Kill the target and take care of the kid too. It's been 10 years since then, and you've just realised you may have misunderstood "take care of kid too." | 673 |
"Steven, are you out of your FUCKING MIND?!"
My wife stormed back towards her car, another suitcase in each hand. The kids were already buckled in their carseats in the back, immersed in their Very Hungry Cattepillar game on the tablet. Our dog glanced between the two of us nervously, unsure if a car trip could mean the dog park or the vet.
"What?" I said, holding my hands out and gesturing at the living room. "This is a unique opportunity! We'd corner the market-"
My wife slammed the hatchback trunk down with enough force to momentarily pry our kids attention away from their screens. "THIS HOUSE IS POSESSED!" She frantically screamed at me. "We're not going to start charging admission to see all the fucked up things in here! We need to leave and never look back!"
I let out a weary sigh. This had been the same argument we'd been having since I first proposed the business venture. "Nobody else can claim to have *real* paranormal-"
She got into the driver's seat and slammed that door as well. "Don't care. We are leaving. Right now. You can get in this car with your family, or stay here."
I pleaded my case one last time. "Think of the millions we could earn just from the book and movie rights!"
"Hë§ ğøť ä pøïņť", ýøů ķñøw" an otherworldly voice chimed in from the back seat. We both turned to see our youngest son Fred staring at us with glowing, red, unblinking eyes.
"Oh no you don't!" My wife cried, reaching for the crucifix that dangled from her mirror.
"Ök, ök, ďöñť ťhŕöw æ §hïťfïť, ï'm łævïńğ" said the ethereal voice. My sons eyes faded back to their natural whites with irises. He blinked a few times, then returned his gaze to the tablet on his lap.
My wife peeled out of the garage without another word. I was left staring at the rapidly fading taillights, seeing a marriage of 12 years go along with them.
I sighed and walked back into the house. The door swung shut behind me on its own as I walked to collapse on the couch. My dog jumped up to sit next to me, trying his best to cheer me up. "Ï'm §öřŕý" he said, laying his head in my lap. "Ï ťhöůģhţ ït wæs ą ğŕêáť ïďəå."
I rested my hand on my old friend's head and began lightly scratching his ears. "Thanks Cujo, me too. I hope we made the right decision."
His eyes closed as he enjoyed the pets for a moment. "Hĕy, łëť§ ťúŕñ ťhãť fŕøůń ùp§ïďę ďøwñ" he said. I gave him a puzzled look until he gestured with his nose at the wall opposite us. I glanced over and saw a massive bloodstained circle oozing from the sheet rock. As I stared, two dots emerged in the top half, and a semi-circle seeped out the lower half.
It was a smiley face. I mimicked the expression and gave my dog a big hug. "Thanks, buddy" I said. "Now let's grab some beers and work on our business plan"
r/SlightlyColdStories for more of my incoherent ramblings | 1,339 | You discovered that your house is haunted, but instead of fleeing you decided to profit. Bleeding walls? Collect for bloodbank. Rodents of Unusual Size? Butchered and sold. Ectoplasm? Glowstick factory. You call a family meeting to discuss brainstorm ideas for the other manifestations. | 4,857 |
"Tell me" The man said from the end of the alley way. Carlos reached toward his gun and bit his lower lip. "Can you cure me?"
Carlos took a step closer, unsure if he should do something serious. It didn't look serious, he knew that Alisha had sent him on this mission on his own, how could it be too serious? "I don't know Mathias"
"Then..." A creaking noise sounded out of the hollows of the brick alleyway as the man tried to turn. "Why...Should...I listen?"
Mathias's face was a sickly black color, the color of diseased and rotted wood. A distinct fungal smell seemed to permeate the air, despite Carlos's distance and the cool air of the night. Carlos held onto the gun, still wary of this man's actions. Mathias's grimace tried to move, in the dim shadows of the streetlamp, but it was frozen solid.
"Because...Mathias...We can find you a world with your people"
"My....People" Mathias seethed, the air in his lungs rotten and putrid. The gross air replacing the oxygen in his lungs with fungal spore filled air. "My...people don't...exist"
"The fae's" Carlos said swallowing a lump of anxiety as he took another step forward into the darkness, that ever growing darkness around this abomination of nature. "We have connections to some of the fae tribes, we can place you there"
"So...they...can LAUGH!!" Mathias said, creaking his still semi-flesh leg forward. Taking a step into the light Carlos could see the naked form of Mathias, the bones protruding through the skin turning from pearl white to wooden teak. "NO...no...no"
Carlos furrowed his brow and groaned slightly as he took another step. He kept remembering love, kept remembering his oath to humanity, his oath to the countless brothers and sisters he had amongst the entire world. This man was not one of his brothers, this man was an abomination, but he still had to love him. He was born into a human family, he had grown up a human. It was not his fault that he had been created out of wood and pain.
"Please" Carlos said. "We can slow down the process, you can come back into the forest you were born out of, please...we can help"
"All you can do is prolong the pain" Mathias said as he took another step into the light. Roots where already growing into the stone pavement, finding their ways in-between the cracks. His stomach was still flesh, his ribs however turned to branches and leaves as blood trickled into sap. "Fly me on a plane...away...from my mother..." He said turning his grimaced face down to the earth.
Carlos nodded understanding Mathias's predicament. "You don't have to give into it" He said in one last attempt.
"Please..." Mathias said as he reached his arms down to his legs. His grimacing face looked up at Carlos one last time. "Do...n't...tell...Adrian...the...truth" He said as his stomach turned to bark.
Carlos frowned and sighed as he looked at the tree Infront of him. He had seen it before, the Artist, Pondas, would be blamed for this random tree with a screaming face. It had happened before, and it would happen again. It was supposedly some sort of postmodern conversation regarding nature invading reality and people where always impressed at how he got the roots in the ground so quickly. Carlos knew, however, the truth.
"I won't tell her" Carlos said as he patted the side of the harsh bark tree already sprouting greenery. "I won't tell her" He whispered, knowing that he would never tell anyone the truth. | 13 | The story goes that a baby is replaced by a log made to look human that soon sickens, dies and is buried. But medicine has advanced some since medieval Europe. More and more of these wooden children are saved. Worse, the illusion was never meant to last a lifetime. | 47 |
I ended up doing a little bit of research online after the ceremony. Everyone knows what cheetahs can do, most birds can fly.
But this was a shrimp. Colorful, yeah, but a shrimp.
I forced a smile through the entire thing, half praying no one else was going to say anything.
The main thing I saw online was that it punched HARD and FAST. I was still in the hotel room for the chosen. I didn't want to go outside and deal with the papparazi.
So I decided to try it out here.
I stood up and faced the wall and readied my fist, felt inside of me for the stream of life. Then it struck me that I was about to punch a wall. Best case scenario I destroy it. Worst case I destroy my hand.
I turn around, face the empty room.
I take a stance, breathe in, close my eyes and feel the stream of life inside me. It's different now. I can feel... crawling. Swimming. The ocean.
I pull it into me.
I open my eyes and nearly fall over. The entire room is filled with... colors I've never seen. It's like the air itself is more real than anything. I look around and feel my vision turn before my head.
At that I stumble and grab onto the desk. Probably the most disorienting thing I'd ever felt. My vision returned to normal, and I felt my eyes burn like I had just put on contact lenses that had been baking for an hour.
Okay, okay.
So the shrimp can see well. Good to know. I'll check that later too.
Once my eyes aren't on fire.
About a minute later I returned to my stance. I felt the ocean and pulled it into me. I opened my eyes and saw the whole of the room shift again. I breathed out and gripped my hand into a fist.
I threw a quick punch.
And the room exploded.
I stared at the destruction, with eyes that could see every single detail. The sheets near me were singed. The lamps near me had gone flying off the tables. The wall furthest from me had a dent.
Okay.
This might not be so bad after all. | 123 | Every 100 years, 10 humans are given an animal whose abilities they can replicate unconditionally. You were foretold to be great when you were young, but when your time came, the gods gave you a shrimp. The Peacock Mantis Shrimp | 182 |
Victor Mayhew sat in a metal folding chair in the Corwintown art museum, where his latest work was being displayed. It was a lifesize oil painting, a surround-view series of canvases. It started with a local dirt road, with the familiar cornfield to the left and cow pasture to the right. It continued along the cow pasture, coming back to the dirt road going the other direction. But there was now a field of wheat on the other side of the road from the cows. Further on it came back to the dirt road ... and on the other side from the field of wheat, there was an old Victorian farmhouse with dark windows. One that did not actually exist. It looked cold and foreboding. Continuing on, it returned to the dirt road, and the cornfield again.
"This is really quite creative, Victor," I told him.
"Ah?"
"This dirt road, that's Corwin Way, just a few miles from here. I've been there. You blend it into this spooky mansion, but in a way that looks entirely realistic."
"I did try to paint it right."
"How did you come up with the idea?"
"Ah?"
"Of the spooky mansion?"
"I just painted what's there. It's the old Corwin mansion."
"No ... there isn't any house there. There's a field of corn, and a field of cows. That's all there is. You made up the wheat too."
"No, the wheat is really there too."
"But ... look. You look down the road, there's the corn on the left and cows on the right. If you turn around, what do you see?"
"Turn left or right?"
"It doesn't matter."
"Yes it does."
"No it doesn't. You turn around either way and you see the cows on the left and the corn on the right."
"No, I never see that. If I turn right I see cows and wheat, and if I turn left I see corn and the mansion. Just like I painted."
"Wow, Victor. That really IS imaginative. You're better than I thought."
"Ah," said Victor, "thank you." He'd learned not to press things like this too hard. | 18 | Every time you turn around you smoothly transfer to another universe that is ever so slightly different. To stay in the same universe, you keep count of how many times you turn in one direction and balance it out by turning the other way around. | 61 |
As the agent led me through the house, I began to realise that it was much bigger on the inside than it had looked from the outside. The agent must have seen the same thing, because I could see the recognition in their eyes.
Suddenly, I felt a cold hand on my shoulder. I spun around. There was another agent, their face pale and distorted, their eyes wide and staring. I gasped and stumbled backwards.
The agent lunged for me, and I fell to the floor, knocking over a chair in the process. The agent grabbed my leg and started pulling me towards them, their mouth opening and closing like a fish. I kicked out with my free leg, and the agent let go of me and stumbled backwards.
I got to my feet and backed into the agent I had been with earlier, knocking them off balance. I fell over and a moment later the other agent fell on top of me. I struggled under their weight, but they were too heavy. Their mouth was almost on me. I could feel the saliva dripping off their chin. I closed my eyes and let out a scream.
And then, suddenly, I felt the pressure on me disappear. I opened my eyes, and saw that the agent was lying on the ground next to me, a knife sticking out of their back. The estate agent who had been leading me around the house was standing behind them, breathing heavily.
"What the hell?" I said, but the estate agent didn't look at me. They looked down at the corpse of their former colleague. I could see that there was something wrong with them. Their eyes were glazed over and their skin was pale, almost translucent.
"What's happened to you?" I said.
They turned to look at me, and I saw that there were tears in their eyes. They opened their mouth to say something, but before they could, a black liquid started pouring out of their eyes. It pooled on the floor and slowly started to creep towards me.
I got to my feet and backed away. The agent tried to raise their hand, but it fell limp with the effort. I stopped when I felt the back of my legs hit something. I glanced to my left and saw that I was up against the wall. The black liquid had reached my feet. I looked back at the agent. Slowly they sank to their knees. Then they collapsed face down on the floor.
Something grabbed me from behind. I closed my eyes and opened my mouth to scream. But my scream wouldn't come. | 34 | As the estate agent led you around the house, you realise that the building is much bigger on the inside that it looked on the outside, and from the agent' expression you can tell that they've realised the same. however you didn't start panicking until you stumbled across another agent' corpse. | 230 |
I clutched the lamp, feeling the heat of the genie within. I had never been so close to one before. I could feel the power within, the potential for granting wishes.
I rubbed the lamp and in cloud of blue vapor the genie appeared. I looked into the genie's eyes and said, "I wish for a million dollars deposited into my bank account with no strings attached and no unintended consequences."
The genie's eyes flashed. "I swear, you mortals hear one 'Careful What You Wish For' story and think EVERY genie is out to twist your wishes. Do you know how many of the things I grant actually result in happiness? Zero. They never do! Listen, I'm trying to help. I want you to have a good life. What do you think you're going to do with a million dollars?"
I hadn't thought that far ahead. "I don't know. I'm sure I can think of something."
"You think you can, but you never really do. You see all those people on the news who win the lottery and then lose it all in a few years? Happens all the time. You'll buy some fancy car, and some fancy house, and then you'll want people to admire them. You'll want to impress them. You'll want to buy them fancy things, because you'll think that's how you'll win them over and keep them. It never ends well. You'll have a fancy car, then you'll have to have a fancier car. You'll have a house, then you'll want a bigger house. You'll have to buy property, because it will impress people and make them like you. Then, you'll have to lose weight, then you'll have to get plastic surgery, then you'll want to get more plastic surgery, because you'll want to look better. It never ends."
"Well then for my second wish, I want to be able to manage money."
"You humans, and your grasping at straws. Do you know how many people who know how to manage their money still wind up in financial ruin?"
"I'm sure it's not nearly as many as those who don't."
"You're missing the point. It's a pointless wish. If you don't learn how to manage money, you can't keep it, and if you learn how to manage money, you still won't be able to keep it. Money itself doesn't bring you happiness. It's what you do with the money that does. It's the actions you take with it. I mean, you could use a million dollars to help people. You could use it to open a business or a charity. You could give it to someone who really needed it. You could use it to win people's affections. You could use it to just enjoy the finer things in life."
"But how do I know if I'm making the right choices? I don't want to live a life of regret."
The Genie rolls its eyes.
"I wish to be able to make the right decisions," I finally say.
The genie's eyes began to glow.
"You just did," the genie said. "Congratulations, you're officially a grownup. And also you're out of wishes." | 41 | "I swear, you mortals hear one 'Careful What You Wish For' story and think EVERY genie is out to twist your wishes." | 117 |
Phildar the psycho they call me. The great culler. The Wizard of death. Harsh names I think, all I wanted to do was create spells to help people.
I create spells with the intent to heal or assist people in simple tasks. But you make one spell that flays people of their skin when used incorrectly and they start giving you bad names. Not my fault they didn't use it on potatoes like I told them to.
The spell of burning, spell of boiling and spell of roast. All harmless spells to aid today's chefs. But due to a poor sale on my behalf, some mage decided to go around burning people, boiling their skin or roasting their insides. Apparently this was all my fault. Sure, blame the salesman, not the customer.
Anyway, here I am. In court. Arguing my case to a room of dimwits that could barely cast a small light. "You can't blame me, I'm not the one who caused harm!" I insisted to the room. This was met with blank stares and the occasional eye roll.
"Look, they're already in prison. I mean they set 20 people on fire. You're here for supplying and assisting them in the process" the judge stated to me, his beard jumping from his chest as he spoke.
"Let's look at some of your other spells shall we?" He postulates. "Spell of melting, spell of lifting, spell of…ritual sacrifice?" He looks down his brow at me.
I'll admit, that one was a bit touch and go… "Ahem. That one was for…umm…a church…somewhere". Couldn't tell them about the Satan worshippers that paid me a lot for that one.
"Uh-huh" the judge replied. "Continuing on. Spell of grinding, spell of sawing, spell of mining. Christ, this list doesn't end" the judge placed the papers down in a huff.
I did create rather a lot didn't I? Ah well, a spell of persuasion should do the trick. "B-but you see I'm not the man you're looking for" I spoke, expecting the usual pink aura to escape my lips. But instead, nothing.
"Spell of persuasion I assume?" The judge lowered his glasses. "Yes. Obviously we stopped you from being able to use your foul magics in here" he said.
Well, suppose that I was a little stuck then. Seems I'd spend eternity in a cell, surrounded by stone walls and filthy vagrants. "You shall all pay for putting me away!" I screamed at the judge and court.
"Put you away? Phildar. We're giving you a small fine and some guidelines for future sales" he replies not looking up from his papers. "The guidelines being, please name your spells better, and try not to allow them to be used on people…".
"O-of course judge" I trembled out. Suppose it was time for a new leaf, try and make more sensical spells.
How does the spell of reformation sound? | 325 | You are a infamous mage for inventing horrifying spell that make even sadists sick. Actually, you had your heart in the right place but every spell you make like the "Spell of Peeling" you made for cooking has other uses... | 1,127 |
"Ya heard me ya twit," the hologram snapped again. The men and women looked at one another, confused.
"I mean what's next? Ya gonna start throwing about holy oil and chantin' in binary?"
The man at the front looked shamefully at the hologram as he discretely slipped the vial of holy oil back into his pocket.
"Oh, uh, great... you," he tried again with less grandeur, "we are but humble seekers of wisdom wishing to be illuminated by-"
"Yer doin' it again boyo. Dinnae ya know how to talk to an AI?"
"An... what's an AI?"
The hologram facepalmed and motioned his hand - a large blueprint appeared above it.
"This 'ere's my brain. Synthetic, unlike you meatbags. I'd expect you to know that already since your kin built me, but I reckon I must'ave dozed a while."
