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“Dustin, what do you think you’re doing?” Joey asked, watching in horror as I pushed the VHS into my classic player.
“You said you’re cursed,” I replied with a pen between my teeth, fiddling with the tape. “And I can un-curse you if I watch the tape.”
“But she’ll come and kill you!” Joey, the worrywart, insisted.
Around us video cameras were focused on me, and are all streaming to today’s episode titled: >>Ghost Tape Hoax Exposed or I Die<<
I have no intention of dying. I just think Joey was being overdramatic, like always. He’s always freaked out by the paranormal, while I take a much more pragmatic approach. I sought to understand how they worked.
Making first contact, similar to how I approached our Cthulhu episode a couple months back. The cultists were no joke, but since then, my streamer fans also became a different breed. Most were excited at the possibility of my death, mainly to test the theory they started.
“Gotta give the fans what they want.” Looking over at the primary camera, I winked with a smile.
The probes around the television were all ready and an ancient rune summoning circle was drawn between me and the TV. Courtesy of my occult knowledge from my new How-To manual form the cultists.
I pressed play on the tape recorder and took my position, folding my legs under me, waiting for the prick of twisted dark energy to take hold. My favorite part.
The lights in the room flickered. Joey walked back to the computer and gulped nervously as the screen turned on black and white lines that formed into static, then video of a well in the middle of the woods.
“And you said it lives in there?” I peered at the screen. It flicked uncontrollably.
“Yep—”
*JINNNGNGGGG\~* Before he finished, a loud ringing on my cellphone interrupted his train of thought and made us both jump. It was strange because it was on mute before. *RINNNNGGGGGGG\~* Also, I’d never pick such an obnoxious ring tone.
“Are you going to get that?” Joey asked nervously. “That’s the call to tell you: you have only 3 days to live.”
“Naw, they’ll have to talk to me, IRL.” My eyes were fixed on the screen. Something was moving on there. A rotted hand on the side of the well. “Oh! There! It’s coming!” I bounced. Joey shrank behind my computer desk.
A body with long matted black hair crawled from the well, twisting upon itself, moving like a spider to the edge of the screen, then - passing it, as the lights flickered around me.
It landed on the circle gathering mass and energy, pausing as it examined its pale gray rotting hands. “Nani?”
It sounded like a girl. “That’s because the rune circle is making you corporeal!” I explained, giddy at the sight.
The figure pounced on my throat and pinned me backwards.
Cold wet slosh of hair around her broken cotton dress. “死ね!” she screeched, and I held her hand back from clawing my trachea.
“Hey. You're kinda cute.” I smiled up at her.
She paused.
“I’ll let you try to kill me if you give me a smooch.” I insisted, pulling her down and her eyes went wide, recoiling. With all her paranormal force, she pushed off of me, scrambling back towards the TV.
I chased after her.
“Bro, what are you thinking?” Joey grabbed my arm and jerked me back from the black and white girl that zipped into the television.
“I’ve been striking out on tinder for the last five months, and a tape girl might be convenient?” I shrugged off my friend, but was unable to get her before she shrank back into the black and white pixels scrambling into her well. “And now you made me miss the opportunity.”
Crawling over, I tapped on the glass on the TV. The creepy back and white well remained an inert footage of till the whole screen flicked to black. “See? Now, she’s never gonna come out.” I waved exasperated at the screen. "Hey! I have google translate! You wanna go on a date?"
*Nothing.* She might not be interested, or didn't hear me. I tapped again.
“You can’t solve every paranormal problem with you dick, Dustin.” Joey chided, his palm rubbing his forehead.
“That’s what you said about Cathy, and that’s turned out fine,” I pointed, remembering my first time meeting an elder god.
“Exactly! What will Cathy the Eater of Dreams say if you're hitting on another paranormal chick?” Joey insisted.
“She’s not gonna wake back up for a hundred years when the planets are aligned again. I have a hall pass till then.” I shook the TV but no luck. "Dude, do you think I scared her off?"
Joey groaned.
