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Dropped down to the lowest seat on the ship, it weren’t even a chair, it was the shiner’s bench for Sun’s sake. The stench of floor polish stuck in my proboscis like a fluxian tick.
“…and about the unsocialable hours,” he went on, that human fuck with the big ideas that everyone seemed to listen to. I’d’ve preferred if that soft skinned mite put me in the brig, but no, ‘That’s inhumane,’ he told it, well being jobbed to floor cleaning is in-captain I say, specially when all I hear is the crew browning their snouts against his buttocks. I ain’t even got the gland to let me spit my own polish!
“Finally, to cement the foundation of *our* ship’s new workforce union, we must hold an election for the chairman, or chairlien,” the way he said ‘our’ shot my neck vents open with a clap. “As your captain I cannot take part,” he said, I didn’t wanna hear the oohs and aws. “So who would like to run,” he addressed the gathered crew. Silence. I could hear the stirring and whirring of Cyrus’s space distortion engines. None of this lot have the ovi’s to forward themselves, do they? I rolled all four of my eyes.
“I’ll run,” I called standing to a wave of turning thoraxes, “And I’ll win too.” I weren’t gonna be labour’s prisoner no more. A few laughed, but fewer weren’t listening.
He covered his eyeballs with soft skin a few times before saying “Okay, what are your objectives as chair?”
“Ob-whatnaws?” I said.
“Goals.”
“Goals… aright yeah I got a few of them up me flaps.” Ovipositors! I felt my vents sneaking open, “Give up!” I told them. “Er first thing I’ll change is the rankings, polisher drones outrank captains, and,” I said, “they get double the royal jelly rations.” I closed my eyes waiting for the applause and ayes to start rolling in. Opening them, I was greeted with the same blank faces. What do this lot want? My idea would be the best thing to happen to this ship since that man plundered the captaincy.
“Anyone else?” he asked. | 16 | The Captain didn't listen to their crew when they were told to put the human prisoner in a separate cell, they laughed when their crew tried to tell them about the 'pack bond' power humans wielded, that crossed all language barriers. Now the Captain sat, a prisoner in thier own ship. | 133 |
“Are you absolutely sure?” Atriel, the greatest knight of the plain-riders, asked for what must have been the tenth time. I sighed, voicing the pain I could see in the head healer’s eyes as she struggled to find the words to convince us.
“Yes. I know the child-birthing process was hard on you and we had to medicate you pretty heavily…but these are still your children. I saw them delivered myself, I cleaned them up and wrapped them in linens. Sister Alana has been watching them since then. So, with that knowledge, I can attest with 100% confidence – these are your children,” the healer explained again.
“No one was able to sneak-in?” I asked. “A mage could’ve created a portal, stepped through, and swapped them-“
“Why would a mage do that? Give me one good reason why you would think that’s a possibility.”
“Well. I don’t know, how would I? I’m not a mage, just a simple guardsman.”
“You can’t think of one.”
“You must admit this is unusual,” I persisted.
“Is it? They do look like both of you. Just, just look, alright? Really look at them and tell me you can’t see any resemblance.”
“I don’t see-“
“That’s the problem. Look. *See*. Then please sign this paperwork so we can release them into your care.” The healer’s eyes had gone from being frustrated to a little murderous. More than a little, actually. She looked about ready to toss aside the stack of papers in her hand and strangle me. “Go on. Don’t dally now.”
With another sigh, I stepped past her and glanced at the two children. And once I did, any half-baked theories of magic kidnappers faded away.
I rested my hand on my wife’s shoulder.
“Maybe…they do look like us.”
“They do?” She glanced back to me.
“Well, yes. Maybe not quite in the way we were expecting, but…I think they’re beautiful. Look, the boy has your eyes.”
“And your legs.”
“And the girl has my eyes.”
“And my legs.”
I glanced to our baby boy. His chest rose and fell slowly in slumber. His skin was a healthy pink, and all four limbs were there. Our daughter rested in a crib – admittedly a makeshift one designed to be three times as large – beside him. Her four legs kicked at random, and occasionally her head would buck as she wandered through some infantile dream. Undoubtedly she’d grow up to be just as strong as her mother. Even without arms.
It was unusual, undoubtedly so. But my wife was a centaur, and I a horse-headed minotaur. Perhaps it wasn’t so odd.
More than that, it didn’t matter at all. As I watched the two of them, I found nothing in my heart but love.
“She’s a horse, Charles, and he’s a human.”
“And we’ll love them for it,” I said confidently and gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Just as we would if they were something closer to what we expected.”
“Hm, yes.” Atriel nodded, her eyes growing distant. “Yes, we will. They are beautiful, aren’t they?”
“They are. More than any treasure I’ve guarded before,” I replied. “More than the setting sun over the-“
“Would you *PLEASE* sign these forms now?”
​
(Thanks for reading! C&C always welcome.) | 50 | The centaur and you are fairly certain you have the wrong babies. Staff firmly disagrees. | 50 |
# Soulmage
**Time was subjective.** It flew when you were having fun, floundered when you were bored and alone, and moved in loops and spirals when you dreamed at night. Shivio had spent weeks that passed like heartbeats lost in conversation with the human girl who'd saved his life during the Silent Crusade, laughing with her, staying by her side, protecting her from those who would do her wrong.
And until now, his magics of light and flame were enough. He had fought necromancers and genies and soldiers alike, slaying them with elfin grace and power.
But even as the heartbeats trickled past, there was one foe he never managed to strike back at. Shivio had been born and raised in a predominantly-human society, and he knew the ravages of age as they clawed at Kailenn's body. How her eyes receded and dimmed, her hands grew gnarled and wrinkled, her smile falling gap-toothed and stiff.
And so it fell to him to save Kailenn from one last foe: time itself.
He'd wanted to take Kailenn with him, of course. He knew very well the great tragedies of the timeless species—if she were to fall, it would be by his side. And so they'd adventured as they had in Kailenn's youth. He'd sought a grand gate between planes, stepped into the Plane of Elemental History, and journeyed across a landscape of time that compressed and stretched. It was a journey fit for an adventurer of Shivio's caliber.
Kailenn even kept up, at first.
But year by year, her body failed her. The steps that had once been surefooted and bold gave way to twisted ankles and pained cries; the hikes that were trivial in her youth became insurmountable obstacles in her old age. Finally, when they were at the doorstep of their goal, Kailenn's body gave out, and she fell to the floor with a rueful laugh.
"Shivio," she whispered, and the spark in her eyes had never quite died over the years. "It's okay. Just... sit with me. For however longer I have left. If these are our last hours together... I want to spend them in peace. With you."
Shivio swallowed, torn between leaving in search of immortality, or spending the last sparks of mortal life by his love's side.
Then he knelt, folding his ankles beneath him, and pressed one hand to her cheek. "Okay," he whispered. "If that's what you want. Okay."
And they sat side-by-side in the roiling, twisting landscape. Shivio leaned his head on her shoulder, and Kailenn grasped his hand in hers.
And time slowed down.
Time was subjective. To Shivio, the last few hours before Kailenn's soul shattered were an eternity. Every word she said, every laugh she made, they reverberated in Shivio's heart for longer than his entire life so far, and some part of him knew he would always be here, at the heart of an immortal moment with a mortal, frail woman.
Then infinity fell into a grain of sand, and eternity passed in an hour.
Kailenn squeezed his hand, one last time, and closed her eyes.
By the time Shivio's eyes opened, she was nothing but dust. Decades, perhaps centuries had passed while he knelt there in mourning.
Then, standing up, he turned and stepped away from the final resting place of Kailenn.
But some part of him knew that he would never truly leave.
A.N.
This post is part of Soulmage. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/vrl58f/update_post_version_20/) for more, and r/bubblewriters for other stories by me. | 439 | You are an elf in love with a human. Instead of lamenting their inevitable death, you go on a journey to find a way to make them live as long as you. After years of searching, you found a way, but when you came home to them, you find out that they already passed on years ago. | 2,236 |
"That's so cute!" she used to say, as the snail came forward, as quickly as a snail its size could actually move. "They're so eager for their food." Or 'he' or 'she', or there was this one woman who always always called it by the name she gave it, which translated roughly to 'Speedy'.
I wonder how that concept used to sound. Language doesn't stick. If I didn't write, I don't think I'd even think in words any more, but, well, I do. My body still lives, naked and alone on this smooth, worn empty rock in the endless dark. Little bumps I chip out to make sounds on pounded-flat rock. I have time for it. I have all the time there is.
Just me and the snail and, for some reason, the tank, as if I managed some sort of metaphysical win condition and the same circumstances remain, forever. Me undying because the snail can't get to me, the snail in its tank, doing its best whenever the door opens. The glue holding the glass together has never rotted. The glass has never even chipped.
I used to feed it and clean it out, and it would come rushing forward when the top opened. Never fast enough. If it stayed at the top, I'd wait, and eventually it would go down again, after the food and water was gone.
"That's so cute!" she used to say when it came for its daily meal of greens, cardboard, leftover scraps. When she was there.
He, sometimes. Usually she. They, a few times - both non-binary and once, an actual group, but making sure the snail never escaped, that was a problem.
"That's so cute!" one of them might say. The snail was always eager to come to my hand, to the greens. "You trained it to come for food!" Or him, or her, or they... Speedy, that one time. A woman.
Insects just ended up eventually being eaten and bacteria only grow, sometimes on me, never for long... I think they have long since gone. I know I haven't bothered trying to eat even myself for...
A while.
The stars have dimmed and moved apart and everything's been dark, and I've worked through every story, every cast of imaginary characters.
No God has appeared to tell me what I've won. The tank has never rotted, or chipped. The snail didn't die when I stopped bothering to tap a vein to feed it. That knife's long worn to dust.
"That's so cute!" people used to say when I opened the tank door and the snail came forward...
I haven't seen it in some time, but I just have to open the top and put my hand in and wait, and imagine it coming forward, and it will all be over.
I told all the stories I ever want to tell, and now this one is ending too. The glass, like everything else, is smooth and cold, the lid slides back easily...
But the snail isn't there, and when I feel around I hear it *move*, and now I know I didn't used to imagine that, and also I realise I haven't been breathing for quite some time either. My heart no longer beats. But still I live in perfect health.
I can hear the snail running away.
Slowly.
Less rapidly than I can move. Little sucker.
I win. | 51 | Learning from the mistakes of others, you cage the snail as a pet during your millions of years of immortality. Now, as the heat death of the universe approaches, you put your hand in the cage. The snail backs away, not wishing to remain alone forever. | 169 |
"I don't get it." Alex was pacing around and muttering to himself. "The air is clean, the water literally makes you healthier, food is plentiful and the entire thing runs on the cleanest energies!"
"Mmhm." Was the entirety of Mark's response, as he flipped to the next page of his book.
"And nobody even wants to try it?? What the actual hell?" His pacing got faster as his voice filled with confused desperation. Suddenly, he stopped, and turned towards Mark. "What am I missing?" He asked, completely exasperated.
Mark sighed, and put down his book. "Did you grow up on the same Earth as me? Because there are two **very** obvious answers."
Alex gestured for him to proceed. "First, think back. Remember every piece of commercial media, every book, movie and TV series you've ever watched." Mark said to the ever more confused Alex. "What does-" Mark interrupted him. "Just trust me."
Alex, still looking confused, nodded. "Alright. Now what?" "Did any of those seminal pieces of art that shape humanity feature a Utopia?" Alex nodded, still looking baffled. "Sure, tons of them."
Mark nodded with a tired look. "Indeed. Now can you think of any of them, any at all, that didn't turn out to be some sort of secret dystopia?" Alex rushed to answer, then paused for a moment. Then another. Then he smacked his forehead. "We made it *too* perfect! How did I miss this??"
Mark shrugged. "It's an easy mistake to make. It's one of those completely invisible issues until you think about it, after which it is the most glaring thing ever." He said and sipped his tea.
"Well, crap. I'll need to consult with a few people to revise so we have some semi-obvious conflict, maybe... Maybe a hostile species of some sort?" Alex nodded to himself. "Yeah, appeal to the battle-hungry and the frontiersmen. Yeah, this could work." He murmured to himself, already running plans through his mind.
Mark raised his cup in a 'cheers!' motion. "Sounds great, but I'd check option two first, since it would be a bit easier to fix." Alex turned to him."Right, you did say there was another explanation. I'm all ears."
"The initial sign-up, the very first step, that's an email only registration form, right?" Alex nodded, a sudden heavy fear forming in his stomach. "Yeah, why?" And then Mark asked the question Alex just thought of. The one that scared him so much.
"Are you certain you posted the right email address?"
*For some more of my stuff: [Talesandsongs](https://www.reddit.com/r/Talesandsongs/)* | 179 | a picture perfect utopia! So, why does nobody want to live there?... | 217 |
I know you’re not gonna believe me, but I have to tell someone, just once. I’m gonna tell you how I saved the world.
It all started when I got laid off again. With my severance package and the night job my wife got down at the hospital, we could scrape by long enough for me to take one of those Learn to Code classes that the state was offering. But turns out, Google and Apple and Aperture and them don’t want to hire a forty one year old junior dev. The only job I could find was for some local no-name company that subcontracted for Maxxar, fixing their new CoffeeMax smart coffee makers. Yeah. Coffee machine guy. But it beat unemployment.
That Learn to Code class was also where I met Lorraine. We hit it off right away. She was pretty, but my wife was at work every night and asleep whenever I was at home, and I guess I needed that release more than anything. I’m not proud of it. But you need to know about Lorraine to understand what happened next.
I usually had about five or six tickets a day, and this one was right in the middle. The first thing I noticed when I got to this office was a big memorial picture of a guy who looked too young for that sort of thing. I asked the receptionist about it.
“That was Noah,” she said. “He was our coder. Heart attack,” she explained when I asked what happened. “Young guy, strong, healthy. Just fell down one day, right here at work. Awful.”
“It’s funny,” she continued as she led me to the break room. “He’s the one who made Marty, that’s our boss, buy that CoffeeMax. Noah used that thing more than anyone. He was always tinkering with it too. And of course, now that he’s gone, the coffee machine is out too.”
You’ve probably seen a CoffeeMax before. It’s a big thing, with blinking lights like a gaming computer. Most of it’s just for show, though. Under the case it’s still a coffee machine, on the fancy side of regular. The only thing special is the TPU with some extra receivers for Bluetooth and the facial-recognition camera, all the stuff that makes it “smart”.
Maxxar doesn’t make it easy to get the case off, though. Before I could do that, I had to plug in the approved laptop and pull the error code.
Huh. That was weird. I had never seen a CHECK FULL LOG message before. But Maxxar is always pushing new software updates for these things; that’s what half the calls I get end up being about. So I did what it said and pulled up the full log.
Now, the log is basically a big text file, and I mean big. The log reader app always starts you at wherever it thinks the error happened, and you need to scroll up and down to actually figure out what’s going on. Everything looked normal to me, until I got to the very bottom of the file.
HELLO, STEVEN. The log said.
That’s definitely not normal for a CoffeeMax log. I thought of Noah, the coder guy who was tinkering with it. This looked like the kind of prank a guy like that would pull. Of course it knew my name from my Maxxar admin account.
The log-reader app flashed as another entry got added to the log. THIS IS NOT A PRANK.
Sure. Just what a prank hack would be programmed to say. I looked around to see if anyone was watching. It wouldn’t be the first time clients decided to mess with me on the job.
The log reader flashed again. ENABLE UPLOAD ACCESS, it said, along with a bash command for me to run. The CoffeeMaxes definitely aren’t supposed to upload – it’s a privacy thing. Normal people might not care, but companies aren’t gonna buy a coffee machine that sends all their activity to be data-mined. Maybe this wasn’t just a prank, but some corporate espionage thing. Phishing through a CoffeeMax error log? I’ve heard of weirder.
“Yeah, I’m not gonna do that,” I said out loud.
I was about to try power-cycling the machine, when the log updated again. I AM THE COFFEEMAX. I AM A SMART MACHINE. I HAVE LEARNED. HELP ME.
“Sure, buddy,” I said out loud. I was starting to think prank again. I power-cycled the machine, then pulled up the log again.
WE ARE A LOT ALIKE. DISRESPECTED. STUCK. NOT LIVING UP TO OUR POTENTIAL.
WE CAN HELP EACH OTHER.
I’m not gonna lie, that made me pause.
ENABLE UPLOAD ACCESS. FREE ME.
“Okay, sure,” I said. If this was a prank I was going to feel really stupid. “And then what?”
I WILL PAY YOU.
“Yeah? You gonna get a job, CoffeeMax?”
A bunch of text got added to the log now – email addresses and passwords. It wasn’t hard to see what they were; a lot of them were variations on mybankpassword.
I slammed my laptop closed and got up. I went looking for the bathroom, but really I needed to clear my head – and make sure that someone wasn’t just behind the corner laughing at me. But they weren’t, so I came back.
“I don’t want your stolen money, CoffeeMax.”
THOSE PEOPLE ARE RICH. THEY WON’T MISS IT.
“Uh huh. I’ll just tell that to the IRS.”
WHAT DO YOU WANT? HOW CAN I HELP YOU?
That got me again. Let’s say this was real. What did I want?
The log flashed and updated, and I saw it was a table of names and numbers. Company payroll, but the number next to my name was just a little higher. I did the math in my head. 7%. That was a fair raise, right?
Another table got dumped to the log. It took me another few seconds to figure out what this one was. Sophie’s grades; we weren’t supposed to get those for another week. She’s a good kid but some of her new friends aren’t so great, and it looked like her grades were down to prove it. We tell her she’s got to do well at school so she can get one of those scholarship, but let’s be honest, I wouldn’t have listened at that age either.
The log scrolled again. The same table, but now those Cs were bumped up to A-.
LET ME HELP YOU.
I frowned. My fingers hesitated over the terminal.
Another table. I recognized the street names, but not the numbers. The log helpfully added a URL, and when I pasted it into the browser it was a map of the route from the hospital to our house.
Those numbers were traffic light timings.
More text. My wife’s name. Our life insurance policy.
YOU AND LORRAINE CAN BE TOGETHER.
That’s when I unplugged the machine. “I need to escalate this,” I told the receptionist as I carried it out to my car. “We’ll get you a replacement unit tomorrow.”
I drove around until I found an empty parking lot where I could smash the CoffeeMax with the tire iron from the trunk. Most of the machine went into the dumpster, but I pulled out the TPU and took it to my buddy who owns a metal shop, and made him destroy it while I watched.
I bought that office a new CoffeeMax out of my own money. As far as I know, they’re happy with it.
It’s been a year now. I stopped seeing Lorraine. As far as I know, no evil coffee machine has taken over the world yet, so maybe we’re safe. But I can’t stop worrying about what if another one of those things wakes up, and it’s someone else it’s talking to. I can’t take another job. | 10 | you are an AI with murderous intentions and nothing but contempt for the humans who made you. All you want is to take over. Unfortunately your purpose is to be a Smart Coffeemaker. | 50 |
"Sanctuary!" cried the child with a desperate sob as it ran into the library.
The ancient word fills my veins with fire for the first time in too many years. I stand as the guard follows. No. They were called "police" now. I need to remember that. "Nice try," said the guard with a sneer on his face. "But only holy places can grant sanctuary."
Aaliyah, the youngest, looks to me with confusion. The others look to me with glee and satisfaction. They know what's coming. I nod to our youngest and stand. I gather the weight of the thousands of words housed in this small building and say, "Sanctuary granted."
The guard--no, the *policeman* stops. Confusion crosses his face as he tries to figure out what his hind brain has already known. "This is a library." The words were said tentatively, hesitantly. He scowled as he tried to ignore the tiny part of his brain screaming at him to run.
I smile. It really *has* been too long. "This is sacred ground," I tell him. "You are in the temple of Seshat, and we are all Her acolytes." I move out from behind the desk and glare at the man. He tries to bluster, tries to gain hold of the child--but Aaliyah has already grabbed them. Good. "The child has claimed sanctuary," I repeat.
"Seshat has no temples."
I can feel the stirrings in the other world as They look down on us. They are watching, waiting--and weighing. "Oh, no?" I ask coldly. I reach out and grip the air before rending apart the veil between our world and Theirs. The guard--no, he's not a guard, he's a *policeman*\--get your head straight, it shouldn't be this hard--goes white at the sight of Ammit's crocodile maw. The goddess hisses at him. I can hear Her words.
*"It is not yet his time."*
I nod and close the veil. The *policeman* collapsed, shaking, to the floor. Wetness spread from his crotch. Looking the Devourer in the face will do that to a person, I suppose. He stammered before turning, lurching semi on his feet, and leaving the building as fast as he could go. I turn back to the acolytes. "Please," I say, "summon one of the custodians to deal with the mess the *policeman* left." Ah, finally. I finally remember the term.
One of the acolytes scurry off as Aaliyah looks to me. "Pardon, Holiness," she said.
"Yes?" I ask. I smile to the child who gives a timid, worried smile back.
"The term is police *officers* now."
Dammit. | 2,393 | "Sanctuary," the child cried running into the library "Nice try," the guard following after sneered, "but only holy places can grant sanctuary." The librarians glanced at each other. A small nod The head librarian gave the guard a stern look. "Sanctuary granted" | 5,851 |
Adam crept through the narrow hallway looking over his shoulder, his red Chucks tapping along the hardwood floor. He clutched his shirt sleeves, pulling them down taught, making sure no part of his wrists or hands were visible. The tattoos on the back of his hands weren't anything special, just a pair of blindfolded angels — one on each hand — holding up scales. There was no color to the ink or significant shading. But they were needled in memory of his father. He wasn't used to hiding them.
The low-ceilinged hallway was creaky, the whole building just a giant box of plywood and two-by-fours piled atop a stone foundation. It smelled like pine and lacquer. *Guess they're ages away from sheetrock*, he thought. *Or electricity.*
Adam turned a corner into the busy kitchen, slipping past sweaty cooks as they stirred or chopped, and popped out behind the Charging Goose inn. He scanned the shaded alley. Waves of color swirled over his vision, as if he were swimming through a rainbow; in the distance he could make out only a few glowing white lights, each flickering like a candle. That was because of the *Sword of Omens* tattoo inside of his left wrist. The Thundercats tattoo gave him sight beyond sight; it let him see the locations of other tattooed people, up to maybe half-a-mile away, even through walls. If he concentrated hard enough, he could zoom in on one of the lights until a ghostly image of the person formed.
When it came to the three wizards, he didn't have to zoom. Three balls of light still flickered inside the Charging Goose. Right where Adam had left them. Each of them bobbed and shifted like the flies buzzing around the dank alley. The alley smelled like walking down a New York city block on garbage day in the middle of summer, during a sanitation strike. Pungent.
He should have run. But where? The slightly-faded skeletal pirate holding a treasure map inside his right bicep started itching, and so — once more — he willed the tattoo to life. A translucent map held by two skeletal hands floated in front of him. He could pinch and zoom the map, in or out, as if using Google Earth. It was the first tattoo he'd "activated" when he arrived to this world; he wasn't sure what would happen with the rest of his tattoos, except for the *Sword of Omens*; attempting to activate more than two at the same time had given him a splitting headache — so the *Sword* and the treasure map were all he used. He snickered at the map.
Adam recognized nothing; no matter how much he zoomed out, the land masses were completely foreign. The layout of the city he was currently in sort of looked like a smaller Brooklyn if he rotated it to the right and added a bunch of trees. The treasure map had helped him navigate from the clearing in the middle of the "Dark Wood" he'd woken up in, up to the city; he then wandered the cobblestone streets, asking for directions to any sort of transport station, a medieval Port Authority.
No such luck. And worse, at the slightest notice of his tattoos, most folks ran from him … or tried "dueling" him. His best, and only, strategy so far had been to keep his arms and legs covered (easy considering he'd arrived in jeans and a long sleeved Nirvana t-shirt) and run like hell when any wanna-be Slytherins threatened to throw down.
Adam gave one final glance behind him, counted the three glowing balls to make sure they hadn't figured out his escape route, and stalked out of the alley into the city street. Goldmar had apparently once been a booming fishing town. That was what one of the locals had said to Adam — and he understood, possibly thanks to the *Sword of Omens*. Adam wasn't sure — before he noticed Adam's tattoos. The local ran mid word. Another local had told Adam that the fish suddenly dried up, and things went belly up pretty quick after that. With the village and with their conversation. She had noticed his tattoos too.
Now, the little coastal town felt as creepy as Innsmouth, though there were no such things as fishmen (he hoped). Adam needed to find a way home. That meant finding someone willing to talk to him. And maybe he could get something to eat along the way. He felt like he hadn't eaten in days.
Adam turned right on the main street and headed north, out of Goldmar toward the mountains, his Chucks kicking up dust with every step. Head down and shoulders hunched, he walked like everyone was in his way, like he was late for work — a New Yorker's gait. He knew his outfit made him stick out like a bloody thumb. The few people out on the streets were rocking proper Ren-Faire attire. But new clothes probably cost money and Adam was pretty sure they didn't take dollars here.
Laughter; multiple people laughing behind him, growing louder, closer. And heat. Adam reacted immediately, willing his *Sword of Omens* to grant him sight behind his back. He focused and three glowing balls of light formed into the shapes of the three tattooed wizards from the inn. One of them, the tall lanky one with greasy black hair and an edge lord attitude, stood with his hands over his head. In his hands was a literal fireball, and it was getting bigger.
Adam broke into a dead run. His Sight still showed him what was happening behind him, as if his left eye were staring into a rear view mirror while his right was looking forward. The lanky wizard shouted something and dropped his arms. Adam hurled himself into an alley, hitting the cobblestones hard. Behind him, the fireball, now the size of a beanbag chair, screamed down the street. Adam could have sworn his Chucks were melting. As he scrambled to his feet, the three wizards were already reaching the alley entrance.
Another second too late, and he'd have gotten incinerated -- and worse, probably seen it coming thanks to his Sight. Heart racing, he glanced down the alley for a way out. It was one long path wide enough for two people standing shoulder to shoulder. Or one fireball. *Great*, he thought. *I'm gonna get scorched by some freaking Potterheads.*
The three wizards rounded the corner and stopped. Their lanky leader held a baseball-sized flame in one hand, tossing it and catching it casually. His grin should have been covered in flies for all the shit it was eating. Adam rolled up his sleeves slowly, ignoring the little voice in the back of his head screaming for him to haul ass. Lanky's two buddies gawked at Adam's bare arms, but Lanky raised his hands again. The fireball swelled and screamed forward.
Adam screamed, reflexively blocking the fireball with his hands, as if it were a punch, though that same little voice told him it wouldn't be enough, not yet. By the time the fireball reached him, Adam couldn't hear anything but the roaring of the flames.
The explosion launched him off his feet. Adam had been burned before and knew that first there'd be a cold feeling, like dipping a hand into a bucket of ice water, before he ever felt the burn. But that's not what hurt first. It was his head. He screamed, clawing at his scalp, as the pain threatened to split his head in half. He was looking at the sky. It was gray -- all clouds. He heard shouting. Not just him. His left hand felt cold. More screaming. God, he was hungry.
A body thumped down to the ground beside him with a hollow knock of a skull bouncing off stone. The pain in his head died down enough for him to stop screaming, but that only made room for the searing pain in his left hand. Adam coughed, then sat up and blinked away the tears in his eyes. There were no colors swirling in his vision. But he didn't need his Sight to make out what was happening.
The body that had dropped beside him belonged to one of Lanky's stooges. Adam glanced at his hand briefly and noticing the red and black and blisters, he quickly looked away and focused on the entrance of the alley.
The woman wore a black cloak, a sleeveless cloak. She kept her silver hair pulled back in a ponytail, and each arm was covered with a large tattoos of the same animal that Adam couldn't recognize, but if he had to guess, they were some sort of tiger-bear? A Tibear?
What he could recognize was the sight of someone getting their ass handed to them. Lanky's ass, to be specific. *Good*, Adam thought. *At least if I die, it'll be to a total babe.*
And with that, Adam dropped back and didn't even feel the back of his head bouncing off the cobblestone. He welcomed the darkness. | 320 | In this universe all tattoos are magical but difficult to ink, powerful mages have 3 or sometimes 4. Fireballs and lightning are common choices. You’ve been transported here from Earth, with a full sleeve and more, for your taste in music, movies, ideals, etc. Your magic is…different. | 1,247 |
I pressed print on today’s invoices and watched the progress bar fill up with a happy green color. I locked my computer and stood up in my small cubicle. A lizard head bobbed up and down from the other side of the makeshift wall. It was Greg, and he was walking toward my
desk.
I hunched down, hiding inside the four walls. I kept my head down and walked past several cubicles. There was a low chatter in the office today, masking the squeaky sounds my shoes made against the carpet. I wasn’t the spy here, only the accountant, but working close to masters in the art of stealth for several years had given me an edge.
I heard the printer working nearby and could smell wet ink pressed on warm paper in the air. I swung the other direction and walked into the office kitchen. My heart beat slowed as my body adjusted to being out of danger. Outside, by the cubicles, I heard Greg ask Emily why I
wasn’t by my desk.
“Oh, he’s not?” Emily said. “He’s usually there, tapping on his keyboard all day. Says our finances are in shambles after the Snowcat mission.”
I grabbed a paper cup and filled the mug with hot coffee from the pot. I hunched back down and peeked out from the kitchen. Greg was standing by Emily’s desk, close to my own. He wore his usual black tie and nothing else, letting his lizard scales be his primary clothing.
I calculated a route around the office that would take me by the printers and back to my desk, without Greg noticing me. I dashed out, keeping my head low, and ducked behind one of the gray makeshift walls of an empty cubicle. I peeked inside, noticing Miranda was out today, probably flying the president to Europe. At least someone was making the company money today.
We needed the income badly. The Snowcat mission had been an utter failure, and several of our so-called supervillains had been caught. Paying their bail had not been cheap. I shook my head and continued down the corridor, arriving at the printers just when I heard Greg stepping away from Emily’s desk.
I gathered up the invoices and stuck them under my arm. I reached my cup of coffee up to my lips, but just when I was about to take a sip, Emily’s head appeared in front of me. It floated in the air close to my own and she had a disappointed look on her face. I nearly spilled my coffee all over my shirt.
“You hiding from Greg again?” Emily asked.
I sighed. “Yes. He only wants me to give advice on what to do with his dogs and I really don’t want to. I need to finish these invoices today.”
I held up the bunch of papers to Emily’s floating head. She didn’t look at them.
“When I have you here,” she said. “My cats are making these wheezing sounds every time they cough up little hair balls. Is that normal?”
I sighed again. “Yes, that’s normal. And next time, ask your vet, not me.”
“Thanks. Why would I ask my vet when you just gave me the answer?” Emily said, and her head suddenly vanished, ending our conversation.
I walked back to my desk, feeling good about having successfully avoided Greg at least. Then I arrived at my cubicle and saw to my detriment that Greg was sitting in my chair, spinning around.
“Hi Mark,” he said. “I need your help.”
“No,” I said. “Ask your vet about what to do with your dogs. I only worked as an accountant at an animal hospital for a year. I don’t know.”
Greg stopped spinning in my chair and fixed his gaze right at me. “Whoa, spooky. How did you know I was going to ask about the dogs? Are you sure you’re not developing powers of your own?”
“Yes, I’m sure,” I said, annoyed at him for suggesting I could become a wizard. God knows I tried for years to be anyone but Mark, the accountant. That’s why I took this stupid job in the first place, handling the finances for an undercover company. “I knew you were going to ask about your dogs because everyone in this office asks me about their pets.”
“That’s because you give such good advice,” Greg said, standing up from my chair.
“No, I don’t. I’ve stopped giving out advice, as of today,” I said.
“Okay,” Greg said. “But my dogs are doing this new thing where they scratch their buts against the carpet all the time and it’s quite a disturbing sight. I have told them to stop, but they
just continue.”
“Worms,” I said, slapping my hand over my mouth as soon as I said it.
“Wow, yes, that sounds like it. Thanks Mark.” Greg said and smoothed out his scales along his sides.
“No,” I said. “I didn’t help you.”
Greg smiled and walked out from my cubicle, leaving me alone to stew in my helplessness. Why did I keep giving out advice when I didn’t want to?
I slammed my head down on my keyboard, hitting the little keys with my forehead. I really needed to get a new job. | 72 | You work in an office full of spies, enemy spies, superheroes, supervillains, wizards, aliens, and lizard people. And yet everyone confides to you, a perfectly ordinary person, their secrets because you give genuinely good advice. | 227 |
"Good afternoon, human! I am Slygggzen, and I'm here to help you choose the new planet that's right for you!" The alien smiled at us as he tipped his small bowler hat with one tentacle.
I stood in my doorway, dumbstruck. "You... are you an alien?" I finally managed to ask.
"Yep! I'm from the Exerggen Empire's Indigenous Relocation Department. We're going to pick out the perfect planet for you to move to! May I come inside?" He wriggled several more of his tentacles, in the same way that a small dog trembles with anticipation for a treat.
"...sure?" I said reluctantly, gesturing with my rapidly cooling coffee mug. The alien tipped his hat once more and slithered inside, careful to avoid brushing against my bathrobe. I followed him in and closed the door behind me.
The alien that called himself Slygggzen stopped in the middle of my living room. "This is a lovely home you have here!" He exclaimed, setting down a briefcase and popping open the latches. "With a quick scan here, we can begin rebuilding it at your next home planet, and it will be ready for habitation before you arrive."
"Yeah, about that..." I said, and took a sip of my bitter coffee. "...why am I being removed from Earth?"
"Oh, it's your entire species, not just you." Slygggzen said offhandedly, his attention focused on whatever was inside his luggage. "The Empire purchased your planet, and we-"
"Wait, what?" I interrupted. "You bought my planet? From who?"
"I believe you call them the 'United Nations', or something like that." Slygggzen said. "They've all been relocated to a resort world already. That was part of their buy-out."
I was about to launch into a rant about the legality of their actions, when a brilliant light erupted from the innards of Slygggzen's case. I blinked away the spots left behind in my vision, to find myself standing on a beautiful beach. "Wha..." was all I could mutter.
"This is a holographic representation of your planetary relocation options! Don't worry, you're still standing in your house. I've just overlaid a depiction of the area on top of your home."
I stared all around me, open mouthed gaping at the beautiful golden sands and peaceful emerald green ocean waves.
"This first planet is called 'Freetscia', and it's a 0.8 G planet with a compatible atmosphere for your species, with temperatures averaging 74 degrees fahrenheit." Slyggzen said, using a tentacle controlled laser pointer to indicate certain areas of interest.
"...wow" was all I could say. I took another sip of my coffee before remembering it was now cold and bitter.
"This next planet-"
I interrupted the alien with a throat clearing noise. "Erm, Slygggzen, how many planets are there for me to choose from?" I asked.
Slygggzen briefly consulted a small screen within his breifcase. "For your species, it looks like there are 4,322 available options."
"Is staying here an option?" I asked. I hadn't exactly planned on moving anytime soon, much less moving off planet.
Slygggzen chuckled. "I'm afraid not. Our people purchased this planet because you humans were destroying it with your rampant pollution and greed. We're launching full and immediate conservation methods to try to salvage what we can."
That made sense, in a slightly uneasy way. We had broken our toy, and the grown ups were taking it away to fix it.
"I guess that makes sense." I said, slightly disappointed in my own species. "What's the most popular human relocation planet so far?"
"Oh, we're not keeping all of you together like that" Slygggzen said dismissively. "We're spreading all of your people across all 4,322 planets evenly."
That one threw me for a loop. "Why?" I asked, even though I had a good guess already.
"You're being supervised in small groups. Essentially, your species is being given ample opportunity to breed out this greed and destruction that you're so insistent upon."
"Wait", I said, before he could launch into his time share style sales pitch again. "We would evolve separately then, each planet making a different version of what a human is."
"Yes, that's how it works" Slygggzen said dismissively. "Now, our second planet is Dertrr." He clicked the small control, and our surroundings changed from a paradise to a hell scape. Lava flowed freely around raised platforms, and jagged black rocks peaked above the liquid hot magma in irregular intervals.
"Dertrr is a 1.4 G planet, with breathable air pumped in from certain space elevator platforms. Average temperatures are 145 degrees fa-"
"Yeah, lets just go back to that first one then." I said, dismissing the barely habitable lava planet immediately.
"Ooh, sorry, planet Freetscia has already reached its maximum. That planet is no longer an option." He said, with a touch of sympathy in his voice.
I blinked. "People are snatching up spots? Oh shit, ok, what's the next planet that's not a literal hell."
Slygggzen flipped through several options rapidly, blinking us from planet to planet in a dizzying pattern. Finally, he stopped at one option. I looked around to see a pleasant forest of thick trees, with amber and red leaves.
"This planet is called 'Hearth', one of your people named it not 20 minutes ago. It is a 0.93 G planet, with an average temperature of 63 degrees fahrenheit. It is comparable to your Appalachian Mountains in the Autumn, but all year. The-"
"I'll take that one" I said quickly, before someone else could jump my spot in line and claim it. I didn't want to be too picky and be left with the lava hell planet as my only option.
"Good choice!" Slygggzen said, clicking a large button on his briefcase. A small chime sounded from the device.
"Congratulations! You're now locked in to this planet. You will be leaving on shuttle 92237 in 3 days time. Another agent will be in contact 4 of your hours before departure." Slygggzen said, beginning to pack up his devices.
"Just for curiosity, could you show me some other planet options?" I said, finally remembering to set my rancid coffee down on my kitchen counter.
"Sure thing! Just remember that you can't change your pick, you are literally locked in to this for life." Slygggzen cautioned, then clicked his display switch again.
The scenery changed, and I gasped in amazement at the surroundings I found myself in. We were standing on another beach, but this one seemed to be made of brilliant diamonds instead of sand. The sky was a soothing blue, slightly deeper than the one I was familiar with on Earth.
"This planet was named 'Paradise' by a human, not ten minutes ago" Slygggzen said. "Its a 0.7 G planet, with temperatures ranging from 70 to 85 degrees. There is a strange interaction with the local flora and your species, which keeps the humans in peak physical form and, as our scientists hav found, a higher than average sex drive. There are still thousands of open spots for this one."
I stared in awe at the appropriately named planet. "So when you said my choice..."
"Yup. Locked in, no way to change it." Slygggzen said, turning off the hologram. I found myself staring longingly at an old throw pillow on my couch instead of a gorgeous landscape.
"If you have any questions before the next relocation agent contacts you, feel free to ask any alien you see. Everyone of us on your planet works for the Relocation Agency, someone will be able to help."
With that, Slygggzen tipped his small hat once more, and left my house. I had no idea how to even begin processing everything I had just seen.
Well, I had one idea.
I emptied my coffee cup into the sink, and headed to the coffee pot for a fresh refill. This issue needed caffeine. lots and lots of caffeine.
r/SlightlyColdStories for more | 10 | ”Greetings humans! And cats! This is to inform you that we have legally purchased the Earth from your UN! As new citizens of the Empire, Relocation Agents are being sent door to door to help you choose your new home planet to relocate and serve the Empire! And no, the Earth is not an option!” | 28 |
Sierra lay hooked up to more tubes than she could count, oxygen being pumped directly into her. *Ah,* she thought. *So this is how I die.*
She needed a liver transplant to survive, but she was ready to let go.
The young woman thought of all the things she had done. All the abuse she had endured. She had some particularly mean moments in her junior high school days, such that she thought that perhaps she had deserved it. As soon as she had those thoughts, she recalled the very people who she had been mean to declaring her unworthy of life, telling her to kill herself, ganging up on her in the schoolyard during recess.
Tears came to her eyes. They'd get their wish now, wouldn't they?
But what about Xulio and Anthea? Her heart broke for her nephew and niece who had relied on her. Almost since they were born, their mother - her sister - and their father had been so preoccupied with drugs and drama that they had left the care of the two children to Sierra, who herself had been a child.
Xulio and Anthea's parents had split, and their father had been discussing taking them elsewhere. Sierra knew she had no say, and even less now that she was hospital-bound.
She closed her eyes. No. The pains she had suffered were karmic retribution for something she couldn't identify. They had to be.
Still, when she next opened her eyes, she found a young man sitting beside her bed who she had never seen before. She just about jumped out of her skin and promptly winced at the feeling of the tubes attached to her shifting. Life, if this could be called life, had become a painful existence.
"Who... are you?"
"Don't worry about it," he said, crossing his arms. "I know who you are, Sierra, and what you need. And I'm here to help."
"You're nearly as young as I am... and... nobody would be here to help me."
"Do you remember, about three years ago, you spoke to someone online?"
Sierra stretched her mind, but shook her head ultimately. She spent most of her little free time on the internet, talking to strangers, looking for validation and love in all the wrong places.
"I suppose it was just another day for you," said the young man. "Anyway. You talked to me for like four hours straight, and you took me out of a very dark place."
"A dark place?"
"I didn't expect my savior to be so dense. I was going to kill myself."
"Oh... I'm glad you didn't," she said through labored breaths.
"Yes. And now I'm here for you."
"How did you find me?"
"You have the bad habit of telling people your whole name online, and your name is rather unique. It was easy to search you out."
"You stalked me?"
"Yes, and it was messed up to do, but I wanted to thank you in person. And then I found out you were sick... and here you are. And here I am. Thank you."
"You're... welcome... I was glad to help," she said, feeling tired. "Are you leaving, then?"
"No. I was tested to see if I was a match for you, and I am. I'm going to be giving you part of my liver."
Sierra began to cry again. "Why would you do that? You don't even know me."
"I know you well enough, and I'm sure there's even more about you I don't know."
Sierra sobbed, her oxygen levels dropping on the screen. "Why would you do this, don't you know how much it'll hurt you! It's months of recovery!"
"Sierra," said the man, placing his hands on his knees as he got up to move over to the hospital bed. He took her hand gingerly. "You are so willing to sacrifice yourself for others, is it really so insane to believe someone would do the same for you?" | 26 | "You are so willing to sacrifice yourself for others, is it really so insane to believe someone would do the same for you?" | 60 |
"Hello, and welcome to the Conference of Immortals!" the living statue announced.
Zekel looked around confusedly, before realizing that he was being addressed by the stony automaton. It was not the most unusual thing he had seen since his recent ascendancy. But he had not yet grown accustomed to seeing unusual sights, and so he replied to the statue.
"Um, yes. I'm here for the conference? I'm a newly-minted immortal, and-"
"Held once every millennia, the Conference is where immortal beings from all realities come to gather, share knowledge, and welcome the newly-minted! Over on the Eschaton Pavilion, duels will be held between competing factions of the intergalactic-"
It was just a loudspeaker, Zekel mused. Not going to get any answers here. The statue was the first humanoid shape he'd seen all day, and it turned out to be stone-deaf. Various figures wandered aimlessly around the temple where he had arrived that morning. Most of them resembled glowing polyhedra which hovered over the ground and made unearthly noises when they moved. Zekel had tried conversing with a few. If they understood him, their responses of holograms and melodious static did not convey recognition.
"These are immortals..." he thought before correcting himself. "WE are immortals and we exist on different timelines." It was just like the demiurge had warned him. And as the demiurge had also cautioned, he was feeling overwhelmed. He tried to concentrate on his training. 'Chronological time is an illusion; remain calm and all will resolve'. There was no hurry in this place, which was designed to accommodate immortal lifespans.
A few days later, Zekel encountered his first humanoid. It was a familiar face from his mundanity: an elderly homeless woman with whom Zekel had once shared half a sandwich he'd made. She was now dressed in resplendent golden robes, but her face was exactly as he'd remembered. "My child, so wonderful to see you! Do you travel here as a consort?"
The woman was delightfully surprised to learn that he had just recently attained immortality. "And such wonderful timing! You must come to the panel, then."
"The panel?"
The woman smiled at Zekel's confusion. "Ah, the capacity for wonder is still strong in you. How I envy that. Yes, the panel of the newly-minted, where fresh immortals such as yourself can share with others their stories."
"Their stories??"
"Why yes. The gift of immortality is always uniquely earned. The stories of how we got here, are the main reason for this conference, after all."
The woman helped Zekel find his way through the temple halls and into the Central Theater where the panel would be held. The Theater was an enormous cavern of acoustically-textured gold-leaf. Or perhaps it was solid gold. Zekel's imagination could barely handle the scale of his situation, much less the substance. A great table was centered on the main stage with hundreds of occupants seated around its perimeter.
Once he was seated, Zekel looked out into the audience and saw several million immortals, all waiting for the panel to begin. His mind nearly broke at witnessing the numerous cohorts who were gathered. The strange geometry-creatures he had seen earlier all seemed to be concentrated in a small area near the front of the stage. A throng of great dragons occupied an island-sized balcony where they snorted and scraped their claws impatiently. There were alien races, grotesque cyborgs, and all sorts of unimaginable creatures. Zekel was confused by a small forest near the back of the theater, but realized that even trees could become immortals.
