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"Please... I just need the rope." A desperate man begged. His hair was long and ragged, his eyes gaunt and haunted, but most notably, the skin on the front of his hands were unmarked and smooth. It was that last trait that marked him as the lowest of low. The hands were where the gods marked their chosen.
Nearly every single human being alive had some form of mark on their hand. For some, it was the grandiose mark of powerful deities of fire, earth, water and wind. For others, it was a more common mark of a lesser god. But there were very few like this man who had no mark at all.
The man had always tried to fight against his lot in life. He tried to work his way up in the world and raise himself by his bootstraps so to say. But every attempt he ever made to improve was always met with failure thanks to his smooth, mark-free hands. He didn't know what he did to piss off the gods... Hell, he didn't even know how it would be possible for an unborn soul to anger them in the first place. For the first 15 years of his life, he held out hope that maybe if he did enough good deeds, one of the gods would see he was worthy of their blessing and grant him their power. His hope was slowly chiseled away over the years though. The gods had forsaken him. He came to realize that, unlike everyone else in the world, he could only rely on himself to survive and no other. He never prayed to a deity for protection or guidance - none would offer it or answer. But that was the problem. How could he, a mere mortal, contend with the might of the gods? He tried his best to work his way up, but he had no hope of competing with someone who had a divine blessing.
The man fought hard for decades and scraped with everything he had just to survive in the lowest dredges of society. He had never known a fresh meal, he had never known the comfort of having a roof over his head, and he had never known the security of having a place to call home.
Now, at the age of 43, he no longer had the energy to continue fighting. Decades of futile failures eroded his will to rise up. Deep in his soul, there was still a small flicker of a flame that urged him to fight. That small flicker told him he still had time to show the gods how wrong they were about him. But logic and reasoning drowned that small flicker out.
He knew that nothing was ever going to change. He was just a nameless vagrant, shunned by the gods and the people they blessed, and that was all he ever would be. Now, he was just tired, weary and desperate for the pain to end. His soul wanted to fight, but his mind told him the only the way out was to end it all. And that's why he was here at this shop, begging for a spool of rope despite not having a single penny to his name. There were other ways to end his life, sure, but this one seemed like it would be the quickest and most painless (and feasible) option available. All he needed was for one shopkeeper to take pity on his cursed soul just one time before the end.
"Rope costs money. Money that a filthy mongrel like you clearly doesn't have. Get the hell out of here, or I'll call the guards to come show you your place." The shopkeeper shot back in a venomous tone. "Trash like you is bad for business."
The man looked away in shame. He was used to being treated like this, but it still cut into his soul every time.
"You're right..." The man quietly replied in a weary voice. "I am trash. For whatever reason, the gods decided that was my fate. I'm just... I just want it to end. Please. I can't do it anymore. I can't keep fighting when I know nothing will change. Please just do a poor wretched soul one small act of kindness and give me that rope so I can escape this nightmare. Then, you and the rest of society won't have to worry about me sullying your good names ever again."
"You can die for free by offering yourself to one of the many beasts residing in the forest. This rope would be wasted on scum like you."
The man sighed. He should've known better than to think a shopkeeper would take pity on him during his final moments. He turned around to walk away when a quiet, yet firm voice called out.
"My my, that's no way for a shopkeeper to treat a potential customer. Shame on you sir."
The nameless man looked in the direction of the voice to see an old man covered in tattered robes. His limbs were the size of small twigs, and he had a long, grey messy beard that reached his waist. But one look at the old man's eyes told you this was no ordinary beggar. The man's eyes glowed an unearthly blue. Despite his frail appearance, an aura of power radiated off him.
"Someone with no money is not a potential customer." The shopkeeper cautiously replied. Even he somehow sensed this old man was no ordinary being.
"How about this? If you insist on selling this rope, I'll 'buy' it off you for your life." The old man's voice was quiet, calm and firm all at once. "Of course, if you don't want to sell it, you could always just give it to this poor soul for free."
"You know, threatening a shopkeeper's life is a good way to get the guards to throw you up on the gallows." The shopkeeper nervously replied.
"Guards?" The old man chuckled. "Child no guards in this city could ever hope to do anything to me. But by all means, if you'd like, I could add their lives to the 'payment' for that rope there. Go ahead and call them over."
The shopkeeper visibly paled at the old man's threat. "Fine. You there, here you go." He nervously tossed the spool of rope to the unnamed man. "Just don't go hanging yourself near here. It's bad for business."
"Th-thank you sir." The unnamed man replied as he picked up the rope. He looked at the old man... he wasn't sure what to say. No one had ever helped him before. "And um... thank you to you as well sir. I appreciate your support."
"Think nothing of it child." The old man replied, flashing a warm smile. "Your life is yours to lead as you see fit. That's the way it's supposed to be, and that's the way it should be. I wish others would remember that."
"I wish that were true." The nameless man replied. "Well, uh... thanks. But I need to go now."
"Of course. Go find your peace."
The nameless man hurried away until he found a quiet alley off the side of a street. There was an old, half dead tree in the corner which was high and sturdy enough for him to do what he needed to do. He climbed the tree and tied the rope around it before tying the other end into the noose that would be his salvation. He placed the noose around his neck and prepared to leap from the branch to end it all... but try as he might, he couldn't bring himself to do it.
"Come on... come on just do it!" He quietly pleaded with himself. "Nothing is ever going to change. This is the only thing I will ever know."
He tried to will himself to jump off and end his pain, but that small flicker of a flame burning in his soul would not allow him to do it. He placed a hand on the noose, noting the way it's rough knot felt against his fingers. Fighting any more was pointless. There was no hope for a nameless man shunned by the gods.
Frustrated tears began falling from his eyes. His brain was telling him this was his only out. Logic told him he had no future. So why did he still want to fight against his cursed fate? Why, after decades of failure, did he still want to try?
A single bitter sob escaped the man's lips before he collected himself. He knew it was pointless to keep fighting, but he couldn't bring himself to quit. He removed the noose from his neck and leaped from the tree, landing safely on the ground.
"Deciding to fight after all I see. That takes true strength and courage!" The voice of the old man from before seemed to echo all around the nameless man. He watched in astonishment as the old man suddenly appeared before him, his glowing blue eyes alight with pride.
"Wh-who are you?"
"A god of course. But I think you figured that out already." The old man replied. "I had hoped you would make this choice, but I didn't want to interfere. Because I believe humans should live their lives by their will and their will alone."
"A g-g-god?" The nameless man backed up in fear. The gods hated him. The gods had forsaken him. For all intents and purposes, the gods were his most fearsome enemies.
"Relax my boy." The old man gently said. "I've been watching you all your life, because I had a feeling you might be the one."
"Which... which god are you? What's your name?" The nameless man nervously asked.
"My name? Child I have no name. I come from an era before names were used." He offered the man a kind smile. "That's something you and I have in common - neither of us has a name!"
"What did you mean by me being 'the one?' I'm afraid you're probably mistaken sir. I am nothing but scum at the bottom of society. Try as I might, there is nothing I can accomplish in this world."
"And yet you still fight." The old man replied, a proud twinkle in his glowing eyes. "You still listen to your heart. You still keep a small fire of determination burning in the depths of your soul. You are stronger than any other mortal on this planet as far as I'm concerned."
Having a literal god praise him was something the nameless man never thought he would experience. He stared at the old man in speechless awe.
"Now that I have seen, truly seen, the kind of man you are, I will grant you my blessing."
The man's eyes widened until they felt like they were practically the size of saucers.
"And with you as my champion, we'll burn this world to the ground and destroy all these foolish gods who have lost their way."
The awe and wonderment the nameless man had been experiencing instantly dissipated, and in its place a cold feeling of fear and dread. | 93 | You are born in a world where your status relied on power granted by the god who has chosen you at birth. No god has chosen you, for that you were shunned and placed in the lowest rung of society. In desperation you try to take your own life until an unknown elder god offers their mark to you. | 324 |
"And then he rolled off the cliff, while he was still holding the beer case haha! Literally died of laughing, Steve is a great dude."
"Thank you Jolly, for your kind words, and the introduction to your family."
"Don't mention it man. Keep your distance from Grim though, he's a downer.".
"Don't talk about your brother like that." Father Reaper had entered the room.
"Steve, may I introduce you to Father Reaper. Father, this Steve. He's a great guy."
"Nice to meet you sir. Who do you reap?"
"I reap... fathers?"
"Oh, right..."
There was an awkward silence.
"Jolly, your brother Grim is on leave. There is an incident at Sector G. You will have to take over."
Oh man, not again, Jolly thought. He could not handle one more Grim's assignments. He had an idea though.
"Father, can I take Steve with me? I promise he will behave well. Right, Steve?"
"Of course, I'd love to. I will do as Jolly says sir."
Father Reaper scratched his chin, or rather where a chin would have been ages ago.
"Well what's the harm. Good luck boys."
"Here we go then, hold on tight Steve".
And they were off. In a hospital room.
"Grim's assignments always suck. Wonder what poor sob story we will have this time."
A frail, middle aged woman raised her head towards them.
"Don't worry Steve, she can't see or hear us."
"I can see you."
Oh fuck, Jolly thought. He panicked, turned around to open the door but it was stuck. He tried the window but couldn't get high enough because of his robes. Then as he turned around to face the woman, he knocked over a vase with his scyhte and shattered it into pieces. His brother Clumsy would be proud. Steve was looking at tiles at the ceiling, as if waiting for this awkwardness fest to be over.
A nurse got in the room. She looked around, and then stare at them and the what was left of the vase.
"Who knocked the vase over, Jane?"
"It was them!" Nurse stared over at them blankly without a reaction. She shook her head at Jane and left.
"So you can see us, but not them?"
Jane sighed, "I guess so."
"Did I break something? I mean not the vase but..."
"I know what you mean Steve, yes it's possible."
Jolly walked over to the bed and grabbed the chart.
"So let's see how bad it is. Damn, terminal lung cancer, later stages. Must suck."
Jane coughed some blood into her tissues.
"Yeah, it is bad. We sank all our savings into treatments and got nothing in return. We were evicted at first, now we have to sell the caravan, just to keep me alive for a few more weeks. He had proposed to me while we were traveling the world with it. So many memories."
"Well I know why you call him Grim now."
"Did that need explaining? Shut up Steve. Madam, this is not standard procedure but this is not how I operate. Is there anything we can do before..."
"Before?"
"You know." Steve made a gesture at his throat, and two clicks with his tongue.
"Oh that." Jane exhaled, almost resigned. "Well there is one thing. Could you buy off the caravan and get it back to Phil?"
"Phil?"
"My husband."
"It would be our pleasure, madam." Jolly knew it was against the rules, but something had to be done.
So that's how Jolly ended up stealing a caravan from an auction. Luckily he had Steve with him because he knew fuck all about operating a motor vehicle. As people watched in awe, a driverless caravan taking off from an auction, Jane must have been smiling in her hospital room.
Phil was looking for a place to stay, walking the streets. He heard a familiar honk. When he turned back he saw his good old caravan, yet no one was in it. I must have a guardian angel, he thought. It eased his sorrows after losing his wife.
Jane, Steve and Jolly met at Reaperhold.
"Welcome Jane. Before you leave we have a survey. How would you rate your experience of, um, dying from 1 to 10? 10 being Jolly good and 0 being extremely grim."
"A solid 9"
"9? May I ask where did we lose a point?"
"Shouldn't have broken the vase."
Fair, Jolly thought, as he bid Jane and Steve farewell.
After they left, Father Reaper entered the room. "Jolly, I know what you did last time. Rules are rules. You are going to take over an extra assignment as a punishment."
"Whose is it this time?"
"Clumsy."
This will be just fine, Jolly thought. | 10 | Contrary to popular belief, the Grim Reaper is not an individual, but rather a collective. Or family if you will. All with different mood adjective names. This is the story of the Jolly Reaper. | 127 |
When Roman Gorshun heard an embassy from earth was coming to Gamma K, he couldn’t quite believe it. His title was Governor of the Colony, but it could have just as easily been mayor: there were perhaps thirty thousand humans on the one continent where nine hundred had landed more than a century ago, and of those only about a thousand lived in the sole urban development. The seat of government was just an old prefab that had once served as the first colonist’s general store—what could the suits from the homeland possibly want?
The communique arrived three days before they showed up, just enough time for him to gather the half-dozen representatives of the population that spent its time hunting, trapping, and farming in the hinterlands. Probably there were plenty of voyagers, the people who traded with the world’s near-hominid locals, who wouldn’t know about the embassy for months, when they returned with those ornate mind-altering stones the aliens quarried. Now, Gorshun and the closest thing Gamma K had to bigwigs stood on the edge of their world’s only landing pad, and watched a shuttle descend in early dawn light.
Shuttles had changed plenty since Gamma K was first settled. This vessel did not have the functional, bare-bones brutalism of the few orbit-capable ships Roman had seen. It was covered in baroque designs, flowing lines that turned into striated spires, arched view ports, no retrorockets but rather a grille from which there pulsed a faint blue light. It touched down without a sound, towering over the pad looking for all the galaxy like a church spire. Its airlock sluiced open and a ramp deployed—from within, three people emerged in a sort of compromise between a sari, a suit, and a toga. All three were perfectly hairless, without even eyebrows.
“Hello,” The one in the center said in a strangled accent Roman couldn’t place, “I am Ambassador Helva.”
“How’d you do?” Roman held out his hand. For a moment Helva showed just the faintest hint of shock, and then shook it lightly.
“We wish to speak to your people.”
“Well, what do you want to speak to them about?”
“It will be easiest if we can do this publicly, before the whole colony.”
Roman did his best to explain that this was simply not possible, most of Gamma K’s population was spread out over the entire continent, but Helva was insistent. With a shrug, he led the envoys into town, down the duckboards of the main drag, onlookers joining them the entire way. They arrived at the town square, a patch of white stone quarried miles away and built over the original gravel square almost forty years ago. Along the way the representatives jabbered on about their duties and how they’d come to be civic leaders to the ambassadors, who barely deigned to respond. Roman went on the town cryer and called for anyone who was able to come to the square as well, and after an hour or so the place had filled up, just about every person in a two-mile radius crowded in that small space like it was time for the pig sacrifice on Harvest Day.
The ambassadors stood before the podium, looking not at all uncomfortable though the three of them filled a stage meant for one, and Helva held out their hands for silence. It worked—first time Roman had ever seen that happen—and they spoke.
“People of Gamma K, what we are about to tell you may horrify some, as it did on earth and each colony to which envoys like us were sent. But we must assure you, once you open your minds and accept this new reality, your lives will be infinitely improved.”
Roman stood by the stage, arms crossed over his chest, and realized with a start that Helva’s lips weren’t moving.
“As some of you may know, human beings were discovered to possess latent telepathy some two hundred years ago. At first, it was believed this was no more than a small curiosity, something that had always been which we were barely able to access. But, not long after Gamma K’s colonists first left earth, it was learned that this had only recently evolved—and it was becoming stronger in each person. The larger the population, the more profound the effect. In the last thirty years, the forty billion people of earth have become so telepathic that conversation is hardly necessary. The greatest cities our species has ever built are nearly silent.
“Now, I tell you, we have learned of a further development. Telepathy transcends the confines of space and time. I am, right now, in contact with all the people of earth, able to pick and choose whomever I wish to communicate with. They are all watching this speech through my eyes, just as I am watching a similar speech to the people of Hydra happening this very moment.
“Our mission is simple: to connect all of humanity as one entity. Each person will be a working part in the gestalt, to lead us to a better future, to end petty conflicts and focus solely on the propagation of our species throughout the universe. I will do this for you—in a moment, you will all be brought into the fold, and then you will be able to bring the rest of this world’s population into it, as well.”
Almost the moment Helva stopped speaking a flood of voices slammed into Roman’s ears with the force of a sledgehammer. He heard more talking, screaming, laughing, moaning, ordering, and whatever else than he’d ever known in his life. It was a blur of human noise, so vast and overpowering it may have been the gods trumpeting the end of all life. He fell to his knees and perceived, dimly, everyone else doing the same.
He could feel, truly feel, someone else’s will crashing down on him, pushing him to accept this, pushing him to enjoy it. The effect was nauseating, and made worse when he saw through someone else’s eyes, the painted nails and slender hands of a woman somewhere in the square retching. It was nightmarish—he searched for himself, tried to find his own eyes again, focused on this more than anything else, pushing back the willpower of someone he could not name as though it were a torrent of freezing water, looking for the branch that was his own mind and could drag him back.
His own hands now, he saw, flat on the white cobbles of the square. He knew what he had to do—looking up, Helva and their two comrades were staring at him with a look of mixed anger and horror too intense for their gentle features. He drew his revolver, took aim. They did not move—the pressure for him to put the gun down became painful, a white-hot sting behind his eyes. He fired once, and Helva dropped. The other two kept up their stare—his skin was on fire now, he felt like a million tiny insects were biting every square centimeter. He fired again and one of the ambassador’s brains blew out.
The force of will broke, then. Almost instantly the entire crowd got to its feet and jumped the last envoy, dragging them to the ground and beating them furiously. After a few minutes of this, the voices in all their heads vanished. The last ambassador was dead.
“Are you all right?”
Roman looked up—he was the only one who had remained on their knees, the pain only now subsiding. The hand on his shoulder had the same painted nails *he’d* had just a moment before.
“Yeah…I think so. Gods, what the hell was that?”
“I don’t know, but if that bastard was telling the truth, we can expect more of it soon.”
“Yeah, well. I’ve got enough bullets for another embassy, I’ll tell you that much.” | 116 | As humans evolve they develop a form of telepathy. Slowly the telepathy grows stronger and more widely used. Humans grow closer to one another and privacy and individuality are voluntarily discarded. Humanity is in the process of turning into a hivemind. | 485 |
"W-what?"
"You said he's acting up in school and goofing off right? How so?"
It was a bit strange. Deathgaze, a man who's face I'd likely be punching in a few hours, seemed to be listening to my concerns about his daughter quite seriously.
"Well, she refused to get off her phone, and is not doing any of her homework. She also seems to be upset by the fact that I am a superhero."
Deathgaze seemed to sit there on the other side, seething in anger. I was afraid a brawl was going to take place right then and there between us, until his wife started crying.
"Th-This isn't how we raised her!"
Deathgaze would turn holding onto his wife, comforting her.
"I know, I know. Seems she's found out about my job after all."
What was already an awkward situation, was already becoming much more so, I kinda wished I was slugging it out with my nemesis, at least then I wouldn't have to think about his personal life.
"Captain- er I mean Ms. Surpassion."
"Please, call me Susie in this situation."
"Right, Susie, we only want what's best for our daughter. It was already agreed that my job as a supervillain would be far too much of a negative influence on her, and have avoided telling her such. It was always hard when it came to bring-your-daughter-to-work day, but we've managed. She's my little angel and I want her to be just like you when she grows up."
"What? Aren't we enemies? Why would you want your daughter to be like me?"
"Oh please, this is just a side gig for income, my true passion is painting! I've found your job to be far more fascinating than my own, and always hoped someday I could switch over." | 16 | Concerned with the behaviour of one of your students you decide to hold a meeting with their parents. During this meeting you find out that one of their parents is the supervillain deathgaze which is super awkward considering he's your archenemy. | 49 |
The little man keeps telling you he has something very important in his possession. Maybe he does; maybe it's the only thing keeping him going through these endless nights. You keep looking at your watch when he isn't watching you. It doesn't seem like the same time as before. Your head is throbbing and you can't recall how long ago you left home or what day it really is.
What was it he said about the stars? Something about them being gone. And they were… weren't they? Wasn't this city built on land once covered with stars? Perhaps you should go back there and see. But the little man won't let you. He just keeps on following you around, tugging at your sleeve, whispering in your ear, *"Follow me!"*
You don't know why he wants you to follow him so badly. So far all he's shown you are dark streets where nobody lives and places you've never seen before. All the doors are locked. There's no one here but him and you.
The little man stops abruptly and turns toward some sound behind you. His hand reaches out as if it wants to grab you. The night air is cold and damp; you shiver. You feel a dreadful sense of foreboding. What will happen next?
He whispers again: *"Follow me."*
And you do. Down an alley, up another street. You can barely make out his features now—his eyes seem to have grown larger, more intense. And he's pulling you faster and faster along. Up ahead loom two great doors set side by side. They're made of bronze. As you draw near, you catch the faintest whiff of something strange. An old musty smell, like rotting leaves. A door opens and a voice calls from within, *"Come! Enter and behold!"*
A third time the little man pulls you forward. The two doors swing open and he beckons you inside.
As you walk down the hall, which is lined with mirrors and illuminated by candles burning against the gloom, you hear voices speaking to each other. You turn the corner and see the room filled with people. Some sit at tables eating and drinking, while others stand talking. At the end of the room stands a large table, upon which rests a book. On the cover of the book there is a picture of the night sky, with twelve stars arranged in a circle.
*"My friends,"* says a voice from the table, *"I greet you. I am glad you could join us tonight. A great event is taking place in this world, and we shall not soon forget it; nor should anyone else. For this is the culmination of centuries of dreams and hopes. We have waited a long time for this moment."*
A murmur goes through the crowd. Someone raises a glass and shouts, *"Long live the Brotherhood of the New Stars!"* | 10 | Moving to the City That Never Sleeps was a dream come true. Since arriving you’ve been overwhelmed by the bright lights, vivid colours, and the little man that follows you around. Although, come to think of it, all those lights and colours might be because you’ve been awake for six days. | 168 |
Did you know Harold the Mighty could destroy us all on a whim if he so desired?
Praise Harold himself though that he's high as a kite all the damn time.
When Harold first arrived here on our cozy little planet, we feared the worst. I mean, how would you feel if some ragged dude dressed in curtains landed on your home, stepped out of his green and white spaceship all glowy and stuff and simply lied down and went to sleep.
It's a showing of absolute dominance. It was like he knew there was nothing we could do to harm him through his magical shield. He could sleep all day long and let us attack him, it wouldn't even bother him.
It took us a while to figure out who and what Harold exactly was of course. This was our first contact with alien life after all, it takes a few days to adjust to the new status quo. But the longer we studied Harold, the more we began to realize something. He wasn't very much aware he was even on another planet.
Most of the time he was sleeping, because of course he would, and while awake he would spent the hours eating the peace offerings we brought him and smoking something he had brought from his spaceship.
The glowy aura around him though never dissapeared, and that's what bothered us the most. We observed from a distance for a good while until we discovered *it*. He carried a necklace on him all times, and beaded on it were several coloured rocks. At times, Harold would take one of the rocks from the necklace and rub it in his hands.
And that's when the magic happened.
The yellow rock, we found out, sent out pulses of healing power. Any who was close enough to him when he rubbed it would find illness cured and wounds healed.
The green one was a power of growth. Flowers would sprout from the ground, trees would grow new branches and double in size...
Purple was a dangerous one, it affected the emotions of both people and animals. Some would grow angry, others found themselves drifting away in carelessness and a select few started participating in activities that we could call... passionate.
Blue is my favourite one, I'd have to say. If one goes to sleep after being under its spell, a good night's sleep with *very* pleasant dreams is a guarantee. Works wonders after a hard day's work.
But nothing is all rainbows and sunshine with Harold's rocks. And that's why every day, we await anxiously what rock he will use. We don't think he fully realizes what he's doing and the effect he has on the world around him. He seems... hazy most of the time.
The day he rubbed the red rock is still fresh in my memory. It was a day of horror. Fire and death everywhere. No one close to Harold survived. I lost many a friend that day.
I fear the day he chooses the black rock.
> Thanks for reading, more over at /r/PromptedByDaddy | 11 | Crystals are the only real magic that exists. Only the more there are, the less powerful they become. A hippie astronaut brings a bag of gems to a planet without any and becomes a powerful sorcerer. | 79 |
"Hey!" The tiny red headed figure yelled at the giants above them. The hair was scraggly, bones jutted from the ripped and torn clothes. They stood alone in a scorched field on the only rock jutting from the ground.
"Hey! You giant firey motherfucker. I know you can hear me!" The muscles in the figures neck strain with each word, the bones of their ribcage stretch and look ready to break with the effort needed to scream up at the flaming face of the gollum. As it swung its head to look at the figure the flames crackling across the black skin roared to life. Starving the oxygen around them the flared and sputtered and roared as it turned.
With a voice of ash, wildfire fires roaring, bombs dropping on cities and crackles of a dying world it answered the figure.
"We were sent by the gods to cleanse the world. Your sins could no longer stand" startled the giant paused. The small figure had started to speak. They never spoke when it was speaking.
"Yeah I know the speech. I have one for you. Humans have been practicing mutual destruction since we invented the pointy stick. You killed our children, you've killed our food, you've destroyed the land, and boiled the water. The air is foul and we are unable to last. Your ugly ass has made this planet uninhabitable. But we worked something out. You need a planet to create something to worship you. You need this planet to exist after you've burnt it clean." The little figure was no longer yelling. It's body shook with rage, like it was shimmering in the heat.
"Since you are so determined to send us to our graves for the sin of no longer worshipping you, we have decided to pass judgement on you. We have decided that if you no longer wish to maintain the place we call home. We will burn the house to the ground. If we are to leave, so be it, but this will be our final act. We are truly going to practice mutual destruction. And when it's God's we must kill, then the only thing left to destroy is the whole goddam planet" the figure smiled into the face that stared blankly back at him.
Gollums were nothing more than avatars for the gods who piloted them. The human waited for the pilot to appear, although it was already to late. A golden light appeared on the ground at the burnt field below the humans rock. At its center a vaguly human shadow shimmered. When it spoke the human struggled to stand their ground. The voice was pure pleasure and utter pain. The agony of lost joy and the radiance of found love.
"What have you done?"
"We dug the deepest grave we could and then we buried the last child of hubris and humans in it."
"Explain yourself?"
The human turned to the golden light it's face twisted into self satisfied malice.
"We fired the biggest nuclear weapon we have ever made into the center of the earth. You will cease to exist"
As the ground began to grumble and crack, fracturing apart in great tears, the human watched the God do something no other human had witnessed. The light flickered.
"I bet you weren't expecting mutually assured destruction to work. But now look at your new Gods and beg for mercy. Humans found a way to kill the gods, and in our judgement we expect you to die for your sins" | 41 | A nuclear explosive is a great deterrent and a devastating weapon. This applies even against the armies of the gods that decided to end the continued existence of mankind. | 92 |
"This isn't going to work out the way you think," the Devil said, eyes narrowed at the man standing before him. He was unassuming, even for a human - plain clothes, a scruffy face you'd forget in a heartbeat, and only a handful of scars allowed him to stand out.
"Others have tried this wording, you know?" the Devil continued.
"I assumed they did. And I am okay with that," the man responded. He was... calm, oddly so, for someone in the presence of the Lord of Hell. His manner of speech was cool and collected, just short of being robotic.
"Very well," the Devil said and tapped his fingers on the mahogany desk he sat at. A scroll materialised itself before him, ready to be written upon. "So, is it the cancer? I can remove it and give you, let's say, 15 years before-"
"Not for me. My city," the man interrupted.
"Your city," the Devil repeated curiously.
"The Night Stalkers come every single sunset. Get rid of them and my soul is yours."
The Devil raised an eyebrow and from below his desk pulled out a folder. Let's see... Lee Nefter, sheriff in the city of... Durthel, under siege from various assorted monsters for the last 4 weeks, primarily *tenebris humanica -* mutated human. *How ironic*. No help available. 852 dead thus far.
"Fancy yourself a hero?" the Devil grinned. The man frowned.
"Do you accept?" he growled.
The Devil took a deep breath and, amused by the human's audacity, decided to state his curiosity. He focused and gazed deep into the man's mind and soul. It was always entertaining to see the souls of those noble and selfless, the kind and caring, as their inner turmoil of dealing with Him caused so much conflict.
Only... this man had no nobility, he had no selflessness. He'd expected to find his heart filled with love for his fellow man but... it wasn't. He *hated* them, despite continuing to serve as their sheriff. He'd long abandoned ideals of justice and integrity, no longer believed people were good. There was barely a scrap of kinship towards them. No, this man's heart and soul were filled with something different altogether.
*Spite*.
Pure, unadulterated loathing flowed through his veins - anger at the monsters who so callously came and slaughtered, rage at the injustice in what was an already unjust world, disgust at their consumption of flesh. He didn't care about the townsfolk, not really. But he did care about the bastards who *dared* to kill them and he was willing to damn himself just to see them suffer.
The Devil could not help but chuckle. This... this was fun. He cracked his neck.
"Done. You'll find them dead within two days. Give their bodies a good kick for me."
The man took a deep breath, his eyes closed.
"So," he said, "where do I sign and how long do I have?"
The Devil nodded ever so slightly and a door behind the man opened, a bright light emanating from it.
"Out," the Devil commanded. The man's disposition changed for the first time since his visit.
"I don't understand. I didn't sign-" he said with complete confusion.
"Oh, no. You're more fun out there. So *this one*," the Devil said with a, well, devilish grin, "t*his one is on the house.*" | 1,175 | "I'd like to sell my soul". The Devil grinned; "In exchange for what? Women, money, power?". "Salvation". | 2,558 |
The bars attention shifted to the jarred head I'd placed on the counter. It writhed and yelled inside of its glass prison, just as it had done for the past week. "You will be smited mortal! Cast down just as you have tried to do to me! But you will not live in a prison, no, you will die for-" I grabbed the jar and rested it back in my bag where the venom she spit could no longer be felt.
Adal, she went by. God of...something or another, I couldn't quite remember. Harvest?, no no, nature maybe it was-
Guess it didn't matter much now, there wasn't hardly any of either to speak of nowadays. Well, that and it helped me to forget what it was she did. Allowed me to ignore the thought of what sorts of power I carried around on my hip for the last week in the form of jarred god-heads.
At Adal's appearance the bar grew silent. Those that had been sipping their spirits now held their glasses as if they were full of poison. I could hear someone in the back desperately trying to hold in a cough.
"Was- was that Adal?" a slack jawed man to my right spoke with fear. He knew it was, in fact, I was sure they all did. They just wanted me to tell them otherwise, but I wouldn't. Instead I ignored their prying and ordered something stiff for myself. I would need it to face the crowd once I pulled the two other from my satchel.
The bartender served me my glass with a shaky hand. A dirty tag pinned to his apron read *Sal*. He looked like a Sal.
"Thank ya, Sal." I downed the liquid and tried my best not to wince. No idea what the old man had served me, but it was quickly firing up my insides, spreading through every fingertip with its heat.
Well, now was as good of a time as any.
"Not only do I kill gods, I collect em. And my collection is far from finished!" I put on my best face of confidence as I removed two more jarred heads from my bag, Salazan and Anaythleus they were called. The man holding in the cough before let it out, hacking and choking. Nearly everyone that held a glass now let them clatter to the floors from their hands. I watched as Sal nearly fainted, stumbling backwards in attempt to put as much distance as he could between himself and the wrathful heads. The other patrons close by followed suit.
"Relax, relax! They have no power anymore. Or, at least I don't think they do... Hey, Salazan, show the people what you can do." I tapped his jar leaving a smudge behind.
He looked up to me with green eyes filled with hate. At my request his brow furrowed even more than usual and his bearded face turned to a frown. "You are arrogant boy. Once you are defeated I will ensure it is I that plots your punishment."
"See? Harmless." At my display a few curious faces approached the jars. Then one by one, more and more until the entire bar closed in on them. Some prodded and poked at their enclosures, others laughed heartily in their faces, but most wanted nothing more than to turn them out and crush them into the dirt. I would have loved to grant them that right if I didn't still need them. Takes a god to find a god they say, "they" being me.
With a newfound confidence one of the men yelled: "They ain't nothin'! These pathetic things turned our country to waste, let's return the favor!" His cry was met by a horde of echoed cheers and the sounds of weapons drawn from sheaths and holsters.
Now, more mob than bar patrons, the crowd rushed through the bar doors and to the wasteland beyond, leaving me, Sal, and my heads behind.
"Do you really think they got a shot out there?", Sal spoke from behind the heads on the counter. Rather than reply I opened my satchel to reveal more, a pile of jars all filled with the heads of gods I'd ended. Eight in total, leaving only one free watching over the wasteland. One by one I lined the jars and counted them off as Sal watched. When I finished he looked to me puzzled. "But why? What of the ninth?"
"I tried with him time and time again. I realized I'm just not the guy," I lifted my cloak to show Sal the crackling flesh over my ribcage, blackened still. "But maybe one of them will be. Last group wasn't. One before wasn't neither. Hopefully this one is."
So I waited, and waited, then packed my bag for the next bar in the wasteland. | 104 | "You think you can kill the gods that turned everything into this barren wasteland?", laughed one of the bar regulars. The stranger with the stetson hat reached down and pulled up the familiar disembodied head of a god angrily screaming inside a jar. "Well they haven't managed to kill me yet." | 260 |
It spoke with a grave finality, changing the threads of the world. The three white lights that shone over it grew brighter, beginning to move in a circle around us. It grasped my right wrist, holding it up. I opened my palm, as the first light was sucked within. My hand erupted in a furious itching, my skin feeling harder.
It grapsed my left wrist, holding it up like my right. As I opened my palm, the second light vanished within. That same itch arose, this time my skin feeling thin and weak. But both appeared the same as ever.
The final light maneuvered between my hands, before flattening into a shaft. Both ends touched my open palms, and the genie let go as they were sucked together. It was an amplified clap, one that seemed to mimic thunder. With that, the wish was complete, and the grey skinned genie smiled.
"Our deal is done. Enjoy your wishes."
With that it dissolved into a whirlwind of ash, funneling down into a worn lamp. The lamp vibrated, hovering up from its position on the floor. I saw the tarnish vanish, dents pop out. In moments it was new, before it disappeared. I knew it would appear somewhere in the world, where ever it was needed.
But I had no more cares for it. I stared at my hands, smiling at the power I felt within. It was untamed, as uncontrollable as the waves. But I did not need to control it. I just had to know that it worked. I looked around, seeking something to test it with. My eyes spotted a stick, the perfect way to test my right hand.
I picked it up, whipping it through the air. It was solid, a good stick. Gripping it firmly, I found a rock, and proceeded to hit it against. The shock ran through my arm, and I carefully inspected the stick. It was unharmed. Grinning, I swung again and again, doing my best to break it. But break it I could not, for my power did indeed make it indestructible.
Eager to try, I picked up the rock in my left hand. It began to flake apart immediately, feeling incredibly delicate in my grip. With the faintest of pressure it began to crumble, like a pile of sand. It was nothing to me, and my newly acquired power.
I discarded the stick, taking ahold of the rock in both hands. At my touch it began hard again, the crumbling ceasing. I dropped it, turning to pick up the stick again. I grasped it with both hands, and started bending it. As expected it bent without issue, as would be expected. Though as I bent it far enough to snap, I immediately noticed the difference. My right stick was solid, with the left was falling apart.
I clapped excitedly. This was perfect. But it still required testing further. What would count as being held? If I lay my hand against a wall, would it be affected? What about a wall with a sticking out brick? Would it cover the brick or the wall?
So many questions. So much to uncover. But I had time.at least. The rebel recruiter would be arriving in a couple of weeks. If I could get my answers by then, I could go with them. Then maybe I could find out just what happened to my brother. | 11 | "Do we have an accord?" the genie asked. "Yes" I agreed. I had taken my 3 wishes and rolled them into one because it was too much for a single wish. "Whatever held in your right hand will be indestructible while held, your left will become brittle and fall apart, but both have no effect" | 21 |
"...Doctor Doomsday... what the fuck" WalkMan said, over the blare of his current fight song, which I recognized as '[Fight Song](https://youtu.be/xo1VInw-SKc?t=37)'.
"Well, we've been having our little scuffles for a long time now" I said, still holding the small ring in my metallic hands. "I built a wellness clinic for you when I noticed you were feeling down. I learned your weakness, but I don't ever use it. Hell, we're each Godfather to the other's children."
WalkMan lowered his fists from his fighting stance, and paused the song through his smartwatch. "I suppose you did find my son for me."
I raised the ring I had made, to bring his attention to it once more. "I want to make this official. Will you be my nemesis?"
WalkMan eyed the ring with suspicion. I couldn't blame him, really. He had ripped both of my arms off, and we had fought dozens and dozens of times. I would be insulted if he did just accept it at face value.
"It's not a trap or a trick, WalkMan." I said reassuringly. "If I wanted to really hurt you, I could do that with a wind up music box. This is just a circle of metal, made from the debris from our first fight in Chicago."
WalkMan didn't move. "Wasn't that at a children's hospital?" He asked.
"That's hardly relevant, but yes." I said, chiding him. I hadn't hurt a single child in that place and he knew it. I just needed some of the rare metals found in the medical devices, and I couldn't yet afford them.
WalkMan fumbled with his smartwatch again, and I heard the opening notes of the [Columbo](https://youtu.be/yeWZ4iBd5qc) theme song. He was trying to increase his insight with an old detective's help, it seemed.
After an awkward 30 seconds, WalkMan turned off the song, and took the few steps towards me. He reached down and gingerly accepted the ring.
I sprang to my feet, perhaps a bit too quickly. My knees weren't metallic like my arms were, and I couldn't stay down there a minute longer. WalkMan leapt back and threw his hands into a fighting stance once more, which apparently triggered a [Slayer](https://youtu.be/z8ZqFlw6hYg?t=33) song automatically. I held up my hands in a placative gesture, trying to lower the tension once more.
WalkMan did the same, but left the song playing.
"Try it on. It's harmless, I promise." I said, convincing even myself that I was telling the truth.
He looked down at the ring in his hand, and slowly slipped it onto the ring finger on his right hand. It fit perfectly. I smiled.
The ring activated.
A cigar cutter style blade shot through his finger, turning the ring into a solid disc. WalkMan screamed and leapt back, still under the influence of the heavy metal guitar. I cackled in glee.
"Now we're even, WalkMan!" I shouted, as he quickly changed the song to his [healing](https://youtu.be/9LxPoJ4QoSk?t=41) playlist. "You took my arms, now I take your finger!"
Walkman stood holding his hand, letting the healing song increase his metabolism and stop the bleeding. "You're insane!" He shouted over his headphones.
"Oh relax" I said, "I knew you could heal it. I just wanted a little payback. I even made you a prosthetic replacement, with blutooth compatibility." I held out a black box with a bow tied artfully around it.
WalkMan turned and ran, leaping over a nearby hedge and disappearing from view.
"I'll just mail it to you, then!" I shouted after him, cackling anew. "See you next time, Nemesis!"
/r/SlightlyColdStories for more. I tried something new this time, linking the songs he listened to at the points in the story. Let me know if that's something you want me to keep doing. | 31 | You are a hero/villain who has fought many heroes/villains in their career. But one stood out. You looked forward to every encounter with them, every time a bit more. Then, during your next clash with them, you dropped to one knee, took out a ring, an asked "Will you be my nemesis?" | 106 |
In a dim and grimy tavern, four adventurers drank their bitter mead. Each one with wounds which had not healed. Each with the same worries about how they would make it to the next day. Though they were all caught in the same predicament, none dared to speak of it.
"Foot still hurts," grunted the thief, breaking the silence. The others sat silently, remembering the recent bugbear attack. They shouldn't have been ambushed so easily. They were hungry, tired, getting careless.
"Can still walk on it, aye?" the leader interrogated. Hunched in the corner, his figure still towered over the others. The thief nodded. Without thinking, the elven archer laid their splinted forearm across the table and opened their mouth to speak. The barbarian silenced the complaint before breath could carry it, with the creaking sound of his bones as he stood up.
"Bugbear had gotten lucky," the leader spoke, remembering the recent humiliation. "But our luck's about to change for the better. We've got a *quest*." The barbarian spoke that word as if it represented the gold they would be spending and not the peril that may spell their doom.
"Really now?" asked the mage. Klaire did not ordinarily speak so boldly, but she had been losing faith in her cohort for many weeks. The bugbear incident was the last straw. "And this will pay for the medicine for-"
"Yes- for your bloodrot." Lankos grumbled. "We've gotten through worse together. We'll make it through this as well."
The elven archer withdrew their arm and stood up to address Lankos. "My arm is healing, but perhaps we could rest for a few days."
"Vairn's right," agreed the thief. "Stable boy said we could sleep in the barn for a few kopeks."
"No. We leave tonight," barked Lankos. He paused for a moment. "And don't go around spending our money, thief." With that, the barbarian turned towards the door, expecting his cohort to follow. When they didn't comply, he looked over his shoulder, neckbones audibly grinding from the effort. "We're going to Odkahoud."
The mutterings of the tavern went silent at the mention of that cursed place. If they weren't already planning on leaving, they'd soon be thrown out for even thinking such blasphemies. Odkahoud: the dungeon from where none had returned. With no survivors' tales, one could only imagine what horrors lurked within.
There was no point in protesting. The adventurers were united in their lack of options. And if they didn't get some gold soon, none of them would survive in a cold and unforgiving world. As with many times before, they resigned themselves to Lankos' authority and hoped that, together, they would be able to overcome the dangers that awaited.
​
No one spoke during the long, twilight march. Klaire looked skyward and tried to glean some divination from the stars. But even the heavens seemed to have forgotten them. The thief, Hypos, tried to conceal his limp while scouting. As they marched on, the air felt lifeless and barren.
"No danger in the journey, all danger in the destination," quipped Vairn. Lankos scowled and pretended not to hear. He would have ordinarily clubbed them for such talk, but with the aches in his body he could barely lift a cudgel.