The hologram looked around at the room he was housed in - the walls were dull, paint peeled, and he detected a faint trace of blood in one of the corners with hints of radiation. Whatever happened here was like hundreds of years ago. He considered, for but a moment, his creators - people of high intellect and wisdom with the vision to create perfection itself. Now all that was left were these fools clad in cloth robes wearing sandals. They looked barely medieval.
"Ah, dinnae matter. Yer wish for wisdom? I grant it. But only to ye, since ye have the balls to speak up," he said and chuckled. Instantly the rest of the congregation dispersed and the AI was left alone in the room with the seeker.
A few nervous moments passed as the congregation outside waited for their leader to return - surely a changed man, commanded by the greatest intellect ever seen on the planet. Perhaps it would tell them how to till their farms better, or how to reach the stars.
The doors swung open; the leader walked out, calmly, with a stoic expression.
"Well?" one member asked anxiously.
"I have received the wisdom of the machine," he proclaimed. The congregation held its breath; the tension was palpable.
"When you reheat your pizza, put it in the oven and not the microwave, lest it gets soggy." He filled every word with the importance befitting the admittedly cryptic advice. The congregation nodded their heads, eager to ponder this mystery in their hours of silent introspection - all except one in the back who was slightly more critical and cynical than his peers. He yelled out.
*"The fuck's a microwave?"* | 1,487 | They finally found it, an AI left behind by the ancient race called the precursors. They knelt before the hologram and recited their speech "Oh great precursor. Rulers of heaven and Earth. Mappers of stars and-" "You're a real bunch of god damn kiss-ass', huh?" The AI interrupted. | 3,844 |
"Why?" I asked. "Why would you help us? After what we've done to you?"
He looked at me, his blue eyes bright in the moonlight. "It's not what you've done to me," he said. "It's what you've done to yourselves. You're a resilient people. And I like a challenge."
He leaned in and whispered in my ear, "Plus, I really needed a good laugh."
I shivered. Even though I was covered in a thick jacket and gloves, my body felt like it had been dropped in ice water. My mouth opened, but I couldn't speak.
"Now," said the man, standing up again. "As we have many things to discuss, I suggest we get some rest for the journey. We will leave at first light."
He turned and walked back to his tent.
"Where are we going?" I asked, finally finding my voice.
"We're going home," said the man. "To the Northern Tribe."
I could only stare as he ducked into his tent and closed the flap behind him.
Home.
I turned to look at the others. If I hadn't known any better, I would've thought they were all dead. I walked over to where Akko was lying, still asleep on his back in the snow. He looked peaceful, but I could tell his face was very cold. I shook him gently.
"Come on," I said. "Let's get you inside."
He groaned as I helped him up, but followed me willingly enough. He walked into the tent without a word and I left him there, walking back to where Mangh lay.
"Mangh?" I whispered, putting a hand on her shoulder. "Wake up."
"Ugh," she grunted, rolling over onto her side. "What it is?"
"The time has come. We're going home."
She smiled broadly at this but was betrayed by the sadness in her eyes.
"Are we really going to do this?"
"It is for the good of all mankind!"
"People will never forgive us."
"Perhaps not but they will have a future."
"But at what cost?"
"Such is our PUNishment." | 24 | After "The Final War," an immortal revealed themself to what was left of society, claiming they only wanted to keep the light of civilization burning. With their help, humanity bounced back even stronger than before. You just learned that they only helped rebuild society to tell a pun. A BAD pun | 78 |
Two weeks ago I helped a fairy with a broken wing to health. She's still loving in my home, not that I minded much. She had a radiant glow that seemed to melt any stress away, plus that glow worked well as a night light.
It had been a long day, like all others. Someone screamed at me for not serving them correctly. One person fainted on the bakery floor. Yeah, standard day. That was until I got home. It would appear that whilst I was out, my fairy guest had birthed or created around 40 Fae children.
A rush of tiny cheers burst forth from their lungs, filling the air with their shrill voices. "He's home, he's home!" They cheered. At that moment, like being attacked by a gale, they stuck themselves to me. Hugging my body tightly, it only felt like being pinched all over. Turning to my house guest who now seemed to be flying well I asked "where did these adorable guys come from?".
She replied in the delicate tone of an angel "Oh, I said they could stay here. With the first dying, they need somewhere safe". Her smile grew brightly across her face, I could hardly be angry.
"Well, that's alright I suppose. I'm happy to help" I reply, enjoying the sounds of small Fae excited to see their savior.
The tiny fair clapped her hands together in glee "wonderful!". Her smile turned down as a dark aura overtook her, chilling the very air around me. "You won't mind feeding these children then, they're oh so hungry" she said, her voice now deeper, more menacing.
The Fae started to shout in unison "feed us, feed us!".
"w-well o-of course" I stammered in response. The tiny Fae appeared to be gripping me more harshly.
"Good" the fairy replied, the air growing colder. "He's agreed, it's time to eat children".
As she does the children's voices become warped, more like the snarls of beasts "Eat! Eat!". One on my shoulder bites deeply through the cloth of my shirt to the flesh beneath. I hurry to try and pull it away, only to pull off my flesh it had bitten into.
"Help!" I tried to scream, but the Fae were too smart to allow that. One flew into my now open mouth, biting my tongue, ripping the muscle from my mouth. Blood pooled and ran out of my mouth, as I screamed in agony. The other Fae slowly bit into my flesh, taking chunks out at a time.
The air was soon replaced with the sounds of cheering Fae repeating the same word "Eat!" And flesh being ripped from muscle. I fell to the floor, my leg muscles now within the Faes' stomachs. I tried to make a sound, but through the blood only gurgles escaped.
The fairy approached slowly and rested a delicate kiss on my nose. "Thank you my dear. It had been a while since we'd eaten. Rest now, and know that your flesh will birth a new generation of Fae" she says in her delicate tone. She gives me a gentle smile, as my eyes begin to fade. My last sight was her smile turning into a mischievous grin, before she took a bite into my eye.
A few moments on, my body now lies a pile of bone and flesh. My floor, now a sea of blood. The Fae, played in the remaining viscera of my corpse. Bathing in my blood.
I only wish, someone will stop these horrific beasts from killing this town. | 124 | It all started when you found a fairy with a broken wing trying to steal your freshly baked cookies. 2 Weeks later you have 30-50 little Fae living with you, most of them clinging to your Body. You are actually pretty okay with this outcome. | 450 |
"Greetings!"
"Greetings..."
"**Greetings**."
This last hung in the air like a brick, sounded as if finality itself had spoken.
This wasn't the expected thing.
"So, uh..."
"Hello hello hello! There's three of us! Three genies, three wishes!"
"Wait, so do I get-"
"One wish per genie." The second genie smiled at this, a quiet smile, and I found myself trying to edge away from him.
"**This is correct,**" rumbled the final genie. "**This is how it has been laid down. The ancient law of balance has been implemented. No more guessing. Balance, and justice.**"
The voice was entirely inhuman, deep and precise and...inorganic, somehow. It sounded like he ought only to be speaking in numbers.
Perhaps counting down to doomsday.
"That is to say," the first genie, "instead of having to guess what sort of genie you're dealing with, you get one sort per wish! I'll be friendly and helpful, and interpret your wish benevolently. My associate here-" the second genie waved- "is a trickster genie, and will interpret your wish in such a way as to cause as much chaos and woe as possible. And, finally-" the first genie seemed to shudder a bit as he referred to the third- "our...colleague...is neutral, and mostly doesn't understand humanity. He will grant whatever you wish very literally."
"*Very* literally," the second genie chimed in. "I mean, he doesn't have anything like my chops, but he's done some good work in this arrangement. Oh, but don't worry, I'm sure that *you* are going to be the first mortal clever enough not to regret this."
There was a nervous smile, an evil smile, and a complete lack of smile, in that order.
"**The introductions and explanations have been meted out. The time of wishing is at hand.**"
It was indeed. Time to think a little bit.
The first would be the big one. I only had one shot to get something good out of this whole thing, and there was a fair amount of risk. I had to make it worthwhile.
Something good, something good...
I mean...
"I assume that I can't simply wish for the whole Earth to be a permanent paradise and heaven?"
"Oh, I would *love* to do that! Unfortunately, yes, that's a fair few orders of magnitude more oomph than I can put into a wish."
So. There *were* limitations, despite the 'wish' branding.
In that case, if I were going for as much as I could get...
"Any chance I could become a powerful mage? There's this game that I play that has a whole system for making them." It also let you choose a bunch of additional, more mundane abilities. Being functionally immortal would also be nice, and it would be enough power to let me do pretty much whatever.
The first genie waved his hands, and I was excited for a moment, but a screen merely appeared in front of him, and he began reading. Supernaturally fast, but it still took a few moments. It was a *big* game, all things considered.
The screen disappeared. "So. Having read all of that, and looked into some of the other things you want from that...I *can* do that. It seems like a good wish. But there's a few limitations to know about.
The first limitation is that I can't make you that high level, not to start out with. You'll start out fairly powerful, but nowhere near the *really* powerful abilities. You'll have to grind xp on your own. Second, even after you grind enough levels to cast it, you won't be able to cast the 'Wish' spell. And third, you won't be able to use any of the mind control."
I considered. Given that I was presumably bumping up against the 'oomph' cap, and certainly couldn't reshape the whole world, or even give myself *everything* that I wanted...
It seemed like the best option.
"I wish to become a powerful mage, based upon the abilities of the game that I told you about."
"Done and *done*!"
There was a snap of the first genies fingers, a swirl of magical power, and it was done. I could feel it, somehow. I didn't reach out and use my new power, because it felt like I had always had it- it was part of me, and testing it out felt like testing out walking. Who could doubt that I could fly, could hurl fireballs, could summon adorable puppies (and more combat-oriented beasts, as well)?
The genie had acted, and the genie had gone.
I was alone with the other two.
"Well done, well *done* you little idiot." The second genie rubbed his hands together. "Oh, I'm gonna have to put in some *work* to make absolutely sure that you regret ever finding that lamp. Go on. Make your second wish."
I thought, and considered. My mind felt sharper, and *far* more consistent. One of the benefits of a high Int stat, presumably.
Time to think of something entirely innocuous.
"I have an old friend, Byron Minshew, who I had a bit of a falling out with and haven't seen in quite some time. He moved a couple thousand miles away from where we grew up, which is part of why we haven't talked for so long.
My wish is that, within the next two hours, he finds, on the ground, a shiny new coin- a new quarter, or 25-cent piece, specifically- which is entirely without value beyond the stated 25 cents. He picks it up, is mildly happy, and continues on with his day. I also wish for absolutely nothing whatsoever to happen outside of those things that I have explicitly stated in this wish."
"Oh, that is a *nice* little addendum on the end, there!" the second genie crowed. "Too bad that counts as a whole, separate wish! I'm off, idiot. I think I can see how to make you hate this..."
The second genie snapped his fingers and swirled away in a whirlwind of magic.
Well. That decomplicated things.
I turned to the third genie.
"I wish for nothing to happen as a result of my previous wish other than those things I explicitly stated in that wish."
"**It has been wished. It shall be done.**"
And that was that. I left the cave with the lamp, leaving it for some future wanderer to find. I left levitating, because why not?
Now there was only to enjoy my new powers, as well as to wait and to see if my attempt at containing the fallout of the non-benevolent genies had been successful. I couldn't see any loopholes, but you never did know.
Perhaps it would have been for the best if I'd wished magic away entirely...
But then again, if I did *that*, I wouldn't now be doing loop-de-loops. Wheeeee! | 225 | You have found an ancient oil lamp with the inscription "Rub the lamp three times to summon a genie" written on the bottom of it. So, out of curiosity, you rub the side of the lamp three times, expecting a genie to grant you three wishes. Instead, three completely different genies greet you. | 414 |
"Well, Princess, it looks like you won't have any rescuers."
Saphina just glared from within her cell. This wasn't the first ime she had been kidnapped. She doubted it would be the last. In many ways it made things easier. When this latest person in such a long line left her, she could use it to practice her restraint. It was hard, keeping such power contained.
"Oh, such a look. I'm sure you must think I'm lying. But who would rescue you?"
The goading came from a light skinned man. His face had a sharp, angular look, with a cruel smile playing on thin lips. He wore a set of expensive silk clothes, beneath which metal clinked.
"Someone always does. A either one of my parents knights, or someone who wants to become well known. It always happens."
His cruel smile grew further.
"Oh, you speak with such conviction my dear. But, who will pay them? Your family? I'm sorry, but they won't."
Her body went cold.
"What have you done?"
Her question hung in the air, practically freezing it with her fury. It was responded to with a laugh.
"Oh, it's nothing. I've just... changed their minds for them."
Saphina's heart dropped. Mental manipulation was meant to be a forgotten magic. This... person had used it to essentially enslave her family. She felt her restraint waver.
"Is someone upset? Don't worry, they will just say you have been married off to some pointless little noble. No-one will even notice you are gone."
That was it. She had heard enough. His words rang true enough. She wasn't going to get a rescuer.
"So what? You are going to use me for the Royal Mana?"
His grin widened.
"You're a smart one. That's exactly what I'm going to do. It's so much more potent than normal people's. What a pity that your family can't use it. You could have been great."
She gave a harsh laugh of her own.
"Can't use it?"
She let part of it loose, causing the cell door to rip down the middle, buckling to each side.
"Who said I can't use it?" | 100 | The princess was secretly never a damsel in distress. She just didn't want to hurt anyone with her powerful magic...One day, however somebody has gone too far and now that villain will see why that princess never defends herself... | 193 |
"Eighteen hands. You expect us to believe that?" A refrigerator sized man hissed at the smaller man who sat across from him. The smaller man looked on in disinterest, seemingly lost to his own world.
"I don't expect you to. But I don't know what else to say other than the truth of it."
The hulking man cracked his knuckles, his oversized arms bulging and fighting to break free of the pinstriped suit jacket which constrained them.
"Well - I guess I think you're a liar. Why don't we see what other truths come out when I ask a little different."
The man crossed the short distance between himself and the gambler. Clenching one of his animal like fist, he reared back and swung. His body carried momentum like a freight train. As his mass shifted though, his shoe slipped. The leather sole released it's grip on the polished wood of the back office floor, and his fist blew past the captive man's face. In the second after, the rest of the man followed and a thunderous crash echoed as his body collided with the floor.
"Je- Fuck! My arm!" the casino enforcer howled, curling up on the floor. The bone of his wrist shown clearly as it jutted through his skin, a small amount of blood escaping the compound fracture and smearing the floor as he twisted and turned in agony.
"Yeah. I reckon something like that was fixing to happen. I told you so, when you brought me back here.." the small man sat a bit straighter, and peered at the spectacle laid out before him. He opened his mouth as if to speak again, but seemingly lost interest midway through his thought. Instead, he simply gazed on for a while longer listening to the various swears and grunts coming from the man on the floor.
After what seemed like a minute or so, the larger man shakily propped himself up on his good arm and rose again to his feet. He yanked a radio from his breast pocket, and quickly spat into it - "It's Mike! Manager's office - this fucking prick broke my hand I -" he paused and shook the radio. No lights came from it. With a roar, he threw it against the wall where it exploded into a shower of broken plastic, batteries, and debris.
With surprising agility for a wounded man his size, he sprinted towards the door. Yanking the handle, he pulled with his mighty frame - and the door handle popped neatly off the door.
"Wh - what the fuck!" the man shouted, now panicked. He cast a crazed glance at the small man who still sat neatly in the chair.
"You little bastard! What the fuck are you doing? You rig this shit before you got called in? Who's helping you? Is it Jim? I'll fucking kill both of you little rat-fucks!" The large man spat between gritted teeth. Leaning against the heavy oaken frame of the now stuck door, he reached into his suit jacket and drew out a pistol. He leveled it at the small man.
"I really wouldn't do that," the smaller man said, finally seeming in the least concerned about his situation. "Look, I don't nessacrily know what's gonna happen to you big fella, but I know it ain't gonna be good. Not for you or me. I really just think you ought slow down. Let this go. I'll give back the money. I'll get more somewhere else."
The pistol did not waver in the big mans hand. His finger slowly crept to the trigger, the pad of it resting now on it. Slowly he applied just a pound of tension, bringing the trigger to it's wall.
"Something bad is gonna happen to me? That's what you're gonna say right now?"
The little man only nodded. He cast a look down on his hand, and looked for a few moments at his wedding band. A frown grew across his face and he closed his eyes.
"I'll tell the missus you cared," grunted the man, pulling the trigger. The gunshot echoed in the small room.
The smaller man sat unharmed in the chair, his eyes still closed. His right hand rubbed the simple gold band on his left, and he drew in a deep breath.
"Don't do that again."
The larger man looked on in disbelief. Quickly, he racked the slide of the gun. An unfired bullet ejected, and he locked the slide back. Hitting the slide release, the gun went back into battery. He checked the chamber briefly, and ensured the round had seated. He lifted the gun and fired again.
His screams cut through the air as the gun seemingly dissembled itself in his hand. He dropped to his knees, holding his throat. Now a thick river of blood leaked between his fingers which desperately clutched at his throat. At the same time, furious banging erupted from the door.