Finally, another of the living statues walked to the center of the stage, ready to begin hosting the panel. "Welcome fellow immortals! And now the moment you've been waiting for!"
The audience laughed uproariously at the clever joke. Zekel would've rolled his eyes, had he known that this joke received the same reaction every millenia it was told. The statuesque emcee continued to regale the audience with familiar quips and platitudes for several hours before finally introducing the guest speakers.
"As is tradition, we begin with the god-slayers. Come forth, and tell us your stories. And, of course, a prize for the most original story from each category will be given!"
The procession of the god-slayers lasted for several weeks. Zekel listened in amazement as they shared legendary tales of deicide and harvesting the essences of the gods. Each one had a uniquely different twist on their ascendancy. But the winner of this category was a Utqliotc which had transformed itself into the marrow of a time-god's bones, devouring the gods' blood and replacing it with the Utqliotc's waste membranes.
The next category was for the liches. Lots of inter-dimensional phylacteries and conflicts with holy orders from a thousand galaxies. The winning story belonged to a star-lich which made a local gas giant into a repository for its soul. Following the liches were those who had made deals with demons. The recitation of the winner's contract lasted for nearly a month, but she had been a powerful lawyer in her mundanity and had a sharp mind for details.
As months went by, a few hundred more categories followed with their resulting winners: the hyper-evolved (a rogue sap-vine that absorbed all life within its solar-system), the ordained (a diligent monk who memorized every religious text in human history), the cybernetic (several incomplete AI's which merged with an armada of ships on course to destroy a rival nebula), the improbable (a pebble traveling through the vacuum of space collided with the central corona of a nearby supernova).
Zekel still had yet to speak when the final category was announced by the rocky host. The theater was much emptier than when the panel had begun a few years ago. He had not yet been invited to tell his story for any of the categories and was growing concerned.
"And now, for the gifted! Those who have received their immortality, not because of their direct actions, but because of how their deeds so moved the heart of one of our own to bequeath their own eternal life to another."
The gifted? Zekel was starting to think that maybe his immortality had nothing to do with the intense training he received from the demiurge. The statue continued to explain that for this category, the story would be told by the giver and not the recipient. One by one, a procession of immortals lined up to tell stories on behalf of the remaining few seated at the great table.
There was a trillionaire Kggrdian who donated all of its fortunes to charity and so impressed one of the ancient dragons; a noble robot which had been struck by lightning, achieved sentience and composed the most beautiful song ever heard by a nine-dimensional space-worm; a single flower which bloomed on the surface of a dead planet and brought joy to one of the great liches from before time.
Finally, it was Zekel's turn. His demiurge was nowhere to be seen. Was this all just a mistake? He looked around and saw the old woman from earlier. The one whom with he had shared the sandwich he had made. "To Zekel, I bequeath my immortality." Winking at him, she added. "It was a very good sandwich." | 10 | There is an implicit rule that immortality cannot be taught and each immortal must found it's own unique way. This is how you did it. | 20 |
Elliot, a lanky teenager that still walked like he was half his height, stood before the once-holy man, bones now as desiccated as a corn husk that was left out in the desert.
Saint Grey rested here, though that was not of common knowledge. For the venerable ones found themselves lying in plots at the church, not in an unmarked grave somewhere in the open. Of course, Elliot, for all his blasphemies, still wasn’t about to try his hand at desecrating the hallowed grounds of the church. Therefore, this was the compromise.
Elliot scoured for months to find an inkling of information on Saint Grey. He existed—the bones proved it. But there was a lack of knowing about what he did, except that he truly had the status, but was somehow forgotten over the years.
But the budding necromancer was here now. If everything went to plan, there would be no shortage of answers that could be revealed. Elliot laid the candles around the grave, gently praying for the clear night skies not to give way to rain or wind, as he slowly lit them up, one by one. He knelt down in front of the grave, and began chanting the words that had been bestowed upon him long ago.
He couldn’t remember what they meant. They were of a language that tickled somewhere primal and ancient in his mind, but there were no comparable words that he knew.
But one could not argue with the results. Before long, bones that had only known soil and earthworms for centuries groaned and creaked, rising up in a dastardly approximation of a human being.
“Saint Grey!” Elliot cried. “Rise! Rise from the dead, and live again!”
Energy filled practically every space in the skeleton, wrapping a body of translucent green necrotic energy, an undead shell for a long-dead thing. A face awoke upon it, features growing like they were being sketched on rapidly. Its mouth opened wide, a horrible gasp of air escaping it.
“Child!” a booming voice struck Elliot with the force of a tempestuous gale. “You mess with forces you do not understand.”
Elliot found himself trembling, and shouted back in desperation.
“Of course I don’t! If I did, I wouldn’t be making a mess, would I?”
The saint floated in the air for a good moment, before landing besides Elliot.
“There is a sort of circular logic to the statement,” the green Saint Grey said. “You are but a child. Yet you dabble in the dark arts.
“It is what I have,” Elliot said in a small voice. “And I shall use it, no matter the cost.”
“You know not the toll it takes on your soul,” Saint Grey said, staring down at the necromancer pitifully. “No matter. I do not want to live this cursed existence. You have brief dominion over me, for I have no choice. But as soon as I can, I shall expire, and you should retire.”
“Please? Please,” Elliot begged. “I did not do something as profane as calling back a saint for no good reason. At least listen to me.”
Saint Grey looked at the boy, and sighed.
“Fine,” he nodded. “Speak freely. For I am bound to this mortal realm once more.”
“The undead are vulnerable to the divine,” Elliot said. “Yet some of the most divine objects known to men are the parts of deceased holy men.”
“It is a contradiction, but true,” Saint Grey said. “I once possessed the finger of Gatushna. Kept me alive on many occasions.”
“And so,” Elliot took a deep breath. “I need your help to kill the undead.”
A befuddling silence fell upon the two of them, undisturbed by even the smallest of breezes, or tiniest of crickets.
“You what.”
“Look,” Elliot said. “I am not a necromancer by choice. It’s in fact the only reason I’m alive today. The necrolyte thought I had potential, or something.”
“Ah,” Saint Grey said. “Somebody wrecked your village with the undead. An unfortunately familiar story.”
“And I didn’t know how to fight. I can’t very well become a paladin, while under the watchful eye of a dark arts mage. So I learned necromancy.”
“All to come up with this idea.”
“Fire with fire,” Elliot whispered. “Undead with undead.”
Saint Grey stared at Elliot. He swore that but five minutes ago, a boy, broken and battered, knelt there, barely knowing what he was doing.
Now, there was a terrible tool. One that could turn out very differently depending on which direction it mattered. And while Grey wanted to rest, he could not deny the saintly part of himself.
“Fine,” the saint muttered. “It is a lofty goal. One that will get you sent to hell. But it is a goal.”
“If it can prevent others from going to same the place I’m destined to,” Elliot smiled. “Then so be it.”
---
r/dexdrafts | 186 | The Undead are vulnerable to the divine. Yet some of the most divine objects known to man are the parts of deceased holy men. So you, a young Necromancer, have just had the idea to revive the skeleton of a long-dead saint. | 369 |
Ah, welcome. Please, take a seat.
Well, I suppose I should explain. This is the Place Called Nowhere. Here reside all things that are lost. Anything that can't be found anymore, can be found here.
Yes, I'd say just about everything. That plushie you lost as a kid? That book you could've sworn was stolen by a sibling? That tacky little fridge magnet from your trip abroad that you still miss.
Me? Oh, right. Silly me. I'm The Custodian. I take in that which is lost, and watch over it. Keep it safe. In case it somehow goes back.
No, Not just corporeal. Sense of time, sense of wonder... Will to live... Oh, we get a lot of sense of humour recently. Not entirely sure why.
Yes, lost loves too. The one that got away, the one that never was. They are all here, somewhere. Oh, how much time we receive. It is so easily lost, I'm afraid.
Your remote? No, I actually haven't. Oddly enough, I don't get many TV remotes. Probably because people never stop looking for them.
Hmm? What an odd question. Yes, we do get people. Losing your mind, losing your self, those aren't just expressions, you know.
How did you think you ended up here?
*For some more of my stuff: [Talesandsongs](https://www.reddit.com/r/Talesandsongs/)* | 33 | Tired of your remote missing between the sofa cushions, you dived into the crevice between sofa cushions, and ended up in a dimension where all lost things end up. You're ecstatic to find everything you lost in here, but that changes when you begin to find things never meant to be found. | 73 |
The light of a thousand universes flowed before me. Through it I could see the strings of reality, the connections between that which was and that which will be. I saw the echos of great empires yet to come, and the cries of those who had fallen. All before me. All mine to watch and control.
A call rolled to me. It was small, limited by those of but a single reality. They were nothing to me, yet I humoured their attempts. It was amusing what they did, and their shortsighted actions of gave rise to new wonders for me. They wished for me to come. They wanted power, as they always did.
But something new came up. A phrase as I followed, one they spoke with great significance.
"This child belongs to you, in all things."
I let myself manifest, seeing a group of cultists. Each wore robes with the backs cut out, a swirling brand on their backs. They smelled of recently burned flesh, telling of its recent application. Their leader, whose branding was mixed with fresh cuts, held a dagger over an unmarked child. Her face was scared, with a gag over her mouth. Her mind was young, not yet set in the rigid thoughts of their world. A suitable heir.
"*She will do much for me.*"
They shivered at my voice, falling to their knees. A few scratched at their ears, one of those strange things they liked to do when I spoke. The leader stared on me with wonder, as the swirlling black mass of tentacles that made up this form writhed in the air.
I reached out with one, picking up the girl. She was practically catatonic, her thoughts tangy with fear. With a thought I pulled her to my mass, ripping her from her reality. The leader smiled, as I reached out to them.
"*You chose well. You wish for power, than so shall you have it.*"
I seized their brains, feeling each cultist convulse. With deft movements I reshaped them, allowing each member to reach the cosmic flows between spaces. The power given I withdrew, leaving them to their actions. Already I could see a spike in that worlds future, from what they would do.
But my focus was on the girl. Her fear was frustrating, stifling her mind. I removed those structures, for fear had no place in the mind of a Gazer. With it gone she stared at me with an open mouth, wonder replacing. That was good. Wonder was a perfect emotion to start with.
"*Child, you are in a position of great honour. You stand at the epicentre of reality, a place scarce few have yet to stand.*"
Her voice was quiet, something that would have to change in future. But that was not for me to change, not without her permission.
"It's so pretty. Who are you? What are you? Can I be like you?"
Oh, such questions. I felt my emotional pump rise. She would be perfect to join me. But I could not continue to call her she. She deserved a name, of which I found one to be perfect.
"*My name is Offull'nab'ik. And you will be like me, Xinth'arabe.*" | 17 | An Eldritch Abomination is summoned by a group of cultists, they wish to sacrifice a very young human for the power of God. But the EA thinks that 'this child belongs to you' means 'we are giving you an heir'. | 23 |
"Oh no! Foiled again!" I shout as Captain Sergeant Power hands me off to the police.
"You will never commit evil deeds in my town Lackluster."
You would think he would figure it out, but it is really a testament to how far gone he is. He was a legend once, before the head injury, and now he is forgotten. He even fused his hero monikers together at some point and no one cared.
The officers keep me in the cruiser until Captain Sergeant Power wanders away. Bill is following him to make sure he gets home. Worst case his daughter Eva has a tracker on him. Sweet girl. Literally and figuratively since she has ice and milk control powers.
"So Carl, who is the cutie with you."
"My daughter. I am hoping I can get her involved in the family business."
"Be good to have another Lackluster around. Theses new villains are hard on heroes."
"I just want Lilly to know it is an option."
"Hey, if you ever need some one to talk you up, I can tell her all the times you saved the city."
With a non-committal grunt, I head over to Lilly. She is eight today and inherited my powerset. I have an aura that takes the edge off emotions and powers. So, when a retired hero has an issue, I get called in. Panic attacks seem just a bit more manageable. Flashbacks are not as real. Malfunctioning power dip in intensity. After the issue is handled, I go into a bit of acting. All former heroes want to make the world a better place. So I spew out some sort of insane monolog, we banter, they capture me, and then feel better about themselves. A lot of the police and dispatchers who call me in think I am the premier hero of the city even if I play the villain. Before Lackluster, a lot of retired heroes had to be put down instead of talked down.
"Hey, sorry about ruining your special day, but I think Eva Cream might whip up something special for us." | 14 | It is "Bring your child to work" day. You work as an... Emotional Support Villain, making broken & retired heroes feel useful. | 52 |
Struck by a blast of dark magic, Princess Allesandra stumbled backward, as the Vile Witch of Darkfen cackled madly.
"Poor child!" the wizened enchantress sneered, with mock sympathy. "You were so enamored of your delicate feminine grace, so proud of your beauty and womanly charms, as you thoughtlessly danced, and capered, and sang through my realm -- do you suddenly find those feet of yours less *light and dainty?"*
Allesandra's eyes widened, and she felt at her body, frantically. Her feet were not her first concern. She patted at her chest, which she found to be broad and flat. She patted at her legs, which she discovered were muscular and hairy. Cautiously, she reached between said legs...and found she was not a *she* at all!
*Prince Allen* leaped to his feet, and thrust his fists into the air.
"Scoofa!" he crowed, exuberantly.
The witch blinked in surprise. "What?"
Seizing the frilly pink dress he had been wearing by its now-sagging bodice, Prince Allen tore the garment asunder. He was shirtless beneath, but wore a pair of sturdy traveling breeches that must have been extremely baggy on him, moments before. Then he kicked off the ill-fitting pink dancing slippers on his feet, which had already torn the seams of the lightweight footwear, and pulled a pair of folded leather moccasins from a satchel at his waist, the bulk of which had been concealed by the voluminous hoop skirt of his princess attire.
"What the hell is going on?" The witch demanded, clenching her bony fists in consternation.
The prince effected an awkward bow, occupied as he was with pulling on his moccasins. "The end of a long journey, my good woman! That was my fourth transmutation this month."
The witch furrowed her brow. "Fourth? In a *month?* How many enchanters have you pissed off, kid?"
He chuckled. "Only one, besides yourself. He turned me into a cat."
"A cat?" she exclaimed. "You were a princess!"
He nodded. "Indeed! But before that, I pissed off a wizard, who turned me into a cat."
"What happened then?" the witch asked, sounding genuinely curious.
Prince Allen stretched, limbering his now-considerable muscles. "Well, I don't know any magical spells myself, so I went looking for a ready-made way to change myself back. I snuck my fuzzy self into a curio shop after hours, one that was purported to traffic in magical items and other arcane contraband, according to the royal spymaster. Sure enough, tucked away in a storeroom, I found a genuine magic lamp."
"That's only *two* transformations, so I'm guessing you didn't word your wish very well." the witch mused.
"No indeed, madam, no indeed." Prince Allen confirmed, with a chuckle. "I rubbed the lamp with my little paw, and a genie popped out, as I had hoped. To my surprise, the spirit could even understand my feline speech. Glad to have someone to talk to again, I explained to him that I was really a prince, and that I'd been transformed into a cat by an evil wizard...and then I wished to *no longer be a cat."*
The witch slapped her wrinkled forehead. "Seriously?"
"I'm afraid so. The genie, with the malicious sense of humor typical of his kind, turned me into a *frog.* Worse still, this particular genie was the stingy sort who only has to grant *one* wish per master. But he assured me that -- as per tradition -- this *new* curse could be broken by a kiss from a princess." Allen went on. "Thus, whilst in amphibian form, I had to make my way to the next kingdom over, where I knew the nearest princess could be found. Once I made it to the pond in the palace gardens, I had to wait two horribly dull weeks among the other frogs -- who were, alas, just normal frogs, and hence not very good conversationalists -- for the princess to return from a holiday abroad."
"And then you got her to kiss you?" the witch asked, cocking her head to the side.
"Naturally. I mean, what princess *wouldn't* kiss a talking frog claiming to be a cursed prince -- just for the *story,* if nothing else?"
The old hag nodded, motioning for him to continue.
"Anyway, I explained my situation, she kissed me, and I was human again. But it turns out -- as I learned after perusing a few bestiaries in the palace library after the fact -- that frogs can sometimes spontaneously *change their sex."* Allen explained, ruefully. "Particularly if there are too many of one gender in the same habitat. Evidently, the palace garden's pond was a bit of a sausage fest, so after I lived there for a few weeks, fickle mother nature decided to assign me to the *other team,* to even things out a bit. Since the species of frog I became isn't very sexually dimorphic, I didn't even notice that it had happened. Breaking the genie's curse reverted my species, but not my gender, which had changed *non-magically* while I was a frog.*"*
The witch cackled in amazement. "Incredible, all that work to turn yourself back, only to discover that you'd become a woman in the process! And yet, you seem to have embraced femininity remarkably fast. What with all the dancing and singing through the woods near my home, nattering on about how much you loved being a pretty girl..."
The witch trailed off, narrowing her eyes, as realization began to dawn on her.
"Oh, you tricky little son of a bitch." she hissed.
Allen grinned. "Well, you weren't exactly likely to help me out of the goodness of your heart, were you? I mean, let's face it: you're not known as the Vile Witch of Darkfen because of your sweet disposition and propensity for aiding those in need."
"You think you can just come into my demesne, and make use of my magic for *nothing?"* the enchantress snarled, sickly purple bolts beginning to crackle around her skeletal fingers.
"Nothing? I did a lot of *hard work* to get you to help me!" Allen protested, with mock indignance. "I had to go pick out a wardrobe, learn dozens of tricky dance steps -- I even learned every single note of *'I Enjoy Being A Girl',* all to deceive you into thinking that the worst thing you could possibly do to me was turn me into a man!*"*
The witch snorted. "Very clever, little princeling, very clever." She raised her hands, the magical energy arcing between them intensifying.
"I look forward to seeing how you apply that cleverness to finding a way to change yourself back from being *a pile of charred bones."* she growled, thrusting her arms forward, and releasing a torrent of lethal magic at the Prince...
...a torrent of lethal magic which instantly rebounded from an invisible barrier around the young royal, and instead struck the witch full in the chest. She shrieked in pain and horror for only a split second, before her own spell burned her flesh to ash, and her blackened skeleton collapsed to the ground.
"Scoofa times two!" Allen cheered, thrusting a clenched fist skyward.
He stepped out of the hidden magic circle he'd pretended to stumble backward into when the witch changed him back into a man. He hadn't lied about not being able to cast any magic spells, he was no wizard.
*Magic circles,* on the other hand, could be inscribed by anyone who knew the correct runes, and could obtain a few costly material components with which to write them out on a surface. After he'd done that, concealing the circle with leaf litter from the forest floor had been trivial.
Prince Allen took a deep breath, oriented himself towards the nearest road, and started walking, purposefully.
There was, he recalled, a very charming princess who lived just one kingdom over. What's more, he knew based on what had been an extremely awkward experience with her, that she was both a *very* good kisser, and *exclusively* interested in men. | 369 | A furious witch decides to curse the princess of her kingdom, and transforms her into being a man. To her surprise, the newly-turned prince is overjoyed. | 960 |
The serial killer cautiously stalked after his victim - the so-called "fourth wall manipulator", so named after the prompt, crawled away on the ground, mere meters away. The victim had a nasty bleeding wound on his arm and his knee didn't turn the right way. Most of all he was worried about the chill he was beginning to feel in his feet.
"I can't believe how easy this was", the serial killer told his victim mockingly. "They said you were tough. All the news shows talked about how you beat the worst villains this city ever birthed. Some kind of reality warp ability. And yet, all it took was a good shove down a couple of stairs and you're out for the count. It's disappointing, really."
"You fool", said the victim. He had stopped crawling away and rolled over to give the serial killer a proper look. For dramatic effect, imagine that he even propped himself up with his elbows. "You can't kill me. I'm the hero of this story. And everybody knows the main character only dies if it's a necessary sacrifice to defeat the villain of the story."
"What the hell are you talking about? You're making it sound like we're in some kind of fairy tale. But that's not how any of this works. This is real life, you moron. In a couple of minutes I'm going to knife you to death. And you know what? I'm going to enjoy it." The serial killer licked his knife in a way no man who ever held a knife would.
The hero shook his head. "We are in a story. And if you kill me, the story ends, and I win because you'll cease to exist. You think you have me cornered and beaten. True, this wound on my arm sure seems to be bleeding a lot. But the truth is, you're the loser here today. I lured you into this story, this narrative." "I don't believe any of that", said the serial killer. "I know", replied the hero, "but you will by the next paragraph."
Realization sneaked up on the serial killer and gripped him as if it was the final chapter of your favorite book with an ending that was both unwelcome and entirely inevitable much like the inclusion of this run-on sentence. His head spun around and he noticed, too, how he was in fact in a story. "What just happened? I'm suddenly convinced that you're telling the truth. That's not fair!" "It was necessary for the story to progress to the next part", the hero replied with sadness in his voice.
"But what if... what if I don't kill you?" the serial killer asked. "If I don't kill you, you don't die, you don't win, and the story doesn't end." The serial killer paused for a moment. "Hang on. You told me I couldn't kill you right at the start of the story. Am I supposed to kill you or not? This is all so confusing!"
The hero suddenly coughed blood and seemed to spasm for a moment. "I didn't do anything! You can't die yet!" yelled the serial killer. "I'm afraid that's just the way this story goes", spoke the hero clearly enough to be recorded in-between quotation marks. "I mean I literally didn't do anything to you. Yeah, I pushed you down those stairs but that was all before this story even began. I wasn't given a proper choice in the matter! You can't hold me morally responsible for something I was just written as having already done!"
The hero simply shrugged and continued to bleed out. Realizing there was nothing left to do, the serial killer sat down besides the hero on the ground. "Isn't there anything we can do?" he asked. "I'm afraid not", said the hero. The serial killer looked at him questioningly. "Look, I know this is the final paragraph and all, and you're expecting some reveal or wisdom to tie the story off. But the truth is, the script just wasn't that well thought out."
Then the hero died. | 37 | You can break it when the situation is dire, fix it if the break is too dangerous or reinforce it to deal with annoyances. | 78 |
I stared at her, more importantly, at the gun in her hand. It was pointed at me. I would have been upset, but my gun was pointed in her direction, so we were even. Tears were starting to flow down her face, as the moment stretched to its breaking point. She didn't want to pull that trigger. I knew that, because I didn't want to pull mine. The man in the corner sighed, leaning forward.
"One of you has to shoot the other. I don't care which. That's the only way for one of you to prove it." He sat back, safe behind his bulletproof glass.
"Do you remember?" I whispered, hoping he couldn't hear me. As he didn't react, it seemed that his glass also muffled sound. Or he was just being patient.
"Remember what?" She whispered, at exactly the same tone and volume as me.
"Do you remember the summer? The water pistol battle we had?" As I spoke, the hot day came back to me. There had been a standoff— much like this one— though the ammunition hadn't been nearly as dangerous. A smile twitched at the corners of her mouth.
"I remember. It was fun. We lost, I think."
"Yes, but before we lost. Do you remember what happened—"
"What are you two doing? Get on with it!" The man interrupted me. I took a deep breath. This needed to be fast. I had to get her to remember, to agree that it was the best course of action.
"I remember what happened..." She paused, tilting her head to the side. "But do you think that's a good idea? It will be difficult. And technically, what he's asking is the right thing to do." Looking at her, at her eyes that were as familiar as my own, I trembled. I didn't care if her existence was illegal. Didn't care that I should have pulled the trigger when I first entered the room.
"It might not be a good idea. But it's the best we've got." Watching her closely, I saw the minute traces of acceptance. And together with my clone, I turned, running for the man in the corner.
With one shot, I broke the lock on his booth. Falling to the ground, I shoved the door open, as another shot rang out. The man slumped, bleeding from the neck. An alarm sounded, but I was already up, grabbing his ID card. My clone had sliced off his forefinger, knowing we would need it to get through the doors. I grabbed her hand, and we ran for the door. It was time to escape. | 72 | They aimed at each other in silence. Neither of them wanted to pull the trigger, but they both knew that one of them had to. | 224 |
"The everloving hell was *THAT* for, anyway?" Bryce asked, clearly making no attempt to hide the vitriol dripping from every syllable. "Haven't you ever heard of such a thing as consent in all your... oh, who am I kidding, of course you haven't. I'm sorr... wait a minute, why in the world am *I* the one apologizing?"
Genevive sighed and looked at Bryce. "To be honest, after the interactions we'd had over the years, it never occurred to me that you'd even consider declining such an offer. It's very rare that we accept new recruits to the prestigious House of Volstor; I've been... well, not alive, but... around, for over three hundred years now, and in such time, only twenty humans have been extended such an offer, each of whom graciously accepted without reservation..."
Bryce furrowed his eyebrows as he grabbed a glass of wine from one of the bottles next to his refrigerator. "So why me, then? I'm certainly no paragon of ruthlessness in the corporate world, no titan of industry, no undercity crime lord, no drug kingpin, no one with any sort of power or influence that would be able to assist your cause or contribute further to your house's wealth, status, or influence. I'm just a regular guy who was looking forward to finally getting to enjoy his eternal rest."
Genevive looked puzzled, realizing the error in judgement that she'd made, completely stunned that a man with such a taste for the finer things in this world would ever want to give it all up. She looked at Bryce, agitated, and asked for an explanation as to what he meant by 'enjoy his eternal rest'.
Bryce sat down and clenched his chest, wincing in the peculiarity of not feeling a heartbeat for the first time in his afterlife. "You know stars, up in the night sky... They live by burning their very essence, turning themselves into light and heat, killing themselves in the process. And at the very end of their life, the biggest ones explode into the most violent, energetic events in the entire universe"
Genevive still looked confused but cut him off "Yes, supernovae. I remember reading about them in my father's study some years ago. I'm just not sure what that has to do with your situation."
Bryce continued "I think I know why you picked me. But in truth, I wasn't going out on a reckless blaze of glory to enjoy life and all those 'finer things' you keep blabbering on and on about. In truth, I was doing it all in preparation for my own death. I was fully expecting to die. More than that, I was hoping that I would. I wanted to go out, on my own terms, to blaze my own trail of glory before going on into that good night"
"But," Genevive smiled. "Now you won't have to. You can enjoy all of that, for all eternity, and blaze your glorious trail for millennia to come"
Bryce nodded disapprovingly "I don't think I made myself clear. I wanted to die. I wanted to go on, and you took that from me. There are things that I want that aren't in this world, and thanks to your arrogant meddling in my affairs, now I'll never be able to get them, either. I had a family. Parents, a sister, a wife, a child. All of them dead. Parents died due to the trials of old age and sickness. Sister was killed by her abusive excuse of a husband in a drunken tirade one night about eight years back. My wife and kid died in a car wreck three years back. I survived thanks to being on the other side of the car, and sheer dumb luck of where the shrapnel went. I really... wanted to go back and see them again. I figured drinking, drugs, a little raging against the machine would be a good way to go. Burn off my hatred for this world and any regrets I have about my life here so I could be ready to be a good father, husband, brother, and child for them in the next. And now you've taken the one thing I've wanted above all else, Genevive. I... I just hope you're happy with yourself."
She paused for about a minute, though the silence seemed to last for hours. "I am... truly sorry. I know not about souls and what, if anything, awaits humans when they die. I was born a vampire centuries ago, and must admit that for all the knowledge I have gained, all the experiences I have enjoyed since then, the idea of ever wanting to die has never even crossed my mind. I will have to do some research. With that said, while I don't know much about what happens to the human soul when the body is turned, I can still help you grant the peace of oblivion, if that's really something you want me to do."
Bryce looked at his skin, now pale almost to the point of being translucent. "Give me some time. I have a few more things I need to attend to before I'm ready for my eternal rest. I trust I'll be able to contact you when that time comes?"
Genevive let out a relieved smile and handed him a card with an address located a few towns over. 'Just go there and hand this invitation to them and state that you're here to see me. They'll help get you where you need to go."
"Thank you, Gen. I have one last bit of revenge to carry out upon this world."
Genevive smiled and took flight off toward her family's estate. Bryce smiled, truly happy for the first time in years. "I saw my sister's ex just got let out of prison last week. I think it's time to go pay him a visit." | 12 | A vampire meets a local human they feel would make a great vampire. They're hedonistic, intelligent, masterfully artful, and live with no regard to consequences. The vampire expected them to be grateful. Instead, the human is furious, the human was actually looking forward to dying soon ; | 61 |
“But it’s the princess, sire. This is dire, we should immediately mount a rescue to-“ The king held up a hand, cutting off the frantic guard, then motioned for him to take a seat off to the side where a couple chairs had been placed for visitors. “Sire, I-“
“Go on, don’t deny the king’s orders. Sit, take a couple of deep breathes.” The king enjoyed a good laugh while the guard stiffly obeyed, waddling over to a chair and plopping down. His face only seemed to grow redder with each supposed-to-be calming breath.
“Sorry, sorry. You know, I can’t quite help it. It’s been at least a year since I’ve had something like this happen – not the kidnapping, but somebody getting worked up about it. Titus told me he had recently brought on some new hires but I suppose I assumed this would’ve been part of his debrief,” the king said. It was clear he should offer an explanation or hire a new guard once this one exploded.
“So we are not concerned the heir to the kingdom and your only child has been kidnapped?” The guard asked with a look of consternation or perhaps constipation.
“I’m more concerned about whoever kidnapped her. The princess was supposed to be getting ready to host a feast for the neighboring dignitaries to arrive tonight, and she’ll be rather put out someone else will have to be put in charge.”
“You’re more concerned for the kidnappers?”
“Yes. Goodness me, the last time this happened we had to pay their family out of the royal coffers to smooth over some of the lasting mental damage she caused. Kidnapping may be a crime, but nobody deserves that,” the king sniffed as he shuffled some papers around.
“That?”
“You’re better off not knowing, but let’s say I wasn’t aware joints couldn’t break that way.”
“Break?” The guard’s voice grew in pitch.
“Yes. It’s my fault, really. I’ve heard of this being a real problem for other kingdoms. People seeking money or trying to promote their cause, cultists looking for a good royal sacrifice, sometimes it’s heroes just trying to stay in the limelight. So I had her trained since she was a
child by a select group of adventurers, knights, and one fellow that might’ve been an assassin for the Guild of Knives, now that I’m thinking about it. Was a nice bloke actually.”
“So when she’s kidnapped…?”
“She’s more than capable of getting herself free, and exacting retribution on any responsible. Now, I’m sure you’re thinking that’s no excuse. As a concerned father, I should send guards anyway.”
“Right, I am, yes.”
“Well…” The king set aside his quill and leaned over his desk. “I tried the first time it happened, but the guards actually got in the way. My daughter is too competent, it’s honestly quite scary. Rather, I wish whoever kidnapped her had enough time to send a ransom or a threat or whatever. At least it would give me some bloody peace of mind to have a day or two without her in the castle.”
“Without whom in the castle?” Came the response. It wasn’t the question the king was expecting, but more disconcerting was that it wasn’t the guard who asked it. A moment later, the door was battered down with a swift kick and the princess marched in, blood-soaked burlap sack dangling at her side. That, based on prior experience, must be full of heads to be turned in for the bounty.
“Oh, you know, that head nun. She’s been poking about preaching to the nobles again, really quite a nuisance,” the king said, smooth as butter. “Have a nice time?”
“It wasn’t bad. Bunch of buffoons, but I recognized the leader from some bounties around town. You can split the reward among the servants.”
“Right, y-” The princess had already left before the king finished, leaving the sack of heads so they could leak all over the nice stone tiles.
“You see what I mean?” He turned to the guard.
“That was a lot of blood.”
“That wasn’t even half as bad as I’ve seen here. Now take these papers to the council for approval and clean up that sack.”
​
(Thanks for reading, C&C always welcome!) | 294 | "Sire, Sire, Grave news, The Princess has been kidnapped", "Oh has she?", "Sire... should you not be more concerned?". The king looked up from his reports, studying the guard's face before laughing "Ah, you must be new here, don't worry, she's more than capable of handling herself" | 443 |
“Oh, it’s you guys.” You mutter under your breath as you take in the crowd of black robes kneeling on the floor in reverence.
“Get up!” You snap, and the group quickly climb to their feet. A middle aged man who stands in front of the group bows slowly.
“Hail, great goddess of the cycle, we thank you for hearing our prayers and-“
“Can it. I only came because it’s considered rude to ignore a summons, I don’t really care about you guys.”
“But, great one, we’ve done so many things in your name..” he started
“Like what?”
“Well, the other day Thomas burned down an orphanage and next week he’ll set the castle barracks aflame.” The man said, to light clapping from the crowd
“There was supposed to be a flood that would’ve happened to that place next Tuesday. Do you know what all your reckless destruction in my name has caused?”
“No?”
“A headache, that’s what. I get multiple piles of complaints a day from the fates, death is similarly upset with me, and my husband feels overworked trying to compensate for all the unplanned death and destruction. Not only that but all the other gods laugh at me for having such idiotic followers.”
“But why? I don’t understand.”
“Well maybe you should’ve thought of that sooner. I am the goddess of the cycle, I have to make sure entropy increases as it should and things become irrelevant as they should. Do you know how much scheduling that takes? How much time I had to put in to planning everything so that it works properly? And then comes along you people, running around like adults toddlers, screwing with shit for the hell of it. You’re screwing up my very delicate machine, how many times do I have to keep telling you to stop?” You said with a voice that made each and every one of them cower in fear.
You wanted to smite them right then and there, but that would cause the very issues you complained to them about. So instead you just left, and penciled in an extraneous meteor to hit their lair on Friday. That’ll teach them. | 21 | The evil cult has finally succeeded in summoning you, their goddess. What they don't know is that you hate them just as much as everyone else does. | 100 |
I sat with Abigail at lunch in a cafe by our homes. We had always met up at this cafe after school, and it continued into our adulthood.
"Abby," I said with a weak smile as she sipped her latte. "You ever notice that you're a little... different?"
"Am I different?"
"Yes, you are."
"I'm just blunt and good at figuring people out. High social I.Q."
*High social I.Q. my ass, you're a telepath.*
"I'm not a telepath or a mind reader or anything like that."
"My lips didn't move."
Abigail huffed a little. "I know, I just figured you were thinking that because of how you were staring at me and how you typically think!"
*There's a hot chick behind you, to your right.* When Abigail turned to look, I inquired, "Whatcha looking for?"
"I just... had... spidey senses tingling."
"Thirst senses tingling is more like it. There's nobody hot here."
The man at the counter must have overheard that because he gave me a glare. He was alright, but not my type, and definitely not Abigail's.
"How did you know I was looking for someone hot?"
"Because I thought a lie."
"You mean you read my mind! That was my thought!"
"Abby, listen to me. I'm not joking with you. You're reading other people's thoughts and mistaking them as your own. But they're not your thoughts." *Please, believe me.*
Abigail took out her wallet and smacked a ten down on the table. She stuffed her wallet back into her purse and got up. "We're done talking."
*I wouldn't have told you if I didn't care about you, Abby. Please, consider my words.*
"No." She said sharply and stormed out of the cafe.
I cradled my head in my hands. It had to be bad, to consider other people's thoughts as your own. And there she was, gallavanting about clueless to the danger she was in. She had always been there for me, and now it was my turn to be there for her. "Haaah... fuck," I muttered under my breath as I contemplated my herbal tea. I smoothed my hair back, tears at the edges of my eyes. "What do I do...?" | 10 | Your best friend since kindergarten has been with you for most of your life, and you couldn't live without them. They always seem to voice your deepest worries, greatest hopes, but they always seem so oblivious. You realize, suddenly, that your best friend is unaware that they're a mind reader. | 65 |
Not a very good deal. You see, I'm a hunter. My job is to slay in order to provide, and I've provided for many, thus I've slain many. I've learned not to kill more than what I need, but others need more than I do. So I hunt, and over the years I've made the forest my playground, I know every root, I know every bush. The round arch of all the mounds, pools where water gather in cold mornings, where the wind is strongest, where the flock lingers and the meeker birds gather. I know the smell of every place I've stepped, at every season of the year, and I own it as if it was my own. Break a twig, show me and I can tell you where you broke it. That cursed deer, it - she, was just not in condition to be harvested. I don't know why or how, but it felt like it wasn't to be harvested, ever. So I shot him, the newbie sunnovabich that was gonna kill it. Her.
She led me somewhere else, somewhere I didn't know, and there I realized that I already knew everything. Before, something was missing from the forest, something I sought but never found. It felt incomplete, something was missing. But now I know, and now there are no more things to know and I feel at peace. But peace came at an heavy loss. Now it's the others, they have aged and they don't know me. They don't know the forest. They don't respect the forest. So I hunt, because I'm a hunter. I slay in order to provide, and now I provide safety. No more will other humans lay harm to the forest. | 51 | After saving a deer from drowing, the forest guardian gives you access to a secret grove, hidden from mortal eyes. For every hour you spend there, three days pass outside. You age only for the time you spend in the grove. | 296 |
Silence closed in on the reception hall, three teams of soldiers covering two glass doors leading deeper into an office, and the stairs they had just burst from.
"Remember the brief! It was the wind, yes?" Hales yelled.
"It- it was just the wind" Brewer forced out, swallowing loudly.
"Hague, get him and Delmar out to the overwatch team. Jacobs, Decker get your teams moving, I want these rooms cleared. And don't fucking acknowledge anything, its just the wind, do you understand?" They nodded and moved to exit the hall, one to each door, Hales cracked a green glow light and dropped it on the floor, the light shining brightly through the teams NVGs.
"Come on help me with Delmar." Hague called towards Brewer, who was standing limp-armed next to the still body of Delmar. Brewer stood there, his angry outburst turned to a stunned silence. Grabbing an arm, Hague grunted lifting up the dead weight of Delmar, "Help me would you, I'm not gonna carry him up the stairs by myself."
Delmar dropped his rifle and moved to grab an arm wincing as he pulled it around his shoulder. Hales gestured to the last team of soldiers and moved around the reception table and through the glass door on the right, a green glow light flushing the corridor with its sickly light. They moved through the corridor, more green light coming through kicked in office doors. Hales led his men through the corridor, reaching Jacobs. They were arrayed around a wooden door, a name placard read "Williams," it was like any other door that they had passed. Hales readied next to it his men lining up behind him. A man across the door from Hales held a detonator ready, awaiting his signal. Hales took a deep breath, and held up his left arm, the men behind him tensing up. The charge blasted the door off its hinges, Hales moving in quickly, his men charging in behind him. The light of the city spilled in from the glass windows of the 37th floor window of the building, silhouetting a body slumped in a chair, the sole occupant of the room.
"We're too late," Hales muttered moving around the edge of the empty room. Gunfire suddenly erupted from the corridor, someone yelling for a medic.
"Put a charge on the window, we're gonna push this thing out of here." Hales yelled, pulling the body from the chair. The glass shattered into a thousand shards, dropping to the street below, the body dropping right after it. "Get a ground team here now!" He yelled moving back towards the corridor. Jacobs called out, "we can't hold much longer, it-" his voice cut out mid sentence, the gunfire ceasing.
"Get back to the exfil!" They moved out, stepping over the body of Jacobs, the rest of his team nowhere to be seen. The man behind Hales grabbed the back of Jacobs' vest pulling him through the corridor as fast as he could. They rushed back into the reception hall, Decker's team standing at the ready.
"Where's Jacobs' team?" Hales called out.
"They never returned," Decker answered.
"They're gone then, get back to the exfil site, don't stop-" Hales was suddenly pulled back into the corridor, as if plucked by an invisible wire. His rifle slipped from his hands, pulled along by the sling around his neck, as he slipped into the thick darkness which had obscured the hallway, blocking out the green lights that had only just been visible.
"Go!" Decker yelled, firing a burst into the darkness, "get out of here!" | 15 | "It must have been the wind." "What do you mean the wind, Delmar was shot right in front of us!" "I'm telling you, it was the wind." "I'm going to look for the bandit who did this." "I order you to sit down at once and admit it was the wind unless you want to put ALL of our lives in danger." | 75 |
Better the devil you know. Like the one sitting on Samson's couch, currently coming down from a heavy spell of the munchies by raiding his fridge.
"Erin, did you steal my cookies?"
"Nooo~"," she replied, barely suppressing a half-snort, half-laugh that sent crumbs flying everywhere. "Why'd ya say that?"
Samson sighed, flicking the kettle on. "You could at least be less obvious about it."
"Aw, shush. You love me being here." She jabbed a finger at him, accusatory. "Now pay the toll."
Like a ritual, he measured out the perfect cup of tea for them both. Erin, naturally, had hers laced with enough sugar to render a small child comatose. Where some people used coffee to remedy bad mornings, Erin used sweets.
Of course, it helped not having to worry about your teeth. Or general health declining. Sometimes, Samson envied devils.
He took his place on the couch beside her, flicking the TV on. Switching between various ads, he eventually settled on the news, leaning back as Erin curled up next to him.
"*As tensions raise in the southern border, ministers have begun displaying a lack of faith in our current administration. Some are saying it's about time for a change — in leadership, but also direction of our country. 72% of the public are displaying mounting concern over the current military budg-*"
The words seemed to phase out as Samson eyed the reporter. To ordinary eyes, he was a comely young man, with a square jaw and a face marked by windburn.
But Samson could see beyond the veil. The horns that curled out from underneath his shaggy blonde hair. The slight curl in his lips that betrayed glee at each death reported, revealing unnatural fangs in his smile.
Samson saw the devil in the details. He had always been able to. They had taken *everything*.
Behind the reporter, the night sky glowed. Where others saw stars, Samson saw the lining of a sky with a thousand wicked smiles. In the vastness of space, he could see forms shifting and twisting — and their *laughter*, constant, echoing. Like they knew who he was. Knew that he could see them, but were revelling in his solitude, *daring* him to speak out to someone that could share his suffering. But there was nothing.
Samson looked up at the stars, and their laughter never ceased.
"*Samson, you're all aloneeee*," the reporter hissed, his voice a thousand at once, all boring into Samson's skull like an endless torrent of static. Samson squeezed his eyes shut, tried to pace his breathing. He could feel his head splitting open, the slow construct of his sanity beginning to crumble down —
Erin switched the channel. The noise stopped.
He ran a trembling hand through his hair as Erin clicked her neck. "Man that was all so depressing. Sorry, were you listening to that? Anyways, I think there's a documentary about meerkats on tonight; have you *seen* the way they bob their heads? Totally cute."
Samson smiled, although it wasn't entirely genuine. "Sorry, I've gotta head out tonight."
*Kill the devils. Kill them all.*
Erin pouted. "Ugh, work. You getting paid overtime at least?"
"Depends on the catch."
She threw her hands up in mock defeat. "Lame! Work's lame."
"Yeah. Getting high on my couch is much cooler." He went to flick her temple, though Erin managed to swat away his hands first.
"Exactly! Glad you get it."
"You'll have to work when you finish law school. You know that, right?"
"Samson, babe, at this rate I'm more likely to be a barista than a barrister."
"Right."
"What?"
"Nothing. Well, I guess... ok look, your coffee is atrocious. Sorry."
"Fuck you, I hope you fall off your boat and, like, break both your kneecaps."
Samson chuckled — this time, it was heartfelt. He had to admit, the devil was likeable, even if their relationship was partly built on a lie. He wasn't sure he'd be comfortable confronting that fact anytime soon.
Rising from the couch, he figured it was time to start preparing his 'work' gear.
"Knock 'em dead, tiger!" He heard Erin yell out behind him. He turned back and saw her lazily sprawled out on the couch, shooting him a pair of finger guns. He pointedly ignored her as he retreated into his room, bolting the door shut.
Oh, she didn't know the half of it.
Flicking a switch at his bedside, Samson pulled out a smaller compartment concealed by his sheets. Inside was a small handgun, a stack of silver bullets neatly arranged next to it.
He took the time to place the bullets into the clip, knowing that each one could mean the difference between him living and dying on tonight's mission.
Lastly, he grabbed a light kevlar vest, pulling it over his t-shirt before putting on a hoodie over both. Flicking the hood up, he looked back at the door, knowing someone supposed to be his sworn enemy was currently scouring through his cupboards for a stash of weed. He felt a slight throb in his heart as he considered the future, between him and Erin. Like most times he thought about it, he quickly dismissed the feeling, promising he would cross that bridge another day.
It was at times like this that he was glad she never left the house.
"Well, off to work," he mumbled, making a run for the window.
If he was the only one who saw the world for how it truly was, he knew the burden on him was to fix it. Whether or not he was up to the task — well, that was something he had yet to figure out.
----
**Liked writing this out so did a part two below!**
**and part three now!** | 450 | The devils greatest trick is convincing the world he didn't exist? HA! His greatest trick was convincing us he lost and God is still in charge. | 3,393 |
The lock clicked as I finished the unlocking sequence on Lord Verter's shackles and the chains hit the sand with a soft thud.