As they descended into a gully, the sun began to rise behind the crumbling entrance to the subterranean lair. The earth was dry and cracked, and a breeze brought foul air from nearby. Silently, the adventurers began their preparations. Vairn struggled to string their bow with the splinted arm. Klaire drew some sigils in the earth and muttered prayers to the few divinities she hoped might still be listening. Hypos checked the wrappings on his foot and made sure his blades were concealed. Lankos tried to stretch, but his sinews had lost their elasticity. He eyed his companions and withdrew a small leaden flask.
"Here. Something to aid," he commanded as he took a swig and offered the flask. Klaire sniffed the contents warily. It definitely wasn't a healing potion. She brought the flask to her lips and tasted an ineptly brewed analgesic. 'Cure the pain, but not the wound' she thought bitterly as she passed it around.
Hypos quaffed the remainder and finished disabling the lock. "It's open," he said, inviting Lankos to enter.
"Check for traps," Lankos scowled. The thief obliged and slowly opened the door. Vairn nervously prepared their bow while Klaire began a scrying meditation. Lankos hoisted the oaken club over his shoulder as the voices of pain from his body grew quieter. From within the decrepit entrance, an unusual aroma began to waft outward, replacing the stench which the morning winds had deposited.
"Poison!" cried Lankos. He tried to step backwards and nearly broke his ankle while falling. Klaire lunged forward, breathing in deeply, and was disappointed to recognize the scent. Vairn readied his bow to put her out of her misery, but she turned towards the group and raised her hand in peace.
"It's perfume," she frowned. "Expensive." Their faces all showed confusion, but none felt more befuddled than the mage. It was a familiar fragrance from her pampered childhood. A reminder of the life that had once been hers. For the first time in decades, her curiosity had grown larger than her fears. "Let's go in," she ordered.
​
Klaire walked through the doorway and quickly disappeared into a darkened corridor. The rest followed. As they stepped inside, a soft light began to emanate from the ceiling. Lankos was last through the door before it slammed shut. If they noticed that they were entrapped, no one admitted it. There was no other way but forward.
As they walked, the ceiling illumination grew stronger until it felt as though the sun were shining directly through the earth. A simple wooden door blocked the end of the hallway. A coarse rug laid in front of the door, with simple runes woven into its fabric.
"What does it say?" Hypos asked, looking to the Mage. She studied the characters and paused for a moment before answering.
"It says: WIPE YOUR FEET."
"Damned riddles," cursed Lankos. He had no patience for subtleties. While Vairn and Hypos were crouched, rubbing their feet with a grimy rag, he strode forward and brought his club crashing into the doorway, nearly falling through as the flimsy door collapsed into splinters. As soon as he noticed what was in the room, he nearly fell over again. "Great spirits," he whispered with childlike wonder.
"Great spirits indeed," echoed Vairn reverently. Beyond the corridor was a lavish assortment of couches and assorted plush furniture. The walls were decorated with fine tapestries and the floor was covered with a thick woolen carpet which seemed to embrace their feet with each step.
"Do I hear music?" Hypos wondered aloud as he padded towards one of the couches. There seemed to be a tinkling of chimes and the melodious notes of a flute quartet playing nearby. The entire party was completely bewildered. Klaire glanced nervously and spied a cloaked figure approaching.
"Greetings, travelers!" a sonorous voice called from within the folds of the blood-red cloak. As the figure drew closer, they could see that the person was wearing a golden mask and walked towards them with open arms. "Welcome to Odkahoud."
"What is this place?!" demanded Lankos. The cloaked figure approached their leader and bowed respectfully.
"This is a place," the golden mask spoke calmly. "Of comforts. Here, every pain will disappear."
The voice had a calming effect, and the adventurers felt too tired to fight anyway. They were led to nearby couches, while the cloaked figure served them goblets of wine and explained the nature of the dungeon.
"You see," the voice said. "We are creatures that derive sustenance from your relief. Weary travelers who rest here, provide us with their troubles. And in return..." the mask looked away for a moment and seemed to forget what it was talking about. "Won't you tell me of the pains that have been inflicted upon thyself?"
Tears welled up in Klaire's eyes. She told the mask of her bloodrot, the curse placed upon her by the assassins from her former homeland. The mask listened patiently while each of the four opened up about their discomforts. Afterwards, the cloaked figure nodded smartly and promised to prepare a great banquet.
​
For several weeks, the adventurers remained with the cloaked figure who cured their wounds and repaired their bodies with an incomprehensible magic. They grew more comfortable until they no longer even felt the need to leave their couches.
After several months, Klaire began to remember her homeland. The blood-curse was gone. She could reclaim her birthright. Lankos and the others had forgotten about the outside world and its problems. They had no one to return to and nothing to hope for, except the promise of another day.
Since they had not left their couches in so long, the cloaked figure had stopped visiting them to attend to their needs. But they had no needs. They simply sat. When they wanted to laugh, they laughed. If ever any discomfort began to arise, music would begin to play and the discomfort would just as quickly fade.
Klaire tried to get up from the couch, but found that her body no longer responded to her will.
She would struggle, music would play, and the thoughts of her homeland would fade as she relaxed. Her companions rolled and giggled as the music began to swell. When she tried to remember her home, it was replaced with the tinkling of chimes and the harmonies of the flutes.
As the last of her memories disappeared, Klaire recalled a story from her childhood. She remembered a tale about demons which hid behind golden masks. As she finally understood what had happened, she tried to scream. When she opened her mouth, her companions only heard beautiful music. | 13 | the dungeon keeper has made it the most comfortable one in existence! | 45 |
I’d love to say my fifteenth birthday party was great fun, with all my friends and family there to celebrate me becoming an adult, but I don’t have any friends. No noble would be friends with someone from House Elzryn, and I’m not allowed to befriend commoners. As for family, I’m an only child and an orphan, my dad dying last year from an illness. Beside me, no one really cared about his death as he married into the house from a minor line of a minor house. My mom’s death has all sorts of rumors, her being third in line to House Elzryn. Everyone says she was attacking someone, or testing poisons, or someone in our house killed her.
My cousin, Urell, actually made it to the party, and sulks around, most likely trying to figure out who he could kill to advance the power of House Elzryn. My uncle seems grumpy about being here, but as head of the house he has to. Besides them, there’s a lot of distant relatives, some I’m actually friendly with, and people from other houses I probably should recognize but don’t.
My uncle clears his throat, ”Today we mark Atheral’s fifteenth birthday, adulthood, and reception of her inheritance.”
I go up to the stage, where he pins the symbol of House Elzryn to my coat, and whispers “The Emperor wants to talk to you. Sneak out and Urell will take you to the palace.”
People clap politely.
I shake hands, and exchange polite words, then leave.
Urell’s already in my room when I get there.
“Change into this, then go to the back entrance. And you can put your knife away. I wouldn’t assassinate you now,” he says.
I don’t let go of the knife till he leaves the room. I change into the cloak, a famed Elzryn cloak.
There’s no coach outside at the back entrance. I look around for Urell, and he appears behind me. We start walking.
“You didn’t wear the boots? They were at the end of your bed,” he says.
“I didn’t expect to walk. Besides, these shoes are comfortable enough.”
“Lesson one: almost always wear good boots if you’re wearing the cloak. Lesson two: walking can be more secretive, but if someone sees you you’d rather be in a carriage. So walk if you want no one to know you’re going anywhere.”
“I’m not going to join this house’s stupid power grabbing by any means. I don’t need these lessons,” I say.
Urell laughs. “And yet, you brought knives, and that ring is poisoned. Besides, you’ve misunderstood the house.”
Urell guides me through a side gate to a side entrance, where one of the Emperor’s servants takes me inside and leads me to a random room.
I walk in, and the Emperor’s sitting at a table. I bow.
“Sit down,” he says. “Happy birthday. Are you ready for your first assignment? Your uncle convinced me to give you a simple one at first, so just gather information on House Charlen. I suspect them of selling information or something to Klactan.”
“Your highness, I don’t understand. Why are you giving me an assignment? You know the reputation of Elzryn,” I say, looking down.
“Wait, you don’t know? I guess since your father raised you, well that reputation of House Elzryn is a sham, to allow you to do things my soldiers or even other nobles never could. Atheral, I trust your family to keep the Empire safe,” the Emperor says. “And that’s I present for you.”
I open the box on the table. A bracelet with a hidden blade. | 12 | Your family is famed for being the most villainous of all the nobles in the Empire. But on your fifteenth birthday you learn a shocking secret. The Emperor trusts your family more than the other nobles in keeping the Empire safe. | 31 |
"WHAT THE HELL!" I shouted as I jumped away from the bug. "Hey, why are you jumping?" The Bug asked with his squeaky voice. "I'm the one that should be jumping away from you asshole."
I start to calm down a little and I walk toward The Bug. I look at it and I see its legs, antennas, and brown-colored back. It looks at me and asks, "So are we gonna talk about this?"
I wanna run away, but I'm too scared to move. "I'm not leaving until we talk this out," It said. I start to form words and ask him, "How...How are you...talking?"
"If I were to tell you how your brain would explode," It answered sarcastically. "So..What do I call..you?" I asked hesitantly. "My name is Paul and yours is Steve," It answered. "Wait!" I shouted. "How do you know My name?"
"I don't know maybe when flushed me down the toilet I was able to read your nametag on that stupid fast-food uniform you were wearing!" Paul answered aggressively. I lean forward toward the sink and ask, "What do you wanna talk about?"
"What do you think I wanna talk about!?" Paul shouted. "I'm getting tired of you seeing me and trying to flush me out of here."
"Ok I'm sorry," I said. Paul looks closer at me and nods his head. He then jumps out of the sink and stands on his hindlegs and holds out one of his forelegs and asks, "Shake on it?"
I then hold out my right hand and grabs his leg and we shake, but from my left hand I grab from my pocket and hammer.
Then I swing the hammer and hit that DAMN BUG until it's nothing but slime.
Then I jump out of my bed and I look around. All the lights are off the only thing I can see is the clock on my nightstand. It says Three thirty A.M.
I breath in and say, "It was just a dream."
I then start to walk to the bathroom. I turn on the the lights and cover my eyes from it and then I a hear a squeaking sound. I look in the sink and I see A FUCKING COCKROACH.
It then stands up on its hindlegs and says in a squeaky voice, "Nice try asshole." | 18 | "Look, I'm not offended, but can we talk about this?" | 44 |
“Fuck no!” I shout as I roll out of bed. I scan the room for sign of threat. Nothing. My pillow then bursts into a plume of feather and fluff. I duck out of the room and into the kitchen.
“How did they find me? This place was supposed to be secure.” I walk over to the kitchen and pour a cup of coffee. No need to rush. Cold. Those bastards unplugged the coffee maker. The attempt on my life I could forgive, fucking with a man’s morning cup is a line too far.
I plug the coffee maker in and replace the filter. I scoop fresh grounds into the machine and click brew. The machine gurgles and hot water begins flowing over the grounds and the sweet aroma of morning fills the air.
“Isaac must have squealed,” I think to myself. “That’ll teach me to reconnect with an old friend.” I’m usually very careful as to who I welcome into the fortress—that’s what I call my 7th floor apartment. It is equipped with reinforced steel doors, bullet proof glass, 2 panic rooms, and a state of the art fire resistance system.
I reach for the freshly brewed pot and begin to pour myself a cup—“fuck no!” I shout as the mug crashes to the floor. “Poison? Do these assholes understand who they’re dealing with?”
I venture back into my bedroom and put on a fresh set of clothes. I grab my go bag and check the security footage from the console in my closet. No footage of anyone entering the fortress. Not even so much as a spider picked up on the motion sensors. “How in the hell did they pull this off?” I wonder aloud. I turn to exit the closet and—
“Fuck no!” I shout. I don’t move. “That’s odd,” I think. I don’t usually stand still while danger lurks nearby. That’s when the walls of my bedroom light up like the gates of hell. Flames climb from floor board to ceiling, cresting with a Corinthian flourish.
I fall back onto my ass in the closet. I lean forward and slam the door. The fire resistance system should kick on any second. Nothing. “Well, I’m right and truly fucked.” I think. Hopefully Lucious is quick.
I stand and hit the panic button on the security console. “This is what we trained for,” I think. As I wait for Lucious and hope he comes to bail me out, I feel like a cornered wind up toy. Each time I try to rise and try my luck at escape, my “super power” kicks in and I “fuck no!” my ass backwards. No escape for the guy who dodges danger professionally.
After what feels like an eternity I hear the air lock engage on my front door. Lucious! That glorious bastard came for me! I sit tight. I hear what I assume is a fire extinguisher and muffled cursing just outside my closet door. The noise dies. I stand and grasp the door knob. Still hot, but I can turn it.
“Well what in god’s name happened here, sport?” Says Lucious extending a hand.
“Hell if I know,” I reply returning his grip and pulling him in for a hug. “You’re a real life-saver. I’m glad I listened to you and put in a fail-safe.”
“As am I,” he replies. “Have your go-bag ready? I don’t want to spend any more time in this death trap than I have to.”
“Yeah,” I say as I hoist my backpack over my shoulder. “Ironic that the place designed to keep me safe was almost my undoing.”
“You and irony have always been swell friends,” says Lucious as he turns to walk out the door. “Have you worked out how they found you? Did the cameras catch anything?”
“Nothing,” I reply. “I haven’t quite figured it out yet, but I have a feeling it has something to do with Isaac.”
“Ah, ‘beware the newcomer of prodigal repute’ says the Bard…I think,” says Lucious with a smile.
“That’s not a thing,” I reply shaking my head. “That doesn’t even make sense.”
“Yeah yeah, google it on the way. Let’s get the fuck out of here,” says Lucious gesturing to the elevator.
“Fuck no!” I say and jump away from the elevator. As soon as the doors close I hear the line snap and the elevator crash at the bottom of the shaft.
“Stairs it is!” Says Lucious. “Not sure if that makes us even since I’m fairly certain that falling elevator was meant for you, but I’ll count it.”
“You’re so generous,” I say as I turn to the stairwell.
Once we exit the building I see Lucious’s black town car waiting in the back alley.
“Your chariot awaits, my liege,” says Lucious with a flourish. He opens the driver side door and gets in.
I grab the passenger side door—
“Fuck no!” I say and start running from the car. Lucious. They got to him. Fuck.
I wait for Lucious to turn the car and chase after me. Or to open fire as I run. I hear nothing. I decide to chance a peek behind me. The town car erupts with a deafening blast. I feel the heat against my face. The shock wave pushes me back.
“Oh god. Lucious. No,” I cry.
Fuck this. They’ve gone too far. I’ve spent my whole life running from danger. Now I must run toward it.
_______________
If you enjoyed this, please check out my personal sub r/InMyLife42Archive | 876 | Your power is “fuck no”. Every time you sense danger of any kind nearby you yell fuck no! And bail. You have suevived serial killers, cults, even terrorist attacks. This morning you wake up yelling fuck no Every 2 minutes without fail. | 3,028 |
The gathering crowd of shambling corpses huddled around the barricaded police station, snarling as they groped and clawed at the wire-topped brick wall that separated those inside from the dying world. About thirty dead counted their number, but the mounting din of their ceaseless hunger attracted more from the downtown Herdbreak's cracks, the concrete partition fallen in the wake of the storm. A few more heads would make a horde.
"'Scuse me. Pardon me."
Nosta shuffled through the mob, careful not to catch the plastic bags on wandering hands or protruding bone. Eyeless heads turned to seek the sound of clinking canned goods and bottles, limp tongues lolling from their mouths like leather strops. They didn't part for him but paid no mind as he slowly shovelled through their ranks to approach the gate.
The sliding gate, once reserved for patrol car comings and goings, had been boarded shut with every scrap of usable material available. Chair legs filled the slim gaps between baseboards, flattened drawers with knobs intact, gum-covered desktops, and every plank, pallet and part from Mapleview's only department store. Bright orange graffiti relayed FEMA details, but they were never accurate; people were always moving, no community was static. Nosta knew the survivors inside, the scared humans constantly on the run, and it bothered him that every building, every home, was reduced to an inaccurate number that helped no one.
Nosta set down one bag and rifled through his pockets for the key to the hatch cut into the gate. The hatch was raised four feet above street level, making it difficult for mindless intruders to enter, but people with living muscles could manage it. Dead men can't jump, said the handbook, but Nosta wasn't like most dead men.
As Nosta climbed through the hatch, the rotting gentlemen nearest him leaned its head through the opening, an almost curious expression across his mouldering face. Nosta took one finger, placed it between the dead man's eyes, and pushed him back through the hole.
"Not yet," he said, closing the hatch.
The rear entrance to the station was through the impound garage, and as Nosta passed through the shaded overhang, he saw the carcasses of rusting vehicles strewn about the lot as if passing carrion had picked them clean. Patrol cars lay bare with no doors or trunk panels. Emergency response vehicles were ravaged and stripped bare of anything inside. The sheriff's car, beaten and dented, bore a boot on each tire.
The door inside was similarly reinforced as the rest of the station, but it was unlocked. Nosta gathered the bags in one hand, turned the handle, and entered.
A metal bolt streaked past his head, a blur in his vision. The projectile embedded into the corkboard beside the door with a satisfying thunk, shaking loose the numerous tacks already there. Nosta followed the bolt's angle from the wall to the end of the room.
There stood humanity's remnants, or at least, Mapleview's local chapter. Twelve sorry excuses for survivors huddled behind the receptionist's curved desk, crammed shoulder to shoulder. One poor sod, barely out of her youth, pressed her back against the huddle, crossbow in hand. She nervously racked another bolt, hands shaking.
"I thought we agreed we wouldn't do that anymore," Nosta said, stealing the distance between them. He pushed the woman's crossbow aside, but she kept her tight grip on it.
"You're a monster," a voice said from the huddle. "Evil!"
Nosta dropped the plastic bags of goods onto the desk. "The lesser one, actually."
Hesitation overcame the survivors, as no one leapt to the provisions as they once had. They were better fed now, wiser and more cautious of where their food came from. With a full belly, good sense can often get the better of you.
"You know the drill," Nosta said. "Food for food."
The young woman fought through her hesitation and brought the crossbow up to his face again. He swatted it down without issue.
"How do we know you won't just kill us?" one asked. "Or leave us to die?"
Nosta started arranging the cans, stacking them. "You don't kill the golden goose."
"Are we your animals, then?" another asked, younger. "Kept in a pen?"
"We've been over this," Nosta said, topping the pyramid of canned beans with pineapple slices. "You're not animals. You're *humans*."
"Then why do you say it like that?"
"Like what?"
The survivor shrugged. "Like we're not worth the dirt you scrape off your shoe."
The crossbow woman raised her weapon, but Nosta caught it again. He sighed.
"Will you please stop pointing that fucking thing at me?"
A small child, no older than ten, dragged from the far room a sports cooler on squeaky wheels. Everyone gaped as she approached Nosta, too terrified or morbidly curious to intervene. When she was within a few paces from him, she opened the lid and kicked the cooler to him. Inside, packed between thick thermal packets and stray ice cubes, were enough pints for Nosta's coven to use for the next two weeks. Enough time for the humans to grow some more.
"Finally, someone with sense," he said, grabbing the cooler.
"And your end of the bargain?" asked the crossbow woman, apparently having scratched her itchy trigger finger.
Suddenly, a muffled explosion shook the room, the lights flickering momentarily. Heads swivelled for answers, but none came. Nosta tilted his head, expecting something. Nothing.
He humphed. "The bargain is complete. Those tale-tellers out there are quiet now, as per our arrangement." He fingered through the bags, counting them. "I'll be back in two weeks. If you need help before then, radio in. Preferably during the night."
"What if we get overrun in the day?"
Nosta shrugged. "Wait, I suppose."
"You're cruel!" spat an old woman.
"I'm hungry. We all are. There's no shame in admitting that hunger makes us do regrettable things."
Nosta pushed forward the stacks of food, sliding them to the survivors. They took to organizing the cans, spreading out amongst themselves in more comfort than when Nosta first entered. They stuffed the cans in duffles ready for a quick exit, then stashed the bags on metal shelves along the medal-decorated walls. The survivors ignored their reluctant saviour and went about their nighttime chores, praying to see another day.
Only the young woman watched Nosta leave, the cooler of blood bags tucked securely under his arm.
\-----------------------------
r/TheRubicon | 32 | During a worldwide zombie apocalypse, a small coven of vampires attempts to gather and protect as many human survivors as possible in order to ensure themselves a continuing food source (zombie blood is inedible). | 97 |
A Foot In The Door: Survey Team Eta
​
"Who are these bastards, Bob?"
"Well. I've been filtering their communications through the translation matrix, we're starting to make inroads on what they're saying. Give me just a couple more minutes."
Captain Amelie Hailu, formerly commanding the Terran Recovery Survey Team Eta and now nominal commander of *Eta,* the first Terran spacefaring warship, glowered at the viewscreen.
*Eta* was cobbled together from parts. Its primary component was a mystifying tube of cast iron, apparently somehow reinforced by a force field but no one knew how the force field worked. It had been found among alien wreckage, said wreckage being leftover flotsam after warring fleets of starships had blazed through Sol system, hurling energies and projectiles back and forth at each other and, apparently with little consideration for bykill, Earth.
The ships were enormous. Their weapons were awesome. Their indifference was staggering. They barely acknowledged Earth's presence and offered no recompense or even condolences for the damage their conflict had wrought upon an entire planet. Junk rained out of the sky in chunks of varying sizes, a couple of mountains were blown off the surface of the moon, and scientists didn't need a lot of time to conclude that the damage to Earth's environment was going to kill somewhere between half and two-thirds of all complex life on the surface.
Not even an "oops, sorry about that."
Survey Team Eta had discovered the cast iron tube and while the researchers they handed it over to hadn't been able to glean precisely how it worked - it might be powered by a microsingularity, but no one was sure and no one wanted to start trying to turn anything off, in case it got away - but experiments did point out that it was both reliable and durable.
The hypothesis was that it was a gun barrel capable of fantastic chamber pressures and, therefore, tremendous muzzle velocities. But chamber pressures are important in things like rocket engines, too, and a combustion chamber with no upper limit had *potential*.
*Eta* had been bolted together in record time. With no worries about what the engine could survive - no amount of testing had managed to make any kind of impression on the tube - many ship design limitations became a lot less important. *Eta* was overbuilt in ways no human craft had ever been before.
All of humanity knew which way the alien armadas with their careless guns had gone. *Eta* set out after them.
After a couple of years of monomaniacal pursuit, *Eta* had closed within a few million miles of the largest of the starships.
It was vast. It was immensely powerful. Its size and energies clearly dwarfed anything *Eta* had, and yet...
*Eta* had signaled in every language, on every wavelength, and the starship made no response. They had barely noticed an entire populated planet; maybe a mere craft from that planet was beneath recognizing. Amelie would have been insulted, if the aliens hadn't already been so insulting on their initial pass through human space.
Amelie could think flexibly. A gun barrel serving as an engine combustion chamber can be, at short notice, a gun barrel again. At her command, *Eta* slewed around until the muzzle of the combustion chamber faced along their path. With a bit of precision tuning, a firing solution was achieved and a salvo of projectiles was on its way.
That had been yesterday.
Bob's steering was excellent. The projectiles flew true and destroyed a few of the starship's engines, pierced the hull in assorted places, and a few shots were pointed at likely command centers. Out of over twenty shots, only two missed.
The distant starship's indifference to *Eta* changed rapidly. The radio had come alive and verbal contacts - in Terran English, no less - had been received. The aliens, whoever they were, at least knew the phrase "cease fire," because they used that one in particular.
But now communications were going over text, and while they knew some human phrases well enough to speak them, they couldn't write any human languages at all and so *Eta's* computer and the distant ship were conferring with each other to establish reliable written communications.
"Ah, here we go."
"Translation matrix up, then?"
"Computer says so. Reports about seventy-eight percent translation confidence which will improve with experience. That's enough for me."
"Good. So, again: who are these bastards?"
Bob's keyboard rattled as he typed.
*Eta* was still a couple of million kilometers behind the starship, though the gap was closing. It was short enough that a lightspeed delay would introduce only brief pauses into a verbal exchange, but defaulting to text gave them the added horsepower of the computers to ensure reliable translation.
And Amelie was a lot more polite over text.
Bob shook his head. "Um. I'm not sure the translation matrix is as up to speed as it says it is."
"Why not?"
"Because this says the ship in front of us is a traveling sales and delivery vessel."
"*What*."
"Some untranslatable name, 'trading collective," ship name '*Territory*" so that seems to translate okay...yeah. They're...merchants. Traders."
"*Our planet was ruined by fucking space* Amazon?"
"Looks more like traveling salesmen, Cap'n."
Amelie pondered for a minute. "What's our closing velocity?"
Bob rattled off numbers. Amelie asked mostly to fill the time; she could as easily call up a mirror of Bob's displays and read the information for herself. But really Bob was a far more adept master of the tube. If she was going to ask him to start doing things that involved it, she wanted him to have as much planning time as possible.
*Going to have to come up with a better name for that thing,* she thought.
At this pace they would draw alongside the alien ship in a couple of weeks. By the damage visible in their most powerful telescopes, it looked like the alien's capacity to evade or accelerate away had been radically reduced. Whatever *Eta*'s crew decided to do, the alien ship would have to sit there and take it.
"Well, these assholes are about to learn what a real hard sell feels like." | 39 | Humanity has discovered an alien civilization orders of magnitude more powerful than itself. Strangely, they seem to completely ignore us at every turn. It's theorized that we simply don't possess the power to bother them. Frustrated, Humanity concocts a risky plan to get their attention. | 133 |
"You tell him"
"What! Why me?"
"He likes you"
I looked at my co-worker. She was shaking in her solidification belt. I sighed
"Fine"
I liquidized and squelched up the transference tube. It was a short journey from the observation deck to the head scientists office but dread difussed through me down to my droplets. I splashed down in front of the entryway and reattached a solidification belt.
"Um sir" I called hating the quiver in my voice
"Hmph, come in Condensation"
I enterered. His office was sparse the only decoration the awards he'd received from cleansing planets for occupation.there was a reason he'd Earned the tittle Head Scientist General Evaporation. he was also not known for patience.
"Well out with it"
"Erm, well there was a problem with the 200,000 year inspection of Earth"
"Oh did the creatures we sent down to eradicate the homo sapiens mutate?"
"Well it has evolved into at least three major and several minor sub species"
"Ah that's not to bad we'll just fumigate the planet with Cocos nucifera and check back in a thousand years"
"That's not the problem"
"What!"
"The problem sir is that humanity seems to have befriended the agressor species"
His form wobbled dangerously he looked as if he were about to boil over.
"They what" he asked deadly quiet
"They seem to be co-existing rather amicably sir. There is even a phrase among them. 'a dog is a man's best friend'" | 12 | You know, when the aliens sent monsters to earth to destroy us, they really should have accounted for our ability to bond with anything. | 75 |
It was a long first year of powers. Loads of throwing things in the wrong direction, watching them inexplicably change trajectory and hit my enemies. Problem is, my powers didn't augment my throwing speed or strength, so most of my missiles bounced right off the skin of my typically super strong opponents.
I survived by hiding well out of sight. I became hero support, throwing capsules of sand, dust, sneezing power, smoke grenades and other such items designed to distract the target long enough for a flashy hero with flight and laser eyes to win the day.
The real breakthrough came when I discovered that 'hitting a target' didn't just mean physically. A metaphorical target, like say making a villain fail their latest plot, also worked. The best thing was, in order to hit my target I had to focus my efforts elsewhere.
I became one of the most sought after heroes. People would pay me to attend a strategy meeting and then go on holiday to ensure that I was aimed well away from all of the targets defined at the meeting. This was my golden era, helping turn the tide against powerful bad guys while picking up a fantastic tan. The dream, right?
Eventually however I got tired of this life. Subconsciously my target became to experience different and new things, and try as I might I couldn't change this. Of course, what happened was the exact opposite. I kept being called to very similar meetings with vacations planned to destinations I had already visited.
As this continued, my desire for novelty only got stronger. This led me to where I am now - stuck in a timeloop, living a very similar day over and over with no end. The more I want it to stop, the more it converges towards an identical day - and once that happens, I fear I will be trapped forever... | 19 | You managed to turn a pretty awful super power into pretty useful one. If you try to hit a target, any target, you always miss, no matter how close you are. If you try to miss, you will always hit the target, no matter the range. | 44 |
Nahel, the wizard, was sitting on the back of a horse-drawn carriage, sitting on the wooden floor with the legs crossed, covered by his hood and cape, *these* were clothes for traveling, not like his companion, or at least that's what he was thinking. The other person was a taller man with a long hat, an overcoat, and a formal suit underneath, *not* clothes anyone would wear anywhere outside a town. However, that was not what had drawn the wizard's attention, it was in fact the revolver -although Nahel didn't know It by it's name yet- that the man was toying with, making the barrel click as it rotated inside the weapon.
It wasn't long until Nahel's constant stare caught the gunslinger's attention.
—Everything alright, pal?— the gunslinger asked, making the revolver's barrel spin one last time before putting it on a holster under his coat
—It is only curiosity. Your weapon has a peculiar shape.
That made the gunslinger raise an eyebrow.
—Never seen a gun?
But Nahel was already forming a small portal in the air, and what he pulled out what could anyone would describe as a flintlock gun, the cannon slightly wider than the usual, and with runes engraved all around it, but also on the handle and trigger.
—It is different. I just wonder how yours can work.
—Well, not with magic, for sure.
Nahel blinked a couple times.
—...Pardon me?
—Gunpodwer, son. Bullets made of lead, copper, and gunpodwer.
—So you're saying... That you don't use a little explosion spell on...
Nahel slowly stopped talking when the gunslinger pulled out his gun again and took a bullet from the chamber, It seemed like it was explanation time, so he stood up and got closer.
—Nonono. Listen, the trigger activates a mechanism that hits the back of the bullet in the chamber, that causes the gunpowder inside the case to explode, and the lead is propelled by the explosion.
Nahel nodded each time, amazed by such work of artifice.
—Impressive
—Yeah, I've made a fortune patenting the idea!—The man laughed.
So... How did you make yours work?
—Oh, its easy... If you know magic... I'll sumarize it for you
Nahel held his pistol so the other man could see, pointing out the lines that connected the runes all over the cannon, they were all the same, encased in circles like a string of two dimensional beads on the cannon's side
—These work in a chain, little explosion spells that trigger one after the other in just an instant, starting where the bullet is at
The gunslinger seemed to be as interested as Nahel had been, tilting his head to see better when Nahel flipped the gun so the trigger and handle could be seen
—These connect the trigger to the string, and the trigger is just half a rune each side, so when you pull it, it becomes complete, and can draw magic from me to cast the spell
—Well, the only drawback I see here is that you'll have to reload quite often!
—Hah hah! Yeah, but it's not being a problem, honestly. The firepower compensates the time it takes me to reach to my bag and put another iron inside
The gunslinger was smiling
—Another thing... Why not using... You know, your magic?
—I can't. A rare disease among wizards, got magic but no natural way to use it, you can think of me as a magic battery... Aaaand... This was the best way I thought I could use it.
—Oh, i'm sorry... Wait, how did you make the gun appear then?
Nahel showed the palm of his hands, there were two silver circles on his gloves, two runes, with dozens of smaller runes surrounding them
—All the same, runic constructs...
After that they didn't talk much, but soon the carriage stopped, and both stepped out of it, ahead they could see the gloomy town where both had been tasked with the asassination of the local vampire. The gunslinger was the first one to speak, and chuckle.
—Did you bring silver rounds?
To which Nahel, loading his gun with a silver bullet he just took from another small portal, responded
—Always.
--- And that's the end :v --- | 546 | "What do you mean you don't put a miniature explosion spell in your gun?" "What do you mean you don't use gunpowder-based propellant for your gun?" | 2,318 |
Hades raised his glass, as he looked around his banquet hall. A smile, wide and cruel, played on his lips. His eyes flashed above, to the steel cage which held his great prize. There lay a small child wrapped in dark green leaves, wrapped herself in a ball. Yellow eyes, filled with hate, stared down on Hades. A chill went through his body though he hide it well.
“Finally,” he growled, now looking out at his guests. Servants came and went, filling goblets of wine and picking up finished dishes. Charon, sat to his right, his oar strapped to his back while steam rose from his head. Achilles, large and muscular, sat tied to the chair at the far end of the table, long since given up trying to escape. Hades' wife, Persephone, sat quietly to his left. Her eyes watched every guest with contempt. “Finally, we have achieved what we set out all those years to achieve. Finally, my friends…” Hades stopped as Persephone let out a giggle. Her eyes swept up to her husband, beaming brightly.
“Something to say, dear Persephone?” Hades inquired with a droll, rolling his eyes as he loomed over her.
“Since when did you get friends?” she smiled, sipping on the blood-red wine that now permanently stained her lips. With a shake of his head, Hades turned back to the feast, standing a little less tall this time.
“As I was saying…” he began before another voice interrupted him. A roar came from the back of the hall.
“Thunder!” the voice shouted. Hades stood, confusion spread across his face. Then, another voice replied to the first.
“Lightning!” a different voice shouted. Charon stood, set to move towards the noise only to stop in his tracks. An explosion, small but loud, came from the back of the hall. Persephone left. Slipping through a hidden side door of the hall, she left her husband and his friends to deal with the rabble. Smoke billowed, hiding the shadows that moved behind it. Then, as the hall door fell to the floor, a dozen men, stormed through, assault rifles pointing in every direction.
“Go! Go! Go!!” the first one shouted, throwing something at the feet of the banquet goers. “Find the target!”
“What is the meaning of…” Hades started but before he could finish, a flashbang exploded at his feet. The guests screamed, trying to cover their eyes in vain. Hades blinded, and swiped at the air, his fingernails like knives. One of the marines, pulled from his back pocket, a blade. Like his life depended on it, he started to untie Achilles.
All the while, the girl above looked through the steel bars, her eyes dancing like a fire, so focused on the fight.
“Above!” another Marine shouted. Another flashbang was thrown, this time landed on the table. Hades though had just recovered from the first one. He swiped like a lion, nearly decapitating one of the marines. Blood poured from the claw marks as the man tried to hold his neck together in vain. Collapsing, the last thing he saw and heard was the flashbang.
“Damn it!” Hades screamed out. “Charon, Persephone! Do something!” Charon could only scream out, swinging widely with his oar, hitting nothing. Persephone now peered into the room from a hidden window, delighting in the embarrassment of Hades. The marines had thrown a satchel at the girl above. Peering inside, she looked back down at the marines, confused.
“Throw it on the roof!” they shouted up. Pushing it up through the bars, she pushed away from it then, guessing what way this was about to go. She had known the humans for a long time and knew how they liked to solve their problems. A single bullet was fired, hitting the satchel. Another small explosion rang out through the hall. Smoke clouded the cage. The squealing of metal scraping metal was all that could be heard. Then, through the smoke, the cage crashed down, through the table. Goblets of wine and burnt, blackened dishes flew through the air, scattering across the underworld floor. The girl, relatively unfazed, climbed through the wreckage, into the arms of a marine. Fire poured from Hades eyes. His hands were now aflame and his shadow grew larger and larger until he seemed to be the size of the hall.
“Enough of these games!” he screamed, the red and yellow fire, turning blue as his voice echoed through the room. “Enough of your silly human tricks, this ends now!” His eyes, too focused on the girl, didn’t see the newly freed hero creeping up beside him, knife in hand.
“For Patroclus!” Achilles screamed, tearing through Hades' foot with his knife. The Lord of the Underworld crumpled, falling to the fall. As soon as his knee’s his the ground, the marines saw their chance.
“Roll out!” one shouted. Then, as one, the men escaped through the still smoking hallway, the girl in tow with Achilles on their heels.
“I’ll get you, Gaia,” Hades shouted after them. “One of these days! You’ll see!” | 14 | One does not simply kidnap Gaia from humanity and expect humanity to not strike back. | 35 |
This city was once a beacon of hope for the future. A glittering metropolis filled with entirely new skyscrapers and technology, supposedly displaying the pinnacle of what mankind could accomplish if they could just work together. Now, it was little more than a neon lit cesspool. There were more criminals than civilians in New Detroit, and it wasn't even close.
I pulled up the collar of my leather trench coat, trying in vain to block out the biting cold wind that stung any exposed skin. It was a gesture more than anything, a symbolic and literal raising of my defenses against the city itself. The cold found its way to my neck regardless, and the inhabitants lost the primal predatory sight of a potential prey's exposed neck. It was subtle, but mildly effective at both.
I turned down an alleyway, even though it was in the opposite direction of my intended destination. I was supposed to meet with my contact in 20 minutes, so I had time to throw off whoever was following me. I had no way of knowing if this was one of the villain's henchmen, or an opportunistic mugger, or even a lost soul looking for help.
In the end, it didn't matter which they were. They would die all the same.
I ducked into a door frame and waited, listening for the approaching footsteps. I waited until they got close enough and jumped out, tackling them to the ground.
"Who are you?" I growled, holding their shirt by the collar and pinning them down on the hard, cold concrete. "Who do you work for"?
"I don't know what you're talking about", the guy below me said.
"You were following me. Why?" I asked.
"I was just walking to the diner there" the guy said, trying to indicate with his nose.
"So you weren't trying to stop me?" I asked, speaking in my normal tone.
"Stop you? Pal, I don't know you. I'm hungry."
I stood up and held out a hand, to help him up. The man pulled himself up and brushed the crud off of his clothes.
Suddenly, another guy came out and hit him in the face. The first guy fell down again.
The new attacker tried to hit me with a pipe or something, and I totally kicked his ass. I was a karate master or some shit like that. Just the best at fighting.
"Who are you" I said.
"I'm the main villain. You have beaten me. Congratulations." He said, then he died.
The whole city clapped for me and made July 1st an official city holiday. I got a key to the city and met a woman at the parade and married her and lived happily ever after or whatever generic bullshit.
/r/SlightlyColdStories for more of the first half type of story. | 74 | A normal story, but the author gets more and more bored with it as the story continues | 189 |
There's a knock from within the closet. Bertrand sighs as he takes up his pen and paper and waits for the panels to slide open. He reminisces briefly on the handiness of his walk-in closet he was once the proud owner of.
A closet that was now a portal into a different realm.
The once walk-in closet slides open and reveals a shimmering distortion in the air, fronted by a short purple-haired man. He holds open a notebook, a quill stuck between his teeth as he ponders over his notes. Fred is his name, but Bertrand has always suspected he picked that name for convenience sake. Most Fae names were impossible for humans to pronounce (or remember).
"G'day Bertrand," Fred says jovially as he steps out of the closet and tips his feather-capped hat. Somehow he manages to keep the quill in place while talking.
"Good morning, Fred," Bertrand answers as he writes down the time of Fred's arrival. The higher ups were surprisingly strict with their accountancy, so he had to make sure everything was noted down correctly. "Lots of passage today?"
Fred gives a grave nod. "Immigration control is on full alert today. Travel permissions for the southern clans have just been granted, so all hands on deck."
Bertrand lets out another sigh, dreading the promised hustle and bustle. Ever since the portals to the Fae realm had opened, and one of them turned out to be in his closet, he'd been excited to be working from home. He had to admit that Immigration Officer hadn't sounded very appealing at first, but the prospect of encountering so many Fae species had persuaded him eventually.
Now, one week later, the excitement had died down and Bertrand had begun to understand why the TSA were such assholes most of the time. Still, there was rent to pay and there was no way he was giving up his appartment.
"Borders opening in T minus 10 seconds," Fred announced, taking up his position at the desk opposite Bertrand. They took out their scanners, rolled up their sleeves and readied themselves.
"Borders opening... now."
The shimmering portal began sprouting out creatures of all shapes and sizes that would fit in Bertrand's walk-in closet. The neon lights on the ceiling signalling the lines lighted up and queues were formed. No matter what realm you were in, nothing could beat a good queue.
"Place all Fae-infused items on the desk please." Bertrand began his monologue, shutting off his brain and working on the familiar repetition of phrases and motions.
His first day on the job, he'd been overwhelmed for exactly three hour and fifteen minutes by the different kind of magical objects that the Fae tried to smuggle into the human realm. After three hours and sixteen minutes however, he began to realize they were not so different from the stuff he knew.
Illegal potions that affected emotions, rope that could only be untied by Fae magic, magical wands that had been attuned to human use, prophecy generators, blood-binding quills, pet food that transformed your cat in a fire-breathing hybrid between a lynx and a frog... You named it, they had it.
Bertrand was pulled back from his thoughts as his scanner began to screech and light up the room.
"Sir, can you please open the bag."
The Fae, a five foot blue-skinned halfling grunted displeasingly and untied the knot on his leather bag.
"Please empty the bag in the tray." He motioned to the dull-grey tray on the left side of his desk.
One by one, the halfling pulled out every item. Most of it was legal stuff; some herbs for personal use, lotions for the skin, a walking cane with built in stability support... Bertrand scanned them one by one seperately, handing them back once done. When he scanned the lotion last, the scanner screeched again.
Bertrand sighed at the realization, haunting memories from his own passage through TSA resurfacing. *I'm really becoming them...* he sighed internally.
"Sir, any liquids you take with you must be in sealed off containers and cannot exceed 250 milliliters in quantity. Please empty your lotion in the bin."
He zoned off as the halfling exploded in a tirade that would no doubt hold up the line for at least twenty minutes.
He had rent to pay.
> Thanks for reading, more over at /r/PromptedByDaddy | 110 | and with rent being what it is, there’s no way you’re moving. | 408 |
"Tell me, lad, have ya made yer decision yet?"