\---
[(Sev Writes Romance with Steam)](https://www.reddit.com/r/SevWagoner/) | 18 | A horror movie where the protagonist is way too interested in how things work to be scared. | 48 |
When the law was first ratified most people didn't think much about it. It probably wouldn't affect them all that much. Another decimal to the inflation, perhaps. The numbers rose cautiously as it turned out that the money was actually being delivered to the recipients. One after another the news stories were plastered all over the web.
People began to pay attention. In the second wave the terminally ill and those with nothing to live for signed up and took the deal. The people who would not have had any more children, and were unlikely to contribute to the overpopulation or workforce in a significant way. From an economics perspective - the people that didn't matter. Not at all what the law intended. But the scientists had predicted this, and said the governments had to stay the course. This was just "a rainy day".
In the third wave, victims of abusive relationships and brainwashed members of cults signed up to give away their lives so that their oppressors could have more money. The people choosing euthanasia were otherwise healthy, for the most part. But the money was certainly "going in the wrong direction" - to people who were mostly of unsavory character. Still the governments held the course. They implemented various vague programs and additional checks to make sure victims weren't being told to die, but it was mostly for show.
The floodgates were open now. The major religions of the world saw the turning tide and, much like their cousins in the third wave, rapidly reconsidered their stance on euthanasia. A total of five million delivered to the priests and imams and other charlatans of the world, for the price of one member in their religious circle? Suddenly "god doesn't want you to suffer" and "self-sacrifice is a ticket to heaven" pamphlets filled the places of worship. And the religions got richer than ever before as more people than usual died because of them.
In the final wave, capitalism arrived with their boots strapped. While the madness had moved through the terminally ill, the indoctrinated and the organized indoctrinated, capitalism had quietly been running the numbers and then running the trials. Entire towns were built in a matter of months. Baby factories. One million for the dad, one million for the mom, three million for the corporation. With all the parents' needs taken care of.
Parents, as it turns out, had no problem at all convincing their children to take the deal, in the ten years they had before the child was eligible for euthanasia. Corporate towns trying to maximize profit competed in how poorly they could treat the children within legal limits. And the corporations lobbied the lawmakers to reduce those limits. Then came the special schools telling children to off themselves at the age of ten. Special programs for those who resisted.
In the end, people were having more children than they ever had before. In fact the law promoted a lifestyle where families had more children than they wanted, and sent some off to die. The life of a child or two was worth it for a life free of financial burden. Then, at last, the law was officially revoked, counterproductive in its nature. A generation of unwanted children - born to die - but too young to be taken advantage of before the law was revoked. They, at least, turned out not as cruel as the world that had borne them.
A period of self-reflection for the human species. Was there perhaps more value to life than the monetary investment and output it represented? If the goal was to reduce overpopulation, why weren't they just paying people not to have kids? Regardless, when push came to shove, the inhumane nature of humanity had been revealed. People were expendable to those who benefited from death.
Money before family. A collective scar carried only by those who cared in the first place. As for the rest - those abusers, cult leaders, religious leaders, corporations, immoral parents and more - they simply shrugged and went about their day a little richer.
If you're looking for a moral to this story, you won't find it in the final sentence. | 144 | It's the year 2035. The world is suffering from overpopulation, drought, and famine. A law is installed, under which everyone over 10 years old, can divide 5 milion dollars over a maximum of 5 people of their choice, if they have themselves euthanised. | 203 |
*"Threw a soda at one of our trainees because the ice was 'too sharp.' 0/5 would not serve again."*
*"Talked on her cellphone while ordering. 2/5."*
*"Had an associate bring her seven pairs of size 6.5 shoes from the back, yelled when they would not fit. She came in wearing size 8s. 1/5."*
Karina read the reviews laid out in black and white, feeling her blood boil at each remembered slight. She couldn't believe it. All this time, all her work to try and *improve* local businesses. And this is what they thought of her. Had she not been so diligent in her reviews, she might never have stumbled onto this site where they *badmouthed* paying customers.
An introspective person might have reflected on these comments. Had a brief moment to realize that if all the world smells like shit, maybe it's time to check your own shoes. But Karina knew better. Introspection was a trick used by people too scared or whipped to make the world a better place.
She raised her hand and snapped her fingers toward the circulation desk. A confused librarian stood, studied her for a moment, and then took a steadying breath before walking over.
"Can I help you, ma'am?"