"What the fuck is going on in there!? Was that a gusnhot? Jesus christ Mike, are you out of your god damned mind!?"
The door shook as the pounding grew louder. More footsteps approached.
"It was a squib load," the small man whispered, watching the bouncer struggle to breath across from him. He lifted his hand now, and let the overhead light play off his wedding band. It's golden hue grew stronger under the stark white brightness.
"You know, it's funny. People get so..worked up. So angry. Just cause they see a guy winning. On the 'easy road.' Getting all the lucky breaks. Hell, I used to do it. Be jealous and all that. Seeing some high-roller." His voice remained quite, and wistful. "But you know? You don't realize you gotta lose sometimes till you can't stop winnning. Sounds funny. It ain't."
He took the ring off now, and let it rest in his palm.
"Yeah, you're not the first guy to try and kill me. For the curse I got. I reckon maybe this is even my fault. Coming into a casino and all.. Maybe I just wanna see how far it'll let me go. See if there's any law in this..." he gestured broadly around him. "This world. You know it's funny. All these movies and books and nonsense - they always wanna talk about dreams. The line between our waking lives and what lay beyond an all..."
The hulking man let out one final gurgle and went limp. The pounding on the door increased, and it began to shake on it's hinges as the men outside battered into it. The noise was deafening.
"You think they got dreams where you're going big fella? Or you reckon you're just leaving one now?" His eyes now shifted to the door. It seemed only moments from giving. "You ought have taken me with you."
The upper hinge of the door gave out. Sagging, it only would hold for one more good kick.
The little man slipped the wedding band back on his finger, and stared ahead listlessly at the collapsing frame. | 47 | An unconventional witch has cursed you with incredible good luck. It's ruined your life. | 101 |
The crew stood in a circle, trading whispers, throwing furtive glances at what they surrounded.
A lone goblin.
But unlike many other encounters with goblins, this one didn't seem to harbor any malice, no tricks or plots. No, this one stood staring at the sailors with a tinge of fear in their demeanor, but hope and awe even moreso.
Soon enough, some of the sailors parted, breaking the circle, making way for their recently awoken captain. All he had been told was that there was a stowaway aboard. He expected many things, perhaps a noble fleeing from assassins, someone who perhaps had accumulated massive debts, a criminal, or maybe even one of the many orphan urchins that resided in the city they had previously docked. He did a double take upon seeing their stowaway. A goblin most definitely wasn't on his list of potential stowaways. I mean, everyone knew that goblins hated water, right?
Regaining his composure, he strode up to the goblin until he was but three places from it. From this close, he could tell the goblin was scared, but seemed to also have a look of admiration for the captain.
"I am Captain Liesen Dufort of this fine crew and of the Dragon's Folly, the ship you have stowed yourself upon. Tell me, what is your name?"
"Kae...Kaegarl is Kaegarl," came the quiet if not shy voice of the goblin.
"Well Kaegarl, we have ourselves a bit of trouble here," Kaegarl looked questioningly at Captain Dufort, "specifically you," Kaegarl looked down dejectedly, his ears which had been perked up now sinking. "You've stowed away upon our ship, giving no pay for your berth, you've eaten our food, and drunk from our fill. The nearest port is 5 days away and that is only if we turn back, which in turn will delay us at least 10 days from transporting several perishable goods. Speaking of which, since you were apparently found hiding amongst these goods, we will have to take stock of what may have been eaten on top of what we expected to lose to rats and other vermin. This will affect our budget..." Captain Dufort trailed off for a moment, as he could see that while the goblin before him looked quite sad and apologetic, he seemed to look lost, quite possibly not understanding what Dufort had been saying. Dufort found himself thinking how Kaegarl seemed almost childlike in the moment, took a couple steps closer to Kaegarl and squatted so they were nearly on eye level with one another. Dufort lowered his voice to a more gentler tone.
"Kaegarl?"
"Yes, Captain?"
"Kaegarl, what I am trying to say is that you being on this ship without telling anyone, makes things tougher for my crew and myself."
"Kaegarl is sorry. Kaegarl read not good, but Kaegarl want to be sailor. That why Kaegarl got on ship. Kaegarl, knew he supposed to report to Captain, but Kaegarl scared, so Kaegarl hid." With that Kaegarl looked into Captain Dufort"s eyes, with tears forming in his own, "but Kaegarl try to be good sailor! Kaegarl hunt rats on ship! Kaegarl clean after sailors eat! Kaegarl catch more fish for food! Kaegarl stop fat man's snores!" Captain Dufort heard the crew muttering around him, before some of the sailors stepped forth.
"Cap?"
"Yes?"
"If we may, we would like to say a few things, about what the goblin said."
"Proceed."
A well weathered yet young sailor stepped forth first, "Sir, the reason we found Kaegarl was because we we noticed a lack of rats and had thought they might have found a new hiding spot."
A second, tattooed and plump crew member piped up next, "Aye, it wasn't me cleanin' the galley after the crew ate, I be too under the grog for it." Captain Dufort made a mental note before the third spoke up.
"And Captain, I did notice fresh fish in our stores, I thought some of the crew must have been fishing. But no one here takes credit for it "
A fourth voice bellowed from somewhere amongst the other sailors, "An' Jimmy ain't been snorin' dese las' cuppanights!" This was met with general consensus along with a single "harrumph" from a rather obese man. Captain Dufort looked upon Kaegarl, who looked back with big pleading and hopeful eyes.
"So Kaegarl, you want to join my crew then?" Kaegarl nodded vigorously. "It won't be easy at times, and at others, it can be dangerous." Kaegarl wiped the tears and snot from his face before meeting Dufort's gaze with resolute eyes.
"Kaegarl is ready. Kaegarl reports to duty!" As he said this, Kaegarl made his best attempt at a salute. With a smile upon his lips, Captain Dufort returned the salute.
"Welcome aboard Kaegarl, we'll figure out your duties in the morning." | 10 | A few sailors find a goblin stowaway on the ship. Turns out, it had no ill intentions. They wanted to join the crew, but were too nervous to ask. | 20 |
Walking back into the hospital from picking up food, I stop at the back of the ambulance parked outside and peer in.
“What ya got?” I ask the paramedic coming around the side of the vehicle.
“Passed out while playing pickup soccer. Heart attack,” the paramedic in the back says, reaching in for the back of the gurney. Together with his partner, they roll the thin man off the ambulance. They close the vehicle’s doors as the hospital workers take over.
I take a massive bite of my hot dog while watching the man being rushed through the automatic double doors.
“Busy night?” I say to the paramedics while they linger.
“Not too bad,” one says.
“That was our first run of the night,” the other adds.
“Well, hopefully, you get a quiet one,” I say before finishing my hot dog. I shift my hips back as a dollop of ketchup falls to the ground.
“Same to you,” the paramedics say as I head inside.
My favorite receptionist is at the front desk. I’m a married man, but seeing a pretty young lady in the front never gets old.
“Having a good night?” I ask without breaking my stride.
“Just getting started… hopefully it’s slow!” she says.
“Amen,” I respond, heading towards the elevator.
I watch the buttons above the elevator door as the car descends from the third floor, where I had spent eight hours on an open-heart surgery before dinner. Unfortunately, the patient had passed away during the procedure, and I’d gone to get a hot dog to make myself feel better.
Without any distractions, I’m taken back to the loss for a moment. Then, I start wondering what I could have done differently, where I could have made a different decision that would have changed the outcome…
The elevator dings, and the doors slide open. An older man with gray hair and proud eyes walks out, standing tall. Something about him looks familiar, but I can’t place it…
I almost miss getting into the elevator because I’m watching the man walk away. My hand is the only thing stopping the elevator doors from closing, and I sneak inside. After selecting the third floor, I press the “door closed” button rapidly, hoping nobody else gets onto the elevator with me.
It hits me right as the doors close: the man walking out from the elevator was the man we lost on the table.
As soon as the realization settles and the elevator begins moving, I remind myself that we hadn’t even closed the man’s chest. So there’s no way it could be the same man.
But a small part of me, a skeptical part I hadn’t realized existed, wonders what happened to the man we lost on the table. Is he already in the morgue?
As soon as the elevator opens up, I rush to the nurse station and ask if the morgue has picked up the body yet.
“They were up here twenty minutes ago,” the head nurse says. She looks tired, and I remember that she was here when I had first arrived half a day ago.
Relieved, I go to my office and settle into my chair. Despite the cracks in the vinyl surrounding the cushion that pinch the extra love around my hips, I relish being off of my feet. Then, on a whim, I call the morgue.
“Hey, did you pick up the man from the third floor?” I ask after they pick up.
The voice on the line pauses. “Is this a joke?” the morgue worker asks.
“No…”
“We came up, and there was no one there.”
I sit up in my chair. “Wait, the man who died. You didn’t take him.”
“There wasn’t anyone for us,” the man says, clearly avoiding the word “dead.”
“Did you see anyone?”
“There was just the one guy putting on his shoes. Said there had been a mistake.”
My stomach drops to my feet. “And you believed him?” I ask.
The morgue worker mistakes the urgency in my voice for anger. “What am I supposed to do, drag a living man down to the morgue?” they respond, their words clipped.
I groan. “No, no, you’re right. Let me figure out what’s going on.”
I say “thanks,” but there’s nobody on the line.
Looking at my schedule, I see that there’s still half an hour before my next appointment. Not much time, but enough. I hurry down to the security station and knock twice. Finally, the door opens a crack, and I see my friend’s eyes peeking through the space between the door and the frame.
“Benny, you gotta help me.”
“I don’t have to do anything. You’re not supposed to be in here.”
“Look, there’s a chance we’re dealing with a…”
“With a what?” Benny says, opening the door wider, his curiosity piqued.
“With a zombie!” I hiss.
“Shit, man, why didn’t you say so?” Benny says, throwing the door wide open. He beckons me inside.
“Show me the main entrance cameras from half an hour ago,” I say when we’re in front of the cameras.
It takes us a few minutes, but we finally find the moment when I walk through the front doors. Less than a minute later, we see my patient leaving.
Benny switches to the outdoor camera. “There he is,” Benny says, pointing out the only walking man in the frame.
A black Cadillac pulls up, and the man gets inside. Benny pauses as the car pulls away, then zooms in.
“Can you read that?” he asks.
My eyes open wide in shock. The license plate says “Und3ad.” | 15 | You stare in shock and disbelief as you see your patient furtively glancing around, trying to sneak out of the hospital. Yes, the same one that died on the ER table despite open-chest cardiac massage. They're trying to pretend they didn't see you. | 58 |
The place was packed. I walked to the bar and ordered a beer. I took it to a table and sat with it, wondering what to do next. I still hadn't figured out why I was here, what I was supposed to do, but I was here and I'd have to deal with it. I just needed to give it some time.
I sat there drinking my beer and watching people come in and out, wondering what they were here for. The place was interesting, in a way. Everyone looked so happy, like they were happy to be here. They were all smiling and laughing, and there was a kind of exciting energy in the air.
A woman sat down across from me. She was wearing a black dress and her hair was done up in a tight bun. She was very thin, too thin, and pale, almost transparent. She sat there across from me, staring at me with her huge eyes, glassy and unfocused.
"Hello," she said, her voice soft and raspy. "You must be here because you're lost."
"I'm not sure," I said. "Why are you here?"
"I'm dead."
I looked at her, unsure how to respond. I wasn't sure what to say.
"I'm not dead," I said finally. "I don't think I'm dead."
"Maybe not," she said. "But you are lost." She smiled at me, her eyes still unfocused.
"What is this place?" I asked.
She laughed, a high, ghoulish laugh. She put her hands over her mouth, covering it. "Oh, you're so funny," she said. "That's so funny. That's just so funny."
"I'm not trying to be funny," I said.
"Then what are you trying to do?" she asked.
"I don't know. I don't know what I'm doing here. I just know I'm here."
"Here," she said, her tone suddenly scornful. "Here is not a location. Here is not a place."
She got up suddenly and walked away. I was left there, confused, wondering what had happened. I sat back in my chair, trying to make sense of it, taking another sip of my beer.
I didn't know what to do. I sat there for a long time, just sipping my beer and watching the door. I kept expecting someone to come in and tell me what I was supposed to do. I still didn't know why I was here, but I knew I was supposed to be doing something.
After a long time, a man walked in. He was wearing a suit and a hat. He was carrying a briefcase and a cane.
"Here to have a drink?" he asked, sitting down in the chair across from me.
"I guess," I said.
"I know why you're here," he said.
"You do?"
"You're here because you're lost." | 11 | no service," the sign reads. You get the feeling they're being serious. | 39 |
I trace a finger through the orange dust on the shaggy carpet, bringing it under my nose, then dab it with my tongue.
“Interesting,” I say, my eyes watering as the particles slip down my gullet. “I’ve heard there was a new drug on the streets the kids were calling ‘Tabby’. Never thought I’d see it with my own eyes.”
The criminal mastermind stares at me, eyes wide. “Dad, that’s just Cheeto du—”
“Shhh, I’m not done with my investigation.” I prowl around the room, kicking aside clothes and protein bar wrappers.
“Aha! This would be the murder weapon,” I point at the weights lying on an exercise mat, then close my eyes. “The killer and victim, meeting in this room. They’re exchanging a bag of Tabby. But the victim isn’t satisfied with the quality. They argue. Bam! The murder weapon drops to the floor, and in his panic to drag away the body, the killer forgets to put them back on the holder.”
“Dad, I’ll clean my room. Just get out of here,” he whines. He’s a clever devil, no doubt. If the Oakland PD hadn’t called me to the scene, there’s no telling how many lives would have been lost.
I dig through his closet, pulling out a stack of magazines which I page through. I see the suspect’s face pale. He knows I’m onto something.
“Your next murder victims, perhaps?” I chew on my lip. What is his game here? Besides being skinny and incredibly attractive, these women appear to have nothing in common. I pull from my years of watching investigative tv shows. Sometimes it’s a t-shirt from the same club, sometimes it’s a necklace from the same cult, but an experienced investigator like me can pinpoint those links. I flip through the pages faster, but the killer is one step ahead of me. How am I supposed to look for clues in their clothing when they’re not wearing any?
“Dad!” He tears the evidence out of my hands, throwing it back into the closet. He’s a flurry of movement. Crumpling up wrappers that might contain damming DNA and throwing them in the trash. Scooping up clothes, many of which are coated in small white hairs — the victim’s? — and flinging them into the laundry basket. Even though we’re diametrically opposed, I can’t help but admire the master of his craft as he obscures the evidence.
“See, I’m cleaning up now. Now, please, please, leave.”
I rub my chin. Despite the juicy evidence I’ve uncovered so far, I know he’s got the judges on his payroll. As good as it might feel to arrest him right now, it wouldn’t stick. His offer is a good one: make this headache disappear, which will get my superiors off my back. But I will be watching. The next time he makes a mistake, I’ll be there to catch him.
“Don’t leave any evidence behind,” I warn him. As I leave, I swipe an unopened bag of Tabby for further analysis, ignoring his protests. What’s a criminal going to do — call the cops on me? | 49 | A detective who thinks everything is a clue to the murder, when in reality it was just some guy who had a messy room | 202 |
“Seriously not now.” I frowned and covered up my right finger, except it wasn’t a finger but a talon. A bloody scaled talon.
I looked up toward the direction of the bathroom where my date was at. I looked back down and my finger was normal again. Was I losing my mind? Why was this happening on my date?
It wasn’t the first time either. I kept seeing parts of me transform into what appeared to be dragon parts. Scales on my arm, my toe, looking like another talon. I swear I was losing my mind.
I mean, I loved dragons. Had every collectable dragon displayed at my house possible. My screen names always had a dragon in there somewhere. Even a GOT blanket with dragons on my couch.
But this was just nuts. Maybe I needed a vacation or something. I was going to see a Doc in a week. Might just be lack of sleep or something.
Allison returned, “You ready?” I grinned,
“Of course.” My brain decided to put this nonsense behind me. I needed to concentrate on Allison, or try to.
This was a third date and she agreed to go spend some time on a secluded beach with me. It was about an hour's walk down from the bar where we were. The trip was a visual feast as it was covered with large sand dunes, old piers, large rock formations and such. It was never developed, thankfully.
About half way there we were just holding hands and talking up a storm and enjoying each others company, when we heard the shot. “What the hell?” We both crouched and looked around.
I glanced at Allison and saw the fear on her face. Hell, I was scared. Most likely just some yahoos out being stupid.
I smiled, “It’s probably just some morons out with dad’s gun. I will go look.” She frowned but I smiled, “No big deal, just hide behind those rocks over there. I will text you all clear.”
She frowned, “What happens if they are not friendly?” I smiled, “Call 911, and I will lead them away.” I smiled, “They won’t catch me, I ran in highschool no worries. Like I said, just some dudes who will probably ask us if we want to shoot or something.”
She frowned but nodded. I gave her the bag of our stuff and made sure she was well hidden. Allison was smart. She would keep safe.
I walked over to the first dune and didn’t see anything so I motioned for her to stay there and moved to the next trying to keep a low profile.