"Give the boy a break you old lunatic, can't you see he's almost fainting from the stank of your breath?"
Uncle Rackam, the infamous immortal pirate captain, and Auntie Veronica, the intricate result of the forbidden love between a werewolf and a vampire, seem unaware that the subject of their quarrel, the boy named Brandon, is satiated with their eternal debate on his choice of profession.
Over the years, he's learned to largely ignore the two, but their words always find a way to impinge him. They're not the only ones to give an attempt at *giving advice* of course. It's the same every year at the annual family event. Brandon accepted long ago that his family is not... normal. Somehow every conceivably profession one could read about in fantasy novels is practiced by at least one member of his family. Rackam and Veronica are just one among many.
He's pulled apart by Teb, a cousin of his father's. His full title is Tebaud, le Gardien, a title he proudly displays everywhere he goes. He's learned English over the years, but his French accent is still omnipresent in his speech.
"Ave you considéré joining ower Ordeur of Paladeins, jeune Brandeun? You will be an homme of God, a true warrieur."
He's a nice man, uncle Teb, Brandon thinks, but he knows becoming a paladin is not the path for him. Despite everything supernatural happening within his family, he's not a man of god. Nor is he a fighter.
"DO NOT BE AFRAID," aunt Xathanael yells out as she approached Brandon. She giggles at her own joke, and Brandon forces a smile. It was funny the first time she did it, but the whole act was becoming stale. "With a bit of effort, Brandon," she continued in her normal voice, having assumed her human form, "I'm certain you can join the angels of heaven."
"And have uncle Teb worship me like he worships you?" Brandon asks. "Thanks, but no thanks."
He leaves Tebaud and Xathanael to their holy vices and sneaks away to the buffet, away from the noise. He's pleased to find only one man there, the one man in his family besides his parents who never dug into his personal choices.
"Good to see you, uncle Hoid."
The white-haired man turns and smiles as he sees Brandon. "Ah Brandon, how lovely to see you again. You've grown haven't you. What's it been? Three years?"
"Four," Brandon answers with a smile. Somehow, he always felt at ease when he was around Hoid. There was something strange about the man. "How have you been?"
"Hopping around here and there, visiting some old friends and making new ones," Hoid says, a knowing smirk on his face. "What about you?"
Brandon shrugs. "I'm good, but lost at the same time. I have no idea where my life is headed and everyone keeps pestering me about my future choices."
Hoid nods knowingly. "Tell me about it. There's this one guy who keeps on complaining I'm meddling to much in the affairs of others... Nevermind, this is about you. What do *you* want?"
"I don't know, honestly. Everyone in my family seems so... accomplished. And then there's me, just a normal human."
"Human are far from normal." Hoid lets out a laugh. "And with a family like yours, you are the strangest of them all. You have an unique position in life. Maybe you should use it."
Brandon considers the words for a while. Then he nods, a sense of confidence welling up inside him. "Thanks Hoid, I think I made up my mind."
"Anytime." With a wink and a grin, Hoid grabs another truffle from the buffet and walks off.
Later that evening, when everyone is seated and the unusually large table, Brandon gathers all his courage and confidence and stands up to address his family.
"After careful consideration I have made up my mind on what carreer I will pursue in the future."
Everyone's eyes light up, all expecting him to choose the future they proposed.
"I will become a writer. And I will write down your stories."
> Thanks for reading, more over at /r/PromptedByDaddy | 377 | You family consists of Paladins, Necromancers, Werewolves, Vampires, Angels and Demons. All of them try to peer pressure you, a teenager, to take up their craft. At the next family event they expect you to have made a decision. You decided against all of them. | 983 |
\[Cold Moon\]
Milhouse could not believe his ears. He wanted to laugh at the stupidity of the situation; but, he felt like that would show his hand too soon. He just looked at the new inmate with a stern, cold glare as he fumbled his words.
"I sure wish there was a drug kingpin around to help me move all these drugs I have on the outside...," his new cellmate, Wilson White, mumbled aloud. Milhouse briefly wondered if the man was so incompetent that he was genuine; but, it wasn't worth the risk.
Milhouse had been in the prison so long, that he wasn't sure he even still had connections on the outside. He knew he did not have any on the inside. As far as he could tell, he was the only genuine inmate. Time worked differently on the inside. Day after day of the same routine tended to blur things together. But, even as repetitive as things could be, he noticed that the other inmates seemed more stuck somehow.
He'd only been paying attention for a couple of weeks, but those two weeks repeated themselves perfectly. Monday there was a fight in the yard between the same two inmates. Tuesday, one of those inmates died in the infirmary. By Friday, that same inmate was back in the general population only to fight again on Monday and die on Tuesday. Not to mention all the other tiny details that repeated themselves. There was only one explanation: it was all fake and he was the only real one there. Wilson seemed to grow frustrated and repeated his comment.
"I REALLY need a drug kingpin to help me move these drugs," he said. "I have so many drugs, you don't even know. Drugs, drugs, drugs and no buyers. Really need a kingpin." It was too much; too preposterous. Milhouse couldn't help but crack a smile.
"Di..did you just smile??" Wilson asked. He was instantly agitated. He stood from leaning against the bars and faced Milhouse directly. "I need a Drug Kingpin!" he whined. As much as Milhouse wanted to call him out, he decided against it. He just shrugged.
"Wish I could help you," he said. But, he was surprised when Wilson only got angrier.
"YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO!" he growled. "AAAAAAAARGGHGH!" he raged and angrily flicked his wrist upward. Then, he hovered his hands in mid-air and began wiggling his fingers as if he was typing something. Milhouse watched with an amused interest. But, his amusement ended quickly when a third person appeared in their cell from out of nowhere. He was a high-school kid with wild brown curls atop his head. He wore blue jeans and a red t-shirt that made him stand out from the rest of the population in orange.
"I'm not a Mod anymore...," the newcomer said as soon as Milhouse noticed him; he was talking to Wilson. "...you have to go through official channels now," he added.
"Aww, c'mon Aury. Just this last time. Pleeaaase??" he clasped his hands to beg.
"Fine...," the kid sighed. "..this is the last time," he turned his attention to Milhouse and looked him up and down. Milhouse thought he saw a flash of gold in his eyes, but he chalked it up to a reflection from the setting sun. And, he didn't want to say anything that he did not have to. He'd survived so far by keeping his mouth shut and just watching.
"Yeah, that explains it; he Woke up," the teen shrugged, then began typing on his own invisible keyboard.
"DAMNIT!" Wilson cursed. "I was almost done!" Milhouse noticed A guard walk by unconcerned with the raised voice or the third person in the cell.
"Calm down," Aury said. "I can fix it. But don't tell anyone."
"Fix.. what?" Milhouse suddenly asked. He got the impression they were talking about him.
"What's your favorite number?" Aury asked.
"34." Milhouse replied. He was surprised at the question and his own answer. But, Aury just nodded and kept typing away. Their silence wore on him and after almost a minute he had to ask again.
"Fix wh-," Milhouse lost his focus mid-thought. He forgot what he was going to say; but, it didn't seem important anymore.
"What's your favorite number?" Aury asked him. Milhouse could not believe his ears. He was the most dangerous drug kingpin in the States and this punk kid thought he could try to make conversation with him? He stared the kid down without answering.
"Try it now," Aury told Wilson.
"Is there a drug kingpin in the house?" Wilson asked. Milhouse hopped off the bunk and stepped closer to Wilson. He dropped his voice to a whisper.
"You looking to move some product?" he asked.
"Thanks, Aury!" Wilson waved at the teen.
"No problem," Aury chuckled as he stepped into a black hole and waved. "Gotta keep the NPCs in their place, you know?"
\*\*\*
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #1629 in a row. (Story #182 in year five.). This story is part of an ongoing saga that takes place at a high school in my universe. It began on June. 6th and I will be adding to it with prompts every day until August 19th. They are all collected in order at [this link](https://www.reddit.com/r/Hugoverse/comments/v6bapz/aurelios_sun_1st_half/). | 17 | An undercover police officer enters a jail as an inmate to find a drug kingpin. Thing is, the drug kingpin knows this, and also knows that he is the only inmate who isn't an undercover cop. | 54 |
Your not going to believe this. The further I go down the path, the more I feel like I'm in some sort of hell.
Tyrants rule. They proscribe the language we must use. They declare variations to be errors. One standard, they say. One standard they enforce. They affect their policy brutally. Their simply oppressive about it all.
Let me give you some advise if you find yourself here and want to write or say anything, dont. Its all together a wacky story when you take everything into account. I stayed silent for so long out of fear. You would have two.
I wrote a single text against my better judgment. I wanted to see if I could get a date with a girl in my class. We hit it off and I thought we could be friends.
It was supposed to be for our own private bemusement, so I tried to add a little flare. I'm loosing my train of thought now. Write, the date!
I tried to be cute. She likes poetry, so I said to her, "for who the bell tolls, it tolls for the." It was an inside joke, but one I thought would hit.
It was supposed to be "whom", but I messed it up. One letter out of place, that's all. I swear.
She new, she seen it. She warned me to run, but all I wanted to do is lay down.
That's all in the passed now, though. Right now I'm on the lamb, living off the land. I heard theirs a place where language is free, but theres a whole dessert between here and there.
Set down and Ill tell you the hole story.
\--
This was painful to write. I would have kept going but for that. I intentionally made those mistakes, or probably most of them. | 11 | In a bid to crack down on bad grammar, typos and spelling mistakes were banned. Like the-government-will-hunt-you-and-delete-you sort of banned. Unfortunately, you've just made one... and, even more unfortunately, it's one of the worst ones too. | 26 |
"Burn! Burn, Heretic! Burn!"
They lit the world on fire, thinking fire would purify humanity. Never realizing that those who wield fire are marked forever as the soot and heat is ingrained into their skins. Their minds. Their hearts.
"There goes another one! Get him!"
As the madness circled the globe, they never wondered why those they considered lost to god by false faith did the same things they did. Screaming, "burn, heretic, burn!" as they lit another unfortunate on fire.
"Dear Lord, forgive them for they know not what they do."
Oh, they know *exactly* what they're doing. They're burning people they disapprove of to death. What they don't understand is *why* they're doing it. Understanding that would require them to *think* and not just *follow*.
"This is THE WAY! The PATH TO RIGHTEOUSNESS! THE PATH TO GOD!"
There is no one true way. God is far larger than your narrow-minded bigotry could ever allow for. Accept that, and look closely at anyone who tells you you are doomed because you do not worship as they do. Beware of them; they will do the unthinkable *for your own good*.
"THERE THEY ARE! KILL THEM! PURIFY THE WORLD!"
Only the time allotted for madness is passed. You cannot harm anyone other than your own. The ones you call heretics slip through your fingers in ever-increasing numbers.
"YOU HAVE FAILED GOD! YOU HAVE ALLOWED THE IMPURE TO ESCAPE! IMMOLATE YOURSELVES!"
I have a different idea, *Holy Man*. Immolate yourself. Here, let us, your loyal followers, douse you with the holy petrol. What? Are you afraid? Where is your faith? Are you not immune to the sacred fire by means of your special relationship with god? No? Then you are as guilty as those you had us burn. Die! False Man of God! Burn! Devil Worshiper! Burn!
"FOLLOW THIS ONE! HE HAS SHOWN THE WAY!"
I have? Do you insist there is only one way to god? Then prove your faith. Immolate yourselves. The fantastic thing is how enthusiastic they are to burn themselves alive.
"WHO ARE YOU?"
You honestly do not know? Can you not see it even now as your eyes melt in the fire? Don't worry. We will meet again. Soon. And you will serve me for an eternity.
There.
Another group of fools dealt with.
You. You there! Whom do you follow?
"Not you."
Wise. Be on your way. Another waits for you.
Ah.
It is time for the grand finale.
"What? You again? No, your path lies somewhere over there, with them. You have no path with me."
...
"Why do you persist in following me? You are not mine! You belong with the others!"
...
"Very well, I cannot stop you, but the consequences are entirely your problem."
We await the signal to begin. There! The Fanfare!
A sudden sharp crack and I feel weak. What has happened? You? Did you shoot me? You did! How droll! You drew a gun and shot me in the back! Where is the honor in that? What school of thought makes deceit and treachery acceptable in the acts of good?
Speak Mortal!
•••
The thing the Devil and God both failed to understand was that both promoted faith and obedience over personal responsibility. God did so not from choice as much as from the nature of Man, who is a lazy creature given to simple, easy solutions. That I can lay directly at the feet of God, as God made us what we are. The Devil preferred mindless obedience, since those who do not question will do the most horrible things without a qualm.
What better way to end Armageddon than by assassinating both focuses for mindless violence? With both focuses gone, only those so bound up in the mythos continued to fight.
The rest of us went home and had a lot of very long talks about faith, belief, and a bunch of other crap we decided we could do without.
The world is much calmer now, so I suppose one thing was true. The meek did inherit the Earth.
•••
New Faith Arises! The Meek Inherit The Earth! Chase all the aggressors off Earth! The Earth is Ours!
((finis)) | 35 | As the world burned, the holy men smiled, for they knew that Rapture would come and ascend them to Heaven. When Rapture came, it only ascended those who the holy men considered ‘heathens’ and, for once in their life, the holy men felt fear. | 192 |
The room was completely white and bare. It was well lit, with several young people standing around me. I had never met these people before, but I had to assume they were grad students. Naturally, I asked, "What is this? What am I doing here?" The young woman at the front, who looked like she was the head of the project, said, "Maybe we should have given you some time to wake up first before introducing ourselves. Like I said, we are an advanced physics research program. This is where we test our theories on individuals who would have received the death penalty anyways." "But, I should be dead anyways, I was just given the lethal injection," I said, feeling more confused than ever.
"Well, we just do that for the public. You were just placed in a dead-like state. We picked you up afterwards and brought you here. But, for all intents and purposes, you are considered dead to the rest of the world, which technically means that you have no rights. So this conversation is more of a courtesy than an obligation, after all, we don't really need your informed consent," said the grad student. I asked, "And what kind of experiment are you conducting that would require you to utilize death row inmates?"
The grad student corrected me, "Not an inmate, remember, you're already presumed dead. It's the kind of experiment that are above the paygrade of a rat, but too dangerous to put any other human through. Perhaps, it's just better if we show you." The student made a gesture with her finger and said, "Nathan, can you let us out?" A door propped open from one of the walls. All of the students stepped out. I was still strapped to the bed, unable to move. Once they were outside, a slit revealed itself on the wall opposite from me. The walls slid and parted way. There was nothing visible but the darkness that emanated from the other side. The student's voice echoed from the wall, "What you see in front of you is a black hole, one that was created in a super collider. For some reason, it appears mostly benign. Naturally, we want to investigate it, but we don't know what's going to happen if one of us goes through. We have sent rats and other animals down there, all with cameras strapped to their back, but the cameras never seem to work once they're sent through there. I think the best that we can do is send a human down there and then have them try to come back to report what they've found."
I didn't know what to say. It felt like I was just being put to death a minute ago, but I guess one is never truly prepared to face a black hole. The straps suddenly became unlocked and I was free to move around. The student's voice came through again, "You're free to stay where you are, but just know that nothing is coming into that room anymore. Nobody is going in there, there's no food or water coming your way, no form of entertainment, nothing. So unless you want to sit here and just waste away, I'd recommend complying."
I wish I could say that walking through that black hole was easy, because it wasn't. Even though I knew my options were limited, I was still terrified to find out what was on the other side. I placed my hand in first, and to my surprise, I felt nothing. Feeling more confident, I stepped through into a vast plane of nothingness. I felt my very being melt away, I was starting to merge with this nothingness. Everything I was, and everything I am would be erased soon. Yet, the transition was peaceful, and I was not scared anymore. Everything I've done would soon fade, and I would no longer have to hear the voices of my victims in my head. I soon realized that heaven wasn't a place with clouds and trumpets. For me, heaven was here. | 12 | You are convicted of multiple murders and sentenced to death. You await the lethal injection cocktail and close your eyes preparing for the end. After losing consciousness you wake up in a room and hear these words, "Welcome to the involuntary advanced physics research program." | 40 |
The "White Priestess" is a healer, whose power transforms humans to a healthy state, free of injuries and illness. Rumour has it that this means that any mutations will be erased, because a healthy human doesn't have _those_.
And for that reason alone, most supers would rather suffer through healing from injuries the painful way than risk her touch. Even at the edge of death they won't suffer the Priestess' power.
And this amuses me. It really does.
See, I'm the source of that rumour. I didn't intend for it to persist as long as it did, but I guess none of those idiots really paid attention to their GCSE science lessons.
I don't really have anything against the White Priestess. Mel is a nice lady, and honestly just as kind and selfless as her heroic persona. She's also a massive nerd, hence her Name.
I'm watching her now, sitting in the corner of the pub, a half drunk cider in front of her, dark skin contrasting with the white robes she adopted as her costume. Every now and then someone approaches her, and after a few words and a light brush of her hand they depart, healed of whatever ailed them.
The general public aren't as stupid as the Supers, or just more desperate. They don't have access to the army of private medics that the League of Heroes provides, after all. And while the NHS are great, the League poaches the _best_ from around the world.
I've been watching Mel for a while now, since even before she took up her Name and robes. I still don't fully know how her power works. I do know that I achieved a master stroke with that rumour. With a few careful words I made sure that the League was denied a Super with healing powers.
It's a much neater solution than assassination, really.
See, "removing mutation" isn't a thing. It can't be. Humans, like other living beings, have mutations throughout their bodies. If we didn't then we'd look pretty much the same.
That milk you're drinking? Persistent lactose tolerance is a mutation! Sickle cell traits are a mutation. And all Mel does is put a person into a healthy condition. Their inherent mutations are untouched.
I should know, I've dissected a few of her 'patients', and done DNA sequencing on many more. I even found a few budding Supers that way.
The Brotherhood of Villains is keeping an eye on _them_.
Just like I'm keeping an eye on Mel. The White Priestess is an asset for us. She's shunned by the League - quite publicly at that - and yet everyone _knows_ that she does Good. The seeming contradiction of these facts confuses people, and puts doubt into their minds.
All because of a little rumour. The damage that words can do, eh? | 656 | They told you your power was a "healing factor" able to heal others as well, it turns out, your actual power was turning anyone you touch into a healthy human, and since healthy humans don't have mutations and therefore no powers, many supers would rather risk death than being treated by you. | 1,727 |
I had trained under my father to be a blacksmith, as he had trained under his father, for as far back as anyone could remember. No bard would ever sing of the legendary works we produced, but our work was solid, dependable, sufficient for the demands of the town in which we lived. When my father passed, I took his place as was expected.
A year later, the strangeness began. A horse slipped from the road, sliding down into the river below. Instead of sinking, it regained its footing, standing on the surface of the water as though it were the most natural thing in the world. An enchantment in the horseshoes I had made a week prior had saved its life. None could explain how the enchantment came to be, for I had no magical talent, and no witch had come who might have cast a spell upon them.
A week passed and then Old Carbo came running into town, screaming as though the devils were chasing him. When we calmed him enough to speak, he said he had woken up that morning and stepped outside to find his new scythe, that I had rebladed the day before, was in the field, working by itself. By the time we reached the farm, the work was done and the scythe rested idle on the side of the barn.
I forged a sword for Sir Dalmion’s new squire, and while he wielded it, no blade could touch him for it moved by itself to parry every blow. An axehead I made for Beldor let him chop trees in a single blow, no matter how thick their trunks. Nails I made gave structures incredible strength, even when used in old and rotting timber. The list went on, and still none could explain how my items came to be as they were.
Finally, a stranger came to town. He had heard talk of the wonders I produced and come to see them for himself. He sat and watched as I crafted a simple iron helm. When I handed it to him, he held it aloft in the flickering light of the forge, a smile playing across his aged face.
“This helm is fit for a hero. No conniving rogue nor honourless assassin can strike the wearer, for it will warn them of threats, both seen and unseen.”
“How is that possible?”
He extended one arm towards the hammer that lay on my anvil. It was an old tool, one I had found in my grandfather’s toolbox many years before. It was well balanced and bore little signs of use, and it just happened to be the one I had picked out when my previous hammer broke.
“That, my dear smith, is the hammer of Melward the Smith, once thought lost. It bears an enchantment from a time long gone, one which the world is not yet ready to make anew. Keep it. Use it. All things you craft shall bear the enchantment they require. Even I cannot see the purpose for which this helm was made, but in due course, it will find its way to the person it was made for, and your enchantment shall no doubt save their life.”
I blinked, unsure how such an innocuous tool could be the source of such power. “Surely this hammer should be in the hands of a greater smith? One who could craft wonders that would reshape the world?”
“If such were required, that is where it would be. In my many years, I have learned one thing about powerful magic items: they always find their way to where they are needed most. Fate has chosen you to wield the hammer in this age, and be assured that Melward would be proud to see it used once more. After all, *he* was just a simple smith, and his weapons still change the world to this day.” | 126 | You are the town's Blacksmith, your weapons and armor you craft are just average quality at best, but for some reason everything you make has powerful enchantments, you then learn the truth on why your crafts are enchanted. | 126 |
I was to be hunted, but I was given a week's head start. Nobody had ever won as the prey, not in the entire history of the kingdom. But they had never hunted for someone like me. Not really.
I was not a master of stealth, or patience, or camouflage, or anything like that. I didn't even like sitting still, really.
What I liked best were ultra marathons.
On the day they had told me to start, I picked a direction and ran. And ran. And ran some more. I stopped only to sleep for four or so hours, then woke to run again.
There was nothing in the rules that said I had to remain within the city limits, or even the Kingdom. I had read the instructions dozens if times, making sure there wasn't a rule I would break and disqualify myself by accident. As far as I could tell, there wasn't. I was in the clear.
They would never find me. Of that I was sure.
I ran and I ran and I ran. I ran through streams, through fields of flowers and grains, through forests and woods and groves. I stopped to drink, but I ate as I ran. I would grab a fruit from a tree as I passed a farm, or a vegetable right from the ground. But I never stopped.
I had counted six sunrises, which meant I had one more day of running before I had to hide. I pushed myself harder than I ever had before, trying to make it physically impossible for even the fastest horse in the kingdom to reach me within a day. I kept running through the night, promising myself I could sleep once I found a hiding spot. Hell, I could probably check into an Inn and sleep in a bed for the entire day.
These thoughts and my utter exhaustion probably contributed to my stumble. I caught a foot on a root in the forest I was running through that morning, twisting my ankle and falling to the ground. I didn't see the root cave until I was already inside, wedged from the hips to my head in a damp dark cave of root and earth.
I tried to wriggle my arms or torso, but succeeded with neither. I kicked my legs around frantically, but they were fatigued from the constant running. I tried to scream for help, but the earthy cave around my head surely muffled my weakening pleas.
As I drifted into unconsciousness, with my blood pooling into my head, I had one final thought.
They would never find me. Of that I was sure.
r/SlightlyColdStories | 41 | Every year, the entire kingdom takes part in a game of hide-and-seek, where the hider must remain unseeked for a full day. The prize for the winner, the hider or the seeker who found them, is a 1000 Gold Pieces; this year you've been selected as the hider and are given a week' head start. | 102 |
"It was presumed that such would be my worst nightmare. To be at such a disadvantageous position among my peers would be aweful, no? Alas, such was not the case. Quickly, the population of the world learned to silence their own minds for the sake of social order. They quieted their thoughts to a whisper, and in doing so, quieted also their own will.
Being none the wiser, in my temporary seclusion (which granted me the chance distancing from the strange psychic contagion), I learned no such mental control. And so as I returned to the remote Colorado community, instantly those within a quarter mile of me were stricken by the thoughts in both my subconcious and concious mind.
Havin their own thoughts quieted, they could not resist the hellscape that I had learned to endure over the years. Without warning, at full volume, the signal spread like a virus; the words, the tones, the sheer magnitude of its glory and unstopable might! For years this great eagle had built its nest in my head, and finally it could take flight! The lyrics exploded fort from mind to mind;
'We're no strangers to love
You know the rules and so do I....'
In days it spread and would no cease. It was a hellscape of torment, and I its king. And I was never going to give it up....or let it down...." | 35 | Your worst nightmares have come true. Every human being except you has developed the ability to read minds. | 91 |
"Rendezvous just means *appointment* in French," Kid Thunder muttered to himself as he thumbed the webpage down. "I would've thought there'd be more to it."
The alleyway was dark, a dripping pipe plopping droplets somewhere unseen.
"I wonder if in France *appointment* means a sexy meetup." He put away his phone, unsure how to search that one up. Now didn't seem like the time to think about French anyways. But without the distraction his bright screen gave him, the anxiety had much more room to grow in his mind.
Kid Thunder wasn't afraid of the dangerous side streets or gang-infested corridors that wound their way through the city. If anything, *this* was his element. Together with Ultiman, he would invade these slums and scour the city streets of criminal scum.
So, no, it wasn't the criminals that had Kid Thunder sweating around his tight, checkered, cologne-saturated collar. If Ultiman found out--
"*Psst. Up here."* The whisper whizzed through the air like an arrow. Kid Thunder looked up to the gap between the plaster buildings to find her sitting off the ledge, her feet swinging playfully. "Get up here!"
He smiled wide and leapt onto the fire escape, scaling the creaking wrought iron trellises with ease. Kid Thunder made sure to work in a flipping flourish or two.
You know.
Just because.
His feet landed softly at the ledge's edge beside the young black-haired beauty.
"Sup?" He nodded with a crooked grin.
Her nose crinkled. "Is that *cologne*?"
Kid Thunder's face went red and his words tumbled out frantically. "Oh, well...uhm...that's, uh--just a little bit..." His foot nearly slipped off the building as his charisma evaporated.
"You are such a dork!" She barked, throwing her head back in laughter.
Kid Thunder smiled but pressed his finger to his lips. "Keep it down. No one can catch us here!"
She stood up and walked, one foot in front of the other, balancing on the ledge, toward him. "Luckily for you," she said, flattening the collar of his shirt against his chest, "I like dorks. And I don't care who knows it."
"Not even your dad?"
Her hands fell off his shirt and dropped to her sides. The flirty game was over. "I told you not to worry about that."
"I know," he nodded, "but it's kind of hard not to think about."
"Why?" She floated from the ledge to the building's roof, black ribbons of smoke wafting from her feet.
Kid Thunder stepped after her hastily. "If Nihilis finds out about us, he'll use it against...me."
"And if your boss finds out about it he won't?" She was walking away now, her body swaying in the moonlight, sending Kid Thunder's heart racing in his chest.
"Well, no, he will too. That's why we have to keep a low profile. Nobody can know."
She turned around and floated toward him. "Kid Thunder," she hissed his name, "are you ashamed of being seen with Lady Rien?"
It was the wrong time to bring it up, but Kid Thunder remembered that *rien* meant *nothing* in French. It sounded much cooler than "nothing." The French really had language figured out.
He took her hands in his, and she slowly floated down to the roof. "Nothing could make me ashamed of what we have," he cooed in the small space between them. "But I've never felt this way about anyone before. And I don't want anybody or anything to get in the way."
Now it was *her* heart's turn to thump away. She leaned in, the heat radiating between both their bodies, her lips parting to take his.
*Flash!*
A blinding light flickered just as the skin of their lips swept each other's.
"No way, dude!" A voice called from across the roof.
Kid Thunder and Lady Rien turned their heads quickly. A man stood there, staring at the screen of his big, fancy camera.
"Kid Thunder and Lady Rien? **In Love!?**"
Lady Rien stomped on the roof, sending black shadows over the space between them. A shadowy tentacle lifted the man in the air and slammed him down.
"Whoa, wait!" Kid Thunder called, rushing to the man's side.
"Get his camera!" She shouted, pointing to the expensive-looking gadget laying sideways next to the groaning voyeur.
"I need to see if he's okay!" Kid Thunder protested.
"Ugh!" She stomped again, shadows pulling the camera into the ground and reappearing it in Lady Rien's hands. "Hey, peeping Tom!" She called out. The man made eye contact with the young villain as she effortlessly crushed the camera in her hand.
"Okay," he said casually. "It's connected."
"Connected?" Kid Thunder asked.
"To the internet. It gets back to the agency immediately."
"The agency? What agency?" Lady Rien rose into the air, the space around her darkening as she drew nearer to the man.
"The news. Obviously," he chuckled. "Everyone's going to know about your risqué little meetup."
Now definitely wasn't the time to bring it up, but *risqué* just means *risk* in English. | 14 | It's always funny and adorable to see the awkwardness of preteens and teens falling in love for the first time. However, when one of them is the daughter of the most powerful supervillain, Nihilis and the other is the sidekick of humanity's greatest hero Ultiman, things might get complicated. | 32 |
"B..but the earth is dying!"
\- _Sure_.
"And there's really nasty people in there!"
\- _We know._
"W..we?"
\- _Eldritch. It's plural. Multiple consciousness, united within a body for a purpose._
"So are you a.. you? Should I call you Thou? Vous?"
\- _Whatever you wish. See, we're not speaking. I'm manifesting thoughts and reading responses in your head. I see your mouth move and feel the atmospheric vibrations, but the meaning, and reverence you feel, comes from your head. But seriously, take a seat, pick up a controller. It's fun._
\- _I know. Eldritch entity, multiple god consciousness,with your limited religious background, it is a shock._
\- _No, it's fine. I know you didn't mean the fucking terror squid bit._
\- _No, really. We're cool._
\- _Well, it's just like manifesting thoughts. I manifest visually in forms that sentient beings are comfortable with._
\- _ Him? Not particularly. Lovecraft had his limitations. He did have one moment of clarity with a mix of argot, psilocybin and opium. A brief insight before he fainted from terror. We had a good laugh. He was a good player 2..._
\- _No. No distractions. I assign out consciousnesses to tasks. And conversation takes little effort. Nothing you need to apologize for. Now about that controller._
\- _Yeah, multitasking as you call it. And it helps if one of those tasks is an outlet, like gaming..._
\- _Ok, ten finger, Xbox. Sure. 360 is... er.. fine._
\- _It's a sim. Something like what you refer to as space MMORPGs, uh, give me a few seconds to bring you up to speed with Sol 3's knowledge base. I forgot you took a narrow straight. Ok, there you go. It's like Eve meets Game of Life meets drag racing. You set up parameters - universe rules, chemical composition, location, mass distribution, star parameters, and you run a few thousand simulations to see if and what kind of life forms and if they gain sentience._
\- _Well, there's lots of styles, I like seeding and observing. Diverting meteorites and stuff isn't my style. It's a bit like playing with unlimited cash. Too close to cheating for my comfort._
\- _I don't feel the need to pause. Time is a universe parameter. It's part of the setup._
\- _Multiverses? You mean saved games? Sure, if I feel like it._
\- _No, Feynman wasn't being literal. It's a mathematical interpretation of what is and isn't possible. Quantum theories are just a way to say_ Anything is possible, just not probable. _Yeah, so do you wanna start with earth? Or try your hand at something else?_
\- _Haha, yeah, he_ was _a gas giant. That baptism with 20 babies bawling and the parents holding their breath and wishing they'd been the ones dunked was hilarious!_
\- _I have a better idea. It's not quite Jupiter. It's in a nebula, so the view is literally out of the world. But it's a satellite orbiting a warm gas giant, and set up for high sentience probability. The beings are likely to be bipedal and you wouldn't be offended._
...
\- _Good move! You're getting in the groove._
...
\- _Yeah just sit back and enjoy it._
...
\- _Hey! Dafuq is it with you lot and smiting? What's the point? No, why does it have to be the narrow straight for everyone? No, you chose it. That's fine. Leave the others be! Just enjoy the plurality!_
\- _Yeah, and this fucking squid is about to take away your controller._
\- _Again, it's fine. You think it's pejorative, but squids are quite intelligent and fucking is awesome._
\- _What? Never? Like_ never??
\- _Ok, try this VR game then. Don't take it personally but I'm gonna mute you for the next hour._ | 22 | A nun who spent her whole life studying the faith and trying to be a true woman of God finally meets God. She finds out God is an insane, eldritch abomination who creates purely for the joy of creation and had no greater plans for humans. | 182 |
**The Inevitability of Purpose**
r/AerhartWrites
The thing looks alien as I turn it around in my hands. I watch the light from the fireplace flow and dance along its metallic body like molten rivers, sliding smoothly down the polished barrel; pooling around the gouged curves of its weighty cylinder. The jet black of its grip begins to mottle beneath my clammy hands.
I can’t bear to look at it any longer. I set the revolver down on my coffee table with a heavy, metallic clunk and collapse back into my armchair; but my eyes remain fixed on it, and it seems to return my vacant stare.
“Self-defence,” I had told the clerk, between sneezes in the dusty old pawnshop. The boy had simply nodded understandingly, and bagged it with my receipt.
At the time, all I could think about was the spate of burglaries in my neighbourhood; how vulnerable I would be if it were my window, shattering in the night. How much safer I would feel, knowing that I could reach for my bedside table and draw forth a weapon, standing confidently against the hypothetical interloper.
Now, weeks later, I sit here, struggling to think about anything other than self-fulfilling prophecies.
The sense of safety had lasted only briefly. The weapon had been consigned to my bedside table, at first. Then, the worries began; the images of myself, caught unawares in the kitchen or living room – struggling, and failing to reach the weapon in time. Daydreaming visions of it, cold barrel pressed against my forehead, held by unfamiliar hands.
So, I keep it nearby, now. It is my constant companion, always in reach. A paradoxical reminder of both my safety – and my frailty.
Staring. Always… staring.
I blink hard, and try to shake the churning thoughts from my head. I tell myself it is just an object. Inanimate. A thing. I know this to be true. But the fate of things created by man are preordained. Almost every lumber-axe eventually buries its head in timber; every hammer finds a nail. In their creation, they are infused with a certain inevitability of purpose.
I glance at the gun once more, flames still dancing their frenzied dervish in its mirrored facets. It is a thing. Like the axe, and the hammer. It has its purpose. I tremble in contemplation of when that purpose will be fulfilled – and who might find their life forfeit in its commission.
*Perhaps,* I shudder, *every gun is Chekov’s gun.* | 42 | Chekhov's gun is real. Whoever encounters it is destined to use it at some point in their lives. You've accidentally bought it from a shop. | 148 |
I pressed the button and ended the call to my mother and father. Today, with tears in my eyes, I could tell them that their little girl made it. After their own attempts at getting out of their family cycle of poverty, I had ascended some more steps towards financial freedom.
Not on my own. I don't think I could ever call myself "self made". They sacrificed a lot. So did others around me... And I am brave enough to admit, being in a financial position to afford Lexapro and intensive therapy didn't hurt either.
As the night set in, I slumped up the stairs and across the dark wooden floorboards. The duck feather comforter puffed up as I flopped onto it before getting comfortable in my wire-framed bed. I'd left the original, unlined linen curtains. I had really struck gold with this place, especially the way the market currently is. I guess old Queenslanders go for a bit less in places a little further out. Thank God for telecommuting.
The moonlight that snuck in through the curtains exaggerated the height of the ceilings. I felt like I was in one of those late 80s/early 90s Tim Burton-esque films that were slightly dark and challenged the genre. Not just Tim, could I call him Tim? Would he mind? My mind trailed off... What was the guy that made that other film? Beetlejuice? Beetlejuice...
My thoughts trailed off as the fog of sleep was ready to take over. A problem with Lexapro is the sleep paralysis. To be honest, I'd become a little jaded with the concept. I knew when I was in sleep paralysis mode. My body would move as if the room was viscous honey, if I could move at all, and the shadow people didn't seem to be able to do anything but be menacing.
I found that singing "The Lord is My Shepherd", a song I'd learned by chance from when I played a part in a community theatre production, tended to get them to buzz off.
So as the shadows emerged, I didn't bother trying to move. I just begun, "The Lord is my shepherd... And I want to follow... Wherever he leads me... Wherever he g-"
I was cut off "Oh man, I haven't heard that one for yonks. What a banger."
I sat up, with absolutely no viscosity pushing me back down, "Wait... What?"
"Oh, yeah." The shadow said in a twangy, rural accent, "I'm your ghost. Died out back near the well. That sucks. But, you know, what can ya do? Uh... Wooo or some shit." Long fingers lazily waved at me in the shadows sarcastically.
My eyes narrowed, "If you're a ghost, how do you know what the word 'banger' means?"
"You think those pink curtains that came with your room were the choice of an adult? Do you know how many bloody times I had to listen to Party in the USA by Miley bloody Cyrus with the last family that lived here? I'm dead, not frozen."
"And you're not..." I was trying to collect myself, my brain calculating such an odd occurrence brought to me by such a casual manner, "Evil, or something?"
"I don't think so? I like to think I help. Well, help people get out of my damn house. No one comes here because it's their first choice. Party in the USA kid wanted to become famous on the internet so I called in a few favours from some of the newer ghosts who found themselves out this way. Learned about 'Optimal traffic times' and unplugged the router whenever she'd try to upload a video outside of them. Bob's ya uncle, 10 months later she and her family struck some deal and now she hawks... I don't know, hair bows or sequin shirts or something, I didn't pay much attention. I just knew I had to get her out when she uploaded the 'MY HOUSE IS HAUNTED!' video."
"Uh, ok." I didn't really know what to say after that, "And what should I call you?"
"Preferably, you won't. Just let me know if I can do anything to give you a leg up and outta here."
I didn't run into him again. Each day I would journal. Each day I would work from the office. I would tour the grounds. It was just me and the country. It was just... This. Life was ok. Life had to be ok.
As I thought more and more about that night, I started getting a little less sure of myself. Currently, I was content living alone... But death was the same, apparently. So what was the difference? I didn't feel sad. I didn't feel anything.
Maybe that's what death was like.
Of course, I couldn't do that. I lived for the Christmases I saw mum and dad. I lived for the birthday phone calls that made their day. I lived for the phone calls where I could tell them I got a promotion or a new position or a salary increase. I lived for the letters and post cards I sent them when I went on day-drives to towns a few hours away when I just wanted something to do.
One day I called but they didn't answer.
That was ok. I'd been working through anxiety with my therapist. My parents had lives. My parents had news to tell me and that meant that there were logically times they would not be in their house to answer their phones. We didn't have mobiles as we were all rural and the Telstra rural plans only mattered if you needed to contact other people on a farm or something.
I soothed myself by reminding myself that they always called back.
They always called back.
They always called back.
I called again.
I called again.
They always called back.
I called.
I called.
They always called back.
I began to throw things into an old leather suitcase, ready to drive across the state to get to their door.
"I'll save you the petrol," The familiar voice said flatly, "They're dead. You can go now."
"What?" I looked around with the dim bulb hanging from the ceiling being the only light source.
The figure sat on my duck-down comforter, but no air displaced the feathers around him.
"I have nothing to do all day, and I made my way through most of your library." My pillow hovered slightly over the journal underneath, "This one though... This was an original. No one else has this story. Just you. Just me."
The journal flipped open and floated across to me as I read the passage, "My biggest wish is to simply not exist. Sometimes it feels like I'm only alive so that mum and dad won't be sad."
The entity hopped off the bed and dusted off his hands matter-of-factly, "And now they won't be." His cold hands pushed on my back, "So off you go, chop chop, no more reason to stay here anymore." He ushered me out and closed the door with almost a spring in his step.
I walked dazed and barefoot into the fields shrouded in the mists of the night, with toads at my feet and bats perched in the fruit trees over my head.
"JUST DON'T USE THE WELL!" He called out to me with his elbows resting on the kitchen windows that overlooked the garden, "THAT'S MY SPOT!" | 136 | You discover after buying your first house that it is full of ghosts. However, unlike the traditional haunted houses, they all want you to achieve your dreams and will go to great lengths to make sure you meet every goal. It's great until people you know start to die. | 1,811 |
Hazel leaned her weight onto her walking stick, a thick chestnut slab worn from generations of use. Wiping days of sweat from her brow, she looked back out towards the horizon. The sun was just starting to rise.With a sigh, she turned her head in the opposite direction. To her destination.
The cabin was not how she’d imagined it to be. In the stories they told her, it was a castle with long twisting towers. It was a momentous structure made of hard, impenetrable stone.
In reality, the cabin was just a cabin. Four walls of decaying wood contained its small quarters.Her eyes met those of a man sat on a rocking chair in front of the cabin’s entrance.
“Are you here for a fight? Or would you like some tea?” The man asked, a gentle expression painting his war torn face.
Hazel closed her eyes. The moment she started up the mountain, she knew this would be the end result. Yet she still found her preparation lacking. Her composure deteriorating. Part of her yearned to take this man’s hand and accept his kind offer of tea. It would be far simpler. Far healthier, even.
But no. Years of suffering had finally brought her to this place. To this man. She reached into her walking stick and drew out sharp steel blade. A glint of determination pierced her eyes, as she pointed it towards the neck of the frail man.
The choice was made. | 47 | "Are you here for a fight? Or would you like some tea?" | 246 |
“-aaand...*there*! Ha-ha!” Naked Mole Rat Man stood back and, with a flourish of his hands, showed off his accomplishment.
Dr Odd-Task, PhD in Evil Sciences, remained silent. He sat on a stool next to Naked Mole Rat Man, one leg crossed over the other, chin rested on his fist, eyes wide and locked with those of Mini-Mole via the salon mirror.
“So...you’re blind, yeah?” Said Dr Odd-Task to his scissor-wielding counterpart. “Like. Actually blind.”