Karina's lip twitched at the ma'am, but she remained composed. "Yes, this website has all kinds of mean things written about me."
The librarian leaned over and studied the screen for a moment, then stood with a practiced smile. "I see. You may be able to contact the website if you are concerned about the content."
"But other people in your library could read these things. You should remove it."
"I'm sorry, ma'am, but we cannot control what other people share online."
Now her jaw was set, eyes fuming. "So you are okay exposing your patrons to these horrible lies? This garbage?! I thought libraries were about learning."
"I understand. I can have IT look at blocking the site, but it would still be available other places. Again, we do not control what is posted." The librarian's voice remained a steady, customer-service monotone. This made Karina apoplectic.
"This is not the kind of service I spend my tax dollars on! I am a paying citizen in this town, and I expect to be treated as such. I pay your salary, little girl!"
Karina stood over the computer, finger pointing and jabbing at the unmoved librarian.
"Ma'am, this is a library. I'm going to have to ask you to leave if you can't remain quiet."
"I pay for this building!" Karina cried.
The librarian sighed and walked back to her desk, grabbing the phone and speaking a few words before turning to her own computer.
Karina had just enough time to see a new review appear on the page before security escorted her out.
*"She knows. And she really is as bad as you warned. 0/5, no library card for you."*
Edit: formatting and typos. On mobile, so sorry for errors! | 1,794 | On her quest to badmouth another small business online, a woman stumbles upon a Yelp-like forum where service employees in her city rate customers. She currently has a rating of 1.4. | 3,676 |
In the crossroads, Mike crossed his arms and waited for midnight. As that fateful hour arrived, a man appeared just beyond his corner of vision, dressed in black, with a wide brim hat.
"What do you desire?" He spoke, his voice gravelly and deep.
Mike crossed his arms. "I sold my soul for Elton John tickets and they were behind a pillar, I want my soul back."
The man moved with a stilted manner. "Do you have a receipt?" He asked, shrugging oddly rigid hands.
"I went to half of the show, I have my ticket stubs?" Mike asked, opening his wallet to get the stubs. The Man in Black murmured.
"One minute." His movements went loose, his limbs clattering like wooden blocks as he sort of dangled there on his feet. Above him, a conspicuous cloud in the night sky fell into the street like a wooden board, and there behind it was a ball of fire dipped in gold, a halo of rotten wings rotating around it.
Satan lowered himself to the street as Mike screamed relentlessly in terror. Satan attempted to calm him, unable to get through the screaming, before Elton John appeared out of a fountain of fire.
"Cheers, darling, your transaction has gone through! Half a show I guess means half your soul back, so I suppose you could live a normal life as a writer or low level political - oh dear, you're still screaming." Elton regarded the man, who was doubled over, screaming hoarsely.
Elton turned to Satan. "Look, I'm not dealing with this. You gave me Bennie and the Jets and I pulled your ass out of the fire in Brisbane. Send me back to my summer cottage. The nice one." He crossed his arms in his kashmere coat and adjusted his bedazzled, diamond sunglasses. He vanished.
Satan spoke. "Buddy, buddy. Calm down. Why are you so upset? I don't do refunds often. Am I really the freakiest thing you've ever seen? I've seen your browser history, man. Even in incognito."
Mike calmed, wiping his eyes. "You did?"
Satan flourished with a speedy rotation of his halo. "I know everyone's browser history. It's the one place God can't see. So yes, you can trust me. Half a soul."
"Can't I get half of the soul back? I asked for good seats!" Mike complained, shrugging his arms.
Satan's golden, brilliant flame dimmed. "Nnn- No. I can't have every Joe, Adele, and Sir Patrick coming here and getting full refund because of caveat empor. I'm literally the father of the concept of lying, man. That's my deal. That's my thing. I'm also the mother of it but - look. Half a soul. Lots of people have half a soul. You'll be fine."
"Won't I go to half hell?" Mike asked softly.
"Look around you, what do you call this?" | 73 | You sold your soul to the devil. But it was a shitty deal and now you want a refund.. which is surprising easy | 122 |
"So what are you in for?" As he asked, the man across from me didn't even look over. Copying his position, I laid down on my own bed staring at the ceiling. I knew the answer to his question wouldn't be what he wanted, and for a moment I amused myself trying to think of a suitable crime.