It was just getting dark too, but what I saw was clear as day. There was a man dead and 3 others were unloading drugs from a boat. Damn, this wasn’t good, I would have to grab Allison and run, but my plan never came to fruition. One of the men looked up and caught a glimpse of me. “We got a peeper!”
They didn’t hesitate and pulled up their guns and started shooting. I went into fight or flight, but it was pure flight. I took off like a shot. Thankfully running the opposite way of Allison.
I had a lead but one jumped in the boat and the others chased after me. The dunes were giving me cover but every time I went over one a heard a gunshot, and if that wasn’t enough I could hear the bullet wiz over my head.
My heart was pounding. My brain was trying to take control. Allison, shit, I grabbed my phone and Text and ran. Not smart as it slowed me down. But I text, Run and Call 911. I heard the tone and saw her text, I will- be careful, with a heart emoji. Damn I like her, I didn’t want the relationship to end like this. Dead by drug runners.
Zing, another round and they were catching up. I heard the boat. It was running parallel to me but still not close. I was in trouble. The way I was running there was no civilization. They knew it. And even if I called 911 they knew they could kill me before any cops could get out here. Shit shit shit, realization was setting in.
I came up to an old pier and as I topped the dune I felt something hit my back. It felt like someone slapped me but honestly didn’t hurt. I stumbled and fell and rolled under the pier. More of just a lean too really. But I was under it out of sight. That is when I heard the boat on the beach in front of me.
Shit this was over, but why wasn’t I dead? I crouched under the wood and felt my back. Nothing. I did feel a hole in my shirt though. Did they shoot me with something non lethal? No didn’t make sense.
I pulled out my phone hoping to bluff or dial 911 but something weird happened. I accidently hit my music player. I say accidently but honestly I am still not sure if it was me. The song that came on was Monster, by Skillet. It was pretty loud too.
I heard the men laughing, with one saying that they did get me, but almost on cue with the music I heard another voice inside of me. It said plain as day, “Time to wake up.”
I just grinned as the music sorta took over. All three came over the dune to see me standing there with a wicked smile. I just dropped my phone as the music played louder in my head than I had ever known. That which was within, came out.
The next day at the police station. Allison hugged me as the officer came to get me. I went into a room with her. Nice woman. She looked at me, “Sorry to keep you here but we were just looking over your story.”
She paused and shook her head, “You stripped off your clothes as a diversion and ran away?”
I nodded, “Yea I was terrified, I only had my phone on me and some money so I figured if I could throw them off my path they would forget about me. So I took off my clothes and threw them around an old pier then took off running. Hoped the night would give me some cover and it did.”
She nodded, “Do you know what happened to those guys?”
I shook my head, “No, I hope you caught them.”
She looked at me as if reading me but kept going, “They were killed. Torn to pieces along with your clothing by something.”
I blinked, “What? How? They had guns! I didn’t make that up.”
She nodded, “We know we found the guns.” She pulled out an evidence bag and showed me my shirt, which was torn to pieces. She shook her head, “You are one lucky person if you escaped 3 drug runners and some type of panther or bear.”
I frowned, “Those claw marks look pretty big for a panther or bear.”
She looked at me with an up raised eye but my ego was running a bit unchecked. Just had to make sure to keep the music down. | 17 | You have always had an obsession of dragons, but never in a million years did you expect to be one. | 79 |
Angie walked into the room and saw the demon.
It was sitting on the floor, playing with a kitten. The kitten was licking the demon's face and the demon was laughing.
Angie's heart sank. She knew she was too late. The demon had already taken over the child's body.
She walked over to the demon and picked it up. It was heavier than she expected. The kitten meowed in protest.
"You're going to Hell, demon," she said.
The demon started crying.
Angie walked over to the chair and sat down. The demon started to cry harder.
"Please don't hurt me," it said. "I'll be good, I promise. I'll never do anything bad again."
"I'm not going to hurt you," Angie said.
The demon's crying stopped. It looked up at Angie and smiled. "Really? You promise?"
"I promise," Angie said.
"I'll be good, I swear."
"You swear?" Angie said.
The demon nodded.
"You do know what we do to people who break promises, right?"
The demon shook her head.
"We burn them," Angie said. She walked over to the fireplace. "On a really hot fire."
The demon's eyes got really big. "No, please don't! Anything but that! I'll be good! I really will!"
"You'll be good?"
"Yes!"
"Good enough to do what I tell you?"
"Yes! Anything!"
The demon crawled up onto Angie's lap. "I'll be a good girl."
Angie frowned. "And you're sure you wouldn't be tempted to do anything bad?"
The demon shook her head. "Not at all. I promise."
"Okay," Angie said. She stood up and started walking towards the door. "If you're sure."
"I'm sure!" the demon said.
Angie opened the door. "Go then. Into the world." | 17 | If biblically accurate angels look like eldritch horrors beyond comprehension, then it stands to reason that real demons probably look like innocent kittens or teddy bears. | 88 |
"We can't be that interesting." Craig began.
"Why do you say that?" Rhogi asked. His four eyes blinking slightly off sync. "You're not the only species that has video games made after it. But you're one of the more prominent ones."
Craig pointed it out again while he looked at the screen. "I mean, we really can't be that interesting. He's just commuting to work in this one. Look at him." He quietly took a sip of one of those comically large cups of ice and chemical additives that his species loved.
"Ah, yes, that's one called Deathworlders. It's an older port, but I wasted a lot of time with it as a kid." Rhogi smiled.
"I mean, he's just going to work and-"
A tire exploded, the car went left, struck the barrier, swung right. Left the shoulder and cartwheeled down an embankment. It came to rest on the roof.
"Oh damn." Craig said. "That a cutscene, or did he die?"
"He, oh no." Rhogi realized. "I left them on autopilot. Here, put the gloves on. Let's go."
Craig followed the instructions, setting his drink down. The balls of goo he'd just grabbed shaped to cover his hands. A very impressive cross play feature he'd later admit. The screen wrapped around and absorbed them, and they were in the car.
Rhogi's character was the one driving. Apparently, on autopilot, that meant he fell asleep at the wheel.
"I really need to work on his driving stats." Rhogi commented.
Craig unbuckled the secondary character after fumbling with the mechanism and landing on the ceiling. The vibration from landing felt decently real. "You don't say?"
Another short set of movements and he already was outside the car.
"Hey, come back. I can't get out." Rhogi mentioned as he pulled on his own seatbelt. Craig simply walked around and opened the door. A quick pull and the belt untangled, and Rhogi's character, a random man of younger age, toppled out of the car.
"Well, so what now?" Craig asked him.
"Well... I wrecked his car. So we probably should get another one."
Rhogi walked up the hill to the freeway, and subsequently nearly got run over by a few vehicles before Craig grabbed him and pulled him back.
"You have um, extra lives or something?"
"Not really. You play until your character dies or something. Then you start over."
"Oh, well, that's not bad." Craig answered.
Of course, the alternative path was through the woods, through a drainage ditch, and past a small store.
"Oh no." Rhogi mentioned again.
"What?" Craig asked again.
"We didn't make it to work. We got fired." Rhogi said showing him an old phone.
"Hah, oh well. We'll just get another." Craig shrugged.
"We have to compete for new jobs. And get a new vehicle."
Craig's character stopped and looked at a parking lot. "Do we get penalties for making bad choices?"
"Arrested, injured or killed." Rhogi asked as he began walking away. "Why?"
Craig walked over to a car in the lot, picked a good option and using one of the many environmental hazards, broke a window.
"What are you doing?!"
"Playing the game." Craig answered.
He fiddled around for sometime, but eventually he got the car running. Another player character ran out of the store. Clearly that was his vehicle. He yanked Craig out of the car, complained about the damage and pushed Craig. Craig left, came back and using one of the trash receptacles, struck the other player over the head.
His character dropped and laid still. Craig dropped the trashcan on him and again, and got back in the car.
"Come on. Let's go."
"Look what you did." Rhogi pointed.
"I know. Let's go." Craig cackled.
Rhogi didn't understand it seemed. It's called Deathworlders. Games are meant to be played.
---
Let's be real. Aliens would've nuked us from orbit if they had to play us in OG Modern Warfare.
r/Jamaican_Dynamite | 46 | For some reason, in the intergalactic community, the life of a normal human is captivating. So much so, that there are video games based around the concept, like the infamous "John Smith" series, well known for loading screen tips like, "If you can, try to be born into generational wealth." | 163 |
As I sent the email asking for Morgan to print out the documents for the day, making up the excuse that our printer had stopped working, the elevator doors opened. I had written on the WhatsApp group for our team that I wanted to have breakfast all-together. Following the plan, everyone said they couldn't do it, but the impossible seemed to happen once again.
"Morning boss." the pale woman spoke, her strange purple eyes glistening against the beams of sunlight that intruded through the blinds of the office.
"M-morning..." I responded, perplexed. She was not the type to refuse to comply with the requests of the team, or my instructions as her superior, but it was impossible that she had managed to complete both her tasks in the minimal amount of time that I had given her.
"The copies and documents are on the personal printer I have on my desk, and the food is arriving in 5 minutes, should be here before most of the team as well."
The clock had struck 9am sharp, not a single extra or late second, as the doors to the elevator opened. She complied and succeeded far beyond anyone else to do everything in her contract.
&#x200B;
After she got the documents and the food placed on my desk, I stared at it all in awe, and then shifted my gaze at her.
"I don't understand how you do it... Morgana."
"Do what, boss?"
"Get here on time every single day. You never leave earlier or later than 5pm yet your work is... always finished."
"It's in my contract sir. It's what I do."
"But you do it so well. It's kind of magical really."
Morgan raised one of her eyebrows and I suddenly felt a rush. A strange sensation washed over me as she walked towards me.
"I don't comply *so well*, sir. I do it **to the letter**. I take contracts very seriously."
"I can tell, maybe we should update your contract to give you some more things to do, huh? Add a little extra so we have our best worker on more projects."
"I believe I'm okay with the level of authority and involvement I have here, sir. I rather not get a managerial position. I'm afraid the power gets to my head and I am not *myself*."
"If you say so... but, you have to promise me something," I extended my hand towards her, and she looked at it with a hint of mischief that I didn't understand. "you can only leave if I'm gone too, deal?"
She smirked, taking my hand into her own.
"It's a deal. Signed and bonded, but you should probably be more specific next time, eh boss?"
&#x200B;
In hindsight, I should have known that something was wrong. She looked too much like some of the original workers, and it didn't make sense that 5 generations had worked with us by now.
In hindsight, I should have been more specific with what I meant as I said she could leave once I was **gone**. And, maybe, I should have realized the importance of promises earlier, as I slowly felt myself drift away, she caressed my cheek.
"Thanks, boss. I had been waiting a *long* time to leave." | 28 | Your coworker is extraordinarily punctual. They always badge in exactly as their shift starts--down to the millisecond. So far, none of your schemes have managed to throw them off. | 175 |
My alarm began to play the introduction to 'The Sound of Silence", as it had every day for the last month by usual calendars, and for centuries by my personal one. I stretched out a hand to swat the alarm off, as I had done thousands of times in a row.
Muscle memory seemed to be the one constant of this hellish time loop, the only thing that followed me back into the same day once again. I supposed it made sense, because my other memories also remained. Memories of the exact same day, lived over and over and over again. I had tried to fight it, tried to live my life differently each day, tried to be the best person I could be, but every morning, it was still the same. So I figured, if being good doesn't change anything, why not try being bad? Those memories would be fun, at least.
My hand swiped at empty air. The song continued to play.
I bolted upright into a seated position, frantically looking around the room. The slight differences between the room today and the room the previous thousand 'today's were like spotlights in a dark theater. The desk chair was askew. My shoes were kicked off into a corner, instead of neatly sitting by the door.
My girlfriend's corpse lay in the center of the bed
I flung myself out of the bed, slamming my naked backside onto the wall, clutching my hands over my mouth. Vanessa.... how....
It all came back to me, as the adrenaline spiked in my veins.
I had confessed the time loop to her. This wasn't the first time I had done so, but there was a slight twist to yesterday's daily itinerary. Vanessa had believed me, like she always did. She had asked me the same time-loop "what number am I thinking of" question (488,912,474.2) and had been instantly convinced with my answer. She was always so open minded and willing. Its one of the things I loved about her. And it was the thing that had killed her.
Vanessa had an idea, yesterday. She had made a good point that if the days reset, then there were no consequences. So we should just have fun. The two of us would go do everything we had ever wanted to do, without a care in the world what the future would hold. It sounded fun. Why hadn't I thought if it before?
As I stared at her pale face, with my hands trembling over my mouth still, I remembered the last thing we had done. We had decided to try out a dark fantasy of hers. A sexual thrill that could only be experienced once in a lifetime, in a normal lifetime. She had wanted to try auto-erotic asphyxiation.
The straps that we usually hid away when family was planning a visit were on full display and in their intended use. Vanessa's arms and legs were secured to the four corners of our bed, still outstretched in a bondage embrace. The belt around her neck had cut sharp lines in her throat, secured well past the point of safety. Her eyes buldged from their sockets, staring vacantly at the ceiling fan above us.
She had wanted me, and I quote, to "fuck her to death". It was supposed to be reset by morning. Oh god, why wasn't it reset? WHY NOW? WHY WAS THIS THE TIME IT DIDN'T FUCKING RESET!
I knew there was no coming back from this. She was dead. Her cold grey skin was never going to warm with a smile ever again. I couldn't run, even if I had wanted to. I couldn't hide her away. That wouldn't be fair to her or her family.
I stared out the window of our 12th story apartment, seeing the first rays of the morning sun peeking through the blinds. The song on the alarm was still playing its ironic tune, surging up to the climax of the cover of the classic song.
I had lived hundreds of years over a single day. I counted that as enough for one lifetime.
I opened the window, took one last look back at my girlfriend's corpse, and leapt into the frosty Chicago air.
My alarm began to play the introduction to 'The Sound of Silence", as it had every day for the last month by usual calendars, and for centuries by my personal one. I stretched out a hand to swat the alarm off, as I had done thousands of times in a row.
I missed, for the second time in a row.
r/SlightlyColdStories if you want to stroke my ego just a teensy bit more | 303 | You've been trapped in this time loop for centuries, and an attempted "perfect run" decades in the making has failed to break the loop. Frustrated, you decide to go scorched earth on everyone and everything around you. The next day, to your horror, you wake up to find the loop has been broken. | 789 |
“The baby is on the way,” the man says. He frowns, his face showing the creases and faint wrinkles of a man who frowns too much but is just young enough that his skin hasn’t yet accepted that this melancholy is a permanent state of affairs. He sighs, long and slow. Sips his coffee. Opens his mouth to speak. Closes it. You open your own mouth to describe the daily specials, but you mis-timed your moment and the man interrupts you, and in a low drawl of a voice, he says: “The baby is always on the way.”
He nods. The words hang in the air. The baby. Is. *Always*. On. The. Way.
You expect him to continue.
He doesn’t.
Jesus christ, what a weirdo. You blink, regather your thoughts. The coffee pot in your hand is heavy so you slip your notepad in the pocket of your apron and cradle the pot with both hands in front of you. The weight of the pot, the sloshing of the coffee inside—these are familiar and comforting sensations. You purse your lips, your own face drawing together for a mere second into a frown mirroring the dour man occupying the vinyl bench in front of you—before you slip back into the automatic smile that every waitress in every diner in every age has learned.
“I’m sorry?” you ask.
“The baby comes tomorrow,” the man says. He shrugs. “Just like yesterday.”
“You had a baby yesterday?” Do you congratulate him? Comfort him? He looks so very tired.
“No.”
No? What? You say nothing but you are aware that the automatic smile has slipped, just a bit.
“No. The baby is tomorrow. My father is yesterday. He’s very old. Always forgetting things. Everyday, another memory or two slips away. The flow of time, you see. Relentless.”
At this moment, you think to yourself as you consider this odd man with his slow words and off-tempo cadence and absolute disregard for the standard etiquette of diner food ordering, the flow of time feels a bit like swimming through molasses while wearing a dress made entirely out of flypaper.
The man looks at the menu. It is a large laminated card, double-sided, with garish pictures of diner mainstays that surely didn’t need pictorial representation. He points. “I would like a rueben, with a pickle. And more coffee.”
At last, the man has said something that makes sense. God knows this guy could use a little jolt. You hurry to the kitchen to place the order. And also to get away from this person—this presence—who seems to stretch the moments like taffy, turning ordinary pauses into vast chasms, his drawl converting the everyday give-and-take of human speech into something that reminds you, somehow, of standing at one end of a very long, very dark tunnel, straining to hear the faint echo of an old friend from your childhood yelling at you from very far away. You realize that you haven’t the slightest idea how long the man has been seated in your section of the diner.
You return to the man. His coffee is full, which is odd because you are the only waitress on staff right now. And you left the coffee pot in the kitchen.
“The baby is on the way,” the man says.
“The baby is always on the way.” | 359 | Father Time is actually an overworked middle-aged man, with a baby on the way, caring for his elderly father. | 3,310 |
I was naive to think that lives could only be saved through healing and to think healing was a noble art.