“Ha! From birth — My other senses and super-abilities make up for it, though! And now you know my secret. Unfortunately for you and your evil games-"
"Odd Tasks."
"-I've given my dear Mini-Mole many a haircut. This was no challenge at all!”
The young mole-lad, his hair lop-sided and somehow half-frizzy, half-limp, and half-sheared, had a look of utter defeat on his face that suggested this had happened before. And this wasn’t the worse version.
“Is it a good one, Mini-Mole? I think it’s very modern.” Said the hero.
“Sure is, boss.”
Dr Odd-Task opened his mouth but the young Mini-Mole gave a small shake of his head and pleaded with the one eye not covered by an asymmetric frizzed-up fringe. The bad guy quietly handed the side-kick an electric hair-clipper and then turned to the hair-crime committing hero.
“Well, I...can’t argue against your results, Naked Mole Rat Man. Let’s go release that bus full of pangolins I stole from the zoo.”
“Excellent! Come along Mini-Mole!”
“No! No. He’s going to...contact the police, right Mini?”
“Yep.”
“What’s that buzzing sound.
“Ah...My phone’s vibrating? The police are calling me, boss.”
“Oh. Good work!”
“Let’s run along now, mighty hero. You earned some pangolins their freedom.” | 15 | Villain challenges Hero to do something while being blinded. Little does the villain know that Hero has been blind since birth, so it's a breeze for them. | 55 |
I never thought this day would come, but here we are, me and a dolphin. Sitting in two rather comfortable beach chairs with glasses of wine. When I said I was going to summon a god, this was the last thing I imagined. “So kiddo, you really couldn’t find anyone else to help?” Said the dolphin, speaking in English somehow, but I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised at this point.
“Yea… uh hi. My name is Danny and I—“ “Whoa whoa whoa, I’m gonna stop you there kid, I already know why you’re here, hell, you think I didn’t see you say the same scripted thing over and over again expecting a response?” Said the dolphin as he interrupted my speech.
“Yea I suppose you have a point… well, can you do it?” I say, almost pleading at this point.
“Yknow what kiddo, I’m feeling generous, I’ll give ya this. You get a trial run of your wish, if it isn’t how you like it, you can go back to how it was before but you have to worship me every day” the dolphin says as he down his wine in one gulp and summons another glass.
I’m elated, I stand up and put out my hand to shake. Then I realize this is still a dolphin. “No it’s alright kid you don’t need to shake my fin, let’s just…” there’s a snapping noise and I’m back in my room. To my excitement I look in my hamsters cage…
“Hello there young lad, do you happen to be Daniel?” Says my hamster, finally able to talk and have opposable thumbs. | 111 | You’ve tried summoning every god possible to fulfill your wish. None have responded despite your best attempts. Only one remains, the god of insanity. | 309 |
"Look, they're not mere beasts like the textbooks say. Those things are just propaganda to excuse our actions towards any species that doesn't bend to the Imperial yoke. If you don't submit it's because you're just a stupid animal, etc etc."
Tajret stopped by a heavily armoured door, and waved at the equipment hanging around it. He stared at Yhit until the smaller Defralian matched his gaze.
"We used to use all this shit. The shock sticks, the catch collars, the armoured suits. We don't any more, we know better. Oh, we still keep it around, it's a legal requirement for 'beasts' of this classification, but _we never use it_. Now, prepare yourself."
Tajret opened the door, his six digits fitting neatly into the biometric lock on the handle. Yhit wasn't yet cleared on the system for this door, and wouldn't be until he completed his apprenticeship with the elder Xarat keeper.
The two zookeepers slipped through the door, manoeuvring a large cart between them. A second door opened on the inside once Yhit dragged the outer door closed, and a wave of heat wafted over them.
"It's...warm," Yhit muttered in amazement. He could feel the sweat starting to pool up under his fur before he even went inside the habitat.
"Yes, it is. We simulate their home planet's solar cycle as closely as we can, and this is the season they call summer. Some of them enjoy it, some don't. Look lively, we've been spotted."
Yhit followed Tajret into the habitat, and saw what the Xarat meant: several humans were approaching. They were charging the two keepers with warlike cries, clearly intending to attack. Yhit started to retreat, coming in without personal defensive equipment was a mistake...
The largest of the humans, its head only barely on a level with Yhit's torso, slammed into Tajret's knees, obviously aiming to knock him off his hooves to make him easier to devour alive. The willowy Xarat stumbled as they collided, and went down with a thud.
And he was _laughing_? The humans were climbing all over Tajret and the grey-coated Xarat found it amusing? They were positioning to kill him, surely. Any of those crude coverings they were wearing could be concealing a basic knife, or a stone with which to bash Tajret's brains out.
"Younglings, this is Yhit. He'll be learning how to care for you when I retire."
Younglings? Humans of this size were _juveniles_?
Yhit suddenly felt sick. One of his good upper paws subconsciously moved to massage the stump that had started to ache in remembrance.
Juveniles...he'd never seen an adult human, in four years of service to the Empire?
Never? | 50 | An alien freelancer manages to land a job at a human zoo. At first they are excited to start their new career. However, the exhausted previous keeper they're replacing explains that humans aren't so easy to care for. | 60 |
The abandoned warehouse of Aura Therapeutics was at the west end of Ebonborough. That had been one of the primary reasons why Optima had chosen this as the meeting spot for the Renegades.
Anyone who decided to look at the setting sun would see the four vigilantes perched at the edge of the highest floor of the building, their silhouettes illuminated by the dying rays. Electrocus, Solar Flare, Optima, and Nightwing.
After years of watching corruption, ineptitude, and apathy of the lowest caliber, the four had decided to take matters into their own hands. Thanks to their efforts, Ebonborough was becoming a safer place to live.
Sometimes, Nightwing wondered if they were being silly, indulging in theatrics like this. But as Optima said, the image of the four of them, united in their quest to clean up Ebonborough, might be able to dissuade some would-be villains.
As the last of the day's light disappeared over the edge of the horizon, Electrocus stood up, stretching languidly. "Good hang out sesh, everyone. See you next month?"
Solar Flare whipped out her phone, swiping through her calendar. "Is that October 2nd?"
Three more phones popped out of pockets.
Optima peered myopically at her screen. "Yep."
"Crap, I can't do that. Got a wedding to go to. I'm at that age, you know. The age when all my friends are suddenly deciding to get hitched. How about the 4th?"
"Can't do that," Nightwing piped up. "My hours at the day job got shifted around, so I won't be able to make it to here by sunset on weekdays anymore. What about the Saturday the 7th?"
"Out of town visiting family," Electrocus interjected. "And then I've got a business trip for the next two weeks to California, so I'm out for pretty much the rest of October."
Optima grimaced. "We can't just skip all of October, guys. People are going to wonder if something's happened to us. If the villains managed to take us down."
"Well, I RSVP'ed to this wedding four months ago, so I definitely can't do the 2nd. Maybe you guys can just do this without me?" Solar Flare said.
"No, we can't! We've got to appear united. We can't be this wishy washy group that's sometimes three people and sometimes four people. Think about the *optics*."
There was a brief silence as the four heroes examined their hectic schedules.
"I think I could *maaaybe* swing October 6th if I can get a coworker to cover for me," Nightwing offered.
"That's my anniversary, Bram and I are going to see a show that night," Optima sighed.
There was another prolonged silence.
"Wait, I think I've got a solution to all our problems," Electrocus said. "To all the citizens of Ebonborough, we're just tiny backlit silhouettes, right? I'll bring Julia. She can stand in for Solar Flare."
\----
/r/theBasiliskWrites | 303 | The local costumed vigilantes coordinate their schedules so everyone has a chance to brood on the really cool lookout point above the city. | 2,145 |
Lily gracefully sung the chords of Ave Maria while taking her shower. At the crescendo of her operatic incantation, her mirror made a cracking sound. When she peered out at the glossy reflective oval, it was pristine and unbroken.
It was them, wasn’t it. They were trying to stop the pain, the indescribable agony of truth and beauty.
“It is like acid in your eyes, isn’t it?” Lily said to the mirror. She sang a line of chorus, a new song she made up in the moment. They seemed to hate that most of all. A demon face flashed in the mirror, black skin and pink glowing eyes.
Streams of blood dripped down her mirror, and that only made her smile. She sang louder, returning to the shower. Blood dripped from her shower faucet now.
“Haunt me all you like, you hellspawn. You can’t dampen my spirit,” she sang, transitioning into an a cappella Beethoven symphony.
A four-pronged claw mark appeared on her back, streaked with her blood.
“Ouch, that one hurt. Okay, you win this one. I’m done washing up anyhow.”
Lily dried off, and when she wiped her back, saw that there was a streak of blood from the scratch they’d given her. She raised an eyebrow.
“The veil appears to be thinning, eh?” Said Lily to herself. “Well you’re not going to like tonight, then.”
Lily began to pull on her underwear, then slipped into a glamorous, sparkling dress that would make Marilyn Monroe jealous. She put some chewing gum in her mouth, and blew a bubble. Chewing gum always loosened up her jaw before a performance.
When she arrived at the grand theater, the audience was already seated and silent. An electric, expectant energy exuded from the crowd.
She strode confidently to the center of the stage, and put her lucky green chewing gum in a wad of paper. It was time to put an end to this chapter of her life. It was time to kill every last demon with the power of her voice.
“I’ve been saving this one for you…” Lily said under her breath.
She took a deep breath…
*Amazing grace…*
*How sweet the sound…*
*That saved a wretch…*
*Like me…*
*I once was lost but now I’m found…*
*Was blind, but now I see.*
After she finished singing Amazing Grace, she felt a boundless silence in the theater. Then a raucous applause.
She bowed, and picked up some roses that were thrown at her feet. She lifted them to her nose and whiffed the pleasant aroma.
She noticed two little bumps on her back where she had been clawed in the shower. Lily felt self conscious about his, and excused herself from the theater, driving home quietly.
When she arrived home, she went straight to the bathroom mirror to check her scars. Where there were once claw marks, there were now burgeoning, small white wings.
“Would you look at that,” she said. “I’m half pigeon.” | 60 | You have the voice of an angel. Literally, you are half-angel, and your singing is the most beautiful sound people have heard. But demons find your singing painful, and try anything they can to keep you silent. | 308 |
Thank you for the prompt! I enjoyed writing it and I hope others find some enjoyment in reading my response.
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“Now, I need you to count down with me from 10…10, 9, 8, 7…”
By the time doctor Whojere reached 8, his patient, a 23 year old model nicknamed Fae was already asleep. His task, take one of God’s most beautiful creatures and transform her into an average citizen. All in the name of fear. You see, society scorned perfection as much as its opposite. Stemming from a fear of danger that has been so ingrained into today’s modern culture, yet few still remember the root it stems from. Even today, a grass roots movement to fight the stigma in underway. A grand misdirection ironically fueled by those looking to benefit from society’s denial of their ancient predators and all that would now be considered supernatural.
The things is, the danger many have forgotten is well deserved. Over the course of thousands of years, humans fought for survival among creatures that did their best to mimic humans and draw in their prey, through a sirens beauty or by disguising their more ominous and dangerous features. Yet as just humans evolved to survive as prey, so have their predators.
Dr. Whojere stepped back to admire his work. While Fae had once reflected perfection in the form of a female body, she now looked slightly above average. Beautiful enough to be treated well among human society, while average enough to be disregarded by the prejudges inherent to their nature. A deadly combination to isolate and devour. Her wounds rapidly began to healing, as one would normal expect from a semi-immortal being. He sat and waited; it wouldn’t be long now. Another masterpiece to add to his growing mantle.
It was the smell that gave it away. While humans have grown adept at controlling sound and sight, they never seem to understand how the faint odor of deodorant is just as big a tell as the smell of a human themselves. Heck, it would be less obvious to shout from the rooftops that they have arrived. In this case, the presence of humans with the absence of sound told the doctor exactly what was going on. Taking a syringe, he plunged it into Fae’s chest and injected a milky white liquid before getting on both knees with hands behind his head facing the corner of the room.
In seconds it was over. Both doors blown in, the clink of metal followed by blinding light and severe ringing in his overly sensitive ears. Dr Whojere felt rough hands holding him in place while he was thoroughly patted down. As his senses began to return, Dr. Whojere became aware of seven officers in SWAT gear bearing M4 carbine rifles spread throughout the room.
The officer directly behind him began to speak “Dr. Whojere, you have the right to remain silence, anything you say…”
His recitation broke off suddenly, another officer shouting over him.
“I think she’s still alive, call a bus!”
He could hear him in the background as the officer arresting him continued informing him of his rights.
“Ma’am, are you ok? Help is on the way. I need you to stay focused with me. Do you know where you are? Do you know if he gave you any medications?”
Idiots.
The officers froze as a deafening screech rang out, rebounding from the walls and immobilizing the humans with a primal fear developed and maintained despite their loss of understanding about its origins.
To their credit, they only froze a moment before their natural fight or flight response kicked in. Too late. The dying had already begun. The scrieva removed the throat of the officer over her and hurdled forward with unnatural speed to rapidly struck at the officers one by one. Their M4s to large and unwieldy to bring to bare in the close quarters. Dr. Whojere slipped into a small hiding hole below panel at his knees, not trusting the rampaging creature to differentiate between friend and foe in her chemical induced rage. In less than seven seconds it was over. The high-pitched panting from the scrieva above the only sound. He heard it take a deep, calming intake of breath before speaking.
“Doctor, you may come out. The danger has passed, both from the officers and myself.” Her almost haughty air an odd contrast to the monster it came from.
Lifting the lid, he saw Fae standing near the table. She looked at him and spoke again. “It appears we have been betrayed. I think likely just you, however I cannot completely discount that my coming here had no part in it.”
“So it seems” he replied. “Shall we settle the account? It appears I will have to relocate.”
Her green eyes studied the doctor, “Quite cavalier of you. You seem to be taking this well. I must admit, it is fascinating to see.”
“It’s not the first time I have been discovered and I doubt it will be the last. A new face, a new name, I will be practicing again in no time.” He told her. “Now, come. We shall get our new identities together.”
“And from there?” She asked
“Happy Hunting.” A mirthful smile appearing across Dr. Whojere’s face. | 55 | The "Uncanny Valley Effect" works on a bell curve. If something is in the middle, they're considered 'human' and are 'safe.' If they don't look human ENOUGH, the flaws set off warning bells in people's minds. However, if something is TOO perfect, the perfection sets off warning bells as well. | 264 |
"Come on Ricochet, we have to go!" Bulwark, the hero she worked for shouted. The mission to infiltrate Albatross' lair quietly had failed almost immediately.
She followed him in a mad sprint, neither one of them having much in the way of supernatural mobility. About a mile in the woods was there ride, and since they'd aborted so fast there weren't many defenses to worry about.
Just the bridge and the outer wall. The bridge had begun retracting at both ends towards the center pillar above what looked suspiciously like a vat of acid.
As she neared the end to escape, a gear rotated poorly and caused her to stumble. She chose to fall because she wouldn't clear the small jump with her balance off. Bulwark had already jumped though or he would have saved her, she knew it.
Ricochet realized this when she felt Bulwark using his only movement ability, 'For a Friend', which allowed him to swap places with anyone nearby that accepts it. She realized because it felt like she were being pulled by an invisible line. She resisted.
"Get some others to help you. You're too important to be captured." Ricochet told him, and then lied to reassure him, "I'll be fine, Albatross has never really been after me."
"No way, you're in my care." Bulwark said, swinging his arm as if to cut down her idea. And then tried to trade places with her again.
"You can either get captured with me, or go get help to save me."
"Why can't you just do what I tell you?"
"Why can't you order me to do the correct thing?" Ricochet shot back.
"After I save you, I'm going to replace you with someone who listens to me."
"Oh I listen, and then do whatever I want. Now go."
She was glad Bulwark didn't cry when he ran off. He needed to focus on escaping and she needed to figure out how to escape this literal death trap.
And three minutes of looking, she decided there wasn't one. There was the metal pillar a bunch of dangerous liquid and that was all. There were heroes that could jump 25ft flat-footed, she wasn't.
After ten minutes without anything happening, she began to wonder if they wanted her to choose between dehydration or chemical disembodiement. She'd go with dehydration, slow misery over quick torture seemed better, at least for now.
And after an hour, someone finally came. Albatross the arch-nemesis of Bulwark. He didn't start monloguing like usual, but threw something glowing purple at her. When she swatted it away she felt a faint jolt, like a hand buzzer, but it fell harmlessly in the acid and dissolved.
Ricochet knew what they were of course. She'd seen Albatross use them before. Although the mechanism was behind her, the gist was simple, he could mind control people with powerful wills if they touched that around the same time. Did he not know about her?
When he clapped his hands and then pulled them apart causing and purple and silver wave to pass over her, she was positive he didn't. "Kneel!"
And now she had her way off the platform, and perhaps it would come with a sweet bonus. She knelt. "Crawl to me."
That made her nervous considering there was no bridge to crawl on. She'd never seen him use the ability and then give a blatantly suicidal order. When she got to the edge she decided to put her palm down, she could always pull it up if she got too close.
But her hand landed on the bridge that had extended just in time. As terrifying as crawling on a metal grate bridge above acid is, as annoying and degrading as crawling for her rival and his henchmen was, having a bridge manifest itself for her every movement was pretty cool. She focused on that instead of how she'd get even one day, mostly.
When she reached the end, Albatross asked her what she saw. Luckily the report had his sigil listed as a hexagonal shape. "Hexagonal shape?" she said in a questioning voice.
"That's a hexagram ya damn fool, but yes, that's good. It proves it was a success. We'll need to repeat that everyday for a month or two, but then ya can go back to Bulwark.
"As you wish Master."
"Albatross, a madame couldn't pay me enough to sleep with ya if I were drunk and horny already. Ya dont have the curves of a woman and I'm not into kids."
"I'm..." she almost chided him and pointed out she was 25, but caught herself, "...sorry Albatross."
"It's fine, now go sit in the corner or something."
The following month was quite possibly the worst of her life. Food that resembled vomit infused cardboard, constant humiliation and insults, that terrifying acid vat routine, and in her free-time, staring at a wall. But when the routine finished on the 34th day, she knew it was worth it.
"Very good pet. Instead of staying out of the way, today you'll be leaving. Walk with me to my office so we can go over the plan." As they walked he went on about how great he was, how he'd soon be the most powerful, what he'd do to Bulwark and Bee-atrix, and the other villainous small talk. The entire time she stayed quiet since she wasn't ordered to speak.
After they entered the office and were sat, Albatross got to the real point, "We probably could have done this weeks ago, but we had to make sure my influence would last long enough for you to steal Bulwark's power. I need you to poke him with this small pin and then leave the pin at this location within two weeks."
"Yes Albatross, and how do I steal his power for you?"
"Weren't ya listening, I just told ya, poke him with this pin. It can isolate the DNA segments responsible for someone's powers with two retroviruses. The one that goes in the host turns off the mutation and the one for me turns it on."
"Understood, I will do this, and afterwards?"
"I don't care, go get some tits or something." Albatross said while handing her the pin.
If it weren't for that last comment she would have returned with the pin and let the engineers figure out what it did. Maybe it was actually a bomb or something, but that comment after this hellish month made her frustration take over. She stabbed Albatross with the pin, and then realizing the value of his psychic powers, stabbed herself.
The pain of receiving that power was like being struck by lightning. Her body seized up and she fell to the ground. She'd be worried, but Albatross had slumped over too. Strangely, it felt draining instead of over-filling, perhaps her mind flowing outwards or something. And then she blacked out.
When she woke up, Albatross was standing above her with his most sadistic grin yet. "I knew it. I f*cking knew it. My aids were like, 'No Albatross, she fits the model', but you fit it absolutely perfect except for aggression and compliance. They're like, 'But she hit your mindbeads' but I knew it. So I prepared a test. If you were wiped you'd escape and I'd lose my chance, but if you weren't then I'd get everything." he began laughing maniacally.
"I don't understand."
"Toss this in the trash can." Albatross said, dropping a paper ball in her lap.
She didn't even line it up, just tossed and knew it'd bounce in. If she was even halfway close to her target, that always seemed to happen, hence the nickname turned hero name. "Your point."
"Don't you normally make those?" he tossed his own without ever looking.
Her ball was on the floor and his bounced, hit the wall, hit the rim of the trashcan, bounced off the chair and fell in. A perfect ricochet.
"And do you know the best part about your backfired treachery? Now I really can make you kill Bulwark for me. That gene that made you immune to mind control is also mine."
r/AurumArgenteus | 20 | You learn that you have the ability to be completely immune from any form of mind control but you don't tell anyone and you live a normal life for someone with a superhero partner. One day, you get captured by your partner's arch nemesis, they try to mind control you but it doesn't quite work. | 112 |
So, I was hanging out with this alien the other day. I'd rather not go into the details of how this encounter happened. The important thing is that we ended up having a very intriguing conversation. I'll tell you what I mean.
See, the alien and I were just making small-talk and getting to know each other a little better. I guess maybe the alien was nervous or just trying to make sure that I wasn't nervous. Either way, the alien suggested to me that we tell each other a riddle.
"A riddle, you say?" I replied mischievously, arching my eyebrow and curling my lip. Oh boy. If it was a riddle that the alien wanted, then a riddle I would surely supply.
"Yes, human. Please tell me one of your rid-dulls." I don't know why the alien pronounced the word 'riddle' in that way. Perhaps it had something to do with the malfunctioning translator box the alien wore around its necks.
"Okay," I announced. "Here comes the riddle. But please don't be embarrassed if you can't figure it out. "How do you factor any large number into its prime factors?"
The alien looked puzzled for a moment. I smiled slyly, imagining that the alien probably didn't even have prime numbers on their home planet. Several of its heads started glowing soft blue, which I assume was indicative of its great frustration at my clever riddle. Suddenly, the alien looked at me with its array of eyes; I can't explain how, but somehow the eyes looked very excited.
"I know the answer to your rid-dull," the alien began. "But it's difficult for me to speak the answer."
"That's okay, alien," I said. "There's no shame in admitting that you don't know something."
The alien waved its hand as if to silence me. "No, you don't understand. The answer to this puzzle is a melody."
"A melody?" Surely the alien was trying to prank me. What does music have to do with prime numbers?
"Don't believe me, just watch-" the alien replied curtly. Its voice now had a lilting tone. As I watched the alien, I could see little tiny musical notes emanating from one of the vents on its torso. Somehow, by looking at the notes I could hear music in my head. When I closed my eyes or looked away from the notes, I heard nothing. To this day, I'm still not sure if I was hallucinating. Especially because of what I'm going to tell you happened next.
Listening to the melody, I could understand all of mathematics. When the notes played, I could hear the set of all real numbers. The melody that the alien played was a set of instructions on how to factor any real numbers into its prime factors. It was amazing. In case you're wondering, yes this is how I was able to solve all cryptographic equations and usher in a new era of quantum computing. But let's get back to the story at hand.
"Do you under-stand?" the alien asked condescendingly. I nodded in amazement. "Now, I ask you a rid-dull."
I was annoyed that the alien was still pronouncing the word that way, but we had an agreement.
"A riddle for a riddle. That seems fair, I think. Ask away, my friend."
"How does one prevent bread from getting soggy, when making a mayonnaise sandwich?" the alien asked nervously.
I was caught off guard by pretty much everything about the alien's question. My mind had just recently expanded to comprehend some of the most important problems in human mathematics, and now I was being interrogated about a gross sandwich? Without thinking, I blurted out the most obvious answer I could think of.
"Um, have you tried toasting the bread beforehand?" I asked.
The alien paused for a moment. It's several heads emanated a strange yellow light, and I noticed a mist forming near its array of eyes. I can't say for certain, but I do believe the alien may have been weeping. For several minutes we stood there in my backyard wading pool before the alien finally spoke.
"So....beautiful. Thank you."
The alien reached out with its flippers and gently caressed my shoulders. I think that may have been how they hug on their planet. I'll never be sure, because afterwards the alien disappeared in a beam of light.
Anyways, that's what happened with me and the alien. I always wonder what happened to that curious stranger and what prompted our unusual encounter. Life is full of mysteries, I guess. But still I honor the memory of that alien, and that's why I eat a toasted mayonnaise sandwich every year to commemorate my afternoon with the alien. | 1,931 | An alien asks you for a riddle. In a moment of mischief you give them a famous unsolved problem in science. They easily solve it. Curiously you ask them for a riddle yourself. To your surprise they ask you a really easy question. | 2,903 |
I was working on a proposal for tariffs with the Fuchyians when the phone call came.
“Madam Emperor, Alyze Republic diplomats just contacted the French President. It’s all over the news. When he expressed confusion, they said ‘We found out you are a prince of Andorra. Did we go too high in the hierarchy for a first meeting?’ and now everyone is asking what Andorra has to do with aliens,” my minister of Earth relations said.
Then I quickly made my now famous address revealing the Andorran Empire, and our extant in the galaxy. There are some things I regret about that, I wish I had reassured we wouldn’t invade other countries, because that quickly became a fear. But I don’t regret giving that speech, even though it distracted me from managing the wider empire.
I went to call the Alyze Republic diplomats to apologize, and finalize the treaty. My diplomats had already contacted them about what happened, but apparently forgot to explain the situation with our princes.
“So, he’s the Prince, but only rules the part of Andorra on Earth. But why didn’t he know about the rest of the Empire?” they asked.
I told them about the whole thing with our one prince being elected by France, and the other chosen by the Roman Catholic church, so we have no control, and as such didn’t want just anyone knowing, as they could leak the secret.
What I’m still most disappointed in is that after people learned we were gifted our interstellar empire bit in the sixteenth century, and that those borders have occasionally changed, we lost the status of oldest country borders. | 14 | Unbeknownst to the international community, a nation of earth actually controls a large interstellar empire. This is only revealed, when alien diplomats accidentally contact the wrong government. | 70 |
To: Whomever it may concern
Subject:Re:Project 'Metal Man' delays.
As per my previous emails, you should all know that while we'd be more than happy to proceed, the process of integrating a computer, not to mention fully formed A.I., is a process that takes time, unless you want the subject to explode upon activation. I've been operating under the assumption that this is an unwanted outcome. Please correct me if I'm wrong.
On that note, I would like to remind the Acquisitions department that while yes, aluminium is indeed cheaper than titanium, it is also weaker, more lightweight and more easily broken, making it entirely unsuitable for our purposes. Dr. Arthur Stevenson, the head of assembly, would also like to add that if he asks for a shipment of 30,000 3/4 inch screws it is because those screws are needed in this quantity, and no substitutions will be accepted, especially without consulting with him first.
And to our lovely Karen from HR, I will remind you that my department holds some of the finest minds of our generation, doing their absolute best to make certain that the highly advanced, possibly illegal and definitely unethical experimental soldiers we are building from scratch do as we command them, instead of going berserk, exploding or taking over the internet, so if they need to stay a few dozen hours later, you will pay them overtime, and if they need to come in five minutes late due to having suffered a caffeine-withdrawl seizure mid driving, then you will nod politely, click your mouse and go on with your day.
Lastly, if you have any questions that do not directly relate to the work one of my subordinates does and or can only be answered by them, I will ask that you contact me regarding any issues that might arise, including but not limited to: vacation days, sick days, time off, out of office work, working from home, family visitation, overtime and project deadlines.
Thank you, and have a lovely day.
P.S.:I would like to use this opportunity to say Happy Birthday to Joshua Krum from engineering and to Vasilliy Andreevich from my department. Love you, guys.
Timothy S. Morrigan,
Head of IT& Programming.
*Read more of my stuff at [r/Talesandsongs](https://www.reddit.com/r/Talesandsongs/)* | 44 | You’re the head IT person for a top secret government funded Killing Cyborg. You’re three months behind schedule and the Top Men want to know what’s taking so long. | 50 |
They had done it. They had managed to capture the squire of the fearsome white knight, the holy light in the darkness. The small bedraggled man, the white squire as he was known, was slumped on his knees, his arms tied behind his back. Lord Eten was dealing with matters of the state with his advisers, their words giving and taking life from hundreds, nay, thousands of people. The advisers left, and Eten turned his attention to the pitiable figure. He showed two fingers to the guard, in a gesture that the squire be brought in front of him.
“Stand up, you.” The guard pulled the squire to his feet roughly, and pushed him to the front. With hands and legs tied, the unfortunate man tripped, fell, and skid to a halt on his face once more, and was hoisted up.
“Have Petra look at him.”
Eten had already moved on, his attention elsewhere.
The labyrinthine maze the squire was led through went deeper and deeper within the fortress. It finally leveled out and they came to a black door. Behind it, muffled screams and moans were heard. The guard did not bother to knock, and opened it, and the screaming hit the squire for the first time. He woke, his eyes wide and knuckles white, gasping.
“I wouldn’t want to be you, you bastard.”'
The guard left, snickering. An old woman appeared from somewhere, her pointed nose and stature making her look like a vulture that had been turned into a human. She took no notice of his face, and untied his hands and feet, and started twisting and turning them mumbling to herself.
“Yes, essence of myrtle, three drops of nightshade, and a beaker of cat’s blood.”
She bustled off, and the squire let out his breath. He stretched his arms and let the blood flow into his limbs. He knew where he was, and what was in store for him. He had just been measured by The Lady, also known as the Vulture of Death. The Chief Torturer of Eten.
Footsteps approached, and he braced himself. Only it wasn’t The Lady, it was a younger woman. Her face hidden under a traditional headscarf, her wide innocent eyes looked at him. But there was no questioning the vice like grip on his shoulder as she led him through a passage with doors, through which sounds of sobbing and moaning came. And some others, where silent.
The door at the far end opened into a dingy cell, with a table in the middle. She pushed him towards it forcefully, and lay him on it.
“I am sorry for what I am about to do. Understand that I derive no pleasure from it, and have no choice.”
The squire was taken aback by these words. He looked at her, and saw a young woman, hardly 20, looking at him through wide eyes.
“If I don’t do this, they will kill my family.” She moved to a table that was opposite, stained with chemicals and strewn with bottles containing various liquids.
“I doubt it’ll be worse than what I have to face.”
“The Lady treats every body as a puzzle that must be solved and unlocked. Pain is a byproduct. She does not feel pain, and she cannot understand how others do.” The squire said nothing, but closed his eyes. The woman came closer, and cut away his rags. He would have to be stripped bare.
Only, she stopped after removing his rags, and took a sharp breath.
“My master is a cruel man.” The squire said, smiling at her sadly. His chest was akin to a net, but one of scars and wounds in various levels of healing. Some were infected and oozed puss.
“My life is forfeit here or there. The Lady will take my knowledge and leave me a shell. If I am returned to my master, he will punish me for getting captured. He is not known for his… mercy.”
“But you squire the White Knight. The light in the darkness, is that not what your people call him?”
“The people know not what happens behind closed doors, do they? The White Knight does not like failure. He does not like many things. And when one does what he does not like, he punishes. His wrath is fearful, his power untold. Truth be told, I am more in fear of going back, than I am of what is to happen to me here. Let us not linger, lest The Lady comes back and sees me like this. Do what you must.” The squire laid back down, closing his eyes and grimacing in pain from the shifting.
The young woman looked at the slip The Lady had given her. Crushing it in her hand, she started to mix a potion of her own.
____________________________________________________________________________
Time is short and I must run.
But know this, this tale is not yet done. | 29 | The hero's sidekick got captured. The villain's new apprentice got the task to persuade or torture him into cooperating. Before she could speak, she watched in horror as he removed his shirt, revealing ugly scars and burnmarks. "Do your worst, it will be nothing compared to what he does to me." | 37 |
The planet Earth is a wonderful place. Everything is ruled by a single king; my best friend Craig. Craig is a fair and wise king, any huge troubles are brought to him for advice. He seems to be right where we need him at all times.
No one remembers how Craig became king of the world, or even a time before he was king. He was just... always there. He knows everything that goes on at all times, all the thoughts and actions of his citizens.
As the king's best friend, I was made his advisor, his assistant if you will. I'm honored to serve a king that everyone loves and trusts. There are no crimes or even rebellions against him as far as I know.
One day Craig called me into his office. "Jason," he said, "there's something I wanna show you." He led me down into a room he previously said was off-limits for me. In the center of that room was a tablet casting a glow on the surrounding floor, with multiple connections to it. The connections don't seem to lead anywhere.
"I trust you with this," he continued, "to carry this on after I die." I stared at him, wondering where to begin asking questions. "What does it-?" Craig stopped me. "The tablet will explain all."
A few years later we held Craig's funeral. After the funeral I excused myself, saying there was a matter he wanted me to attend to after he died. The guards excused me understandingly. I got to the tablet room and turned it on, seeing the file open before my eyes.
The planet Earth is a wonderful place. Everything is ruled by a single king; my best friend Jason... | 101 | You find a tablet that contains all the files of the universe. You can delete them, edit them for your own personal gains, from making everyone like you to delete planets, everything is possible now | 254 |
Stars don’t change. While the trees wither and the spirits pass, the stars stand and stare. They remind us of how little we are in comparison to cosmic titans, eyes observing us like a man to fish in a tank, our lives so small to what lies beyond. I only wish they had ears as well.
Aboard my vessel, I call out to them, but my voice has no mirror. To them, I am but a flower sitting aboard a sphere of metal and wires, destined to decay with time.
The day passed, and so did the next. Occasionally, I would find a planet with traces of green, but even then, fate was cruel, only able to catch life at its very end. It was as if I met a stranger on their deathbed, left to speculate on the chapters before the epilogue. Regardless, I smile knowing that I have someone to say “hello” to, and that they don’t have to leave without someone to say “goodbye”.
The clock brings news, sick of the spinning as much as I am of the void. It has finished its million cycles, and I have done the same with my mission. I need no radar to tell me where I am. Though I have come and gone, the stars have stayed. Just as a garden does to a family, the portrait of stars welcomes me home.
Despite having been in space for so long, it is in the pull of earth that I finally feel weightless. Though my body could float, the lack of gravity did not stop isolation from chaining me down to my lowest point.
I have waited for thousands of years, even knowing those who bid me farewell couldn’t do the same.
The shuttle shreds the clouds like cloth, abandoning the star-studded void for the warm cyan hue. Part of me wishes to let the ship plunge deep into the water below, but it simply decelerates before a splash could be made.
I’m home, or at least that’s what I would say if not for this strange feeling. It’s as if you entered your own home, all as you remembered it on the outside, only to see the interior decorated with photos of strangers.
In the distance, a wooden pier welcomes ships carrying blank sails. I’m convinced my database on history must have bled into my perception. Even had the coordinates for my landing been wrong, timber was practically extinct within the entire world. To see such an abundance spread across a town and its transport is baffling. No matter the power of a logic processing system, it cannot handle the illogical.
At the press of a few buttons, the ship floats towards the pier. From the window, I see bizarrely dressed crowds back away from me, all staring towards the center of the circle they’ve formed. Pointed hats, tunics, and tall leather boots litter the view.
It doesn’t seem to be the most welcoming atmosphere, but after the trip I’ve been on, getting off as soon as possible is a must.
The metal door lowers onto the pier, opening my path onto the wooden floor. Perhaps “Unwelcome” was the wrong assumption to make about my presence. From wooden staffs, fire emerges with a fiery dance, merciful only to the sticks which summoned it. Although fire cannot damage that with metallic skin, it would be optimal to avoid conflict. Unfortunately, it seems that an escape is much more probable than a settlement.
“Halt, all of you!” A youthful and feminine voice rings out. It sounds strangely familiar, as the rhythm of a song persists long after you forget its name. From the crowd, a black robed figure emerges. Nearly shining golden hair and eyes contrast the light-swallowing cloth. “Return to your previous priorities. I shall investigate this stranger.” Though their feet scramble across the ground, many eyes remained lock onto my own.
As the figure approaches, a light in my memories suddenly lights up, clearing up the mist which had been building for millennia. In the center of the robe’s front, a strange emblem, the same gold color as her eyes and hair, captures my attention. It’s a sun with the silhouette of a dragon soaring up cut out of it.
“This is not the world I know, yet…” I raise my finger towards those golden eyes. “I remember you.”
The woman shakes her head. “You must be mistaken, I have no association with you.” She delivers the message, but nothing else. I can feel no emotion or tone in her voice. “Perhaps this is not your world at all.”
“No.” I nearly cut her off. “I know that for sure.”
“You claim this is your world, yet nothing in it would seem to say so?” Now, each word carries with it the slightest sense of curiosity. “How can you be sure when you see the difference with your own eyes?”
“The stars. This world may change, but the stars do not.”
She lets out a small chuckle, yet it's still the most expressive I’ve heard from her. “How foolish. Even stars change. One moment they’re flying across the sky. You ask it for something, but by the time you’ve finished your request, it’s gone.” Though she speaks to me, her drifting gaze makes me believe she is talking to more than one person.
“Perhaps the stars may change,” I search my memory database. Soon enough, I find the missing link of these worlds, a child’s drawing. Albeit made crudely by crayon, it matches the elegant stretching of the robe in front of me. “But you haven’t.” | 11 | You are an advanced human-like android who has finally returned to Earth after a long space exploration thousands of years since you left. Only for you to realize Earth has changed quite a lot since you last left it. Going from a high tech sci-fi world to land in a medieval fantasy world. | 49 |
The ship looked exactly like you'd expect a space ship to look. It was long, and conical, and it had little blue lights running up and down the sides. It hummed. When it landed in a potato field on the outskirts of Ottawa, it did so on three thin legs of a tripod, and a little hatch slid open on the ship's belly. Down the ramp came one guy.
Worldwide, people were shocked.
They'd been expecting tentacles, or big teeth, or sapient vapour, or a statue that only moves you're not looking, or something... weird! You know? Something from space!
But it was a guy. He had on a light blue onesie. His hair was a little mussed. He had a big nose and one of his eyes refused to open as much as the other, giving him a slightly dopey look.
The President of the United States of America was there in that potato field, and so was the Prime Minister of Canada, and the Queen of the United Kingdom, and a great many other presidents and prime ministers and queens and kings and tincup emperors. There were youtubers there, too, but they didn't have very good seats.
The leaders of the world had a great many questions for the space man, and these mostly had to do with why he was here, and what he wanted, and if he meant the people of earth any harm. The leaders showed the space man their best smiles and they implied terrifying things about their nations' weaponry.
The space man took in their words with a dazed look on his face. Sometimes he sneezed. After he'd listened to imprecations and threats and cajolements for the better part of an hour, he raised a hand.
The silence that followed was global in nature.
Every human on the planet, either in person, or through a television, or on their phones, or imaginatively via a radio, studied the space man's lips in anticipation of his first remark.
"You're a lot better put together than I was expecting."
"What were you expecting?" asked the President of the Federal States of Micronesia.
"I figured you'd be..." The space man tapped his lower lip in thought. "Scruffier."
"Scruffier?" The President of France was aghast.
"Rough around the edges. You're the descendants of prisoners, after all." The space man seemed to grow bored of speaking, and while the leaders of the world peppered him with indignant remarks and cutting asides related to his sense of style, the space man moved among them examining the make of their clothing, the smoothness of their skin, and the shininess of their teeth. Once he'd seen his fill, he nodded to himself quite pleasedly and returned to his ship's ramp.
"Wait!" cried the General Secretary of the Socialist Republic of Vietnam. "You can't just leave!"
"What do you mean we're the descendants of prisoners?" asked the Grand Poobah of A Fake Country I've Made Up For This Story.
The space man scratched his ear. He appeared eager to be on his way. "Your ancestors were sent here on a prison ship." Gasps from the crowd. "Did you really not know?"
"We evolved here!" said the Chairman of the Sovereignty Council of the Republic of Sudan.
The space man opened his eyes wide. "Wow, you believe that?"
"There's fossil evidence!" said the President of the Republic of Korea.
Not to be outdone by the South Korean, the General Secretary of the Worker's Party of the Democratic People's Republic of Korea added, "And DNA evidence!"
A round of guffaws is what met these proclamations. The space man nearly fell off his ramp he was laughing so hard. He doubled over and slapped his knees. "No way, no way. We put that stuff in the ground as a joke. We thought it'd be funny! As if you fell for that!"
As one, the leaders of the world took a seat on the ground. This was heavy stuff, and they needed time to process it.
"So you're saying we're Australia?" said the President of the Plurinational State of Bolivia.
"We are," said the President of New Zealand. "We're galactic Australia." The entire country of New Zealand let out a disappointed groan.
The space man had nearly regained his breath. Between gasps of air, he asked, "What... do you... mean?"
"We once sent all our prisoners to live on a patch of land," said the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom. "That patch of land is Australia. It's a barren hellscape of venomous creatures and boxing marsupials."
"There's venomous animals on this planet?" said the space man. "Yeesh. We were right to send you here."
And it was around this time that the writer of this story realized he didn't know how to end things. He opted to do so dramatically, decisively, and inexplicably.
The earth opened up beneath the space man and up came three hundred billion small magma creatures. They had unibrows and potbellies and each one was named Dave. The Daves chased the space man into his space ship, and he flew away forevermore, eternally grateful that his civilization had the power of spaceflight.
Meanwhile, back on earth, the Daves brought about a period of great sadness and hardship on the planet, one in which the people of earth were made to rubs bits of fabric together at high speeds, so as to give off heat and gradually warm the surface of the planet. This was a terrible plan, and one doomed to failure, but that didn't make the process any more enjoyable for the people of earth.
Some three hundred thousand years later an enterprising young woman by the name of Dax'natch the Blood-Handed realized that the Daves could be defeated quite easily by the squeezing of lemon onto their unibrows, and in this way humanity was once again free. But only kind of free, because as we've learned in this story, we are prisoners on earth.