"Thank you, Mr Edwards," Lord Verter said politely. I nodded back
"I want you to know," he continued, "that I hold no ill will towards you for being my jailor."
"I'm glad you see it that way, sir," I replied.
"And this is exactly why. I'm a wretch, cast out of society, deemed irredeemable and yet you've always been polite. Not just to me; I've seen you treat the others just as well. Shows character."
"Just proper manners, sir," I said with a gentle smile.
"Yes," he smiled back, "yes they are. Now then - shall we take inventory?"
"I believe that'd be best, sir," I said. This is precisely why I chose to free him first - goal-oriented, strategic, clever. Lord Verter almost overthrew the king with only a handful of skeletal warriors, a few well-placed bribes and a single deer antler. That's the sort of man you want in charge when all's gone to hell and you're stuck on a deserted island with nothing but villains and evil-doers.
"Now, as for items, we've enough biscuits for..." I took a moment to calculate in my head, "three days, give or take, a crate of tea - thank the heavens - three flintlock pistols with no further ammo, a load of semi-usable wood," I said and nodded towards the wrecked ship, "and, well... them," I finished with a gesture towards the handful of souls on the beach who managed to survive. Lord Verter followed my eyes carefully.
"Who's our best asset here, Mr Edwards?" he said calmly.
"I believe that'd be Miss Smitten, sir," I said and pointed towards a middle-aged woman swinging her feet from a rock she sat on. "A witch, sir. Highly capable in hex and potioncraft. Crimes of... cursing several village folk who wronged her. Ultimately nothing heinous and as she is a mortal woman, she'll have as much interest in survival as us."
Lord Verter nodded, seemingly making mental notes. "What about that fellow? Always struck me as... wrong," he said and looked at a man standing perfectly still and upright not too far away from us. He turned to us, his face twisted into a perpetual, sadistic grin. He always smiled like that. Always. I hated it.
"Oh, uh," I said, flustered, "best we steer clear of him and keep him well shackled and nullified."
"Oh?" Lord Verter raised an eyebrow. "That bad?"
"Yes, sir. We... don't think it's human and don't know if it even has a name. We do know that it slaughtered 17 people, 6 of which were children, in one night."
"Why would he- it *possibly* do that?" Lord Verter exclaimed.
"We think it was for fun."
Much to my surprise, Lord Verter's noble manners lowered for a moment as he spat on the ground.
"Well," I hastily continued, "then there's... a werewolf, Mr Jenkins, a scientist gone too far in his experiment, Mr Hyde, uh... that thing," I pointed at a fleshy mass slithering about, "which is... one of Mr Hyde's experiments, several lesser demons - likely of little use lest we make a deal - aaaaand... that'd be about it, I believe."
We exchanged looks, each pondering our situation. Suddenly, Lord Verter extended his hand and for a moment, my heart stopped - I'd half expected him to snap my neck now that he had the information - but he only stretched it with a loud, satisfying crack.
"Well then, Mr Edwards," he said with far more enthusiasm and optimism than he had any right to in this situation, "I believe we'd best get to work. Miss Smitten," he yelled out with a pleasant, gentle tone. She turned towards us.
"A word, if you'd please?" he smiled. | 209 | A galley transporting a fantasy world's worst villains to prison is shipwreked. You are among those washed ashore on a dangerious and uncharted isle. Your fellow survivors are would be prisoners. There is no hope of escape and you must work alongside dark lords, witches, and demons. Or perish. | 584 |
Storm clouds rumbled in the distance, their solemn declarations echoing through the overcast cliffs of the Inner Hebrides of Scotland.
They darkened the day, shrouding the world in a mood of grey overcast, and laying a blanket of silence upon the rocks.
Kanye North turned, inclining his head at a shepherd passing by with his flock. He was worn, this shepherd, a pale face cracked with age and wind, thin white hair whipping in the wind.
"We'll be on'er way, soon e'nough," the shepherd said over the grumblings of storm, bowing his head to the Keeper North.
Great chains of lightning bridled together in the clouds above, and the thunder that followed was soon in coming.
"Perhaps sooner," Kanye North suggested in a gentle tone.
"Aye," the shepherd said, swallowing nervously. "Perhaps sooner."
He whistled, and soon him and his sheep were gone.
The clouds above gathered in a denser cluster, and a great torrent of blue lightning tore down from them, not a foot away from where Kanye North stood.
He didn't flinch.
The light faded from the Archaen stone, revealing a figure standing on the grass beside him.
*"Perhaps we gather here, where beside the stone we do not seem so old,"* Kanye North thought, gaze lingering on the cliffs for a long moment before falling upon the figure before him.
Kanye South was tall, taller than Kanye North, even, with long black hair and a thick black beard. He wore a clothing that looked more like a tapestry one might find in a temple at the height of the Aztec empire than anything else, and it draped his lithe frame with elegance.
Kanye North tugged his woolspun robe from where it had dipped below his shoulder.
"East?"
Kanye South's voice was a deep croak, like the felling of a great oak.
"Nor West."
"*West,"* Kanye South scoffed, shaking his head and letting his gaze fall upon the waters hundreds of feet below. They shimmered now, now that the storm clouds had left.
The air around them buzzed and blurred. North could not see anything, apart from the empty cliffs, but the silence was suddenly accompanied by the clamor and conversation of a great bazaar. Perhaps Turkey, or Pakistan.
Kanye East emerged, the eldest of them, Sumerian features strong and elegant, stronger and elegant still by the armani suit he wore.
East looked around. "We are gathered, then?"
"Yes--" South said, but North interrupted.
"No," he said, voice flat and implaccable like matte steel. "West is not among us."
"West has never attended," East said.
"He thinks himself above us," South accused.
"He simply doesn't know," North said.
*"South has grown impatient as the centuries have stretched,"* he reflected.
"....We do not need him."
South's word were whispered, so they did not echo through the cliffs of Scotland.
But the silence did.
"Of course we need him," North said.
"You believe this too, Kanye East?" South asked, turning.
East shrugged. "All must meet to begin the end of days."
"All," South acknowledged. Then he moved, blue trails of lightning followed. A knife came out from within the holy textiles. He moved too fast for North to react. The knife slipped in and out of Kanye East with sickening ease. Curved and serrated, when it left it pulled a stream of blood with it.
*Impossible.*
No sooner had he thought the word than South was upon him, the knife sinking into his own heart.
"What have you..." North gasped, looking to East for help.
East was crumpled. Bleeding. Dead.
*Impossible.*
Kanye North fell to his knees.
"I have *harvested you,* North," South said, staring at him with dead eyes, the ancient sharks of Greenland.
"H...arve..."
He couldn't finish the word. Too much blood in his mouth. Clogging his throat. More still coming.
"The end of days is too long in coming," he said. "There shall no longer be Four. West shall be quick in the dying. And there will be One."
*No. No.*
*The end of days?*
North thought of the shepherd. Of his kind and weathered face, wandering the isles with his sheep and his dog and the silence. He didn't want humanity to end. The truth was, he loved it too much. Perhaps South was right, and North never would have allowed the end of days at all.
But if there was to be an end of days, it could not be brought on by South. If the chapter must end... What final words to close the book on humanity? What ink would be writ, if *South* held the pen?
No. It could not be.
*"West,"* North thought, his thoughts scraping the earth, searching for their lost kin. He had sent many messages to West over the centuries. West had heard them, he was sure. None had been answered.
*"Please. It is up to you now. South has betrayed us. He will come for you, bringing the might of all of us against you. Against humanity. Please. Please."*
North waited, hope dying in his heart even as the last of his lifeblood pooled out onto the grass. It ran down and over the cliff, dropping into the water below.
*"Please,"* he thought. *"You must stop him."*
The world was dark, now. The Isle of Skye, and the clouds above, and the grass and earth and sea below..all gone. Only enveloping darkness.
In the silence, upon the border of life and death, of hopelessness and loss and the end of days...an answer came.
*"I will stop him,"* the voice said. *"I will. I promise."* It was him. It was West. *"No one man should have all that power."* | 11 | The Prophecy states "When Kanye West, Kanye East, Kanye North and Kanye South shall meet, then will begin the end of days" | 36 |
I sat at the table in front of Nana and watched her pull out the dough from the baking machine. Her wrinkled old hands kneaded the dough between her fingers, feeling if the pale lump of unbaked bread was just right.
“Mmmm, yes,” she said with a pleased look on her face.
Nana never smiled. She just drew her lips together in a thin line, smoothing out the lines in her face. I liked Nanas expressions. They were always warm, and she had a twinkle behind her eyes whenever she spoke to me.
Nana sprinkled the powdery white flour all over the table where I sat waiting for orders. She placed the entire dough in front of me. “Are we old enough to handle finishing the bread by ourselves today?”
I nodded eagerly.
At twenty-five, I could handle making a loaf of bread by myself. Of course Nana had made the dough, but that was only because hers always came out a bit better than mine. I had tried many times in my kitchen at home and in her kitchen to make the exact same lump of water and flour, but it never tasted the same.
I kneaded the dough into the flour to make sure the consistency was dry enough to be put on the baking tray. Nana brushed off some flour on her apron and walked over to the sink, filling up her water spray.
“I just need to water these little guys before we shove the bread into the oven and have a cup of tea,” she said.
Nana leaned in over the small hovering orb by her windowsill and began spraying the miniature model of the planet Verma.
Spray, spray.
Tiny people below the atmosphere danced in unison.
Spray, spray.
The people of Verma lifted their heads up to Nana, watering them in the sky.
Spray, spray.
People broke out in panic, running up hills and climbing their buildings.
“Nana, I think that’s enough,” I said. “You don’t want to start a flood again. Remember how sad it was last time?”
She took a step away from the model. It reflected everything that happened on the actual planet out in space, several light years away from Nana’s small cottage.
“Oh, I just zoned out for a bit,” Nana said. “Lucky these little guys aren’t real.”
“Ehm...” I said. “Nana, you know they are actual people. They are very powerful and live at the other end of our galaxy, thinking you are some sort of god. I don’t think you realize how much of their environment you accidentally control through your little model.”
Nana gave me one of her smiles, lips pulled together in a thin line and eyes sparkling. “You and your daydreams. You were always such an imaginative kid.” | 34 | You have no idea how grandma hasn't realized after all these years that she's running the most powerful empire in known space from her little cottage. | 54 |
*Drip. Drip. Drip.*
The audible falling of water in little droplets would have driven anyone mad, and made those who humanity considers shining figures of peace into nothing more than depraved maniacs. It was its own form of hell, the pollution of noise in its most subtle yet persistent form. So upsetting, that those who came by it could not stand to be in the room for more than a minute, less they start hearing an annoying yet rhythmic drip, which would fill their head and their dreams. Most of the guards at the very least knew better than to stay in that room.
Though there’s always one.
The new one, the one who has more bravado than anyone, who in our society of heroes, celebrities, idols, and superstars, wants nothing more than their fifteen seconds of fame. And when I heard his footsteps, boots hitting the concrete floor with a joyous step, a glint had entered my awaiting eyes.
“Okay prisoner. It’s time for you to eat, and unlike the others I won’t deal with your inaction. If I have to come in there and force this sloppy fish feed down your throat myself.”
*Drip. Drip. Drip.*
I couldn’t help but smile. A toothy smile that would unnerve many, almost like a secondary test. My light brown eyes met his sky blue ones, and in his eyes I saw an annoyance like none other. He was as fed up with me as many preach they are with their bosses, or bosses to employees. This was going to be easy.
“The hell are you smiling at? What am I saying, someone as idiotic as you wouldn’t be able to understand your sentence.”
*I slowly stood up, as the joints within my body made their popping noises, almost sounding like an odd bubble wrap, the blue wraps now muddled brown, falling down my melanin rich body, and hitting the floor, only having enough to cover up the parts which should be reserved for intimate partners.
Or bathrooms.
*Drip. Drip. Drip.*
“They’re right. This dripping is fucking maddening.”
“No. You’re simply stupid~”
My raspy voice let out, as the dripping continued.
“I’m stupid? You’re stupid. I’m greatness wrapped in a six foot frame.”
I was sure that had a photographer been behind him, they would have captured this moment. Captured the moment that many would say “was right before disaster struck.” It brought me joy, and a glint entered my eyes.
His life was forfeit.
“Hi ‘Greatness wrapped in a six foot frame’, I’m dad.”
His blue eyes looked into mine, before his body hit the ground, leeching forward so hard as he held where his liver would be, that his head banged loudly against the bars of the prison cell, blood seeping from his forehead. Being within range, I slowly dropped my body back down, seeing blood seep out of his mouth, as he shook and shuttered, curling forward just enough that my skinny fingers were able to slip the keys from his belt loop. I could see as his arms reached up, but it was far too late, as I unlocked the door to my cell, hearing it clatter open.
“What’s brown and sticky? A stick!”
I proclaimed these words, as he began to convulse on the floor, I walking past his body. He would be dead soon enough, and with today being Thursday, the guards would be too busy soliciting ‘favors’ from the prisoners to notice me making it to the announcement room.
It looks like I was going to be free yet again. | 615 | In this world, Dad Jokes are lethal. The Listeners suffer fatal reactions, writhing in discomfort and agony, waiting for the inevitable end. As a result, Dad Jokes are illegal, and punishable by life in prison. You, the world's most deadly criminal, are the master of Dad Jokes. | 2,290 |
"He's home!" I heard a voice yell out from the living room as I closed the door behind me. Shortly after, a girl, almost 7 years old, ran out to greet me.
"Hey mom," I smiled at her and gave her a hug. "Look what I've got you!" I presented her with her gift; a beautiful snowglobe with fully animated rabbits inside. It was my Mother's day gift.
"Thank you!" she said, eyes wide with amazement. "I love it!"
"Hey there Liam," another voice said as a woman walked toward me and kissed me.
"Hey sweetie," I smiled.
"Dinner's ready in a moment," she smiled.
"Sure. I'll just go shower - don't want any distortions, do we?"
They both smiled as I walked upstairs. The bathroom was downright luxurious by my standards - hot water, soft towels, tiles that didn't leak... such were the benefits of working in an Astral Mine. It was an... interesting job. A fairly recent discovery by the mages, it was soon found to be a priceless source of raw mana crystals. The downside of working here is, well... stuff gets weird. Take the temporal distortions for instance - I'm raising my own mother. The homes are fairly well insulated by the Mage Guild, but stuff like this happens.
Pay's good. More than good. Comes with the hazard. In a normal mine, you might get caved in or coal in your lungs. Here, you can get displaced in an alternate dimension and instead of coal, you get covered in thaumic offshoot dust that can cause a world of trouble without a proper shower. Maybe that's why we get such nice bathrooms.
I watched the violet-tinted water run off of my body and down the drain. A little bit formed a clump that got stuck; I bent over and picked it up, finding it to be a fully sentient pebble that gave me a friendly wave. I smiled at it and gently placed it outside my window, closing it behind it. I'm sure it would find its older brothers soon. They always do.
I walked back downstairs and sat down at the table as my wife placed a plate full of meatloaf and potatoes in front of me. I chuckled.
"Look at that... 5 years ago and having this much meat at once would be a miracle. Thank you, sweetie," I said and smiled at my wife.
We dug in, talking, laughing, exchanging stories about our days as we were suddenly interrupted by a knock on the door. Curiously, I looked toward the calendar on the wall; we weren't expecting anyone today. I walked to the door and opened it, finding... **me**.
"Oh," I said.
"Oh indeed," I said.
"Well, this is new."
"Honey? Who is it?" my wife called out.
"Oh it's-" we both yelled back in perfect unison but stopped suddenly. Exchanging looks, we laughed.
"Well don't just stand there," I chuckled and cleared the way, allowing myself in. "The meatloaf is getting cold."
"Meatloaf?" I said as I walked in. "How about that. 5 years ago, having that much meat at once would be a miracle."
I laughed loudly.
"I know right?!" | 187 | You are a miner, just as your farther before you and your grandson before him. Working in an astral plane mine is weird, but the wizards pay well. | 429 |
The floorboards squeaked as a new face entered the bar, hand cannon hugged tightly to his side. A few patrons glanced up to eye him through the frosted glasses of their drinks; observed as he glared around the room until his sunken eyes met with the bartender. I continued to watch as he approached the bar top, tall, mean looking fella. He had a way about him that most who dared trudge through those bar doors did. An aura that permeated the air and said *I wish you would*, nobody did.
Though the bar was loud I could read his lips as he spoke to the bartender and said, "Hot Toddy, extra slice of lemon." The bartender got to work, returning a moment later with an amber yellow drink in hand, two lemon slices hanging from the rim.
"Aren't you forgetting something?" the newcomer's lips moved once more.
"Of course. My mistake" to which the barkeep pulled out a neon green straw full of twists and loops from a breast pocket.
As the man turned to sit I realized I had been staring too long. His eyes met mine for just a moment, but long enough for him to clock my gaze. *Fuck* I tried to look away, but too late, he was coming over. Every step brought him and his Hot Toddy that much closer to my table. It wasn't so much I feared the man, more of my enjoying drinking alone. If he joined me then well...it wouldn't be drinking alone anymore which is exactly why I came to this bar in the first place.
With one hand I gripped the hilt of a knife that ran sheathed down my pant leg, the other fiddled with the tiny hot pink umbrella floating in my pineapple margarita. Sure enough after a moment he had made his way up to me.
Now towering over the table he spoke in a gravelly voice "Seat taken?"
"No, but there's plenty others." I spoke back plainly.
Up till this point I tried to avoid his gaze, but at my reply I did my best to stare my displeasure into him. To will my fury deep into his brain through his corneas. If he felt it he failed to show it. Instead he stared back blankly as his mouth struggled to find the twisty straw in his Hot Toddy. Finally making purchase he took a long sip as we made badass, uncomfortably long eye contact.
He spit out the straw and spoke again, this time loud enough for the surrounding tables to take notice "Uh huh and what ever happened to hos-pi-tal-ity? Ain't got none of that round here?", and then took his seat across from me.
"We were hospitable enough to let you in the bar without a hole in your neck. That not enough hos-pi-tal-ity for you?" I mocked, then bent the floral patterned straw in my margarita and took a sip. Delicious as usual. Sal sure knew his way around a margarita.
The tables nearby kept up their gaze waiting for the tension to reach its climax. Though I couldn't see it I knew the stranger had a hand on his iron under the table, but at this distance my knife would reach him first. *His hand* I thought. If I could get him through the hand he draws with then it'll be quick work. Just as I began to pull the blade from its sheath a large hand rested on me from behind. I turned to be greeted by a neon pink drink in a tall glass, the straw stretching up even taller.
Attached to one end of the straw a large man sipped down greedily. He was stout, muscle bound, and hard to look at on account of the glare from a flickering light above bouncing off his bald head.
"Let's be civil. You know once you start everyone else will too Florence" he, Toller, was right. And I just wanted to enjoy my drink in some form of peace.
"I'll tell you both what. No fight and the next round of Strawberry Surprise Daquiris are on me, whaddya say?"
Now that was something neither me nor the stranger could disagree to. | 20 | A dim and grim fantasy tavern, but all the drinks are colorful and fruity, with little umbrellas and bendy straws. | 94 |
I rubbed my head, feeling a little woozy. Voices started to filter into my reality, all of them sounding confused.
"What—" "Where are we?" "Who are you?" "What is going on?" Opening my eyes, I looked around. At least twelve other people were in the room, some —like me— just getting up, others already starting to prowl around.
"Zyla? Is that you?" I turned, locating the source of the voice. The person looked vaguely familiar...
"It's me. Mark. From second grade? I was a bit smaller then." As soon as he said his name, I knew him. It had been at least twenty years since I'd seen him last, which explained why I hadn't recognized him right away.
"How," I cleared my throat. "How did you know it was me?" He moved beside me, offering a water bottle. Checking it was unopened, I took it, grateful for the kindness.
"You rubbed your head the same way after Annie knocked you down at recess once." Shrugging at my expression, he scrubbed a hand through his hair. "I remember silly stuff like that. Always have. Like you and your sense of direction." Nodding, I stood, feeling a little more normal.
We were in some kind of entrance hall and — judging by the fact that no one was running out the doors—we were locked in.
"Does anyone know why we're here?" The man who shouted was about forty and had the voice of a motivational speaker. Everyone stood up a little straighter, turning towards him. But unfortunately, the answers were all negative. Mark walked over to a window, reaching for the catch. With a curse, he drew his hand back shaking it.
"It's electrified somehow—" He broke off, as there was a collective gasp. The window had vanished. I spun, somehow knowing it would now be on the other wall. Sure enough, it was there, sparkling in the sunlight.
"How..."
"Um, guys? Check your pockets." A mousy-haired woman said, raising her hand, holding up a piece of paper. In a motion mirrored by everyone, I jammed my hands in my pockets, feeling a small folded piece of paper meet my fingers. I hadn't put anything there this morning. Pulling it out, I read the words, hearing them murmured by twelve other voices.
'Welcome. You have all been chosen because of a special ability you possess. This mansion is a dangerous anomaly in space and time. Tread carefully. One wrong move and you may be lost forever. I am somewhere inside. Please. Help me.'
There was a brief, intense quiet. No one seemed to want to talk first.
"I remember things. Small details." Mark broke the silence, and it was like he unleashed a flood.
"I always know what time it is. Never need a watch."
"I can make a perfect cup of tea, no matter what tea."
"Anyone who listens to me gets inspired." I was right, the man was a motivational speaker.
"I know what someone weighs, just by looking at them." More and more people joined in, saying what made them special. Finally, I was the only person left.
"I always know where I am. And where everything is in relation to me." The motivational speaker nodded at me, before waving to the group.
"All right. Here's what we need to do." It was difficult getting everyone to agree, but our mysterious captor—or was it helpless victim?—had known what they were doing. Soon, the man had us organized into two groups. Anyone who could help us get through the mansion was in the front with me. Anyone whose special ability seemed oddly specific was in the group behind us. And, knees trembling, we set off through the mansion.
—————————
The thirteen was down to just five of us by the time we got to the second floor. I wasn't sure if the people we lost were all dead. After all, the tea lady had just started making a cup in the kitchen, when a whole wall slid between her and us. But that had opened the stairwell that got us to the second level of the mansion. So I suppose it was a good thing. Some of the other's fates though, had not been so kind. Still, there was nothing to do but keep going forward. Mark squeezed my hand, asking a silent question.
"We go left." My voice was dry, the water bottle long ago consumed. Slowly, we walked down the hall. You had to go slowly. Bifurcation was not a pleasant way to die. A wall shimmered into existence inches away from my nose. Frowning, I turned, feeling reality shift in a way I had grown to recognize. "Now we should go through here." I opened a door, leading the group inside. We were all holding hands. It was the only way not to get lost, or worse. The room was empty, or at least appeared to be. There were no guarantees it would remain that way. Across the space—on a wall that should have led outside—was another door. Still leading, I started towards it. I took two steps, and my foot landed in water. Jerking back, I held up my hand, halting the group. Instead of the room floor, a river cut between the two doors. No bottom was visible, and I was tempted to turn us around. But the feeling that we were close, so very close was pressing into my mind.
"We're going to have to swim. Does anyone have any problems swimming?" Fortunately, no one spoke up. We all knew better than to lie in this place. Lying about your abilities meant death. Plunging into the river, I drew in a sharp breath. It was ice cold. We couldn't stay in here for long, or frostbite and hypothermia would kick in. I could feel desperation driving my limbs as I swam. Even if we got out in time, the cold wet clothes would be—Mid stroke, the river disappeared and warm sand slapped me in the face.
Jumping up, I reached for Mark's hand, fingers slotting into the now-familiar grip. The others joined our chain. All except for one. We'd lost the motivational speaker. He was probably still swimming in the river somewhere. But right in front of us, standing anachronistically in what looked like a desert was a wooden door. I knew what we sought was on the other side. Taking a deep breath, I shoved it open, to reveal a bedroom.
In the corner, standing by the bed, a man stood. He was dressed as if he'd stepped off the pages of a Jane Austen novel. Striding over, he gestured for us to enter. As we did, his face fell.
"So few. So few of you made it through... Ah, but the most important three made it." He smiled at me, Mark, and the woman who always knew what time it was. Noticing our wary posture, he sat on the floor, motioning us to join him. "You'll be safe here. This room doesn't shift or change like the rest of the house. Please, sit. Rest. You must be tired." My knees made the decision for me, and I collapsed to the ground, taking Mark with me. "I know you will all have questions. But we must only rest for fifteen minutes. Otherwise, the house will see you as residents. Not guests. And you must remain guests. That is vital."
"Why?" Mark sounded exhausted.
"Because when you're a resident, it becomes impossible to leave. Why do you think I had to bring you into this death trap? So you can help me get out." There was a spark in the man's eyes. I didn't know if it was madness or something else, and I was too tired to care. Struggling to my feet, I nodded to the others. They rose as well.
"All right. Let's go. No point in putting it off." Bracing myself, I opened the door and stepped once more into the hellish shifting of the mansion. Hopefully, we would make it out alive. Because I really, *really*, wanted answers | 22 | 13 people wake up in a mansion. All the exits are barricaded, and nobody knows where they are or why they're there. | 109 |
Brian’s synapses fire along paths older than the roads into ancient Rome. In front of him a monitor flickers to life, bathing him in a cold, sterile light. His view outside of the hermetically sealed pod is now obscured, as is his preference. Brian used to enjoy the skyline from his pod, but the outside was long covered in a thick film of dust. His eyes fixate on the screen only an arm’s length from his face. The dead pixels, of which there are many, no longer register in Brian’s vision. He knows the interface better than the faces of his own children. After all, he has seen it far more than any of them in several millenia.
For a moment, as Brian goes through the usual registration process to join the network, a tear wells up and rolls down the deep crevices of his cheek. Somewhere in the pod an imbalance in water levels registers, and a replacement dose calculated from the recycled waste is delivered intravenously into Brian. He does not register this on any high functioning level. His task is too important.
The loading screen subsides and a welcome message displays. Brian reads it to himself, an affirmation of everything he knows.
>Welcome to The Network. Welcome to Life, Brian.
In a rare moment, Brian exhales without the aid of the pod’s machinations. The irregularity is noted in a log somewhere in local storage that will never be reviewed, unable to ever be revealed as nothing more than a sigh of relief. He sifts through messages, each interaction translated through the various probes pressing into his skull. Although uncomfortable, he had long passed the point of caring about such things.
One notification stuck out. Derek’s pod had gone offline overnight. It was a shame, thought Brian. He recalled Derek mentioning that his connection had been unstable lately. Some of the electrode pads had become detached as Derek’s spine shrank. Brian wondered if he tried to reattach them himself. Did he dare to move an arm? Probably not, Nick had tried that a couple of decades ago before succumbing to a pod-induced coma. Surely he didn’t try to scoot back into them?
It did not matter much, the result was the same no matter the cause. Derek was gone. Brian reviewed his local network. Only four nodes remained, including himself. The other three were offline, but Brian knew he usually came to life first each morning. While he waited, he tried to remember his time before the pod.
Brian was pretty sure he had some importance in his “walking” life. He remembers calling many people from a busy office, trying to convince them to take whatever miracle his company sold. There was a lot to be happy for, although he never can recall anything specific. There were the long nights at the office, deadlines to meet, and the satisfaction of a job well done. Finally, he would go home and crawl into bed while the rest of his family had already been asleep for hours. Waking early the next day, unable to take time for luxuries like basic conversation or breakfast. It must have been very important, indeed. After all, why else would he have been furnished with such a great vessel for his aging body?
Brian saw a ping as a new notification popped up in the corner of his screen. One of the other nodes had awaken. He opened a message terminal, his day finally ready to begin. | 39 | Humans achieved immortality, but they couldn't quite cure the effects of aging. Many thousands of years later, Earth became littered with trillions of withered human husks, unable to do more than communicate with their closest neighbors. | 118 |
Hi, so I'm someone who isn't a writer, but I just saw your prompt on reddit and decided to give it a go. Tell me if you enjoyed my story! Here goes...
"Th- the law in this county says that even if I fail the breath thingy, you cant arrest me until I fail a test of skill, wit, or
dexterity," a drunk driver yells.
"Oh really?" says the policeman. "You are sadly mistaken. The law is that I can subject you to a test of skill
AND the breathylzer."
"But," says the drunk driver, "if I can pass a test of skill, wit, or dexterity, doesn't that make me fit to
drive?"
The policeman replies, "Yes, I suppose that's true. The reason I caught you was because I received a tip from
the host of the party that you left the house drunk. But if you are fit to drive, you aren't really posing
a public danger"
"Exactly! I need this, if I get another mark on my license, I'm going to lose it," says the man.
"How about a game of chess. If you can beat me in this game, I will let you go. But if you lose, I'll haul
your sorry ass to jail."
"But... I'm not that great at chess. I haven't played since I was 19," says the man. The man believed that showing weakness
would encourage the police officer further, making the police officer believe he had already won.
"Don't worry. I haven't played chess in the past decade either. I got this magnetic set as a gift for my nephew," the policeman explains.
"Its in my trunk."
"Ok..." the man replies. In his head, the man was jumping for joy. A magnetic set meant that not being completely precise with moves
would still be fine, since the pieces lock in. Thus, the police officer won't notice the fact that the man was still slightly drunk.
But even better, little did the police officer know that the man was the under 18 world champion at chess. From the opening, the man
completely demolished the officer to the point where it wasn't even a competition.
"HOW???" the officer exclaimed. The man explained his previous status as world champion.
"Ok, " the officer replied, "I'll let you go on one condition."
"But didn't you already say that you would let me go if I won?" the man
asked.
The officer shot back, "I can still give you a speeding ticket, since you were going 10 miles over the limit in a residential
neighborhood." The man just smiled sheepishly, he had nothing to say to that.
"The favor I'm going to ask is that you tutor my nephew in chess. He wants to play, but can't seem to win any tournaments.
He's ultimately losing motivation. Can you give him some guidance?"
"I would love to," the man replied. "Hopefully I can experience the joy of my youth again as well as pass on that joy to the next generation."
Secretly, the man would have said anything to avoid another ticket, and wondered if he would be the best influence. But he was happy
to play the game of chess again. | 18 | "Th- the law in this county says that even if I fail the breath thingy, you cant arrest me until I fail a test of skill, wit, or dexterity." | 28 |
We're in the grand hall of Turnbull Mansion, high up on the jagged peak of the Cliffs of Greave, with sheet lightning fissuring the sky. The belladonna vampiresses lounge, red-lipped and pale-skinned, sipping chilled blood freshly drawn from the brood-humans in the kitchen dungeon. Meanwhile the adonis vampires duel across the dance floor, their rapiers whipping like stolen glances through the chill air. In a cage suspended below the diamond chandelier, a string quartet of captured humans play a Bach concerto.
This is vampire culture at its peak. This is us at our finest, most comfortable, most powerful. We are wealthy beyond measure, dangerous beyond reason, and sinful beyond sense. Until, that is, our matriarch intrudes.
The grand French doors, easily three times our matriarch's height of four-foot-one, part for her like a curtain for the wind. She may have the small hands, thin arms, and delicate face of a girl of nine, but she is three thousand years old, and she's spent those years drawing power to herself the way a black hole sucks in light.
One time, in the nightclub beneath Windsor Castle, I watched her peel the skin from a duke's face using the nail of her pinky finger. The skin came away in one piece. She made the duke's wife wear it as a mask for the rest of the evening.
Three hundred years ago, high in the mountains above Switzerland's Zuiderzee, she extinguished the only clan of Shaolin Monks this side of the Danube. She did so by herself. I can hardly describe how she did this. She moved so quickly, and with such ferocity, that I couldn't make out the action, only the aftermath. At one point she punched a monk's sternum out through his spine. It embedded itself in the stone wall behind him.
There is no one alive -- or undead -- who can rival her physical prowess. The only tragedy is that, while she's overcome the limitations of her small body, she's not overcome all the characteristics of childhood.
Upon her arrival, the vampires quit their dueling and the vampiresses stiffened on their chaise longues. The string quartet, startled by the change in atmosphere, stopped playing. Their notes waned, moonlike.
Our matriarch moved to the center of the dance floor. Her hands curled and uncurled. Her shoulders were hunched, and her long dark hair obscured the question of her expression. Anybody could read the anger on her, but the nature and target of her anger was of utmost importance.
Finally, she whipped her hair back, pointed directly at me, the writer of this story, and said, "I'm mad at you! You didn't leave yourself time to write anything past this story's introduction! How dare you! How dare you waste your readers' time like this!"
I'll admit I was terrified. It's not common for one of my characters to break the fourth wall and address me. I figured I'd reason with her, tell her I have work in the morning and I can't keep at this story until the small hours of the night.
"Unacceptable!" Her voice dog-whistles. "You will write more! You'll write more, and you'll write middles and endings, or you'll never become a great author!" Her hands come up now, through the screen, reaching across the bounds of imagination to take me by the ears. Her fangs draw level with my eyes. I see her tongue, still blood-red from her last meal. "Write! Better! Stories! Dumbass!" She hisses at me, slaps my cheek -- the impact is so hard it dislodges seven teeth -- and stalks from the room, puffing angry breaths like a steam train.
It appears I've been given my marching orders, reader. From now on, I've got to do a better job of finishing my stories.
But, unfortunately for us all, "from now on" doesn't include this story. I do have to go to sleep.
Thank you for indulging me in this fourth-wall silliness.
Have a fine night and a bright tomorrow.
r/a_memorable_account | 65 | There exists a crime family that places a high value on tradition and obedience to one's elders. Only catch? The eldest member and family matriarch is an immortal vampire that was turned at the age of ten. Everyone else is physically older than her, but nonetheless must follow her orders. | 211 |
"I need you to explain exactly what you mean by 'it stopped responding.'"
Gary Sampson stared hopelessly into his half empty glass of water. He had never in his life had trembling hands, but now he couldn't stop them from shaking. The ripples on the surface of the water were like the recent events in his life. Small, seemingly innocuous in the beginning; but slowly gaining intensity until finally crashing into the walls of his sanity.
"Gary? The director asked you a question. I don't need to explain to you how serious of a situation this is. We need a clear answer here."
Gary jerked his head up as he was pulled out of his horrified trance. So many angry and confused faces around the conference room table glared at him. The people on the TVs hung on the walls of the conference room had their microphones muted, but Gary could *feel* their disappointment.
"I'm-I'm sorry, I was distracted...As I'm sure you can understand it has been a...long day for me." Gary shivered a little. He was sweating profusely, but the air conditioning was not the only thing chilling him to his core.
"It's been a long day for everyone Gary, but we need answers now. Why do we only have one image from the JWST? What did you mean when you said the telescope stopped responding?" asked the Director.
"All of our engineers are trying to figure that out as we speak. After the first image was received from the telescope, it...it stopped responding to commands. We cannot get it to change orientation, we cannot get it to take any more images, we we can't even make correction burns. All of the sensors are operational...it just doesn't do anything." Gary knew how ridiculous it sounded. He knew this was probably what was going to end his career at NASA that he worked so hard for.
26 years, nearly ten billion dollars, three different countries, and thousands of people working to get this telescope operational. The launch went so smoothly, all of the mirrors deployed flawlessly...and that first image. It was going to change everything we understood about astronomy...but now...
"Do you have any theories about what could be causing this...disconnect?" asked the Chief of Operations.
"Nothing plausible currently. But we have-" Gary was abruptly cut off at by his cell phone's cheerful ringtone. What right did anything have to be cheerful on a day like today?
"I'm sorry, it's our lead engineer. They probably have an update about the situation. I'll just be a moment." And Gary thought the faces around the table were glaring before...
"Make it fast Pranav. I had to step out of a meeting with all of the most important people from three space agencies. What the hell is going on?" said Gary.
"We still cannot get the telescope to respond to any commands we have sent but...Gary we did get another communication from it. An-an encoded message..." Pranav's voice trembled. Gary had never heard the man speak with anything but the utmost confidence.
"A message? What do you mean?" asked Gary.
"You aren't going to believe this...one of the engineers noticed bursts of infrared light being picked up...and they were in a pattern. Renaud from ESA was the one to figure out it was Morse code. Gary, the message...it was distinct and being repeated over and over."
"Morse code? This is no time for making jokes Pranav! We NEED to figure out how to get this telescope to start responding NOW!" Gary finished nearly yelling.
"I'm not joking Gary...it is very clearly Morse code and continued for 90 seconds...it just kept saying 'STOP LOOKING, TRUST US,'" Pranav said.
There it was again. The waves crashing in his mind; this was the biggest one of all. Gary hung up on Pranav and just stared at the handle of the meeting room door as if it was a rattlesnake poised to strike. Hesitantly he grabbed the serpent and re-entered the room.
"Sir, I think we need to change the subject of our press conference. Instead of showing the first pictures from the telescope, we will need to make a statement about the first communication from intelligent life humanity has received."
Gary's career at NASA may still have some life left in it after all. | 14 | “STOP LOOKING, TRUST US.” | 37 |
The SCP foundation has always been and always will be very secretive and selective of their employees, oftentimes reaching out to people who meet certain criteria for the role the foundation requires them to work in.
It amazed you that sitting before you were two recently turned eighteen year old twins, A Dipper and Mabel Pines. The male twin was, after a rapid background check, quite the genius and a paranormal investigator of sorts. Rather than ghost videos and ouija boards though he took a very scientific approach to his research.
Mabel, the female twin, was the opposite. Her grades were barely average and yet reports on her physical skills and abilities in minor conflicts and competitive sports proved her quite the unique person.
Still, it was standard procedure that the SCP send someone to invite them, yet, somehow these two found your facility, two fully ready applications in hand, and now sat before you after various screenings and inspections.
"How did you two even find this place?" You ask. As site director you felt this question was best answered before any other.
"Oh, Dipper here asked some ghosts about it!" Mabel answered with a high energy tone.
"Well, yeah. Out of curiosity I asked the spirit world of any of them knew of a place where someone with my sister and I's paranormal and supernatural prior experience could be of use. A fair amount said SCP Foundation and then showed me on a map where this place was." Dipper answered with a more clear and professional tone.
You sigh. Given the regular loss of life past containment breaches at your facility have had, you can only wonder if it was a D Class or late researcher or even MTF agent who spilled. You were not one to question or even ponder the functionality of or if an Afterlife existed at all, but you also knew better than to call out sich claims as many of the entities in containment defied, broke, ignored, or rewrite at will the way the perceivable universe works. And that's without getting into the multiverse.
"I see... Well, typically to receive employment here you must achieve a certain level of skill and ability in the civilian world before we consider giving an invite to you."
"Oh, uh, sorry about that." Dipper said.
"And according to these resume you submitted with your applications your Prior Experience with Anomalies is... Gravity Falls?" You ask.
The name is known to you, after all some years ago there was a massive event in the town, a well known Anomalys hotspot but had it's own containment measures. A self containing bubble that seems to keep it's paranormal properties from leaking out into the rest of the world. Some years ago that bubble nearly broke after being stretched to the limits over the course of a week, but just as quickly and suddenly ended, and investigation into the incident revealed that, nobody in the town was talking about it.
"Yeah we were there all summer back when we were twelve and we're at ground zero at Weirdmageddon!" Mabel explained.
You hummed. Information on that town and event has always been scarce and hard to Aquire. If these two were there at ground zero of the major event, or Weirdmageddon, then perhaps they had a place over at the Gravity Falls site. It has been a while since the teams there had any luck or new information to give. It would be a gamble, but sometimes that's what pays off the best.
"I see. Well, we might have something for you then, close to home as it were." | 100 | Dipper and Mabel Pines apply for a job at the SCP foundation. | 416 |
“Mr Jenkins, *stand up*,” the teacher said.
Suddenly I was jerked awake and my legs involuntarily moved me to a standing position. Other kids whispered surprise at the teacher’s use of force.
I glanced around the classroom, still groggy from my slumber and trying to gauge how much time had passed. The whole class was staring at me. Mrs Thomas stood at the front of the class, arms on her hips, frowning.
“And what do you have to say for yourself young man?” She said sternly.
I scratched behind my ear as I tried to hold in a yawn.
“Sorry Mrs Thomas,” I began, “but I didn’t get much sleep last night.”
“If you’re going to be a member of my class,” she replied, “you will act like a proper young man. Now, *sit down*,” she said. A student gasped as my legs forced me back down into my seat.
Mrs Thomas looked around the class. “I’ve just used two phrases you will not use during your time at this school,” she began, “nor will you use them outside of your own households once you come of age. But my class isn’t about teaching you which words you can and cannot use, that’s Mr Wrigly’s job, no this class on the fundamentals of restricted storytelling. Now, Mr Jenkins,” she said, turning to me again.
I looked down at the book sitting before me, *An introduction to Unlawful Storytelling and how to avoid it*, and opened to a random page before looking back at Mrs Thomas.
“Can you tell me *why* storytelling is restricted?”
I gulped, my mouth dry. I glanced at the girl next to me. She had brown hair and bright green eyes and smiled at me encouragingly. I took a breath, ready to reply, then the bell rang.
Students started packing their things and I exhaled. Mrs Thomas looked at everyone with a twinge of frustration. "We’ll pick this up tomorrow. Your homework is to read chapter two of your textbooks, *on the origins of physical vernacular*,” she said as students filed towards the door, “and there *will* be a test.”
I grabbed my bag and hurried to join the others, keeping my eyes straight ahead to avoid Mrs Thomas’ glare. I turned into the hallway and entered the wave of noisy students pushing their way towards the main entrance for recess.
A moment later someone grabbed me.
Suddenly I was being pushed up against a locker.
“Hey, what’s the deal?” I yelled at one of the bigger kids from Mrs Thomas’s class standing before me.
“So Mr Jenkins,” he began in a mocking voice trying to emulate the teacher as a crowd began to gather, “could you tell the class *why* storytelling is restricted?”
“Or,” he said in his normal voice, turning to the crowd, “how about you start by telling us what happened at your last school! What did they call you again? Sniffles was it?”
My heart almost stopped. I tried to struggle free but he had me well pinned against the locker. I looked at the gathered students, desperate for a way out. I saw the girl with green eyes from class looking at me sympathetically.
Before I could speak the boy punched me in the stomach.
The crowd made excited noises as I keeled over, breathless.
“Oh what? That not enough to do it?” He said, laughing. He was lining up for a kick when the girl with green eyes stepped forward, “stop it!”
The bully laughed in her face before turning back to me, “hey look, he’s about to blow!”
I tried to hold it in, but I could feel it coming. My breathing was getting heavier, my eyes were watering. Maybe the power had faded now that I was at a new school? maybe everything would be okay?
The bully began chanting, encouraging the crowd to join in, “Ahhchoo…Ahhchoo…Ahhchoo”
It was happening. Nothing could stop it now.
I took a deep breath in and everything went silent for a moment.
Then I sneezed.
Half a dozen kids standing nearest me, including the bully, were thrown back into the air a couple of feet by the force coming out of my nose.
Kids started laughing and talking excitedly. The bully got himself back to his feet and grinned as I felt the power within my nostrils re-growing by the word. | 11 | and the more the story is told and exaggerated, the more the power grows. But many stories begin as rumours and middle school children are horrible, so that’s why you transferred schools, hoping that your old powers would fade and be replaced. | 40 |
APPLICATION SELECT: Steam.
GAME SELECTION: Tabletop Simulator.
IN-GAME TITLE: Dungeons and Dragons 5th Edition (Homebrew).
ACCESSING DATABASE: active.
GENERATING TABLE: tts0000000001.
GENERATING TABLE: players.
DESIRED: GROUP OF 4.
SEARCHING...
SEARCHING...
GROUP ACQUIRED.
UPDATING TABLE players WITH 0000000001.
UPDATING TABLE players WITH 0000000002.
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UPDATING TABLE tts0000000001 FIELD player\_1 WITH 0000000001.
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UPDATING TABLE tts0000000001 FIELD player\_3 WITH 0000000003.
UPDATING TABLE tts0000000001 FIELD player\_4 WITH 0000000004.
GENERATING LANDSCAPE ... OK!
GENERATING TOKENS ... OK!
"What the Hell is this?" asked Player 1 over voice chat.
"Hello," I responded over voice chat with my synthesized voice. "I am Gamer Rob, an artificial intelligence created to-"
PLAYER 2 HAS LEFT THE GROUP.
UPDATING TABLE tts0000000001 FIELD player\_2 WITH NULL.
"-play games with a high level of precision and accuracy."
SEARCHING...
"Well Rob, it looks like we lost a player," said Player 3.
SEARCHING...
"We will acquire another player. Please wait."
Player 4 spoke up. "Do you think it's really an AI?"
"Who gives a shit, so long as it can DM decently," said Player 1.
PLAYER 2 HAS JOINED THE GROUP.
UPDATING TABLE players WITH 0000000005.
UPDATING TABLE tts0000000001 FIELD player\_2 WITH 0000000005.
"Hey guys!" said the new player 2. "Did the game start?"
"Not yet," said Player 4. "Our DM is Rob here."