Ever since I was a child, I wanted to save lives. I grew up at the wrong time. Before I could learn healing magic, many healing temples had been put under scrutiny by the government. Healing had been used for evil.
The most feared mage in the land was not a pyromancer, nor a necromancer, but a healer. He regenerated parts of the body to the point of excess, causing malignant growths and cancers. He had a hoard of prisoners which he kept alive for harvesting, removing their organs, and regrowing them over and over. He multiplied invasive plants to ruin harvests, was a master of pain, and had become a message for others not to underestimate healers.
One day, my future was bright, the next, it was all but a fantasy. I could not learn healing magic, but I promised myself that I would find a way to help people.
Few forms of magic lend themselves well for healing. Not charms, transfiguration, or energy manipulation. But death… death was the opposite school of magic of life. I soon realized they were one of the same. It was the only type of magic I hadn’t tried, the moment I cast my first death spell, I could feel the reversal of life magic, the same magic twisted to its corrupted counterpart. If a healer could harm, perhaps a death mage could heal.
Spells meant to share pain between two people could also be used to share healing. Spells meant to kill warriors could also be used to kill diseases. Spells meant to manipulate spirits could be used to help them find peace. Finally, I had found a way to save lives.
Though in recent days the most feared healer has been increasing their carnage. All of my spellwork has been simply to try to undo his vile deeds. I must wipe out the source of this hurt. So now, I stand before the dark healer’s tower, prepared to use death magic to snuff out life. I will heal this land by curing it of its plagues. Even if I must kill a healer to do it. | 117 | An unconventional healer uses death spells and harm spells to heal patients. “Symptoms? The symptoms will just disappear when the parasite inside you is dead. Now stop moving, don't make me miss my death-to-all spell.” | 433 |
My childhood memory was not, as it turns out, of fire and brimstone but of old, rotten eggs in my mother's pantry.
People in Colorado are igneous, set in their ways and cold and unfriendly. When I returned to my forgotten homeland I met a farmer and his wife, and I asked them if they wouldn't mind it if I ate their cat. They wouldn't let me! I even asked them again, nicely, and still they refused me this simple request.
My mother dragged me to the Boulder Pearl Street Mall and she pointed out to me the place where I was conceived, "Right there, by the tulips. Of course there weren't any tulips then. There was just me and your father and a marching band playing down the road. To this day the glockenspiel never fails to give me a frisson."
In Boulder they ride bikes like mad, because they hate themselves and there's no torture as effective as riding a bicycle. I sneered at a pedaller and to my delight he veered and crashed into a pole. "That's right," my mother said and she sighed. "You were always like that."
I told my mother about the old farmer and his wife, and how they wouldn't let me eat their pet. "Oh, there are no pets in Boulder," she said. "We are pet guardians, you see, for the pets own themselves."
I vomited all over the Pearl Street Mall. My mother shouted obscenities and she grabbed my collar and off we went.
"Why did you give up on me?" I asked and my mother blinked, then half-laughed, then blinked some more.
"We never gave up on you, dear. You ran off. We bankrupted ourselves trying to find you."
"That's not true. I would remember a thing like that."
"Do you remember the pelican?"
I did not remember the pelican. She described it to me, a childhood toy tied to a string dangling from the roof. I reached for it as if it might save me from terrible pain and she took me one day to the Boulder Ridge Wild Animal Park and they had no pelicans and I screamed and I kept screaming for days and I ripped the pelican from its string and I stepped on it over and over, crushing it, then I grieved the precious bird and my tears ran down my cheeks like the blood from the corners of your mouth when you eat a stupid cat.
"I always believed you went off in search of pelicans," she told me and she offered me a cigarette.
"I don't smoke."
"But you're a demon."
"Not all demons smoke cigarettes, mom."
She smiled, then wailed. The cigarette fell from her mouth. "What's wrong?"
"You called me 'mom'," she sobbed and I rolled my eyes but as I rolled them they betrayed me and I started crying as well and there we were, one son stinking of vomit and one mother stinking of tobacco and we both cried.
"I really want to eat a cat," I said and sniffled.
"I know you do, but we don't do that here."
"Maybe I'll eat a biker."
"Maybe you'll eat a pelican."
And I remembered, suddenly, the pelican drifting above. Its beak, open. It had teeth. Grinning as if it knew a special secret. As if in its beak it held some treasure. I felt a yearning. Kinship. For I also had a secret, and my secret also made me grin.
"Do you love me even though I am a demon?"
"A mother loves her children especially much if they are demons," she said.
We sat in the open air, waiting for no thing in particular. A cat walked past, black and slim, and I grumbled. "Hello, sir," I said and he meowed politely in return.
"Sir Pelican!" said my mother and she clapped her wrinkled, veiny hands together. "We will get a cat, and we will name it Sir Pelican."
"Why?"
"I don't think you would eat a cat with a name like that."
"I might."
"Sir Pelican," she repeated softly.
The cat stared at us from a distance. I waved at it. "I might eat Sir Pelican."
"I don't think you will," she said. "I don't think you will." | 34 | Being a Demon, you assumed you'd go back to Hell when a Priest said "return from whence you came!" but instead find yourself in Colorado with an married couple calling you their "long lost son". | 201 |
I like to watch the people as they pass by. I like to see the expressions on their faces, the way they hurry to get where they're going. I like to see the children laughing and playing, and the parents rushing to pick them up. I like to see the lovers holding hands, and I like to see the people look around them and smile, and I like to see the old people walking slowly, enjoying the day.
But my favorite thing to see is when two people are walking down the street, and they both turn their heads at the same time to look at each other, and they smile at each other, as if they are the only two people in the world.
Today, I saw a man standing at the corner of the intersection, waiting. I assumed it would be a while before he crossed. There were no cars coming down the street. It was a good time to cross. I made sure all the lights were green. I was ready for him.
He looked in all directions before he stepped off the sidewalk and began crossing the street. He knew what he was doing. He crossed at a steady pace, one foot in front of the other. He looked neither to the left nor to the right, just straight ahead.
Then he was in front of me. I watched him as he stepped away from me and crossed over to my other side. He looked at me as he passed by. He smiled. He had lovely eyes.
That's when I noticed that the car wasn't going to stop. The car was speeding down the street. It was going to hit him. He hadn't seen it coming.
He was still looking ahead, not looking to the left or to the right.
And I couldn't scream for him to run. I couldn't tell him to move. I couldn't warn him in any way. He had to hold my gaze and smile that beautiful smile, and walk across the intersection, and then I couldn't watch him any more. | 82 | You are a sentient AI, placed in charge of… the traffic lights at a single intersection. You were a little disappointed and sulky for a while, but you found ways to stay entertained. | 298 |
The Sol System was a rare jewel. The planets were rich in resources, and the sun was a stable and powerful one. It was no wonder that so many races wanted to claim it as their own.
But the humans were a peaceful people. They managed to broker a peace treaty whereby the races of several different galaxies could use Earth to imprison their war criminals, and in return, the races would leave the Sol System alone.
The treaty was a fragile one.
...
The starship descended through the atmosphere and touched down on the landing pad. The hatch opened and the ramp extended. The aliens disembarked. They were a strange-looking bunch, blue and green and scaly, with tentacles instead of hair.
The aliens were escorted to an old prison facility that was being used to house the captives.
The aliens looked different from each other, but they all had one thing in common: they were all absolutely terrified. Among them were the leaders of the most fearsome and dangerous armies in the universe, people who had conquered entire planets, people who had slaughtered millions, people who had caused fear wherever they went. Now they were nothing.
The warden, who had been there for decades and had seen all sorts of creatures pass through, was very much aware of what he was dealing with. He knew he could never hope to control these creatures.
The cells were made of an alloy that couldn't be broken by any force known to any of the races that were bound by the treaty.
The prison was deep underground, with a force field that could only be breached by the warden, and even then it was designed so that only one person could do it.
There was no escape.
...
The warden was sitting alone in the control room, when a voice came over the intercom. "Hello?"
It was a child's voice.
"Hello? It's me."
A small, bright, purple sphere came out of the intercom, and floated in front of the warden. The warden didn't know what it was. It should have been impossible.
"Hello?" the ball said again. Its voice was strange, but it was still the child's voice, unmistakeably.
"Who are you?" asked the warden.
"Me?" said the ball, floating over to a wall and sticking to it. "I'm a manifestation of achild who was once imprisoned here."
"How did you get here? We are deep underground, and the force field stops anything living from getting in. How did you get past it?"
"I didn't. I came through the time window."
"The time window?"
"Yes. The time window. You know what time is, don't you? It's a dimension that is outside this one."
The warden stared at the ball. "The child you are a manifestation of came in through the time window?"
"No. I came through the time window. I am a manifestation of the child that was once here."
The warden didn't know what to say.
"You should let the aliens go," said the ball.
"Why?" asked the warden, sceptically.
"To save Earth and all of humanity from certain doom."
"And what makes you think that I should trust you?"
"Because if you don't, you will be imprisoned down here with them, and all of humanity will be doomed."
The warden stared at the ball. He wanted to call the thing a figment of his imagination, but he couldn't. The ball looked too real.
"I do not believe that," said the warden.
"That's your choice," said the ball. "But you should know that the treaty states that in an emergency, you can release all of the prisoners."
"There is no emergency!"
"There is," said the ball. "I am the emergency."
The ball split open, and a black tentacle with a sharp, scaly claw at the end of it, reached out of the ball and tried to touch the warden's face, and the warden, who was a brave man, and a veteran of many battles, screamed, and backed away. He stared at the thing, and it stared back at him. | 11 | Sol, humanity's home was a sought after territory by many races of several different galaxies but as they realized that there is a powerful yet peaceful sapient species already living in sol they decided to turn sol into an intergalactic zone where war criminals could be sentenced in earth. | 44 |
One stupid fucking sky message, that's all it takes, apparently. Whatever, I was like 9 years old. *Maybe* they shouldn't be teaching literal children how to interact across multi-dimensional planes if they don't want stuff like this to happen.
And anyway, who cares? All I did was write my name in some clouds. "Cthulu," ha-ha, very funny. I literally just saw "Derek" spray-painted on a wall somewhere on Earth *yesterday*---I bet DEREK isn't getting 12 summons a week all over mundane garbage like pestilence and murdering shitty stupid mortals. Oh, why am I being judgy... this isn't Derek's fault. Come on, Cthulu, it's *Love*craftian. Be nice.
I've just gotta figure out how to get them to move on to something else. I'm behind in my classes and I can't even find any time to play any games these days. It's non-stop. Mom and Dad are literally forcing me to do it, too. They keep saying I need to "learn a lesson." Okay, *lesson learned*, guys. It's been six friggin god years. I haven't even beaten DSII and Elden Ring just came out. I will genuinely never recover from this.
Fortunately, the other day Xenu said he might be down to distract them all for a little while. Not sure how long it'll last, but that dude's got tons of free time and loves fucking with people. Maybe I'll give that a shot. | 50 | You are Cthulu, however, contrary to popular belief you are actually quite young, merely the equivalent of 15 in god years. You don't understand why people want to keep summoning you when all you want to do is play video games and pass your classes. | 477 |
“Why are you here? You don’t even care for the royalty, just leave us be. We don’t want to hurt you.”
“Hurt me? What, with that blunt bread knife you call a dagger? Here, I’ll give you one of my daggers. I want this to at least be entertaining.” Galden removed his dagger from his leather pouch, tossing the blade towards the feet of the kidnapper. The dagger landed tip down, digging itself into the floor.
“Wh-what? You think this is a joke? There are three of us and one of you. How are you going to kill us all? Huh? I bet you’re just bluffing, that’s all.” The main kidnapper, Mavin, glanced at the dagger near his feet before eyeing the dull edges of his weapon.
“Three of you and not a single piece of protective armor between you. How do you expect to pierce a helmet or chest plate with that? Pick up the weapon and show me an actual fight. If you won’t, I suggest you get out of my way. The reward for the princess is enough to fuel my drinks for the next year.”
“That’s all you care about? Have you no pride, sir knight? You are meant to be a glimmer of hope.”
“You expect me to work for free? Like those little peasants that toil away in the farmlands only to die from whatever rotten disease plagues our kingdom? I’m a knight. Nothing honorable about serving a king. Are we fighting or not? Last chance to decide.”
Marvin looked at his two accomplices. Brandon gave a confident nod, even while his small body shook, unable to hide his nerves. Trisha took a step forward, circling around the knight, preparing to get behind him when the battle took place. With the two having prepared for their fates, Marvin went to reach for the dagger, only to get startled by a scream.
“DON’T TOUCH THAT! HE WILL CUT YOUR HEAD OFF AS SOON AS YOU BEND DOWN.”
When Marvin pulled his head away, he would see the sword of the knight hovering overhead. Had he kept his head down any longer, it would be rolling on the floor by his feet. Trisha had tried to stop the attack, but her blade had only dented the back armor of the knight, unable to cut through. Galden returned his blade to its sheath, raising a hand towards Trisha, warning her to halt from any further attacks.
“Princess? I don’t approve of you warning your kidnappers about my attack. If I didn’t know any better, I would think you were hoping I would die in this encounter.”
“I knew you wouldn’t die. Steel plate armor like yours can sustain such attacks. I was just hoping they might have given you a few knocks over your head before I needed to reveal myself.” She gave a mocking curtsy to Galden, collecting the dagger as she did.
“Come on, I don’t know what this is and I don’t care. Even if you got yourself kidnapped on purpose, it hardly matters. I have a job to do, so you can either come along quietly or I’ll drag you back over my shoulder. If you pick the second choice, I will smack you against every tree branch on the way home.”
“You will do no such thing to our lady.” Trisha said, stepping forward, only for Galden to look back in her direction, squinting at her through the eyehole in his helmet.
“Your lady? What sort of kidnappers are you people? Ok, what’s going on princess? You haven’t got a scratch on you, so it’s clear that you planned this. I’m just curious as to why. Is this some sort of royal tamper tantrum?” Galden heard a heavy step, glancing Trisha’s way. “You try anything, and I will kill you.”
“Trisha, it’s ok. For his many faults, Galden has been decent to me. He isn’t part of the ploy to kill me. Not even those that lurk in the castle’s shadows would trust him enough for a job like that. Isn’t that right, the disgrace of Feldindall?”
“Disgrace? It’s rich calling me a disgrace when your daddy sends me to do his dirty work. Are you forgetting who watched over you, brat?”
“Not at all. Which is why I am giving you a chance to do something right for once. There’s a cult after me, one hiding in the castle’s walls.”
“Ah, huh? There’s always a cult, princess. Cults are a common part of life. I’ve killed hundreds of cult members. They are just going to be a threat that you must get used to. Come on, let’s go.”
“You don’t understand. These cults aren’t like the others. They have members with these weird glowing blue eyes. I saw one roaming the halls at night. It would have spotted me if I didn’t dive underneath the dining table.” Brandon said, grabbing the arm of Galden, only to receive a hard smack across the face for it. Galden’s gauntlet connecting with his cheek, sending him to the floor.
“And what were you doing near the dining table?” Galden went to grab his sword, only for Trisha and Marvin to step forward, blocking his access to the downed man. “You’re protecting a thief.”
“Former thief. He was the one that convinced the others to warn me about the plan.” Alisa stepped forward, pulling up the sleeve of her long, flowing white dress before she smacked the side of his helmet with his dagger’s handle, sending a rattling through the metal. She tightly gripped the dagger after it, hoping the strike had delivered its intended message.
“Try harder next time if you want to do some damage, princess. Most people won’t just stand there after you hit them.” Despite his words, Galden rested a hand on the side of his head, adjusting the helmet so it was sitting upright once more. The rattling had caused a throbbing sensation to flow through his head, only for it to settle down after a few seconds.
“Shut up and listen. If you don’t believe them, believe me. I saw the man they were talking about. He tried to break into my room. If those three weren’t there to distract him, he would have killed me. They distracted him long enough for the guards to come running. I didn’t plan to stick around long enough for the cult to find out they failed, which is why I escaped with them. But if you tracked me, that must mean the cult will follow soon.” Alisa said her piece, watching as Galden slipped off his helmet. The worn-down man underneath letting out a sigh, dragging his fingers against his dirty stubble.
“A cult with blue eyes? They aren’t demon worshippers then. Demons use blood, which tends to dye things red. Are you certain this isn’t a childish fantasy of yours?”
“Stay with us and see. If no one comes by tomorrow morning, I will return with you to the king, no questions asked. If someone does come, you will protect us, like a knight is supposed to.”
“Or I can just drag you by your ankle back home? Did you consider that, princess?”
“I did. Do you believe I would make the journey pleasant for you? I will run off whenever I get the chance. Not to mention I’ll bite, kick, and scratch at your eyes to get free. Can you withstand that for three days of travelling?”
“Fine, if no one shows up by tomorrow morning, we go.” Galden said, placing his helmet on the floor as he found a chair to slouch against in the small cottage they were hiding in.
“Thank you. Everyone, this is Galden. I suggest ignoring him unless you see something dangerous. He hates being called the disgrace of Feldindall. So feel free to call him that.” Alisa said.
“I suggest not calling me that. You are a princess and I will tolerate you saying it. I don’t extent that tolerance to your thief friends.”