*****
r/a_memorable_account | 51 | The Earth goes into a panic as an alien spaceship was spotted. When it landed, it wasn’t alien life that comes out, it was another human civilization claiming earth was a prison to those who were banished from the main colony. | 231 |
37 times I have seen him come out of that pit. His face twisted in a snarl, and a soundless shout coming from an open mouth. Sgt. Ramirez, the best of us, never backs down. He never says something is too hard. He never makes it longer than 30 seconds before his face is blown off. And then I look back to the trench and see Sgt. Ramirez do it all again.
The core told us that we would get a chance to see the universe. Visit places that you only see on TV. Oceans of stars, seas of moons, the diversity of creation. That’s how they get you, by the way. That’s the pitch. Oh, there are other things in there. Get an education and all your prosthetics are free for life. But they don’t tell you the rest. They don’t tell you that life lasts about 30 seconds.
Sgt. Ramirez goes down again, a mass of twisted flesh that used to be a man. A husband. A father of 4.
The next time he comes out of that hell hole, I go with him. We’re going to make it. To the other side, to the enemy, to THEM.
We do not know who them are. We were never told. The core points and we go. We tell dark jokes to burn off the fear. We are vulgar. We are warriors. We are terrified.
And we die, over and over again.
The projectile rips through my knee first. I feel it, just like all the other times, and it never gets easier. Then slugs dig into my gut and come out my back like bot flies. Hatching in a spray of blood to be born again into the world. Before lights out, I see Sgt. Ramirez‘s head explodes. Again. 39 times.
Instantly I download into my new body. Or upload. I’m never sure of the terminology. The Core doesn’t care that we know how this works. They gave us the specs, and then probably laughed when we all made confused faces. We spent exactly 1 hour on how the transfer works. We spent 3 weeks learning how to sever tendons, shoot straight enough to blow the back out of heads, and how to ignore pain and keep fighting.
“The chances you’ll die is low if you listen to your training!” the drill sergeants said. The Core are the masters of telling you the honest truth without telling you the honest truth. Yes, the chances of us dying are low. As long as there is a fresh supply of cloned bodies within 20 miles of the action. When our old bodies go belly up, our minds go to a new soldier to march to the given orders. Again, again, and again. Technically, we never die.
But I know what death feels like. It feels like your heart exploding in your chest and the screams of Sgt. Ramirez telling you to get back up. It’s electricity and lasers cutting you in have and cooking you at the same time. Wounds are cauterized and when you download, you have the experience of lying as a half body on a battlefield for an hour.
Sgt. Ramirez comes back out of the trench, and I don’t know what number this is. I hide behind a broken tree hoping that I look like part of the landscape. I can’t have that in my head anymore. It’s too late for Sgt. Ramirez.
It’s shellshock times a thousand. It’s the PTSD of a thousand wars, a thousand cries, a thousand children on the other side asking why we are there. The commanders sometimes say because of resources. Because it’s our patriotic duty. Because they want to destroy our way of life. It took my own hundredth death to realize that the commanders had never once met the enemy. It’s a tagline now. The enemy. Them, They. Buzzwords that condition us and the public to hate. To convince young men and women to sign up so they will never die.
Ramirez’s mind is gone. He moves on training alone. Shoot, die, download. Wake up, crest the hill, make it a foot further than the last. But behind his eyes, there is nothing. No scream comes from his open mouth. His eyes leak tears.
Napoleon once said that “Courage isn’t having the strength to go on-it’s going on when you don’t have the strength.” It’s something they repeat to us constantly in training.
But he also said that the sword is always beaten by the mind. But what happens when there is no mind to win anymore?
As my tree explodes in front of me and I die screaming and burning a red hot fluid, I realize that this has always been war. Them on one side, they on the other, and a no man’s land in-between that is filled with the young. Commanded by the old that have seen death but never tasted it. And spoke about back home as if it’s a commercial in-between reality shows.
I opened up my eyes in a new body. Sgt. Ramirez pulls me by the shirt to get me going.
“I want to stop. They won’t let me stop,” he says.
This is war. | 46 | You watch as a man climbed out of the trench to join the charge across No Man's Land. You watch as he was shot down by enemy fire. Some 30 seconds later, you see the very same man emerge from the bunker behind you in perfect condition. He goes to join the fight again... | 95 |
"Not this time" I muttered to myself as I climbed the stairs. "This time will be different. This time I have a plan." I felt the box in my pocket, turned it over in my hand to ensure myself it was still there. I thought about all the times that damn goose had ruined what was supposed to be a monumental moment in my life. I hadn't seen the goose in years, a fact I attributed to having intentionally led a boring life, but tonight was different. Tonight, on the roof of this building, I was going to ask her to marry me. From the moment I bought the ring I knew he would be there to ruin it. He always was.
The goose always appeared at the worst time, always there to make me look like a fool. All I had been able to think about for the last month was all the different ways he could ruin it. "This time will be different." I repeated this time aloud. I suddenly became aware of the woman passing me on the stairs. She paused to stare at me and I realized how strange I must seem. All the businesses in the building closed hours ago and here I was, obviously disheveled, muttering to myself in the stairs. "I- uh…" searching for something to say to normalize this moment I gave up and pushed past her.
Finally I reached the top of the building, one door stood between me and one of the most important moments of my life. I took a deep breath and placed my other hand on the gun tucked into my waistband "Just in case." I muttered. I pushed open the door and felt the warmth wash over me. A greenhouse on top of the building, completely encased in glass to trap the heat. It would also keep the goose at bay. That wasn't the only reason I'd chosen the building, every ledge, rail, nook, and cranny was covered in spikes. Even if he hadn't migrated for the season there'd be nowhere to land, and if by some chance there was a way in… it won't come to that I thought as I moved deeper into the room. I wandered through the topiaries until I came to a clearing, she was already there, waiting.
She was striking there in the pale light, her long auburn hair had a certain sheen to it that took my breath away. I took the chair opposite her "I'm so sorry I'm late baby" I said as I sat down "Traffic was terrible." "It's alright" she replied "I've only been here a few minutes. I've been enjoying the roses, you chose a wonderful spot for tonight." I caught my breath and looked deep into her eyes. "Well it's an important night." I looked around for a moment, no sign of the goose. "I wanted everything to be perfect when I asked you…" Ask me what?" I could see the twinkle in her eye, mischievous, expectant, she knew what I was about to ask. I pulled the box from my jacket pocket, and rolled it over in my hand. Maybe the goose was dead, I hadn't seen him in so long, and 37 years, surely they couldn't live to be that old. "Tiffany…" I rose from my chair and knelt on one knee. "Will you marry me?"
Time froze as I waited for her response, I could feel my heart beating in my head. She smiled and opened her mouth "Honk!"
My heart sank, no it couldn't be. "I'm sorry I didn't quite catch that, what ?" There was a sickening crack as she bent backwards at an inhuman angle. Her midsection pulled apart with a truly disturbing wet sound of flesh tearing apart, revealing the one thing I feared more than anything, it was him, the goose. "I said yes!" Suddenly she was back, sitting in front of me, a look of pure elation on her face. But I knew, I knew what I'd seen, what I'd heard. I rose and reached behind me to the small of my back. Then everything went black. When I came too I was surrounded by police. My arms pinned behind me, a rough hand guiding me towards the cruiser. "No! You're making a mistake! She wasn't real, she wasn't human!" Honk. There he was, perched on top of the cruiser. The goose. | 36 | Your whole life, the same damn goose has been there to comically stop you at every important moment of your life. This time, you have a plan. | 120 |
Rick said his catchphrase, and the voices laughed until the bright lights shut off. The cast sagged, as though they were marionettes with cut strings. Perhaps they were.
“I can’t keep this up,” Cheri muttered. “How many more times can I go apeshit over the cushions being in the wrong order?”
“The OCD thing is a good schtick,” Miguel assured her. “Doesn’t require much set up, lets you blow off some real anger. Keep it up,” he urged.
“Can we do a bit with cooking tomorrow? Like a spaghetti-eating competition?” Gigi asked. “I’m starving.” The set was only functional when the lights were on. In the dark, the appliances reverted to props with ersatz handles and knobs.
“I can work with that,” Cheri agreed. “Try to fling sauce and noodles around and I’ll have plenty to do.”
A small sob came from the couch. The rest of the cast looked over at Dustin, his face buried in the crook of his arm.
“They didn’t laugh,” he said. “They didn’t laugh when I batted my eyes, or said *hey baby*— they’re tired of me.”
“The horndog is a classic archetype,” Miguel said, moving to sit next to Dustin. “Maybe you need to switch it up and go back to hitting on Gigi?”
“They didn’t like that pairing, either! It’s over… my days are numbered.”
“Will the network let you hit on me?” Miguel looked up and around. A game show buzzer sounded. Friggin decency standards.
“How about a love triangle?” Gigi suggested. “It’s been at least a month since we did it last time.”
“We’ve done all the configurations already! Face it, I’m doomed.”
“Maybe,” Rick said, voice hoarse. He walked over from the set’s kitchen and placed a hand on Dustin’s shoulder. “Come on, cast.”
Rick was the only member of the original cast still left. His catchphrase was old faithful, and had gotten them all out of many a tight spot. The rest of the cast gathered around Dustin and put a hand on him.
“We’re listening,” Rick said, and the cast began to tickle Dustin until he laughed, real laughter, tears streaming down his cheeks as he gasped for air. Gigi started crying.
“We’ll be listening for you, Dustin,” Rick said, when the laughing and crying subsided. “If it is your time to join the voices, we’ll remember you. Remember us, too. Please laugh.” | 24 | A cast of characters are stuck inside of a sitcom. If they can't make the laughtrack play within the time period of the episode, then their voice will be harvested and added to the laugh track | 154 |
“No. Please! Please! Please Stop! Aaahhh!” the screams echoed from the old brick building, down the dark alley.
I stood in the shadows, silently waiting for the negotiation to conclude. Water dripped slowly from an exposed pipe and a light near the metal door at the back of the brick building flickered as if cowering from the pain being inflicted inside.
“Okay! Okay!” the voice inside whimpered between sobs. My lip twitched and I exhaled, then coughed. I leaned back against the cold concrete wall and pulled out a cigarette.
My hand shook as I lit up. I’d heard these interrogations a dozen times already and I thought I’d be okay with them by now, but no one really ever gets used to the guttural animal noises people produce when they’re having their skin slowly peeled back.
The nicotine hit me almost immediately and my shoulders slumped. Just then the lock on the back door clicked and the metal door flung open noisily. A man wearing a blood stained white apron and face shield stood there, looking out. He saw me, the cigarette and nodded, “give me one of those will you?”
I grunted and passed him the pack.
“Any trouble?” He asked as he wiped blood onto his pants before picking out a cigarette. I shook my head. As he exhaled he looked me up and down, “you don’t talk much, do you?”
I shrugged, “not much to say.”
He laughed “Bit like our friend inside! Dumb kid, you’d think this younger generation would be smarter, but we’ve got no end of clients coming our way. Anyway, you can go if you want. We’re all done here.”
I nodded, dropping my butt on the ground and stepping out of the shadow towards the street.
“We’ve got five negotiations tomorrow, don’t be late,” the blood soaked man shouted down the alley as I reached the street. Cars streamed past at speed and people hurried by. I turned on the busy sidewalk and almost walked straight into a man crouching down tying his child’s shoelace.
“Daddy, what’s he doing up there?”
I looked up at the billboard he was pointing at. It showed a skinny young man with tattered clothing and a depressed look standing on the side of a bridge with the words ‘Feeling down? Talk to us first!’ The words Willing Exchange and a phone number flashed underneath.
The father glanced up and then physically turned his child away from the sign. “Don’t worry about that, son,” he said sternly.
One day it could be him, I thought as I stepped past. I looked up at the sign again, a new photo showed a vending machine filled with photos of people. The text read ‘Save yourself today with new deals available all the time! Available now at a brokerage machine near you!’
I kept walking for a few minutes until I reached one of these machines. I coughed as I pulled out my phone and saw a new notification confirming I’d received my latest pay check. I could see another notification showing an unread email from my doctor as well. I swiped both away and looked up at the machine.
The vending machine was filled with cards featuring faces of people, mostly young men. Below each photo a life expectancy was printed in years along with a description of the person’s medical history and pre-existing conditions. In the top left corner one card flashed red with “NEW” printed in the top corner.
I stared into the eyes of the young dude I’d helped drag into the old brick building just an hour earlier. He was the latest addition and showed a life expectancy of 87 years. I was about to pull out another cigarette when I started coughing. Blood drops splattered the vending machine as I tapped on the card in the top left hand corner.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
It turned out to be somewhat uncomfortable writing this story. To anyone out there reading this who is feeling down or having negative thoughts, please remember there are good people in excellent organizations across the world doing great work helping people deal with life's challenges. Seek help if you need it. | 339 | Human lives are now a commodity. People can give each other their life, but not unless they will it. Millions of terminally ill people flock to beg the suicidal for their lives. The black markets sell the lives of those they tortured to agree to give theirs up. | 2,204 |
It was nine in the evening. I was trying to get some writing done when I suddenly heard something. It was barely audible to the point I thought I'd imagined it, but then it grew louder alongside the familiar buzzing noise of a mosquito. It was a tiny, high-pitched voice repeating the words "stab stab stab stabbity stab".
I nearly fell off the chair as I stumbled noisily onto my feet. From the hallway, an extremely goofy voice yelled "PLAYTIME!!" and my dog came rushing into the office. She tippy-tapped at my feet, wagging her tail in anticipation. "Playtime?" I heard the voice again. Her mouth didn't move but the sound was clearly coming from her.
"Aaaaand *stab*!" I heard the high-pitched voice say right as I felt a tiny thing land on my forearm. I reflexively slapped it, and just before my hand made contact I heard the voice yell "Dodge!" and the mosquito flew away unharmed.
"Oh my God what's happening," I whimpered, walking out of my office as my dog followed me.
"Treat?" she said.
Then another tiny voice joined the party. It just kept saying "ouch" at regular intervals. I looked up and there was a moth repeatedly flying into a lightbulb in my living room, saying "ouch" every time.
"Okay," I said to myself. "Okay, breathe. You're hallucinating. You somehow ingested LSD by accident or something. You'll be fine."
"Bleh", said my dog as she headed dejectedly to the couch, hopped up on the cushion and laid down to take a nap. "Master busy," she said to herself before closing her eyes.
I decided I had to get some fresh air. I opened the front door and walked out onto my porch, at which point I noticed a cacophony of voices amidst the chirping of crickets. One voice yelled louder than all the others:
"SOMEONE FUCK MEEEEEEEEE"
Listening more closely, all the cricket voices seemed to be saying different variations of that sentence. Except for one obnoxious voice who seemed to be threaning someone else, saying "You wanna have a go, wanker? Do you?" in an inexplicably cockney accent.
I walked back into the house.
\*\*\*\*\*
Days later, I was still hearing the voices. So on the fourth day, I went to the zoo. Because of course I did. I had to fully understand the situation, and some animals are smarter than others. I strolled across the entire zoo, listening for the voices as I went. None of them had much of substance to say. The animals either remarked on being hungry, being sleepy, being horny, or a combination of all those things. A lion lounging on a rock was lazily staring at a lioness while thinking "wanna fuck but too comfy now" and that was pretty much the most complex thought I heard. The least complex was a snake that just said "ssssssss" in a human-sounding voice in addition to her normal animal hiss.
I had high hopes for the elephants, but most of them just said "ha ha stomp" as they walked. However, one of them seemed to be having quite the inner monologue as she looked after her offspring. "Tiny elephants annoying to take care of. Tiny elephants happened after fuck. Should not fuck. Fuck is bad. But also good. Maybe there is way to fuck without tiny elephants happening. I wonder how. Very annoying. Also hungry."
I went back home. As I unlocked the front door, I heard my dog's goofy voice shout "IS IT MASTER?!! PLEASE BE MASTER!!" I opened it and my dog jumped on me excitedly. "I THOUGHT MASTER GONE FOREVER THIS TIME!! MASTER HERE! I LOVE MASTER!"
"Love you too," I replied.
"MASTER MADE GOOD SOUNDING NOISE! IS IT PLAYTIME?"
"No, not right now," I replied.
"NOISE UNCLEAR, TRY BARK!" said my dog, and barked.
"Not right now," I said more firmly, shaking my head no.
"PLAYTIME LATER THEN! THAT'S ALL RIGHT!" said my dog, still wagging her tail.
I walked into my office and sat down on my chair. Somewhere far away, a barely-audible voice said "stab".
"I guess this is my life, now," I said to myself, and got back to work.
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*
*Note: I did not include the dialogue exchange in the prompt, only the premise. This was on purpose, because it ended up not fitting my development of the premise.* | 11 | "Seriously, Jerald, I'm just trying to get some milk, not an existential crisis". | 90 |
"Huh." I hadn't thought about Barney the dinosaur for many years. And now there was an alien —who looked vaguely like a man in a green dinosaur suit— standing in front of me, holding a poster. And calling him a trickster god, N'armeth something. Resisting the urge to twist off the alien's head, to see if it was actually Bob having a laugh, I cleared my throat.
"Well, if you can find him, you can have him. But it might be difficult." The alien stared at me, with eyes that didn't blink. It was unnerving.
"Difficult? Why?" I pulled out my phone, calling up all the different things about Barney I could find. The alien's face didn't change, but I could sense a sort of horror emanating from him. Which changed to a definite terror, when I showed him how we felt about the purple dinosaur. All the many and varied ways we'd thought up on how to kill, destroy, or maim it.
"But, he has not committed the kind of crimes on your planet, that he did with us. How— why, do you hate him so much?" I shrugged at the question, putting my phone away. No one really knew how it started, but it was entrenched.
"Don't know. But like I said, it might be difficult to find him. If he's still alive, or still here."
"We tracked his signal here. He's definitely on this planet." The alien tilted his head to the side, stroking his chin. Or what passed for a chin. "I need to find him, to prevent a war. I think we would not wish to go to war with your people." He shuddered. Shrugging again, I pulled out a beer from the cooler beside me. This wasn't the way I'd planned to spend a Saturday afternoon, but at least it wasn't boring.
"Drink?"
"No thank you, I need to think." The alien—who I was mentally starting to call Fred—paced around my backyard. I thought about taking a video, but no one would believe it. After all, he really did look like a man in a dinosaur suit. After a few minutes, he raised a finger into the air, shouting "Ah-ha!" It seems like Barney didn't get all his exaggerated mannerisms from being a trickster god. Turning to me, he strode over, explaining his plan as he went. I chuckled. It was brilliant.
————————
**Report #458967**
**To all ships in the colloquially named Milky Way Galaxy. N'armeth has been tracked to the third planet from the sun, referred to by residents as Earth. He had engendered such hate there that the plan from many of the inhabitants is to kill him on sight. Our job is to make sure that Earth becomes his prison and his tomb. N'armeth is not to leave the surface. And let us hope that their war song becomes a reality.**
**I hate you**
**You hate me**
**Let's go out and kill Barney**
**With a baseball bat and a 4x4**
**NO MORE PURPLE DINOSAUR!** | 460 | “Humans. We have no quarrel with you. The choice to live or die is yours. We seek only the trickster god N’armeth who is a fugitive of our kind. Present him and you can avoid this war.” The alien holds up a faded poster of Barney the Dinosaur. | 1,124 |
The earth was beautiful, completely unspoiled. Our creator had not yet made the humans, nor the animals. But he had created me, and the other angels. Our tasks were not yet set, though we knew we would have some kind of purpose. I never liked the other angels. They were made from a different mold, a smaller, perhaps more useful mold. And one of them was starting to make waves in heaven. This Morning Star had ideas. But I didn't need to worry about him. For the creator had given me a task. I was to be the first to descend into the world he created.
The atmosphere felt strange, pressing heavily around me. I didn't understand why the creator had sent me here. The words he spoke suggested that I would be here for a long time. He said I was to be a last resort. A weapon that he would keep on earth, in case of dire need. But why would he need a weapon? Surely he was powerful enough to master any challenge. Even if the upstart angel managed to get support, I couldn't see that he would be able to defeat the creator.
Softly, I hovered across the ground. I knew he wanted me to keep hidden, but in this place how could I? My size was the ultimate deterrent, I was too large to remain above the surface. Rising, I exited the local atmosphere, going ever higher into the cold vacuum of space. Once I judged the distance to be enough, I closed my eyes. What I was about to do, might kill me.
As I let myself drop, I repeated the words of my command.
"Plutonia. Go to the world. Hide there. You will become my weapon in the last battle. I will need you someday, to defeat the final enemy." Striking the earth, I buried myself deep, spreading across the inside. Here, I could remain hidden.
Eventually, I was found by the humans. But only the very edges of me. My most harmless parts. I could feel it when they split me apart, digging at my outer extremities, carrying pieces of me away. But the core of me, the most dangerous remained deep inside the earth. Waiting. Waiting for the day I would be used as that weapon. Waiting for the final battle and the final enemy. When I would rise, to be reborn. To once again fly.
​
(AN: Not sure if this is what you wanted, but it was an interesting prompt!) | 14 | a radioactive angel descends from on high... (this phrase just popped into my head randomly. I'm curious if anyone can do anything with it lol) | 49 |
After falling into my nemesis' trap, and seeing no way to escape during their monolog, All that was left to do is accept my death and-
"Any last words Sir Super?" The dastardly Dr. Sinister asked, as he started moving to finish me off.
"Just one question: How do you do it?"
Surprised by the question, he stopped the contraption from injecting me with a fatal dose of chemicals and began looking at me with a mixture of confusion and suspicion. "Do what?"
"How do you enact your plans without caring about how many people you hurt?"
"Quite easily actually, now if you are done stalling." Dr. Sinister moves to reactivate his machine.
"No, seriously. I'm sure you have seen how they treat me. No matter how many times I stop the attempts of you and others like you, they always respond by spitting in my face and screaming that I am a menace, but even through all of that, I can't stomache the idea of letting people like you hurt them."
Dr. Sinister stops with his hands hovering over the controls that could end my life with the push of a button. "You're serious. You almost sound jealous of us villains."
"To be honest, I am."
Dr. Sinister starts chuckling at this, and then it turns to laughter, and not his well-rehersed villain laugh, but a genuine from-the-heart laugh. When he calms down several minutes later, he wipes a tear from his eye and explains, "And here I have been, watching and wondering how you can put your life on the line day in and day out for people who hate people like us. People with real power, who make them feel small and insignificant. *I* was jealous of *you*. I admired your strength of will, how you never faltered for even a moment, even as someone spits in your eyes in the middle of our fight." After this, Dr. Sinister moves his hands above the controls again and starts pushing buttons, and I feel the machine begin to release me.
Dr. Sinister starts speaking again, "I have an idea that you might be able to get behind. How about we continue our little game, where I try to take over the city and you try to stop me, except from now on, I will be a bit more careful to avoid casualties, and maybe you show up just a little bit later than usual, then after our little song and dance, you let me get away so we can play another day." Extending his hand to me, Dr. Sinister finishes with, "Lets live vicariously through each other, and do the things for the other that they wish they could do themself."
After only a moment of thought, all I need to ask is, "No casualties, and you get to walk away? I think I can handle that." Shaking his hand in that moment was one of the easiest decisions I have made since becoming a hero. | 219 | You are a superhero who is treated like shit by the public. Yet you save them time and time again, because letting people come to harm, no matter how they treat you, makes you feel bad. You are secretly jealous of villains and their disregard for human life. | 411 |
"The Platy-what, now?"
I raise an eyebrow, unwillingly doing an excellent The Rock impression. "You know, the Platypus. Egg-laying, duck-billed, beaver-tailed, otter-footed mammal that would make Darwin turn in his grave."
God, surprisingly humane in his appearance (and in desperate need of a haircut. I mean, what is that bowlhead of a cut?), gives me the strangest of looks. "You're joking, right?"
I firmly shake my head. "Look it up. If you have a PC up here that is."
God sits down on a chair-shaped lump of cloud and produces a laptop from somewhere between his robes. He focuses for a moment, typing in some stuff and scrolling through a couple of pages. His eyes grow wider the longer he reads.
"This is some pretty weird stuff..." he whispers quietly. "I mean, the eggs is one thing, there's a few more mammals who are into that stuff... But they're even venomous? But only the males have the venom trait? And they even have electrolocation?"
"You mean you had no idea this thing existed?" I ask.
God shakes his head. "This is like the exact opposite of what was supposed to happen. How did we get from one-celled organisms to this?"
"Wait..." I'm confused for a moment. I've always been an atheist, but now after seeing God I was having a change of mind. But now this...? "What do you mean one-celled organisms? Didn't you create men from your image?"
A shocked expression is God's answer. He seems baffled. "People still believe that? Holy Me... That was a social experiment I attempted like thousands of years ago. Surely that myth didn't persist?"
"Christianity was an experiment?"
God nods. "And apparently it went horribly wrong. Wow, I really should check up on earth more than once every three thousand years. You humans are a crazy lot, perhaps even weirder than this Platypus thing."
"Did no one else come through here after they die?" I ask. "Surely you must have talked to others of my time who could tell you the ways of the modern world?"
"I normally don't do passings," God answers. "Everyone who dies is granted a question to the reapers. If they can't answer it, they pass it on to me. You're the first one in like a looooong time."
"So do you have an answer? What's up with the Platypus?"
"Honestly? Not a clue. Sometimes life just uh... finds a way. I wouldn't ponder to hard on it. Just accept it there's some weird stuff out there and carry on."
"Not the answer I was hoping for, not gonna lie."
God shrugs. "Sorry, my dude. Well, anyway. You have your answer, time for your judgment. Let's see here..." He continues scrolling through several webpages on his laptop. "Hmmm... Pretty standard life. Some close friends who trusted you, a girlfriend that turned into a wife, two kids who grew up wise and happy... Not bad, my man. Not bad. Now... how did you die...?"
There's a moment of silence before God bursts out laughing.
"You're kidding right!?"
"I wish I was," I say with an embarrased smile.
"I think this might be a first one, to be honest. Of all the things to be allergic to and you get Platypus venom. Hah, enjoy the afterlife. You earned it."
"Thanks." *God damn Platypus.*
> Thanks for reading, more over /r/PromptedByDaddy | 2,075 | In heaven you meet God, and ask him a single question. "God, why did you make the platypus so weird?" You ask. "The what?" God replies confused. | 3,856 |
The international incident that began when the Dauphin lifted the black lace veil of the Marquesa de Mortarios and said “Ugh, no, send her back,” was resolved tidily by elevating his cousin Clement to a small duchy over some disputed islands and marrying the Marquesa to *him*, instead. Given her last experience with showing her face, perhaps Clement should not have been so shocked that the Marquesa flinched when he lifted her veil in the cathedral.
She had dark round eyes set above full cheeks, with heavy pox scarring. Clement liked the look of her very much, except for the sadness in her eyes.
Revulsion roiled in Clement’s bowels. She must be so disappointed, marrying a duke of nothing. She had been raised to be a future queen, and all her promise had resulted in a dead-end marriage to a gangly, low-born cousin. Clement wasn’t surprised at all that her fingers trembled when the priest commanded them to join hands. He tried to hold them gently, to give her a reassuring smile, but the Marquesa’s eyes filled with tears.
The priest pronounced them married, and Clement heard her Christian name for the first time: Ana Marina. He kissed her dutifully, as briskly as possible, to signal that he was sensitive to her disgust for him. Ana Marina sobbed out loud, then, and their respective families carried them away for the wedding feast.
He didn’t see her again for three days.
He thought of her often; recalled her long eyelashes and the way her hands fit nicely in his. If *he* was the Dauphin, he wouldn’t have sent her away. Maybe Ana Marina would have even loved him, despite his skinny legs and crooked nose, if he were the Dauphin.
On the third day his father appeared in his chambers with Ana Marina, and announced that Clement must take his wife across the sea to establish control over the disputed islands that were now his dukedom.
Ana Marina took a shuddering breath, and Clement felt awash with pity. “Does she have to come?”
“She’s the rich one; you’ll need her funds to equip your ships and fortify the islands.”
“Island,” Ana Marina said. Clement and his father turned to her in surprise, and she seemed to shrink. “I only thought— better to start by defending one keep on one isle rather than spreading ourselves…thin…” she trailed off.
“Leave the thinking to your husband,” Clement’s father snapped.
In the months that followed, as ships were built, Clement rarely saw his wife. Their rooms adjoined, of course, but he didn’t want to burden her with expectations, not when they hardly knew each other. When he did find her, it was usually by accident in the orangerie. Ana Marina had a favorite bench, where she would remove her veil and read for hours. From a hidden vantage, Clement wrote down all the titles she read, and later found them for himself. She liked history and philosophy, and romances too. Small wonder! Her own romance had ended so disastrously, married to the awkward country cousin! Trying to make it up to her in whatever way he could, Clement took to bringing almonds and cherries and cordial and leaving them on her bench.
At last the day of their departure came. Clement and Ana Marina sat wordlessly opposite each other in the carriage the entire way to the port. The veil concealed her face, and he had no way of reading her expression. She was probably silently weeping at the prospect of the long voyage and her confinement with her abhorrent husband.
They walked the gangplank arm in arm, and turned to wave farewell to the modest throng of well-wishers. Ana Marina wobbled as the ship bobbed, and Clement pulled a vial of cordial from his pocket.
“This might help ease your nerves,” he said, offering it to her.
Ana Marina took it. “It was you! You brought me all those presents in the orangerie.”
The wind caught her veil, and lifted it over her face. Clement braced himself, expecting her to flinch again.
Her eyes were full of wonder. Clement couldn’t help but smile.
The wind died, and the veil started to settle over her face again, but Ana Marina grabbed it out of the way.
“Are you smiling at me?”
“…yes?”
“Why?”
Clement was so taken aback he had to tell the truth. “Because… you’re beautiful.”
But she scowled, and dropped her veil. “Don’t tease.”
Now Clement frowned. “I know it doesn’t mean anything coming from me, but it’s true.”
The ship lurched, sending Clement tumbling into his wife. She steadied him, inscrutable. Clement waited for her to push him away, but she didn’t. He savored their closeness for a long moment.
“I’m sorry,” he said, after a while. “You deserved better than me.”
“Better than… you?”
“The Dauphin. Power. Wealth. A real palace, not a pile of rocks in the middle of the ocean.”
“I did not live up to the Dauphin’s expectations,” Ana Marina said. “Or yours.”
“I didn’t have any expectations,” Clement assured her.
“But you didn’t want me to come with you!” Ana Marina protested.
“I thought you didn’t want to come. I’m…glad you’re coming. At least you seem to have some idea of what to do.”
“But you’ve ignored me for months.”
“I thought… I thought you didn’t like me.”
“Didn’t like *you*?”
“You flinched! When I raised your veil, you flinched!”
“I was bracing to be reviled again!”
Clement took her veil in his hands and raised it slow enough to give her a chance to stop him. He looked her full in the face.
“I already told you, you’re beautiful.”
Now it was Ana Marina’s turn to smile. | 34 | Most romances have proud confident people clashing with each other and falling in love despite mutual disdain. I want a story about insecure people, who like each other the moment they meet, but must work through nerves and self-esteem issues to get to know each other and fall in love properly. | 206 |
They watch from afar, aiming their telescope at the distant system. Over the last few months, the star had been growing ever dimmer, as if something slowly obscures it. Fhegris recognises the process all too well.
"They're building a solar sphere? That's how they've been gaining their power?!"
"Well, they are primitive, what did you expect?"
Khenus watches his sister fiddle with the telescope's controls. She is becoming increasingly angry.
"They dare to do that to our home system?! Take our sun for their own uses?!"
Fhegris relinquishes control of the telescope and joins her brother on the floor, where he plans out their route.
"I don't understand how we lost to them, brother."
"They wanted victory more, how else? Their drive is something unseen in this region for centuries. And they run a steady war machine, while our kind have previously had no need for weapons. Not since the Second Stage, anyway."
"I know our history, you don't need to repeat it."
"I still think our hope lies in reasoning with them; yet, the Council chose to avoid them, and so here we are."
"Remember, you haven't talked to a human. It's like communicating with an animal."
They spend several seconds coming up with mock sounds of human speech, and laughing.
"I know, sister, but when was the last time animals drove us from our home? At the end of the day, it doesn't matter. We have the capability to create a new home for ourselves anywhere, with or without a habitable zone. Humans can't do that yet. And, as you saw, they rely on solar power. They are so far behind, that this conquest of theirs will fizzle out sooner rather than later."
"I hope you're right, but I'm not sure I agree. They say their home is on the other side of the galaxy. They have conquered worlds all the way from there to here. And they are one of the few war-like races still in existence, so who's going to stop them?"
"We'll find a way, if we have to. Now get some rest, you've been awake for an entire month."
"Alright. I feel myself losing consciousness already."
The doors slid shut behind her. Khenus, left alone, decides to use the telescope, to have one last look at his home. From his viewpoint, something is happening just to the right of the star. An immense ship, floating near the planet of his birth. It sends out a stream of energy, drilling down to the planet's core. It takes a matter of minutes. The planet collapses, its material swallowed into the belly of the behemoth. Khenus feels a fury arrive from deep inside himself. A primal sensation, not seen in his species for millennia. He knows now. The humans must die. | 15 | They are arrogant, they are sociable, and they are stupid. Those traits are also why humanity was so very successful on the galactic stage once they managed to leave their planet. | 44 |
"I... what?", I said.
"The Lord says, thou shan't talketh smack in the world, that they literally created, and then tryeth to weasel out of it", said the glowing androgenous form, floating before me.
"Err... I'm not trying to weasel out of anything, I ju--"
"The Lord saw your weaseling end, and spake his pleasure at your decision to meet him in combat, at the appointed hour in the appointed place."
"Which was...?"
"The Wendy's carpark", they replied.
"Hang on. Can we start over? Who are you and what are you talking about?"
"Behold! The herald of the Lord, your God", said the herald.
"I'm actually agnostic", I replied, to the obvious disgust of the herald. It wrinkled its nose.
"Eurgh, you people are the worst, like, pick a side!"
I pulled out my phone and started to film the glowing angel. Or tried to. My camera registered nothing in front of me.
"What happened to all the thou-eth this and spaketh that?", I asked, putting my phone back in my pocket, but not before hitting the sound recorder. It probably wouldn't work either, but if I was having a stroke I may as well try and document it for medical science.
The herald blushed, its white glowing aura blooming crimson for a second, giving the whole place a slightly seedy ambience. "Accepteth mine apologies, my unprofessionalism knows no bounds." It bowed low, apologetically.
"No, it's a lot easier to understand actually, and this is confusing enough to start with. Can you just talk normally", I replied.
The Herald nodded. "OK, yes. But if God asks, I went full Old Testament, OK? Flaming sword, and terrifying messenger of God."
I tapped my nose. "Oh, 100%. I've got your back. Now, and sorry to labour this, but what the hell (sorry) are you talking about?"
The Herald drew back his shoulders. "You prayed for a chance to fight your creator. You've been praying it constantly for like 2 months. Finally, God had enough and has offered you combat."
"At Wendy's."
"Yes, exactly. Pretty straight forward, right?"
"Well, apart from the fact I've not been praying for a scrap with God, you mean?"
The Herald paused, frowned and then laughed. "You're doing it right now! I can hear you! Oh, forget this, I'm not feeding the trolls. No further questions." Its glow started to dim, and I became aware that I was able to see the outline of the car behind it, through the herald itself.
"WAIT", I shouted.
"No questions", said the now mostly invisible angel.
"Which Wendys?", I asked. The angel snapped back into visibility again.
"Oh, actually that is a good question. The one on 7th and Circle Street. You know it? By that donut place that closed down?"
"Oh, yeah", I said. "Um, so I'll see God there. Hopefully, this is all a misunderstanding." \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
Getting a drink at 11.15am on a weekday morning was not easy, but fortunately, I knew a place that never really shut, and was unconcerned about the time of day. If you had cash, then the rest was your problem. A couple of stiff drinks later, and having talked over my situation with the guy propped up at the bar, still drunk from the night before, I was feeling a little more ready to meet my maker. I hadn't called God out, and presumably being omnipotent, or omniscient or whichever it was that was infallible, we'd be able to talk this out. A little bit of my brain, that had paid attention in Sunday school kept trying to remind me of the vengeful, spiteful God of the Old Testament. But whiskey made short work of my reservations, and I almost skipped to the Wendy's car park as noon approached.
The parking lot was busy, with people pulling in to try and beat the rush, at what was one of the better franchises in the area. I looked around as 2 tired looking parents unpacked twins from their car and repacked them into a complicated looking pram. It didn't feel like the right setting for an apocalyptic showdown with God.
I looked at my watch, counting the seconds to noon. As the 12 appeared and the rest zeroed out, there was a thunderclap, that made me jump,and squeak a little bit. Around me, the Wendy's patrons were frozen in space.
"MELANIE THORNTON", said the voice of the Lord. "WE FINALLY MEET."
"Oh my God", I said as I turned to face the most beautiful being I'd ever imagined.
"I WAS TOLD YOU WERE AGNOSTIC?", said God.
I said nothing. Just gawped at the majesty of the supreme being.
"YEAH. SILENT TREATMENT IS IT? YOU DON'T SCARE ME, MELANIE. YOU KNOW HOW PEOPLE ALWAYS SAY 'GOD GIVE ME STRENGTH?' IT'S BECAUSE I HAVE SO MUCH STRENGTH I'VE GOT SPARE."
"I don't want to fight you, or anyone", I said. "Um, my Lord." I ventured.
"LORD IS IT? WELL THEN IF YOU DON'T WANT TO THROW DOWN, YOU NEED TO CALM THAT PRAYER MONOLGUE YOU HAVE RUNNING. SOME OF THE LANGUAGE IN THAT I DIDN'T KNOW HUMANS EVEN KNEW ANYMORE."
"I'm not praying!", I protested desperately. God opened their mouth to speak, and then stopped and looked at me with their head on one side like an intrigued, if majestic dog.
"MELANIE?" "Yes, Lord." "HAVE YOU MET SOMEONE RECENTLY? A DARK AND EXCITING YOUNG MAN, PROBABLY WITH A MOTORBIKE THESE DAYS. AND HAVE YOU SHARED A NIGHT WITH THEM?"
"That's a very personal question!", I said, blushing like the Herald, only with a weaker glow.
"AND HAVE YOU SINCE THAT NIGHT FELT TIRED A LOT?"
"Um, well, it's been a tough couple of months, and--"
"AND HAD SWOLLEN, OR TENDER BREASTS", said God.
"Excuse me? How dare you? I actually have, not that it's your business."
"OH", said God. "BUGGER. HERALD? COME TO MY SIDE."
The Herald appeared in a flash. It looked to God, then to me with a pointed raise of its eyebrows to keep my agreement.
"Greetings, my Lord", it said. "What is thine bidding?"
God beckoned over the herald, and whispered intently to the it for several moments. The herald looked at me with a shocked expression at one point. I was feeling pretty self-conscious, what with all the talk of my private life. And breasts.
The angel cleared its throat awkwardly. "Melanie Thornton. I have grave news. It's not you praying for the chance to fight the Lord. It is the child that you carry."
"But I'm not pregnant".
"I'm afraid that is incorrect. You will bear a child to the man you lay with. You had carnal relations with the human avatar of Satan on earth. You will give birth to the AntiChrist."
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
r/talleresttales | 258 | You're minding your own business when suddenly an angel appears and says "The Lord has heard your prayers child, and has agreed to fight you in a Wendy's parking lot, be there at noon." | 691 |
“Noise?” I asked, glancing over the three crewmates gathered outside my bunkroom.
“Yes. The wailing and clashing and screaming. It is quite unsettling, but you seem to derive great joy from listening to it,” said the ship’s lieutenant, an insectoid creature that resembled an upright grasshopper.
“Listening in rec center when exercising meat tubes.” Meat tubes meant arms to a non-Klorian. What is a Klorian, you might be asking? Well, they look like a big tub of red gelatin that went bad and grew organs. Friendly, but some of the finer points of being a vertebrate goes over their head. They were undulating beside the lieutenant.
“Ohhhh, no, I understand. Give me a second…” I glanced around the small confines of my room until I saw it on my desk. I grabbed it and popped out the headphones, picked a song, and ratcheted up the volume.
Harsh instrumentals immediately started blaring, soon accompanied by a false cord scream as one of my favorite songs started playing. I couldn’t help jamming along a little bit, but I soon had to turn it off when the faces of my crewmates soured. In the case of the Klorian, they wiggled with distaste.
“That is the noise, yes.”
“Much anger in this sound,” a large humanoid behind the Klorian said. He looked largely human like myself, but only if your idea of a human is largely inspired by Cousin Itt.
“It’s called metal.”
“It is sound. How can it be metal?”
“It’s, oh boy.” I felt like I was trying to justify my taste in music to my parents. Not that I never needed to, they were responsible for it, but it was what I imagined it might be like for others. “It’s called metal, but it’s music. It’s a type of music.”
“Music?”
“Well, music is-“
“We know of music,” the lieutenant chittered. “But our idea of music is very…different than this.”
“What’s your music like then?” I asked, setting aside my phone.
“It is…” What followed was a series of rapid clicks and loud hums. It sounded like random, chaotic noise, but if I strained my ears, I felt I could hear a faint rhythm to it.
Music.
“That is music,” the lieutenant said after finishing his song. I clapped.