"Well?" The gruffness of the voice had increased ten-fold. He was one of those types you didn't really want to make angry.
"I stole some stamps. You know, the fancy ones they keep behind glass in the shops. Picked a few up when the employee wasn't looking."
"What?" In my mind's eye, I saw the man get up, swinging his legs over the bed's edge. After another second, I could see it happening in real-time, out of the corner of my vision. "You got put in here, in the tightest security Lord Vakta could manage, because of stamps?" Mirroring his motions once again, I waved a hand dismissively.
"Oh, goodness no. Not because of the stamps. That sentence is long over. No, I just have a bad habit of not staying imprisoned. I always get out, one way or another."
"Why? Wouldn't it be better just to serve your time?" There was genuine curiosity on his face.
"Well, you see, originally I did it rather by accident. Same with the second time. Then, they just kept tacking time on, until I would be spending the rest of my life in jail. And I don't really want to do that." Again my Sight activated, showing me a few seconds of the future. It was absolutely useless at seeing anything further, but as a self-preservation method, it was the best. At just the right moment, I ducked as the man's large left hand shot out for my neck. He looked baffled, swinging around with his right. Fortunately, I wasn't there anymore, and all he hit was air.
"You're going to get me out of here with you, right." It wasn't really a question, as he stood up, looming over me, abandoning the grabbing plan. I sighed. It wasn't going to be a very restful night if I said no...
"Well, you see, it doesn't really—"
"I don't like what I'm hearing." Neither did I, to be honest, he was actually growling deep in his throat.
"I can give you a fair shot. But I can't promise anything more." He stared down at me until I glistened with sweat like one of those heroes on a romance novel cover. Slowly, too slowly for my liking, he nodded, settling back onto his bed.
"Can't really ask for more than that in this life, can you. Sometimes I wish I'd had more fair shots..." I stopped really listening as he kept talking, spinning the story that he was here for a crime he didn't commit, and he really was a swell guy and all that guff. I'd heard it often enough from my cellmates, and who knows, maybe some of them were telling the truth.
———————
It had been three weeks. Three weeks of my cellmate, three weeks of the food, three weeks of the guards treating us like we were less than human. And for three weeks, I'd studied the magic suppressors. The larger ones were on the walls, humming slightly, not active at the moment. They only existed in case the smaller personal ones broke somehow. Right now, there were four mages in the cafeteria, each with a small black box strapped to their wrists. That was how they were kept here, completely cut off from their magic. Luckily the Sight didn't register on the aggressive magic scale, or I'd have one myself. And rather usefully, I knew exactly how to break their suppressors. You pick things up when you've been in enough prisons. I wanted the mages for a distraction, but I needed the large magic suppressors gone at least in one room. That was where my cellmate came in. I'd given him his instructions— my Sight activated, showing what would happen in the next few minutes.
Sliding out from my table, I wandered over to the mages, humming under my breath. And not just to be nonchalant. There was a specific frequency to that hum. One that interfered with the magic suppressors. If you got enough people to hum it... I nodded to the mages, and one by one they took up the sound. No one noticed, as right at that moment, my cellmate started up from his seat, shouting to his group of toadies. They instantly swarmed the walls, breaking the larger suppressors with shear force. You had to smash them into tiny pieces, but it was a method almost as effective as humming. The guards started moving, but it was too late. Another vision flashed across my mind, and I dropped to the ground as a fireball spun over my head.
Leaving the mages to their task, I crawled across the floor, my Sight telling me where I should be in the next five minutes. And that was anywhere but this cafeteria. It was about to get very messy in here. Popping up next to my cellmate, I shouted in his ear.
"Time to go! Get me a uniform!" He spun, roundhousing a guard, dropping him with a single punch. Stripping both me and the guard took only seconds, and as I put his uniform on, my cellmate dressed the guard in my uniform. It would at least confuse the issue of identity.
No longer crawling, I grabbed my cellmate's arm, dragging him away from the cafeteria, just as the first mage finally lost control. Blood spattered behind us; there was a reason they were imprisoned. A slight pang of regret spiked through my heart, but I had little fondness for the guards here. As we ran through the halls, I kept my head down, trying to look like I was simply escorting a prisoner away from the fight. Never mind that we were a very disparate size match. Hopefully, they would be too worried about the riot in the cafeteria.