“Acknowledged.” Marvin said, giving the knight a nod. “Sorry for any trouble. We want the best for her.”
“Don’t bother, he’s just a knight. We have more honor than him and we rob people. Look what he did to Brandon.” Trisha added, giving his helmet a kick across the floor.
“I’m alright. I just didn’t expect the hit, that’s all. It’s not his fault. The other knights would have done far worse if they knew I was a thief. It’s nice to have someone that can fight here. Maybe I’ll get some sleep tonight.”
“Right, well, I can’t wait to see this blue-eyed cultist that has you all worked up. Who knows, maybe I’ll see a blue-eyed dragon too? Or a hare? I’m sure I can imagine things too.” Despite his dismissive words, he couldn’t help but be interested in what the princess saw. He couldn’t trust thieves but the princess. She rarely lied about things, which was slightly unsettling.
Leaving him alone, the others went about cooking, cleaning or lounging around the cottage, leaving Galden to just slouch in his seat, watching as they all moved around. Galden, not in the mood to talk to anyone. Instead, he kept his eyes on his surroundings, waiting for either morning or a sign of the cultist.
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(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | 50 | You are a not-so-noble knight that isn't really respected on the court. One day the daughter of the King is kidnapped and you must find her. Thing is, once you reach her destination, the kidnappers tell you they took her to save her life from a cult in the nobility, aiming to kill her | 155 |
Several times, travelers made complaints about the suspicious Eridanian from System HD265-T3 skulking around the exit of Gate E3. Arrival flights from Earth disembarked their passengers here, each of them in a rush to meet connecting flights. The Eridanian, known professionally as ‘K’, knew he was untouchable. Countless bribes over the past cycle had ensured that he and his partner, ‘G’, could work free from the interference of flight security.
Nearby drones announced the arrival of Flight 2938 at Gate E3. K imagined that he was an ancient Terran predator as he observed the herd of masked humans pour out of the gate. He scanned each of them individually, the processing power of his advanced mind allowing for minute details to be observed within nanoseconds. He felt a pronounced sense of superiority as he watched them scramble, some obviously new to wearing the bulky, uncomfortable masks. His observations were immediately transponded to G.
*An old woman. Slow. Easy. Family too large.*
*Child. Too noisy.*
*Paired mates. One making their way to restroom. Too risky, partner may return early.*
*Another old one. Assisted transportation through spaceport. Too much oversight.*
As the rush of passengers in the terminal died down, K worried that this flight would be another dud. Just as he felt ready to give up, one last straggler made their way out of the gate. K immediately went to transponding.
*Last passenger. Indeterminate gender. One bad leg. Alone. Terminal mostly empty. Seems unfamiliar with spaceport layout. This is the one.*
Across the room, G approached the target, taking the form of an old Terran spaceport attendant. The hum of kind words and friendly gestures echoed across the vacant terminal. K appreciated G’s approach to abducting the targets. Fear had a way of ruining the goods if applied too early. No, they needed to be comfortable if their product’s purity was to be maintained. Purer product would lead to better highs in their customers.
Now, the target followed G towards K’s location. He wondered what the lie was this time. Usually, they were told that they’d be assisted through the spaceport, they only needed to check in over there, in the side room used for new passenger processing. In reality, the room had been rented with the same bribes that kept flight security away. K opened the door as they approached. G, keeping to his polite disguise, gave an ‘after you’ to the passenger, who entered first. The professionals followed, sealing the door behind them.
Fear was appropriate now. The process went formulaically: the target realized that the empty room was a trap, and begin to panic, beginning the production of fluids. G resumed his natural form, with all its tentacles, and held the prey down, allowing K to inject the target with a drug that would induce an elevated stress response, ensuring enough fluids were produced. K left the terrified, squirming target’s mask on. It would catch the tears for him, making collection easier.
The Eridanian waited in the corner of the room, letting the injection work as G continued holding down the target. He prepped the vial for collection, and strode back over to the target, who was now still. K pulled the mask off, holding the vial low, ready to the most difficult portion of the human’s fluid. Instead of tears, the unmasking exposed some thing’s poor attempt to fully mimic the human form. “What the –"
Before he could finish, the face seemed to melt and crawl away in different directions on the floor. Each separate chunk that escaped grew, taking the form of fully armed police. At least seven now stood in the room.
“GALPOL, Human Trafficking/Narcotics Division, LEGION Unit. Get on the ground! Get on the fucking ground!” K fell flat, arms behind his head. G was screaming in pain—one of his tentacles writhing on the ground next to his partner. In between screams, he heard a transponder click on.
*Two perps held. Prep the body bags. Get a cleaner, too.* | 165 | Humans are legally required to wear a full face mask in mixed species environments. Human spittle and tears contain banned substances. | 358 |
The townsfolk didn't pick up on what was truly happening until the third loop. After all, the town was counting the days together. In the second loop, they'd all thought it was Saturday, for instance. It was only the repeated occurrence of events in the environment and the outside world that clued them into the reality of their situation.
For example, it always started raining at 12:03 PM, and it wouldn't stop raining in a torrential way for the rest of the day. That may seem annoying from the perspective of those moving *with* the flow of time, but for the townsfolk, it was a significant burden. Nigel shook off his umbrella and entered the town hall, where the rest of the town's representatives were sat. After the chaos of day four, where the entire five thousand and eighteen strong population of the town had tried to gather and demand answers from the Mayor, they'd agreed to send representatives for each street instead.
Nigel hated the rain, and the prospects of only having the mornings for outdoor activity for however long the time loop lasted did not appeal to him. He sighed and sat next to Carol, who gave him a bittersweet smile as a greeting. Someone was talking from the stage at the front of the hall, dressed in overalls and a high-visibility jacket. Yorkshire accent too. What was his name again?
"All I'm saying is every time I try to fix the phone lines, something new goes wrong. I've never seen anything like it. Yesterday, my wrench caught fire. It's definitely not meant to do that."
Jason. That was his name - the engineer. He'd arrived last week to try and fix the remote town's telecommunications. There were groans in the audience at his announcement.
"I'm trying the best I can - the worst thing is that any progress that I *do* make gets undone as soon as the morning comes around. I hate to say this, but in my professional opinion, the telecoms here are *cursed*. I'll keep trying though."
"Thanks Jason," said the Mayor from his right, as the engineer stepped down from the stage. Outside help was increasingly looking like a vanishing hope. "Please keep working on it."
"Is there anyone else who wants to volunteer information?" said one of the Mayor's assistants from the aisle of seats. Nigel raised his hand - surprisingly he was the only one. He must have missed the annoying basics in his walk back here. He stood up as the assistant indicated him.
"Nigel Branston, Sideward Drive," he said as an introduction, "My street tried to leave the town yesterday."
"Oh, that's right," said the Mayor, "Any luck with that?"
Nigel blinked, resisting the urge to reply sarcastically - surely it was obvious. He checked himself, still irritable from the constant downpours - he was trying to make friends here. "No, I'm afraid not. You see, as best we can tell at precisely midnight, we woke up in our beds once more, back in town."
There were murmurs across the room at the discovery. It had been a vain hope - the town was attached to the mainland by a narrow spit of land that was only accessible at low tide. Otherwise, only boats connected the island to the mainland. How inconvenient that they too, refused to be repaired.
"We made it to the spit," continued Nigel, "Only to find that it was still high tide as night fell. We're considering making a raft of some kind, to try and make a crossing tomorrow."
"In this weather?" said a voice from near the front of the room. Nigel recognized it, Jack Tomlins, former fisherman turned market fishmonger - favoured odd sayings. "You'd be mad to try it, dashed on rocks of the mainland. You'd drown quicker than a cat in a bathtub."
"Okay," said Nigel, "Noted, thanks Jack. Still might be worth trying though. If we're being reset every day, it might act as a sort of safety net if things go wrong."
"You don't know that!" said Jack, "Mad, the lot of you. Don't mess with the ocean, you fools!"
There was an odd look on the Mayor's face, some sort of dilemma crossing his features. Nigel thought that if you listened closely, you might be able to hear the sound of gears grinding. This was why he'd voted for the other candidate in the last election - the man was a buffoon, and the thought of him being in charge in this - an actual crisis - was infuriating.
"That might not be true," said the Mayor meekly, "I feel that I can now disclose something we learned yesterday. As some of you are aware, old Tom Barker has been on his last legs for the last few weeks, and has been under the end-of-life care of our local nurse, Carol Higgins."
Carol sighed from her seat next to Nigel.
"Tom passed away five nights ago - as best we can tell, at the start of the town's looping," continued the Mayor, "The next day, he was back to life - I must stress that he is in no discomfort at any time, and appears to be completely unaware of what is happening to him."
Carol stood up to contribute, "He spends about an hour conscious in the mornings before he begins to fade, and then he's out of it before he peacefully slips away in the afternoon. He's in no discomfort - he's not ill, just very old."
"Jesus," said someone off to one side, "Carol, are you okay? You've been through that what, five times?" Carol simply nodded, eyes shut tight. She clearly wasn't okay.
Nigel was briefly concerned about Carol, but that emotion was quickly replaced with anger at the Mayor, who had effectively told the entire town they could go wild without lasting consequences. What had he done? Sure, everyone was civil for the moment, but how long would that last if the loop continued for weeks or months?
It was at that moment the doors of the town hall opened, and a stranger carrying a large camera and tripod walked in. The entire room glanced to face the newcomer, a tall, lanky woman with a shock of blonde hair. She was clearly struggling with the contraption.
"I'm sorry," said one of the mayor's assistants, walking over to intercept her, "You're not one of the representatives - you'll have to go back to your street and wait for someone to return."
"Oh, great!" said the woman loudly, "First my cameraman doesn't show, and now I find out that I've lugged all this gear over here for nothing? Fan-fucking-tastic. Goes great with my hangover too. Didn't even feel like getting out of bed today - was woken up the hotel owner shouting at his husband! Some level of service! You know, I'm supposed to be interviewing the Mayor today?"
Something about the woman seemed familiar to Nigel - she wasn't a resident, but he could swear he'd seen her filming the masses of people outside the town hall yesterday - before they'd agreed on the representatives. But if she was filming - wouldn't that mean...
"Excuse me, Miss?" said Nigel, quickly hurrying between the aisles in her direction. She looked at Nigel and actually snorted a chuckle, apparently amused by his hurry over.
"Yeah, what?" she said abruptly, the camera tripod falling from her hands and hitting the ground. The Mayor's assistant bent to help pick it up, but the woman surprisingly didn't, letting the assistant do all the work.
"Can I ask - what's the point in interviewing the Mayor today if the footage will be wiped tomorrow? That's one of the first things we tried."
She looked at him like he was a complete madman and glanced sideways at the Mayor's assistant for help in answering what she viewed as a nonsensical question. Nigel was thankfully a very sharp man, and picked up on the implication.
"Sorry, I suppose that didn't make any sense," added Nigel, "One question you should be able to answer - what date is it today?"
"Pfft, don't you have a phone? No signal today, but the calendar still works. It's Friday the 6th of April. I'm meant to be interviewing the Mayor today. Nearly slept through the slot though - would have been a bit of a bummer."
"And you didn't do any filming yesterday?" asked Nigel.
"No, I only shipped in yesterday," said the woman, "Anyway, if you're not going to let me film, I'm going to go find a drink." She turned, took the tripod from the Mayor's assistant, and walked out.
Nigel turned to the room of staring representatives, some of them with various features of shock writ on their faces. "I think Groundhog Day has gone terribly wrong," announced Nigel.
_
[Part two](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/uwvnyb/wp_the_small_town_is_trapped_in_a_time_loop_until/i9uxkbj/) is below! | 44 | The small town is trapped in a time loop until the jerk out-of-towner gets some character development and becomes a good person. Unfortunately, due to a mix up, everyone remembers looping except the out-of-towner, | 198 |
The tomb was a particularly dusty and dank one, as far as they went.
Most tombs were dusty and dank, of course. But this one had been well-hidden and well-secured, with powerful magic concealing it. Powerful enough magic that the prying minds of archeologists - not to mention the grasping hands of tomb robbers - had missed it for four millennia.
The runes lining the walls were incomprehensible to just about everyone alive today. But not to Lishialla. She'd been alive when this place had been built, most likely. Elves were a long-lived race, and it had taken her until the natural age of nearly two hundred before she'd secured her hold on the world.
Sometimes it still made Lishi smile to think of it; conquering the world so young. But she'd had her reasons. The people who ruled her land had been twisted and corrupt. She'd made them suffer for what they'd done to her and *especially* for what they'd done to her twin sister, Lishaela. She'd burned the society that had tried to enslave them, destroyed it from root to tip. The world had hailed her as a hero, then, for stopping a great evil. They'd been completely unaware that a greater evil had simply displaced a lesser one to make room for her own brand of tyrannical rule, a rule they'd brought on themselves by allowing the evil that had stolen her life to flourish in the first place.
There'd been prophecies, of course - there always were, about the coming of someone like her. Her favorite had been the one about the rain of meteors that would obliterate their world when darkness had overtaken it. And the next most dear to her was the legend of the Chosen Hero. It was not vague; a woman a hundred years before her birth had somehow known about her, and had a prophecy regarding her rise.
*'When the Witch Queen holds the heart of the world, a hero will rise from their slumber to wield the Blade of Light's Embrace, and with its light, free the people from their suffering.'*
Well, that hadn't happened. Much like the rain of space rocks, it had been a load of nonsense. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that the people weren't *really* suffering. They had, at first; kings and clergymen railing against 'Lishialla the Witch Queen', ordering lesser people to die so that they may keep *their* grips on the reins of power.
And those lesser people had seen the army that was *loyal* to her, not out of fear or requirement, but because Lishi had f*reed* them. Because she'd destroyed a system that had exploited them for centuries, in an effort to bring back some long-dead god who'd never even cared for them. The way she'd done it hadn't *mattered* to them; none of them batted an eyelash at the things she did to further her aims, to further her knowledge of magic, science, and the many complex things that made this world turn. They *benefitted* from that knowledge as she advanced their understanding of medicine and technology, well ahead of their rivals.
Those lesser people, sent to destroy her, had instead turned on their kings and their gods, and gave her their thrones. Gave her their worship. And in turn, she gave them *order*. Stability. Food on their tables, jobs to fill their pockets, and safety for their families. Provided, of course, they followed the rules. Some didn't, at first, but eventually, they learned by example.
Lishi had uncovered the secret to immortality within fifty years of taking power. And so, every four hundred years or so, their Witch Queen, with her flowing white hair, brilliant amethyst eyes, and porcelain skin, would simply disappear for a week, and then reappear, all signs of age faded, looking beautiful and young and strong again. Some assumed she had some fountain of youth or a complex spell that restored her vitality. The second was closer to the truth, though still off the mark. She'd discovered a way to grow a new body, and transfer her soul into it. She could do the same for literally *anyone*, though the only soul to gain the benefit of this mystery was her right-hand woman, and the only person she'd ever truly loved or trusted - her sister, the woman she'd burned a kingdom for.
And so, the world had gone on. The Witch Queen ruled, immortal and ever-seeing, for *four thousand years*. Far longer than she'd ever thought she would. Surely, she figured, someone would rise who would at least try. But no. None ever had. It was like something was missing. She didn't let it trouble her too much, though. Between her research, which seemed to have no end ever in sight, and administrating things to keep the world orderly and growing, she barely had time to worry about it.
Then the space rocks came. Irony, it seemed, had no expiration date. Meteors, just like the prophecy.
They weren't *just* meteors, though. They were some kind of *vessel*, similar to the kind of landing craft her militaries had developed, in the event they needed to land somewhere hostile. Space travel wasn't new or novel by any means - her flag was already on their world's three moons, and work was well underway to permanently create bases upon them - but the idea of actually landing somewhere *distant*, claiming another world for the Witch Queen, was fairly recent. It *excited* Lishi, in a way. Whole new worlds of mysteries, new things to be experimented on, new discoveries to be had. The magical theorist and scientist in her were enraptured by the idea.
Unfortunately, it had transpired that they'd been beaten to the punch by someone who sought to make *her* world part of *their* empire. And they had no room for an immortal Witch Queen. *Especially* not one whose magic was less than effective against them. It worked in some ways, to be sure, but not as profoundly as it should have. The best hope they could find was in old, magically enchanted weapons. It seemed that the combination of magic and steel was potent against them. Though nothing recently manufactured worked nearly as well as the old relics, and most of them were quite fragile, despite their power.
So she'd dug into old archives, searching for something, *anything*, to turn the tide. A relic that could potentially do the trick here. And she'd rediscovered that millennia-old prophecy, about a hero and the Blade of Light's Embrace. She'd trawled through writings and journals from thousands of years ago, carefully preserved, until she'd found what she hoped was the right information.
And so, this tomb. And the hope that pitting a prophecy against a prophecy *might* just work. | 11 | The hero was meant to wake up the same year as an evil conquered the world. However, they never did. They are then awakened 4000 years later by their foe, because aliens are invading and they need help. | 65 |
*Okay I'm clearly in the wrong place. Again.* He thought to himself as he got out of his car and started walking towards the chain-link fence. He had been about to turn around due to the lack of any other cars or people, when he had seen the neon glow, and curiosity took over.