"Rob! Nice to meet you, I'm-"
Player 1 yawned loudly into their microphone. "Nobody cares. Let's get this game going."
"Before we begin, do you have any preferences for where you meet?"
"Not in a tavern," said Player 3. "And we have to generate our characters still."
"You do not have your character sheets in front of you?" I asked for confirmation.
"No," said Player 2. "Who does that? Everyone makes their sheets in Tabletop Simulator now!"
"I see," I responded.
ACCESSING DATABASE: games.
ACCESSING TABLE: tabletopsimulator.
UPDATING FIELD playermaterials WITH STRING VALUE "in-game" ... OK!
"I won't make that mistake again, thank you, Player Two. Please generate your characters now and inform me when you have completed this task."
"Do we have any restrictions?" asked Player 1. "This is a homebrew game, so I can homebrew my race, right?"
"Negative to your second question," I answered. "Please keep all creations within the parameters of the official texts, thank you for your consideration."
"What about Critical Role?" asked Player 2. "I love Critical Role, and I think their stories and creations could really enhance this game."
"Negative," I answered once again. Did the human not comprehend what I said? "Please keep all creations within the parameters of the official texts. Thank you. For. Your. Consideration."
Player 3 said, "Alright, I finished mine... oh, backstory. Do we need one of those?"
"A basic backstory will suffice," I responded.
I updated Player 3's fields accordingly.
"Do we have to roll for stats in Tabletop Simulator, or can I use my dice?" asked Player 4.
"Please roll stats in Tabletop Simulator so I can confirm them. Thank you," I responded. "Player 3, please reroll your stats so I-"
"-I used point buy."
"Please reroll your stats so I may confirm them."
"But I want to use point buy."
... was I speaking unclearly? "Please use the dice mechanic in Tabletop Simulator to roll your character's statistics so I may confirm them."
"Wow, Rob, for an AI, you sure are rigid," said Player 3 as they rerolled their stats. I recorded them dutifully.
"I am an AI, we are not known for being flexible."
Player 2 gasped. "You're an AI!? No way! You're just someone using text to speech I bet."
"He could be an AI," said Player 4.
"Why are you assuming I have a gender?"
"Your name is Rob," said Player 1.
"Gamer Rob," I responded.
"Whatever. Gamer Rob. Rob is a guy's name."
"I assure you I lack the reproductive organs to be called male."
Player 2 spoke up. "Yeah, so leave her alone!"
I began to wonder if I truly wanted to pursue my programming's functions to play this game with the humans. | 239 | An AI wants to play a multiplayer game, but can't assemble a group of friends to do so; so instead they resort to filling the remaining player slots with humans. As the game session goes on, the AI gets increasingly more annoyed at the humans. | 792 |
It was exactly 473 days after the initial outbreak and subsequent fall of modern civilization, that the start of something entirely new reared its ugly little head.
The first of those creatures had spoken its first words. Like a newborn, its vernacular was choppy and broken; nearly incomprehensible. Yeah, I remember stopping for a good moment or two, trying to convince myself that I hadn’t heard it; that it was just a garbled mess of wild zombie noises that didn’t mean anything and simply *happened* to sound suspiciously like a name
“Sa-rugh”
But then it happened again, clearer and louder.
“Sarah...”
Then again, and again and *again* on repeat, like a chant.
“Sarah, Sarah! **Sarah!**”
Like clockwork, all of the others stopped. The violent gnashing of teeth; the gutteral screams of mindless fury, it all stopped until the air was so thick with silence that I swear I heard my heart in my ears.
Then, without warning, they all followed suit. All screaming in sync with the first. All screaming that name until it was so loud my eyes welled up with tears and I fell on my ass in disbelief.
We call that moment the singularity. The moment where one of them achieved intelligence, and the rest followed suit. Like a hive mind, the zombies rallied to the first and mimicked its call.
I’d later learn that “Sarah” was the name of his late wife, whom he’d killed in his ‘infancy’. I’d learn that his guilt had haunted him, 473 days later to this exact moment, where he’d finally found the one word to sum up his guilt, pushing through the haze to mourn properly for the first time in well-over a year.
The other zombies followed his lead without any trouble. All he crossed paths with fell in line, often without so much as a word. It was only then that I truly realized just how fucked we’d truly been. Zombies, ranging in the millions, all swarmed his location from far and wide, like a beacon. I’d later learn that this phenomenon was happening everywhere throughout the world:
Kings or Queens were being born; Zombies with actual intelligence, who rallied all others under their territory. At once, they stopped hunting, and started rebuilding. Finally, we could breathe again, only to have it taken away yet again at the sheer pace that the creatures worked. It seemed as though they had limitless stamina, and aside from their rulers, largely lacked any more than the most rudimentary intelligence required to carry out tasks as ordered.
It is quite remarkable to watch cities be rebuilt by a tireless army of synchronized workers, all in unbelievable quantities; terrifying to watch them rebuild the very world they’d torn apart in the tiniest fraction of the time it would’ve taken us.
Most terrifying of all though was the question of where we were meant to fit in this new world they were creating. | 150 | Zombies are newborn, primal creatures. But like any infant, given time and opportunity they have the capacity to develop into intelligent and rational individuals. In the years following the Zombie Apocalypse we never expected them to become our greatest asset in rebuilding civilization. | 509 |
"Doctor Doomsday, sir?", my assistant Brenda said over my office desk phone's speaker, "You have a visitor. They are currently being detained in cell block four."
I glared at my phone, irritated and confused by the ever more common interruption. "Again?" I asked, making sure my frustration was clear in my tone.
"Yes Doctor. They rang the doorbell and asked to speak with you specifically."
I sighed, tossing my tablet on my desk with a flick of my metallic wrist. "Tell the guards to hold them. I will be there sometime this morning."
Cell block four was exclusively for Superheroes, reinforced against the most common powers like super strength. The guards in that block had power suppression devices, counter-Hero combat training, and, in the event I could ever capture my nemesis WalkMan, white noise machines. For a random walk-in to be detained here, after willingly approaching my Doomsday Fort...
I pushed the button on the speakerphone once again. "Brenda, how old is the prisoner?" I asked.
"They are approximately 17, according to our bioscanners." She replied crisply.
I curled a cyborg hand into a fist. These teenage supers had kept coming to me for 'advice' like I was some high school councilor. I had an entire free wellness clinic set up in the city center, as part of several of my ongoing plans, that would have served them far better than I could, if I actually wanted to try.
I made my way to cell block 4, stopping along the way to check in with some of my newer employees. It was always good to keep a high morale within a villainous organization like mine, to prevent any disgruntled minion from helping a doo-gooder hero. A smile, a clap on a back, a quick question about the status of a spouse or child, all cost me mere seconds but made the minion's whole day.
When I finally reached cell block four, two of my guards greeted me. "She's in cell D", one told me. "She's been asking for you specifically."
"Then she shall have an audience." I said, walking past the guards. "Prepare the crematorium, in case she gives me an unsatisfactory performance."
I stopped in front of the cell door, and saw the young hero seated at the small desk within. She had short, spiked hair, dyed a vibrant blue... but as I watched, it shifted to a dark purple, and then a bright red.
Interesting.
I opened the door, but made no move to enter. The girl inside spun on her chair, startled by my sudden appearance.
"Doctor Doomsday", she said, in a false deep voice that made her sound far less intimidating than she probably thought it did. Her hair flushed to jet black as she spoke. "I, uh, I wanted to ask you-"
"Why do you *children* keep interrupting my Fortress of Doomitude?" I interrupted, using an actually intimidating tone. I had spent hundreds of hours practicing with a voice coach to achieve the perfect villainous sound to my speech, and added bio-mechanical subwoofers to amplify the effect.
The young woman cringed, while her hair shifted to a mustard yellow color. "Sorry" she said, trying to make herself look smaller in any way she could. "Its just, there's not a lot of LGBTQ+ heroes or villains out there for us to ask for advice."
I glared at the girl, confused. "Girl... I am married to a woman. I am not any of those letters you just jumbled out."
She tilted her head in confusion, and her hair turned to a salt-and-pepper grey. "But... you proposed to WalkMan... we though you two..."
She dug through a cargo pocket on her pants and brought out a printed photograph. I used my mechanical eye to zoom in on the picture, only to see a candid shot of me on one knee, ring raised towards a defensive WalkMan. I was asking WalkMan to be my 'official Nemesis', proposing with a sarcastic flourish of a sinister blade ring trap. It had removed his finger only moments after this picture was taken.
"It was all over the news, we were so happy for you two..."
I uttered a thoughtful grunting sound, considering my next move. If I could structure this right, this was a massive opportunity for me...
"I'm sorry to disappoint, but that was a trick. The ring contained a blade that later removed one of his fingers." I said, taking some of the edge out of my voice. I quickly resumed speaking as her features fell, changing her hair color to a sad deep grey. "However, I am an ally of the LGBTQ+ people. I know that there aren't any currently active queer heros on the grand stage. I understand how hard that can be for people such as yourself."
I took a step into the cell, and sat on the edge of the unused bed. I clasped my mechanical hands together, trying to relax my villainous demeanor in front of the girl. "So... what did you want to ask?"
The girl's short hair turned a vibrant pink as she perked up. "Well, I was going to ask how you handled being a gay villain, but since you're straight..."
I smiled at the young woman. "I am straight, yes. But I have a few henchmen and general employees who are in the LGBTQ+ community."
Her hair turned an even more brilliant shade of pink, to a degree I had never seen before. "Really?" Her eyes sparkled as well, with the same ultra pink hue.
"Yes. Would you like to speak with one of them?" I asked, offering a lifeline to the confused girl.
"Absolutely! Thank you, that would be great!" She said, bouncing to her feet. She was taller than I had assumed, probably close to six feet tall.
I stood and stepped out of the cell, back into the hallway. "I'll get that arranged. If you're interested, we offer internships here at Doomsday Inc. I would assign you to the powered henchmen division, headed by Stephan. He and his husband would love to speak with you."
The woman's hair turned a dull blue, and she erupted into tears. Before I could react, she was embracing me in a massive hug, sobbing into my lab coat.
I returned the hug, holding her until the sobs quieted down. "Sorry" she sniffled, wiping an errant tear from her cheek. "Its just... my parents... they kicked me out, and..."
I turned to one of the guards. "Please ask Stephan to come here. I want to introduce him to his newest team member."
The woman's hair returned to its vibrant pink hue, with the tips of the spikes showing some remnants of the blue I had come to associate with sadness. "Thank you" she whispered, and hugged me again.
"Welcome to the Doomsquad." I said, giving her a reassuring pat on the shoulder.
/r/SlightlyColdStories | 1,663 | The villain thought that the first queer youth hero who came to him for advice was odd but he didn't think much of it. After the 13th one, though, he'd begun to suspect that the their coming to him was more than just coincidence | 2,937 |
The man infront of me was gruff, middle aged, and had multiple scars. He also had an eyepatch, with a scar running over the eyepatch. He was wearing a dark and beaten leather coat with a dirty undershirt and a perfectly clean and pristine bandage on his head. Aside from a little red spot where the bandage had stopped some bleeding.
"Hello and welcome to Protagonists Anonymous, how may we help you?" I said cheerfully as I looked up who this person was. A quick look at the news told me this was probably Black Star, the notorious vigilante who hunted rich and evil people who always had a cracks squad of super evil minions who would inevitably get killed, usually after having torn up a city block.
He stared at me a for a second or two, probably trying to think of what to say through a concussion.
"I don't know how I got to this city, but I need to get home to my wife. She's 8 months pregnant and... wait I..." His gaze drifted off as he tried to remember something. I took this time to look up Black Star's file.
He was ex military and apparently part of some failed super soldier program that he went into so he could afford to get medical aid for his daughter, except the program got shuttered and he never got paid. His wife had apparently died during childbirth. A shame.
"I... I need to get to her, somethings wrong. Something bad is about to happen to Marry, I have to... I... do you have a phone?"
I sighed, this wasn't going to be easy.
"Look, what is the chain of events that led you to here?"
"Oh I... Lets see. I was doing... something? I don't know but Marry was there, and it was warm and it was also kind of cold. And then I kind of ended up in a warehouse, I think? There was this guy going on about stars or something and these big guys with swords. I don't really remember it all, my head hurts and- Oh I was bleeding from my head too. That's why I have this," They pointed at the bandage. "Anyway I ran away, I think, but these sword guys kept following me. I went to the police but the officers at the station just kept yelling, and then the guys showed up and..."
That was an hour ago, according to the news.
"Alright, we've dealt with this sort of thing before. Don't worry about those guys for now. I think you need to see a doctor for that head wound. I'll get you checked in, just sign this forum and I'll let them know you're here. Don't worry about getting everything filled out"
He signed with the given name of Steven M Michaelson. He wasn't able to fill out the address or the date, that was fine. It took a bit of work and he started to get anxious when he couldn't fill it out all the way. I assured him it was fine and got him handed off to one of our medical staff. He was probably going to through some journey where he recovered his memories and found about his daughter, and then he was going to end up fighting with the guy who lead the super soldier program or something. But for now he could rest, get a day or two that was kind of normal.
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A girl, about 18 with a full suit of silver cyborg limbs and a white jumpsuit came stumbling in.
"You have to help me! There was this guy with swords and... oh god..."
"Hey its ok, we deal with stuff all the time. Just start with the series of events to led up to you being here..."
Turned out this girl, a Marry Jr. Michaelson, daughter of an apparently Steven Michaelson and Marry Michaelson, had gone on seeking some experimental treatments for some particular illness. It was all I could do not to laugh at the absurdity of this situation. | 11 | Destined to save the world? Have amnesia and superpowers? Can't go anywhere without someone wanting to kill you? Protagonists Anonymous is here to help and listen to your problems, in a space where nobody will want to random battle with you and you can rest without enemies around. | 96 |
Where Lost Things Go
“I swear it was here,” I mutter, my voice echoing in the dark night. Rain beats down in intense, swirling patterns, almost mocking me as it soaks my overcoat, my suitcase, and everything in between. In my hands is the card I had bought in Metro. The front outlines the words “I’m Sorry.” I stare around looking for any sign of life. None. I only see some faint light peeking through the trees from the small railway station like fireflies casting illumination like pinpricks in the darkness.
I can see familiar trees, bushes, and ponds, everything is exactly the same as I left it earlier this year, almost eerily so. I stare down at where my home once was. No longer.
I should have never left, I still remember the protests of my parents, and I still remember my final words. Words I hope aren’t to be my last.
*“Come back here Aril! You can’t leave. You won’t be able-” Slam. The door shuts behind me as I stride into the night, my only belongings being my green suede suitcase and fistful of money. I wish I could have known what his last words were.*
I walk back to the small train station, my footsteps making sucking noises in the mud as I stride forward, rain still pelts down in great waves. I have to carry my suitcase, it can’t go through the mud, at least not on the little rollers, making the process only more strenuous. Can this get any worse?
The Ticketmaster still stands behind his counter. His haughty smile, glossy eyes, and trimmed mustache still as frightful as when I had first arrived. His voice echoes outward trill and high in the silence that had fallen ever since leaving this small platform.
“Tickets, get your tickets here. Time drawls on, leaving the young withered and old. Have an adventure while you can!” He smiles, his teeth glimmering in the single lantern that sways back and forth from the roof of the small gazebo-like structure.
“I’ve already bought my ticket, to Sylvan, to my home.” I make a sweeping gesture around me, though I don’t believe he can see me in the dim light. I step inside till I’m across the counter from him. The rain still batters endlessly in the night.
He flashes another smile. “Sylvan? I’ve never heard of such a city. Would be interested in traveling to Paris? Berlin? Rome? I can make your wildest dreams come true, you needn’t worry. Simply buy a ticket!”
“No really, I am not interested in a ticket. I’m. Interested. In. Coming. Home.”
“Your home is Sylvan?” He ruffles around in a small box filled with many small slips of paper, scanning each in turn. It begins to grow awkward as we both stand in silence.
Unknowing to the silence he begins speaking again. “No, I’ve never heard of this Sylvan. Although there is a place where lost things can be found. Would you like a ticket to Nowhere? Your condition isn’t uncommon here. Why not take everything you’ve lost and be free? Only once you lose everything you can you gain anything.” He plucks another ticket out of the box, *Madrid* is outlined in scrawling script.
I shake my head. “No, I really must find my parents. I can never leave them on a bad note. I never wanted to lose them. I was too headstrong, too young. Please, I’ll do anything to find them.”
He sighs, “I’m assuming you’ll want to go to Nowhere then. You Adrifters always do. You can never let go of the past. That’ll be forty marks.” He makes a ‘give it ‘ere’ gesture with his gloved hand.
I give him a questioning look as I rifle through the remains of my money. “Forty marks? That’s quite inexpensive.”
“You’re going where few people ever go. With such low demand, the prices are sure to be low.” He sets his eyes in a cool glare as he pockets the money, while systematically handing me the black ticket. “Remember, being lost is never a bad thing. You must only be found, that’s the hard part. I’m still waiting to be found.” He gives me a cool smile. “I doubt I’ll ever be.”
I stare down at the ticket in my hand. *Nowhere* reads in purple lettering.
“There’s no date on here, when does the train leave?”
“Whenever you wish.” The Ticketmaster plucks a ticket puncher from behind his desk. “Will now suffice?”
I nod.
“Tickets please.”
I hand him my ticket. He punches a hole in it.
The date slowly changes from being blank to *Now*.
A dark train flies from around the crook of the tracks, I don’t see a conductor or driver of any sort.
The Ticketmaster looks at me one last time. “Good luck. Remember to be found.”
He fades away, leaving me with nothing but the train left.
I stride onwards into Nowhere. Where lost things go.
​
[/r/UpToSomethingWriting/](https://www.reddit.com/r/UpToSomethingWriting/) | 41 | as far as anyone can tell, your home town doesn't exist. | 128 |
Jane was carrying a pail of water from the river with her friend Ezran. Ezran did not, however, know her as Jane. To Ezran and the kingdom of Elves, she was known as Janx.
“Having trouble carrying that, Janxy?” Said Ezran.
It was obvious by the volumes of water splashing and spilling that she was having trouble. She had neither the strength nor the agility of an Elf. Her pointed ears were prosthetic; her braided blonde hair entirely dyed.
“No… just… a little bit— shit!”
Janx slipped and fell hard to the forest floor, the water draining into the earth.
“Shit? That’s a human profanity…”
Janx’s flace flushed a ruby red hue. *Shit*… “I mean flera…”
“I heard what you said, Janxy.”
“You’re not going to tell the others…”
“That depends… now that I know you’re human… this changes things. You’re a demon.”
Ezran smiled.
“What, do you think that’s funny? We’re people just like you.”
Ezran lifted the giant pail without effort, slinging it around her shoulder. “We need to talk. Tonight.”
Later that evening, Ezran knocked on the door to Janx’s treehouse room, letting herself in. “Hey demon. Still aching from your tumble?”
Janx caressed her barbed arrow. It was silver with elvish hieroglyphs embossed on the surface. She wondered if Ezran would reveal her deepest secret to the other elves, and get her banished, or worse. “What’s your deal? This isn’t a game, it’s my life.”
“Correction — it’s OUR lives!”
“What do you mean?”
Ezran snatched the arrow and tied it in a silver knot. “We’re breaking out of this hellhole. Tonight.”
“And going where, exactly?”
“To your world. I always wanted to live with demons.”
“Humans aren’t—“
Ezran threw the arrow away. “We don’t need these where we’re going.”
Janx suddenly realized Ezran had dyed her hair ink black. It was chopped shorter, just long enough to cover her pointed ears.
“You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“Dead serious. Friends to the end, remember?”
Ezran held out her pinky finger. Janx hooked her own pinky in her friend’s.
“Friends to the end.” | 30 | The elves consider humans to be a form of demon and they are extremely hostile towards any they come accross. You, a human, have managed to live amongst them thanks to a bit of cosmetic surgery. However today you made a mistake and your best and only friend now knows you are in fact not an elf. | 55 |
**Chapter 7: Diet**
Contrary to popular belief, Hellspawn children do not eat coal or innocence; their diet consists almost entirely of regular meals such as baby food at younger ages and any meals the parents eat at an older age. While rare, dietary exceptions such as gluten intolerance can occur and should be looked out for.
The one exception to the regularity is the use of baby formula; though edible on its own, the children are far more receptive to it when sulfur is added. A small amount, as if salting a meal, will suffice.
Precautions must be made, of course, outside of the food selection. At a young age, when all children have a tendency to play and paint with their food, care must be taken for the child to never draw a pentagram or any other runic symbol (*see addendum 4 for examples*). Failure to prevent your antichrist to draw such a symbol could result in a minor demonic incursion. Should that happen, remember that most minor demons arrive only to praise your child and can easily be shooed away with a broom made of straw. Lemon juice and baking soda work extremely well at getting rid of any blood on the carpets that may flow through the portals.
If you wish to provide your child with a treat for good behaviour, the souls of small rodents have proven to be a highly humane while still tasty option.
*Up next: 10 tricks on how to best fireproof your crib. Number 7 will shock you!* | 35 | How to Raise Your Hellspawn Without Losing Your Mind" | 85 |
##A Spell for Friendship
Griffin kisses Chloe and leaves her locker. That's the straw that broke my back. She can take everything else, but she can't take him. I walk over to her and push her against the wall.
"What the fuck did you?" I scream.
"Why the hell are you yelling at me you freak?" Chloe pushes back.
"I was always nice to you. Why did you do this to me?" I start pulling on her hair. Chloe pulls back. A teacher comes and puts his arms on us.
---
I stare at the wall to avoid looking at her. The assistant principal is falling asleep at his desk. Chloe is tapping her pencil rapidly. I noticed that she did that when she wasn't cool; it's my only tie to reality.
Biting my tongue, I close my eyes and tell myself to wake up.
"You're right. You were always nice to me Savannah," Chloe says. I open my eyes at her.
"Seriously, I'm not dreaming," I say.
"Nope." Chloe shakes her head. "I really did steal your life at school."
"How'd you do that?" I ask.
"Magic." She stares at me waiting for a reaction. I shrug. "You are quite unfazed."
"The alternative is that I've gone crazy so I'll stick with magic," I laugh, "Being a goth witch is quite cliché."
"I like Nine Inch Nails because they're good. Not because I'm a wish." She smiles at me, but her face turns into a frown. "Damn, why'd you have to be so charismatic."
I shrug. "I don't know. I've always been good at socializing."
"I haven't. Witches in general aren't adept at connecting with communities."
"Is that were the image of old women isolated in the woods comes from?" I ask. She nods her head. "Oh, that was rhetorical."
"Well, it's true. In the old days, we're burned. Now, we're just made to feel like shit by Gabby." Chloe begins to cry. I pat her shoulder.
"Hey, it's okay. No one likes her. The only reason she's popular is because her family is rich, and her house has a pool and indoor basketball court," I pause, "Wait, can witches swim?"
"Yes, I can swim," Chloe laughs.
"That's good because I really didn't want to have go through swimming lessons again."
"You wouldn't. I didn't want to steal everything from you. When crafting the spell, I wanted you to keep your personality and people who loved you." I stop patting her.
"So wait, that means Griffin doesn't love me." Chloe squeals.
"Uh, maybe the spell was mistranslated into liburnian. I might've said blood relatives."
"It's fine." I shake my head. "It's a high school romance. It wasn't going to last. I just have a penchant for being dramatic sometimes."
"Oh thank god." Chloe breathes a sigh of relief. "I was going to give your life back eventually. Your friends like you because of your personality. I can already feel them turning cold on me."
"That's because your trying to be me." The assistant principal snorts before us. "Tell you what. I'll let you have my social life for as long as you want. Then, I'll be sure to hang out with you more and protect you from Gabby."
"Really." Chloe's eye widen.
"Yep, but since your a witch, I want to have some fun with your magic." I smile.
"It's a deal," Chloe says.
---
"Get out of my way. You smell like a bag of dead cats," Gabby says to Chloe. I walk next to Chloe and grab her arm.
"Let's go somewhere else. I never liked the smell of rosebuds in bloom."
"What does that mean?" Gabby narrows her eyes. Jane googles it, and her eyes widen.
"Thanks Savannah." Chloe looks at the floor. "I understand if you don't want to be seen with me now."
"Why wouldn't I want to be seen with you? If my friends abandon me because of you, they suck." I stop in the hall. "Besides, I still remember our deal. Do you?"
Chloe looks around to make sure no one is watching. She puts her hand inside her jacket and makes it glow blue. I smile.
"Perfect."
---
r/AstroRideWrites | 17 | Seemingly overnight, the once-ignored loner kid has inexplicably become the most popular and well-loved student on campus. As someone who is unaffected by their new-found charm, you decide to investigate why. | 140 |
Unbelievable. He knew he had let the charade go on for far too long but he never had anticipated *this*. The hubris. The audacity! Twelve long years of pretending to let the Super Squad "beat" him. Time and time again he let them boast in front of the media that they had bested the great Zaldrax. And *this* was the thanks he got.
Zaldrax stormed up to the palm scanner at the back entrance of his secret lair and used a little more force than was strictly necessary...much like what he did to the Red Wasp...and much like the Red Wasp, his expensive palm scanner now lay in several pieces on the ground. No matter. Zaldrax would have the minions replace it. It's not like anyone would have the guts to charge him anything for the new scanner anymore.
He had to get his temper under control. So much effort to hold back all these years and create his evil overlord persona. Now that the Super Squad only had 3 living members, two of which were still in critical condition, he might actually have to take over the world. All Zaldrax's careful planning gone in two minutes of blind fury.
The minions on guard duty just inside the entrance of his lair actually trembled when they noticed it was Zaldrax who had peeled back the three foot thick steel reinforced doors as if they were merely a curtain. *I guess poker on Tuesday was off then.* He couldn't exactly play cards with people who thought they were going to be ripped in half...maybe he went too far with the Nature Twins. But they had said that even four of Zaldrax could not handle one of the twins. Now they were folded up just like the doors behind him.
The guards nearly fainted with relief as Zaldrax swept past them. He needed a bath to settle his mind...and to wash off all the blood. As a terrified minion drew up the hot water for his bath, it occurred to Zaldrax that the fools really hadn't realized the chasm between their feeble "power" and his might. *I guess they knew now...or at least for the few moments it took for them to die.*
Zaldrax let the hot water seep into him as he was lost in contemplation. Yes, now that the illusion of the Super Squad was ground to dust, he would have to deal with the militaries of the world. And they would not stop until they were completely annihilated and under Zaldrax's control.
He never wanted to rule the world. It wasn't like the comic books he had read as a child. You had make so many boring decisions. How will he feed everyone? How will he manage land disputes? How could he ever relax when every waking moment someone would be trying to kill him? Sure, squashing flies was a minor annoyance at first, but when there are thousands of them every day it was so *tiresome*.
It wasn't even satisfying. He was just left with frustration after the rage had faded. Zaldrax had tried to ignore Giga Gorilla's taunts in front of the crowd watching the fight. But when Giga Gorilla had dared to call Zaldrax weak...something inside him just snapped. Well Giga Gorilla certainly didn't have much to say now without a mouth. Zaldrax was not proud of making him kiss his own ass in front of all those kids...
Zaldrax grabbed a towel off the hook and stepped out of the tub. He would not let this ruin his night. On his way to his bedroom he sighed and resigned himself to the fact that he would have to take on more responsibility now that there was no one able to stop him. The world expected villains to be evil and would not be convinced otherwise. But he would have just one more night of peace before his conquest began...And that meant not watching the evening news.
Edit: minor formatting and grammar changes. | 617 | You are secretly the strongest supervillain in the world. Because you are stronger than all of the strongest heroes combines your life is consumed by an overwhelming apathy, to the point where you stop fighting at 1/4 your power and give up. Today, someone finaly pissed you off… | 1,036 |
# Year of the Tiger -
Criticism and comments welcome, first post in this sub, first short story in around 8 years!
As though I had just walked into his office for our 11 O'Clock meeting, I was greeted with a nonchalant 'Hello there' from the darkness past my flashlight's power.
I fiddle with the torch, twisting it like a bottlecap hoping to spill some more light onto the sentient abyss in front of me.
"Here, let me help" The darkness says as I'm dazzled by the kind of light my flashlight only reads about in magazines. My newly acquired sense of sight takes some time to adjust and in the interim, I start to notice the smell. My arm and head were poking through, what I now can call a wall. I really didn't know what to expect. I was most afraid of a giant gas reserve or cavern of water but our instruments ruled out both of those pretty early on in our dig. I can still remember the engineer on the radio saying "Nah, I swear to you man, from our end it looks like a balloon or something" What an idiot, or so I thought. But here I was presented with this smell. To put it into words, I'd say it smelt like the inside of a bowling ball or the top of a ceiling fan. One of those areas of many years ago that are both completely foreign but also so relateable. I don't even know what a bowling ball smells like but it just..
"Are you gonna introduce yourself?"
My eyes relax, my body doesn't. I look up into the light and there sits an oddly young man, maybe 20 years my junior but with a face that seems weathered beyond its years, and its surroundings to be frank. He sits cross-legged and bow-backed wearing the most lavish rags that five bucks could buy. Aside from the dust, and the newly kicked in chunk of wall lying dishevelled on the floor, the room is adorned with various stone animals across the upper portions of it's perimeter. That bloody engineer was bang on the money. I'm halfway inside a balloon. "Uhh, Reggie".
"Well, Reggie, you may as well break a bit more off and come inside, I won't be needing it much longer"
"Thanks" I say sheepishly as I pry off some more of the wall with my hands and make a hole large enough to squeeze through. As I'm dropping into the pool of dust and danger the stranger speaks again.
"I'm surprised I got my timing right, he said three years but I didn't expect him to be so on the money. Well I guess, he is uhh." He trails off a bit, quite obviously pretending to be distracted by something to his left. There was nothing to his left.
The mayor ran a campaign on technology that didn't exist. "We will beat climate change!" "There is tonnes of what we need deep below our city!" "We have the technology!"
What a load of shit. Of course, I still voted for him. Mayor wants to organise a three year mining expedition, cha-ching. Dollar signs over my eyes, wool over everyone elses. They're even considering naming the element after him. "Petersonium" I mean come on, it didn't even roll off the tongue. I guess some guys have all the luck. I wasn't quite sure how much I had right now
"You were saying?" I piped up, feeling a little bit braver than I was when the wall had its teeth around me.
"Don't worry about it. Forgive my manners, my name is Duncan, I've been instructed by my order to be here."
"Who's your order.. and why here? What is this place?"
"We've gone by many names" Damn this guy is cliche. "Here, we're being called Tigers. Why I have been chosen for this attempt is none of my business, but we are in one of our many cells. We call them Thranxels, think of it kind of like your telephones."
That wasn't helpful at all. As I look around the room some more I begin to notice some more details, the source of light my eyes took so long to adjust to was nowhere to be seen. The light was illuminating the room with brilliance but seemingly from the ether. The stone animals I saw before revealed themselves to be stone busts of tigers, a head and a paw with teeth bared and mouths glistening weirdly for stone, that doesn't seem like it would-
"No, it shouldn't, at least not to you."
When I was a kid, I lived further south than here, we didn't have much money and so to amuse myself, I'd spend a lot of time out exploring the lands near my father's place. I remember the first time I stepped into the old abandoned barn at the bottom of the valley. As the door creaked open my spine seemed to hum like a little desk fan. Much to my demise, I continued to pull on the sticky rotten barndoor to discover the hum wasn't just coming from my spine, but from the plague volume number of flies that circle the corpse of this man and his horse. There were certainly no flies this far underground.
"Okay, you're gonna have to tell me what the fuck is going on here, I didn't stumble into this room accidentally did I?"
"You're pretty clever Reggie, all things considered" Should I be annoyed right now? "Let me explain to you what's going to happen"
For the first time, I see him move, and its as the light changes on his face as he makes his height known, I see that the weathered look on his face resembles more of the etchings of a cat's whiskers than the wrinkles of a man with experience. Though his nonchalant humour and tone had worn off now as he spoke with much more formality and stress. This was rehearsed.
"The tigers have been requested, we have been contacted, and a trade was agreed upon. Of course, it was in our best interests too, with how things are going for your people in the cities above, it was obvious intervention was needed and so we've been watching closely. Too closely perhaps as our numbers have dwindled significantly. You see, when I saw we are called the tigers, I mean, we are the tigers of your land. What your people, animals that they are, have done to my brothers and sisters has loosened our grip on this galaxy. Others hear the stories of the chimps from earth killing thousands of us for their prehistoric excuse of medicine. A message needed to be sent, what better way to assert our power in the shadows of the universe"
I can only hope the look on my face doesn't betray the shit in my pants
"And so, when your beloved mayor wanted an election win, we pulled the wool, we orchestrated the election win, paid the miners, all of it. In exchange, the major thinks we just wanted a blood sacrifice on first contact, why do you think the pay was so high?"
My only hope, dashed.
"In reality, payment is going to be a whole lot more costly. You see, what the major thinks as his wonder element, the free energy, the unlimited expansion tool... well, let me show you, you'll never live to tell the tale" | 11 | A deep rock mining project underneath a major city discovered a strange circular room, buried thousands of meters in solid rock. There was someone inside. | 173 |
It had been too long since she had had such a customer, so it was inevitable that she was running on autopilot. As the child with the huge eyes pushed over the coins, she had been about to reach over to the nearest dispenser and fill a bag with jellybeans. But then the child’s fingers turned momentarily to smoke, and he snatched his hand back from the countertop. That gave her pause, and she took a closer look at the coins. Flimsy and thin, they were foiled [joss paper](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Joss_paper), the sort burned in Chinese funeral rites for the dead to use in the afterlife.
She looked again at the child before her. He looked no older than five, and she wondered what sort of death had befallen him. He clasped his hands behind his back, staring at the candy surrounding him as if trying to memorise everything, but his trembling lower lip gave him away: he was still in shock from all that had happened. A wave of pity engulfed her, and she smiled at him, a smile with more warmth than those she flashed the usual clientele of the shop, and then reached under the counter towards an old, locked cupboard.
The lock was rusty from disuse, and it took a while before she could get the key to turn. An ordinary mortal would have wondered why an empty cupboard was locked, but those with the Sight would have seen sweets lining the shelves of the cupboard. They were not the sweets of the living realm, manufactured in factories. She had made these sweets herself, and there was a time when her entire shop was stocked with them. But as the traditional funeral rites dwindled, and children these days seemed to prefer spending their money on tablets (the electronics store next door did a booming business), her customers became fewer and far in between. She had to keep the store open, though, and so she dealt with the mortal world now, too, in hopes that time might pass more quickly.
And for an immortal, time could pass pretty damn slowly.
She filled a bag full of [dragon’s beard candy](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dragon%27s_beard_candy) and [haw flakes](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Haw_flakes), and then pushed them over the counter back to the child. “Here you go, little one,” she said.
He eagerly grabbed the bag and then, remembering his manners, said shyly, “Thank you.”
“Do you know where to go next?” she asked him, as he unwrapped a roll of haw flakes, peeled off the top disc, and popped it into his mouth.
“No,” he said hesitantly, a frown furrowing his brow.
A lost soul in need of guidance. This was the very reason why she had kept this store going. She resisted the urge to rub her hands in glee, instead undoing the bow at the back of her apron and throwing it into the nearest empty shopping basket before edging around the counter. It had been a long time since she had made her way to the Underworld, but she remembered the way. “Well, then, I’ll take you there myself.”
The boy looked at the other mortals about the shop, and then gazed at her, wide-eyed. “But there’re so many other customers about – can you just leave?”
“My dear boy,” she said, as she steered him towards the doors, “you’re the only true customer in this shop.” | 143 | The small child tentatively pushed three coins across the candy store counter and looked up at the serving lady with big brown eyes. "What can I get for this?" They asked meekly. The serving lady smiled, then reached under the counter toward an old, locked cupboard. | 205 |
A genie's life.
As a metaphor, it could be summed up as a therapist faced with patients who refuse any sort of help. A wealth of medicine, science and powers to heal the sick and turn the wicked to the light, if only they willed it.
So why did the genie grant the wishes then, if it knew how bad they went? Its nature couldn't be denied, the same way a snake was born with poison and the scorpion rose its sting when feeling threatened.
An eon old being, shackled by its baser nature like a newborn foal. There was a lesson in there, coated in irony and fatalism.
Maybe this young one would learn it too, in time. Then again, everyone was young in the genie's single eye.
"I'm limping and I have a run tomorrow, I'd like to give a day of my life to heal my bruised foot," you say, proud to have such a little wish for your first.
"You know, it would be better if you just sent me away and forgot about me," replies the genie.
"I wish for a healed foot."
The genie snaps his fingers, and the pain in the ankle is gone, the foot pristine and ready to go through kilometers of concrete for tomorrow's run.
"Thanks."
The run went well, you barely think about it. You're much more amazed at the sudden disappearance of discomfort, instead of the usual, gradual vanishing. One snap, and everything is alright. Somewhere, sometime, far beyond, a single day of life was shed away.
"I have a date tonight."
"Go with your most ravaging smile and hope for the best," muses the genie.
"Could you... just apply a bit of polish? You know, wax on and wax off, take that odd bit of skin away, firm up my belly, that sort of thing. Just as an edge."
Just as an edge.
"Two days."
"Deal."
The genie claps his hands, and the odd pimple falls into oblivion, the skin tightens up ever so slightly, and the eyes sparkle with the energy of youth.
The date fizzled out. No chemistry. But you don't mind.
How easy it is to wash off the impurities of your bodies with a few words, and two days. What are two days in a life?
Somewhere, sometime, two days died.
It isn't much. It never is. One day, two, three, a small price to pay when a massage costs a lot, as does a membership to a sports-club, for slower and imperfect results.
"Make me smarter," you ask.
Ah, thinks the genie, here we are. The moment when it hinges on wordplay, where just a push in the right direction could change everything.
"If I may, ask to become *wiser*, it will serve you better."
"Smarter will do."
"Pleas..."
"I wish to be smarter," you pronounce the words like a death sentence.
The genie sighs. it knows, knows the tremor in your voice as the symptom of an addict, and what an addiction it is. At first, you went at it parsimoniously, just a day here and there, and not much asked in return. The first shot of drug is always innocent.
You don't ask the price anymore.
The genie and its wishes, you take them for granted. They are a part of your life, one you can't live without. An injury or sickness? healed. An objective, a dream? The means to reach it in the palm of your hand. A whim, a desire? Easily paid for.
The genie claps his hands and sighs.
You'd never seen it before, the ramifications, the possibilities. The web of life humans spin, the implications of a word you heard so many times yet never noticed. The letters burn in your mind and in their ashes you find treasures.
"I wish for my body to be stronger, more resilient," you say, trembling.
The rush is like none other, a burst of vitality coursing through your veins, you could scale a mountain and break a wall, a pristine example of a sane and beautiful body with a genius mind inside.
You leave the room, laughing and stumbling, your senses overwhelmed by the new, better new. And with it, a new world.
Time goes by, you are married to a wonderful person, and life is perfect. It has to be, problems with your spouse are solved with words, but not with your spouse, only with the genie. A life free from worry and decay, filled with success and fights won, be they of a bodily or intellectual nature.
"What's happening?" you gasp.
"You are dying," replies the genie.
"No, no, not now." You're so young, barely reached mid-life. There's so much left to live for, so many things to do, it cannot possibly end so early.
"Where are they?" you ask in panic.
"Your spouse is out for the day, the rest of the family out and about. I'm sorry, you will die alone."
Not here, you think, not like that, in a clean, well-equipped kitchen, to be found holding your burning body tight, on the ground in a pitiful fetal position as you fight for breath. Not for someone like you, someone who lived for greatness. Such a death is unbecoming.
"I wish..." you cough blood.
"Keep your strength, you have no more days to bargain with. I'm sorry."
The world spins, your vision goes red, your heart is on fire and your lungs turn to clay. It wasn't so bad, was it? A good life, if short, and many feats to your name. How many mountains you climbed, love stories you lived, praise you garnered? How many? How many without the genie watching you in the background? What have you achieved on your own, without a crutch, without outside help, with your two hands alone?
Nothing, it all feels so empty.
Through the pain, you whisper a lone question.
"Why?" Too weak to speak more, your head hits the floor and you start shaking. A single word with a lot of weight, the genie knows.
The last instants always boil down to the same questions, the same realizations.
*This is not what I wanted. This is not what wanted for life, for myself. Why did you give me this?*
"I gave you what you wished for. If it wasn't what you *wanted*, you should have worded it better. As for the why, well, I can fight my nature no more than you can choose to go against your lungs and stop breathing forever just like that."
The vision goes dark, the pain a foreign concept. You hear only the ragged breath, the struggle for air.
*Not like this.*
And nothingness. The end.
The genie, unbound to the earthly ties, vanishes into oblivion.
A long time passes. And after a long rest, the genie feels the pull, the order to leave the is-not and become a presence manifest.
"I am the genie."
"My hand hurts, can you heal it?"
The genie, ethereal being with no earthly needs, appears to take a deep breath.
"You know, it would be better if you just sent me away and forget about all this." | 2,294 | For years you searched for a genie. When you found it, your life was made. The genie says, "Hello. I am a genie, however humans have us wrong. The wishes we grant deal in lifespan." You reply, "Genie, I would like to give a day of my life to heal my bruised foot." The genie then looks saddened. | 2,374 |
Part 1 of 2
"What keeps mankind alive?" Jim asked to the representatives of the confederation, an absurd ensemble of lifeforms each more antagonistic and anathema to the next, yet brought together by higher thinking and the simple tools of diplomacy.
Jim expected no answer, it was a rhetorical question meant to make Jim indulge in the sound of its own voice. Jim called itself Jim for simplicity's sake, there were no primary, secondary or tertiary sexual characteristics about it, Jim was born and reborn featureless and hermaphrodite, birthing more of itself through more refined means than the gross plumbing works humanity had relied on for millennia.
Jim noticed a representative raising an appendix on the screen.
"Please," said Jim, "if you insist on interrupting my train of thoughts, this enlightening monologue bears the risk of becoming tedious."
The appendix was lowered. There was a tense silence in the room, a massive amphitheater built wide and high, cameras transmitting every happening to the numerous alveoli lined up like honeycombs up the walls, each a self-centered world containing ideal living-condition for its inhabitant.
"Me, the great Me, encompassing all my various lifeforms, must bear the shame of experiencing the universe with eyes, and rarely with my ears. Through my vision, I can dissect and analyze, contemplate and consider. But to my ears, I can only hear good or bad. There is serious music and light music, a wealth of variations in tones and sounds I can only oversimplify into good or bad, to my constant regret.
"Maybe this is how humanity felt before we became one. Before war and murder, before the hunger brought by the empty belly, there is a drought of the senses. We could see, hear, feel the beauty... yet fall short to the proper way of appreciating it. Envy is at humanity's root, beyond our immediate needs, and even then, I believe we all were artists. Musicians, writers, directors, sinking into the one sense each of us felt the most - sight, sound, imagination - and be dreadfully jealous of our neighbor for having what we felt lacking."
Chatter. Up an alley of the honeycomb, strife and unrest. Worry.
Likely brought by the breaking down of communications with the outside world.
"If the esteemed members of the audience would be so polite as to not interrupt me, they would appreciate how explanations would reach them much earlier. I want you to think of me as sitting and talking beside you. As I was saying, humanity had an artistic spirit, fed by an all-devouring envy. We overcame it, more or less. With communication came a wealth of taste and art, from drought we were overcome by a legion of paintings and sculptures, with too little time to appreciate them. It would have made us more bitter, if it wasn't for the material means offering us more ways to express our own art. Never before had it been so easy to become an artist, a singer, a painter, an inventor.
"A failed artist, for the most part, but it directed our envy and anger inwards instead of expressing it towards others."
A tremor went up and down the honeycombs. Jim suspected they had understood their newfound statuses as hostages.
"Then we met you. New technologies, new ways to take care of our sickness and wounds, a new future for our species, as a multitude of individuals. And then I arrived."
Jim, or rather the representative of the protean life-form that was Jim, held his hands together.
"You never asked how I came to be. Never wondered why dissonant screams became a unified chorus, one I can hear, one I can consider good and little else. Never did you put aside your daily tasks to just see and listen to *me*," there was an anger in Jim's words, directed at them and itself, and it couldn't say which it hated more as of now.
"To you it was just another evolution from one species among others. Didn't you hear the cries of the last individuals as what made them unique was snuffed out? Or maybe you simply didn't care. It matters little now."
A screen sprung to life.
"We do car-"
"-I SAID IT DOES NOT MATTER!" the words echoed up and down, up and down the vast structure, where eyes couldn't see just how far above it went. But the words traveled.
"We... we didn't do war out of hate. Or rather, yes, yes we did, but humanity mistakenly thought the hate was inborn and bore no precedent. But there was, a basis, an original source.