It took only a few more twists and turns before we were at the doors. Here was the true challenge, and the reason I'd warmed up to the idea of bringing my cellmate with me. He had Berserker blood and we would need it before those doors would open. After all, three rows of guards, ten guards to a row, wouldn't be an easy fight. As we charged, he grinned at me before letting out a roar. My Sight coming in fitful flashes, I dodged through the melee, trying to avoid the weapons and fists, reaching up when I got near certain guards.
At the doors now, laden with key rings, I began unlocking the giant multi-keyholed lock that kept them closed. There was magic here, it sparked against my fingers. It would burn anyone who wasn't a guard if they weren't careful. My vision splitting between the future and the past, I skipped backwards, before taking one step to the left, as a sheet of fire splashed up the door, reaching tounges of flame towards me.
"Come on!" The roar was both guttural and loud, as my cellmate pushed against the lock, the flames not bothering him one bit. Behind him, the bodies of the scattered guards lay on the ground. An ear-shattering crack came from the doors and with another loud cry, the berserker tore them from their hinges. Not how I would have done it, but effective. I scurried out after him into the night, breathing once again the free air.
We ran for leagues that night without stopping. When I started to lag behind, he swooped me up, throwing me over his shoulder. Undignified? Yes. But it was a nice break. Finally, we stopped, and my cellmate bent over, his breath coming in ragged gasps. I wriggled down from his shoulder, about to start the spiel I'd had time to think of while we were running. All about how we should go our separate ways, it would be easier to shake any pursuit, all of that. But as he looked up at me, the berserker rage falling away, I couldn't. Oddly, though he'd spent most of our time together threatening to kill me, I'd grown fond of him. Besides, it would be useful to have some muscle around.
"I suppose we should go our separate ways now." He said, looking a little forlorn. I raised a hand, smiling.
"Now, let's not be too hasty. We do make a good team. Maybe we should stick together? Just for a bit." I said, pausing to gauge his reaction. It was the first time I'd seen him properly smile. Not the savage grin he usually used, but a genuine smile. "Now if you're in agreement, we need to know each other's names. Can't keep calling you cellmate out in the world can I?" He chuckled, reaching out a hand.
"Name's Liagol. What's yours?" Taking his hand, I shook it.
"Me? Oh, I'm Nobody. But as that's not much of a name, you can call me Tom. A pleasure to be working with you Liagol." | 321 | You are a criminal locked up in one of the tightest security prisons on the planet. Your crime was extremely minor, and the original sentence is long over. You just keep getting put in progressively more secure prisons for escaping the previous one. | 653 |
Everybody else is so painfully unaware. We’re about a month out from aliens dominating the Earth, and yet this is the third time Sam’s asked me what Vera’s up to this weekend. Sam claims their interest is purely platonic. The numerous vulgar thoughts of theirs which I desperately yearn to unknow would beg to differ. It’s honestly a bit hilarious, because Vera doesn’t even realize Sam exists. Sam has no shot. I’m not gonna tell them, though. If I did tell them, would they stop having those horrendous daydreams during Math? Maybe I should tell them…
No. I can’t. It’s against my sacred self-assigned code of honor.
I’m currently on my way to the bathroom on the East side of the school. The West bathroom is closer, but Liam is currently freaking out in that one. It may or may not have to do with that bee hive which has set up camp in the gymnasium. Good for them, they’d been struggling with the temperatures outside. The gym is a prime piece of real estate. I’m surprised the squirrels let them in. Anyways, I don’t really desire to have a run in with Liam. He’ll just act all tough and call me a freak, despite the fact that he’s slowly dying inside.
On my way to the East wing, I pass by a girl freaking out. If I was a kinder human being, I would inform her that she scored 100% on her Physics test. The dazed guy she’s talking to should probably be a bit concerned. One more F, and he’s gonna fail the class.
The East bathroom is thankfully empty. I don’t actually need to use it. I’m just here because the bathrooms are aptly positioned at the furthest distance possible from the classrooms. Half the school doesn’t know where they are, and at this point they are too afraid to ask. I’d tell them, but it’s against my code.