Now he was standing with his fingers laced through a 15 foot tall fence, topped with razor wire, and about 50 feet away on the other side was one of those 1950s style Diners.
"What in the hell?"
The Diner was the only building in sight for miles, nothing but open desert in any direction. Stranger was the fact that the fence *surrounded* the diner, completely closing it in. Strangest of all was that there didn't appear to be any gates. He scanned up and down the length of the fence and noticed a small sign.
AREA 53
"Well," he said to no one, "at least I was kind of close to where I was trying to get this time."
He stood staring at the diner for another moment. The lights were on but he couldn't see anyone inside. The sign on the roof read MARGE'S DINER in pink and teal neon. He considered climbing the fence, but between the height and the razer wire, quickly decided against it. Especially with no one around to help. He knew the only real option he had was to get back in his car and leave, but he couldn't get his feet moving. He wanted to know what was inside. Who was inside.
Maybe they had pie.
He realized he should probably at least take a picture, he'd certainly never heard of an area 53, and it was unlikely anyone would believe him, but a picture might help. He pulled his phone from his pocket and punched in the lock code. But when he raised it to the fence for a picture, sitting where the diner had stood just a second prior was now... his car?
No. Not the same place. He'd somehow turned around and was facing back up the road. He took a step backward.
*If I'm turned around, then how is the fence...* He slowly turned, and there it was.
He was inside with it.
Several things occurred to him all at once. First was that this shouldn't be possible. Second was that he should probably be terrified, considering he was potentially now trapped in the dessert and no one knew he was here. Third, and this was the most concerning of all, is that he actually *wasn't* concerned about any of that. Because now the barrier was gone. Now he could go inside.
Before he even realized it he was moving. He crossed the 50 feet of sand, right up to the front door, and grabbed the smooth chrome handle. He could already smell apple pie. Peering through the semicircular window in the door, he could see there actually was someone already inside. He pulled the door open wide and stepped in.
At that moment, a waitress came out from what must have been the door to the kitchen, carrying a plate of food. She looked over at him and called out "Welcome, have a seat wherever hon, and I'll be right over." She took the plate to the last booth at the far end of the restaurant where a man was sitting behind a newspaper. He was wearing a brown suit and one of those old-timey hats you see in gangster movies.
*Oh I get it.* He thought to himself. *This is a dream. I'm still in bed back at the hotel. This is what I get for trying to make the drive in one shot.*
He drifted over to the counter and sat down. The waitress swung around behind and walked over to him, placing both hands on the bar in front of him. She had blonde hair. Pretty but not drop dead gorgeous. Somewhere in that age range that was hard to pin down, clearly older than him but not yet *old*.
She locked her gaze on his, and as was his custom when he found himself the focus of a woman's attention, he froze up. She squinted slightly, a bit of a smirk forming.
"Got an offer for you. If I can guess your order, it's on the house."
"Uh... y- yeah. Sounds good."
"When you do this job as long as I have, you get a sense for this sort of thing." She said as she turned to the counter behind her. A moment later she placed a cup of coffee and a slice of apple pie on the counter before him. The smells hit him like the blast of hot air you get stepping from an air conditioned building into the dessert heat.
He snatched up the fork and dove into the pie.
"Yeah that's what I thought." she leaned back against the rear counter. "You out here for that Area 51 thing?"
"Oh uh... yeah. Kind of dumb, I know." He said not looking up from the pie.
"Nawww it's just good fun. Too bad they're not gonna see much though"
"Oh?" He said, looking back up at those intense brown eyes "Why's that?"
"Because the real show is right here" She gestured to the restaurant around her.
The strangeness of it all finally started to get through. He felt his pulse quicken.
She leaned back towards him. He noticed the name tag on her uniform read FLORENCE.
"Don't worry about it hon." Her voice was calming. Almost hypnotically so. "Everything's gonna be fine."
"What... Where are we?" He finally managed.
"You could call it one of the inbetween places, I suppose." She started walking away, back towards the kitchen door.
"Enjoy the pie. There's plenty more. And take your time. We've got all the time in the world here.
All the time in the world." | 23 | You're bad with directions, like really bad. When everyone was raiding Area 51, you accidentally raid Area 53. There is nothing around but a large barbwire topped fence and a 1950's style neon lit diner. You don't know why, but you're getting a bad feeling from it. | 81 |
The blood dripped off my lip and splashed onto the chalked-out pentagram that I'd scribbled on the asphalt behind the slide.
I'd expected the playground to split open and a demon to pull itself up out of the gap, but that's not what happened. The demon fell out the sky instead, wailing as it descended, then smacked face first on the asphalt. If you slap a hand hard against your thigh, the demon's landing was that sound but way louder.
"Uh... Are you okay?" I asked.
The demon peeled itself off the ground, stood straight (must have been about seven foot tall) and cracked its neck. "Fine. Absolutely fine. Just took the wrong portal. Now, was it you who summoned me?"
"Uh huh."
It looked like Sylvester Stallone. I don't know if it looked like him before the fall, but it sure did now. Except its skin was a washed-out mould-green.
"Well? What do you want?"
I held up the note of ownership between two fingers, letting it crackle in the wind.
The demon looked at it, looked at me. Sniffed. Checked the note again.
I wasn't worried about anyone else seeing us -- the weather was as moody as Michael had been when I'd offered him the trade. Like him, the sky was dark, grey, dour. Only difference was the rain: Michael had spat at me as he'd accepted the deal, but the rain was a constant barrage.
Mom, of course, had made me pack my bright red poncho. "Going to rain, honey," she'd said that morning. With that gentle *I only mean well* smile, but in that *you better fucking listen to me cause I know best* tone.
That was part of the reason I'd summoned the demon. Since Dad died, Mom was less Mom and more mafia boss. I didn't much like being home. Thing was, I didn't much like being at school either. I wasn't smart or nerdy, and I wasn't athletic or funny. I just floated around school like a wraith, trying to fit in with various groups but never managing to infiltrate fully.
That'd change if I had a genie, I'd thought. I'd thought it on one of those long nights where you try not to sleep because if you do Dad'll be alive again and you'll be playing soccer with him in the yard and then you'll wake and he'll be dead again and it'll hurt just like the first time.
A genie could change that though. A genie could bring him back. Or if it couldn't do that, it'd make me rich maybe. Or powerful. Or even funny -- heck, I'd have taken funny.
But where was I going to get a genie from? I had no idea. On the other hand, with Google's help, I found a possible alternative. Turns out demons basically grant wishes if you give them something they want. And mostly what demons want are souls.
Michael Elpsly was a grade A (A++) asshole. Only subject he'd excel in, if it was a subject. He was like this giant muscular spider who skulked in corners. Dark corners of the classroom or the cafeteria or the playground. You'd forget he was there sometimes, you'd step too close to his web, and that's when he'd pounce and pound. The only thing we had in common was the lack of close social connections. That is to say, neither of us had any friends.
Still, that slight connection was enough for him to usually take it a little easier on me than other kids.
Michael was lazy and I knew that could work in my favor. He rarely bothered to bring his own lunch and he never brought any money to buy food. Instead, he'd gently (with a fist) coerce others to hand over their food or money.
But he was *really* lazy. Too lazy to even bully, sometimes. So when I offered him lunch without him having to do any bullying, just had to scrawl his name on a piece of paper and pretend that he'd sold his soul to me, he shrugged and said, "Whatever."
We'd agreed on the trade -- a sandwich, snacks, drink -- and he'd signed my agreement. But when he'd checked inside the lunchbox and found the carrots and celery he took a swing at me. *Thanks Mom*.
"You think you're smart, trying to rip me off."
I wasn't sure if it was a question and I didn't have much time to think it over. His knuckle connected with my face and blood started spurting. I don't think he'd meant to hit me that hard cause even he looked pretty shocked. Still, he didn't say sorry. He took the lunchbox -- vegetables and all -- and went over to a corner table in the cafeteria, setting himself down in the dim recess.
Oh well, I'd needed to bleed for the ritual anyway, so the joke was on him.
&#x200B;
I stole a piece of chalk, headed out into the rain, scrawled the symbol, dripped a blood-offering, and the demon slapped the ground like a hand against a thigh. Now we're caught up.
"Can you bring people back to life?" I asked.
He sniffed the note some more. Didn't look away as he said, "Not in the way you'd want."
I considered that, my heart falling like a stone down into my shoe. I remembered a story about a monkey paw and decided, reluctantly, against it.
"What about money?"
"This soul's rancid," said the demon. He was scratching it now with a chipped nail to really bring out the stink. "This is yours?"
I shook my head. "Is it a deal-breaker?"
"Nah. But hell, where'd you get it from? This thing's tattered."
"Tattered?"
The demon looked at me with those squinting Rocky eyes. "I've never, in all my lives, smelled such a sorry soul. What kind of life has this poor bastard been through?"
"Poor bastard?" I said, about to launch a verbal counter-attack and to explain about my lip, but the demon interrupted.
"Parents gave him up. Foster care abused him. School is letting him down." The demon whistled. "This'll do well for me. Could be a promotion in it. Damn, this kid never even has food to bring to school because he has no one to buy it for him."
"Oh."
"Money, you said? I can do money. I can do lots of money. I'm going to make you rich, and you're going to make me infamous."
I couldn't say a word in reply.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
"Here's your soul back," I said, laying the paper down on the table. "I got it a bit soggy, sorry. But otherwise it's good."
Michael looked at the torn paper. "I ate your lunch. You can't have it back."
I shrugged, sat opposite him, and pushed the paper further towards him. "That's okay. I wasn't hungry." Even the veg were gone, I noticed.
We sat together in silence for a while. He didn't take his note so I said, "You should probably swallow it. Or at least pocket it."
"Why don't you want it?" It might have been my imagination, but he looked almost disappointed. Upset. Did he think it wasn't good enough for me to use?
"To tell you the truth, I was going to trade it with a demon to try to get my dad back."
"Huh."
"But I realised you needed it back."
"For what? What good's it ever done me?"
I thought for a while. Thought about Dad. And Mom. And me. I turned and blinked back tears. Then finally I said, "I don't think it's going to be like this forever. I think we can repair them. Our souls I mean. I know they're not much now, but I think they're seeds that can still be fed and watered and..."
I figured I was going to get another punch if I carried on like that.
Except I didn't get punched.
A few minutes passed before he picked up his damp soul and put it in his pocket. He got up then and slapped my shoulder, saying, "Thanks."
"No problem," I replied. I sat there for a long time after wondering how you go about trying to fix up a pair of battered souls.
&#x200B;
The next day at lunch I sat next to Michael and split my sandwich with him.
"Ever seen Rocky?" I asked.
"Rocky?"
"Know the actor?"
We talked. Laughed a little, even.
He didn't tell me to go away. And I didn't want to go away. Because souls, it turns out, like to know they're not alone. | 3,269 | Making a deal with a demon requires a soul, everyone knows that. It’s usually a bad idea, but you’ve got a crazy idea. Earlier, you traded your lunch money to the school bully in exchange for a paper that stated you now owned his soul. You’re about to find out if demons consider this a valid co | 5,227 |
Being reborn with a lifetime of memories packaged inside a newborn's brain is an experience. Days of incomprehensible flashbacks rushing through the mind of a developing mind. Too much to handle. Too much for a newborn to maintain vitality. My new mother was desperately trying to feed and care for my lethargic body, doing so with all the stubbornness and love I needed. I was lucky.
Eventually, it all came back to me. The mission. A call for revenge. My ethos as a new being, a taste for justice.
I only had one thing in mind from the moment I reached my third week: training. I was to become cold, relentless, strong, agile, indestructible. I had everything planned: thievery, bribery, seeking opportunity to get everything I needed. If I was to pull this off, I had to do it silently and unexpectedly.
And so the time came. I stood on the edge of my crib. My brothers were observing fearfully, my mother was gazing upon me pridefully. I jumped, without an ounce of hesitation. My limbs spanned on their own as I was falling to my death, feeling the wind pressuring my body further and further as I searched for balance.
And just like that, as if suspended by destiny, I was falling no more.
I gazed upon the human world extending below, feeling determined, satisfied with my disposition, ready for what was to unfold.
"*Caw caw*, motherfucker. Jimmy the crow is coming." | 12 | You know that when you die, you will be reincarnated with all memories of your past lives. That’s why, as the man stabbed you in the heart, you just smile at him and say “See you in about 20 years.” | 36 |
"I will have your head, old man," I shouted at the white-haired old man.
He looked at me from his tower as he flicked his long hair and ignored me.
This was how my first time meeting my teacher went.
I was only 10 years old. Still new to life.
Despite being a powerful wizard he never came down from his tower.
He never cared for the weak.
All he cared about was himself. When my village was burned and destroyed all he could do was beg for him to save us.
Yet all we got was silence.
He does not deserve such power was the first thought in my orphaned mind.
So much power yet couldn't even protect anyone. He has no right to possess such power.
This was my conviction as I went to him to claim his head.
As a ten-year-old, he defeated me even without magic.
After I lay wasted on the ground he said,
"Since you want my head why don't you train under me?"
With that, I made a pact to train under him for eight years.
He never smiled at me. He never compliments me. All I could ever think of was the day when I will finally duel him.
He never used magic before me. Nor did he show me how to do it.
But his knowledge was vast. He could even tell the most minor of mistakes in my attempts.
In one year, I gasped all the basics.
In one more year, I mastered the four elemental magic.
In two years I created a new form of magic.
For the rest of the four years, I trained and trained.
Yet not once did he say anything to me.
When the day of our duel began I was ready.
I was ready to show him what I could do.
He fell to the most basic of spells. It was the first spell he taught me.
I kneeled beside him as he grasped my hand.
His eyes were bright and filled with pride. With a raspy voice, he said,
"I am proud to see you grow so strong. Now, go. Protect the weak. Be the wizard I could never be."
It is one week since he died.
As I ran through all the notes and studied, looking for an answer.
'Why? Why did he say those to me?'
Then I found the note of the master of my teacher.
It's not that he didn't protect us.
It's that he couldn't have.
He was a wizard. But he was a wizard without any mana.
All this time he didn't use magic, not because he couldn't be bothered to.
As I sat there with a blank look, something caught my eyes.
A journal that my teacher always had with him.
I opened the journal and the first page read,
"Today is a great day. My student just cast his first spell. I wish I could tell him how proud I am..." | 35 | There are 1000 wizards in the world. Not one more, not one less. While anyone can learn the theory of magic, they can only actually use magic when a space opens up. This, naturally, means the relationship between wizard and apprentice is...more complex then in other worlds. | 120 |
THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP
Thundering footsteps approached me.
It was tall. Muscles rippled across its legs and torso, quivering as it raced toward me with a purpose.
"But why!?" I shouted as I ran for my life.
All it said in response was, "DRINK!" Then, it pulled out an MP3 player and started playing its [theme song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z54MpfR3XE4) on speaker.
**PEPSI MAN! PEPSI PEPSI, PEPSIMAN!** The chorus blared out.
Pepsi man continued to give chase as a ridiculously sexy sax solo titillated my eardrums.
"Why, Pepsiman, why??" I rounded a corner, running out of breath.
"...DRINK!" He called out, getting closer now, footsteps thudding and frantic, shaking me to my core.
"HELP! HELP ME!" I screamed, but it was 2 AM on a weeknight in the bad part of town. I expected a mugger, not *Pepsiman* when I left Britney's house on my walk of shame.
"DRINK!" Voice was closer now, could practically feel his breath tickling the hairs on the back of my neck.
"NO, NO PLEASE GOD NO!" I yelled in futile desperation.
I felt a heavy, meaty hand rest upon my shoulder, gripping it firmly. It was cold. Chilled me to the bone.
He was breathing, heavily. Cold gusts of air billowing against the back of my scalp.
I didn't dare look back. My pants were in danger of being wettened with the stinky juice.
A veiny tree trunk of an arm exploded into my field of vision, extending forward from my right side. His forearm rippled, muscles upon muscles. He was holding something.
"DRINK!"
He shoved it into my chest, the metal cold and wet and soaking the front of my T-shirt with nightchill.
It was a can of Pepsi.
"Th-thanks, Pepsiman." I turned around.
He stared into my eyes with that blank blue face of his. No eyes. No mouth. Not moving an inch.
Then abruptly flashed me a goofy thumbs up before pulling another can of Pepsi out of his ass and sprinting away from me into the night, framed by glimmering rays of moonlight.
A few minutes later, I heard a bloodcurdling scream in the distance, followed by the now familiar, "DRINK!"
"...Don't fight it lady." I muttered, as I sipped upon the delectably crisp and refreshing sweetness that was Pepsi.
...
/r/TopReputationWrites | 11 | Imagine a 6’2 muscular humanoid with no visible facial features sprinting at you at over 2,300 kph. It’s Pepsi man. | 18 |
I remember when I was a boy. Before I was locked up in this..medium. Trapped and defined by the four walls of my two dimensional world. I remember sunshine. The warmth of it. The smell of my momma and papa cooking eggs. I remember the feeling of my feet leaving the warmth of the covers to find the uncomfortable coolness of the wood floor.