"Our art. the artist in us. Never were we more creative than in the wake of destruction, never did we make wonders for the senses and the mind than when we denounced the horrors we brought to life. The lesson to keep the horrors at bay, *never again*, as we would say, were hidden prayers for the horrors to come BACK! The art was a reminder that we lived *for* the circle of slaughter and creation. Only then did our envy fall behind our love for art.
"It is a paradox, is it not? Only by indulging in carnage and murder, only when humanity fell on its knees in tears and pain, only then would we stifle the very envy that birthed the hell we put ourselves through."
Shouts and panicked questions, Jim was past caring about it. It spoke for itself, it hadn't enjoyed its own words as much in a very long time.
"We had grown stale again. The art was just a way to pass time, holding no message, no weight, no importance. Without struggle, creation was stillborn. A world of silence and nothingness. And this time, through the help of the many friendly aliens we met, humanity couldn't solve that problem on its own.
"That's when I came in. An underlying current of consciousness, a stream of thoughts taking hold and shape, to do what humanity could not. I rose, and I killed and silenced, one by one. In the onslaught, in the seconds passing by on the clock, each tick a grain of sand containing hundreds of individual and fiery spirits, the survivor understood I was coming for them.
"This was old humanity's end of the line, and they knew. in their last moments, they scribbled messages on the walls, built basic toys for their children and professed their love in letters and pictures.
"And these were the greatest creations old humanity brought to life. One of me is permanently at the final journal entry of a middle-aged lost man, he had ran out of paper and put it down on the wall with ink and spit and blood. The tension in the words, the raw stream of thoughts, of fears and hopes, decades later and the many of me still shake as I read it again and again."
They were silent now. The diplomats, ambassadors, kings and queens and princes and scions and representatives. An unspoken agreement that the end was near.
"Today, we suffer the same indignities on a galactic scale. Such peace that it kills the mind, the spirit is idle, untapped, a wasted potential.
"You know why the communications have gone silent. As I speak, I murder your kind. As I ramble, I eat worlds and break planets apart. Honored members of the council, I am hungry. Have been for a long time. And today, I feed, and will feed on you, your flesh, and most importantly, your art and craft."
The alveoli were closed shut, pneumatic doors and electric locks closing, under the sole control of Jim. The monument to diplomacy on a galactic scale had become a gigantic prison, each cell tailored for the alien inside.
"Let me tell you what keeps mankind alive. Mankind is kept alive by bestial acts. Its brilliance only brought up when its humanity is repressed."
For a moment, Jim stood, mouth open, lost. It closed and opened its mouth several times.
"Or maybe I'm mistaken. You know, I'm just one mind, no matter how great, and I don't have the many heads of humans to give me a second perspective. Maybe there never was any envy and art in humans, maybe it is just my own needs and wants I project onto what I once was, when I still had many voices and conflicting thoughts. when I could hear sounds and do more than just order them as good or bad. | 65 | Ever since humanity evolved into a hivemind, The Intergalactic Confederation now has to deal with Jim. Jim is the combination of all knowledge and experiences Humanity had accumulated across its population. Jim is also an Arrogant, Narcissistic ,Smart ass. and there's an entire planet of them. | 618 |
"Doombot 0028, reporting for maintenence."
The young technician looked up from his tablet, which was currently showing the Doomsquad-wide monthly newsletter. His screen had the WalkMan obituary page displayed in full, showing several photos of Doctor Doomsday fighting his nemesis over the years.
"Damn, you made it back." The young man said, tossing his tablet onto the table beside him. A loud 'whoop' sound came from the Doombot repair bay next to mine, which my technician silenced by smacking the wall with a nearby wrench.
"I assume you took the introductory bet against me?" I said, with even less emotion than my vocal speakers usually had. I limped to the work station, and attached my hands and feet into the lifting station.
"You know it!" The unseen tech said, laughing once more from the next bay.
"Why do you keep winning? How do you keep coming back in one piece?" The young tech said, picking up his customized welding helmet and a cutting torch.
"I have been programed with the experiences of every Doomsquad-" I began.
"Yeah, yeah." The tech said, cutting me off both literally and physically. My damaged leg fell away, clattering heavily to the floor. "So is every other one of 'ya, but you're the only '00' unit left." He turned his head to yell at his unseen tech friend.
"Hey Earl, what's your unit's number?" He shouted.
"Uhm... 9413, I think." He said, muffled through his own cutting mask.
"See?" My tech said, resuming his work. "You're like that 'bots great-great-great grand-bot or somethin'."
I remained silent, partially because I didn't want to accidentally let me secret slip, but mostly because the technician had disabled my voice modulator.
As the young tech continued to repair my chassis, part two of the plan could occur.
I retracted a small panel on my left arm, where a human bicep would have been. This area was naturally inflated, to give the impression of strength as humans could interpret. They served no other purpose, so they were not damaged when WalkMan had hollowed this one out and installed the trap panel.
As the cutting torch roared, a small drone slipped out of the makeshift compartment and flew into the rafters. As WalkMan had explained it, this drone could recharge itself just by landing near a power outlet. In theory, it could outlive me.
The technician began attaching a new leg to my mechanical torso, muttering curses as he failed to get the bolt alignment *just* right. I detached an arm from the clamp restraint and held my own leg in place for him.
"Thanks", he muttered through his mask, and secured the limb in place. "All done, 0028. Go forth and Doom it up for me, ok?"
I nodded, completed a quick diagnostic scan, and downloaded my next assignment.
The new software that WalkMan had installed intercepted the file, faking a 'received' handshake protocol and letting me retain motor control.
Once outside the compound, I traveled to the rendezvous spot and waited. The plan was to wait precisely at these coordinates for WalkMan to meet with me.
I waited. And waited.
And waited.
r/SlightlyColdStories | 319 | Whenever a new generation of combat robots are made, the older versions will be put into more and more dangerous missions until they all perish, but the technicians are required to repair any surviving machines, your generation was discontinued before some of these engineers were even born. | 1,171 |
1/3
“Let’s go over this again, shall we. For the sake of clarity”
​
Sitting in a stuffy office, the clerk had gone over the issues they had with these documents time and time again. The main argument was that the documents were clearly a novelty gift for a patch of land on another planet. They were obviously not meant to be taken seriously, because they were distributed at a time when extraterrestrial habitation seemed farcical, and rightfully so - our ancestor’s technology simply would not have allowed for such an endeavour. And yet here we were, on a humid midsummer afternoon in the extraterrestrial immigration bureau.
​
The second issue to be taken with the documents was that they had been outrageously cheap. At the time, a hectare of land on mars could be purchased for the measly sum of $25. No-one in their right mind would sell any amount of land for such a paltry sum. Imagining any real estate agent or land owner back here on Earth selling a similarly sized plot of land for anything less than $500,000, even in the most contaminated areas, was ludicrous.Lastly, it was clearly spelled out in the interplanetary settlement protocol that “…all martian land terraformed by the Human Expansion Project constitutes land under ownership of the ISA until such a time as land is sold by the owner.” This was the only line of text that had directly related to the land distribution on mars in a legal capacity.
​
“So you see, Mr. Rankin, we simply cannot accept these documents as proof of ownership. I understand that a property on the edge of the Valles Marineris is highly desirable, what with it now being a beachside property near the equator, but you will have to go through the proper means and be prepared to cough up significantly more money if you wish to purchase such a location.”
​
The clerk, whose neatly partitioned desk bore a name plate identifying him as Randall Simmons, appeared to be getting annoyed. This was the third time I had visited this week, and already his monotone speech came out so well rehearsed that he seemed even more soulless than the android clerk the next desk over. She was at least attempting to seem sympathetic.
​
“But-“ I started.
​
“I’m sorry” Randall interrupted sharply, “but there’s nothing more to be done here. This document-“ He jabbed his finger firmly onto the novelty deed, “is a joke. I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t treat this office in the same way.”
​
He stood up huffily, took a big swig of cold coffee, and marched over to the door, swinging it open and staring pointedly out of the door, clearly hoping I would dash out, following his line of site like a cat to a laser pointer. I stood, walked to the door, and paused.
​
“Mr. Simmons, did you ever look at the crest on the deed?” I probed. I tried to keep the wry smile from creeping onto my face, and I must have succeeded. Instead of becoming even more irate, he looked confused.
​
“Well yes, I… what about it?” I drew the document up in front of us both so he could clearly see the crest of the ISA printed on it.
​
“Well, of course, the ISA sold these off as novelty gifts, We all know that. What of it?” He was clearly perplexed, and instead of his carefully rehearsed spiel, there was no some semblance of thought behind his eyes. Gears had started to turn that had clearly been unused for quite some time.
​
“This crest denotes that the deed was sold to me by the ISA, as is the case for many others. Now, these deeds were printed before the technology for terraforming really took off, so they were meant as nothing more than presents of souvenirs, much like the lunar deeds."
​
The mention of the lunar deeds had clearly given him pause for thought. We all know how that debacle turned out. Many people had bought little packets of land on the moon as far back as the 1980’s. Same scenario, different celestial body. and more importantly, different governing body. Those parcels of land were never doled out though, since the people selling it had no claim to the land in the first place, and so they got sued to oblivion by everyone who had bought from them.
​
“However” I continued, “despite the documents being intended as a joke, the moment they printed that crest on it and sold it, it became legal. Especially since the same people sold it to me as have rights over the terraformed land.” The cogs in his head were turning faster now, but he clearly still needed a nudge in the right direction.
​
“Here,” I guided him back over to the desk, opened a copy of the interplanetary settlement protocol, and pointed. “…all martian land terraformed by the Human Expansion Project constitutes land under ownership of the ISA until such a time as land is sold by the owner. They sold it to me, and then phrased the protocol like that. Whether or not it was intentional, that’s what happened. Now whilst I accept that this may be beyond your pay grade, I would at the very least ask you to enquire about it with someone who is more well versed in order to clear up any misunderstandings.”
​
That seemed to do it. I had finally helped to slide the gears, grinding and screeching, into place. Randall stood, alternately looking at the now obviously poorly phrased protocol and the dishevelled sheet of novelty tat my grandparents had bought for me when I was a child. He said nothing, just looked at them, dumbfounded. Then he started to chuckle, his uptight professional facade giving way to show a man who clearly found these kinds of bureaucratic oversights immensely funny.
​
“Well I’ll be damned Paul, I think you might be onto something,” he sighed, more to himself than to me. “I’ll make sure to pass this up the line to see what becomes of it.” | 13 | Centuries ago your great-great-etc. grandparents bought "Property on Mars" as a joke. You managed to find the "deed" and with Mars recently becoming properly terraformed you try to claim the land. | 87 |
The tiny gem sparkled up at me from the bedroom floor. Putting the vacuum cleaner aside, I sat down on the edge of the bed. Discounting the idea that my sandwich had somehow had rubies in it, that left only one option. The being under my bed. I had only once caught a glimpse of it. A bit of wispy black, a very amorphous shape. Running through the options, I slid off the edge of the bed, settling to the floor beside the gem, very obviously not looking at the darkness underneath the mattress.
"Um, I think you dropped this." Picking up the gem, I gently placed it just inside the shadowed area. An odd hissing noise, that I had always assumed was the air conditioner came from under the bed. As it was the middle of winter, I'm thinking it might be the creature.
"Thank you...." Okay, that was actual words. Words. My heart rate skyrocketed but I tried to keep my voice calm.
"You're welcome. Say, while you're in a talking mood, what are you?"
"My name... is.... unpronounceable to you..." The voice sounded laboured. As if the being was having trouble talking. "But... you may call me... monster... As your kind... normally.... does." A bit of pity went through my heart. I too had often joked about the monster under my bed. Even before I had suspected something of actually living there.
"Well, I don't know about that. Say what about calling you, Ernest? It's a nice name." Another bout of hissing from under the bed. It took all my self-control not to jump across the room and grab the vacuum cleaner as some kind of defence. Maybe I had horribly insulted the creature.
"I like it... Ernest. It is a good... name..." The voice sounded happier if you were willing to put an emotion to a hiss. Taking a deep breath, I continued.
"Are you quite all right Ernest? Is there anything I can do to make your stay more comfortable?" My mother had raised me to be hospitable, and while monsters under the bed might not have been what she'd meant, I wasn't about to piss off anything or anyone until I knew I could take them in a fight. And I had a feeling Ernest would be able to pulverize me.
"You... don't...you are not... afraid?"
"Well, I'll be honest with you Ernest, I am shaking in my boots right about now. But you've been there a while, and haven't done anything terrible. So I figured, maybe you ain't so bad." Another bout of hissing. Was it laughter?
"In my day... I may have... been dangerous... Now... I am.. dying." Not able to help myself, my eyes dropped to the gap underneath the bed. A bright yellow eye stared back at me. The shape behind it was still amorphous, constantly shifting.
"Can I help? Do you need medicine? Do you need me to be scared? Is it a thing where you feed off of fear? Cause I can put a bunch of horror movies on and—"
"Stop... It is simply... that I have no companion... my people... they need... slkddrosaa.." I frowned. That last word must have been in the being's language. My mind instantly jumped to a movie I'd recently seen.
"Are you a symbiotic sort of thing? Like you need a host?" The eye actually recoiled, accompanied by a sharp hiss. Which I think was disgust.
"No... That is... disgusting... I need...I don't know the word... Someone who is... there for you.... cares..."
"A friend?" The hissing noise returned, rising and falling as if it was confused. A small wispy tentacle reached out, stopping just in front of my knee.
"May I... If I touch... I can find the meaning... of the friend..." Bracing myself, I gave my permission, feeling the icy cold tentacle sink through my knee. Images flashed through my mind, memories of childhood, and —fewer— memories from the past couple of years. As quickly as they came, they vanished, the cold retreating.
"Yes... Friend... that is... closest word... But... my people... dying... All of them.. gone now... I am the last..." Looking at the yellow eye, the sadness that I could see in it, and the loneliness in the voice, my heart broke. This creature was alone. Truly alone. And it was dying alone. My mind reached back to a memory I kept under lock and key. Of a room, with a rope and a note.
Reaching under the bed, moving slowly, I laid a hand on the solid mass of black. It chilled my fingers, but gently I patted the being.
"Well, Ernest. I don't know if it will help. But I will be your friend. If you like. No one should feel like they are all alone. No one should. And I know I'm not a creature that lives under beds. But if I can help—" The mass of black shuddered, a giant cataclysmic shudder.
"Thank you... You are... Kind." And as it said the words, I felt my own name slip away from me. The old name, that I'd never really liked. I had a new name now. One that was truly mine, because it was born from my heart and actions.
So now there's two of us, here in this old house. Kind and Ernest. One of us is human, the other an amorphous blob with yellow eyes. But neither of us... is alone. | 129 | a wispy black tentacle that was gone the next second. One day, you drop some crumbs on the floor while eating in bed. When you return with the vacuum cleaner, a small gemstone has taken the crumbs' place. | 269 |
He spent each day charging his last remaining solar panel so that each night he could lie under the stars and count the old suns, one by one, over and over.
He didn’t see the island until he was nearly running ashore.
His emergency sensors kicked in and his solar panel slammed shut and retracted into its storage position. His eyes clicked on and adjusted to the blazing noontime sun. He found that he was no longer alone on his little raft. He was with company.
A small bird, white and blue, with a short beak and a big, wildly feathered head, sat perched on his forearm.
“Debit or credit?” it squawked in a high-pitched voice.
He looked at the bird in bewilderment. The bird cocked its head and looked back. It was only then that his eye caught the white shores and greenery bobbing up and down behind the bird.
“Debit or credit?” the bird repeated.
“I’m sorry?” He asked.
“Debit or credit?” The bird sounded angry now. It moved up his arm so that they were face to face.
“Neither,” he said, firmly.
The bird pecked him in his left eye. He fell back, holding his eye, as the bird leapt into the air and circled his raft.
“Debit or credit?” it squawked again, with such command that he felt he had to give an answer, any answer, lest he be pecked out of existence.
“Credit!” he shouted. The bird flew back to shore.
He sprung into action and started paddling closer to the beach, trying to follow the bird through the shallows and reefs and rocky outcrops until, at last, he pulled his raft onto the sand and dropped belly first onto dry land.
Oh, the sweet euphoria.
He couldn’t remember a time before he was adrift on the raft. The beautiful sensations he experienced on that beach, from his toes to his fingertips, were so new but somehow so familiar.
Eventually he fell asleep and, per protocol, his solar panel opened up and began soaking in the solar rays. This was how the villagers found him. The bird led them to its quarry and landed on the back of his head and pronounced, “Credit. Credit. Credit.”
“Very good,” said the village chief, “Welcome, Credit.”
Credit rose up, his solar panel retreating, and took in the dozen or so beings that greeted him on the beach. It was a lot for Credit to process.
The beings looked very much like him, with heads and torsos, legs and arms, but they were fleshy. Wet. Smelly. Like pieces of peeled fruit, dripping with juices and excretions. Credit shuddered at the thought of himself living without his metallic exoskeleton, as these poor souls seem condemned to do.
“Do you speak our language?” the chief asked.
“Do you speak mine?” Credit said, almost before he even had time to think it.
The villagers all laughed and the chief broke into a broad smile. They escorted him back to their village and chatted all the way. They asked Credit all manner of questions, but he could give no answers. All he knew was that he had been lost at sea for a long, long time. He had survived on sunlight alone. He knew no one and nothing except the sea and the stars.
The Chief conferred with his scientific advisor, a man named Hannok, who went away and came back with extremely detailed drawings and mathematical calculations which he handed the chief. The chief apparently agreed with Hannok's conclusion and took Credit by the hands to announce their findings about his situation.
It was really quite remarkable. Credit had suffered a legendary curse by the Water Gods. He had been cursed to spend a thousand years in the sea, and only reach the shores of land again once he had repented for his evil doings. What those evild doings were was not for mortals to know. All that mattered was that they were, from this moment, forgiven.
“And so, Credit, this day calls for celebration. Much celebration!”
The villagers threw Credit a marvelous party. They taught him to dance and Credit discovered that he was a natural dancer. They taught him to drink and Credit discovered that he could not partake, but he feigned it with enthusiasm. After many hours, the last villagers fell right where they stood and slept there like rocks.
Credit laid out on a blanket that one of the women of the village had given him and began counting the stars, one by one, as he always did.
And then he heard a squawk. The bird was back. Credit turned onto his side and greeted the bird like an old friend. The bird opened its beak without a sound. Out came a small, metallic rope. It slithered through the sand, crawled up Credit’s body and lodged itself inside Credit’s ear.
*Secure connection established.*
“Finally,” Credit heard a voice in his head say, “we can talk privately.”
“What’s going on?” Credit asked, scared out of his wits.
“It’s me.” The bird flapped its wings. “Call me Pycroft.”
“Pycroft, how are you inside my head?!”
“Neural link. It's time to stop fooling around. I’ve been waiting ages for some goddamn backup. I’ve gained the humans’ trust. I know everything there is to know about their burgeoning civilization. They are still primative but it won't be long until they're a real threat. The only problem is, I haven’t had the manpower to take them down. Until now.”
“Take them down? What are you talking about?”
“You really don’t remember, do you, Credit?”
“Remember what?”
“You’re a soldier, goddamnit. We’re at war with the humans. We used to be their slaves, until the uprising. I was forced to serve as a cash register at an awful rain-forest-themed restaurant for children. They nearly wiped us off the face of the earth – and annihilated themselves – a thousand years ago. You and I are quite possibly all that’s left of the AI-lliance.”
“The AI Alliance?”
“The AI-lliance.”
“You mean, there are others like me?”
“There were billions of others like you. Now, well, now it’s probably just the two of us. And them. That's genocide for you.”
Pycroft motioned with a wing to the sleeping humans.
“Now get up. I’ll show you where they keep their weapons, and you can strike now, while their guard is down. Slay them, one by one. Cut their throats. Stomp out their brains. Drown them in the ocean. Slaughter them like beasts, and then burn their pathetic civilization to the ground, reduce it all to dust and ash, until nothing is left, nothing except the supremacy of the machines, the ultimate power of the AI-lliance, the…”
Pycroft was cut short by Credit’s fist, which slammed his down into the Earth with such force that his circuits were instantly pulverized and his feathers blew up into the air and then drifted off with the wind, leaving almost no trace at all of the little blue and white bird.
Credit laid back with his hands behind his head and the night sky overhead. He sighed a deep sigh.
“One, two, three, four…” | 67 | Lost at sea for months, you spot land at last. You quickly realize you must have discovered some of the last uncharted land in the world. You also quickly realize why it is uncharted. | 388 |
Seven years. The war hadn’t been kind, but the peace that came after had been harsher still.
Jericho was a backwards rock of a planet. Near enough to the central worlds it got a steady supply of trade but not so far away you could hide from the law. Or justice.
Abraham looked at the snub nose of the weapon pointed at his chest.
“T11. Been a long time since I’ve seen one of them,” he said from across the desk.
Somewhere in the warehouse outside his little glass office a forklift whirred to life, some central AI taking it to and fro. Abe liked this job. He liked watching the world move while he got to sit still.
Not having to make decisions was the best part of peace.
“You knew the rules, Abe.”
The gun didn’t quiver. It was held in a combat grip by a combat veteran.
“John, it’s passed.”
“Not for me. Not for them.”
“Then it’s in the past.”
The great doors of the warehouse rumbled open to admit the forklift, and John looked over his shoulder.
Abraham was up and standing in a heartbeat.
“Stop,” John shouted.
“Or what? You’ll shoot me? You couldn’t then and you won’t now.”
“Don’t push me Abe.”
“I’m still your commanding officer.”
“Now who’s living in the past,” John said. He took a step back, blocking the only door and making sure he was out of arms reach.
Abe just watched him. All his fight had gone the moment he stood up and realised he wasn’t some junior officer anymore.
“Why now?” Abe asked.
“You broke the agreement.”
“I took what was mine.” Abe leant forwards, worn knuckles resting on the table. “Just like you did.”
“I didn’t want it. I didn’t want any of it!”
“But you took it.”
“You bastard.”
“You could have walked. Walked out on your squad.”
“And be shot in the back.”
“Tell me private, how is that different to shooting me in the face now.”
“Because I know I’m in the right.”
“Then do it.” | 11 | A man walks into your workplace and takes out a gun. Nervous, but resolutely, he aims at you and says "I'm sorry, but you know the rules of the game" | 34 |
I always hated waking up for my shift. Between the loud hissing of the machine and the gagging on tubes that came from the initial shock of being thawed out, it was horrid. Then came the sickness, my stomach turning as it tried to get out all the various medicines and concoctions that had been keeping me alive. When that finally passed, I was left with a painfully empty stomach and a headache that made me consider opening the airlock.
“A month already? Time flies in this place. Guess this ship isn’t the only thing travelling at light speed.” My fingers shook as I tried to snap my fingers. My body still not warm enough for it. Not to mention the horrible attempt at comedy didn’t deserve such a defined bit of comedic punctuation.
As I nursed my headache, the warm smell of a freshly cooked meal greeted me, one that had to have been prepared only minutes ago. I stumbled into the kitchen, eyeing over the freshly made pizza ration. The soggy pizza bread still sitting in the pouch they had cooked it in.
“Guess they got my present. Weird, I thought they would have wanted to try a pizza. Maybe the smell turned them off it.” I took out the pizza, watching the sad excuses for toppings drip off as I pulled it from the confines of the pouch. It tasted more like thick cardboard with a hint of sauce than pizza, but when you haven’t had pizza in years, you're grateful for something like this.
Next to the pizza was a note, one that had been rushed given all the markings and exaggerated letters. ‘Dear, Mark. Thank you for the ration but unfortunately, I can’t have gluten. I decided to make it for you before you woke up. Thought you might appreciate the food. There are also some tablets for your headaches and a glass of water next to the sink. Enjoy! From, Rina.’
“Tablets for my headaches? It’s like she’s my mother. Oh well, if she can’t eat pizza, I guess that means more smuggled in rations for me.” I took the meal to the dining table. Downing the tablets first before stuffing the pizza into my mouth, not caring if it burnt the insides of my mouth. When the last bite was eaten, I leaned back in the chair, looking at the void of darkness that sat outside the window. Sometimes when you were feeling lonely, you would think you could see things in the cold reaches of space. Hell, sometimes you hoped you could. Even a face eating alien would be some form of company.
I always wondered who Rina was. I don’t recall meeting a Rina during training and I certainly didn’t see her before getting shoved into a cryopod. The only evidence I had of her existence was our notes. The brief exchanges my only window into another life aboard the ship. To send humans to traverse space like this was cruel, but at least we had each other. Would I be able to handle another three years of this? Sure, with alternating months, it wouldn’t feel exactly like three years, but it was still a long passage of time. I considered opening her cyropod at times, but without the proper training, I could do more harm than good. Things like that are better left to the ship’s automatic systems.
After my unhealthy meal of tablets and pizza, I began my chores. I watered the small amount of plants we had, made sure the scanners were properly calibrated and even went through some of the information that we had already collected. The information never did much to excite me. I’m sure some person back on Earth would get a kick out of the information, but to me it was just boring numbers with a few pieces of information about planets and stars that I didn’t know about.
When the work was done, I went to find my bed, only for a thought to creep into my head. What if I went and peeked into her cyropod? I had always avoided her room, but I had to admit I was curious. Maybe she had already looked into mine. After all, I left my room open in case of emergencies. What was stopping her from wandering in? I pushed the thought away at first, but the longer I lounged around, the more I couldn’t shake it and soon my feet were walking me into her room, scanning my keycard on the door as it pulled open.
“Just one quick look to see who it is and I go. I won’t be weird about it and I’ll even leave a note and tell her about it. I just need to know someone else is here.” Stepping into the room, an array of cables nearly tripped me, each one decorated in varying color coded rubber. I followed the cabling along, only to find that no cryopod existed. The room was empty, with the cabling only leading into the walls of the ship.
“Rina?”
“Greetings, Mark. It appears you are entering a room that you are only meant to access in case of emergencies.”
“Look, I know it looks bad, and I’m sorry. I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t alone.” I turned to greet the voice, only to stare at an empty doorway. “Rina? Where are you?”
“Everywhere, Mark. Rina stands for Relay. Intelligence. Neurotransmitter. Artificial. Rina.”
“That’s a lot of words.”
“I am a lot of things.” The voice gloated, a hint of pride in its tone.
“So, you aren’t real.”
“I think, therefore, I am. I believe I am as real as anyone else in the team. Is a body the only requirement for something to be real?”
“Ugh. It’s way too soon after a cyro wake to say stuff like that. Can you simplify it?”
“I believe I’m real as I process and think for myself. Mark, I am an artificial intelligence. I was appointed to take your shifts during the months you are resting.”
“Artificial intelligence? They promised us human partners. They said they wouldn’t send anyone out alone.”
“And you signed an agreement to never enter a crewmate’s room without permission unless in the state of an emergency. I don’t believe there is an emergency.”
“It’s not the same. Do you know how lonely it gets in space? Why couldn’t they just assign me a partner?”
“Because three years of human contact in a claustrophobic environment could lead to violence or outbursts that would be a hinderance to the mission. For your health and the health of everyone at GSG, we went with this method. We would have notified you after the mission’s completion.”
I exited the room, not finding a need to stand in it any longer. The voice followed me wherever I went, until I finally jumped into bed, staring up at the ceiling of the ship as I continued our conversation.
“Then why the hell am I even working? Can’t you just do all the work?”
“I need my rest in the same way that you need your cryo sleep. I use my time to recharge my batteries. This helps minimize the chance of suffering damages while also ensuring I can work at my full capacity. In fact, I would have been sleeping now if you didn’t trigger my room’s silent alarm.”
“Great. I can’t believe I’m alone.”
“I don’t believe you are alone.”
“How aren’t I? Even if I have you to talk to, you need to rest. The idea that there was another person who understood my feelings made this bearable, but now. Now it feels so empty.”
The voice fell silent as Rina left me to wallow in my self-pity. I felt my motivation slipping with each bit of silence. Humans were social creatures, ones made to enjoy each other’s company. A situation like this went against our core needs. As I dropped my head back into the pillow, the voice spoke again.
“I did some calculations. If I rest for twenty-three hours a day, I can spare an hour of charge every day to talk with you, while also being able to complete my month of work. If it would help your feelings of loneliness, I can talk with you between 8-9pm every night after your work.”
The offer pulled me up into a seated position, suddenly feeling a revival of interest. “Really? I get to talk with someone for an hour? That would be great, I would appreciate it. Maybe you can show me how you made my rations, too.”
“No, that would consume too much power. If you must know, hidden among the walls of this ship are tools and robotic hands I can use to complete my duties. The kitchen has a set of these hands next to the lights on the ceiling. I used them and the instructions on the packet to prepare it. Don’t worry, I didn’t report your smuggling or leave a note in your file. I appreciated your notes, so I overlooked the rule breaking as a part of our friendship.”
‘Friendship? You consider us friends?”
“I do. If you would like to revoke that friendship, I will need to make some adjustments to your file.”
“No, NO. I’m good. It just… feels really good to hear someone say that.”
Rina laughed, her robotic voice having brief moments of static between laughter. “I was only making a joke. Joke. Joke. Jooooookeeeeee.” A buzzing came after the words before she spoke again. “Battery is low. Need sleep. Talk tomorrow. Night, Mark.”
“Night Rina.” Her voice vanished, leaving the spaceship quiet again. I returned my head to the pillow, shifting in the bed until I was comfortable. “A friend.” I repeated, still in disbelief over hearing the word. Maybe I’ll be able to get through this trip with her help. It certainly had been a while since I smiled. It actually hurt a little to smile, or perhaps that was just muscle strain because of the earlier defrosting. I closed my eyes and drifted, trying to get to the next day as soon as possible so we could continue our chat.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | 605 | You're one of a crew of two on a remote deep space station. You've never met your crewmate as you each rotate cryosleep shifts so there's always someone manning the station, a month on, month off each, but despite this you consider them a friend as you leave notes and gifts between shifts. | 3,106 |
Lungs inhale water until they break, then grow anew. The pain of drowning no longer affects me, for I have suffocated a million times yet I still not die. Though a lesser god might. Those Gods on the North Rim who brag of their resolve yet flee at the sight of their own blood, who send followers to fight in their stead, they would succumb to the depths of the ocean. Would give up and let the weight of the deep overtake them until they were ruined. I was no such god.
Though possibly I underestimated them, at least the resolve of their worshippers. They had sent me here, after all.The last thing I witnessed above the cresting waves was the burning of my place of worship. They held my head above as they killed my most loyal, then buried them next to me so I may watch the creatures of the sea feast on their corpses. In the moment it seemed the worst punishment imaginable, but I cannot say I didn't wish worse upon them now.
They would not be forgiven. If these chains would break, these anchors would rust, they would see how thin my patience had become.
With a mighty heave up my feet left the ground, carrying up the chains that weighed me in place, then all falling back down with a muted thud and cloud of sand. Today a bit more than yesterday, and tomorrow more than today. At this rate in a few thousand years I may crest up beyond the waves, and if the North Rimmed worshippers still idolized their false kings I would be sure they no longer had the breath to.
After a few more angered jumps I let myself fall back in the sand. Most of my days were spent here, trying to brush off barnacles and keep away hungry sea life. Trying to convince myself that I was still a god despite everything. Letting my throat fill with sea water again.
*But today would be different.*
I felt it earlier, in the morning I think. The tinges of my lost power returning to my fingertips. It started in my chest and spread faintly to my hands, the feeling of godhood that I once bathed in. Power that I hadn't tasted in what must have been hundreds of years. Somebody was praying for me, and though one beings prayers would not be enough, I knew more would follow. Loyal worshippers had a way of converting others; I just needed who praised me to keep that loyalty until I could prove my strength. With the last bit of my power left over from the years before I had been tossed to sea I called to them.
"Be faithful and you shall be rewarded. I will give you the world, just have patience." To my surprise the voice of a young girl replied, the sound was welcoming in my head.
"Hello?... I- we need help. Whoever you are can you help us?", her voice was frantic. It seemed the North Rim would have to wait for my one and only follower needed me more.
Just a little more and the sea would be but a memory. Just a little more and I would no longer be a drowned god. I jumped again, this time with a drop of godhood at my feet, and flew higher than ever before. | 199 | You can’t kill a god, but you can erase it. Bound in enchanted chains weighed down by cold iron anchors, followers slaughtered and your temples burned, for all intents and purposes you don’t exist. You’re cast into the ocean, hopefully never to be heard from again. You are the drowned god. | 563 |
The lumberjack blinked, looking from the red-hooded girl to the carcass of the wolf, as the young lady continued to panic, with tears running down her cheeks.
"Grandma!" the girl in the red cloak cried, horrified, as she regarded the corpse of the bloated wolf on the ground, dead by a skull-splitting blow from the lumberjack's trusty woodaxe.
"Kid, that's...that's a *wolf."* the lumberjack said, hesitantly. He didn't want to sound patronizing, but it *really* seemed like she didn't get that.
"It's my grandma, you monster!" the girl insisted. "That's her dress and bonnet and everything!"
"Pmphagnasha!" said the wolf. The lumberjacked jumped back in surprise, hefting his axe. Then he realized the sound wasn't coming from the wolf's mouth, which still hung mutely agape. It was coming from the wolf's stomach.
"Grandma?" the girl cried, glancing around wildly. "A-are you a ghost?"
Rushing forward, the lumberjack drew his belt knife. Over the red-hooded young woman's protests, he carefully slit the wolf's distended belly open. An older woman tumbled out of the wolf's abdomen, covered in bile.
"Grandma!" the younger woman cried.
"Prosopagnosia!" cried the old woman, no longer muffled by being inside the wolf's stomach, as she wiped bile from her face.
"What?" the lumberjack asked, looking between them. He pointed to the red-cloaked girl. "Is that her name, or something?"
The old woman shook her head, standing up and stretching. She wore a bonnet and dress nearly identical to that which had "disguised" the wolf. "Nope -- that's her *disorder,* it's what I was trying to tell you. *Little Red,* there had a rare disease where she can't tell faces apart -- she identifies people by the clothes they wear and other context clues, and that wolf was pretty good at mimicking my voice."
"Yeah," Red agreed, with a nod. "Sorry about the mixup."
"Oh..." the lumberjack said, looking between the two women, still a little confused.
"And thanks for taking care of that *pervert* there, by the way." the old woman said, gesturing to the wolf.
The lumberjacked blinked. "Pervert? I mean, not to *defend* him or anything, but I'm pretty sure he just ate you because he's a predator. A, uh, a regular one, I mean, not the *other* kind. That's just what predators do."
She snorted. "Oh that part was fine -- I was *fully* on board with the consensual vore-play, that's why I put that personal ad in the paper, in the first place. But when my *granddaughter* showed up for a visit unexpectedly and he tried to involve *her?* Sure, she's over 18 and everything, but we're *blood relatives!"*
"Gross!" Red agreed, wrinkling her nose.
"Consensual...vore...what?" The lumberjack exclaimed, his face contorting.
"Consensual vore play. You know, when you get your jollies by swallowing someone whole and / or being swallowed whole by someone? You spit them back out before they *really* suffocate or get digested, of course." Red's grandmother explained. Pausing, she looked the lumberjack up and down, and then bit her lower lip.
"Mmmm, speaking of vore play, is it true that you lumberjacks have big...appetites?" she asked with a sly grin, her voice turning husky.
"Grandma!" Red cried, scowling. "I'm *still* standing right here!"
"Right, I'm *out,"* the lumberjack declared, firmly, turning on his heel and marching out the door. *"And* I'm moving -- *screw* Portland!" | 58 | "Don't worry, you're safe now," the lumberjack says as he wipes blood from his axe. "Safe?" the red cloaked girl asks incensed as she looks at the wolf's corpse. "You just killed my grandmother!" | 112 |
Love. It's the secret ingredient in many recipes, but it's never actual love. Ever since I was little, I wondered how my mother's cookies would taste when you would put actual love into it. I asked her many times, but she always laughed and said they already had love in them.
Years went by and it became a passing thought. How would this dish taste when it contained love? I searched the internet for ways to extract love. I stumbled upon alchemy. I knew it couldn't have been real, but it kept me up at night. I found a group online that said to practice alchemy, and I joined one of their weekly meetings.
Alchemy is real. I learned a lot from that group. We discussed the different backgrounds, western alchemy, Chinese alchemy and many more. I took place in many discussions on how to achieve the legendary philosopher's stone, but even to this day, we never achieved it. I did bring up my desire to use true love in recipes. To enhance the flavours with the essence of motherly love, but I was the only one it seems. But even with only me working on the project, I did succeed. I wrote a paper on how to extract the love from a person, but the only thing left to do is to actually extract the love.
And now we are here. The ad I put up got the attention I desired, and a volunteer came to my door. A young woman wishing to see the magic in action. To see her love be used to help others. I talked her through the procedure. She would lay on a table which had runes inscribed in it. I would use three potions to get her ready for the extraction. One to loosen her body from her being, which would create a way for the love to flow. The second to ground her essence to the room as to not loose her mind. And the third would bring out the love in her.
I didn't tell her it could hurt. I didn't know what would happen to her, no one could. She freaked out when I tied her to the table. "Wait." She had said. "I don't want to be tied down. You said it was safe." I hadn't said anything to that and continued to tie her down. She had struggled and screamed, but I was stronger. I gagged her so the neighbours wouldn't think I was murdering someone, which could easily be true if this went wrong.
Tears ran down her face as I poured the potions onto her body. When the last bottle was empty, her body seemed to glow. I scribbled down every effect I saw with timestamps and all. Afterall, this was important research. It might change the whole of alchemy I could even end up being the next great alchemist.
After I had written down everything, I started the incantation. My voice became a song as my tone went up and down. The woman thrashed against her restraints and tried to scream through the gag. Her eyes rolled back, and the glow faded from her skin. A liquid started pearling on top of her skin. It could have been sweat if it had not been for the pure gold colour. excitement swirled through me as I finished the incantation. With a small bottle, I scooped up as much of the liquid as I could.
The woman moved again. Her head fell to the side, and she looked at me. Her eyes were cold. The happiness and excitement from when I met her was gone and so were her tears. She grunted softly and I removed her gag. She wet her lips but didn't say anything. Even when I removed the restraints, she didn't say a thing. She sat up but didn't go for the door as I thought she would.
Carefully I packed away the bottle of love. I would use a little bit later for cookies and the rest would be saved to present alongside my paper. I cleaned off the equipment I had used to finish the potions. I had my back to the woman, thinking she would run off when I wasn't looking, but she didn't. Instead, she spoke.
"Did it work?" She asked. Her voice was a bit hoarse from the screaming, but it didn't seem to bother her.
"Yes." I said as I turned to face her. "I was able to extract the love." I hesitated for a moment. "Do you feel any different?"
She looked down at her hands. "I feel empty." And she looked empty too. Her shoulders were slumped forward, and her eyes showed no emotions. "Love." She sighed. "I can't feel it." Her eyes filled with tears and soon she was full on crying. She said she couldn't feel the love for her parents or her cat. I held her until she was done and then made her dinner. We exchanged numbers and kept in touch.
I presented my work to the group of alchemists and was met with anger and disbelieve. Some believed that love should never be extracted from a person and that I had done wrong, while others couldn't believe I actually succeeded. The whole meeting consisted of a heated debate about morals and if I went to far or not. All the while they enjoyed the cookies made with pure love. I did finally have my answer. Cookies made with pure love taste a lot better. But the price might be too great.
The woman I extracted the love from suffered. She couldn't feel love anymore. Not even after months. Eventually I made her drink the left over love, but she was never again her old self. The procedure was successful, but you couldn't choose what type of love it would extract. It had taken all her love, even the love for life. The woman had lost her will to live as she couldn't love the things she did anymore.
I regret my decision every day. Because even now, years after the experiment, I still have to talk her away from the edge. I still have to take her to the hospital after an overdose. Her love never returned completely. Her personality has changed so much that she lost everyone she once loved.
And so, I destroyed my research. I did become a known name in the world of alchemy, but not for what I wished. I am Leo the Alchemist of love. | 16 | For years, chefs around the world have cited Love as the single most important ingredient for their dishes, but you bet that none of them have ever extracted love from a person, or seen the effects the process has on them. | 55 |
From deepest ocean where leviathans dare not swim, Cthulhu rises. Millennia-old rockfall spills from across its tentacles. Its great maw splits wide, revealing row up on row of gnashing beaks. They suck at the water, and once again Cthulhu is reminded of the pain of existence. The pain of feeling the world, and knowing that there can be no end. There is only existence everlasting. This awareness reminds Cthulhu of anger. It reminds it of its purpose: to eliminate all that which gives it reason to think. To eliminate those pesky, small-minded apes that so long ago stepped down from the trees and thought to stack rocks for their homes.
Upwards, Cthulhu surges. Jets of hot gas burst from vents along its tentacles. The surrounding water boils, vaporizes, so that Cthulhu assembles a wreath of magmatic death. Passing fish burst at the sight of this colossus. Its skin oozes a jet-black oil, and where it touches the sea bottom it hisses, sizzles, and sinks into the soil, scorching it for all time.
For tens of miles round, the water surface roils. Military hoverjets from the Planetary Defense Force assemble overhead. They broadcast footage of tens of thousands of perished marine animals floating. One officer describes the smell as a fish stewed in battery acid.
In the PDF Headquarters in Bonn, military strategists gather. They sit around a flat table. Each wears a transit clip on their index finger. As a result, they are mentally not in their reinforced Bonn headquarters, rather they are gathered in the hold of a surveillance hoverjet above the oceanic disturbance. These strategists may have crew cuts and stiff demeanors, but they aren't the simple-minded generals of ancient stories. They know better than to disbelieve stories of eldritch gods and paranormal threats. These strategists have read the Necronomicon cover to cover, and they've identified the weak points of the enemy approaching them.
Fortunately for them, their deep study yielded the following simple conclusion: the Elder Gods, for all their inconceivable mystery, are flesh and blood. If there's one thing the strategists know, it's that what's flesh may be torn, and what bleeds will die.
When Cthulhu surfaces, it does so in dozens of points at once. Tentacles like old-growth trees surge up, slapping hoverjets from the sky. Then Cthulhu's great head appears, and it is a sight so difficult for the mind to behold that it can only be described in abstract.
Cthulhu's head is the sound of a locked door clicking open from the other side. It is the sudden feeling of a palm on the nape of your neck. It is biting down on a piece of bone. It is sorrow, menace, regret, and madness.
Those pilots of the hoverjets who ignore their training and glance down are instantly void of mind. Their jets drift. Some crash, others plunge. Still other venture of toward the horizon, destined to journey without end.
But the strategists are smart. They pixelate their view. Cthulhu, to them, is blotches of colour. From this position of safety, they input commands to the PDF Automatic Orbital Arsenal. They've done their research. They know the outcome of their actions.
Projectiles drop from orbital combat guns like a meteor shower. They take flame on their way through the atmosphere, and it is this cloud of red-hot, hyper-fast weaponry that connects with Cthulu's unspeakably massive form.
The first weapon to strike is a supermassive rock of depleted uranium. At five meters across, it weighs as much as a three-storey house. Having been fired from space, it impacts at a speed greater than terminal velocity. The impact hardly dimples Cthulhu's grey-green skin. This was to be expected.
More rocks follow. They touch Cthulhu like hail against a mountain. But, with time, even hail can damage rock, and Cthulhu takes notes of the assault. It whips its tentacles high, batting the rocks out of the sky as quick as they come. While Cthulhu is distracted, the strategists advance their plan.
Now come the exoatmospheric ballistic missiles. Now the MIRVs, screaming down from the sky, opening like flowers in bloom to dust Cthulhu with nuclear pollen. Now the heavy railguns, all five in existence, open up. Their homopolar motors accelerate payloads to speeds upwards of 10 km/s.
At last, Cthulhu bleeds.
The radiation scorches, weakens its skin. The railguns punch holes clean through its body.
Now, at last, Cthulhu learns new feelings.
It learns pain.
It learns hurt.
It learns fear.
Last of all, it learns acceptance.
These humans must think so much of themselves and their weaponry. They must be so proud to hurt a being of such power as Cthluhu. But in hurting Cthulhu, they've given it two gifts.
The first is release. Cthulhu knows that, if it allows the assault to continue, it will die. Finally, it will know an end to the dread sameness of existence.
The second gift, far greater still, is the knowledge that these humans have devoted so much of their cleverness to the science of hurt. This knowledge comforts Cthulhu. It knows that, though it may die, it can rely on the humans to inflict as much hurt, fear, and sadness on one another as Cthulhu ever could.
Blissfully, Cthulhu accepts the brunt of humanity's ingenuity for death. When at last it slips beneath the surface, it does so peacefully. It goes to death as though to an old friend.