I have a study hall right now. Most students spend this period talking to friends, or sitting in the library alone thinking about how they should do work. I don’t really see the need to do either. My study hall is much better spent getting updates from the squirrels on the state of The Conflict.
Their numbers are strong. Still, the dogs are a formidable foe. Honestly, maybe I should start siding with the dogs instead. I’ve heard every sick thought human beings have. The world might be better off with the dogs in charge. | 19 | As a psychic you learn a lot of interesting things. You know that your best friend is in love with your older sister, that the school bully is afraid of bees, that dogs are secretly aliens trying to take over the world and squirrels are the only thing that can stop them... | 162 |
The chosen communicators exchanged glances at being asked this question, unsure on just how much trust they should put into the species before them. The meeting was arranged not long after first contact, and included a variety of peoples. A individual was chosen to represent each major country, some doctors, some leaders, scientist, biologist, the list went on. After group discussion, a women came up to the stand with an answer. She was not only a doctor experienced in the human body and our species history’s, but a mother that knew the answer personally.
“Our species in relation to overall life on our planet is very new. Only a few thousand years ago we were built of simple family groups, and it was only by staying in the group that we were able as individuals to survive. Because of this, our species grew in number. The need for family also aids in our species urge to reproduce, which is the end goal for not only humans but for all lifeforms on our planet.”
The aliens looked mortified.
“Your planets life is exponential?” One asked.
At this the woman answered with confusion, “of course, the energy for such comes from our sun. Plants get energy from sunlight, herbivores and omnivores get energy from plants, and carnivores get energy from animal life. Water is another such substance that all our life requires, with these elements life on earth increases.” She gave a rather simple explanation, unsure what knowledge the aliens did or did not possess.
“our species is strictly matter based, we are built off of what the planet directly had.” An alien explained. “To be powered by a star is,, unheard of. That amount of energy has never been useable.” A human inventor made a note to NOT show them solar power.
“So your species is finite?” The woman questioned in awe.
The aliens went quiet again.
The humans of the group that craved war were wildly writing notes.
A biologist in the back was coping with the fact that we are space rats.
The woman on the stand even knew these guys were easy pickings.
The aliens though? Still horrified. Teleporting back onto the ship and fleeing the newly discovered “war apes”.
And now that humans had something killable and smart to focus their violence on, the human species itself felt more like a family. Now it only meant research and rebuilding a few stranded alien ships before they payed the aliens a visit, for “research” purposes of course. | 17 | "Please explain why humans place such value on the concept of 'family'. We do not understand the advantage of linking monetary wealth and social standing to genetic lineage." | 74 |
"Well, this is awkward," I said.
I poked what was left of the princess with the tip of my sword. The weapon sunk a little into her skin, but there wasn't much blood left to lose. Much of it had already drained from her body, seeing as how she was in two pieces.
I glared at the dragon, who was currently curled up across the cave, nibbling on the other half of her highness, or rather what had recently been her highness. The oversized reptile had the decency to look faintly abashed.
"You said it was fine," the dragon whined. "Said it was fine! You said if she died, it wouldn't be a loss!"
I withdrew my sword from the corpse, inspecting the blade. Absently, I pulled a rag from one of my belt pouches and rubbed the end of the weapon, before putting the blade away.
"I meant… that she, and her entire family, are a blight on society, and I really wouldn't care if something unfortunate happened to her. But we needed her intact for the plan to work, you know?"
"I was hungry," the dragon grumbled, as she swallowed a bite of the princess. "Very hungry."
"You had an entire pig yesterday," I replied. "I expected you to control your appetite."
The dragon flapped her wings in indignation. The cave wasn't large enough for them to unfurl fully, but I still had to resist the urge to duck when one of them came a bit too close to my head.
"That was yesterday! Yesterday! Today is today!"
I shook my head. "I should have gotten you two pigs… the farmer was already going to miss the one, it's not like more would have mattered. Never mind. Too late, now."
"There's some of her left," the dragon pointed out, jabbing a wingtip to one side. "Some of her! Kind of left. You can bring her back!"