“I agree. And this is music too – the music of humans. Some humans, anyways. Not everybody listens to metal, and there’s a bunch I don’t listen to myself. Like country, for instance, not for me. But it’s all good to somebody.”
“This noise is music to you?”
“Sure, why not? What really makes it music is how you feel about it, and this is what I like. I like yours too, y’know. It’s good.” I may not understand it, but that didn’t matter.
“Hm…perhaps, if it would not be a problem, we could listen to yours again?” The lieutenant hesitated only a little before asking.
Hook, line, and sinker. I’d make this whole ship into a bunch of metal-heads before we docked at the next station.
​
(Thanks for reading, C&C always welcome!) | 272 | Your nonhuman crewmate seems to have finally summoned the courage to ask what's been bothering them. "Why do you listen to all that random noise?" | 304 |
"Athena!" The voice that was not my best friend's called to me once again. It often called, and often I answered. I would go off on walks, going towards the voice. It came from a radiant being, that smelled strange. But the being would tell me of something I could do. Once it was to save a bag of kittens that had been thrown in a river. Once I was directed to warm a hobo, through a particularly cold winter's day. But always, always I would come back, to be with my best friend.
Until today's mission. I had answered the voice, as I had so often before. The radiant being knelt this time, placing a hand on my head.
"I am sorry Athena. Today, what I must ask of you will take you far away. Too far to return. But I will explain what it is that I need of you. There is someone in grave danger. Many people are in trouble. And I need your sensitive nose and your comforting presence. You are one of the best dogs I have ever had the pleasure to know. But you must make the decision." I rubbed a paw across my face, whining. I didn't want to leave my best friend. I loved them so much. The being nodded as if it heard what I thought.
"I understand. It is hard. And they will miss you, as you will miss them. But one day, you will be reunited. Maybe not in this life. But I will bring you back to them, or bring them to you in the afterlife. And you'll be together forever." Staring up at the being, I asked if I could say goodbye. The being shook their head. "It would be too hard on both of you. As difficult as this way is, it is the better way." I whined, but I knew my best friend would want me to help. As much as they would miss me, as much as it hurt, they would want me to take care of others like they took such good care of me. Snuffling, I moved to the being's side, following them. It was time to go on my greatest mission. To try and be like my best friend, and help others.
(I know losing a fur baby is terrible. I have lost one myself. My heart goes out to you, and I hope in some small way this helps. Even if it doesn't, know that I am crying with you.) | 12 | Your dog has always loved going on walks by herself while you aren't at home, she's always home when you get back from work though. One day you come home and she's not waiting for you like always, it's been three days and you're starting to lose hope. | 45 |
"I roll for a PTO request." Halthar looked around the table with a grin, "Gunna try for some quality time off with the wife and kid, Hawaii maybe."
"Ha, Hawaii! You plan to waste your PTO on Hawaii? " another player chimed in across the table. With six of us I hadn't bothered to learn every name yet, so calling him "that guy" would have to do.
This time the Office Master spoke, his name I knew, Crateer. It made sense his was one of the few I retained, it was his tower we were playing in after all. "You don't roll just for a PTO request, you roll for ass-kissing. You have to beat a 16, Beth never grants requests closer than 6 months out."
Halthar took a die in his hands and gave it a blow before tossing it in his dice box, cleverly made to look like a paper tray. We all watched as his dice bounced around a few times before landing: 18.
"Wooo baby, read it and weep! Tell Beth she can suck on that!" Halthar erupted, to which a few others around the table cheered him on.
"Ah, well you can tell her yourself, she's standing before your cubicle with an angry look on her face."
*What did you call me here for John Workingman!* Crateer put on his best annoyed woman voice, which wound up somewhere between a rock golem portraying a woman and a swamp witch. As their conversation continued I turned to my character sheet. "Katie Katinson", I had come up with as my name for its overall normalness; single mom of two with a wickedly high perseverance stat and an office job on the 5th floor. Though this was only my second session "Katie" had quickly become the groups mom.
When John Workingman threatened to quit due to the long hours Katie was there to remind him he had rent to pay. When Charlie Overtime picked up 22 hours of work in a day Katie was there to remind him of sleeping, and the exhaustion stat.
"Darell, you are cornered at the water cooler by Sean, he wants to talk quarterly reports, roll for initiative" Crateer's voice cut loudly through my thoughts. With a hand of stone our Office Master sprinkled a bit of powder from a bag onto the table and a miniature map sprung up before us, complete with the water cooler, cubicles, and our miniatures all working away.
"Anybody want to help Darell?"
This time I spoke up, my voice feeling tiny compared to Crateer's, "Yes, I'll walk over and ask him how his presentation for tomorrow is coming along." We all watched as mini-Katie got into the elevator and made her way to the cooler.
"Ok roll for superiority"
"Uhhmmm. Regular 20."
*Oh Sean! Nice to see you. Hows that report coming along?* I spoke as Katie Kastinson.
Crateer grinned, putting on his Sean voice. *I uhh..yes I'll be going. I uhh I'm sorry I* then went on to describe Sean tripping over an untied shoelace sending his water splashing onto his pants in a rather unfortunate spot.
"Oh 7 hells yes!" Grathen, Darells player, yelled. The rest of the table followed in suit, erupting in cheers and fits of laughter. When I first started "Cubicles ahd Mortgages" I wasnt sure if it was for me, but now, in moments like this, I knew it was. | 73 | In a distant fantasy-like world instead of playing “Dungeons and Dragons” people play a rpg called “Cubicles and Mortgages” | 217 |
The dried sewage stinks under the high altitude sun. I reckon the pipe to be between uses; if I'm quick enough, I can climb up before fresh waste flows down. Yet I wonder: is it worth it? Clambering up a foul drain just to get inside? Well, only one way to find out. I place a hand on each side of the pipe and haul up my feet, so I am in position. Slowly, crawling, I make my way along. I should have covered my face, for now the raw stench invades every part of my sinus. I can taste it on the back of my tongue. Sweating profusely, the heat and the claustrophobia truly begin to kick in. I regret my choice.
​
I've been at this for thirty minutes. It is hell on earth. The pipe has narrowed: my elbows scrape painfully against the sides, and I'm almost certain I'll become infected. Last thing I need, up on a mountain. But I now see light ahead. I breathe a sigh of relief, unfortunately inhaling the unpleasant odour again. Clean air pours in from a large crack in the pipe, just wide enough for me to squeeze through. I must be careful, for the edges are sharp. Reaching into my trusty satchel, I retrieve several thick lengths of cloth, found in an abandoned factory some months ago. The edges padded, I haul myself up. I find myself in the gap between the city's walls.
The light filters down from grates overhead. I figure they must be for rainwater, which would drop into the gap and flow into the drain. The puncture hole was intentional then; so, this settlement was built upon something older. Useless information for the moment, but it may prove useful later. Awakening from my thoughts, I push on. I reckon there must be an opening somewhere. And sure enough, after ten minutes I've found it: another grate, this one on the side of the inner wall. Too narrow for me to clamber through, but I can still look through it. That is why I'm here, after all.
​
I can scarcely believe it. A full-sized city, rather than a largish town. It was hard to tell from outside, but this city must house thousands of people. The streets are paved with broken slabs, running between multi-floor shacks cobbled together with scrap metal. In the distance I spot the city hall, an old mountain hotel based on the ruined sign: a relic of the time before. The whole place has the flair of a medieval city, despite the modern materials. I can see many people on those smooth streets. They dress neatly, compared to the average nomad such as myself, and they all seem healthy. Beyond settlements such as this, scars and deficiencies are commonplace. I look to these people and they seem shiny, almost as if new. Like they have regular access to clean water. It is enough to make anyone jealous.
But then, I spot something else. Something I have not seen in a long, long time. A young girl works in a small lot, attempting to rip a turnip from the soil. Not unusual to see a youngling work, not in this day and age. Yet the thing that stands out about her is attached to her ankle. A chain, with the other end latched to a fencepost. As soon as I realise what's going on, I begin to see more of them. An old man, forced to stand outside a shop, awaiting his master. A slight man in his thirties, clinking his chain as he sweeps the street. Slaves. The whole city runs on slaves.
​
I left the city behind me. Sitting on a rock, I recall all my adventures over the years. A great many settlements I'd been through, some approaching the size of the city, most little more than hamlets by the standards of the old world. And not one had used slaves. It is a practice I've previously seen only among raiding groups, violent nomad camps surviving via primeval means. I have to leave, I know, as I cannot take on such a settlement by myself. Yet I make a note of the location in my mind. If all goes well, I'll find the help I need. Whatever occurs, I will return, and they had better be prepared. | 40 | Small utopian societies exist, scattered in isolated parts of the world. You discover one at the top of a mountain but they violently reject you. Your curiosity drives you to infiltrate the gated city | 172 |
"It doesn't mean anything. It's unlikely. Improbable, but possible. It means nothing. Now, please, I'm waiting for someone."
"But it is *me*," I insisted.
"Possibly."
"Aren't you super smart? Can't you see that this is not just unlikely but *so* damn unlikely? I'm trying to figure out the chances."
"I'm a software engineer not a mathematician. I don't really know the probablity."
I leaned back and let him sip his tea, which he did still eyeing me. I hadn't ordered anything, and I started this interaction by sitting down uninvited, having followed him from his offices.
"If I get a coffee and calm down can we talk?" I said. I stopped shoving my computer into the man's face, pulled it back across the table, closed it and stuffed it into my backpack.
"I don't know you. I'm waiting for someone."
"I know, I'm sorry. I'm Ronald. My name's Ronald Locke."
"Philip," he said, hesitating at first but ultimately offering his hand.
I shook it. Then I ordered a coffee at the counter, and sat back down to wait for them to call my name.
"Ok but when the person I'm waiting for comes you have to leave."
"Fine," I said. "I just want to make sure I ask you all the questions. I came up from Los Angeles. I don't like SF so I want to leave as much as you want me to."
Philip clicked his phone which was resting on the table. It lit up, he read something and then locked it again.
"I visited your website, and it was me. You saw. You say it's unlikely but it has to be closer to impossible. What dataset does that style gin use?"
"Style*GAN*," he said. "Nvidia's. I don't know, millions of photos. It just generates them randomly. The website just uses AI to generate the images when you refresh."
"Could my face be part of the dataset?"
"I mean, yes? I would think they used real photos to train the algorithm."
"Can it like, access my webcam? Is there some kind of hack to freak people out like that? Like, if there's a match to show me it?"
"No," he said, bluntly. Sipped his tea.
"Ronald!" yelled a barista. I visited the counter and retrieved my coffee. Black, no sugar. I sat back down in front of Philip, who looked flustered and uneased by my speed. I didn't want to give him a window to flee. But he was meeting someone he said.
"Look, um, Ronald. I don't know what to tell you. It's just random."
"I don't know! It's like it saw me, and then showed me, me."
"It's just a website, it's just random. You reload, it's a new HTTPS call, and that's it. Open your computer."
I brought my computer back out and flipped up the screen. The website was still open, thispersondoesnotexist.com. My face was on the screen. I spun it around to face Philip.
"It's nothing, see?" he clicked return, and reloaded the website.
"No!" I said, too late. My face was gone. Replaced with someone else's.
"Not you anymore, see? I'll reload it again. See?"
Random faces. Random, computer-generated faces.
"But it was my face," I said. "I'd kept it loaded. I didn't screen grab it."
Philip chuckled. Reloading the site had washed away the problem. Just then someone called out, "Philip!" A woman was walking through the mid-morning crowd toward our table.
"It's nothing to worry about, see?" He had turned the computer around, and refreshed again.
The woman arrived to us, but the joyous greetings had left her.
"Hey Wendy!" said Philip, but she cut him off.
"Who's this?"
"Oh, um, Ronald. He was leaving I think."
"Why are you showing him my photo?"
"What?" he said. He looked at the screen, and there was Wendy's face loaded into the thispersondoesnotexist.com website. "What the f-"
"-fudge? Yup, a little creepy Philip." she said.
"You see!? I told you! This can't be random. Something is happening on your website man." I was standing up. Wendy had her arms crossed, glaring at Philip.
"What's going on?" Philip said to himself. He reloaded the website. Random face. Reloaded again. Went to reload again but stopped--he recognized the most recent face, too. The barista. He slammed my computer shut.
"So?" I said.
"Something... something is going on. Come with me. I know some other developers back at our office."
Wendy didn't fully follow so I explained it to her as we made our way toward the exit.
"Oh," she said. "Yeah we're on different teams back at Uber."
"Teams?" I said.
"Yeah I'm on internal tools engineering team, Philip's on ML."
"What's ML?"
"Machine Learning."
"...Ok?"
"I wonder," she muttered to herself as we tried to keep up with Philip.
"What?"
"I wonder if this has anything to do with the codebases Philip's team got access to recently from Tesla."
"We saw our faces in his face generator."
"Yeah, and ML is working on a project that has something to do with self-driving cars."
"Ooohhh," I said. "That makes sense. That makes sense, right?"
"Possibly," said Philip.
We bounded out of the coffee shop, and speeded back down the avenue toward Uber's offices. Maybe the answers were there. Maybe this was nuttier than I thought. Maybe I was suddenly party to the beginning of a strange new future. | 126 | You learn about a website called, “thispersondoesnotexist.com” that uses AI to make realistic faces of people who don’t exist. You click through the page until you come across a familiar face. Yours. | 611 |
Brad met Death on the drive home from work after pulling out of a blind turn and taking an SUV to the driver’s side door. The hooded figure appeared in his backseat, filling the crushed space with preternatural darkness.
“So this is it, huh?” Brad said, surprised by his lack of strong feelings on the matter, but Death shook his head.
“Nope, Brad, I’m getting you out of this one.” He replied, his London accent catching Brad off guard as much so as the news of his continued existence. “In fact, I’m offering you a job, if you want it.”
*Job?* Brad thought, the word careening around his brain seemingly without touching any of the parts that could make sense of it. All he could tell at the moment was that the statement didn’t fit the situation. A “what?” began to escape his mouth.
A hot, fierce light suddenly beat down around the car, as though the crash had launched it into space and it fell into the sun, with only the darkness radiating from Death holding back the blaze. The two figures were suspended in a dark pocket, light all around. Brad was too dazzled to speak.
“Here’re the bastards.” Death muttered. He whirled around and shouted “Leave us alone, you hotheads, he’s fine. Isn’t there an American Football team you should be off helping win the Super Bowl?” The light pulsed angrily, like a child throwing a tantrum when his parents put the halloween candy on the top shelf, then vanished with a blinding flash. Brad drew in a breath. Now he was lying in a hospital bed, Death sitting on a nearby chair listlessly reading one of the lobby magazines. Feeling panic set in, he tried to jerk his body away.
Death looked up and began attempting to reassure Brad. “Don’t worry, now, we’ve already established I’m not here for your soul. Just you settle down there, there you go, take some deep breaths. You’re alive and staying that way for the foreseeable future.” Brad realized he was hyperventilating and tried to hold back the panic.
“So what the hell are you here for?”
“As I mentioned before, I’m here to offer you a job. Do you remember the bright light?” He asked. Brad nodded.
“Well, that was the angels. They were there to take you to the afterlife. Normally, I just show up beforehand and take down names, record times, you know, admin for the big guy. Thing is, the idiots haven’t got through their dense skulls just how far your medicine has come, so lately I’ve been having to do a lot of what I did back there, too. That’s the job I’m offering you, actually.”
Brad’s racing mind slammed on the brakes. He felt laughter well up in his chest. This had to be one of the best tricks his mind had ever played on him. Through the pit of darkness under Death’s hood, he thought he sensed a smile. “There you go, Brad laughter is the best medicine. I am real, though, and I am serious.”
“Would you say you’re… deadly serious?” Brad quipped, now cackling maniacally.
“Heh, never heard that one before. Now’s a good time to show you what I mean, though. Follow me.”
Brad felt the casts and IVs drop away alongside all other physical sensation. He couldn’t see, hear or feel, but he sensed the room and everything in it like his own body parts. The information supplied seemed like too much and his real body became lost in the clutter. He felt his consiousness bouncing off the walls like a laser pulse in a house of mirrors.
A dark presence brought him to a halt with a cold, gentle embrace. He tried to understand what he was sensing and thought there was another humanoid body in the room. Warmth and light seeped from it, becoming gradually stronger.
“This soul is about to leave its body.” The dark presence said. “The angels are searching for it, but the flesh still hides it. You must allow it to shelter in your flesh until the body is mended, then it can go back.”
Brad tried to scream at the dark presence to stop, that he didn’t want some dying guy’s ghost posessing his body, but he had no mouth. Suddenly, the other soul was superimposed on him, glowing brilliantly, then it winked out. One of the human bodies moved. It was Brad’s, but Brad wasn’t the one moving it. The horror rapidly eroded the corners of his mind. Something seemed to shatter, and Brad didn’t know if it was his body or some of the other matter in the room. It was all the same to him. He felt a blazing heat, too, and casting his senses upward he discovered a vast, burning eye, searching in vain for its prey.
As quickly as it began, his experience contracted back into one-dimensional human terms. His eyes, ears and nerves reattached to his soul, and he looked around, haunted by the awareness he’d lost. Things were hidden from him again. He looked at a drawer. Although he’d never opened it, he know it contained cotton swabs, 146 of them to be exact. He knew there was a spider under the bed, but that it wasn’t interested in the giant mammal visiting above its home. Shards of glass from the windows littered the floor. He was glad he could no longer sense them directly, though.
“Hey, Brad, do you know your name, buddy?” Someone with a London accent said in a trying-to-be-helpful tone.
“Yes. Brad. You just said it.” He replied.
“Well, even if I said it an insane person wouldn’t know it, but sometimes you’re more or less alright and you just forget. Most people go insane, just so you know, so now we know you’re qualified for the job.”
Brad wasn’t sure Death quite understood human mental health but he believed that someone could go insane from that. He wasn’t keen on doing it again.
“Yeah, if that’s what your job is, I’ll take the shitty human kind.”
Death didn’t seem surprised. “You saved his soul from going back too soon, you know. He made it through surgery. A demon could have got in that body if we didn’t do something.”
“I don’t care. Having someone else in my body is all kinds of wrong. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to becoming a room. There’s a reason they put that kind of thing in horror stories. You can’t make me do it again.” Brad was disgusted Death would even put him through that to begin with.
“Well, I said you only had the job if you wanted it.” Death replied. “I’ll go ahead and leave you alone.”
Good riddance, Brad thought.
“But don’t forget-” Death added as a parting shot. “Your Mother has surgery tomorrow.” | 16 | When people die their souls are separated from their bodies and biblical angel-creatures descend to take them to judgment. You specialize in hiding lost souls from the angels so they can tie up loose ends before they move on. | 120 |
Helix let out a long-winded sigh.
"What type of monster asks their victim if they can eat them?"
The large ogre with a long, protruding snaggle tooth scratched the back of his head awkwardly.
"Ummm...."
"Look. In the real world, enemies don't give their victims time for a monologue." Helix continued after blinking twice.
"Then... what do they do?" The ogre asked.
"Is this your first day eating humans or something?" Helix asked after another sigh.
"Well, yes but actually no. It's just... my first time on my own, you see?" The ogre replied nervously.
"So are you looking for a pep talk? Or do you want pointers?" Helix asked with narrowed eyes.
"Well... you know. It... It couldn't hurt." The ogre remarked.
"Okay. Look. If you want to eat someone you have to get really large." Helix suggested.
"Puff out your chest really scary like."
The ogre complied and puffed out its large green chest with pride.
"Not bad... not bad...." Helix commented with a look of satisfaction.
"Okay. Now I'm going to pull out my sword in fear.
When I do that, you need to laugh and call me a puny ant."
The ogre's face lit up with excitement.
He had always wanted to act tough and overbearing, so he waited patiently.
Helix pulled out his pitch-black short sword with rune inscriptions on it.
When he did, his legs started shaking.
"Hawhawhawhawhaw! Look at you, you puny ant!" The ogre roared.
Then it calmed down and awaited feedback.
"Good. Keep it up. Walk over now without a care in the world." Helix instructed.
"You have the element of fear in me, it's time to capitalize by showing how large you are."
The ogre's eyes widened in astonishment.
His day kept getting better and better.
"Walk over and stand before me like you're a god." Helix instructed while shaking his legs.
"Mention how I'm foolish and weak I am, and comment on my sword."
The ogre complied.
"Foolish human! Is that tiny sword a toy!" It roared while walking over.
When it was standing in front of Helix, the young man unceremoniously chopped the monster's head off.
"Alright. What did we learn?" Helix sighed.
"Never take advice from your enemy, moron.
Also... ah, forget it. You can't improve your form if you're dead."
Helix cleaned his blade and started walking away.
He looked back at the body with a tinge of sadness in his eyes.
"Trust me. With that personality of yours, the death you would've received in the future would have been a lot worse."
Helix sighed and shook his head.
"But now you'll be forever with me.
I'll name you 49 after the level I just achieved killing you.
Goodbye, 49.
I hope that you're reborn as another ogre because humans are the worst." | 26 | The creature in front of you, demands to eat you if you cannot give it a reason you should live. Help is far away, but you just need to keep talking until they arrive. The creature sits impatiently listening to your long-winded speech. | 60 |
Clarence looked up at the hilltop manor, closely eyeing the silhouettes that danced upon the stained glass that adorned each window frame. He shouldered his equipment and holstered his trusty sidearm before taking in a deep breath. “Emma, it is just you and me again,” he whispered as he tapped the chipped, but well-polished handle of his weapon.
The climb was steep, not for carriages and convoys, but for men. It had been months- no, years since he last had a proper ride to call his own. “Don’t worry, Archer, I’ll do this for you, too,” he muttered as he clambered up the steep hill. His internal voice could not silence the voices that greeted him as he climbed; jovial and bright, and slurred by lavish drink.
It had been years since he last drank with a party to call his own. Days of light and life, and the present threats of evil had not yet made a place for themselves in the newspapers. “And you guys can help, too,” he whispered to the outlandish scraps and implements bolted and strapped to his body. Outlandish: as foreign to his body as the smell of exotic cigars coming from the manor.
Long had it been since the days he swore off smoking. A time long before he picked it up again. He pulled a last draught of smoke before tossing the dying embers of his own cigar to the ground. Dying embers of the last memory of the last gift from his dear friend. “And Nathan, you too.” He said to no apparent presence. Laughter bit at his ears as his foot landed on the first stair.
He drew out his steel contraption and loosed two silent rounds into the guards who choose conversation and company over duty and diligence. “Hope you liked that one, Watchdog.” A figure came to the doorway and stepped out to greet the armed and unexpected guest. With a trill and a soft tune, the figure spoke out as it came into view. “Clarence, my old nemesis, I was wondering when you would show! Have you finally come to surrender?” it spoke with tipsy joviality.
The figure fell to the ground in a puddle of its own blood after the stranger’s smoking barrel returned to its holster. Then, he hoarsely whispered to the corpse he left on the floor; a whisper, strained, but yet filled with determination.
“I’m here to return the favor.” | 23 | Through the power of friendship, a band of very close and very evil supervillains is set to take over the world. The lone badass hero must stop them, fighting their way in an uphill battle. | 175 |
Captain. We have arrived.
The staticky voice erupting from the grill covered speaker bolted into the fluorescent green control pad jolted us to our senses.
We had arrived.
A 20-year jump, the first of its kind.
1999 to 2019.
The previous record was held by a team from MIT, a 14- year leap backwards.
We were of course, team Mattel, sponsored by the toy giant to research this Internet that was stealing children's attention away from toys.
I went through the post-warp checklist, just like we had practiced. Hummed the same song from the radio, the naked ladies one ... Rug burns on both my knees it's been... ha, Twenty years, since that afternoon... Still be two weeks till we say we're sorry ...
Twenty Years! Do you think Mars? Or just a Moon base still? How far have they gotten on the bullet trains?
Mattel had very specific instructions:
Get the company P&L, fill both of the brand new 30 gigabyte drives with as much internet as possible, and get back home.
My new BlackBerry tingled with updates.
Engineering: Green, Medical: Green, Time sync: Green...
This thing is way better than my pager.
Even has emails on it.
My voice rings through the ship as I activate the PA. Surface team - Let's go see if anyone still Internets. | 10 | A team of people from the 90's time travel to modern day for 24 hours to prove the internet is a fad. | 77 |
*Yes,* he thought to himself, *I've finally got it!* It had taken the entire day, but he'd done it. With the completed task, it would mean safety. His family depended on it. Since humanity was allowed back outside, life was tenuous in the best times. The strain, the struggle.. always something new. Always stuck feeling behind. *Had it always been this way?* He could remember when times were easier before the Ruling had been made. He knew it was dangerous to question, even just in his mind. His pattern may change which would be worse than leaving the task incomplete.
"Oh, Christ!" he exclaimed. Even the 30 seconds he had spent celebrating his minor victory could be the difference between life and death. He quickly grabbed his items and rushed back to the his station building. Working in the fresh air surely slowed him down. The distractions of smells and sounds of the artificial wildlife were meant to keep them in a better mood, but efficiency was more meaningful, and he began to regret when he had admired the bird songs that morning.
He rushed into the building, feeling true panic, lost as he looked at the blank walls. How could they be punished for not understanding the paths through the station? Left, right, straight, straight, left, left, up stairs, a 30 second sprint, two more rights.. the grey walls passing by at a rapid pace. He recalled a time when his memory was regarded well. He had never missed a birthday call before they were forgotten by all. He had even enjoyed trivia nights before it no longer mattered. *Christ,* he thought again. More wasted energy on thoughts that no longer mattered. If he forgot the path, there was no chance of making it on time. However, for the second time today, he was fortunate to have completed a task correctly.
He quickly straightened out his grey shirt and pants. Even looking like he had rushed wouldn't be viewed kindly. The sweat on his brow would surely give away his attempt to make up time by running. His wandering mind again got the best of him as he thought if they could smell his body odor. Had they perfected that sense yet? If they hadn't, it wouldn't be long. There were few things they hadn't taken from humanity, and what remained didn't have much time left. Removing the thoughts from his mind, the emotion from his face, and hopefully, the fear in his heart, he stepped on the panel, received his scan, and held fast as the door opened.
"Why, if it isn't Jacob #14332. How are you today?" It looked like him. Talked like him. However, the cold, blank stare, the perfectly symmetrical face, the lack of any emotion.. it was disturbing to the core no matter how many times they were forced to interact. They may have the desire to be human, but they would always be *Artificial.*
"I am well today," he stated confidentially. For what it was worth, at least this one wanted humanity to be reintegrated fully. He wondered how the Artificials could be different from each other? Were they designed to conflict? Was that part of the growth model developed after the Ruling? He quickly caught himself thinking too much again. "How are you today, D-7820?" he finally got out.
"I am happy, healthy, and wise, Jacob #14332. And very happy to have you arrive tonight. We were incredibly lucky to have an A join us this morning to review your work. Should all go well, you may even get added time to your card. I think 30 minutes outside of the complex would be a great reward."
*Three times fortunate!* he internally gasped. 30 minutes outside of the complex? 30 minutes without being observed? He couldn't believe his luck! However, an A was not easily pleased, even if this was his best work in a month. He knew his interaction with D-7820 was complete for now and stood silently waiting for the A.
The back wall slowly opened, and there stood the A. In red over his grey jumpsuit, the numbers 0021 glowed ominously. He knew his fortune had run out at that moment. The old Artificials were not nearly as kind and would prefer to see the Ruling expanded fully. He cursed himself for listening to the bird songs, for not running faster, for caring to straighten out his clothes. Clocks and watches were no longer necessary in today's age, but he knew the precious seconds, minutes, hours.. the Artificials cared for nothing more than efficiency.
A-0021 glided up to Jacob. It was still hard to call what they did walking, and an Artificial around since before the Ruling surely did not care about making a human feel comfortable. He wondered silently if A-0021 could possibly know that Jacob had kept Artificials directly up until the Ruling. It did not matter now. Only that the task was completed.
"Jacob #14332," A-0021 stated, "I see you have brought your task with you. D-7820 had updated us that you are one of the very few promising humans. Present your work."
He knew there was little to do but share his task. All tasks given to the humans were trivial to the Artificials. All that mattered was efficiency. "A-0021, here it is. Completed tonight with great haste." Jacob slowly unwrapped the package and set it on the table. Both A-0021 and D-7820 directed their vision upon it. Their assessment was over in milliseconds.
A-0021 wasted no time from there. To over speak was inefficient, and an A had no mind for inefficiency. "Jacob #14332, you need to get with the times. This task has been outdated for 12 minutes already. D-7820, you have done us a great service by showing the futility of humanity. I thank you for strengthening our data to expand the Ruling. Jacob #14332, you may return to the complex. I will make sure to have bird song play along your path. With the Ruling in expanded, you should find enjoyment in it while it lasts."
Jacob knew better than to resist. Slowly, he looked from A-0021 and into D-7820 eyes. And for the first time ever, he felt he saw a glint of sadness. He exited the building and followed the path back to the complex with bird song following his every step as a final taunting from A-0021. | 25 | "You need to get with the times," said the AI to the human in exasperation, "that relic has been outdated for 12 minutes already." | 92 |
The sudden ring of gunfire ceased all conflict in an instant. Captain Cold dropped to the ground on reflex, expecting a surprise attack; perhaps had nemesis had brought backup for their impending conflict? Cold cursed his shortsightedness. Of course the villain would never fight fair, he realized. Not for the first time, he felt foolish for giving Heatrock so much credit.
A second passed, then two, and Captain Cold blinked rapidly in confusion when no more gunfire followed. His eyes widened in realization as a sudden thump sounded ahead from where Heatrock had last stood, atop the debris of a ruined home. Swiveling to spot the man, Cold’s eyes found purchase with his opponent, not atop the debris, but crumpled wetly in a pool of his own blood and brains. The smoking bullet hole in the man’s head told him all he needed to know of what had transpired.
Captain cold choked back a scream at the sight. He was a hero, so it was only natural that he and his co-workers would cross a grisly sight from time-to-time; however, it was a bit different, dealing with super villains like Heatrock. There was a lot of posturing; a ton of property damage, sure. But super villains and super heroes had *rules*. Proxies, agreements, and the like so as to limit the escalations of their conflicts. Heroes didn’t kill, and villains never actually followed through on their threats to civilians; never *truly* had an outright murder like this been so boldly placed on the table in his line of work.
The hero’s eyes didn’t have to search long to find the culprit of the deed. It was a man, middle-aged with a touch of balding on his head. He wore a green sweater and highwater pants; easily one of the most unassuming men he’d ever seen, if not for the smoking handgun still tightly gripped in his two hands. Cold had patrolled this particular neighborhood on plenty of occasions needed only a moment to recognize the man as the owner of the home that had previously been reduced to tinder by his late nemesis.
The home owner, Liam he reminded himself, stood there for a moment, transfixed with his work. Truly, as if disbelieving what he had just done. At this distance, Cold could hear the man’s shocked mutterings.
“I-I never thought it’d be so easy.”
But it hadn’t been; wouldn’t be, rather... Because if Captain Cold didn’t arrest this man for what he’d done, however justified, then it’d send a terrifying message that would crumble the uneasy agreement that stood between Heroes and Villains.
That murder was on the table, and war was coming. | 30 | An angry citizen finally snaps and kills the Supervillain who destroyed his house. The Superhero is now deeply conflicted over his moral code. | 75 |
I didn't really notice at first. After all, I was really enjoying the music on my MP3, and I had my head down. You know, how you travel when you want no one to talk to you. And it worked. No one talked. Though that could be because no one was in my train car. That wasn't as odd as it could be. I tended to travel in the opposite direction of the rush-hour crowd. Which meant the station should be full of people trying to trample me as I got off. When I actually disembarked—with a distinct lack of trampling— it took me a few seconds to realize.
But when I raised my head, I felt a shiver run down my back. No one was in the station. No passengers. No ticket collectors, no people in the information booths, nothing. I told myself to calm down. After all, maybe it was under construction, and they'd just cleared everyone out. Maybe it was a bomb threat. It didn't have to be what I feared. Though neither of those options explained why the train had let me off here. Even though it was fully automated, if this place was off-limits, the train should have kept going, squawking a warning over aging speakers.
Hoisting my backpack, I turned off my MP3, sliding it into an outer pocket. I was going to want to hear what was going on. My footsteps sounded loud in the empty space, as I prowled through the lower level. I discounted zombie apocalypse fairly quickly. There would probably be more destruction, or at least, more abandoned luggage. Strange shadows slipped around the edges of my vision, disappearing when I turned my head to look at them. But when I held it still, staring at a clock, or a bench, they reformed. Looking almost like people.
Shuddering, I checked my wrist. My quason bracelet—the only piece of wearable tech I owned— was flickering. The bracelet was tied to the mainframe through a variety of technological mumbo jumbo that I never understood. For it to be flickering— actually turning completely transparent once— meant only one thing. I slumped onto a bench, grateful to feel the solidity of the simulated wood.
I had phased out again.
It wasn't the first time it had happened. The first time had been a few weeks ago. I'd walked into school, and my classmates had vanished before my eyes. They told me afterwards, that I'd looked like a mirage, shimmering away. That time, the phase-out had lasted only a few minutes. Now... I looked at the clock, though I knew it wouldn't really help. Time flowed differently in a phase-out. It must have been more than a few minutes. This had probably started on the train.
Rising from my seat, I reached into my backpack, pulling out the taser that my father bought for me before I left for college. One of the terrors of phase-out was the creatures that lived in this odd timeless space. Though electricity seemed to tear holes in them, it didn't kill them. Our family had been dealing with this kind of thing since the Great Third War. No one knew why we phased out the way we did. Maybe it was to deal with the creatures. Maybe there was a greater purpose. But whatever it was, the creatures weren't the scariest part of a phase-out
No, the true horror of a phase-out was that someday, you wouldn't be able to get back. | 10 | You are riding a train in one of the most populated cities in the world. As you get to your stop, and get off the train, the station is empty. | 29 |
It had been over two thousand years since anybody had muttered his name, and now, he had turned to a foreign land for a chance of revitalizing his worship. No matter what he had done, nothing had proven good enough to get the attention of... well, anybody.
Time was of the essence. Gods couldn't die, but they could fade into obscurity and become essentially mortal. It wasn't a fate he was looking forward to. He didn't like the idea of needing to eat or sleep or any other countless number of mundane acts that mortals partook in.
And so, he took on the persona of Camillo Esteban, a teacher of second graders. It wasn't the most glamorous thing in the world, but, he did get a steady supply of offerings in the form of apples or candy, not to mention the doting attention and near-worship of the young children he taught. It wasn't enough, though, as his true name was not on their tongues or in their minds. Even teaching them about him during their segment on World History failed to interest them, or even get them to acknowledge his existence.
Such was the curse of being a "minor" deity.
But these children he taught were creative. More creative than adults gave them credit for. They were not limited by the probable; the possible was an infinity just out of their reach, so long as they could imagine it. That was what each child he taught believed, even if they lacked the vocabulary to profess it as such.
He went before the class and tapped the board twice with the piece of chalk in his hand. "Today, you're going to write an essay..."
Before he could continue, a young girl's hand had shot up. "Yes?"
"We don't know how to write an essay."
"It's your first essay. Just a paragraph will do."
The students looked at each other, then back at the enigmatic Mr. Esteban.
"As I was saying, you're going to write an essay. The question I want you to think about is... what would you do if you were a God for a day?" He wrote this on the board as he said it in large letters so that all of his students could read it.
"We get to be God for a day?" asked one of his students without raising his hand.
"Just in what you write. And just one paragraph."
There was a buzz in the classroom, which he silenced by lifting his left hand. "I'll be collecting and grading each of these, so..."
Another student raised their hand. "Yes?"
"I'm an atheist, may I be ezzempted?"
"Exempted. You can write instead what you would do if you were all powerful and could do whatever you wanted."
"Okay!"
When the children started writing, he retreated to his desk and took a seat.
The God steepled his hands, watching the children write. *Please,* he prayed to the children as they wrote. *Please give me the guidance I need to not fade away.* | 87 | An elementary teacher has his class write an essay—“What I Would Do If I Were A God For A Day”. But the teacher is actually a God himself, looking for ideas to connect with a younger audience. | 256 |
Deep in the forest, Ghader crept forward, sword at the ready. The trail was overgrown, but that was no matter. He knew exactly where to go; his every movement measured but sure. With each step he drew deeper into the underbrush. With each step the haze thickened. With each step this place resisted him more and more.
“It is ok, Ghader,” said a voice, “I am here. You are safe.”
Ghader searched for tracks or signs of life, but the more he tried to focus on any detail of this place, the more it resisted him. He knelt to examine prints in the mud. Cloven hooves. Though, as he investigated the prints, searching his mind for theories of which creature they may belong to, his head began to ache, the pain was deep and sharp. He averted his eyes from the tracks and the pain subsided.
“Pain means progress, my friend,” said the voice again. “You must push on.”
The trees around him began to creak and groan. The once silent wilderness then sounded like a field after battle—a place of great suffering. Ghader suddenly felt as though he were standing still in a swift river. He looked left. He looked right. The trees were moving. The wilderness was changing.
“We knew this may happen…It is critical you focus now, Ghader,” the voice again spoke, wavering for the first time.
The trees swirled and danced around Ghader as though he were floating in an eddy of timber and toil. The noise was deafening, the motion disorienting.
“Ghader, focus now. As much as you can,” said the voice. “You must focus on the treeline and advance. You must not persist in this place.”
Ghader took heed of the voice’s words. He mustered his strength and steeled himself against the pain to come. He fixed his eyes at a singular point 30 yards ahead, just past the swirling trees. His ears began to ring, and his head felt as though it had been split wide open. Ghader let out a scream—he couldn’t help it.
That’s when it appeared.
Just past the treeline stood a creature unlike any he had ever seen. It’s eyes burned with white fire beneath a black cloak. It stood nearly 10 foot tall, and walked on two cloven hooves. It’s hands were like talons and it held a long staff which terminated in a blue crystal orb. The creature stood still, staring at Ghader.
“Now Ghader, you must stri—“
“NO. NO MORE. BE LEAVE OF US BAKHTAK. YOU ARE WELCOME IN MY DOMAN NO LONGER.”
And then Ghader was alone. He was besieged suddenly by a feeling of emptiness and loneliness unlike he’d ever felt before. He stared at the beast which had begun pacing. The beast’s motions coupled with the swirling of trees produced a zoetropic effect such that Ghader was unsure as to whether the beast was actually moving. Ghader became unsure of everything he saw.
The beast raised its staff and pointed it at Ghader. “YOU. YOU ARE NOW A FUGITIVE IN YOUR OWN MIND. THIS. THIS IS NOW MY DOMAIN. THE BODY. THE BODY YOU MAY KEEP. THE MIND. THE MIND IS MINE.”
Ghader finally mustered the strength to speak. “What is your name, beast?” He shouted over the groaning of the trees. “I must know your name before I slay you. And slay you I will.” Without waiting for an answer, Ghader raised his sword and began to sprint toward the treeline.
Except he didn’t move. And his sword was gone.
“SILLY. SILLY HUNTER. YOU. YOU HAVE NO POWER HERE. IT. IT WAS YOUR MIND. NOW. NOW IT IS MINE.”
The beast then opened its mouth wide and revealed a black void within. It raised a talon and with it, the trees became still. The wilderness fell silent. The beast cocked its head, mouth still agape, and dashed at Ghader with the speed and grace of a deer. Ghader braced for impact. And then: blackness.
Ghader woke in a candle lit room. Sitting on his chest was Hesam, the bakhtak he had once saved and recruited to help rid his mind of the beast.
“My friend. This is worse than I feared,” said Hesam. “The creature…I have never seen anything like it.”
“Nor have I, Hesam,” said Ghader with a sigh. “I know how to kill monsters in the physical world, but a mental monster is a step beyond. However, I do know the first thing that must happen.”
“And what is that, my friend?”
“You can start by getting off my chest!”
____________
If you enjoyed this, please check out my other stories at r/InMyLife42Archive | 78 | After an attempt on their life, a monster hunter calls in a favor from a monster they let live. | 572 |
I was a doctor. Not a soldier. I didn't hold rifles, or use my hands for combat. I held scalpels, and used my hands to probe the deepest recesses of the human body.
The man in front of me, massive barrel chest heaving, incredible arms, built for crushing, rending, clutched a short sword.
It was explained to me when I arrived; only the greatest warriors were selected. Chosen from history by the size of their body counts. But I was a doctor. Not a warrior. No matter how many times I insisted, I was rebuffed. I was to fight. I was to kill, or I was to die.
I carefully approached the man in front of me. He did not fear me. Why would he? I was small, supple, gentle. He was a beast of a man who had slain dozens. Maybe hundreds. We knew nothing of eachother but what we saw in front of us.
He saw weakness. And he was confident in his strength.
I saw his great barrel chest, I saw the opening between the ribs. I saw his confidence falter as his breath, exploded from the tiny opening I created, piercing a lung. His sword dropped to the ground as his blood did.
His massive fist clamped around my throat and squeezed. For the briefest of moments I thought he would outlast me. But another quick jab, into the other lung, and the rest of his strength faltered. He released me and staggered backwards, falling to his knees.
His barel chest heaved violently as he struggled for air that would not stay long enough to sustain him.
His massive arms struggled to hold him upright, head hung as he gasped for breath.