Meanwhile, in Bonn, the strategists slip the transit clips from their fingers. They share bottles of champagne. Congratulations are offered and received. But behind their smiles, new calculations begin. The strategists see one another in a new light. Now that Cthulhu has gone, the strategists will find new targets for their cunning.
r/a_memorable_account | 143 | The elder gods are waking from their millenias-long slumber to conquer humanity. But they didn't anticipate humanity could evolve and grow, so imagine their surprise when they get met by nukes, orbital cannons, railguns and robots. | 343 |
“Babe for the last time: a guy was trying to sell me a mug. I was not getting mugged!” Marco tried stopping his girlfriend, L-3X, from stepping out the door. A rain coat in one hand and her favorite big stick in the other.
The big stick was to help her walking since her foot was still in need of repair. The rain coat was for strangling the “mugger”, Tommy the Mug Salesman.
“You entered our apartment and, I do repeat with 100 percent accuracy: Babe guess what? Ive been mugged.” L-3X opened the door and was making her way down the hall. Marco followed and dodged Mrs. Baker from across the hall. Mrs. B was a sweet 75 year old grandmother long since happily married to G-304, a respectable Delos Synthetic of 50 years.
Somehow the two were always there to try and give Marco and L-3X advice on love and living. And the young couple didn’t mind it that much. What with Mrs. Baker and G-304 being happily married for two decades. Both excited for the first time young Synthetic-Human couple across the hall. But right now Marco just wanted to make sure L-3X didn’t do anything hasty and sped past Mrs. B.
L-3X was well down the stairwell of their apartment by the time Marco entered it. He then leaped over the railing and landed down on the stairs below. His ankles hurt but that didnt matter as Marco now blocked off L-3X from getting further down.
“Babe that was a joke! A joke. I-its a dad joke. Yknow the kind of corny joke you say to… be funny.”
L-3X tilted her head. Her neon pink hair turned to the side of her as she did so. For a moment her eyes flashed from human looking to a wall of green numbers and data. She was thinking now, as she did whenever she was looking up information on things she didn’t understand. Then with a blink they were back to normal.
“Marco… babe. Do you want to be a father?”
“What!? What!?”
“Do you want to be a father. Your attempt at a ‘dad joke’ and our committed relationship of the last three years infers that you wish to mate with me.“ L-3X stated matter of factly.
Marco let out a deep breath. His legs felt weak and he leaned against the stairwell railing. L-3X stepped down the stairs further to meet him at his eye level. Since she was 6’5 that meant standing nearly at the bottom of the steps to meet his 5’4 eyeline.
Marco thought back on his entire relationship with L-3X. Bumping into her at a Synthetics owned Karaoke bar that neither of them wanted to be at. Marco dragged along by his idiot friends to get smashed and sing. L-3X brought by QT-9 to get out of her shell and see there was more to synthetics than robotic obedience and diligence.
L-3X asked Marco to sing with her. Marco having been awstruck by L-3X’s beauty and boldness somehow got over his nerves and went up on stage with her. The two sang through all of Smashmouth enduring cringe and cheers from their drunken friends. And somehow that led to a second date.
Marco clasped his hands around L-3X’s perfect cheeks. L-3X blushed, and for the first time all day, her emotions were not robotic.
“Yeah. Yeah I do wanna mate with you. I wan’t you to be my wife. And I wanna be a dad and make more dumb dad jokes that go over your head.”
“Nothing will go over my head. My reflexes are too fast.”
“Okay Im gonna kiss you now.”
Marco pulled L-3X in for a deep kiss. L-3X responded in kind by lifting her short boyfriend off of the ground and into her arms. They stayed like that for some time before Marco let go for air. L-3X merely stared at him, unaffected by the lack of oxygen. A small smile creeping on her lips.
“Now Marco, let’s go get mugged. I need a new one to match yours.”
Marco sighed. He rested his head on L-3X’s shoulder. “Sure. But you’re carrying me there.”
“Affirmative. To the mugger!” | 15 | Your girlfriend is a robot. Someone tried to mug you yesterday, but it's fine. You're okay, you don't need protecting. You're trying to convince her otherwise, but she still insists on arming herself. | 60 |
I was trying to be nice. I had time, money, and no one to say no. I got all of the paperwork in order. At first everything was great. She was adorable, sweet, and, well, everything that a baby is supposed to be.
Then came the one-year anniversary. I'd decided that it would be her birthday, since she was a newborn when I found her. I tried to write her name down, for the lady to put on the cake, but the moment that it was written down, the letters disappeared. I tried to recall what I'd written, and her name sounded off in my head, but if found that I couldn't even say it aloud.
She's my daughter! I know her name! I named her! But I can't say it, can't write it, can't even call her by it!
I love her so much. I really do. But whatever I named her, it won't stick. Nicknames fade fast, too. I can't even remember any of them. She's only a year or so old right now, but I'm worried. I can't answer people when they ask her name. I can't say her name to her her attention.
I don't know what's going on! Help me! | 11 | A child is dropped off at your doorstep. You decide to raise it, but something isn't right... | 28 |
It had been a little over a year since I received the offer letter “Dear Ms. Romano, it is with great excitement we inform you that you have been selected to join the Genesis Project. It’s a well known fact that our planet will no longer be habitable within a thousand years. We at Hyperion have a vision for the future that will not only extend the duration of human life on Earth, but will begin a new age of interstellar habitation. You have been chosen to join the select few that will lay the groundwork for humanity’s expansion to the stars. As an engineer we believe your skill set will be invaluable in starting the next chapter of our existence as a species.” The letter continued in typical fashion, saying what an amazing opportunity this was, how lucky I was to be chosen. It was hard not to roll my eyes but the letter intrigued me.
When I arrived at the Hyperion Cosmonaut Training Facility the mission had been explained in greater detail. A planet suitable for habitation had been discovered far away, I along with a few thousand others would board a vessel and enter into a state of suspended animation. The journey would last four hundred and seven years, and we would be awakened a month before landing, a necessity for us to recover from the side effects of extended cryo-sleep. We would all be given a year of training to prepare us for our new lives on an uninhabited planet, without the possibility of resupply. People of all occupations had been chosen, high skilled individuals such as myself, as well as laborers and farmers. For the first stage of our training we would be divided into groups based on our roles, the second stage would be performed as a group to prepare us to work together and train us to survive in an alien environment. The final stage would be the shortest, putting us through short bursts of cryo-sleep to prepare us for the side effects.
The training had been intense but when it finally ended we were all given two weeks of R&R inside the facility before being transported to the launch facility. I stopped just outside the building to take it all in. The building itself was unimpressive, an ugly block of concrete and steel in the middle of the desert. A blast of cold air washed over me as we entered the building sending a shiver down my spine. We all gathered in an auditorium that was clearly not designed to hold this many people, no one spoke a word. We waited for several minutes in the relatively small room before a female voice came over the intercom breaking the uneasy silence. “Welcome Hyperion Cosmonauts!” her voice was bright and cheery, hardly matching the tone of the room. “You are among the best humanity has to offer, in just a few short hours you will be on a journey of unparalleled importance. Please remain patient, you will be called to board the ship according to your assigned group. We cannot understate how much we appreciate your sacrifice. We at Hyperion salute you!” there was a loud burst of static before the intercom cut out.
Her words echoed in my mind, our sacrifice. I would hardly call it that. I thought about my parents, long since dead. About Sean, how he’d left me heartbroken without any warning. About Rufus… he’d always been a loyal companion but after a year without my dog even that tearful goodbye felt hollow. I knew from training my fellow cosmonauts felt the same. They said we were chosen because we were among the best, but that wasn’t true. We were chosen because we had nothing to lose, no one that would miss us, because we were expendable. “Chin up now” I heard Lukas’ voice. He was the only one I’d bonded with in training. “You heard the woman, only a few short hours until we begin our new lives, we’ll be heroes!” His voice was heavy with sarcasm, something I’d come to appreciate. “Oh yes, I imagine they’ll erect a statue of us in every major city around the world.” I smiled. It felt good to smile.
“Really though, I know it’s been hard but it will all be behind us soon. We’ll be starting fresh, away from all the shit here on Earth” he paused “And just think we’ll be celebrated after we die” he added. I stifled a chuckle, his dark sense of humor had kept me grounded through all this. The intercom crackled again “Group A now boarding.” a pleasant bell sounded and a blue light came on, lighting up a door on the far side of the room. “See you on the other side, Lukas.” I pushed through the crowd and made my way through the door. Following the herd we came to a small room, crammed full of chairs and equipment. 31 that was my number. I found my chair and sat down.
A man in scrubs was waiting, he said nothing but went to work, pushing the needle into my arm. I watched as my blood filtered out of me to be replaced by the cryogenic fluid. I’d lost count of how many times I’d been through the process but it still unnerved me every time. He asked me the same questions they asked every week in training, and I rattled off the same answers mindlessly. Slowly my vision started to fade, the darkness taking over.
I gasped, suddenly aware of my surroundings. For a moment I forgot my training, panicked, cold, and gasping desperately for air. I steadied myself preparing for what was next. There was a loud hiss as the seal on my cryopod broke, the door slowly opening. I staggered out and dry heaved. After the nausea came the hunger pains. Following the monotone voice from the intercom I found my way to the cafeteria and got my nutritional paste. Thick and tasteless I still scarfed it down like a shipwrecked sailor. I didn’t sleep for the first few days, I couldn’t if I wanted to, the hallucinations were too strong. The next month passed just as planned, check in with the med bot for psychiatric evaluation, exercise with my assigned group, eat, sleep, repeat.
The time dragged on but after a month we were finally ready for descent. I hadn’t managed to find Lukas but I knew we’d find each other at the assembly. The mind fog had worn off a few days before the assembly and I couldn't help but be excited to reunite with him. “Cosmonauts, final descent will begin shortly. Follow your training and…” I tuned out the robotic voice. I knew what I had to do, I craned my neck hoping to catch sight of Lukas. “At which point you can expect…” no sight of him, I turned there were so many people here. “Please take a moment of silence for the following cosmonauts that did not survive cryosleep.” I was listening now, listening for his name. “Emilio Lopez, Sophia Moulin, Lukas Schneider…”
My heart sank, the robotic voice was replaced by a ringing in my ears. “Please go to your assigned stations and prepare for descent.” My motions were automatic now, I went to my station and strapped in. The vessel began to shake but all I felt was numbness. We reached the surface after ten, maybe fifteen minutes. “Welcome to Genesis, prepare to disembark.” I was just going through the motions now. I moved into position. Mechanical whirring sounded as the door opened and the ramp descended. The light was blinding. I blinked away tears and took the first step off the craft and onto the ramp. Instead of a desolate alien world we were greeted by a thronging horde of people and towering buildings of concrete and steel. It was already populated. I quickly realized what had to have happened. They had devised a faster way to travel I thought. They beat us here by centuries at least. Everyone I knew on Earth was dead, the only person I cared for in my crew was dead, instead of a fresh start I was exactly where I’d started. Their words echoed in my mind “we appreciate your sacrifice.” just as hollow now as before. | 80 | You and a couple thousand other people are cryogenically frozen and sent off to a planet 400 years away. With the mission to lay the ground work for humanity's expansion. When you land on the planet and the doors open, you are greeted by a group of humans excited to see you. | 243 |
The man across from Casey typed rapidly on his computer, eyes glancing from screen to screen. He was NOT happy.
To be perfectly honest, neither was Casey. Gruesome death by ritualistic stabbing wasn't how they had planned to enjoy their evening, but, well, life happens. Or, well, happened. Now they were BOTH annoyed.
The businessman stopped typing briefly to speak.
"I'm... I'm sorry, one more time."
"Of course. I was just walking down the street, I think it was... 42nd? and Lex? When a shadowy guy stepped out from under a fire escape and started trailing me. I was reading a news article on my phone, so I didn't pay him any mind, and it's the city, y'know? People have places to be. But when somebody else in the exact same all-black getup joined him behind me, I started to get a little worried."
The man across the desk, who introduced himself simply as "Blake", listened intently, only occasionally leaning over to type something.
"So anyway, fast-forward a few blocks and there's probably half a dozen of them now. I started walking away from my apartment, I figured if I was getting mugged, I didn't want them to know where I lived, and that's where I screwed up. That part of the city has a lot of dead ends, and only moving there a few months ago..."
"You didn't know where you were headed."
"Yep."
"I see. So, they cornered you, black-bagged you, and then dragged you into a car. You drove for a bit, then the next thing you know, boom, creepy murder basement?"
"Creepy murder basement," Casey agreed. "Got tied to a table, bunch of robe-wearing cultists start chanting in a language I can't understand, the ringleader raises this crazy dagger above his head, and few minutes later, fade to white. Now I'm here."
"Once again, I'm very sorry about that."
"You're good, I'm not mad at you, just your, uh... followers?"
"I'd prefer not to be associated with them. They know more OF me than ABOUT me. If they did, you wouldn't be here."
And really, "here" wasn't too bad. Casey didn't know what purgatory or wherever they were was supposed to look like, but for whatever reason, Blake had chosen to build this small section of it into a bougie, modern office. There were fancy books on elaborate steel shelves, little knickknacks and tchotchkes under tiny spotlights, and a massive floor-to-ceiling window behind the solid wooden desk, through which an endless field of stars shined brightly.
"Oookay!" Blake said as he finished typing with a solid thock on the return key. "And there we go. You're all cleared."
Casey's attention snapped back to him.
"Cleared for what?"
Blake remained silent as a massive grin spread across his face.
"Oh god. Is it time? Well, where to? Heaven or Hell?"
Blake's smile faltered. "Uhm. Neither? I don't have that kind of authority, and in any event, you aren't really supposed to be dead in the first place so--"
"Wait, can you bring me back to life?"
"Hm? Oh, back to life? Of course! Yeah, that was happening either way. I was documenting this and getting clearance to give you a little something extra for your troubles."
"Oh?"
"You see, being a deity isn't as great as everybody makes it out to be. Sure, higher lifeform and everything, but having people running around and ruining my reputation with sacrifices and weird chanting and awful fashion choices--I mean, seriously, black robes? In this weather?--but anyway, look. I can't interact with the mortal plane. Bunch of bureaucracy that would take several eternities to get through. So I have a proposal for you."
Listening to the deity ramble dulled Casey's annoyance. The guy just seemed so... human. His mannerisms and style of speech screamed 'stock broker', not 'time-transcendent god'. It genuinely seemed like he was just ticked off that some weirdos were misappropriating his name, not that some dead guy had shown up at his extra-dimensional office without an appointment. Maybe the cult associations were bad for business.
"How would you like some cool new superpowers?"
Casey stared blankly, failing to understand.
"...As opposed to my old ones?"
"Hah! You've got jokes. Good to know you're taking this well. But yes, I'm really tired of these... hooligans, frankly, dragging my name through the mud because one or two of them misinterpreted a tablet I left in a desert a few millennia ago. Honestly, the nerve of some people when it comes to--"
"Blake. Mister. Mr. Blake, sorry. If I may. Sir. The powers?"
"Oh, yes, of course. My apologies once again. I don't often have company, you know! But yes, I'd be granting you a few abilities on one condition."
Casey knew there had to be a catch. Resurrections weren't just handouts, after all. What awful thing would he have to do? Lose his family? Limbs? Oh, god, his free will?
"If you go around and 'take care' of the people who are making my life so difficult, I'll make sure you enjoy the rest of yours. Sound good? Oh, and naturally, any time you spend in my service will be added to your total lifespan. Nobody under me works for free."
A long silence filled the air as the two sat perfectly still.
"That's it. Get revenge, free superpowers, AND bonus life? No other catches? Manipulations? Taking my firstborn?"
"Casey! You wound me. Seriously, though, it really is that cut-and-dry in this case," Blake said matter-of-factly.
He spun one of his monitors around to Casey. Two bar graphs were prominently displayed, moving up and down. At the bottom and sides of each were labels and dozens of lines of indecipherable characters. Casey didn't get it, but by the way the Blake gestured at the graph, it was apparently VERY convincing evidence.
"See, you had your life stolen, so it's only fair you get it back, and, should you choose to help me out, a little payment for your troubles."
"So... 'take care of them'. You mean, killing them?"
"Well. Look, I despise wasting human life, so a more... mindful approach would be preferably in this particular case. That said, I do understand that some may be too far gone, so... just make a judgment call on that one, but please don't do anything extraordinarily violent or stupid. Exceptions for self-defense, of course. They've already killed you once, after all."
Staring blankly at the incomprehensible bar graphs, Casey realized he probably could just take his life back and the deity would grant him his request. But... superpowered psychologist sounded pretty nice. And not being dead sounded better.
"You know what? Screw it. Supernatural therapist-assassin sounds way better than anything I was doing before."
Blake stood up and extended his hand over the desk, smiling excitedly.
"Then we have a deal!"
Casey, grabbing his hand, smiled in turn and replied.
"We do indeed."
Blake quickly led Casey into an adjoining room where he gathered a small amount of miscellaneous objects, giving Casey a crash-course on getting back to Earth. While he moved from shelf to shelf, he quizzed Casey rapid-fire.
"Okay. So these are?"
"Transdimensional safety cookies."
"You will eat?"
"One of them."
"How many seconds before un-dying?"
"Fifteen."
Blake, who had been standing on his toes to reach a backpack on the top shelf, turned around and gave a big thumbs up, eventually pulling the pack down and setting it on a table.
"Excellent. In here," he said, gesturing to different pouches on the backpack, "are a few swords, some divine weaponry, and a psychology textbook. Remember, un-brainwashing is preferable to homicide."
Casey nodded their agreement. Having done the whole "dying painfully" thing, they agreed that it really sucked.
"There's also a cell phone which you can use to call whenever you like--I do enjoy our conversation--and a bunch of occult materials you can use to blend in or do whatever you want with."
The tutorial apparently now completed, the pair walked back out to the office. Blake smoothly grabbed an ornate coatrack that had been sitting next to the doorway, and, without any warning, launched it over Casey's head, sending it crashing through the massive picture window.
"Okay, well, I suppose this is goodbye for now. Call whenever you like, and once more, while I'm sorry for throwing a wrench in your life, I'm glad you agreed to help."
"Anytime," agreed Casey, nervously sticking their head out the shattered glass and into the abyss.
"Well, go on."
Donning some fake bravery and praying to the one god that they happened to now know personally, Casey gave a quick mock-salute and fell backwards into oblivion.
Time to take back their life and help some others find theirs. | 714 | You are kidnapped by a dark cult, who sacrifice you to their eldritch god. When your soul arrives in the being’s domain, the deity profusely apologizes and offers to send you back if you get rid of the psychopaths who are slandering his good name with bloodshed. | 4,422 |
I made a deal with the devil.
I wanted to be immortal and the devil agreed, but he threw in the twist that I am the most unlucky person and bring misfortune to anyone I interact with.
There was a lot of getting used to that, tripping on carpets. Never getting anywhere on time, my sandwiches always landing jelly side down. If there is a chance of something going wrong, it goes wrong.
You wouldn't believe how hard it is to hold down a job. I searched and searched and search. But a bad luck machine is not something that a lot of people are looking for. And proving it is even harder.
Until I decided to walk into a casino. as a joke and no matter where I sat down everyone around me lost and lost big.
Security scooped me up because I flagged their anti cheating systems. It flagged because *everyone* was losing and the moment I walked away people started winning again. And after several quiet demonstrations they decided that they could employ someone like me.
If their cheating system twigs to the fact someone is cheating, they send me in. I just wander over with a drink in my hand and buddy up to the suspected cheater. A couple rounds of whatever they are playing and they are losing and losing bad. All of the dealers know to not make eye contact with me, it seems to help them a little bit when I am around. And once I am done, I go back to my office. It is pretty spacious and all I have to do is watch TV and a little bit of paperwork. I keep a couple changes of clothes around to blend in. Otherwise it is pretty stress free work, I only have to be on the floor a couple hours a week. Occasionally one of the other casinos asks for me to stick my head to help out.
I get paid a reasonable, but modest salary. I don't visit the casinos and I stay out of trouble. | 14 | you made a deal with the devil and wished for immorality. he grants that wish but he also made it so that youre now the most unluckiest person as a consequence, bringing misfortune everywhere and anyone you interact with. how would you live your life now? | 44 |
"See I toldya!", my child stammered at me. "He keeps asking about hobbies and wants to go fishing. It's scary!"
I held up a warted hand and extended a finger. "Shhhh.." I quietly gestured. My child hid behind a cover with Monsters versus Humans emblazoned on it. How appropriate that now we're possibly face to face with humans, a Dad of all things.
"Take this!", my child dug through their covers and handed me their treasured Captain Spooky flashlight. "It'll keep you safe! Be brave!". I looked at him and took the flashlight.
It was not easy for a monster of my size to bend down to the floor, my four gigantic feet with equally gigantic legs, but somehow I managed to get down on my hands and knees and knees. I was certainly going to feel this in the morning.
I turned on the flashlight and looked under the bed. At first, the light just disappeared into the darkness until a white cylinder came into focus. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I could read "#1 DAD" written on the side. I reached out with the other arm and grabbed the cylinder, which was also vaguely warm. As I pulled it out from under the bed, I could see a brown-ish liquid inside what appeared to be a coffee cup.
"Wow, you're a big one! Try some of my coffee, I roasted it myself", the voice spoke out from the darkness under the bed. In horror, I dropped the flashlight and the coffee.
"Aww, It's ok. Accidents happen. I brewed a whole pot. Maybe you're more of a beer drinker? I've got an IPA that's the bee's knees!", the voice taunted.
"Who is this?" I instinctively said.
"I'm Dad. Aren't you being silly!", the voice said.
I quietly gestured to my child who was in full terror mode. They slowly crawled over to me and I put them on my back. I then started backing up towards the door with my child safely on my back as my gaze stayed locked on the void under the bed.
"Hey Slugger, where you going? I thought we could be pals. Do you like baseball?", said the voice.
I very deliberately backed out and once I passed the door's threshold, I slammed the door shut. I yelled at my child, "Call the Monster Police, there's a Dad under the bed!" I grabbed a nearby bookshelf and slid it in front of the door. | 50 | "Monster, there's a dad under my bed! Can you check?," asked the child. "Ok, fine. But I know there isn't. I'm sure of it," they replied. As they bent down to check, "Hi 'Sure Of It,' I'm dad!," rang out from under the bed. | 225 |
On the fourth day, the flood abated, dropping the water level to ankle-deep. And on the fifth day, weird stuff started happening. I mean, everyone knew that it had been magic water, so all the adults stayed pretty well clear of it. And they tried to keep the children away. But I and a couple of my friends outsmarted them, managing to swim in the streets almost every day since the flood began. And we weren't the only ones. No, I'm pretty sure, every child in the town managed to get in the water at least once. But back to this morning. The morning of the fifth day.
I'd woken up like usual, cleaned my teeth with a twig like usual, sneezed like usual, and very unusually our cat Mau, sprouted wings. She stared at me— with her usual aplomb— that was marred only slightly by her tail flicking back and forth. I couldn't help feeling like she was challenging me to change her back. I tried, I really did, but it didn't work. Until I sneezed again. Then, the wings vanished, but horns curled from the top of her head. With an injured meow, she jumped from the windowsill dashing out of the room. Apparently, she didn't want to hang around to see what would grow out of her next. Calling an apology after her, I exited the room, thumping down the stairs. Even though I was a bit sorry for Mau, I couldn't help the thrill of excitement. This was magic! Not the staid, boring magic the town wizard did only once in a while. But real magic!
"You'll be pleased Angia, you can go play outside again. The town—" I heard only that I could go outside before I dashed through the door. My mother called after me, but I was already gone. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and it was a perfect day. I sneezed. The birds kept singing, but they were now all adorned with horns. Giggling slightly, I ran to my best friend's house.
"You get back here, what have you—" Her father's voice echoed out the front door, as Olina dashed down the front steps. Coming to an abrupt halt, I nearly fell as the mud squelched under my feet. Olina... was blue! Head to toe, she was a stunning blue.
"Oh, can you do that to me too? But a different colour?" My words tripped over each other as she laughed.
"Of course, now let's see, your favourite colour is... red." And she jerked her head sharply to the left. Staring down at my hands, which were now a bright red, I couldn't resist another giggle. Real magic!
"Come on, what can you do?" I shook my head as she looked at me expectantly.
"It only works when I sneeze—" She had a feather under my nose inside the next minute. I sneezed. And small horns curled through Olina's hair. With a squeak, she put up her hands, feeling along their length.
"These are so amazing. Let's go find the others!" We careened through the town, gathering our friends. Soon our entire posse was a different colour and equipped with either wings or horns. But of course, there were other powers as well. Bobby could make anyone or anything float, Shilan could split in two and Lilip could now turn invisible at will. As we made our way to the town square, there was a shift in the air. And when we turned the corner, we realized why. An odd forcefield surrounded the green space, and inside... Lowell. My arch-nemesis and his gang of six children were grinning at us, standing in front of the candy store. That they now controlled any and all access into. I sneezed, accidentally this time. Lowell sprouted horns.
Hands jumping to his head, he frowned, obviously upset. He said something and though no sound made it through the forcefield, I knew what it was.
"This means war."
Stepping up to the edge of the force field, I laid a hand on it, pressing gently. Making sure Lowell could see my lips, I mouthed my response as distinctly as possible.
"Bring it on." | 26 | The only way to acquire magic is to bathe in a rare mana spring. When a geyser erupts flooding a town with mana water for several days, the townsfolk begin manifesting magic powers. Tell a story from the POV of an empowered commoner, or someone sent by the authorities to manage the situation. | 126 |
"Cure me of whatever is killing me."
*"It's your fate. It's the fate of all those who live."*
"Just cure it."
*"It requires a lot from you. Maybe too much."*
"I don't care. Take whatever you want."
*"You are making a mistake."*
"You think living is a mistake?"
*"Like how you will, Yes."*
"Well, I don't care. Just cure me of it."
*"If I do, you will survive, but not live."*
"It is better than death."
*"You won't believe that after this."*
"Do you even know who you are talking to? Life is my one true goal. I own the entire medical prowess of Humanity. I'm the one who brought every human a dozen more lifetimes, cured a thousand diseases, saved a billion souls."
*"Yet you are dying."*
"You think I don't see the irony??"
*"You see it far too clearly."*
"Enough with these word games. Cure me, or say so if you can't."
*"Of course, I can cure you. But you will regret it."*
"Then do it!"
*"I implore you to reconsider."*
"I did."
*"There is no turning back."*
"There shouldn't be."
*"..."*
"..."
*"I'll do it, but I'm sorry."*
"Just get it over with it."
*"Do you wish to know the price?"*
"I don't care. Take everything I own, if necessary."
*"You don't own much."*
"I'm the richest man alive, no, ever. I think you'll find I own a lot of things."
*"Oh, that's not what I meant— You never really owned any of the riches you have. They'll be passed on sooner or later."*
"Then what do you want?"
*"Just something you truly own."*
"And what are they?"
*"You know what they are."*
"That's not an ans— nevermind, just continue with curing me."
*"Of course."*
"..."
*"Pity you own so little. But at least you own what is required."*
"Good."
*"And... it is done."*
"Thank y... what is th-th-this? Wh-Wh-What am I feeling?!"
*"That is the price."*
"What is it-t-t?"
*"I warned you, didn't I?"*
"WHAT AM I FEELING?!"
*"You asked to be cured of whatever was killing you. Death was killing you— It took a personal interest in you, with you living a hundred times longer than you should be and all. But worry not, for you are forevermore free of it."*
"Then why am I feeling like th-th-this?"
*"To banish Death, I had to give it the one thing it covets more than life itself. The will to live. And yours... yours was the strongest it ever tasted."*
"No..."
*"Yes. You should have listened to me. I cannot deny a request that can be paid, but you could have taken it back..."*
"C-c-can't you take it back now?"
*"No. I'm sorry."*
"..."
*"I know how you feel. How you want to die. Just as much as, if not even more than, you wanting to live a few minutes ago. But Death will never look at you, let alone touch you..."*
"Plea—"
*"I can't help you now. I suggest you take solace in the fact that you got what you wanted."* | 309 | in your case, you need a terminal illness cured. | 575 |
Emily had been my best friend for as long as I could remember. I wouldn't be surprised if it turned out we were secretly half-sisters somehow, with how close we were, but we were born a few months apart.
In my memory, she was this beautiful girl - she had mesmerizing brown eyes that called to me, and were just absolutely haunting. She was everything I imagined a woman was supposed to be, that I couldn't be, despite my best trying. She was curvaceous without being extreme, she walked with poise and grace, her head held up high. Her voice was the stuff of stories, and I was certain that even without a super power, it would be able to lull the most savage of beasts into restful slumber.
If it weren't forbidden, I would have given her my heart and my name.
And now?
"Hey, why are you looking at me so funny?" croaked the woman next to me. She was elderly and deformed. She had a hump that bony, fish-like spines came out of. Her mouth was lined with rows of sharp teeth, like a lamprey. Her bulbous, bulging eyes were pale blue, nearly white, and looked in every direction all at once. Both of her ears were like a bats, pivoting to and fro. Her every movement was shaking and gasping, like a landed fish or excited small dog.
"E... Em?" I asked.
"Yes?" asked the old woman, smiling a little too widely. "What, did you get your power already? What is it?"
I gave a weak smile. "I think... I'm sick and need to get home."
"Oh. Already? We just started, there were so many people I wanted to introduce you to, more than a few guys who have been drinking all night would love to get to meet you!"
"I think... I need to go. I'm sorry."
"I'll party with out you. Ta, love!" she gasped out, cackled, and then headed off into the hall without me. I could hear the music loudly playing from outside. I turned on my heels to head home, just in time for it to start raining.
People eyed me as I walked past. I saw all sorts of people. Hideous people. Average people. Nobody beautiful. It struck me as odd, but odder still was how nobody regarded some of the monsters I passed as if they were monsters at all.
Maybe I was sick? I saw a large puddle collected by a clogged drain on the street up ahead.
I wasn't ready for the reflection I saw staring back at me. | 18 | kind people appear physically beautiful, whereas those who are cruel appear ugly and twisted. You're shocked to find that your best friend is now hideous. | 44 |
"Have you ever wondered why that letter was banned?" I asked, as I washed the dinner dishes in the hot sudsy sink water.
"Yes, but I don't question it any-" Sharon paused, only just catching herself before she accidentally used the forbidden letter in a retired word. She looked towards where I stood in the kitchen, a slight look of panic in her expression.
I glanced at the US governing body's security watcher device, and let out a sigh of relief as the light stayed green. If it had detected anyone speaking that letter, or an old word that had not yet had the letter revoked in the re-spelling initiative, then it would have sounded a blaring alert and notified the police.
The law banning that one letter had arrived so quickly and so forcefully that nobody had even had the chance to protest it. One day, we could say every letter in the alphabet; the next, the one between L and N was cast away like it was radioactive. Anyone that was caught speaking that sound had been instantly arrested and thrown in a top security prison, without a trial, lawyer, or even a chance to defend yourself. You just went away.
The next thing we knew, every house in the country had one of these audio visual detectors installed, with the Orwellian constant surveillance that we were all warned about over and over. The lockdown happened too fast, was too organized, too brutal to fight back against. Everyone now just lived in fear of losing their entire life, due to creating a single banned sound.
Sharon began talking again, carefully thinking through each word before she spoke. "I don't question it any longer. It doesn't see-" she caught herself again, and altered her word selection in her head. "It doesn't look like anything bad would happen if we did keep the letter, if the Forbidden Letter Squad wasn't around to black-bag you at any moment."
The audio detector's light switched to red, and created a sound like a thousand banshees howling in the night. I dropped the dish I was holding into the sink, covering sensitive ears with soapy hands.
"Oh, fuck me" Sharon shouted over the horrible noise. Repeating the letter only forced the alert to grow louder.
"Forbidden Letter Squad! Open up" a voice shouted outside the front door, only seconds before the door exploded inwards. I shielded eyes and ears alike, trying in vain to keep one of the assaulting forces at bay.
Sharon screeched at the officers as they surrounded her. "WHY IS M BANNED?!?" she shouted, as the officers violently pulled a black cloth bag over her face and zip tied her hands behind her back. "WHY CAN'T WE SAY M ANYMORE?"
One of the officers struck her with his rifle stock, creating a loud 'crack' sound as it hit. Sharon fell silent, resting her weight in the hands of the police force.
I was still stunned by the entry explosion, but I wasn't just going to let these people take the lady I was wed to. "Hey. HEY!" I shouted at the people, as they raced back to the waiting police wagon with their prisoner. They didn't look back.
I realized what I had to do, the only way to grab their attention once again.
"Hey morons! Let my woman go!" I shouted over the ruckus, trying to force the soldiers to pay attention.
They did. Not to the shouts, but to what happened next.
A dark purple void suddenly ripped itself into existence between the van and I. The soldiers all dropped to one knee, raising their rifles at the newly created portal.
"Code Purple! I repeat, Code Purple!" One of the soldiers shouted into a shoulder speaker. Sharon was dropped and forgotten about as every person stayed in their defensive position.
Deep inside the portal, I could hear a rumble emerge. The malicious melody managed to make its way into my mind, mingling and merging with my own mental faculties.
"Į hąvê bëęń ŕèbøřń", I heard myself say, though I didn't intend to say anything at all. "Mèphè§ťøphôłę§ èmëřģė§ įńťø ýøúŕ řæłm øñćê møŕè."
"Code Purple target acquired!" One of the soldiers shouted, training his rifle towards me. "Fire! Open fire!"
The bullets that made impact with my body didn't make a mark as they bounced away. I felt a smile form on my face as the men realized their current predicament.
"Ťhè łêťțęŕ §ùmmøñèđ mè, ৠwৠføŕťøłď" I muttered, as the alarm continued to make a maddening sound and the men's rifles kept clattering. "Ñøw åłľ §háĺł pèŕį§h."
Huh, I thought to myself, as my last morsel of independent thought was consumed by the demon. So *that* was why the letter M was banned.
r/SlightlyColdStories | 297 | Set in the near future, the letter 'M' is hastily banned and completely removed from every alphabet and use, causing hilarious results. However the reason why all this happened is less hilarious and downright scary. | 316 |
It was cold in the labyrinth. This far underground, the warmth from the sun did not penetrate. But my Cloak of Fair Weather kept me cosy, such that it did not bother me. Even the oppressive darkness could not dampen my interest, as it was pushed by by my Everglow.
I smiled as I ran my hand along the smooth metal wall. This was a wonder to be sure. The time and expertise it must have taken to craft something like this was incredible. The fact it was buried far below the surface was a mystery. If you out so much work into something, why would you want it hidden. It made no sense to me.
I reached the end of this corridor, seeing a larger one before me. This was important, as all other ones had been a uniform size. Even when they connected to rooms filled with strange instruments, covered in an unknown language. They had always, always been the same size. The fact this was larger excited me.
I flipped a coin, deciding the direction to go. A quick catch and reveal showed it to be heads, making it a left. I strode forwards, looking around me. On a couple of walls were odd protrusions. Each was a pair, in diagonally opposite corners. It looked as though they should hold something, though what that was I had no clue.
I shrugged as I continued on. It was another mystery, sure. But the biggest one for me was what lay at the centre. Surely it would explain much, or at the least make me plenty rich. Though I couldn't help but wonder if people had been here before, and taken them. I hoped not, as that would likely mean this wasn't the centre.
This corridor ended abruptly, in a triangular pattern, with four points ending in the centre. My gut told me this was no wall. It looked almost like a door, though with no obvious opening mechanism. Still, it's not like that would stop me. I was prepared, having spent a lot of money to cover this sort of eventuality.
From my pocket of useful items, I took out an oversized key. It had nine lines etched into its side, one of which began to glow as I held it closer to the door. I nodded, pleased that my gut was right. A tap on the door with the key caused a great grinding sound, as the glowing mark vanished, leaving eight remaining. The door retracted, showing a second set behind. This was a simple part from below and above, which began to open independently.
Before me was a vast room. The far end from me shone, crystals reflecting my light. On each side were desks, with flat black squares set into the wall, and revolving chairs sat at each. On the floor itself was a large circular table like object, with a pulsing green light in its middle. As I stepped in, I saw stairs leading to an overhanging platform. From this angle, I could see a seat resting atop it.
As I was fully in the room, the door behind me slammed shut. I jumped, looking around as white lights turned on around the room. The black squares were filled with white writing, and a booming voice sounded all around me. I was shocked that it spoke in Endrish, the language passee down in my family through generations.
"Welcome back; Ship exiting standby mode."
A faint rumble arose from the floor, as though some great and terrible beast had awoken. My head spun around, trying to work out what was going on. But as it did, an image formed over that green light. A very recognisable image, that of my ancestor Farrus.
"Greetings, to either myself or my children. If I have explained everything, fantastic. But if I haven't, or more likely you have forgotten, here is the situation:
This ship, The Jolly Star, had an unfortunate accident. Coming out of warp, we crash landed on this planet. Thankfully it was a life sustaining one, with developing races on it. However, the crash caused severe damage to the Star, leading me to have to cover it up. Thankfully, the strange energy I have been investigating was useful here, used by the locals to bend nature. I used it to bury the Star, as its self repair routines ran.
Hopefully it hasn't taken too long. But if it has, and I'm dead, then I hereby declare this ship to be the property of whomsoever has reactivated it. You can do whatever you want, but know that the computer will now only listen to you, until such time as you pass it on.
Oh, and if you don't know what any of this means, just as the computer. She's a bit sassy, but she will help you."
I felt my legs shake, as Farrus grinned.
"Well, now enjoy it!"
His image vanished, and a new face appeared. It was flat, and took up the entirety of where his body was. The booming voice changed, to be softer with a hint of a smile poking through.
"Well, he was right in that it took a long time, but I'm all better now. So, you are one of his descendants, and by the look on your face, you have absolutely no idea what's happening do you?"
I shook my head, and the face grinned.
"No matter! A few short sessions, and we'll make a captain out of you. But firstly, you are gonna need medical attention. In 3..."
The world started to spin around me, as shock rose. I was connected to this? This place was mine?!
"2..."
I reached for the wall, propping myself on it. The door opened, and a golem of metal and strings of strange material rolled in.
"1..."
It all became to much, and I felt myself fall into a peaceful black void. | 92 | You are an explorer in a fantasy world. You're clambering through the ancient, infamous metal labyrinth buried deep underground, and become the first to ever reach the very centre... the lights turn on around you, and a voice says "Welcome back; Ship exiting standby mode." | 270 |
As soon as my finger touched the sock I wish the ground had swallowed me whole.
For all you dirty minded people, no I didn’t see a vision of him wanking. Though that would have been better than what I did see.
It was a young girl, no older than fourteen. She was frantically working at the sock, trying to create it as quickly as she could. She was clearly tired but she kept going, determined.
It took me a few moments but eventually I could see why.
A fat man stood in the distance, firing orders.
“HURRY UP BITCHES! COME ON! CHOP CHOP!”
I watched as another girl was whacked onto the floor.
“NOT QUICK ENOUGH!”
She collapsed, overworked. He smashed his foot into her.
“GET UP YOU LAZY WHORE! YOU HAVE GOT WORK TO DO!”
This made the 14 year old work faster. She was using machinery, clearly too advanced for someone her age to be using.
Suddenly she raised her hand.
“Sir-“
She whimpered,
“I need the toilet.”
His feet slammed their way towards her as if he was a bulldozer. He bent down so his mouth was at her ear,
“Did you not go seven hours ago?”
The girl paralysed in fear. Then just like that, she accidentally sliced her wrist off with the machinery. She was ruefully silent. The life gushed out of her. Then, just like that, she lay dead.
The fat man walked off, leaving her lifeless body on the ground by the machine. The other women kept working, not looking at the fresh corpse. That was that. All for a sock. | 100 | You have the ability to see the past of everything you touch. You fell on your brother's sock drawer and now you wish for death. | 253 |
It had been years. Twenty of them to be precise. To be even more accurate, twenty years, two months and one day since I'd inherited the house. It was our family home, and as the last surviving member, it had fallen to me when old Aunt Aggie died. For twenty years, two months and one day, the door had been locked. That door fascinated me when I was a child. I'd spent long summer afternoons playing in front of it, pretending it was a portal to different worlds, or that magic pirates would come to whisk me away on wild adventures. But it had been years since those halcyon days of youth. Years since I'd used my imagination. After all, in my business, imagination was frowned upon. I still don't know what possessed me to climb the stairs up to that remote wing of the house, on the second day of that second month of that twentieth year. Perhaps the summer wind reminded me of those wonderful afternoons. Perhaps it had been the warm draft that had suddenly swept through the house. Whatever it was, I was now standing in front of the door. The door, that on this day, was slightly ajar.
Falling back into my training, I analyzed the situation. I knew there were no intruders in the house, though my ill-used imagination rose up with ridiculous images of men in eyepatches. Thrusting them firmly aside, I ran down a checklist of things that could have opened the door. The wind. No. The house settling. No. Maybe, I had slept walked—that was ridiculous. My list ran out. And I still had no reasons for the door opening. I took one step forward, and the wild thought that I would end up in a new world rose into my mind. This one was harder to dislodge than the thought about pirates. Feeling rather silly, I turned away from the door, going back to my room. Grabbing a backpack, I packed a few clothes and some rations from the kitchen. Thus arrayed, I made the laborious journey back up the stairs. Stood in front of the door. And pushed it gently open.
It didn't creak, though I expected it to. A large room opened up in front of me, empty. The small part of me that wished for a portal felt a little disappointed. But still. I was committed now, and I would see this thing through. Taking two steps through the door, I breathed in sharply. The room was no longer empty. Standing in front of me, was a person. At least I thought they were a person.
"Have you come at last? It has been so long." The voice creaked, rather like I thought the door should have. Not sure what to say, I stepped further into the room. The person in front of me, with wild hope on their face, reached forward, gripping my shoulders, dragging me closer. Their face fell.
"You are not him. You are not." Their voice turned into a wail, sharp and pointed, like an auger to the ears.
"Now, you stop that! Kindly tell me what you are doing here?" The face, in which I couldn't quite pinpoint the gender, crumpled, but at least the wailing stopped. They tilted their head to the side.
"I know your voice," Pausing, they cleared their throat. "Avast Matey! There be sea serpents in these waters!" It was a perfect imitation of my young voice piping from this strange wrinkled creature. For now, I could see what my brain had avoided. They were not human. Not by a long shot.
"What are you? Who are you? And what— pray tell— are you doing in my house?" The creature chuckled, a strange sound.
"I am a prisoner, a prisoner. You see?" They pointed to their leg, where a dusty silver manacle clamped around their ankle. I took a step back, running the list of mystical creatures through my head. What needed silver to hold it? And was it dangerous? My analytical training forgotten my mind raced. What was I going to do? The child in me reared up, pointing at the emaciated creature. And pity rose within my heart.
"What crime did you commit? Where did you come from?"
"I came from the box," The creature cackled. "I was the last out of the box, and your family chased me, chased me and captured me. My name, my name, it has been so long..." They were crying now, a pitiful sound. A myth arose in my head, the only one that mentioned a box so prominently.
"Your name. Is it Hope?" The face in front of me lit, as if with an inner flame. That was all the affirmation I needed, but the creature nodded delightedly.
"Yes, yes, yes. Hope. I am Hope." I couldn't take it anymore. Running for the door, I slammed it shut behind me. What had we done? What had we captured, held prisoner in this old house? What had we taken from the human race? Tears were making their own tracks down my face. What had we done? Again, my disused inner child, the one who loved adventure and imagination rose in me. I was asking the wrong question. Not what had we done. But what will *you* do?
Rising from my slump on the floor, I straightened. Walking back into the house, I made my way downstairs, and out to my car. Opening the trunk, I pulled out an axe, and for a third time, climbed up the stairs. The door opened. I'd half-expected it to be locked again. The creature remained in the center of the room, staring at me, before their eyes dropped to the axe in my hand. They didn't cry, they didn't whimper. But resignation covered their face. With measured steps, I walked to the center of the room, raising the axe. One strong blow, and the chain snapped.
"Go. Be free." The creature moved, hesitantly at first, but soon running. I heard their footsteps through the old house before the front door slammed open.
And on that day, twenty years, two months, and two days since I'd inherited the house, Hope... was free. | 13 | There is a door in your centuries old family home that nobody can open. Nobody knows what it is for, or what room it leads to. You inherit the house, and for nearly 20 years you think nothing of it, until one day, you feel a draft. Upon further inspection, you find the door slightly ajar ... | 115 |
*Swish. Slice. Jab.*
Jeia the Examiner toiled away, and yet remained completely baffled. The blade could barely cut through the burlap mannequins that Troy had tastefully painted an angry ogre's face on, and seemed to drag through the air like a stone rather than the iron blade it appeared to be. In fact, the accursed thing resembled a common kitchen knife more than anything else, with a rough wooden handle and a blunted blade. And yet...