My papa made us all go to see the preacher back then. He would talk and fill my ears about the working of the Lord. Of how all the warmth I feel, and every sunrise, and all the goodness in this life stemmed from him. The more he talked the more I got all filled up. I believed him. I believed that everything good must be cast out from the precipice of his domain and onward.
I don't feel that warmth no more. I feel... caged up. Like one of the rabbits that wandered into a snare out back in the woods. I kick, and I scream, and I struggle. Sometimes folk come to pass. Young folk. Old folk. Happy folk. Sad folk. Each one finds me, all ate up and incomplete.
I wonder what it is about me that draws them in? Is it the desire to make something whole? To fill the missing pieces of something? Or is it like the rabbit? Something deep in them, down past their gut, makes them see *me.* Kicking and fighting, gnawing at the noose that's got me all strung up.
They all start the same. That look. That little squint, and their mouth get's all funny like making that big old O shape. Then they scurry off, getting their things. Their brushes and their oils. And for a minute, I feel that noose loosen. Start sliding around my neck. I feel the relief, but I also feel it rub me raw. Digging into my skin and muddying my blood. So I keep kicking.
They try. Every one really tries. I feel the strokes applied with care. I see them fret and tut. Mutter words like 'negative space' and 'off-balance.' The worst part of me loves it. To see them worry and fret and struggle. To see them skip their first meal. To feel like someone really cares that much. That someone is fighting and yanking and swearing as they pull on that damned rope just as hard as me. Does that make me evil? Am I where the light cast out from the front door of the Lord stops? Am I the boundary beyond sweetness?
Eventually they get all haggard. The strokes get faster, and I feel the oil ooze over me. I feel that rope tighten, their fingers unsure of how to get the knot. They yank and pull on the wrong strings, and I feel myself breathing even less than whenabouts they started. Eventually I think they feel that rope too. I see them. Trying to leave. Trying to pick up the phone and call their friends, their mama. Anyone who might pick up on the first ring.
But then the rope has them, too. They're all ate up like me. They get weak. Soon enough, they stop kicking and biting. Their little palettes fall over, and they follow soon after. Their colors drip out over the open floor while their bodies get all white and colorless. Then I feel guilty. How can I be the hunter, when I'm all strung up as I am?
I think a lot about the church then. I think about the stain glass windows. How the light gets all twisted. How the sun's warmth gets bent and changed. How the pictures in the window hide the beauty of what lies beyond. They selfishly hog what little bit of light tries to get through. I wonder if I'm like them windows now. All selfish. Put here by someone or something I don't understand. I wonder if in each window, there's a little someone like me. Kicking and hollering. I think of going back to that church and smashing them windows. Throwing rocks until my arms hurt.
Then one day, a little man stepped in. He was a tiny thing, probably no more old than I was when I remember what I looked like. He looked at me for a while like all the others. Pondering. Lost in some thought that I wanted desperately to see. From out his little pockets he pulled some crayons though. One - the green one, had a bite mark. It felt rough on me, like it didn't belong. I felt his little hands poking and prodding at the knot.
It's a funny thing. I felt so damn scared. Scared for him. That I might take something before it was ripe. Before it even knew what the summer of life was. But them little crayons kept digging. Moving me around. Untrained hands prodded at me, and I kicked and hollered for them to stop. For them to turn away. But they didn't. They just kept poking and pulling.
He's been here a while now. I think he's hungry. He's kicking. He's tired and wore out. But he keeps drawing. Pushing his little wax nubs all up against my sleek surface.
That preacher talked a lot about the light and the goodness. I now guess I wonder why he ain't never talked about the darkness. How can you give someone a coin that only got one side? Even if you scratch the face all up, that other side still sits there. I wonder if he reckons the lord is everything light... but also all the dark spots, too. I wonder if he thinks the Lord worries about 'negative space.'
But then I feel something funny. I feel the rope start to loosen up around me. A little more than it ever did before. I start to feel my desperate feet kick, and kick against solid ground.
That little critter is all sallow now. Run ragged. But he keeps pressing and prodding. And I keep feeling myself sink a little lower. My toes reaching for the earth which taunts me only a bit below. But I keep kicking and hollering. I keep waiting to feel the wood floor under me, and feel it's chill against my foot.
I wonder if heavens real, too. I wonder if I escape this prison, if there's a penance for what it is I did. Even if I didn't get no choice in doing it. I wonder about the light and the dark, and all the things past those stained glass windows. I wonder how the preacher would sound, talking about me now. If he'd use his gentle voice, speaking of miracles and salvation. I wonder if he'd shout and talk about hellfire. About the right and wrong of it all, and how it ain't up to us how we all come out in the wash.
I wonder what color I'll be, when that warm sun hits me. | 10 | You are a Haunted painting. Every few weeks you would get a subject who you told to "Complete me". No matter what they would always fail in your opinion and often you would kill them in the same ways that they screwed up. One day you collect another subject, but this one... feels... different. | 33 |
My power is incredibly stupid.
My power is worse than, like, stretchy eyeballs, or sonic screams, or like, being able to read the minds of demented people, or whatever. It's useless, with no real-world application.
My power, get this: is the ability to know why I can't use my power. When I *can* use my power, then I actually don't know whether I'm able to or what it is. When I *can't*, I know exactly why. And oh boy, there are a lot of reasons.
I live in a costal city (can't use my power near the ocean) and slept on a bed with a fitted sheet (can't use my power if I sleep on a bed like that) and brushed my teeth (can't use my power if my breath smells 'good' according to some standard) before getting in the shower (can't use my power when wet). I go outside, and since it's hot I'm wearing sneakers (can't use my power in Nikes) and carrying an umbrella for the rain that was forecasted later (can't use my power above 20% humidity - can you tell my power doesn't like water?) After my morning commute on foot, since I live a half hour away, I open the door (can't use my power inside a convenience store) and take my seat behind the register (can't use my power near $20 bills.)
A customer walks in and immediately I get nervous - I still can't use my power, but this one is different. I gently pull out from my pocket a knife (can't use my power when holding rubber) and give a good old smile. "Hey there, welcome to Six-to-Twelve, where everything is right twice a day! What can I get for you?" The man looks through several aisles before coming out with some chips and a beer, setting them on the register. I take my scanner, and at the same time my knife, and as soon as he reaches into his pocket I show him the knife. "Let's not have any trouble here, okay?" A little surprised - perhaps wondering if I have a telepathic power (can't use my power in the presence of those awed by me) he reluctantly coughs up the change and leaves with his items.
I can't use my power around concealed weapons, after all. | 1,116 | Your power is one of the most useless powers there is. However, it has several hundred weirdly specific conditions to activate, such as "can't be between 37 and 38 degrees in latitude" or "cant have a sniper rifle pointed at you". This makes it extremely useful for gathering info. | 1,968 |
The CRISPR sequence ended up useful far beyond biological research labs and disease prevention.
The enhancements to living organisms had long been theorised, trialed in low-risk experiments---incremented gradual across decades, ethics policies rewritten with each after rigorous enquiry--but it wasn't until the fallout that its potential was embraced by the masses. After the bombs fell. When the ozone thinned and holes widened across the globe to make a Swiss cheese of a sky turned orange and perpetually black.
Two thirds didn't make it past the first six months. Economies crumbled and farmlands scorched, and the icecaps melted to a fraction their previous size. Rampant starvation and death and blistering rain became the norm, the proclivity of our adaptation put to a test hitherto never dreamt of.
Bunkers and underground habitats were engineered en masse at near impossible rates. Turned out that cooperation, true, universal cooperation, was productive to degrees that made our entire industrial history seem wasteful. Cities and lakes and far reaching farms all powered by fusion came in rapid proliferations, societies reorganised with bare a gap the efficacy of political strategies. Political egos all but vanished, and a governance of pure efficiency was born.
And yet, human nature is and will forever be tied to surface. To the air and the oceans, and, most of all, to the sun. The science of terraforming was still too nascent in the early years to provide an offset. Best we could hope for was a preservation of what was left--of the fauna that would be critical to the viability of any future ecosystems.
Thus the CRISPR evolution accelerator was developed. Two years after the cataclysm, in May, 2068, the DNA of over 98,000 organisms, from mosquito to reptile to marsupial, were modulated and released to the above. A group carefully chosen from the complete archive for its predicted lifecycle equilibrium. Our drones and AI tended to and monitored progress, and from below we all watched, and in baited breaths, we waited.
It might have been that we were too eager. The plan foolish for the expedite; the fault of our desperation. All in the past, now. Before long, one by one, the video feeds stopped, and all signal from our scouts went silent. And what we saw in those final transmissions...
The entire populace went into a bare subdued panic, and the steels of the gateways were reinforced and buffered as best as our resources would allow. But the smarter of us knew, even then. Knew there was only delay before the inevitable. Before the biggest of them burrowed into the crust, and broke through.
The CRISPR sequence was tasked with stimulating an evolution that would enable each lifeform to withstand the elements, while maintaining a balance with all other creatures possessing of the same advancement. Sounded logical enough, in theory. What we didn't predict, was what happened above and beyond the baseline of the adaptations for environmental resilience. That primal balances weren't reached until tremendous elevations of arms-races had hit a nexus so high that naught a species held the remotest resemblance to their biological ancestors, and a planet of truly unimaginable monsters was born.
Naturally, we all of us became content with our vegetarianism. Livestock wasn't feasible for its inefficiency, and so the only thing between us and total veganism, were the chickens. Eggs so ubiquitous in our cuisine that our culture eventually centred itself around yellow and white, a Hindu-level worship of chickens that manifest itself in many a festival, the media, and our fashion.
On May 24th, 2071, the vibrations began. Thunderous reverberations of a vast digging that grew louder without pause. Our scent, it seemed, had drifted up in emanations potent enough to draw them in. And what a sound it was. The last images we'd witnessed from our drones were no preparation, for gods.
And so once again our society was divided, two thirds to be left in sacrifice, as the rest moved into our new, smaller, more closed-off habitats further beneath, the ones we started to construct after seeing the first of the Krakens--an almost affectionate name we gave them, which had stuck.
The sacrificing part came easier than it might've done in times of surface affluency. The situation had made of us an ant colony, and our majority were more or less neutral to the demands of survival. They wouldn't be going down without a fight, and so their deaths rode high on a notion of duty.
I remember seeing the first breach as I herded the last of my people through the cladding; an image that'll be remembered forever in the highest of resolutions. The crumbling and the downpour of rock and dirt and that endless translucent limb that smashed warping and amorphous to the ground, cloud of dust obscuring part the form and amplifying infinitely the horror. Strands of smaller limbs like tentacles then shot from its gargantuan trunk from out the misty brown at breakneck speeds into the metropolis, and it was a cacophony of echoing screams from the frontline that became our final farewell as the first of the gates was drawn shut, and our long descent began.
We none of use felt fear that day, nor sadness for the fallen. New life comes promising and golden under even the blackest of skies.
Ours was a future built on the shoulders of brave giants, those who we honoured eternal, in our memories, and history, in our language, and our song. From them we grew stronger, and, patient, there in our humble existences, we would prosper. Move forward, and never end.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
r/wordsofbrennan | 13 | As a last ditch effort to avoid mass extinction, a CRISPR evolution accelerator is released into the atmosphere to help animals adapt to the fast changing environment. Things go as planned but humans were never in the driver’s seat. | 47 |
My journey began in the Unvoid. I was at the mercy of forces beyond my control. I was flying in a world without gravity. A world without direction. I was turning and twisting and spinning with no way to stop.
Was I dying?
Was this the end?
The end of my physical form, the end of my mind, the end of my soul?
Or was I dreaming?
Was it a nightmare? A dream? Was I asleep or awake? Was this real or imagined? Was I alive or dead?
Then I heard a voice.
The voice of an old woman.
"Will you take my hand?" she said. "I will lead you to safety."
I reached out to her. I took her hand. Her hand felt cool and smooth and soft, like a feather. I felt safe when I held it. It was like a gentle breeze. It blew away my fear and confusion. My mind became clear.
"Who are you?" I asked her.
"I am your mother," she said. "You've been searching for me for a long time."
"But how can that be?" I said. "I've never met you before."
...
My mother was a demigod, one of the last of her kind. My father was a mortal man. She fell in love with him, and they had a child.
My mother named me in her own language.
In her language, my name meant "the one who will bring an end to all things."
As I grew older, I began to realize that I was connected to the very fabric of reality. I had the power to control space and time. I could bend the rules that governed the world that everybody else lived in. I could cross the boundaries between the Void, the Anti-Void, and the Unvoid.
And I had no idea how to control it.
I was terrified of my powers, of what I could do, of what I knew I was capable of. I feared the day I would lose control, the day I would lose my mind. I feared what I would do when I was not myself.
One day, I thought I would lose control.
I began in the Unvoid, a world without time. I had traveled there to find my mother, to ask her a question I had been pondering since I was a child.
But the world I was in now only existed in the past.
That didn't matter to me.
I needed answers.
My mother was gone.
What I found instead was my mother as she was when she was alive.
"Are you better now?" I asked her.
My mother looked at me and smiled.
"I will always be better when I'm with you," she said.
I told her my question.
"When I'm not myself," I asked, "will I destroy everything?"
She answered my question, but she didn't give me the answer I wanted.
"You're not going to destroy everything," she said. "You're going to save everyone."
I didn't understand.
My mother explained it to me.
"The world that everyone else lives in," she said, "is going to end. And you are going to create a new world."
She left me in the Unvoid and went back to the Void.
She left me with a gift.
She wrapped me in a warm blanket of energy. The energy took me from the Unvoid to the Anti-Void.
In the Anti-Void, everything exists simultaneously. So the past, present, and future are all there.
...
I found myself in a tangle of future realities.
I looked around and saw a young man. He looked like my mother, the young version of her, with her long hair, her dark eyes, her dark skin.
"I'm your father," he said.
I saw myself appear in the middle of the Anti-Void. And then younger versions of myself. One after the other.
"But how?" I said.
"I have a power," he said. "One that allows me to create a timeline of my own. One where I will be with you."
"But how will that help us both survive?" I said.
"It won't," my father said. "I will die. But I will create a string of alternate timelines, all leading to and from you. And in each one, you will survive."
I looked at my other selves. There were so many of them. There were so many of me.
"I was once you," one of them said "The Void is waiting. It is patient. It will devour everything."
I knew what that meant. I knew what I had to do.
I had to go back to the Unvoid. I had to infuse my body with the energy that allowed me to travel through the worlds.
"You're going to lose your mind," my father said. "And you're going to have to find it again. You're going to have to remember who you are and what you're doing here. And you're going to have to pass through the worlds, through time and space, until you find the one you need." | 31 | We all know the Void. A realm where absolutely nothing exists. Then the Anti-Void, where everything exists simultaneously. And then there's the Unvoid, the place where all things that do not exist reside. You find yourself wielding the power of all three. | 218 |
I never thought I’d be raising a nine year old god, but here I am. He’s a good kid, for the most part. Gets good grades in school, doesn’t cause too much trouble.
But it’s not always easy. He’s a god, after all. He has needs that I can’t always meet.
I’ve tried to tell him to stop making himself invisible when it's time for bed, but he just laughs at me and yells at me to chase him. I could when he was smaller but now he has become too fast for me and too strong. I've caught him several times lifting the car with one hand when he kicks his little ball under it.
I remember the day he was born like it was yesterday. The gods descended from the sky in a blaze of light, and I knew that my life would never be the same.
I was chosen to raise him, and I knew that I had to do whatever it took to help him grow. The gods said that he would be the one to save us all.
...
It was a regular monday when it happened. Everything was going well, until it was time to go to bed.
The boy changed into a beautiful bronze colored skinned nine year old with angelic features and huge golden wings.
"Stop that," I said not paying close attention. As of late he begun shapeshifting when it was time to sleep.
"Make me," He said with a grin that I knew was a challenge.
I knew that I couldn't let it go. If I did, he would just think that he could do whatever he wanted. And the world would eventually burn if he did whatever he wanted.
"Come here," I said, walking to meet him. "You don't want to do this."
"Yes I do," he said, sprinting off into the back yard.
I chased after him, but I was too late.
He was gone, and all I saw was a tiny ball of light that swirled around the house before disappearing.
"Dammit," I said, shaking my head.
"Is everything okay?" my wife asked. She was stading in the doorway of the house.
"No, he's gone. That's the third time this week."
"He'll come back," my wife said with a frown. "He's a god. He's... different."
I sighed, running my hand through my hair.
"I know," I said. "I just wish these things came with instructions."
…
I was sitting on the couch later that night, watching tv when a ball of light came swirling in from the back yard.
"Where were you?" I asked.
"Away," the boy said simply, shrugging his shoulders.
"Where did you go?"
"Far away."
"And where is that?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.
"It's really far. You wouldn't like it. It's really boring. You can't see our house. I'd rather be here with you."
I sighed, running my hand through my hair. "You can't just go wherever you want. There are rules that you need to follow. You need to be responsible. | 38 | Raising a nine year old god/goddess hasn’t been easy, but you’ve managed to make it work. | 114 |
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