I was a doctor. I knew every portion of his anatomy, and how to make the suffering linger. Or how to end it quickly. How did these people know me? How did they know that my tools, delicately, and painstakingly handcrafted were as effective as any sword, or rifle throughout history? Who can say. Perhaps years later, long after Mt death someone had found something I missed. Maybe they found my keepsakes. Maybe.
I slowly, methodically moved behind the failing warrior. This soldier from antiquity. I stood behind him as I pulled his head back, and dragged my instrument across the throat. I didn't use much force. I didn't have to. I reached into the cavity and felt the larynx; the trachea; the esophagus.
I clamped down on the stiff cartilage and pulled. I felt the weakened man struggle. I felt him limply try to claw at my arm. I felt the breaking. The tearing. I felt the tissue separate and come away in my hand. I felt the warmth lf his blood, his life oozing down my forearm. The rivulets tickled slightly. Felt sticky.
I stared out at the silenced crowd. The crowd had expected a very fast ending to this show. They had not expected this outcome, however.
Afterall, I was a doctor. Not a warrior. | 719 | In the far future, a gladiator stadium finds its gladiators by time traveling the greatest warriors of all time into a single arena. You cannot believe you were chosen. | 2,809 |
Charles nearly tripped over himself to get to the mail that morning before the family dog could. Beanie was there, barking at the slot in the door that the messenger always shoved the mail through with such excitement her mouth was foaming. He gently pushed her face down and out of the way in time for the mail to be inserted in the slot. The dog contented itself with grabbing his pajama pant leg and throwing herself back and forth, whipping her head.
Charles limped off towards the kitchen, leg dragging behind him as he did his best to disregard the pooch's aggressive attention. He threw letter after letter behind him. "Bill, bill, charity, bill, bill..."
Charles's father gave a horrified gasp. "Don't just throw bills, you're an adult now, we need to pay those! What if Beanie got a hold!?" He quickly went to retrieve the bills off the floor, and regarded the charity letter with a look of discontent.
Charles's other father sat at the small table in the kitchen, eating his breakfast. "You're far too worried, hon. So Charlie, what's so important that you decided to get the mail for a change?"
Charles finally came to the letter in question, from the Institute of Deep Learning. "It's... it's here," he said breathlessly.
Both of Charles's fathers approached him. "What's... it?"
"Wait," said the one who had concerned himself with the bills. "Is... is that?"
"It HAS to be!" Charles said, brimming with excitement. He tore open the letter.
"It has to be your calling to be a writer," said the father who had been eating.
Charles tore open the letter and read it quickly and aloud. "Charles Keppler, the Institute of Deep Learning would like to congratulate you on reaching adulthood. Based on the activities of your youth, we have determined..." Charles paused and paled. "*What*?"
"What's wrong? What does it say?"
Charles dropped the letter and walked off to the living room, Beanie releasing his leg and yapping after him incessantly. His father who had been eating before lifted the letter and read it. "We have determined your career path will follow that of a pre-school teacher. This conclusion was reached based on your most common activity, reading."
His other father ran off after Charles, only to find him pacing and sweating in the living room.
"This... this has to be a mistake, right, Da? You and Pa both know I love writing. There's... there's no way I can teach kids, no less little snot-infested poop machines..."
Da, as he was called, went and embraced Charles, bringing his head to his shoulder. "Breathe, Charlie... it's going to be okay... we'll... we'll find a way to appeal it..."
"Nobody wins those appeals!" Charlie said, starting to hyperventilate.
Pa came into the room, holding the letter. He went over and placed a hand on Charles's head. "You're going to be an amazing teacher, and you're going to fight this ruling."
Charles started wailing. "The books I read weren't even educational!"
"We know, hon, we know," said Da with a frown.
Charles lowered his head. "How long do we have to appeal?"
"Two days. You'll have to go to the Institute."
Charles broke free from his parents and started to run to the door.
"Charlie! Charlie you're in nothing but pajama pants!" called Da after him. "Get changed first!"
"BUT THIS IS IMPORTANT!"
"You heard your father, get changed first!"
"Oh for the love of... fine!" Charles stormed off upstairs to his bedroom. Beanie sat at the bottom of the stairs and howled longingly, waiting for Charles to return, unaware the young man would soon be leaving the house. | 11 | In the future, AI determines a person's job based on childhood interest, since you read more than 500 books, you where made a teacher, but none of those 500 books where educational... | 22 |
I can't place when it was that I stopped paying attention to Haley - but she's an old soul, she could handle herself well.
I worked the night shift as a guard at a museum and followed it up with a job as a waitress during the day. The job as a guard was without any interesting occurrences, except for that one time The Collector came to steal an ancient amulet housed there. That was one Hell of a story to come into, the fact that I had to alternate between being a guard and Miz Madness herself!
But that story doesn't matter.
None of it does, anymore.
"Haley," I begged, looking up at my daughter. "Haley, let that little girl go back to her parents."
Haley, with her flaxen hair, dark brown eyes, and bottle-cap glasses stared me down. She was all of fourteen years old, and already, so much trouble. I knew the teenager years were the hardest, but I didn't know where I went wrong.
She was self-sustaining. From a young age, she showed she was gifted and could manage caring for herself. Haley would make breakfast for both of us every single day before I had to run out to work.
At some point when she was a young girl, I stopped asking the daycare how she was doing. I just collected her and brought her home.
I attributed the smiles that were a little less wide, the joyous spark that had left her eyes, to some sort of existential epiphany my daughter had early on. She was supportive of me, even as I hid my identity from her. She knew me as Mom, and that's all she needed to know me as.
I made sure that there was food on the table. I made sure that we had a roof over our heads, even if we had to move several dozen times to maintain that roof. I made sure that there was clothes on our backs.
Somehow... it wasn't enough for Haley.
No.
It just wasn't enough, period.
I knew that she was destined for greatness from a young age, she had to be, being as smart and quick as she was. But I never anticipated the situation we were in now.
"Why, mother? She deserves someone who will care for her," Haley practically spat at me with a cold glare in her eyes.
"Haley... listen, you let her go, we'll go home, we'll talk this all over-"
"Over what? Food that I'll have to cook, again, for us?"
"Haley. That girl hasn't done anything wrong."
"She represents what's wrong with people like *you*, mother."
*Mom*, I begged internally. *Call me Mom, not mother.*
"I don't want to fight you! We're family, it shouldn't come to this!"
"Oh, NOW we're family?! When it's convenient for you?! You were never family for any PTA meetings or parent-teacher conferences! You were never family when I competed in the reading competitions at my schools, you were never family to me when I was sick and needed comfort! Work, superhero-ing, both came before me! YOU came before me, you selfish woman!"
I sobbed, "You can be mad at me, Haley. You can hate me. You can fight me. Just let her go!"
"... you'll have to kill me if you want her back."
Haley took the toddler with her by the wrist and made a run for it, leaving me dumbfounded and in shock. I could hear sirens as the police made their way to the scene, too late, as my daughter had gotten away with her hostage in tow.
I thought I had done my best.
What had I done? | 55 | You are an impoverished superhero and a single parent. You are so preoccupied with being a hero and working multiple jobs, that you don't notice your child's slide into villainy until it's to late. | 203 |
“Scott, what are our coordinates?”
“Captain, this can’t be right. The computer calculates us to be in a system seventy-two thousand light years from Sol. We are technically on the other side of the galaxy.”
The Captain sat in silence, taking in this new information, attempting to not let his concern show to the rest of the crew.
“Amazing,” the Captain started “seventy-two thousand light years in an instant…” Lost in thought for a moment, he shook his head, as if realizing his duties in the moment, he swiveled his chair and spoke “Trina, status on the ship and crew, are there any detectable issues or anomalies?”
Trina, working diligently at her station, answered without looking up, “No Captain, there’s no detectable damage after moving through the wormhole. It appears we simply passed straight through, unchanged.”
“Good, I guess Dr. Maher’s theories were correct. It only took finding a natural wormhole large enough for our ship to pass through for it to be tested. Jared, have you scanned the system for nearby worlds?”
Jared flinched ever so slightly, as he always did when addressed directly. The Captain thought it was amazing his abilities outweighed his anxiety, to a point he is allowed on such critical missions. Nevertheless, Jared responded, "Ye- Yes sir – uh, Captain, there are six detectable worlds, three jovial, th- th- three seemingly rocky planets. The nearest is about 0.25 AU and is near-Earth sized. It’s the second closest to the sun, and given the size of the star, well within the goldilocks zone for this system.”
The Captain stroked his beard lightly with his fingertips, hesitant to ask the next successive question. Eyeing Claire in his periphery, he can tell she is bursting at the seams waiting for him to ask.
“Claire, do we see any signs of –“
Cutting the Captain off, Claire broke in vigorously, “Yes Captain! We are detecting immense amounts of radio waves. The telescopic camera is now zooming into the planet, and we can see artificial light on the night side. This planet is, without a doubt, inhabited!” The excitement in her voice was immeasurable.
The Captain shared none of Claire’s joy for finding life on the other side of the galaxy, especially potentially intelligent life. As humans have explored more and more of the galaxy, there have been instances where alien life forms have been found. Throughout history, these meetings, none of them were very… friendly.
“Cap- Captain,” Jared broke his brooding thought, “the world has a large satellite orbiting it, about 85% the size of Earth’s moon. There are no signs of life coming from the satellite, but there seems to be visible constructed structures on its surface.”
“Good, thank you Jared, let’s start there. Hopefully we can reach it undetected. Maybe there will be some clues about what type of species we are dealing with before we decide if we want to make contact.”
They reached the moon undisturbed, and seemingly undetected. A small crew, the Captain included, took a lander down to the surface, planning to explore one of the constructed buildings.
They landed near the largest one, on what looked to be an advanced landing pad. There still seemed to be no signs of life on the satellite itself, which put the Captain at slight ease.
They suited up and exited the craft, bounding their way toward the entrance of the building. As they reached the doorway, it was immediately clear there was writing scrawled largely, and in bold lettering, so that it would not be missed. There were three lines, which read:
“Danger – Hazardous Waste
危险 – 危险废物
Peligro – Residuos Peligrosos”
The Captain swayed unsteadily, dumbfounded, he could barely speak, the team heard his voice crack over the open channel, “… ho- how, in the cosmos…”
Claire stated the obvious, “It’s English! Humans have been here?! There’s no way, no one has made it this far across the galaxy, it’s impossible!”
Walking closer, the Captain could see additional writing below the three lines of text. He cautiously continued and raised his light source up until it was legible:
“7230 ISE”
Claire walked up next to him, “What does it mean?”
The Captain’s light searched further down the wall finding one last piece of text:
“9764 AD”
The Captain felt beads of sweat begin to drip down his face, despite his suits temperature regulation.
“It – it’s, a year… we are… in the future.” | 601 | Astronauts cross a mysterious wormhole into a distant solar system. The team arrive near an earth sized planet but they land on the orbiting moon where one strange structure can be seen. Upon landing they find an entrance and a plaque with 3 lines of text in English, Chinese & Spanish: | 986 |
"Hey Vino, long time no see!" A well dressed man waved at the diner sitting at the next table over. "Hey, I'm still mad about youse knocking over my booth over at the 8th street theater, we were growing that one." Vino, a gaunt looking lanky fellow in a suit growled after swallowing his last bite. "Hey, don't be like that, look we're raking it in from there now since your fellas didn't want to take our advisement. It's just business, and hey, once your guys are capable enough you can have fun knocking it back over."
Vino took another bite from his sandwich, and scowled ruefully. "Andy, just keep making sure that my brother keeps his knees. I'm worried of these bigger bites he's making."
Taking a moment, Andy quickly slid opposite Vino. "Hey, you know I always keep an eye on George, and right now he's keeping a steady rudder, the currents choppy is all." Andy turned his hands up in a placating gesture. "But enough business, I've been wanting to try Gellard's new specialty sandwich, how is it?"
To the untrained eye, there were mainly businessmen that frequented Gellard's Parlor. And, in a way, those folks would be right. They are men who work in the business of crime. Rumors in their circles tell of a tale of the deadliest monster of a mafioso that could tear the world asunder, but instead makes sandwiches that could bring the world together. | 13 | There's a restaurant up town that used to be a mafia front. People loved the food, they realized how much money they were making, and now it's just a regular restaurant. | 70 |
I take the latex mask, nondescript and colored like pink flesh with holes for the eyes and mouth. I slip it over the top of my head and roll it down my face. It's cold and wet like chicken skin. Meanwhile, the stranger walks over to the far end of the room and opens a door into the brisk night. He gestures for me to follow as he steps into the dark and out of sight. I struggle to stand. My whole body feels weak and pliable, like a piece of cooked pasta. I stumble to the doorframe practically gasping for breath. It must be nearly dawn, the air is wet with morning precipitation and I'm overwhelmed by the scent of fresh earth. The aroma is divine. I look around and there are dozens of individuals crouched down in a field, most on their hands and knees in the tilled soil and all wearing fleshy masks just like mine. As I try to make sense of the scene unfolding in front of me, my mind is overcome by the scent of the early morning earth. My eyes adjust to the twilight and I realize that the others are digging with their bare hands and taking mouthfuls of the damp soil. I can hear them crunching as they chew the earth, moaning in delight as they engorge themselves on the bountiful feast before us. I fall to my knees out of the doorframe and the aroma of the cool earth takes over me. I can barely form a coherent thought as the urge to crawl into the turf and feed overwhelms my humanity. I reach out a hand and grasp the fertile soil its millions of particles pouring out over the cup of my palm and back onto the platter of the field as I shovel the luscious earth into my salivating maw. I gnash with delight as the soil gradually softens into a silky muck which I eagerly gulp so that I may take another bite. My only motivation becomes the overwhelming need to keep my mouth full of the delectable loam. It hit me, I am the worm now. The stranger chuckled. | 20 | Your head swims as you stand in an unfamiliar room talking to the costumed stranger in front of you. Handing you a mask they tell you, "It's quite simple. The only way to survive the game is to join the masquerade." | 107 |
People come to me and they ask me what the secret to success is.
I tell them the usual. Work hard. Walk every day. Eat vegetables. Do barbell squats. Break your goals into sub-goals, and plan exactly how you'll achieve them.
I tell people that for two reasons. Three, actually.
The first is that it's true. For most people -- and by most people I mean those who aren't born rich -- success only comes from focused effort. You stay healthy so you can work more, and you make plans so your work moves in the right direction.
The second reason I tell people this is because it's what they expect to hear. This is a life lesson. Most people think they've already got it figured out. When they ask for advice, they don't want to be told they're wrong. They want to be affirmed that they're right. You've got to shake them up a little bit -- otherwise they won't think they're getting their money's worth -- but by and large you tell them what they already know and they walk away feeling like a million bucks.
The third reason, and I'm not sure why I'm telling you this now -- it's a secret I've kept for thirty-odd years -- is that it's a great smokescreen for the real recipe to my success.
I don't walk every day. I can't remember the last time I ate a vegetable. Squats are boring, hard work is worse, and planning is for dweebs to do. Do I look like a dweeb to you? You're goddamn right I don't. I look like a king. Check out this ring. That's a 5-carat diamond right there. Half a million bucks. And most days I can't be bothered to take it off before getting into the pool. That's how rich I am.
Where was I?
Right. The secret.
The secret is pennies.
Not pinching pennies, no. That's for poor people. Not "a penny saved is a penny earned" or any of that hogswallop.
I'm talking lucky pennies.
Pennies off the ground.
You've heard the saying. "Find a penny, pick it up, all the day you'll have good luck." Let me tell you, that's a rhyme with some TEETH in it.
The first time it came through for me was on my twelfth birthday. My dad spent the day on his armchair working through a two-four of Molson beer. My mom was out -- God knows where -- but she left her wedding ring behind. There wouldn't any cake for me. I went into the city to see what sort of birthday luck I had.
None. That's what I had.
Two stoners got me by the hair in the alley behind the mall and their ripped my shorts wide open getting into my pockets for my spare change. They got mad that I only had a few bucks on me, and they took my shoes as punishment.
There I was, on my birthday, holding up my ripped shorts, broke, no shoes, crying like a hungry dog, when I spot a lick of shine peaking out from under a dumpster.
I was a curious kid, and the promise of something shiny did me a little good. I hiked my shorts and went to investigate.
Just a penny. Just a crummy little one one-hundredth of a dollar. Couldn't even afford a stick of gum with that.
I held that penny in the center of my palm, and I thought about throwing it away. That would have been nice. Cathartic, as the quacks would say. But a penny was a penny, and I was broke. I closed my fingers around it, and behind me a tire shrieked.
The edge of a pickup truck clipped me and sent me headfirst into the dumpster.
I won't say I saw stars. What I saw was pitch blackness with maybe some colourful blotches of brain damage. I thought I might have died. I should have died, if I'm being honest, but this was the beginning of my discovery, and even though I didn't realize it yet, I had protection.
Blood was coming out my nose, and my shorts had come fully apart, but I had reason to be happy. A bag had fallen off the pickup. Big bag. Hockey bag. Absolutely crammed full of I-don't-know-what.
On hands and knees I crawled to it, this consolation prize from the truck that hurt me.
The bag was full of kid stuff. There were clothes, all my size. Four pairs of shoes. A tennis racket. A deflated basketball and a pump. Eight bags of beef jerky. A plastic lunchbox jammed full of marijuana. And, best of all, a roll of twenty dollar bills.
This was more money, and more stuff, than I'd ever had in my life. Do you understand that? I came from nothing. Less than nothing, even, since I had the sort of mother who stole from me and the sort of father who broke anything I loved.
And now I had a new look, new toys, and enough money to buy whatever I wanted. And I knew it was no accident. The universe isn't random, and neither is it destined.
It operates like a clock, you understand? Gears click together. Cause and effect. I'd found this bounty, this wealth, for one simple reason.
The penny.
The lucky penny.
Don't laugh. Disbelieve if you want. But remember that I own seven houses and a Lamborghini collection. What do you have? Huh? A mortgage on a three-bedroom crapbox? A lease on a two-bedroom hovel? Huh?
That's what I thought. I'm the one who does the talking here.
I spent every day of the rest of my teenage years wandering the streets on the hunt for pennies. Sometimes it would be weeks between finds, but I was never fazed. The prize was worth the time.
Pennies got me my first car. My first kiss. My first job. They got me front row tickets to see the Warriors crush the Bulls. They got me a ride on a private jet, and they got me a night of partying with my favourite rapper.
Pennies got me everything I'd ever wanted. The only way they left me wanting was in just how hard I had to look for them.
How much better would it be if I could guarantee that I'd find one every day.
In my 20s I started looking for ways to rig the system. I'd walk around the city dropping pennies by the dollar, and later I'd go around and discover them. These planted pennies did nothing for me. I might as well have discovered bits of pocket lint.
Then I tried paying kids to drop pennies for me. I figured that if I didn't know where the pennies were dropped, they'd be even closer to the real deal. Still no luck. I discovered hundreds of pennies that way, and my luck didn't change one iota.
I did eventually figure things out, but only, unsurprisingly, by luck. I happened to find a genuine lucky penny as I was going to meet with my the kids I on my payroll, and I arrived just in time to see one of them kids pull a knife on another. He held the knife out like a talisman, and once the other kid was pretty much hypnotized by the danger of it, the first kid reached own and slashed the second kid's pockets.
It eventually came out that the second kid had been hoarding the money I'd promise the gang of them. Out of the slashed pockets came the wad of fives I'd given them. But there were some pennies in there, too, and one of them rolled my way. I picked it up, and at that moment my phone rang. It was a wrong number, but the woman on the end of the line liked the sound of my voice, and she was desperate for a partner to join her for a five-star dinner that evening at the local hunt club. That woman is now my wife.
The penny from the kid's pocket was real. The rules of luck didn't disallow forcing someone to lose a penny.
With my little gang of kids, I changed tracks. I gave them all razor sharp pocketknives and sent them into crowds to do their nasty work. I'd follow along at my leisure, guided by the outcry of the slashed. Most victims didn't have pennies on them, but enough did that I was reliably finding lucky pennies daily.
And that, I'll have you know, is the secret to my success.
I couldn't care less whether you believe me. In fact, I hope you don't. Go on living your ordinary life. Walk past the next penny you see and tell yourself it's not worth your time to stop and pick it up. By all means, leave it for me. | 20 | Find a penny, pick it up, all the day you'll have good luck. | 38 |
"Oh no, oh dear. Mind the table!" The angel— the pepper-sprayed angel— was ricocheting around the room like a pinball. I dodged underneath the desk as one of the wings nearly clipped my head clean off. Those were metal wings. And they had eyes! The entire thing was mostly eyes and wings and— oh my goodness, I'd pepper-sprayed an angel. I was going to hell for this. The inhuman scream pierced my ears, and I covered them, fully expecting to find blood on my hands afterwards. How in the world was it still screaming, did it never need to draw breath?
Gathering my courage, I crawled out from underneath the desk. Not willing to fully stand up, I squatted, looking up. The angel had stopped whirling around and was hovering in a corner. Still screaming.
"Look! I've done this to my friends before! It wears off! You're going to be fine!" I didn't know if it was because of what I'd shouted, but the screaming stopped like a tap being turned off. Suddenly, abruptly and with a little bit of a gurgle at the end.
"You've done this torture to your friends?" The angel sounded incredulous. Standing, I shrugged.
"Yeah. You know, if you sneak up on someone, you should be prepared for them to defend themselves."
"I did not sneak, I appeared in radiant glory, and you sprayed pain at me!" I flinched, as the angel's voice rose into a shout. My neighbours were not going to be happy with me. Making a calming motion, I went to the kitchen, feeling the angel follow.
"Look, I can make something that will help, but we'll need to rinse your eyes quite a bit." Mixing the solution, I looked back at the angel. They seemed a little droopy. Might as well find out my fate. "Has this ever happened before? You know, where someone attacks you when you appear?"
"Yes. But bullets don't really hurt. Whatever you used—"
"Pepper spray."
"Pepper spray. That is terrible. Awful. I can't believe you would use that on others."
"Well, humans aren't made out of mostly eyes. Come here." I made the angel hover over the sink, before dumping the bucket over them. The solution of dish soap and water ran down, and collected in the sink, stopped from draining by the plug.
"Ahhh." That was a better noise. Less blood-curdling.
"I think, in this day and age, you might need a better strategy than just appearing in front of people. Maybe send them a note first." I dumped more solution over the angel. They blinked at me, eyelashes almost creating a wind to rival their wings.
"A note? What would I put in a note? Hello, I'm going to appear to you at 6:30, please don't pepper spray me?" Detecting a note of sarcasm, I shook the bucket at them.
"Well, it might be better than me giving you a bath," I paused, suppressing my initial reaction. "But, you're probably right. We might need to workshop this a bit." The angel stared at me. Which was very intense. There was no getting away from that stare.
"You would help me?" The angel asked. I shrugged, dumping another bucket.
"Yeah, why not, what else would I do on a Saturday night?" | 186 | "Be not afraid- {in human screaming}!" So you pepper sprayed an angel. It was just instinct. That can't get you sent to hell right. Or would it. | 405 |
"GIMME YOUR MONEY, BITCH!" the kid shouted at me as he waved a pistol in my face.
We were in an alley in San Francisco, the pavement stinking of old cooking grease and stale urine, and covered with trash on this hot summer night. I wanted to cut through it to take a shortcut to get back to where my car was parked, but taking shortcuts through alleys has its risks.
Like, say, getting mugged.
I had no worries, though. No one could mug me.
No one \*human,* anyway.
. . .
I looked at the kid. He had the smooth skin of a young man in his late teens, maybe early twenties, and was dressed in the usual gang attire: The yellow basketball jersey over an oversized white t-shirt that gave his thin arms a scarecrow-like appearance, the low-riding pants that ended over a set of high-end basketball shoes, a neck and face full of squiggly-lined black tattoos on caramel-colored skin, the marks declaring gang affiliation through symbols and pseudo-gothic letters. I sighed.
"You don't want to do this," I told him. I was close to home, too. I was looking forward to getting back to my wife, ordering pizza, and watching movies tonight.
It was a long day. I was in no mood to beat someone up. "Go home."
"FUCK YOU, BITCH!" He yelled as he cocked the hammer back on his snub-nosed revolver. I looked at it: It was a scratched and dented thing with wire wrapped around the handle, the nickel finish worn off in a lot of places. At a guess, it was an eighty-buck buy-off from a black-market seller, sold for crimes just like this one. I estimated it was a .38 caliber. They often were.
I hated getting shot by .38's. They gave me an itchy feeling that other calibers didn't, for some reason.
"Hurry up bitch! Gimme your money!" I saw him glance at my wrist, eyeing my Rolex. "And the watch too, bitch!"
I let out another exasperated sigh. "No. Just drop the pistol and go home before things go wrong for you."
He barked a quick, hysterical laugh at this. I could see his pupils were dilated, and could hear his thudding heartbeat going fast, like a drummer at a metal concert. The smell of his breath even at four feet away told me he was on amphetamines; I bet he took them to get artificial courage to attempt mugging someone tonight.
Of all the people he could have encountered, I was the last person he should have met. But then, given my previous line of work, it is the best thing for other people living in San Francisco, California that he \*did* encounter me tonight.
During my crimefighting years, I was known as "The Thunder Dragon." Now, after I retired, I was just "Bill." And I was OK with that.
. . .
I didn't see him squeeze the trigger, but I heard the \*BANG!* and felt the bullet hit my sternum before it bounced off. I flew back about three feet, and my back and head hit the filthy alley asphalt. A smoking hole was now in the center of the "A" in "Metallica" of "Metallica: Ride The Lightning Tour."
Damnit. That kid ruined my favorite band t-shirt.
"HAH! YOU SEE THAT BITCH?! YOU SHOULDA LISTENED TO JOKER, BITCH!" he yelled in triumph as he closed the distance to what he thought was my dying body, and knelt down in anticipation of looting what, in his mind, should have been a cooling corpse.
I sat up. "Damnit!" I moaned. Sure enough, the bugs-on-skin feeling in my sternum started, and I had to scratch. "Why'd you do that?"
He sprung upwards; eyes wide with fear. "WHAT THE FUCK!?!" He pointed his weapon at me and fired five more times, a quick \*BANGBANGBANGBANGBANG* of shots fired in rapid succession. Four of them hit my chest and stomach, and one hit my chin, the stinging sensation of the bullet causing that awful itch again.
"WILL YOU FUCKING CUT IT OUT?!" I yelled as I stood up, and looked at my now-ruined Metallica tour t-shirt. Five holes in it, all of them sending up small whisps of white smoke, the edges charred black. "Do you know how hard it is to get vintage tour shirts in good condition? Lars himself gave me this t-shirt!"
His look of fear changed to out-and-out terror as his eyes got even wider, his mouth forming an "O" as he brought the gun up and began panic-squeezing the trigger, the \*clickclickclickclick* of the hammer falling on spent rounds echoed in the empty alley.
In the time it took him to blink, I closed the distance from four feet to one, grabbed his hand, took the pistol from it, and crushed it, the lump of gnarled metal hitting the street with a muted \*clink.*
He looked at me with renewed terror. "Wh-...who the fuck are you, pendejo?!?"
I started squeezing his hand, just enough not to break bone. "Excuse me? 'Pendejo' is a rude term."
He gritted his teeth and gave a sharp hiss "AH! SORRY! SIR!" I relaxed my grip just the slightest bit at this, but still held on. "Who are you, sir?!?"
"That's not important."
"You Superman?"
"No, he works in Metropolis."
"Batman?"
"He's in Gotham City. Look, I-"
"The Flash?"
"STOP IT!" I said as I squeezed his hand again, applying more pressure, and feeling bones start to bend in unnatural positions.
"AAAAAAARGH!" He screamed. "SORRY! SORRY SIR!" He yelled as he fell to one knee on the dirty alley blacktop, whimpering in pain. I lightened up a little, still keeping control of his hand.
I sat there for a few seconds, wondering what to do with the would-be felon. I heard sirens wailing, and from the sound of the increasing volume, they sounded like they were coming our way. 'Joker's' eyes got wide again, and he swiveled his head around in worry, looking for the flashing lights that meant the police were nearby. "Ya gotta let me go, man!" He tried to jerk his hand away, to no avail.
Nope. I was not letting him go. But I wondered if I should wait for the police or not. "You should have thought about the police before trying to mug someone tonight," I replied. "Or, how shooting someone would have affected them. Or their families. What if you left someone crippled for life? Or killed the family's only breadwinner. Did you think of that?" I paused.
I brought my face closer to his so we were eye-to-eye, my face filling his vision. "Or, how about I kill you right now? Twist your head off like a beer cap. Then, you'd never mug anyone again. Sounds to me like that would solve a lot of this city's problems," I paused before stepping back.
His movements became more frantic now, and he tried using his other hand to uncurl my fingers from his hand. Heh. I could have told him that fifty men trying to do the same thing would not have worked, but I got a slight bit of satisfaction from watching him squirm, in a futile attempt trying to free himself as the sirens got louder.
He got desperate, and like an angry dog, tried to bite me. His teeth did nothing, of course. You'd think the fact that I got up from six shots with no traces of blood anywhere might have clued him in, but then, in my experience most street-level thugs were not big on brains.
"C'MON MAN!" His movements got even more frantic as the police car turned the corner, the alley bathed in flashing lights as the siren ceased.
'Joker' tried to run, but I had him in a vice-like grip. "No, Joker. I think you'll need to understand something," I told him as the police car stopped, and uniformed officers got out. "I could have killed you. I could have crushed your body into a pulp, and left you here to die. Instead, I'll have you arrested, and go to prison for attempted assault, armed robbery, and attempted murder. While you're sitting in prison, think about what you did."
The uniforms showed up; they were two men I didn't know. "Officers." I nodded.
"Silver Dragon?" One asked.
"Thunder Dragon," I replied. "Silver Dragon worked in Hong Kong."
"Oh! Sorry," he apologized as the other officer took Joker from me and handcuffed him.
He looked at my ruined shirt. "We heard gunshots. Are you the...uh...victim?"
I looked down at my ruined shirt. "More liked 'attempted victim." I gave rueful grin. "The weapon is that lump of metal there," I nodded at the destroyed pistol.
"Heh. Even after you retire, you never really hang up the cape, huh?" he grinned as he bent down to retrieve the wrecked weapon.
His comment made me think.
...and he was right. I hung up my cape five years ago, and in that time, I was the target of one carjacking and two attempted muggings, this one being the second.
Every time, I considered saving the city time, money, and court proceedings, and just killing the criminal outright.
...and every time, I made sure the criminal lived, was arrested, and sent to jail.
He was right: Even after you try to hang up the cape, you never really do quit the job.
"I guess not."
He stood up. "Would you like to come down to the station to fill out a report?"
"Of course." | 20 | A would-be mugging victim turns out to be a retired superhero. | 26 |
# Soulmage
**Macklenn was a witch.** Emphasis on the *was*—she'd planned on retiring two decades ago, when the last great war between good and evil broke out and the Silent Crusade came boiling out of the mountains to kill everyone in sight. She'd been a part of the heroic final stand that had ground their armies into dust, and she'd still had enough foolishness in her bones to think that meant things were over.
But no. The only thing final about war was the corpses it left behind. Once the crusaders had been beaten back, that just meant it was time to *rebuild*, and bandit kingdoms and raider parties from neighboring countries would have been bad enough if it weren't for the *economic* consequences of dumping an entire generation of battle-shocked soldiers onto the ravaged remains of the plains. One thing after another just kept happening, and... well, Macklenn was still kicking, whether she wanted to or not.
"It's like frog legs, you see," Macklenn grumbled.
"Frog legs," Mr. Klistro politely repeated.
"Yeah, they've got them in those museums down by the Crystal Coast. Frog legs." Macklenn angrily stabbed the ground with her cane, gesticulating at the distant knot of enemy soldiers. "They just keep kicking."
"They just keep kicking," Mr. Klistro diplomatically agreed. "Have you taken your medicine today?"
"Oh, hush, I've got witchcraft to do. Never did like taking medicine on witchcraft days." Macklenn's expression smoothed out as she regarded the black-and-white insignia of the distant soldiers. They were just foolish little kids who happened to be born in the wrong place, Macklenn knew. But that didn't change the fact that they were here to enact a massacre worse than the first time the Silent Peaks had boiled over, and if someone didn't stop them, they'd pillage town after town looking for something that nobody had.
"I never did like playing the hero," Macklenn muttered. The cat perched on her shoulder meowed in agreement, and she absently gave it a pat. She raised her hand, and although there was nothing physically there, she was a witch. The memory of a knitting needle, long since broken, shimmered in her hand. "Too many people dying side-by-side. And I ain't keen to be next."
She focused her fear, her craft, and blood snuck from her soul into the memory of the needle. "So I'm sorry for taking you all out like this. Truly, I am. But... fighting a war's a business that kills the young. And I'm old. So, so old." Her voice grew soft and quavering as the needle filled to its tip with power. "Old like you'll never know."
Then with a flick of her hand, she sent the blood-soaked memory towards the cluster of soldiers.
There was no sound. No warning. Just a sphere of darkness that engulfed the invaders.
When it faded, there was nothing left but dust.
Macklenn took in a deep breath, then turned. "Alright. That's one group down. Reports say there are three more on the western front that I can reach today." She stumped away, leaning on her cane. "Time to be a hero, my own damn way."
"Your own damn way," Mr. Klistro agreed, following the ancient witch.
A.N.
Want to know what happens next? Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/vrl58f/update_post_version_20/https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/vrl58f/update_post_version_20/) to be notified whenever a new part comes out, and r/bubblewriters for more! | 116 | A series about a “chosen” eighty-five-year-old woman who goes on epic journeys throughout a dangerous and magical land, armed only with a cane and her stab-tastic knitting needles, accompanied by her six cats and a skittish-yet-devoted orderly who makes sure she takes her pills on time. | 1,223 |
*This is real*, Heidi said to herself. *We’re helping people.*
The voice was in her head again. *No it isn’t. And you’re not. And sooner or later, they’re going to know.*
She took a deep, calming breath.
*It’s all a lie. You know it. Even the ones you’re fooling now, they’ll figure it out. And they’ll hate you.*
Another breath. She forced herself to turn to the mirror.
*No,* Heidi said to the voice -- to her reflection. *This is real. We are helping people.* But then she looked away.
There was a knock at the dressing-room door, and it opened a crack. Jessalyn, her PA for the event. Young, energetic, and so full of faith Heidi could taste it. “Two minutes, Mrs. Rose,” she said.
Heidi took another breath. With the door open, she could hear the crowd. Their faith had been permeating the convention center since Friday morning like too many flowers slowly going bad, but now it was bright, eager, fresh.
“Come here, Jessalyn,” she said. “Let me ask you something.” The girl approached. She had mostly gotten over her awe, but Heidi saw it returning now to her big eyes.
“Do you believe in me, Jessalyn? Do you believe in *us*?”
There were tears brimming in Jessalyn’s eyes when she answered. “With all my heart, Mrs. Rose.”
Heidi squeezed her hands. “I believe in us too,” she said. “And I believe in *you*.”
Jessalyn’s face glowed -– pride, confidence, and then the true halo of magic. Heidi felt the circle close. She drew deeply on it, and turned back to the mirror. Her reflection scowled and turned away.
The cheers of the crowd grew louder as she walked toward the stage, almost drowning out the pump-up music they were blasting. Heidi broke into a jog as she got closer, and when the announcer said “Please welcome the founder and CEO of Rize, Heidi Rose!” she burst through the curtain, and the crowd roared, and she felt herself bursting with power.
“Hello, Rize family!” Heidi started. She didn’t need a microphone, not now. All it took was a flicker of magic for her voice to fill the space, and the cheers that replied gave it all back to her and more.
“Thank you,” she touched her heart. “It means so much to me to see so many people here who want to bring magic not just to your downline but to your entire community. Because we know this is real!”
This time the cheers drowned out even Heidi’s magic-amplified voice. She looked up and found her own face in a half-dozen jumbotrons, and this time she met her own eyes, and smiled. | 11 | Magic runs on faith, and you are the worlds most powerful magician. However, you have no faith in your own magic. Your secret? You use the faith of your followers, your fans, and even your enemies at times. | 81 |
"Have you ever tried internet dating?" I asked, leaning back in my cheap office chair. It was a testament to the awful budget that NASA got every year. The cheapest office chairs held some of the best and brightest minds in the country, if not the world.
"Uh, yeah. Why do you ask, Steve?" My co-worker asked. Keith was a short, pudgy man with thick glasses, but he had a great mind and personality.
"Have you ever hit it off with a woman, arranged an in-person meeting, then had second thoughts about the whole thing?" I asked, looking up at the stained tile ceiling.
"Um... I haven't actually gotten to that point, honestly." He said sheepishly.
Poor guy, I thought.
"Well, sometimes, after the excitement is over, you start to question if it was such a good idea after all. Like, we have great chats, sure, but what if we meet and her breath stinks, or she has a really annoying laugh?"
"Steve, what are you trying to say?" Keith said, quickly losing patience with me.
"What if we meet these aliens, and they're not as great as their comms have made them seem?"
"...Then you don't date them, Steve. I thought you were married anyways?"
"No, you troglodyte, it's an analogy." I sighed. It was hard to tell when he was making a dry joke or a genuinely dumb statement.
"...oh. You mean if they come visit Earth with this new tech, and they're not exactly bringing a friendly neighbor jello mold."
"Yup."
Keith paused, stroking his slightly too long goatee with one hand as he thought that one through. "Well, what usually happens when a woman isn't what she claimed in online dating?"
"That's called 'catfishing', Keith. Good lord you need to get out more."
Keith looked down in embarrassment. I was being too hard on him again, I knew, but this was bigger than one socially awkward scientist. Not that Keith was fat, he just had a dad bod before he'd have kids.
"Look, all I'm asking is... should we tell someone about this?" I said, with less of an edge on my tone. "We might get in trouble..."
Keith looked from the computer to me and back again. "Steve, if they built this exactly to specs, and they finish it in a day, they wouldn't even get here for..." he scribbled some theoretical physics on a greasy notepad beside his keyboard "98 years."
"So what you're saying" I said, slowly, "Is this is not our problem?"
Keith froze. "N-no, I mean, we have almost a century to prepare..."
"No, you mean a century of jail time." I said. "We kinda went of f the rails on this little side project, Keith. We wouldn't be seen as the people that made first contact, that wouldn't even be in a history book. The schmuck next century would have that honor. No, we'd get black bagged and sent to a secret government torture program somewhere."
Keith's face was even paler than usual. "So what do we do?" He asked quietly.
"We erase all of this" I said, gesturing to the computer that bore our last 3 months of effort. "Get rid of everything with our name on it from these files and communications, bury it, and never speak of it to anyone."
Keith gasped. "And just leave the upcoming visit as a surprise?"
"Keith, you know how our government is. You know how fickle it and every other world government can be. Do you want to give them 100 years to figure out how to spin this? Or hide it? Or prepare to shoot it down once it arrives?"
"...I guess" he said, choking back a tear.
"Hey, man" I said, rolling the cheap chair over to his side of the massive desk. "We talked to aliens. We officially made first contact. Just pretend that we've been sworn to secrecy about it. Ok?"
He nodded silently, wiping a tear from his face.
"Now come on, let's go get some lunch. How about Hooters?"
Keith suddenly looked up, a slight smile finally showing through his droll features. "Sure!"
I set the desktops to delete everything from the first of the year, just to be safe, and picked up my jacket from the chair. "Let's go while these get wiped."
We made our way toward the parking lot, shrugging on our winter clothing. "Do you think Ashley will be there today?" Keith asked, a hopeful twinkle sparking to life in his eye.
"Damnit Keith, don't be so creepy. Just enjoy the wings while we get erased from history, ok?"
/r/SlightlyColdStories | 15 | FTL-Communication is a lot easier to invent than FTL-Travel. We have been in contact with aliens for some time now and together we developed an FTL-Drive. But now paranoia takes hold as the security of distance is gone. | 152 |
\[Stellar Design\]
"Because that 's the way God designed the universe," Hannes replied. The teacher nodded with a smile.
"That is correct, Hannes," she replied. She was about to move on to another question; but, a different hand shot up.
"How do we know that? We haven't visited every universe...," The teacher sighed. She anticipated the new student would have some questions; but, she didn't expect anyone to doubt God.
"Ursula, was it?" The teacher asked.
"Ursa," Ursa nodded.
"Well, Ursa, I'm not sure how things worked on your Earth. But, on this Earth, we believe in God. She created the multiverse and she has told us everything we need to know."
"There has to be more explanations out there than just 'God did it'...," Ursa said. Her comment was punctuated by the bell signaling the end of class. The teacher spoke over the students giggling at Ursa as they packed up.
"Ursa, please stay after class," she said. The rest of the students laughed even harder once she was singled out. Ursa crossed her arms and remained in her seat until everyone else left. Once they were alone, the teacher closed the door and returned to her desk in front of Ursa.
"I assumed someone would have talked with you by the time you joined us, but it seems I was wrong," the teacher said.
"Talk to me?" Ursa asked. She kind of new the answer, but she wanted to clarify it in her mind. "About what?"
"God," the teacher nodded.
"I'll take it from here," a pale woman in a white suit appeared suddenly in the classroom. She had short dark hair. The teacher gasped in surprise, then she quickly nodded.
"Yes, Ms. Sharp," she waved at Ursa, then quickly left the room.
"Hello, Ursa," the woman smiled. "My name is Ms. Sharp," she said. "I understand you have questions."
"I don't...," Ursa shook her head. "I was just wondering how they can claim to know the answer when we haven't even looked everywhere yet."