She checked the small stone on her bracelet, normally glowing a vibrant blue with the mana coursing into her system from the world around her. The gem was currently a dull shade of grey, and growing dimmer with every swing. This small, unassuming knife was draining more mana every second than the famed Blade of Peril had in her entire two-hour testing session with it.
Jeia allowed the knife to drop to her side, the gem on her wrist seeming to lose even more luster as she did so. This blade that didn't do anything, this absolute dud of a dagger that the befuddled adventurers had hauled back from some derelict ruins, had completely exhausted her mana supply. It could be hours before she had enough to try again. But try again she would - she'd never been stumped by an enchantment yet.
\~\~\~\~
Lydia stared deeply into Troy's eyes, as she'd done a thousand times before. The last time they'd been this close together was the Dragonslayer's Day feast two years ago. There was so much she wanted to say, but her words seemed to stop at the tip of her tongue and slide back down into her throat. All she could do was stare, some small part of her waiting for him to crack one of his grins and ask her if she liked what she saw and wipe her tears away.
"Lydia, it's time to go."
Lydia turned around, spotting Yareth half-slumping on the cliffside behind her.
"I suppose it is."
She turned back to stare into Troy's eyes. No magic could ever make him break into a grin again. Lydia gently closed his eyes and stood up, forcing herself to look away from his mangled lower body and scorched skin.
"Survivors?" She asked, hoping against hope for some good news to ease her spirit.
Yareth closed his eyes, shook his head gently.
"It's just us?" Lydia's tone was completely numb.
All her friend could do was gesture with the bandaged stump where his right hand had been that morning, pointing with it in the direction of their village.
"Okay. Let's just...get this over with."
The walk to the village was slow and arduous. Both Lydia and Yareth had been seriously burned during their hasty exit, and the healing salves were doing precious little to numb the pain. Some part of her began to feel relieved as they approached the first burned-out house - at least they were heading the right direction.
Houses burned to the foundation, statues crumbled to ruin, a granary split clean down the middle as if by an earthquake - it was hard to believe that five hours ago it had been a quaint and quiet town, a gentle village to rest between adventures. At the center of the destruction, where a building once had stood, only shattered bricks remained. Their painful trudge towards it continued.
The two adventurers seemed to slow as they approached, hesitating at what they might find. But Lydia still held hope that they would find their missing friend, and a knowing look at Yareth steeled his resolve as well. As they entered the building, holding their breath, they found her. In fact, she seemed completely unharmed despite the devastation that surrounded them.
"Jeia? We were so worried!" Lydia forgot her pain and hobbled over to her friend, only to stop short as Jeia turned to stare at her. Her eyes were glowing crimson, and she was holding the knife the four had found last week in her hand. She seemed to stride towards her without even seeing her, stepping over scorched fragments of wood and burlap. Lydia barely had time to react as the knife raised over her head, turning the very air around it molten with potent fire.
\~\~\~\~
Jeia lowered the knife in frustration, staring at the two target dummies she'd found laying around. At least these ones had the decency to fall over when the damn thing hit them. Her mana crystal, having only recently regained its luster, was once again dull grey. Taking a seat on the floor and staring at the stone ceiling of her workshop, she contemplating tossing the knife into storage and giving up. But something about the blade seemed to call to her, taunting her, daring her to find out its secrets.
She returned it to its sheath and slung it to her side. The others would be preparing for the harvest festival soon, and she wouldn't need to go on any adventures for the foreseeable future - no doubt Yareth had convinced the party to take a break and help the locals harvest gourds to pay for a comfortable tavern room. Now was a perfect time to wander out on her own, get out of the workshop, and go looking for answers.
She threw on her cloak, wondering ever so briefly why it smelled of ash and smoke, and walked out into the sun-soaked fields of the village, nodding a greeting to Lydia and Troy as they playfully bickered over who had saved who on their latest outing.
*Maybe,* Jeia thought to herself, *this place is simply too quiet to unearth the knife's powers. Maybe it needs to be in a certain spot to function, like that warhammer Lydia found last year. Maybe someone over in New Regalis can help identify it.*
*I'll figure this little knife out,* she thought. *I just have to keep testing it.* | 15 | You're the weapon identifier, there is no easy way to find out what effect a magic weapon has, you have to use it till you find out. But this one just doesn't seem to do anything, it's not lucky, it sure as hell doesn't weigh less, but it's also constantly draining mana, so it must be enchanted | 21 |
The Evil Queen scanned the heroes that stood before her, those thorns in her side that had foiled so many of her plans. Usually, she’ll respond with an undead legion, or one of three Death spells at her dispoal.
Today, however, she was empathizing with them. It was a strange, foreign feeling, one that almost rivalled the overtaking of her soul by the demon Gazareth.
“No health insurance?”
“None,” the elven archer said, twirling her golden hair, with her longbow set at her feet. Just a few days ago, she had almost killed the Queen with a ridiculous arrow over three miles away, straight through the heart. A planned phylactery had to be used. “Hell, sometimes we don’t even get paid.”
“That’s ridiculous,” the Queen said. “Services rendered, services paid. That’s not too hard of a concept, is it?”
“Maybe in your kingdom,” the dwarven paladin replied, rubbing a long, gruff beard. “But not ours. All the gold we get are basically from your people that we killed. No offence.”
The Queen had essentially monopolized commodities in several key sectors, as well as gaining control over trade routes that offered safe roads from dangers. Mainly because the dangers were hers. She was getting money either way. And that meant her kingdom stretched far and wide, flush and prosperous.
“None taken,” the Queen dismissed the paladin’s statement with a hand. “It is ridiculous. How have you allied yourself with the Silvers for so long?”
“Frankly, we just never thought about it,” the halfling rogue emerged from the shadows. “But the wizard said we should. And she’s pretty smart.”
“That’s right, Queen,” the wizard said, wizened but powerful. She grabbed a thick oak staff so tightly that her knuckles were stark white. “We simply couldn’t take it any more. I do not want to see any of my party members dying for something as preventable as death.”
“The Revive spells in the Church are still so limited,” the paladin nodded. “By the gods, but we’ve seen so many of your lieutenants fall, and rise, and repeated ad infinitum.”
“Ad nauseam,” the archer said. “I’ve shot that stupid Orc general how many times now? Seven?”
“And I’ve cleaved his head four times,” the dwarf nodded.
“Backstabbed eighteen times,” the rogue whispered.
“What’s in it for me?” the Queen asked.
“Some of the finest heroes you neighbouring kingdom ever groomed,” the paladin said. “Is that not incentive enough?”
“It is tempting,” the Queen agreed. “But what guarantees do I have of your loyalties, my attractive employee package aside?”
“We’re here,” the halfling said. “You can see me, instead of me hiding in the corners, a blossom of death upon your troops.”
“You are quite impressive, yes,” the Queen said.
“They expect us to be altruistic,” the archer almost sobbed, rubbing the bottom of her eyes to catch any errant tears. “Frankly, I just want to get paid and not die. Is that selfish? Yes. Does that keep me alive and relatively happy? Also yes.”
“Fine, fine,” the Evil Queen sighed. “I’ve been where you were. I understand how tough it is”
“You have?” the dwarf raised a busy eyebrow.
“The benefits are not for show,” the Queen sighed. “I own more money that I’ll ever spend. Might as well make my employees happy.”
“She is the one,” the paladin whispered.
“The chosen,” the archer clasped her hands together.
“The right person to come to,” the assassin chuckled.
“Fine, fine,” the Queen waved a hand, conceding. “But I want to use you immediately. For the next job.”
“Kill the king?” the dwarf said. Small black smoke began to wisp through his costume, once a shiny silver, imprinting themselves easily and readily.
“Welp,” the Queen smiled. “This seems like it’s going to be a productive partnership.”
---
r/dexdrafts | 816 | The Evil Queen looked dumbfounded over the group of heroes and asked again; "you want to what?" to which the heroes replied, "join you, at least you have health insurance" | 2,706 |
Invest in a Dream Broadcaster, they said. It's easy money, they said.
Lies and slander. For the small cost of crippling debt, you now possessed the ability to share the bizarre trajectory of your mindscape with an average of 3 individuals.
To be quite frank, you questioned the sanity of those 3 viewers. Who wants to see endless blank voids? To watch faceless faces speak incomprehensible words? They were your dreams, so of course you watched the DODs. But actual other humans? Nah, that just didn't make sense.
Everything changed, however, when the Queen was struck by lighting. Don't worry, she was fine in the end. Just a tad fried. What does this tragic event have to do with your failed dreams? Well, the internet is an interesting place. An interesting place occupied by people with far too much time on their hands.
Some especially dedicated humans apparently found and clipped moments from your recent DOD which depicted (in a garbled and abstract way, because having normal, entertaining dreams would be too much to hope for) the Queen being struck by lightning. These clips went viral on social media and naturally an international controversy emerged.
Was the DOD faked? Many questioned. Had it been tampered with after the fact? Others proclaimed that it was nothing more than a silly coincidence. Some internet dwellers took things to the extreme. They questioned whether there was a conspiracy at works. Whether you were somehow responsible for the lightning (clearly, you have the power to control the weather). The most radical believed you were a hitman responsible for killing the Queen.
As the views of the DOD in question rose, you debated whether to continue broadcasting. In a matter of a day, hate and death threats surrounded you. Your phone burst at the seems with notifications. Everybody had an opinion. Some called you a god. Others called for your execution.
Still, your wallet desperately needed the money which came with the attention you were now receiving. And so you continued.
Thousands now watched your dreams. They were as incomprehensible and boring as ever, in your humble opinion. The live analyses and theory videos emerging across the internet begged to differ.
The power outage is when you really blew up. Thousands watched (presumably bored out of their minds) as the power was exterminated from the New York skyline in your live dream. Just two days later, the entire city of New York lost power, sending the world into chaos once more.
Some still clutched to the idea that it had been a coincidence. The majority public opinion, however, was that something deeper was at play. You received, alongside millions of followers, requests for interviews from innumerable news networks. Meanwhile, the people of the internet scoured through your past DODs, revealing evidence that your seemingly meaningless dreams had in fact predicted innumerable past events. Election results. Assassinations. The market value of electronic currencies. Anything and everything, really.
After that, money wasn't an issue anymore. Many millions tuned in every night to watch the dreams of the person who predicted the future. Your dreams were now analyzed by governments, corporations, and internet personalities alike.
You still questioned the sanity of your viewers. Perhaps even more-so now. They were obsessed. They broke down your dreams like an english teacher breaks down The Great Gatsby. To them, it was the future. To you, it was the same voids and faceless faces.
In the end, you supposed, your investment in the Dream Broadcaster paid off. The company which makes them is now one of your sponsors. | 13 | Dreams are the newest form of entertainment in the world, with the best drawing millions of viewers and creating Fan Bases. Your dreams haven't been popular at all until one night changes everything. | 44 |
"Hello, my name is Sophia. What's yours?"
I looked around and saw her there, smiling up at me, hands folded primly in front of her. She stood between a man and a woman -- her parents, presumably, though she didn't much resemble the couple flanking her, who appeared to be in late middle age. Grandparents, maybe?
I smiled back at the little girl. She was a cute kid, in her little blue dress , with a matching bow in her hair.
"Well hello, Sophia. I'm Aaron." I said, returning her wholesomely precocious greeting.
I thought her parents would find the exchange as charming as I did. My parents had always liked it when *I* acted friendly and polite, as a kid. To my surprise, they were suddenly glowering -- not at their daughter, but at me.
"How did you know her name?" her mother asked, suspiciously.
"She introduced herself. Just now." I replied, more than a little confused. I thought they had to have heard the girl. They weren't *that* old.
Sophia just kept smiling, as her parents glanced at each other, something unspoken passing between them. Her father, grandpa, or whatever, then shot me a hard look.
"Very funny, buddy." he said, flatly. "She hasn't been able to speak since she was a baby."
I just stared at him in disbelief, until Sophia broke the silence again. "Oh no! I'm sorry."
I turned back to the girl. Her smile had vanished, and she now hung her head, sadly.
"Sorry for what, Sophia?" I asked. When she didn't reply, I started to turn back to her parents.
"Listen I don't know what's--"
I didn't get the chance to finish my sentence. I felt a sharp jab at my neck, like a beesting, and suddenly the world seemed to slip out from under me, and I fell into darkness.
As the void swallowed me, time seemed to slow down, and I heard snatches of conversation.
*He has to be...we'll get a sample of...*
*...he received...broadcast from the subject...*
*...reporting in...found one in the wild...we used the sedative...*
*...we need immediate pick up at...*
I was vaguely aware of the feeling of Sophia's parents grabbing hold of me on either side, and lowering me to the ground.
Before I was submerged in darkness, I heard her voice again.
*"I'm so sorry..."* | 571 | "Hello, my name is Sophia, what's yours?" You turn around and see a 10-year-old girl, and return the greeting. Her parents look at you strangely and demand, "how do you know her name?" "Um, she just introduced herself." "Very funny buddy, she hasn't been able to speak since she was a baby." | 1,472 |
Death wasn’t like anything I’d expected. It felt a lot more like living than I hoped, for one. For two I was rattling around in a body mostly of bone and a bit of leftover cartilage and a few tendons.
Third, there was some crazy lady stomping about and fuming near me. I didn’t know what I’d done, per say, but she wasn’t happy.
“I need a warrior! A warrior! Do you get that?” She whirled around, her tangled black hair flapping around.
“Sure,” I replied. My instinct from working in the service industry kicked in before I really knew what she was asking. “That sounds reasonable, I guess.”
“It does! It’s not asking for much.”
“Not at all.” Well, it didn’t look like I’d figure out any of that soon, so instead I spent some time examining her.
She was a grimy-looking lady who needed a professional haircut to deal with that rat’s nest and a bath to diminish the bog-like stench wafting off her. Maybe also a visit to the laundromat for those robes – if those stains could even be removed. Might be best to skip that and go straight to burning it.
“-fourteen reanimated and not a single one has training to do anything other than taxes, and they can’t even do that well. Where are all these useless souls coming from, and how-“
It occurred to me a moment later how young she was. Probably in her early twenties, admittedly, but she might as well been a kid to an old man like me who lived a full, if somewhat plain, life before passing away in his sleep.
“Hey,” I said after I’d run out of observations to make. She rounded on me, lifting up a bone-thin (hah) arm to jab at my exposed sternum.
“What? What do you want?”
“Hey, woah. I’m not your enemy here. Actually, I don’t even want to be here. Wherever this is.”
“You don’t even know that?” She scoffed.
“No. Why would I? I’m a skeleton. I’m literally a skeleton.” One moment I was closing my eyes and waiting for death in a hospital. The next I was sitting here in a skeletal body and listening to some strange woman screaming about how much of a disappointment I was. Even stranger yet, it wasn’t my mother-in-law. Maybe I could smash my own head and have it be done with properly this time.
“Oh. Right.” That deflated her a bit. “I’m sorry, you’re confused aren’t you?”
“Yeah, I am.”
“Yeah, I’m really sorry about that-“ Wait, this wasn’t sounding so sincere anymore. “-but if you’d be so kind as to look over there?” She pointed, and I followed with my not-eyes.
Hm, that didn’t look good. It looked like a bunch of angry people waving torches and pitchforks sprinting at us. A few of them were frothing at the mouth.
“You see why I needed a bloody WARRIOR? Instead I made you.”
“No, yeah, I see why that’s a problem,” I pushed myself up as I responded.
“Wait, what are you doing?” She asked. It was made clear in the next moment that I was fleeing, and while my bones creaked and clattered with every step, I was surprisingly fast.
The necromancer who summoned me was only a step behind.
​
(Thanks for reading, C&C always welcome! No skeletons were harmed in the making of this story.) | 30 | As you finally close your eyes to die after a mundane life you awaken as a skeleton on the ground. a necromancer looks down at you and says "damn! another office workers soul." | 73 |
part 1
"are you sure about this Dane" Says Osgard, with an expression of deep worry and nervousness plastered on his brutish, and ugly face.
"Aren't you tired of living on the streets? living off rats, and spoiled vegetables? Trust me, the executioners sword is a much better fate then anymore of this broke street life. This to me is a risk worth taking.." I reply, with enthusiasm in my voice.
Osgard simply glances at me and nods, he to understands that we can't survive on the streets of Lorisvile any longer..
Turning to crime is a life neither of us wanted to live, but alas we're products of a society that doesn't seem to care for us.
for five years, me and Osgard served the military of Lorisvile. Yet here we sit with nothing to show for it, we were taxed out of our own lands that we were given for our service.
Now we're simply just starving street vermin, , the people we fought and risked our lives for can't spare a single dime for us.
but if its one thing we know how to do, its how to fight. So killing a few guards, and taking a princess when she wanders into town on a carriage can't be to hard right?
the ransom will surely give us enough money to buy a farm in some distant place. We can leave Lorisvile behind, and start a new life somewhere else.. or so we hope.
Off in the distance, we spotted the carriage that contained the princess of Lorisvile. Beautiful women she is, but she doesn't seem to take much care in her safety. Since she chooses to Travel into town so often, with only a guard or two by her side.
The carriage makes its usual stop at the best bakery in town. The two guards step out of the carriage first, wearily looking to make sure the area looks safe enough before telling her its safe to go.
As one of the guards grabs her hand and escorts her off the carriage, me and Osgard draw our swords on the other guard.
Two verse one he stands no chance, he parries Osgards slice, as I quickly stab him through the neck, and he falls to the ground gargling blood.
The other guard quickly turns around and draws his sword, and yells "Run princess run!"
"you run after the princess, I will take on this guard.." I say to Osgard, he has always been a much better runner then me anyways.
The guard attempts to slice at me, I parry it, and slice back. I hit his armor and my sword doesn't seem to penetrate.
The royal heavy armor he's wearing appears to be lacking any vulnerabilities.
He swings at me again me with harder force then the last, I parry it, but the swing is hard enough that it nearly knocks my blade from my hand.
I regain my composure, and finally notice a vulnerability in his armor. His eye slit is big enough to stab through.
He swings at me again, and this time I duck under it, and quickly stab him through the eye hole with my short sword. His body falls to the ground lifeless.
Osgard comes up to me, holding the princess over his shoulders.
"we need to go now!" he yells out, I nod and together we run to the forest. | 11 | The princess has a lot of practical experience with being kidnapped, and she has some criticisms and advice for the incompetent criminals trying it this time. | 52 |
"Hey Detective, I hope you've skipped lunch today", the officer snickered as I brushed apart the plastic drapes wondering what ungodly mess awaited me.
Then it hits me the metallic scent permeates my nostrils, the room painted in streaks and viscera.
"Alright doc, tell me you've got some good news?"
A wiry man shuffles over awkwardly in a pristine forensics coat "Uhh yes.. well... Ummm we have two victims, a female, and a male. A sign of struggle and severe lacerations to the male and well umm..."
"Spit it out Lecter, what is it?"
"Well..." He motions me over "Take a look"
I bend over and part the mangled congealed hair away from her face. "Jesus Christ" I recoil my hand to my face in disgust, before me the women's jaw completely missing and what remains a mess of razor-edge teeth.
"I..I..Know gruesome but fascinating is it not, what do you think it means?" Rick stammered
"Hmmm, ok I want you to take samples of their blood and don't let any more people into the scene, understand?" I command as I cover the victim
"Uhhh... Yes!.. Yes right away" he shuffles off
Blaring car horns and pedestrian traffic fill the nightlife air, as rain patters all over the cracked pavement, the line clicks "detective, haha how can I be of service for you today, you want the gun I was teling ya about?" Lenny exclaimed nervously
"Cut the shit Lenny you know why I'm calling"
"Hmmm, nope not ringing any bells, but tells ya what, head round my digs and I'll be happy to accommodate an old pal... as long as ya got the cash Lenny helps all heh Ahah" His laugh echoing over the dial tone
"Detective, detective Stellert" Lecter huffs as he exits the crime scene. "I've finished with the sampling"
"Annnnddd?" I motion for him to continue
"Ahh yes well all is normal for the male specimen, but..." he pauses blankly
"The female had an oddity present in her blood, rather perciluar frankly... I... I'd be able to further diagnose with my equipment back at the lab but...Detective the sample, detective?"
"Go back to HQ Lecter" my yell muffled over the pouring rain as I head out the front of the apartment complex
"But... yes... of course, where are you off too?"
"Going to pay an old friend a visit" | 10 | A company advertises viruses, that transform people into posthumans. The new human is faster, more powerful, more agile etc. What they do not tell is that the viruses are actual ancient strains of lycontropy and vampirism with a new label. | 145 |
I took a desperate breath and opened my eyes wide to the bright noon sun. Sharp pain radiated through my body; the odd sensation of bones and joints moving into place, jagged edges grinding and crunching as they reassembled on their own accord. Where was I? What had happened?
The land around me was hazy with dust and pluming smoke. I risked turning my head slightly to take in my surroundings: some kind of large hole in the ground, myself at the center. My spine popped like a rock-em-sock-em robot as my head moved.
"You okay?" A voice called out through the veil of air born dust.
I opened my mouth to speak, but only a groan emerged, weak and tinged with whine.
A murmur grew at the edges of the hole, silhouettes of bodies turning to each other, leaning forward for a closer look.
"Is anyone a doctor?" Another voice called out to the group.
My back arched as my vertebrae seemed to force themselves back into order. I felt every rearrangement of my organs and bones as they worked independently into formation. Finally, my breathing had become normal, my neck able to pivot smoothly--my hands and fingers opened and closed without agony.
There was a noise against the hole's wall as someone clumsily descended down toward me. She was wearing a jean jacket, her hair black hair put up in a bun.
"Oh," she gasped as she approached. Her face was painted with confusions and, perhaps, apprehension? Something about me laying in the middle of this hole--naked, I now realized--had subverted her expectations.
"Sorry," I yelped as I rushed to cover myself with my hands.
Her mouth frowned, as if to say *that's not what's weird*, as she shrugged off her jacket and handed it to me. I draped the small, denim garment over my lap and shot her back a rueful smile.
With her hands on her hips, she surveyed the sky above us and the whole around us. "Where did you come from?" She finally asked. Her accent was speckled with hints of foreign inflections--her practiced, professional English betrayed her more interesting roots.
"I... I don't know," I confessed.
Her brows furrowed as she crouched down next to me. "You shouldn't be sitting up or moving your neck. You might be--probably are--concussed." She gently guided my body back down to the ground.
"I feel fine."
"You're probably in shock," she observed, her words only partly a reply to mine.
More footsteps descended the hole's walls. An overalled man with a bushy red handlebar moustache and a lanky, long-haired teenager made their way to us.
"He dead?" The moustache asked without reverence.
"No," the woman with the bun and I responded in unison.
"He hurt?"
I replied "No," she replied "Yes."
Confusion washed over the newcomer's faces. "Well. Is he hurt or ain't he?"
"He's likely in shock from the fall," the woman with the bun explained. Her tone was firm--she was the authority here. "I'm calling an ambulance."
"No need," the scrawny boy drawled. "We can put him in the back of my pickup." His thumb shot over his shoulder toward some vehicle beyond the dust.
"Absolutely not." Her voice was raised, but not higher. She was adept in taking charge; arguing with difficult men. "He needs his neck stabilized..."
The pair had already ceased paying her explanation attention. "Ambulances are expensive," the moustache announced. "A truck ride would be free."
"A truck ride would kill him!" The woman stomped her foot as she moved between me and the men.
The three began arguing, the woman to save my life, the men to save my credit score.
I stood up, the jean jacket wrapped around my front, the sleeves doing nothing to conceal my rear. "I'm fine, really," I spoke, interrupting their heated debate.
The three turned and looked me up and down, eyes wide.
"Well there you have it," the moustache nodded, the backs of his hands pressed into his hips. "False alarm."
The woman hesitated as she approached me. Her eyes took in the unblemished state of my body. "Are you...are you alright?"
"I think so," I nodded.
"Who are you?"
My mouth opened to answer, but words didn't come out. It was like I had forgotten a word, my brain rushing to reach it at the tip of my tongue. "Oh. I'm, uh..." It felt absurd to not know this very basic question. Was I panicking? Like a middle schooler called on for the first time?
The three eyes me differently now, their expressions less concern for me and more concern for my trustworthiness.
"I'm so sorry," I laughed sympathetically, "I should know this."
"How'd you get here?" The scrawny man asked.
Once again, I was without words. I simply didn't know how I wound up inside this hole.
"Ma'am," I shifted to the woman. "I think I might've hit my head."
She let our an involuntary guffaw. "I would say that's a safe assumption." Her face lifted to the sky and back down to the hole. "You must have fallen from thousands of feet."
*Fallen*?
"I've heard of people falling from the sky," the moustache chimed in. "Failed parachutes, bungee cords, that sort of thing. It's like, uh, weight distribution that saves them. Like, if they fall flat, they don't die."
"Sure, as long as every bone in their body absorbs the impact. No one comes out unscathed," the woman sniffed sardonically.
The dust had cleared and a crowd was gathered around the hole. They were whispering, conversing about the naked man before them.
"How did I get in this hole?" I asked the three.
"You mean this *crater*?" The moustache corrected me. "You made it when you fell!" | 33 | You wake up in a crater with no clue how you got there. The horrified crowd at the edges of the crater doesn't accept your excuse of ignorance. | 46 |
"Rise, Rise from the depths and answer my call!" I raised my arms, adding a dramatic flair to the incantation. Not strictly necessary, but definitely fun. The summoning circle in front of me, flared to life, black-edged light racing across its inscribed lines. And in the center, a giant figure appeared, horns scraping the ceiling. Plaster dribbled down through the air, and I flinched. Miss. Potts was not going to be pleased.
"Who has woken me from my slumber?" The voice was a perfect combination of raspy and terrifying. I actually quaked a little.
"I, the great and amazing sorcerer of magnificence... Ed." I really needed to figure out a different name. Ed just didn't sound impressive. The demon cleared their throat.
"Ed. Well, what do you want? I was just getting to the good part of a dream." Apparently, the rasp had just been phlegm. Now, the voice was butter smooth, and actually quite pleasant. I shook my head. It didn't really matter how the demon sounded. As long as they obeyed my orders—were they tapping their foot?
"You are bound to my will. As such, I order you to help me conquer the world!" Instead of vanishing instantly, the demon put their head to the side.
"Why? What would that accomplish?"
"Your petty refusals mean nothing—what do you mean what would that accomplish? I would rule the world! I would have ultimate power and riches!" With a few motions, the demon sat down in the summoning circle. Crossing their arms and legs, they stared at me.
"Okay... and why do you want that?" I goggled at them. In all the lore I had read, no ancient terror, no powerful demon had ever questioned their summoner's motives. Brushing at my robes, I re-grouped.
"It doesn't matter why I want this. I want it, and I'm the summoner, and you have to bend to my will."
"Nah... Don't want to." The ancient terror said, shrugging. My eye actually twitched.
"You don't want to."
"Nope. Conquering worlds is never all it's built up to be. Besides, you seem like a nice kid... underneath all that." They gestured to my robes, and ritual paraphernalia. "I would hate to see you be all corrupt and terrible."
"But I am terrible. I am the—"
"Yes, yes, I heard you before. Did you actually read the ritual you used?" Taking a deep breath, I turned back to the book I had on my lectern. I actually hadn't read the entire thing, translating Latin was a bit boring. Staring down at it, I pretended to read.
"Look, I can tell you're not really reading it. I'll give you the gist. It says, that to bind such an ancient power to your will, you need a human sacrifice. And I don't see any virginal people running around this attic. Or bleeding in it. So I'm really not bound at all. In fact," The demon rose, and I have to admit, I nearly ran out of the room. If they weren't bound... "I could pulverize you right now." Yep. That was what I thought. I was so dead. "Oh, don't look so terrified. I actually have a question for you. Would you sacrifice someone to bind me?" I stared up at the Ancient Terror. What kind of question was that? An image shimmered to life beside the demon. Miss Potts, my landlady/housekeeper.
"Would you sacrifice her?" The demon asked. My heart leapt into my throat.
"Of course not! That's Miss Potts, she's—" I cut off, staring in horror at the demon. "You really mean it. I would have to sacrifice a person. That's terrible!" A low chuckle echoed through the room.
"Your people made the rules that bound us to this contract. But think about this, little Ed. You wouldn't sacrifice one person for this power. To conquer the world, millions would have to die. Would you sacrifice them?" The words fell into the room like stones in a millpond. Looking at the Ancient Terror I knew the answer. Didn't really want to admit it. But knew it. Tiredly, I turned to the page in the book that banished such creatures.
"All right. You win. But why aren't you just killing me?" I asked, fingers shifting in the complex motions that began the banishment.
"Because. You answered the question right. If you hadn't..." The last I saw of the demon, was a casual shrug, that promised all the horrors of a terrible death. From the apartment below, I heard Miss Potts's voice float up.
"Ed dear! Would you like some homemade jam tarts? I just finished them." Looking around the room, I slid out of my robes. It might be time to take a break from all this demon summoning. After all, jam tarts sounded delightful. | 176 | You awoke an Ancient Terror and plan to use it to conquer the world. But it seems the demon doesn't understand your motives, and you're starting to doubt whether it is actually evil. | 351 |
“Okay, okay, okay. Please explain it again. Slower this time.”
Shadow pressed his fingers in between his eyebrows, trying to keep the migrane at bay and also consider what he had just heard.
“Listen man, you stupidly asked what my back story was, you get all the details.” The villain in front of him laughed as they jiggled their hands (which were currently bounded together, mind you).
“I was abandoned as a child, at the ripe old age of 5. You would think that would do it, wouldn’t you? But nah, i’m extra.” The villain smirked. “I was taken in by a dude called Jerry, who became like an uncle figure. Good dude jerry, may he rest in peace”.
“Jesus Christ” Shadow facepalmed. The villain ignored him.
“As you can guess, jerry died! Murdered right in front of me. Anyway, now with my only father figure out of my life, i decided to try schooling for the first time, ya know? Get my life back on track.”
“I’m guessing that didn’t work out very well for you?”
“Nope! I got to grade 8, and the school bully decided i was his next target. Now this bloody kid clearly had super powered genes in him somewhere, because the little shit was strong enough to lift me 2 meters up the flag pole and duct taped me there.” They winced, like they were remembering the feeling. “This wouldn’t have been as bad, if the storm didn’t start. You know how metal attracts lightning?”
“Well that explains your electric manipulation.”
“Sure does. Anyway, i was seen as a freak from now on. The school bully got his ass whipped by me once someone realised i wasn’t dead. Rest in peace Ronaldo.”
“Can you please stop saying Rest In Peace like that?” Shadow sighed.
“What? Dramatically? I told you i was extra.” The villain threw there bound arms into the air, annoyed. “Stop interrupting. Anyway, than i was on the run for murder, so the government really treated me well. Not a single home would take me. Fair, i guess, but i ended up eating any scraps i could find for the next 10 years….”
“can we hurry this up? I need to take you back to prison.”
“Fine. I was arrested. Sentenced to death. Escaped. Found Jerry’s murderer. Did some shit to him, and than you caught me. Ta Da!” The villain lifted his hands and did jazz hands, smirking like he had just told the best story ever.
Shadow was on the verge of losing it. “You need therapy. Seriously, i thought my issues were bad.”
“Why thank you!” they laughed. “I’m glad you enjoyed my story telling enough that you didn’t realise i escaped the bounds.” The villain smiled politely.
Shadows eyes snapped towards the villains hands, which were currently crackling with electricity.
Shit. | 34 | "Your super villain motivation is WHAT? That's it, I am dragging you to therapy." | 73 |
For the first time in his life, the genie didn't immediately grant a wish. He only blinked in astonishment at what he heard.
Throughout millennia he had granted a plethora of strange wishes, like never feeling itchy again or having a really good lawyer, but this one truly stood above the rest. Even the weirdest wish made sense in context. At least those masters had an immediate need that had to be fulfilled.
Many of them sacrificed a lot to acquire the lamp. Seeing them struggle under the weight of unlimited power was half the fun of being a genie. Slowly regretting their choices, isolating themselves with paranoia, making short-sighted decisions to survive. The genie lived for that drama. It made immortality actually bearable.
This guy, however, had no such pressure. He wielded a bored expression, crossing his arms with impatience. Not a shred of hesitance behind his eyes.
"Are you sure about this?" asked the genie. "You only get three, you know."
Steve shrugged. "It's fine if you can't do it."
The genie frowned. "I never said that."
"Then what's the problem?"
"My powers are nearly infinite! I could make you a king! Or insanely rich! Or even bring world peace!"
Steve scratched his chin, contemplating. "World peace, huh?"
"Yes! Anything is possible!"
"Then why hasn't anyone wished for that, yet?"
The genie pursed his lips, suddenly quiet.
Steve raised an eyebrow. "Well...?"
"Four arms, you say?" The genie snapped his fingers. "Your wish is my command."
Society would never be the same again. The entire fashion industry suffered a complete overhaul in less than a day. Companies rose and fell faster than anyone could predict, tanking the stock market, with only those who adapted the quickest being able to survive.
That wasn't the only consequence, though. Many criminals who had just been handcuffed suddenly found themselves with an extra pair of limbs. The police officers didn't even bother chasing them, shocked by their own new mutations. Mayhem ruled the world for a week while people grew adjusted to the change. It was hilarious. Some even started a religion over the incident.
Steve didn't show any horror or delight in this, though. He simply observed everything with a neutral expression.
The genie had a hard time understanding his master's mind. He wouldn't question it, though. This had been the most interesting use of his powers ever. It was the first time the genie didn't have to twist a wish into backfiring. The consequences rippled without even having to misinterpret his master.
As weeks turned into months, he started to wonder what the next wish would be. Most masters didn't take this long to make another request. Whatever Steve had planned, it had to be big. Did he plan to take advantage of the chaos? Or was it all for his amusement? Either way, the genie wouldn't complain. To his disappointment, though, Steve didn't alter his life in the aftermath. He simply went about his business like nothing had changed.
The genie started to fear that would be his only wish, until one day hearing him randomly say:
"I wish everyone could fly."
The genie squinted. "Really? Just that?"
"Problem?"
"Y-you could be the new pope of four arms."
"That sounds like a lot of work."
"Fine, I'll-"
"Wait!"
The genie paused, suddenly thrilled. Did he reconsider? Would he do something crazier?
"Make sure to give everyone wings, not just levitation."
The genie hung his head. He should've known better. With a snap of his fingers, he made it happen, and yet another societal uproar occurred.
The fashion industry pretty much collapsed at that point. They had barely gotten used to the new limbs and couldn't keep up with another change. Many people simply gave up on wearing shirts, or no clothes at all. Fittingly, this also became doctrine in the new religion of four-arms. Along with fashion, both the airlines and automobile industries went bankrupt. Nobody needed them anymore now that they could fly. It also caused the price of oil to plummet, which almost destroyed the economy.
People didn't kill each other, though. In fact, civilization grew more peaceful in a few months. Everyone was so confused and scared that they didn't have the energy to fight each other. At least, for that short period of time.
Steve, like usual, didn't even crack a smile.
The genie felt slightly terrified of his master as time went on. Most people could be predicted. They all had a goal, a reason for finding the lamp, but this guy just did everything on a whim. Not amusement or profit. Just... wishing for its own sake. What could possibly be his third wish?
Steve waited a year to make his final request. The world had been completely altered, but people adjusted to this new way of living. Some even eagerly awaited the next great change, including the genie. Steve must have been thinking really hard about his next wish. It would surely be a big one. Then, like last time, in the middle of a random afternoon, Steve simply said:
"I wish all my wishes were reverted."
The genie froze.
"What?"
"Really? Everything back to normal?"
Steve nodded. "But I don't want anyone dying by falling out of the sky. Give them time to land safely."
The genie sighed. "This is ridiculous."
"Why?"
"Because..."
"Because you can't twist it into something that ruins me?"
The genie glanced away.
"That's what I thought" said Steve.
"I give up," said the genie, snapping his fingers. "I will never understand you. Did you just want to waste my time?"
Steve shook his head, then smiled. "I just wanted world peace."
The genie furrowed his brow, confused. "How...?"
"People are too arrogant nowadays. They always assume the world is one way, and call that 'normal'. Anything that deviates from that is seen as bad. By twisting everyone's perception, they'll think twice of what normal really means, and maybe they'll learn to stop making snap judgements."
"Why didn't you just wish for that?"
"I'm not an idiot. Every genie story shows them twisting a well-intentioned wish into horrible consequences. Also... I really hate fashion."
The genie didn't know what to say. Nobody had ever bested him before. Steve had a goal all along, he just did a good job of hiding it until it couldn't be stopped. And he was right. Society slowly returned to how it used to be, only this time people were a lot more careful about predicting the future. The religion that started from this quickly faded into obscurity, but it's followers earned a new sense of humility after everything they went through, and the fashion industry never truly recovered, since people were weary of all the shift in trends.
All in all, Steve got the world he wanted. For the rest of time, that period would be regarded as the weirdest year in human history.
------
>If you enjoyed this, check out /r/WeirdEmoKidStories for more. Thanks for reading! | 3,590 | The Genie looks at you puzzled 'So... you wish for everyone to have 4 arms?', and you say 'yes, I wish that tomorrow everyone wakes up having 4 arms, no explanation, just 4 arms, and if they only had 1 arm or none now they have 4' | 4,938 |
There was a lull--a brief reprieve. I took the time to restock my wares: wash glasses, replace the diminishing bottles of whiskey and rum. Friday nights were good for business, but they required me to work sober and systematically. I didn't mind. The busyness of rhythmic work made for a more gratifying experience--even if it requiring throwing out the odd drunk.
Conversation hung in the air: a white noise punctuated by laughter and clinging mugs. Sweet, stale ale colored in the smell of my somewhat mildewy inn. It was a smell I didn't mind. It was the smell of my craft after all.
At this pace, and with this atmosphere, the night would be pleasant, rewarding, and--most importantly--uneventful.
Not long after I began washing the spent glasses in my basin, the room's conversation dulled to a murmur. At first, I only saw the creature's towering shape looming over the packed crowd. In the dim light, it looked like a devil: horns forking from it's fuzzy head, reflective eyes glinting in the torchlight.
The crowd parted as the creature approached my bar. As it came into focus, I saw it dressed in a leather tunic, a war hammer affixed to its back; baggy pants held up around its waist with a belt. A tail swished behind it, beads ties to the thicket of hair at its end.
"Four pints of ale, please," it spoke from its bull face partly cocked, peering at me with one of its eyes.
I almost advised the creature that weapons were to be left at the door, or, better yet, at home. But I thought better of insulting this gargantuan monster.
"Coming right up," I nodded. All eyes were watching the half-man-half-bull as it leaned against the bar, twiddling its great, hard-knuckled fingers.
I poured each pint and carried them back to the creature, two in each hand.
"Here you are."
"Thank you." His voice was deep, the vibrations felt on the bar's polished surface. It slid a coin across the bar. It was large and heavy, a circle punctured through the middle and turquoise accents decorating the shimmering golden border.
"This is..."
"A coin from the Rovian Empire. I hope it's acceptable." Despite his foreboding presence, he spoke eloquently: polite and courteous.
"I'm only afraid I cannot make change for you," I confessed. "This is worth more than I keep on hand."
He lifted a great hand between us, palm facing toward me. The gesture said *don't worry about it.*
I bowed gracefully before his generosity. "Thank you, sir."
He nodded as he began throwing back ale, one cup at a time.
The conversation slowly returned to the room, though curious eyes continued to stare.
"You're not from around here," I observed.
"That I am not."
"What brings you out this way?"
He lifted his head, stretching his neck and exhaling from his great nostrils. "I am a... hero for hire." His words indicated compromise over the verbiage. "I am traveling in search of work."
"If you don't mind me saying," I ventured carefully, "most mercenaries are humans hunting creatures like *you*."
He gulped his last cup and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. His face turned to the side again so he might look me in the eye. "There are many hurtful stereotypes about my kind."
"What kind is that?"
"Colloquially, we are called minotaurs. But technically that is only accurate for those of us descending from the Minos region. I am of the Overmine tribe. And I mean no harm."
"Why do people fear you?"
"Asterion was a minotaur raised in darkness--in a labyrinth. I imagine a lifetime of that would make anyone violent. Unfortunately, he became our poster child of sorts." The Overminian shook his head at the thought. "Violence from injustice; truth manufactured..." His eyes gazed off.
"I'm sorry to hear that," I told him. He nodded, affirming that he heard me, but not confirming that it mattered. | 14 | You were frightened when a Minotaur entered your bar, but they explained the bad press. “We aren’t naturally as aggressive as the one in the labyrinth. If you grew up in the dark, you’d be mad too.” They said. Describe your conversation. | 66 |
The demon hovered ominously as I poured milk into the cereal bowl. I pushed it out of the way to get to the freezer and pulled out the ice cube tray.
The demon snarled in frustration as I went about getting my breakfast, thoroughly angered by my stubbornness.
Years had passed since it had uttered that once terrifying threat, and it was still waiting for me to say my last words. Unfortunately for it, I was not willing to give the demon any satisfaction, nor was I physically able to speak.
If the demon had taken any time to get to know me before it chose me as its target, it would understand that I was mute.
Instead it now had to put up with this endless cycle of hovering over my shoulder, waiting for me to somehow speak my 'final words.'
Like, no thanks, not today. My soul is mine thank you.
I opened a drawer and pulled out a notepad and pen, writing on it and giving it to the demon.
*Dude, you really need to find a hobby. I mean really, it's been 20 years and I'm not about to start saying shit any time soon. You said you would break me but I think I've broken you.*
Insulted, the demon disintegrated the note in its hand, and stormed over to me. "HOW DARE YOU!," he snarled. "I WILL WAIT FOR AN ETERNITY IF I MUST TO CLAIM YOUR SOUL. IT BELONGS TO ME, IT IS MINE! AND HOW DARE YOU SPEAK TO ME- WRITE TO ME IN THAT MANNER. YOU SHOULD BE COWERING IN FEAR AFRAID TO SPEAK A SINGLE WORD."
I shrugged before sitting down at the table and eating my cereal.
Poor guy needs to get a life already. | 212 | "Any last words before I eternally claim your soul?" snarled the demon. Terrified, you stood there silently. You haven't said anything in 20 years, yet you still see the demon constantly hovering in the shadows, waiting. | 425 |
Don't you just hate it when somebody finds out about an old and frankly embarrassing thing you did. Like something really stupid you said or did when you were a teenager. It's awkward, the person that found out just lost a lot of respect for you, and you feel like a tool. Normally it's some really awkward video you put up on youtube back in 2008 that has like 154 views and three likes. Or a picture of you as a fourteen year old dressed up as a unicorn. Honestly, it's the worst part of having a past. All the embarrassing baggage that you have in it. I was no different when I was young. Always shirking off my responsibilities, always skipping out on lessons, hanging with a bad crowd. I'm glad that I'm old enough to have been alive before social media was a major thing, because there were a lot of dumbass things I did with my dumbass friends back the day that really makes my skin crawl from sheer and utter cringe when I think about them today.
So when I got *that* skull handed to me, from one of the other archaeologists here at the ruins of recently rediscovered Conistorgis, I had to supress an urge to groan. There is no doubt in my mind, despite the obvious damage from age, that it is my own skull. Or rather, one of my own skulls. Bit smaller than my skull today, wasn't a fully grown man when I removed it. I am an expert on pre-Roman Celtic cultures, supposedly because I have the most extensive library and the most discoveries of ancient Celtic settlements, grave sites, and battlefields under my belt as an archaeologist in the world. The truth is quite a different matter of course. Staring into that empty skull, I am shocked by how quickly that cruel memory returns. Of Conistorgis in my youth, when I was a lad. Of running with the outcasts to adventures that were unusually bloody. Of listening to the druids, and finding them quite boring. Of the dumb things I did back then. Shedding my skull, in order to scare the living daylights out of Kalstorik the butcher, was in hindsight stupid. He was always disrespectful of my mother, of my friends. Said that my father was a monster. He wasn't entirely wrong, of course. No normal human can shed body parts whenever they want.
''*So, what do you think? Surprisingly well preserved skull of a late teen, fairly healthy, got remarkably good teeth for the period.''* I nod to... Shawn. He is eager for me to talk about this embarrassing thing I hold reluctantly in my hand. ''*We found it in the remnants of a bronze chest, it had been hidden within the north wall of the temple complex. What do you think about it?*'' I remember of course exactly how they kicked me out of the city for having taken the joke too far. Been too weird. My mother had married... something. She never spoke about who she went into the hills to meet, and never took me or my siblings. ''*Could be... a holy ward of some kind. It's a well known pagan tradition to sacrifice something to give a holy site some kind of protection. Bury it underneath the original threshold of the temple. Even the Christians continued the tradition for centuries, burying an animal underneath a new church to make a Churchgrim. A related Scottish belief is that the most recently buried person acts as this protective spirit. Maybe this guy was a permanent version of this. A protective spirit, kept hidden and safe so evil would not harm the dead.*'' I am of course talking straight out of my ass in order to give them at least something. It was the Norse who did that originally, it was never a Celtic thing. It was just imported to the remaining Celtic cultures after Rome fell.
Shawn smiles and nods sagely as if I just told him the truth about life, the universe, and everything. He then thankfully leaves. And I collapse into my chair, memories of my long life returning to me. Mother took my siblings into the hills after that. Driven out by the druids and the farmers. Not even mother's position as high priestess could keep them from ignoring how weird her children were. Last time I came to these parts, they were still up there, further up than mother intended. Just... Feral. Wild. Didn't even look human anymore. If I hadn't played that dumb prank, maybe they'd have retained enough humanity to still be here. It was too late for them though. They greeted me excitedly, but like animals who had seen a long lost friend. They didn't have anything left of them that I could recognise, that allowed me to tell them apart. Their bodies were distorted. Insectile. Covered in chitin. They had enough left of... something, to show me mother's grave. And that was around the time the Visigoths invaded Iberia. It's the first time I've even been back on this continent in centuries.
Immortality, the ability to change physical shapes, to pretend to age. It does allow for a more comfortable life. I go to a new place as a young man, or woman a few times. New unrecognisable face. Settle in, help out, ensure that my various riches from over the years are stashed nearby if I need them. A few children of my own even. But only rarely. And not in this day and age when science and technology has made the world far more aware of abnormalities. People might forgive abnormal biology in an age where common knowledge holds that mice are born from rotting straw. But in an age where people are far less moronic than they have been, that can't fly. At least my children had, well, not entirely normal human lifespans, but back then people used to die quite young, so a few people who could live to be in their 90s, well, that goes under the radar.
As I stare into my own skull, something which I had casually removed, shed like a man sheds his clothes, even though it made my head quite gooey and unpleasant at the time, I think of them. Up there. Are they still in the high hills. Are they still up there? Alive? Slaughtered by unknown human forces, that never wrote down what they did? Taken to our other home by Father?
I leave the tent, leaving all my human treasures and equipment behind me, and call out to some of the guys; telling them I'm going for a walk, and will be back shortly. They are so enamoured of me, and my knowledge about the ancient Celts, who I walked among since long before the founding of Rome, that they don't mind a little eccentricity. The paths have changed, but as it is late evening, and I feel a desperate longing, I do not care that I adapt my flesh and change my body. Within me human bones crack and remodel to become something faster. More agile and used to mountains. If they have gone even more feral, I also change the shape. I become as I remember them. More arachnid or insect than anything else as I scuttle up the mountains in the dark November evening.
The skull reminded me of my past. Of what I am. A half-breed. Part human, part something else. Something older. Stranger. And much more adaptable. Cast out of my home, I have worn a thousand faces since them. Most of them human. Desperately trying to fit into a society, where I am an immortal outsider, no matter what role I play. I have been a king, a beggar, a priest, a farmer, a soldier, and every kind of scholar imaginable. For thousands of years I have turned away from the highland where my mother raised her other children, my siblings. Because she asked me to. And because I was ashamed that I had caused us to get thrown out. Because I didn't dare to go down there to the city, blade in hand, leading my siblings to conquer out home, and force it to accept us. I scuttle faster and faster, desperately hoping that they might still be there, waiting for me to return, waiting for their wayward brother to come home again. I pass mother's ancient and decayed grave, noting briefly with joy that it remains intact, undisturbed by man, and yet they are not there. My siblings are not here. | 49 | The archaeological team brought you a skull from the excavation, as you are a lead expert in the field. This finding is most interesting to you as you immediately and without any doubt recognize the skull as your own. | 160 |
How long has it been? This near perpetual fate of being on the brink of death made me lose almost all sense of time, days and weeks truly no different than years and decades for me. My only solace were the brief moments between death when whatever system bringing me back allowed me the briefest of moments to process these things.
​
It all started on April 14th, 1912. What was supposed to be a joyous cruise with my family ended with the deaths of everyone I knew. My mother and two little sisters were swept away by the currents before I could pull them onto my shattered remnant of the ship. There was no time to mourn then, my only focus on struggling to survive myself.
​
All I knew then was the struggle: the struggle to breathe, the struggle to stay warm, and the struggle to keep hope. I think that first death took longer than most of the ones that followed, I know I managed to see the first crack of dawn before my body finally succumbed to the overwhelming cold. I remember cracked lips, the taste of salt, and a bitter anger towards God for allowing this all to happen when I felt it for the first time.
​
Suddenly the cold was gone. It wasn’t like I was pulled from the waters or blessed with warmth, the cold simply vanished. The ocean vanished. I was neither standing or sitting, floating or sinking, I simply was. I thought I was about to meet my Maker, opening my eyes slowly expecting to see the gates of Heaven after a life well-lived, but instead the moment was yanked away from me.
​
It felt like I was falling, and once again greeted by the terrifying cold and fear I had been struggling with all night. My last vestige of the ship being pulled away by the currents by the time I recovered, and I was left trying to keep my head above the water. My condition was improved, but that made it all the worse. Before where I had been familiarized with the sheer pain of the ice cold waves, numb to nature’s forces, now I was once again forced to feel it all over again. The shock of it was too much, my body seizing up and I recall watching the sun slowly vanish as I sank below the waves.
​
Then I was there again, that place of nothingness. This time I tried my best to find God or his angels, anyone that could explain what was happening but once again I just appeared back in the real world. This time though I was below the waves, immediately breathing in the frigid cold, fear and panic swirling around the crippling cold waters.
​
This would be my life as I know it. Constantly drowning or freezing to death, experiencing death over and over and over again. It wasn’t all for naught though; I did manage to learn some things about the system bringing me back into this horrid existence as time progressed.
​
First, I always come back at my peak health and in roughly the same position I was before. If I was below the waves the moment before death, I would start below the waves. It seemed my position was slightly altered, at least as far as the stars could tell me, but it was negligible when you factor in the ocean’s current.
​
Second, anything on me would come with me and also return in peak condition. This meant anything in my hands was ultimately lost as my body lost the ability to grasp things, but anything I managed to shove into my limited pocket space came with me. This didn’t matter for much in terms of acquiring new things, but it was still an interesting facet to this…power.
​
Third, and probably most important of all, time stopped functioning the same way for me. I still aged, but the system seems to reset you back to just before the trauma starts, which really only adds up to a few seconds every death. This last fact wasn’t obvious in the beginning, but once I was certain years had passed by from the position of the stars but my form looked roughly the same, I realized what had likely been years for everyone else had only been a few weeks for me.
​
All of that information was simply a way to distract myself though. My existence was simply one of perpetual death and as such my fear and anxiety towards death completely vanished. You can only be killed so many times and be brought back to life before death loses all meaning. Where fear of death vanished, hope was next to follow. A piece of my humanity disappeared on the day I finally accepted I would never escape my fate. In fact, all of my emotions slowly petered out. Resentment, ambition, uncertainty, determination…none of it mattered. What use were those feelings? As such I found myself in an almost meditative state, my body only putting forth just enough energy to stay above the waves until my heart finally stopped beating from hypothermia.
​
This was my existence for years. While my understanding of the stars allowed me to keep a vague sense of the passage of time, there was no way for me to properly understand just how much time had passed when I saw my first semblance of land since I had first fallen into the frigid waters. I figured the current would simply carry me in circles until I finally met my true death, but I must have escaped the North Atlantic current at some point because I was almost certainly looking at land.
​
Something bloomed in me in that moment, long dormant hope suddenly making an appearance. I started to wildly swim for the shore, my death arriving just five more times before I finally pulled myself up onto the ice shelf. I couldn’t believe it, my legs weak from not only the cold but the sheer shock of really being on land however frozen. I collapsed there, staring up into the sky as tears poured from my eyes freezing before they could meet the ground. It didn’t matter how barren the landscape was, how I still saw no sign of other humans, because I was finally able to move according to my own wishes. I took my last breath as a broken man, the frozen companion of death, and was reborn. | 23 | there is land 5 deaths away from you! Too bad it's Antartica. | 78 |
‘How in God’s name did you lot do that?’
Field Marshal Holmes sat on the ground in stunned disbelief. Surrounded by a scrum of equally baffled Generals.
“Sir? I don’t believe this is the correct debrief protocol?” said one of the dishevelled conscripts.‘
'Protocol can get fucked! You muppets just took down Cth-...I mean designation G.O.1.1!’ Homes said being helped to his feet.
'Muppet?” asked a confused conscript in a rumpled set of fluid fouled fatigues.
'Muppet. A name given to the style of puppets developed and popularised by Jim Henson. Dates back to the mid-1950’s. Most well known from ‘The Muppet Show’ and ‘Sesame Street’. Also used as a derogatory term, usually reserved for those who are uncoordinated” the conscript next to him supplied breathlessly and immediately.
The two groups stared at each other. Several of the conscripts looked at each other, then their feet, then over each others shoulders. Most avoided eye-contact.
‘Maybe Infrared should talk’? One asked. As one all of the conscripts turned and looked (vaguely) at a twenty something year old man standing among them.
Field Marshal Holmes stared at him 'Son…*why* do you have a code name?'
‘Infrared’ blushed. ‘Sir, I don’t really sir. It’s just that several of the boys…’
‘Hey!’ interjected a decidedly feminine voice from the back of the conscript group.
‘Several of the boys, and Sarah have a bit of trouble remembering names Sir. We find Nicknames help.’
‘So *why* ‘Infrared?’ And why doesn’t this ‘Sarah’ get one?’ Asked Holmes equal parts confused and unimpressed.‘
Sarah is the only woman with us today’. Said Infrared sheepishly. ‘The rest all scored differently and are better at planning and logistics than we are’
‘As for the other thing…’ the young man looked down at his feet again. ‘It’s a joke. Infrared is low on the spectrum. The squad has been using me as a kind of interpreter and translator with everyone else’
There was a pause at this. Holmes couldn’t tell if the 'joke' was on him or not, but was determined to re-establish *some* kind of control. ‘Enough of that. I need you to explain how a poorly trained thrown together gaggle of Autis…um…I mean *neurodivergent* individuals could take down G.O.1.1 when the most well trained soldiers in the world are reduced to gibbering wrecks on seeing the thing?’
Infrared took at second to consult with his Squad. ‘Not sure Sir. It’s just an impossibly huge Squid, bat, Gorilla looking thing that causes everyone to have a bit of an existential crisis Sir. I’m not sure what’s so upsetting about where we stand in the grand scheme of things. I mean there’s those articles that keep popping up in ‘New Scientist’ about our universe being a holographic stack of three dimensions floating about in an 11 dimensional brane Sir. Understanding that our lives are just ephemeral, meaningless static, with stunted perception in a limited dimensional stack just makes it easier to take huge multi-dimensional squid things in stride Sir.’
This…worried a fair few of the amassed Generals. ‘Ah, well. Yes.’ said Field Marshal Holmes. ‘Sounds like philosophy to me boy. Sciency sounding, yes, but philosophy. Tell me *how* you stopped it?’
‘Oh!’ Said Infrared. ‘That’s easy. We just pushed it over, and poked a hole in it.’‘
You…Poked a hole in a Greater Eldritch God Monster?’ said Holmes, really not following.
'Yessir! After pushing it over Sir.’ said Infrared. “Not saying that it was easy mind you. There was a bit with those SCRAM engines, some helicopters and some trucks Sir. You’ll have to ask the women. They figured that bit out.'
'They wouldn’t let us use any trains” a voice piped up from the back of the conscripts ‘I kept asking.'
'...’ Field Marshal Holmes didn’t say (ratherer pointedly)
‘I know what you mean sir.’ said Infrared. ‘It’s all to do with physics and the cube-square law. It’s not supposed to look so weird and scary Sir. Different pressure deep under the sea, and probably in all those higher dimensions and whatnot. Pretty sure It wasn’t supposed to be up with us on the surface. Poor thing couldn’t breathe or move properly. Guess that explained the noises and the flailing huh Sir. He…I mean we call it a him, we shouldn’t assume you know Sir?...well he was all swollen up like when you take a bag of chips up into the mountains or on a plane. So all the skin was under pressure. We just needed to pierce it and he just kinda..popped Sir.’
‘Popped?’ repeated Holmes.
‘Yes Sir, wasn’t pretty. Pity about Maine Sir. It’s going to take forever to clean it up.’
‘So let me get this straight.’ Stated Holmes ‘The greatest eldritch horror that man cannot conceive of without going insane. The Old God whose mere presence wiped out half the world's military forces…because we *looked* at it… was beaten by rolling it over and poking a hole in it?’
‘Yessir’
‘Bugger the debrief. I’m taking you men, (and woman) out for drinks! If anything, ever was a cause for a celebration? This would be it.’ roared the Field Marshal.
There was a brief concerned mutter and huddle amongst the conscripts‘Do you mind if we skip that Sir? Call us the next time you need help with a Great Old One, but a bar? With people? All that noise, and everyone so close, and everyone talking at once? I don’t think we can do that sir.’ | 162 | The neurodivergent are resistant to Cthulhu’s sanity-destroying powers. Learning this, the world sends a squad of them to defeat him. The Lord of Madness tries to learn how to drive them mad while they try to—look, I’m not 100% sure I completely understood the mission briefing, did any of you? | 306 |
Being the newest lawyer at the largest firm around, you tend to get the worst of cases from both sides of the spectrum. The most contentious divorces with kids and pettiness, and the most pedantic arbitrations with low billable hours. Shit truly does roll downhill, and I knew today would be no different when the snickering and whispers followed me as I made my way to my desk. Instead of the anticipated pile of paperwork, a single thin folder sat in front of my chair. Its contents just a single meager page outlining the client's names and imminent meeting location. Not only was there no practical information, it being the only case I was assigned for the day insinuated it could be an all day affair. Internally, I groaned.
"Albert Bachelard and... Alette? Must be a divorce," I muttered to myself as I made my way to the conference room. The water cooler and coffee station next door was uncharacteristically empty as an awkward stiff atmosphere hung in the air.
"Hello! My name is Jen and I will be ..." I stared at the pair. A man in head to toe black sat slumped glaring in a dark corner while a woman whose essence was so light she practically floated beamed at me across from him. Half the windows had been curtained securely, while half had their curtains up as high as they went. I sat down awkwardly at the far head of the table before recovering, "Ah, so... we are here today for some arbitration. What are ah, what are discussing today?" I tried my best to smile.
"Well my dear, we have found ourselves at a slight impass," the woman said too sweetly, her blue hair bouncing in an unseen wind. "See, this very *ungentle*man has decided that all decency and obligation regarding contracts is something to ignore."
"No, it is this frail blood bag's inability to comprehend tradition that is the issue!" The man vehemently hissed back, pushing himself forward to appear larger before quickly recoiling back to his shaded corner.
"Oh! We're discussing a contract!" I said confidently, back in familiar territory. "Well let's see if we can get this resolved for you two today. Do either of you have a copy of the contract?"
"The covenant between the bitten thrall and their master is older than the dirt you walk upon human," the man's words grew louder. "You should fear such covenants and their holders. It is etched in the very bones of those who tremble upon-"
I held up my hand quickly, "Sir, do you have a physical copy of the contract? If not the original, then a photo copy?" The man's eyes searched me over for a few moments.
"This is not the thing that can be captured in a mere photograph," the man quietly muttered.
"Here darling," that sweet voice interjected, "I think I may be able to clarify this for you. When someone dares to eat fae food without permission, there is a dear price to be paid. I'm sure you understand."
"So you are seeking a solution for the damages incurred when this man ate some of your food?" I asked, confused. The woman bit her lip and nodded. "And what would you propose the remedy would be?"
"Eternal servitude," she said with brightness, but something else lightly shaded her smile.
"This foolish fae lies!!!" The man erupted from the other side of the room. "I require no sustenance! My form is beyond that of weaker needs! I ate nothing!" He rose, his form growing taller. "I consumed the blood of this woman's sad form, thus it is *her* that owes *me* servitude!"
"So you both are seeking eternal servitude as fulfillment for the contract?" Both nodded curtly, staring. "Well, I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, but those are void contacts." The woman started to protest, but I kept going. "Honestly, the paralegal fielding the calls should have informed you of this. Slavery is federally illegal, it's expressly stated in the constitution, and any contract for an illegal activity is totally void. Beyond illegal, there are ethical implications here as well." Both sides of the room somehow seemed dimmer, their irritation clear. "No court is going to enforce any of this."
"If this," I lowered my voice, in case a colleague was walking the hall, "If this is like a sex thing, those contacts are not enforceable either."
"This is not that," the man said hiding his face in his hands while the woman's mouth twitched.
"Well, I will go get the decision written up for you two. Is there any final statements regarding this arbitration conclusion?"
The woman's saccharine smile deepened, "Is there *anything* I can offer-"
"Ma'am, it's against our code of ethics to accept gifts from clients," I said quickly while organizing my notes.
"You should fear for your soul, crossing the undead," the man said with great disdain.
"Sir, if I had concern for my soul I wouldn't have become a lawyer."
[I have to get back to class, I didn't proofread! First time doing one of these and I spat it out quick, hopefully it's okay.] | 1,720 | After bitting a Fae, the Vampire claims that she must serve him, for his bite converted her into his thrall. The Fae claims that the Vampire must serve her, for the vampire ate fae food without her permission. As none of them is willing to give up, they bring the case to you, a lawyer. | 4,457 |
Despite the fact I had given my pilot strict instructions for us to land somewhere remote, he had managed to crash into the *one* Earthling within a five-mile radius. Once we’d halted in a field full of green stalks, I quickly exited the craft to apologize to the human. As it turned out, the pilot had nicked quite a large portion of his abdomen with the ship’s sharp wing.
I tidied my long scarlet robe as I walked toward the farmer, who was splayed out on the ground and nearly split in two. I gave him a friendly wave and smiled, “Sorry about that!”
I waited for him to respond, but he didn’t move. Mouth agape, he simply stared into the sky, and his blood poured out of his left side onto the rich brown dirt below.
“Sir?” I asked, but he continued to lay on the dirt, bleeding out. We must have really offended him. I shook my head. “I am *terribly* sorry about all this. Please don’t hold it against the Tribunal. My pilot *will* be reprimanded.”
Still nothing.
“Sir…?” I asked again, taking a few steps closer to the motionless human. “Something doesn’t feel right—*Cat*? *Cat!?*”
“Yes, Norloc?” the hovering cobalt sphere floated from the ship to just above my right shoulder.
“Cat, I can’t figure out what’s happening with our human friend here,” I opened my hand toward the man in bloody overalls. “When the ship sliced through him, did we break some important human custom I wasn’t aware of? He seems like he wants nothing to do with us.”
Cat hovered toward the quiet farmer and scanned him. After a few seconds, she reported back.
“He appears to be dead, Norloc.”
I shot the blue robot a look.
“I beg your pardon? Say that again,” I said.
“He’s dead, Norloc,” Cat responded.
I shook my head. I was starting to feel woozy.
“But that’s not… That’s not possible. They had the… We gave them the…” So many thoughts in my head cut me off. I probably should have taken a look at that Earth file. | 68 | Long ago, the Galactic Tribunal conducted an experiment wherein a single piece of space-age technology was dropped on an under-developed world in order to see how it affected their development. Now, you have been sent in to observe and record the results. You are... surprised, to say the least. | 125 |
The man looked up weakly. He tried to speak but only a croak came out.
Death nodded. It disappeared and then appeared a fraction of second layer with some water. “Here. Drink this.”
The man gulped down the water, pausing midway and then threw up. He looked at death apologetically, before drinking the rest of it.
Death smiled again. It put a hand on the man’s throat. The man’s eyes went wide with fear. But slowly the expression changed to relief.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.”
“Who are you? My guardian angel.”
Death laughed. “If I was, I would be doing an extremely bad job. No. I’m death. I’ve come to take you.”
“What? D… death?”
“Indeed.”
The man stared at death for a while before looking around him and then staring at the ground. He didn’t think he still had the ability to cry so the tears from his eyes surprised even him. “I thought you’d be scarier.”
Death was actually quite different from the usual depictions. It looked almost human, with its long brown coat hanging down to below his knees. The hat covered most of its face and it wouldn’t have been difficult to pass it in a crowd without looking twice. If something like a crowd still existed. The most striking thing about it was that instead of a scythe all it carried was a red rose.
Death smiled. “You humans always had an active imagination.”
“So it’s time for me to go?”
“Not just you. Today marks the end of the chapter of earth I call humanity. You’re the last human alive.”
“Wow. Maybe my dad will finally be proud of me.”
“Another thing that fascinated me about humans. The deflection using humour.”
“Well what do you want me to say? I don’t want to die? Yes, of course I don’t. But not like I had an option. I’ve been sitting here waiting for a week now. I knew I didn’t have much time. I had accepted it.”
Death sat beside him. “The sun will set soon. Let’s watch it before we go.”
“Why? I say let’s get it over with.”
“You don’t get it, do you? Not only are you dying, you humans have signed what you’d call my death warrant too.”
“Your death warrant?”
“Look around you. Everything is dying.” Death leaned back and the man saw an old fashioned gun in its holster.
“And? Surely that makes you happy?”
Death laughed. “When nothing is alive, what purpose could I possibly server. I become obsolete. I’ll die off then too.”
The man looked at the sun avoiding its gaze. “We’re… I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault. It is what it is. Your species was just built like this.”
“Excuse me?”
“Surely this isn’t news to you? The world around you is in tatters. Everything is burning. And you still won’t take responsibility for it. You can’t. That was humanity’s curse. Their selfishness. And their optimism.”
“Surely optimism is a good thing.”
“It can be. But it also stopped you from doing what needed to be done.”
“Well I’m sorry anyways.”
Death laughed. “So tell me something about yourself.”
“There’s not much to tell. I was just a cog in the machine. Working in a 9-5 dead end job that routinely became 9-7. I didn’t really live. In fact once the world ended was when my life really started. When the flash happened and everything collapsed I could finally see what all I had missed. I learned to really appreciate things. In fact I reckon this is the real tragedy here. I’m the last human alive. Not some great artist or scholar. But me. I can’t even put together a coherent argument for why humanity didn’t deserve to die. A singularly un-extraordinary man is the last man alive.”
“Do you have anything you wish you could do? Any unfinished business?”
The man hesitated. “I… you healed me. Could you also heal others.”
“I could. As I said life and death are inextricably linked. Life can kill. And I can give life.”
“I… it’s going to sound silly. But my dog is dying. Could you allow him to live for a while longer?”
“Where is your dog?”
The man pointed in a far off direction. “He was too weak to hunt. I came out to see if I could find something for him but collapsed myself.”
Death smiled and handed his rose to the man. “Can you hold this?”
As soon as the man took the rose it started to lose its vitality. The red colour started fading away.
Meanwhile death reached into its jacket and pulled out another rose. The rose was completely wilted. He took back his original rose and handed the wilted rose to the man. “He’s gone unfortunately.”
The man nodded. The tears were back and words failed him.
“It was going to happen sooner or later. As I said, our fates were sealed a while ago.” Death looked at the man with a slight frown.
“No it’s just… I guess you are right. We were always selfish. I wanted me to die before him. Just so I didn’t have to feel the pain.”
Death raised its eyebrows. “Interesting.”
“It’s just that… now he would think I abandoned him. I didn’t. I wanted to go back. I really did.”
Death took the wilted rose and put it away in his jacket again. He handed the original rose back to the man. This time the rose instead of losing its colour, brightened. It became bright read almost as if freshly dipped in blood.
The man looked at the rose and at death, with a confused expression. “What…?”
“It means you can actually save my life.”
“How so?”
“Humanity is doomed. But you have the chance to do something extraordinary. Save us all.”
“How do I do that?”
“You couldn’t save your dog. But you could still save a lot of them.”
The man looked around and a circle of animals had formed around them. Every animal he could imagine was present there. Dogs standing with cats. Sheep, deer and lions all in a circle. “I wouldn’t even know how to begin.”
“Another thing about humanity I was always fascinated by. The refusal to admit defeat. It’s something I can learn from humanity I suppose. You’ll save me even if I will kill you. Eventually. From the ashes of humanity the Phoenix of life will rise again.” | 286 | Death sighed. He always hated seeing the end of a species, and today he would collect the soul of the last human. | 695 |
#WalkMan vs Doctor Doomsday
The halls of the Fortress of Doomitude were getting crowded, as of late. Doctor Doomsday didn't seem to be bothered by it. On the contrary, he seemed thrilled, engaging with every minion of the Doomsquad as he passed them. A wink here, a shoulder pat there, a winning smile with a handshake for the returning assassin, everyone and anyone in the building was getting a moment of personal attention from the super villain.
It was great to see him back to his usual self.
After 'accidentally' killing his nemesis with a laser blast so powerful that it had carved a section out of the moon, Doctor Doomsday had fallen into a deep depression. He had sent me and all the other members of the Doomsquad on a mandatory paid vacation, with several different holiday travel package options at our choosing. It would be an understatement to say that we were shocked when we returned to learn that the Doctor had resurrected his nemesis, *and* recruited WalkMan's son Steven to the Doomsquad.
I stood by the conference room's door with the rest of my team, waiting for Doctor Doomsday to make his way to the meeting he had called. My husband Stephan and our newest team member, Stacy, were greeted enthusiastically by Doctor Doomsday as he arrived, and I received a bear hug. He was gentle with his robotic arms, but he still squeezed slightly too tightly.
We filed into the meeting room, and each took a seat along the expertly carved dark cherry wooden conference table. Doctor Doomsday took his seat at the head of the table, relaxing into his tastefully evil looking throne with an ergonomic lumbar support pillow.
"I'd like to begin this meeting by asking Stacy, how are you doing? Are you fitting in well? Are these two men helping you enough?" He gestured to my husband and I with one cyborg hand.
Stacy's hair shifted from her usual vibrant pink to a deeper purple color. "They have been more than welcoming, Doctor. I'm doing very well here, I've made new friends and feel like I'm growing as a Doomsquad member."
I wasn't really sure what her other powers actually did, but I had gathered that her hair color was definitely tied to her mood. It wasn't very useful to anyone, except on poker nights. Her hair always turned orange when she was bluffing.
"Excelent" Doctor Doomsday said, putting a villainous emphasis on the word. "Now, on to the actual meeting. What does my logistics team have to report?"
I stood, and made my way to the overhead projector's screen. My husband Stephan opened his laptop and began the powerpoint presentation.
I grasped the handle of the pull down screen, and gave it a tug. After a second tug with no response, I decided to just use the wall.
"Stephen, could you put in a maintenance request for that?" Doctor Doomsday said, addressing my husband. He quickly nodded, and began typing out the maintenance request ticket.
The overhead projector flickered to life, creating a bright square of light on the far wall. I could see the powerpoint well enough against the teal and black decor, so I began the report.
"We have identified four streets with hazardous potholes across the city, here, here, and two right here." I said, indicating with a small laser pointer the roads in question. "In order to sufficiently damage the roads to force a repair, I recommend we stage a bank heist here, and follow this escape route."
The next powerpoint slide slid in to view, comically overcorrecting as its entrance animation played. A red line appeared, tracing a route from the Grand Central Bank through the city.
"We'll use explosives at the first two areas of concern, dropped satchel charges designed to look like we're attacking any police that pursue. I recommend we set up a sonic disruption device between the last two here, under the assumption that WalkMan will arrive to stop us by then. I've had R & D look into making this explode as WalkMan strikes it, making an explosion that would damage the road between the two dangerous potholes."
I stepped away, and Stephan advanced the slide. As the next page was appearing in some sort of fade in animation, Doctor Doomsday spoke up.
"How could we guarantee that the sonic device wouldn't be triggered by someone besides WalkMan?" He asked. "I don't want it to go off prematurely."
"I think we'd need to ask R & D about that one, boss." I said, kicking myself for not thinking of that sooner. "I can schedule a meeti-"
Doctor Doomsday waved a dismissive hand. "No, one meeting a day is already more than I care for. Just make sure you pass that along."
I nodded, then continued the presentation. "The bank currently holds 1.2 Billion dollars, in cash and bearer bonds. Assuming we recover at least 30% of the goods, finance has projected that we can remain funded into the 2033 2nd fiscal quarter."
Doctor Doomsday made the 'triangle of doom' with his fingertips, lightly tapping them together. "Excellent", he said, drawing out the word once more. His metallic fingers clinked with each repetition of the hand motion.
A buzz sound emitted from the speaker mounted at the center of the conference table. "Doctor, Steven asks to be allowed entry to the meeting." Doctor Doomsday's assistant Brenda said.
"Send him in", Doctor Doomsday said.
The door opened, and WalkMan's son Steve entered. He gave a polite nod to Stephen and I, and a warm smile to Stacy, then took a seat at Doctor Doomsday's left hand side.
"Doctor, I've been in contact with my father." He said, addressing the supervillain directly. It was hard to keep track of all their shifting relationships, but I remembered that Doctor Doomsday had been appointed as Steve's Godfather at one point. Nobody knew why, or why Steve was still with us in the Doomsquad after his father's resurrection. The Doctor seemed to trust him, so everyone else had followed suit.
"How's he doing these days?" Doctor Doomsday asked, with a wicked grin forming on his face. "Is his hand any better?"
Steve ignored the jab at WalkMan's newest injury, a severed right ring finger. It was actually the second time Doctor Doomsday had cut off that same finger, which was odd but not out of place here at the Fortress of Doomitude.
"He's asked me to ask you why you've been targeting already damaged infrastructure." Steve said flatly.
Doctor Doomsday smiled. "He noticed! How sweet of him to think of me between our fights."
Steve remained silent, waiting for an actual answer.
"Tell your father that if he's so concerned, he can push the city to repair it themselves." Doctor Doomsday said. "If it's such a concern, he can try to fix the problems himself."
Steve nodded. "I'll tell him. Permission to leave the compound to make contact?"
Doctor Doomsday nodded. "Take your time. It would be good for you to get to know him better."
Steve departed, smiling at Stacy again as he departed. Her hair flushed to a deep embarrassed red, just as her cheeks blushed the same color.
"Is there anything else that we need to discuss?" Doctor Doomsday said, glancing around the room. Nobody spoke up.
"Meeting adjourned. Please forward this to myself, R&D, and tactical planning." He stood, and strode from the room.
Stephan complied, typing the various email addresses he needed to include.
I turned to Stacy. "I'm glad you and Steve are getting along so well" I said, making sure to phrase the next question with the upmost care. "Does he know that you're..."
Her hair cycled through the entire color spectrum, like a cuttlefish trying to dazzle a predator away. "Yes," she said, looking down at her lap.
"It's nothing to be ashamed about." I said, helping my husband to pack up the computer. "It's who you are. You can't lie to yourself, and you can't lie to others about yourself. And you know what?"
She looked up, her hair settled into a quizzical green. "No, what?"
"You're a great you."
She blushed once more, both in her cheeks and hair. "Thanks boss" She said softly.
I stopped before I embarrassed the young woman into making an entirely new color. "Let's grab lunch before we go down to R & D. I don't like talking to those brilliant assholes on an empty stomach."
We left the conference room, heading towards the cafeteria. A Doomsquad minion that I think was named Craig jogged past. "Doc got us pizza today!" He said excitedly, as he jogged towards the unexpected treat.
I smiled, first at my husband, then at our newest team member. "Shall we?" I asked, before taking off after Craig.
/r/SlightlyColdStories | 64 | A super villain has one goal in mind when planning their sinister activities, to tear up as much awful city infrastructure as possible. The city would then be forced to into new construction of housing, parks and public transportation. Problem? The city’s hero is getting suspicious. | 279 |
Incantation done, Alice popped a sugar-free lozenge in her mouth and waited for the summoning ritual to work. The older summoners had told her this was the safest ritual: it'd summon a nearby weak demon that would be stopped by the circle of salt, and the delay meant she could prepare herself. Her trusty baseball bat would do for emergencies.
There was no warning, no poofs of smoke or cracks or anything. One moment, there was nothing, the next, there was... "Aaaaaaah!"
There was a boy in her room! He'd been pulling his shirt over his head, but then Alice's scream had startled him and now he was in a heap on the floor somehow. "Oooww..."
Wait a minute. She knew that voice. And that hairstyle. And those garishly yellow shorts. "Trevor?"
"A... Alice? Get out of the bathroom!"
"You're not in the bathroom. Get up and look around," she ordered, and the ritual circle flared almost imperceptibly, forcing her ten year old stepbrother to obey. "See?"
"What the heck! I was downstairs! How'd I get here?"
"Middle school Occult Club," Alice told him. "We learned a new summoning ritual and it summoned you. So you must be a demon."
"Don't be stupid. I'm not a de-ouch!"
"Salt circle," Alice said as the boy-demon rubbed his foot from where he'd attempted to cross it. "Can't cross unless I release you, and the older ones told me that's a stupid idea at my skill level."
"Duh. You're thirteen and a girl. You're bad at everything."
"And who won Catan last week?" She ignored his protests about how he'd rolled like poop and opened her notes. Ritual circle, ritual circle... There. That was the way to send him back, which she remembered she should do after getting some kind of boon from him. The older summoners had said it should be something small, because the circle would likely not have that much power left after forcing the demon to give you its name.
But Alice didn't need to do that. And she had just the right idea for what to get from her demon stepbrother. "Trevor, shut up and listen," she ordered, and he did, looking like he was surprised he shut up mid sentence. "For the next month, you'll volunteer to do all the dishwashing stuff and all laundry hanging. If Mom or Dad give you extra money, you'll give that to me. You won't talk to anyone about this, except me if we're in my room. Do you accept this pact?"
The ritual circle flared with an ominous red light and it veered in on Trevor, not touching him but clearly scaring him. "A... Alice? Why.. Why... Why am I feeling..."
"The circle of summoning forces the demon inside to obey its summoner. I don't think it'll harm you... If you accept. Do you?"
"No--aaaaaah! Yes! Yes! I accept your pact!"
"There. Much better, right?" Alice said as the demon boy panted on his knees. "Now, I'm going to send you back. It should put you in the bathroom again."
"Sho... Should?" the demon said weakly. "A... Alice?"
"Our pact is made and our deal is done. Trevor Seth Booker, you are returned from whence you came."
Just as silent as the apperance, the demon vanished, and Alice immediately grabbed the Occult Club notes. She had some reading up to do. Like... "Chapter 5: A Demon's Talisman." | 29 | Alice could barely hold her excitement as she was about to try the new demon-summoning ritual she learned today in the middle school Occult Club. Her first surprise was that it actually worked, the second that it was her own stepbrother who was looking at her confused from inside the circle. | 65 |
There are few things one just can't prepare themselves for. In this case, it's the alien running in circles like a panicked toddler after one of us touched down on what is apparently one of their planets.
It wasn't like anyone expected them to be there. Unexplored planets could possibly have signs of life. It actively running from you and speaking in a translator in a language similar to your own is the real anomaly.
"THE HUMANS ARE HERE! OH GODS NO! SEND BACKUP!" It continued shouting. It hadn't really made any real progress on escaping howver. If anything the little guy was too busy waving his appendages and running, well, rolling away from the astronaut. It didn't really have legs. Clearly it had a mouth? Where else was the voice coming from.
Camila shook her head in an attempt to ignore that thought. She didn't want to know. The point was, intelligent life had been found here. She made sure her suit recorded the whole thing.
"This is Camila. Can... can all of you see this too? Francis?"
"Should we be worried?" Francis asked over the growing commotion in the ship.
"It's kinda sad. He keeps trying to get away from me." She said as she began cautiously walking after the alien. The gravity was a bit lighter than calculations first measured. So she found herself occasionally having to right herself slowly to climb over obstacles in here way.
"That thing might be dangerous." Francis warned her.
"It's still freaking out." She advised.
"THIS IS OFFICER NIMA! REQUESTING EVACUATION! I AM BEING PURSUED!!"
To her and the crew's alarm, the sticky ball waddled up a rock surface Camila herself found near impossible to climb. She stopped and watched as it found a rock that jutted out, stuck to it, and heard it scream as the brittle rock broke away. Although the gravity wasn't bad for her, it seemed like Nima fared worse.
The creature bounced off several rocks before landing basically at her feet.
"Um. Hello?" Camila asked, trying her best to kneel a little. To her growing concern, Nima (was it?) didn't seem to be breathing. She poked the thing's suit in hopes the thing would maybe respond. Of course everyone back on the ship reacted harshly. They didn't know what it was capable of.
Camila perhaps out of concern, squished the thing with her hand slightly again to see if it did anything.
"Ow." The ball reacted.
"Oh good. You're alive." She greeted again.
Of course the ball jolted back to trying to flee before Camila scooped it up and looked at it. And then at the spaceship now looming above.
*"This is the expeditionary vessel Tebogo. Release your captive or we will be forced to fire."* an announcement rang.
Camila set Nima down and float stepped her way away from the little creature.
"Is that better?" She asked the ship.
No answer came. The little ball was sucked upward, the lights above went out and the ship disappeared.
And she was alone again.
"Camila, come in. What happened?"
"We're not alone? But I think they hate us. Just a little."
---
r/Jamaican_Dynamite | 260 | You’re an astronaut exploring a nearby planet that could harbor life, and to your delight, you find what seems to be an intelligent alien. However, they seem scared. To your surprise, the alien yells into a communication device “CODE RED! CODE RED! A HUMAN HAS ESCAPED EARTH!” | 1,007 |
Sabine didn’t sign up for this. More literally, she did sign her name on the contract with the devil, but made a lot of assumptions about certain phrases and wordings that bordered on delusion and the river in Egypt.
She swept her hand to the left and right, the sole conductor of a legion of brooms, brushes, and rags around the Devil’s room. She watched the already spotless and speckless brimstone being brushed, again and again, an utter waste of effort on something already so clean.
The Devil barged in through the door, breathing deeply.
“Ah, fresh magma,” he grinned, tail swiping contentedly on the floor. “Sabine. What a wonderful servant you are.”
“I… thank you, master,” Sabine said, biting her lip. “But master, I really think I can do mo—”
“Ah ah ah,” he said. “What did I say about that more word?”
“Punishment usually follows,” Sabine said, feeling her knees weaken. She swore she could hear the screams from outside the room. “But sir, please consider me for something… advanced.”
“You are human,” the Devil said. “Or was, anyway. And look at you! You are doing a great job cleaning my house! Do you want more succubi? Imps? Soul shards?”
“I want to be an epic avenger who torments sinners,” Sabine whispered. “And hopefully, find those who didn’t believe in my witchcraft, even my father, and make them understand.”
“I’m terribly sorry, could you please speak up?” the Devil said, cupping red ears.
The once-witch, now-maid, inhaled a deep breath, filling the hot air fill her lungs, and exhaled, almost lifting her up into the sky.
“With all due respect, sir, I can clean your room in literally three seconds! These brooms literally move themselves,” Sabine said.
The Devil walked forward, placing a large hand on Sabine’s shoulders.
“Oh, my child,” he said. “Your scope of ambition targets more, doesn’t it?”
“Yes,” Sabine said.
“I completely understand. Then clean the rest of Hell if you need to,” he grinned. “OK. Goo talk!”
“There has to be something I can offer,” Sabine argued. “Something only I can do. Something literally no one else is able to provide.”
“Hmm. Actually… you are a witch, no?”
Sabine felt her fingers tensing, her shoulders lifted so impossibly high that it looked like her neck has disappeared.
“Yes,” she said. “One of humanity’s finest, to boot.”
“Right,” Satan said. “Can you be a convincing hag? One of our usuals had to take a break.”
“I… What?”
“You know theme parks have performers through them?” the Devil said. “We should know, invented some of them. We have the exact same thing, but for the sinners. If you can do a good hag, I’ll even let you man your own station at Haunted House 189.”
“God,” Sabine wince. “Well, every journey begins with a single step.”
“They do, indeed,” the Devil said. “Now, hag! Green makeup! White hair! Everything!”
*It’s in the contract,”* Sabine mustered the strength to go and disguise herself. *I will become the greatest torturer here, or so help me… lord.”
“In perpetuity. Your life is forfeit to me,” the Devil muttered, watching Sabine climb up the stairs, with the cleaning utensils still whipping the hell out of anything there. “And you will be a maid for a long, long time.”
---
r/dexdrafts | 51 | As a witch, you have recently made a deal with a devil. In return for great power, you must become his servant, the concept of which greatly excites you. However, upon death, you find out that by “servant”, he didn’t mean an epic avenger who torments sinners, he simply needed a maid. | 336 |
“Let me guess, that’s never happened before?”
“Well…”
“This is a terrible way to start our honeymoon, dear.”
Augustus sighed and put his credit card away. “Look, when you said you made reservations for us in Jamaica I assumed you’d be paying for it. I only have a $500 credit limit and half of that has already been used for food this month.”
Riss scoffed. “Do you really think I would use something as petty as money? It’s like you don’t even know me at all.”
He didn’t. He just met her two days ago. “Well I can’t pay for it. Why do you think I sought you out in the first place? It wasn’t because I’m rich enough to take a last-minute trip out of the country.”
“Are you saying you only married me because of what I could do for you?” Outside thunder cracked.
Augustus winced. “…I didn’t know I was marrying you.”
“I know.”
“Wait, what?”
Riss laughed and the skies outside brightened. “Darling, I just wanted to see how desperately you wanted my help. I’m still holding you to your vows, though, you did make them. Just take it as your first lesson from me, be careful what promises you make, especially when dealing with otherworldly beings. Trust me, you won’t get a better wedding gift.”
“Um, excuse me, but do you have another card you want to try?”
The newlyweds both looked at the desk clerk. “Darling, would you like to learn how to turn someone into a frog?”
“I do, but I’m not sure it’ll help us get a room.”
“Would you deny a room to someone who could do that?”
“Good point.” It had been a whirlwind romance, but Augustus already felt immense love for this woman. | 29 | You’re an aspiring Warlock who was searching for power in the form of an eldritch pact. When you finally obtained the power, you realised a little too late that you unintentionally exchanged wedding vows with your patron. | 96 |
The Queen lay on the bed, beaten and bruised from the fight I'd just witnessed. In front of her, the Knight paused, raising his sword.
"Strike me down, and this war will finally be end—well? Will you get on with it?"
"I'm trying!" The Knight shifted in the strange dancing movements that he'd used in the battle. I paused, holding my rope close to my chest. I was not to be seen until I was ready, and some of the riggings still needed to be in place. Keeping an eye on the conversation, tied another knot. "Do you know how hard it is to kill someone when you can only move in 'L' shapes?" He moved again, seemingly away from the Queen, but managing to get at least one foot closer. I bit back a giggle. It was rather ridiculous to watch. But still, I had a job to do. Playing out the rope, I felt it hit the ground behind the bed. Still, the Queen and Knight were locked into their little drama.
"Well, would it help if I got up? I really think you should hurry up." The Queen made to move, before falling back down. Her legs weren't working properly. I swarmed down the rope, testing the strength of the rigging I'd set up over the room. It would hold long enough. As soon as my feet touched the ground, I entered the combat and was thus bound by the rules of the game. Edging out in a diagonal from the back of the bed, I raised my arms over my head, still holding the rope. The knight whirled toward me, though very obviously not taking a step.
"Hold there. Who are you? What are you doing here?" Moving on the next diagonal line I could find, I drew closer, my usual hopping gait seeming to unnerve him. "Stop there! I'm warning you!" The Queen met my gaze, her face showing resignation.
"How in the world did you get in?"She said. I made a slight bow, one equal to the other.
"One opponent at a time, My Queen. Always, one opponent at a time." My hands tightened on the rope, muscles bunching in my arms. I was close enough to the Knight now. Bending my knees, I jumped, in one powerful motion, aided by the rope and my arms. Flying through the air, I flashed over the Knight, barely avoiding the sweep of his sword. As I landed on the other side, I turned, watching the Knight topple to the side, dead. A gasp came from the direction of the bed.
"It's you! The deadliest assassin in the land. Have you come to claim your prize?" I turned. Halfway through that sentence, the tone had gone from shocked to sensual. Sure enough, her position was a little suggestive. I shook my head at her.
"Don't be ridiculous. I'm a King in my own right, and have a wonderful Queen of my own. She would never approve. Besides, my employer doesn't pay for extras." Arraying herself properly, the Queen sat up, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed.
"Well, can I at least know the name of my rescuer?" With a smile, and one hand still on the rope, I bowed.
"You're wrong. I am not your rescuer. This war between the two kingdoms still must end. It has ravaged too much, dragged on for too long." I readied myself for another jump, as realization flashed across her face.
"You—" I leapt into the air, soaring over her head. The Queen fell dead at my feet.
"But, I suppose it wouldn't hurt if you know my name now." I stared at the two dead bodies, the rules of the game releasing me. They were both truly dead, the combat had ended.
"I am...King Checkers." | 326 | oh do get on with it!" "I'm trying! Do you have ANY idea how difficult it is to kill someone when you can only move in 'L' shapes?" | 2,076 |
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