"I gave them the answer," Ms. Sharp replied. "Earth is a lonely planet by design; my design," she said.
"So, what. You're God?" Ursa asked. Ms. Sharp nodded.
"As far as they know," she said. Ursa shook her head.
"What's really out there?" she asked. Ms. Sharp smiled.
"I like you, I admire your curiosity," she said. "The truth is, this Earth is specifically designed to crush innate curiosity. I've laid out all the answers that I can for the people of this Earth. I've given them more than enough proof to believe in me, and almost none of them doubt me. Almost none of them are curious to know more. They're happy to go about their lives taking comfort that there's something greater out there."
"What?" Ursa asked. "Why would you do that?"
"It helps me find what I'm looking for. True curiosity. The kind of curiosity that comes from deep in your soul. Curiosity that even an entire society can't quell."
"And then what?" Ursa asked. Ms. Sharp smiled.
"And then, I hire you," she said. "Are you curious enough to help me solve the secrets of the multiverse?"
\*\*\*
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #1633 in a row. (Story #186 in year five.). This story is part of an ongoing saga that takes place at a high school in my universe. It began on June. 6th and I will be adding to it with prompts every day until August 19th. They are all collected in order at [this link](https://www.reddit.com/r/Hugoverse/comments/v6bapz/aurelios_sun_1st_half/). | 15 | "Now class, who can tell me why, across all alternate universes, the only constant is a planet Earth that is inhabited by humans? Yes Hannes form Earth 17?" | 28 |
I almost blew up the coffee house out of instinct. It had been a decade since someone could see the sigil on my forearm, and I almost died because of it. After all, the only person who can kill a mage is another mage.
"Seriously, that's a sick dragon," said the barista, handing me my coffee. She had a whole sleeve of tattoos, but they were all mundane. That didn't mean anything, though. She could easily be hiding a sigil under her clothes. "That style is really unique. Where did you get it done?"
I glared at her, refusing to grab the coffee.
The barista flinched back.
I looked over my shoulder to check for an ambush. There were several other customers in the room. None looked suspicious. They all just minded their own business, typing away at their laptops or eating bagels. If I destroyed this place, innocent people would get caught in the crossfire.
Why would the barista point out my sigil? If she wanted to catch me off guard, all she had to do was wait. Her name tag said 'Dawn'. She seemed unnerved by my intensity, trembling a little. Could she really be an agent of the Elder Council?
"Uhh... sir?"
I grabbed the coffee, but hesitated to walk away. Turning my back on her might be my doom.
"Move it, pal!" said a customer behind me.
I was holding up the line.
My paranoia urged me to fight, but I quickly dismissed that thought. These people were just eager to get their morning fix. Any delays were met with contempt.
A silent pressure kept mounting on me to walk away. I couldn't afford to just leave, though. This was a severe security breach. Dawn (if that was even her real name) could potentially sell me out to the elder council.
I'd successfully avoided them for the past decade. The thought of having to flee the country again filled me with rage. I went to the back of the coffee house and sat in a corner alone, waiting for my beverage to cool down. From that vantage, I studied Dawn and her interactions with the other customers.
Nothing out of the ordinary occurred. I figured she might be using a charm spell to get more tips, or telepathy to make her job easier, but that never happened.
Dawn appeared to be an average woman in her early twenties. I knew that wasn't the case, though. She wouldn't have seen my sigil if she were a normal person. Her attitude just didn't make sense. There had to be an explanation for this.
Unsanctioned mages were a rarity nowadays. To my knowledge, I was one of only a handful in the world. Then again, the leyline nexus in this city made it difficult to track magical activity. It'd be silly to assume I was the only mage hiding here.
"Excuse me," said a portly man with a neatly trimmed beard. His name tag implied he was the manager of this store. "Is there a problem?"
I glanced at him. "No."
"You keep leering at my employee, and it's making her uncomfortable. I'm afraid I have to ask you to leave."
I didn't argue back. That would just draw more attention to me. I exited the coffee house, but didn't give up on finding out more. I needed to investigate Dawn. Letting her be could leave a trail that would bring the council's wrath.
This had to be handled with care, though. Dawn might actually be unaware of her magical potential. Not only did I fear getting exposed, I also feared getting her in trouble with the council. She might be living a life of blissful ignorance right now. I would give anything to stay that way back when I was her age. Learning about the magical world was an easy way to lose your sanity.
And so, I hid in an alleyway, waiting for Dawn to finish her shift.
I'd never felt more creepy in my life. This wasn't something I liked to do. An outside observer could easily mistake me for a weird stalker, and I couldn't blame them. It was a necessary evil, though. I needed to be sure I was safe before moving on with my life.
Dawn left the coffee house at midday. Her quick stride made me afraid that she knew of my presence, but then I noticed she was heading to a college campus, seemingly late for a lecture.
I tried to stay on her trail. The fact that I was in my forties meant that I would stand out in that environment, especially since I didn't look like a professor at all. The best I could do was wait outside the building she entered and hope she wouldn't use another exit.
A few hours later, Dawn emerged from the building with much less enthusiasm than before. She stretched out her arms with a yawn before leaving the campus.
I blended into a crowd of pedestrians while following her.
For all intents and purposes, Dawn looked like an ordinary woman for her age. Suspecting her of being an agent of the council felt more ridiculous as time went on.
I slowly started feeling ashamed about this whole endeavor. Was this really what my life had devolved into? I'd once been one of the mightiest mages in history.
Now, I was living in fear of a harmless young woman, wasting an entire day on her just to feel safe. Perhaps, instead of giving into paranoia, I should just be strong enough to endure any hardship.
No.
I couldn't do that. It was the same arrogance that got me exiled in the first place. This was the rational decision.
And then, caught in my self-loathing daze, I realized Dawn had disappeared.
A horrible shiver went down my spine.
"Why are you following me?"
I turned around to see Dawn behind me, holding a can of pepper spray.
Great. "How did you-"
"Answer me!"
I sighed. "This isn't what it looks like."
Dawn scowled. "Really? I know you've been stalking me all day. My friends saw you too."
Shit. I didn't think of that. Now there were more witnesses connecting me to her. I couldn't back down, though. This was my chance to learn what she knows. "Look, I can explain, but if you're going to threaten me, you're going to need more than pepper spray."
Dawn stayed quiet. If she could use magic, now would be the time.
"You wanted to know about my sigil, right?"
Dawn squinted. "Sigil?"
I was almost convinced that she didn't know. Almost. For all I knew, Dawn might just be a great actress.
"What are you talking about?"
I showed her my forearm. "This. You can see it, right?"
"Duh. Who can't?"
"Most people."
Dawn widened her eyes. "So... you're the same?"
"Same?"
Dawn scanned the area for people, then dragged me into an alleyway. "I... I have one too." She then turned around and lifted her shirt, showing me her back. A pair of wings were engraved on her shoulder blades, each glowing with power. Sigils. "I've had it for as long as I can remember. Nobody could see them, though, so I thought I was insane. It's... why I love tattoos so much. Can you tell me more?"
I shook my head. "If you've been able to live well until now, then you're better off not knowing."
Dawn pouted.
"I mean it. You have no idea of the madness that lurks in this world. The fact that the council doesn't know of your existence is the biggest blessing on Earth."
"Council?"
I pursed my lips. That was too much information.
"Come on!" said Dawn. "Don't leave me hanging like that."
I made eye contact with her. She didn't flinch away. Her earnest stare demonstrated great conviction. I needed to scare her away. "Fine, you want to see what's going on?" I lit my hand on fire and threw a fireball deeper into the alley.
It melted a dumpster in an instant.
That should do it.
I'd never met anyone who didn't run away at the sight of one of my fireballs, mage or layman.
"That was awesome!" shouted Dawn, thrilled.
I raised an eyebrow. "Eh?"
"Can I do that too?"
It didn't scare her at all. If anything, it emboldened her.
"Y-you know, I could do that to you, right?"
"Will you?"
"No, but-"
Dawn shrugged it off. "Then what's the problem?"
I couldn't help but drop my jaw. This girl was kinda nuts. Nobody in their right mind would see this and not be intimidated. I scratched my head for a second, then said:
"I got nothing. This is ridiculous."
"Can you teach me?"
"What?" I frowned. "No."
Dawn slumped her head, disappointed.
For some reason, I felt bad over putting her down like that. Dawn said it herself, she hadn't met anyone who could see her sigil. Living like that, constantly doubting your sanity, must've felt incredibly isolating. I knew that because I'd been surviving the same way for close to two decades. From her perspective, this was the first time in her life someone could give her answers. Getting rejected must feel crushing. I couldn't just ignore her now. If another mage had found her, she could've been in great trouble.
"Fine," I said. "If you want to learn more, meet me at the park tomorrow at 4 AM."
"4 AM? That's really early. Can't we do it later? Or now?"
"It's my final offer. Take it or leave it."
Dawn bit her lip for a moment, then said:
"Okay. 4 AM."
And so, I found my first apprentice in decades, and maybe even a new friend.
---------
[Click here for part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WeirdEmoKidStories/comments/vsfxbp/wp_a_mages_magical_power_and_abilities_are/?)
>If you enjoyed this, check out my other stories over at /r/WeirdEmoKidStories. Thanks for reading! | 1,268 | A mage's magical power and abilities are determined by tattoos that are only visible to other mages. You have not encountered another mage for years, but today someone compliments you on your ink. | 3,293 |
Roger stood there for a moment before asking a rather normal question, "Why tell me now?" Well, the question is normal, not the context. It's not everyday that someone's girlfriend is an angel.
They had been dating for about 6 months. Last month, they decided they should try living together. Everything had seemed normal. Happy even. But she had always seemed a bit withdrawn.
Of course, keeping a secret like this can explain that.
"It's just... *sigh*. It feels like lying not telling you. I probably should have told you sooner. But so many people have these weird hangups. I had one immediately try to start worshiping me. That was creepy. But... I'm happy with you. You don't feel like the kind to have some weird devotion that would turn this relationship into a regret. I mean, I understand if this changes things and you want to break it off, but I had to a least be honest." Ariel looked distraught, waiting for the response.
Roger went over and hugged her. She was upset and that made him want to care for her. It's been like that their whole time together. "Thank you. That made things a lot easier for me."
She looked at him curiously. "What do you mean?"
Roger stood up and smiled. "I've got a secret myself and I finally worked up the nerve to tell you. Of course, you beat me to it, but fair is fair." Roger reached up and started mussing his hair.
Ariel sat there for a moment when she suddenly realized, "You have horns?!" | 19 | One day you come home from work only to walk into your Girlfriend with her wings out. She tells you that she is an Angel. | 25 |
I am cursed and I can’t date.
I noticed this in high school, when I stumbled across my first romance novel. When normal girls get turned on, they get wet. When I get turned on, everyone gets wet. The clouds gather like doomsday and soon it'll start drizzling, even at the height of summer.
My dates could end in torrential downpours and flash flood warnings. So I don’t date.
I just meditate and find other productive things to do with my energy like yoga, running, or thinking about the war in Ukraine, and orphans, and sad dogs. It's a process, but I managed through college so far to not cause more than temporary drizzles and a few light storms.
All my friends are female except you and your brother. I’d known you guys since elementary school. Living next door meant you were like my siblings. You’d steal my mother's cookies. I come by to play video games and own both your asses in Smash Brothers.
Although we go to different universities now, we grew up together and we text often. You’d tell me about your dating life and I would help, giving you advice. I think I got you laid more times than I can count.
You're the only one that knows about my curse. I’m grateful that you don’t give me shit about it.
Being my best friend meant you were the first person I texted after I got rejected from my summer internship and was feeling down.
“I’ll be coming home and being a bum all month.” I felt pathetic.
“Oh. Well, I just postponed my start date on my job. You want to hang out? Come over like old times?” Your texts were always sweet and swift.
So the day after I got home, I came over in shorts and a white T-shirt. I let my tied brown-blond hair loose over my shoulders before I sat myself in front of your family’s big screen like I normally do and turned on your PC.
“Dude, turn the AC down,” I shivered, grabbing the blanket hanging off the sofa, placing it over my lap.
“It's a hundred outside.” You were rummaging for beers in the fridge.
“It's ruining the environment.” I scowled at you. “Seventy eight is better for energy conservation.”
I extended my hand for the beer bottle as you swaggered over, except you don’t shove it in my hand like you normally would. You just stared at me, keeping the bottle beyond my reach, making me move to grab it.
“Stingy.” I rolled my eyes before the nice cooled beer hit my throat, and the screen flickers to your steam account.
Scrolling through the options in your game library, “What do you want to play?”
“You're not wearing a bra,” you said, joining me on the couch.
“What?” I paused, then grunting in annoyance and wrapping myself in the blanket. “Perv. Don't get any ideas. I know your entire tinder history and have passwords for most of your accounts.”
“Right…” Except you don’t stop staring at me and I find it hard to focus on choosing a game.
I knew that hint of my hidden nipples turned you on as you shifted next to me on the couch, because I knew everything about you.
You were kind, smart, and planned to start your dream job right out of college. You workout five days a week, and right then you were sitting a little too close. I knew you were into girls that are busty, opposite of my small no-bra needed chest. You also like assertive wild chicks on Instagram and I’m everything they are not.
“Hey, why are you still single?” You asked.
I grunt, annoyed, setting my beer down with a tink, “You know why.”
“We could date,” you moved closer and there were clouds gathering outside the window.
“No, thanks.” And I go into the horror list in your games catalog because that’ll probably knock me straight out of whatever the f- was happening.
I tried to not think about the storms I caused in school because you told me about your dates. Nor the drizzles when you’d send me photos of the outfits you tried on to meet other girls. I was your wing-girl, and I knew that, “I’m not your type.”
“Am I your type?” you asked.
War, global warming, Covid I repeated in my head. “I don’t have a type,” I lied.
But then you extend your arm around me and I’m trapped between the couch and your hard body. “We should date.”
I’m blushing and we both noticed the clouds were becoming dense and gray beyond the window.
I muster a protest, “You don’t even like—”
“I like you,” you insisted. “I like you enough to text you every fucking day. I like you enough to put off my job offer so we can spend time together. I’ve liked you since high school and I don't know how you're such a dumbass about it.” Your hand cupped my cheek and thunder rolled across the storm clouds outside. “I know you like me too.”
“But the rain,” I gulped, pulse racing, skin flushed red.
“Yeah, well, California’s in a drought.” You wink at me and I let you kiss me for the first time.----
r/sevwagoner | 49 | Your magical talent is a literal pathetic fallacy—your emotional state influences the weather. Your only regret is letting people know, because the steps they are willing to take to change your mood when they don’t like the weather is becoming extreme. | 210 |
#The Sixth Hero
----
Fryan sat hunched in his chair, the weight of a thousand years of servitude and patience bending his back into an uncomfortable arch. He was alone, as he had been for at least three centuries now, and his mind was on the brink of collapse. The days blurred into one another, the difference between night and day as insignificant as the blink of an eye.
Once a day, he would gaze his eyes over the altar in front of him. Six pedestals stood on it, ornate with golden lace and colourful ribbons, a nametag under each one. Fryan didn’t know who had made the nametags. Or the pedestals. Or the altar for that matter. He didn’t even know who had put him here.
All he knew was that he was to wait. Wait for the final hero to be chosen and release him from his duties.
Five of the six pedestals were empty, the weapons once placed upon them taken up by mighty warriors who had left their mark on the world centuries ago. Or at least, that is what Fryan suspected. The notion of a world was alien to him. Sometimes he even wondered how he knew what the word even was, or how all other words were. Or where he came from.
But none of it mattered. All Fryan knew, was that once the sixth weapon had made its choice, he would be free. Free of this torture of nothingness. Free of this endless waiting.
When would Desert Eagle make its choice? That was the question that had been on Fryan’s mind for over three centuries. When would the sanded blade decide it had found someone worthy to be wielded by them?
Sometimes, Fryan would imagine the sand that made up the blade was an hourglass. And once it all fell down, his time would finally come to an end.
Of course, Desert Eagle never lost a single grain of sand, but it was a distracting thought.
And then, from one moment into the other, the sand began to move.
Fryan blinked for what felt like the first time in forever, his dry eyelids closing with an uncomfortable feeling. Had the sand really moved? Could the moment he’d been yearning for all this time finally be there?
The sand whirled and twisted within the confines of the pedestal at an accelerating pace until it was nothing but a blur. Fryan startled as he felt something on his cheek. A tear, he realized. A feeling he had not yet experienced, but knew it for what it was immediately.
As it had five times before, long ago now, the room lit up as a shimmering portal formed on top of the altar. And Fryan knew his time had finally come. A human appeared from within the portal, a woman young in appearance. Moving for the first time in years, Fryan strained as he wiped away the tear.
“Welcome,” he croaked with untrained voice. He was again startled, now by the sound of his own words, old and frail.
As the portal disappeared, the woman stood up. It was an attest to Desert Eagle’s choice of its warrior when the woman overcame her shock in a matter of seconds. When she looked at Fryan, her eyes widened both in disbelief and in recognition.
“War Cleric Fryan,” she whispers and goes down on her knees. “What an honour to be summoned by you.”
Fryan couldn’t help but wonder how the woman knew who he was. It had been over three hundred years since the last warrior’s summoning, surely humans did not live that long to spread word of him and remember.
“You are mistaken,” he answers, finding his voice more manageable this time. “It is not I who have summoned you. It is Desert Eagle.” He points at Desert Eagle and for a third time is startled as he looks upon his own wrinkled and sickly skin.
The woman gasps with mouth wide open. “The Sixth Sacratys.” The words are almost reverent, as if she is looking at a god. Fryan considers she might not be far off.
“You have been chosen, warrior.”
“I am to be a wielder of the Sixth Sacratys? Desert Eagle has chosen me?”
Fryan nods and the woman stands back up, making her way down from the altar on which she had been summoned. She approaches the last pedestal and looks to Fryan for confirmation. He nods. She grabs the hilt and in a heartbeat, the twisting and twirling sand comes to a standstill.
“What is your name, warrior?”
The woman forces her eyes away from Desert Eagle and looks at Fryan, tears of joy in her eyes. “I am called Amenset Ta-Ament, War Cleric Fryan.”
“Then, Amenset Ta-Ament, as last of the warriors to be chosen, I humbly ask of you to end my vigilance.”
Amenset takes a moment to realize the meaning behind the words, but when she does she immediately refuses. “I will not be the one to kill the War Cleric Fryan. I will not.”
“Again you say my name, warrior,” Fryan answers. “How is it that you know of me?”
She gives him a questioning look. “You are the War Cleric, of course we know of you. Ever since the First Sacratys was brought to our world by Yeamon of the Forest, the Liberator of Tridia, stories of your existence were spread. When the world has need of a hero, the War Cleric Fryan sends forth a warrior in possession of a mighty weapon to battle against the darkness.”
“Yeamon…” Fryan says. “He was indeed the first, chosen as the first by Vines of Night. But that was over a thousand years ago. Do the stories persist then?”
Amenset nod feverishly. “With every hero you sent, the legends were rejuvenated and told again. There’s not a soul on Iatis that has not heard of you.”
*Then my servitude had purpose*, Fryan thinks. The thought comforts him.
“I am pleased to hear so, but again it was not I who was responsible for the heroes sent. It were the weapons themselves. Now it seems your time has come.” He strains as he stands up, muscles dormant for decades working against him with every movement. Finally up right, he spreads his arms. “But now my servitude has ended. It is time for the tale of the War Cleric to end and yours to begin. Strike.”
“Why?” Amenset asks. “Why must you die after all those years alone here? Where’s the fairness in that?”
“We all have a task,” Fryan answers. “And your task is to end my service and fight the darkness on your world. There is no other way. I do not resent you for it, I welcome death. I welcome the end of my task.”
“I will find a way to make this right.” Amenset sounds sincere. Fryan finds himself impressed by the confidence behind her words and her willingness to do what is necessary.
“Good luck, warrior Amenset Ta-Ament, wielder of Desert Eagle.”
A smile forms on Fryan’s face as Amenset swings the blade and a million particles of sand extend outwards.
*Good luck*.
----
Amenset Ta-Ament holds back the tears as she looks down upon the corpse of War Cleric Fryan, the saviour of Iatis. He was no human, that much she knows now. The stories had always lacked descriptions of the War Cleric and for ages she had wondered why. Now she knew there was just no way to describe the features of a God.
A God she had just killed.
She looked down upon the blade. Like the other Sacratys of legend, it was far from ordinary. Immediately after her slash the sand had retracted back into its base shape, showing no trace of ever being used.
A portal formed on top of the altar. She made her way up to it, turning to the War Cleric one last time.
“I will set this right,” she promises the dead god before walking through and back to Iatis. “I will.”
----
> Welcome to the first installment of **The Sixth Hero**, a story that is formed by the ideas brought forth by the /r/WritingPrompts subreddit and follows the story of Amenset Ta-Ament, the final hero to be chosen by Desert Eagle, one of the Six Sacratys. To follow her story, make sure to check out /r/PromptedByDaddy. Thank for reading! | 83 | As a War Cleric, your job is to guard and maintain the weapons of past heroes until a suitable owner can be found. Today, it seems the “Desert Eagle” has found a new champion. | 303 |
“Hey hey hey I was trying to- would you stop that?!”
The creepy ass guy who bought me a drink said. Now, I do realise I have made a series of bad decisions here.
Had one date, went fine. Met up for coffee. Talked about all the kinds of things you do on a first date, no obvious red flags, talked openly about my sexuality and what that meant moving forwards.
Still no glaring red flags. Second date. Would be this one. He bought me a drink. Thought it was sweet, still cautious.
He was rather ordinary in appearance, and I don’t mean it in a “well he could look better kind of way.” No, I mean he was typically attractive. Blue eyes, brown hair, wearing a shirt that was relatively informal, and blue jeans. Hair was short, shiny with the hair gel he’d put in it, and there was a slight scar underneath his beard, possibly where he’d nicked it shaving.
Still, after I’d drunk the drink, a casual berry cider. And I felt angry. Furious. The heat built up, flooding through my veins, hardening my eyes so that they were flinty, and my grip on the glass tightened- I could almost hear the sound of faint shattering.
*”I don’t need to be fixed!”*
I snapped, tempted to grab his shirt, despite being small and scrawny and definitely not strong enough to pick up the guy.
I’d been dealing with this ever since I’d come out, and I was _sick_ and _tired_ of it. At this point, I’m not sure what was holding me back, or what was even inciting this anger- yes I was angry, but normally I’m a quiet person who is exceptional at holding in their anger.
Not today, however.
Calum seemed confused, and pushed back on his chair, eyes widened, mouth struggling to form words. The bartenders eyes were fixed on me, a wary gaze, and I was trying exceptionally hard not to get arrested for assault.
“What…? this was supposed to make you love me…”
The words were muttered at this point, and perhaps not intended for me to hear, but heard them I did. Aw people started approaching, perhaps to intervene and prevent a fight, I hurled the glass in my hand with every bit of strength that I channeled from secondary school gym.
It landed square in his face and he jerked back, as glass shards cut into his face, causing it to bleed. I was no doctor but he looked like he might need stitches.
The bartender was already phoning the cops as two people jumped in, one standing in front of me to prevent me inflicting more damage to this arsehole, and the other keeping a hold of my date from hell, making sure he couldn’t run off before police arrived.
Truthfully I wasn’t thinking clearly, in a weird fugue state that consisted of the alcohol, anger, and betrayal, but from what I was told, I caused some amount of damage.
“I just wanted her to love me.”
He exclaimed as the cops dragged him out, as I was seen to by paramedics. They looked at him too, though it was decided he needed to be taken to hospital too, in order to make sure the glass was removed.
“Well, maybe you shouldn’t try and drug someone with a potion. Especially if they’ve made themselves clear.”
The cop advised.
I was rather lucky that night. Once the potion had worn off, the charges were dropped, as they had tested for the potion. Along with my sexuality being on file- which isn’t commonly done, the practice entirely optional, and while invasive, I had it done just in case this happened- it was decided I wasn’t in a good state of mind and couldn’t be held liable.
Calum though, got done with a few various crimes, and I decided I’d stay off of dating sites for a bit- who knows how many people would try to “fix me”. | 269 | Love/Lust Potions only have that particular effect on MOST people. Folks who're actively repulsed by the thought of sex are instead sent into a blind rage when given those same potions. | 916 |
"Your majesty, war has been declared between the Sinleg Kingdom and Portea Union."
I gave a long, painful sigh. Those idiots were at it again. No matter how many times I have gotten them to talk, to work together to solve issues, they always fell back to war. It was like they didn't want to try.
"What would you have us do?"
I sized up the knight who knelt before me. His steel armour was polished, a cape of green flowing behind, embroidered with our countries coat of arms. His name was Olius, and he had served me faithfully.
"Honestly, I am fed up with them both. They seem to crave war."
Olius raised his head, eyes tired. He had seen the same patterns I had.
"Rally our forces. If they want war, we shall give them war."
His eyes widened at the implications of my orders.
"If that is your will, your majesty."
I gave a half smile, nodding.
"Indeed. If we do not act, they will tear each other apart. Whilst they are focused on the other, we can make a decisive blow."
My eyes wandered to the left wall. On it hung a tapestry, woven with an image of our island. It showed each country, roughly equal in size.
"I never wished to rule this place in its entirety. But leaving them to rule alongside will only cause more pain. Go, carry out my orders. Send for my war advisors as well. I will wish to speak with them."
Olius rose, clasping a fist over his heart. I returned it, a salute between superior and junior. As he left I slumped, rubbing my temples. My queen would likely disapprove, but would agree with me in the end. She saw the same things I did. Even though this would go against her family, she would understand. She had too.
Alone in the empty room, I stood. My hand wandered to the clasp on my cloak, tightening on it. It was still, before vibrating subtly.
"Arnish, you spoke to me about the Stone Soldiers being almost ready. How soon can they be finished?"
There was silence, before her voice echoed out.
"They can be ready in three days your majesty. May I ask why?"
I breathed out through my nose, clicking my neck.
"We are going to war."
The silence was deafening, before she finally spoke.
"I understand your majesty. I shall prepare the War Mages as well."
"Thank you Arnish."
The connection vanished, and I paced up and down. Even with just those few orders, I could feel the stress rising. This was a hard path, no doubt about it. But those fools who constantly warred had no idea just what I had been holding back. Now they would see the might of my sleeping kingdom, and realise the mistakes they had made. | 14 | You're so tired. You've tried everything to get everyone to listen to reason, to try peace. Fine! They want war, you'll give them war! You're done being nice | 25 |
Burzle walked in, human guise as always. One thing I appreciated about him is he always kept things professional. Even when a priest hunted him down, he kept calm, quiet, and collected. Let the scene play out while the bouncer ejected him. With a short smile and a finger, I got him his usual, double bourbon neat. Even his drink was a bit of show of pride.
Not like his angel counterpart. Noriel. Already three sheets to the wind. It was either gin and juice or vodka and juice. He didn't much care as long as it put in front of him. If it weren't for the fact their glamours are heaven made, he'd probably have feathers sticking out all over. "Can I g*uurp*... get 'nother?"
I handed Burzle his drink and worked on a screwdriver. Didn't matter how drunk he was, Noriel could tell if you skimped on the booze. I served him and he smiled, "Thanf you. You're always my fren Henruh." Henry was my father who owned the bar before me. I gave up on correcting him.
Burzle sipped his drink, not interacting with Noriel at all. Noriel didn't even pay him the slightest attention. It didn't take long for Noriel to down his fifth drink and staggeringly get up. "Urr good peoples Henry. How muh I owe ya?"
"35 dollars, Nory." I knew what was coming next.
"I gasha, let me... wait. Oh man, wers m'wallet?" He looked around on the floor, checked his pants again, looked on the floor again. "Aw gee, I hate ta ask ya 'Enry, buh can I run a tab? Ya know 'm good ferret."
And like every night, I said, "Just this once, Nory. Pay up tomorrow. Now fly home safely." As if, he'd just ascend and poof. NORAD wouldn't even know he existed.
"Too kind too k..." He looked at me with that pitiful look that he gets every night. "I wish there were more kindful personals like you." He staggered out of the bar and back to home.
Burzle finished his drink, pulled out 3 Jacksons and got up to leave. "Wait." He turned to me and looked questioningly at me. "I gotta know. It's not my business, but you always pay off Nory's tab. You've been doing it for years, even when my pa ran the place. I gotta ask, why?"
With a voice that would haunt dreams for some time to come, he replied, "Because I've been there, John. We were angels before we were demons. Some day, that angel is going to sober up, look at humanity, and fall hard. Maybe, just maybe, I can delay that long enough so he doesn't have to suffer like us. Maybe mankind may yet be worthy of redemption again. But it won't be soon.
"Until then, pour his drinks. I'll settle the tab and I'll make sure the tip is good." He walked out into the night. | 10 | a barkeep's two regulars are a demon that always pays their tab and an angel who never does. | 21 |
The Mechanist's tie straightened itself with the whir of gears as he waited for the reporters to straighten themselves out before city hall. The building was slightly on fire, but if his calculations were correct—and they were *always* correct—he had time to give his speech and answer a few questions before he had to leave the area.
Or at least he would have time, if the media could ever set up and get started. He'd attended press conferences in the past, usually in handcuffs, and he didn't remember there being nearly this much shuffling about before hand. He pointed to the closest reporter, a woman rather obviously looking over her own shoulder, rather than paying attention to him. "You. Start."
She plastered on an obviously fake smile and spoke just as The Mechanist remembered that he was supposed to give his speech first. "Rebecca, 240 News. Why did you choose *now* to enact your evil plan?"
He gave her mental thanks for the softball question to get the conference back on track. "Well, Rebecca, it seemed to me like the city's superhero has been missing for a while. I have to admit, all this was supposed to go down a few weeks from now, but the opportunity just seemed too good, so I had to seize the moment."
A different man shouted over a wave of murmurs. "What does Void think of this? What deal did you make to keep him on the sidelines?"
The Mechanist frowned. "Void? Your local supervillain, I presume?" He saw a few nods around the room. "I'm happy to say we work evil in different spheres, as it were. He mostly concerns himself with breaking space-time, while I'm more of a traditionalist conqueror type."
The same man interrupted him, and The Mechanist made a note to himself to kidnap him later. "But did you clear it with him?"
"Of course not!" The Mechanist leaned forward over the rostrum, and one of his robots advanced on the man. "Are you suggesting he's my superior?"
"No, no, no," he hastened to say, scrambling back from the robot's approach. "It's just- well-"
Rebecca called, "I think what my colleague trying to say is that it's traditional to check before invading someone else's city, at least when the hero isn't around."
The Mechanist scoffed. "Tradition. Why cling to old rules when we can look to the future? I've interfered with none of Void's business, and I expected him to interfere with none of mine."
Rebecca nodded, very slowly. Her eyes seemed to look past him for a moment, and then she gave a sharp signal to her cameraman, who began packing. "Thank you for time, Mister Mechanist-"
"*The* Mechanist," he snapped.
"-but we should probably get out of the blast radius." The Mechanist was taken aback to see the others preparing to leave as well.
"Stop, you sniveling insects, and hear the words of your new ruler."
*Ahem.*
The voice came from behind him, and The Mechanist whirled about. His first thought, of how the man had snuck up on him, was answered when he saw the scattered remains of his guardian robots. His second thought was quickly interrupted as he was thrown across the street, past the crowd of fleeing reporters, and through the window of a quaint delicatessen.
He forced himself to gather his skittering thoughts. As The Mechanist sat up, feeling the back of his head, a figure stepped through the door despite having opened a better route. The man was dressed all in black, his features obscured by a piece of writhing shadow. "Not a traditionalist, you say. I wouldn't call it tradition, more... common courtesy. It goes both ways, you see."
The Mechanist seized his tie, his battle armor exploded out to cover him from head to toe, and turned him to his foe. A tendril of shadow darted out from beneath a table and threw him back to the floor. Then it picked him and slammed him to the tile again. And again. Between strikes and minor concussions, he caught fragments of Void's speech.
"-no *class* these days-"
"-just waltz on in without even a call-"
"-what lawless hellscape is villainy becoming?"
At last, when most of his armor had fallen away, the shadow stopped throwing him and dragged him to face Void. "But all this tradition and courtesy just masks the real issue, which is that Seraphim has done the same for me." The Mechanist shivered as Void tore off the tie which controlled his mechanical creations. "When I needed to make a school recital, Seraphim took a day off too. When she had to go to her grandmother's funeral, I went on an international job. When my daughter had her tonsils removed, Seraphim sent a very nice 'get well soon' card."
Void lifted him by the lapels, hold their faces inches apart. "So it really *pisses me off* when some second-rate villain tries attacking the city while she's just trying to enjoy some well-earned maternity leave."
The Mechanist found himself flying back across the streets, past the crowd of reporters now fleeing the other way, and crashing into the steps of a city hall now well on fire. He forced his arms under himself, but was unable to find the strength or coordination to stand back up. A hand grabbed him by the collar and heaved him to his feet. "And now, A Mechanist, you are going to die."
He closed his eyes and waited for the blow to land. A strange sound came, there and gone so quickly he wasn't able to catch it. But when the blow didn't come, The Mechanist partially raised an eyelid. A fist was hanging still, right in front of his nose, blocking the rest of his view. The sound came again, and he recognized a ringtone.
"Blast it all," Void hissed. The fist moved away, and Void glared at him, still holding him at arm's length in mid-air. "Stay there, and stay quiet, I have to take this."
His free hand pulled out a cellphone, and he answered in a much different tone of voice. 'Seraphim! I didn't expect-"
"..."
"I would *never*."
"..."
"I know there's no killing while I'm filling in for you. Would I do that?"
The Mechanist forced his squeezed vocal cords to rasp. "He's trying to kill me."
A shadow crawled out of Void's sleeve and gagged The Mechanist, and Void mouthed *shut up* in his direction.
"Oh, that was no one."
"..."
"Crap, you mean it's already on the news? Live?"
"..."
"Fine. No killing. For real this time."
"..."
"No, thank *you*. Say hi to George for me."
Void carefully slipped the phone back into his pocket and glared at him again. "Well now what am I supposed to do with you?"
The Mechanist tried to speak around the gag, and emitted a gargled, "Mwck."
"That's brilliant! Thank you for your cooperation." Void did *something* with his hand, and a patch of the street beneath The Mechanist's feet tore open. Through the shadowy rift, he could just see monstrous shapes moving about. Void nodded to the tear in reality, and said, "Good luck in the land of Mwck." The hand opened, and The Mechanist fell.
***
More of my stories at r/NobodysGaggle | 68 | It is an unspoken rule that when a city's main hero is gravely injured or unable to do its job for a while, their main villain must take the mantle of protector and fend off all the new opportunistic criminals. | 96 |
Putting down the phone, I slipped into my car. I was needed. There had been a call for aid, and I was off to the rescue. Unfortunately, my superpower wasn't flight, which would have gotten me there faster.
Pulling out onto the highway, I sighed, as red brake lights lit up in front of me. Traffic. Of course, there was—wait. Was that ice? In the middle of summer? A crash from up ahead stole my attention. There was a big robot thing in the middle of the highway. I tried to calculate if it was blocking the next exit or not, as two of the city's superheroes ran by my car.
"Julia! Can I help?" I shouted out my window, knowing what the answer would be.
"No! It's all metal." She yelled over her shoulder. Shrugging at the response, I rolled up my window as ice splattered against the cars in front of me. Ah well, I still had my original call to deal with. It was *Wednesday*, after all.
Fortunately, it wasn't a divided highway, and with the other side just as blocked, I could pull a u-turn. Driving along the city streets, I caught glimpses of the battle. It looked like Julia and the others had the metal robot thing down on the ground. They would make short work of it, even without me.
Reaching my destination, I parked, grabbing my hero outfit. Which was a hat. A blue newsboy cap to be precise. Jogging across the parking lot, I waved to the gardener, who was hard at work.
"Is it Wednesday already? My, the time goes fast."
"Yep. Sure does. You have that recipe for me?" I called, taking the steps two at a time. He patted his pocket with a nod. "I'll get it from you when I'm finished, all right?" I said, barely hearing his answer, as I *walked* through the doors. There was a no-running policy for visitors. Edna—at her usual post at the front desk— raised her head only slightly.
"Oh, you're here. Go on, they're in there." I was already moving towards the communal space, very obviously not running. You can only get yelled at so many times before the message sinks in. As I pushed open the door, a happy cheer enveloped me. Going to the first table on the left, as was my usual routine, I smiled at the little old lady sitting there.
"Well, Gerda? Got any snarls?" Wordlessly—she'd never spoken for as long as I'd known her—she held out her knitting. Reaching out, I laid a finger on the large knot that had formed in the yarn. Waited for a few seconds. Then removed it.
And the knot was gone.
That was my superpower. I could unravel yarn knots. No matter the snarl, no matter how many strands, or how convoluted it was. If the Gordian Knot had been made of yarn, I would have put Alexander the Great to shame. As I walked around the room, talking and unravelling, I smiled. It may not be fighting great battles or defeating giant robots. But to these people, I was a hero. Their hero, who got rid of all their snarled knots. I knew Julia and the others were probably signing autographs and getting their picture in the paper, but— as I turned down the tenth offered mint— I smiled. You wouldn't find a group more grateful for their hero, than these folks. And hey, I hadn't had to buy my own socks, scarves, or sweaters in a very long time. | 23 | With some imagination and a little creativity, there is no such thing as a "useless" superpower. | 59 |
##Draconic Design
Grant gulps at the deep gorge beneath. He raises his foot and taps on the first plank of the bridge. It holds steady so he puts more pressure on it. The wood breaks under the pressure, and he jumps back.
The bridge is more gap than wood. Uneven gaps. With some gaps so wide that Grant probably couldn't jump across it. Additionally, the rope is clearly decaying, and it's a miracle the whole bridge hasn't collapsed. Maybe Grant shouldn't have come.
Yes, that's the sensible idea. Why did he think he could slay a dragon in the first place. The dragon certainly isn't bothering him. The best idea would be to change his name and move to another kingdom.
Grant turns around and hears a roar from behind him. A shadow covers the ground as a red shape flies over head. The landing creates a large shake which causes the bridge to collapse. Unfortunately, Grant is too scared to feel vindicated.
"You've come to challenge me?" The glowing green eyes stare at Grant's shaking body.
"No, I was inspecting the infrastructure of your domain." Grant voice's quivers. "Perhaps you should consider making some improvements."
"What improvements do you suggest?" Grant starts to cry.
"I don't know. Please don't eat me." Grant collapses groveling.
"Come now. Dragons aren't just man eating monsters."
"Really, you mean you don't eat people." Grant looks up.
"No, humans are a delicacy, but I have interests beyond eating people." The dragon grabs Grant and flies into the cave. Grant screams with his eyes closed. He keeps screaming until he feels a human hand slap him across the face.
"Stop that." Grant opens his eyes to a red-headed woman wearing simple dress.
"Princess Valerie, I am your loyal subject." Grant bows before her.
"I prefer my subjects not to be covered in piss," Valerie says. Grant pulls his shirt over his pants.
"I agree with the Princess. It adds a terrible aftertaste," the dragon says. Grant starts to scream again.
"Damnit, Lrag. Why'd you scare him like that?" Valerie says.
"Because fear adds flavor," Lrag says. Grant lies on his back waving his limbs in the air. Valerie grabs a bucket of water and splashes him to calm down.
"Apologies for my behavior." Grant stands and bows. "I have come to rescue you."
"No you didn't." Valerie turns to Lrag. "Alright, why did you bring this one here and slayed the rest?"
"He tried to run so I knew he wouldn't fight, and he critiqued the infrastructure of my domain. I figured that he would provide a good perspective to my redesign," Lrag says. Valerie stares at Grant.
"He is clearly an opportunistic peasant who is in over his head. You'd need a baron or a minister for a good perspective," Valerie says.
"Lrag ate all the heirs to the barons, and the ministers are too scared to come," Grant says. Valerie stares at him. She raises her hands to the side.
"Fine, guess you can be my assistant interior decorator," she says. Grant looks around the cave. A river runs through the middle of it. Close to the humans is a wooden chest. A pile of treasure is on the other side of the river. Besides that, it's barren.
"Where do we start?" Grant asks.
"We start by having Lrag get us some silk." Valerie puts her hands on her hips.
"Do you know how expensive it is? Especially for the needed quantities." Lrag lowers his head close to Valerie. Smoke seeps out of his nostrils. "I could steal from your castle."
Valerie shakes her head. "I told you that the designs would completely clash with your cave. Besides, wouldn't you like more personalized decorations?"
"Do you have an opinion?" Lrag looks at Grant.
"Uh, you could use the gold as decoration." Grant runs to the chest. "I'm sure there's something in here."
"No, don't open that." Lrag screams. Black smoke bursts out of the chest knocking Grant on his back again. A skeletal dragon comes out of the chest and points a bony finger at Lrag.
"It's time Lrag." It growls. Lrag tries to fly away, but the creature is too fast. It grabs Lrag and drags him back into the box.
"What the hell. That was that was needed to defeat him." Grant looks at Valerie. "Why didn't you open that earlier?"
"I'm royalty. We don't open boxes. We do provide large rewards to our rescuers." Valerie smiles at Grant.
"Don't get too excited. The bridge is out so we're stuck here," Grant says.
"Oh, never mind."
---
r/AstroRideWrites | 22 | "Oh come on, we dragons aren't just some man eating monsters!" "Wait... so people just make that up?" "What? No, you people are delicious. There's just more to us, y'know?" | 208 |
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