I sighed. "The king is expecting his daughter alive and intact, not a discount slightly-used version. Unless you can vomit the rest of her up, and we can find a necromancer… "
The dragon looked down at the partially-eaten portion of princess in her claws. Her eyes crossed, and she rubbed a claw against her throat.
"No, don't do that," I said, raising my hands hastily. "We'll figure something out."
The dragon shrugged her forelimbs. "Could always conquer the kingdom. Conquering is good."
"I'm not disparaging your capabilities," I said drily, "but we ruled out that option in the planning stages, remember? Too messy. The idea was to kidnap the princess, then I'd bring her back for the reward. It was a good plan. Until you got… hungry."
"Sorry," the dragon mumbled. "Sorry?"
I rubbed my face with a gloved hand. "Okay. Let's talk through this. We can salvage this. We just need a princess. A living princess."
I paused. I stared at my draconic friend, speculatively.
The dragon moved her head from side to side. "Uh, why are you looking at me like that? Looking at me funny."
I nodded slowly. "You can shapeshift, right?"
"Can shapeshift," the dragon said, pronouncing the syllables carefully. "Can. It is a thing I can do. Definitely do."
I folded my arms across my chest. "But you're bad at it."
"I wouldn't say bad," the dragon said, in a plaintive tone. "Not bad. Just… not good?"
I gestured at the late princess. "You left her head intact, so there's a model for the face. We've got about three days before she starts to really go bad. Better start practising."
The dragon whined.
"Come on," I encouraged, "it'll be fine, I know you can do it. Look, if you work hard, if you get this down, I'll get more pigs for you, okay?"
As always, the prospect of bribery and food immediately lifted my companion's spirits. Her expression shifted, and her head visibly perked up.
I smiled. "Maybe a cow or two!" | 281 | The Princess is dead. Eaten by the very dragon you had been sent to save her from. However, as you realize that the wise and ancient beast knows shape-shifting magic, and would very much like an entire royal treasury for it's hoard, a scheme begins to form... | 828 |
“Mike, seriously man, you smell like death,” said my boss Lou. “You’ll have to wash better or we’re going to have to let you go. Hygiene is critical to customer service; we can’t have you repelling customers this way.”
Admittedly, I only got the job at the comic book store because the interview was conducted over zoom. I had hoped my odor may mix with that of the clientele, but I quickly learned that the stench of comic book lovers was only a mean stereotype.
“I’ve told you before, it’s a medical condition,” I replied. “It’s called bromhidrosis. I can manage it somewhat through copious amounts of deodorant and cologne, but there’s no real way around it.”
“Well, Mike, you’re a nice guy, but I can’t afford to lose business like this,” said Lou as he ran his hands through his thinning hair. “I’m afraid we’re going to have to let you go. Best of luck, son.”
Living life with bromhidrosis was lonely. I stunk. There was no two ways about it. I couldn’t keep a steady relationship because of my odor, and even my family could hardly stand to be around me without plugging their noses—and that method had diminishing returns. My smell was, to put it lightly, powerful. No matter how hard I scrubbed, no matter how many doctors I saw, no matter how many pills I took, no matter how much I wished, no matter how much I cried, there was no getting away from the sickening stench that possessed me. It consumed my life, and I became no more than a malodorous husk of a man.
And then the zombies came.
One benefit of not having been able to foster strong relationships: you don’t get too sad when those acquaintances die. Sure, the first few deaths were tough, but why let it get me down? ‘We barely knew ye.’ I soon learned that my fetor was an opportunity. You see, zombies hunt by smell; they smell the aroma of life and are beckoned to it like a cartoon character to a pie on a windowsill. Due to my rotten funk, zombies assumed I was one of them—not exactly flattering, but fortuitous nonetheless.
Because the zombies didn’t recognize me as food, I was allowed to move freely among them. I soon began taking on jobs as a scout. Survivors would contract with me to head into an infested section of the city to secure food or other critical supplies that no one else could get to.
While my financial outlook improved greatly, the surviving humans of the world still found me repulsive. The apocalypse was good for business, but did nothing for my search for love and camaraderie.
That is, until the trip to the mausoleum.
I had received an assignment to infiltrate a certain mausoleum that was—obviously—overrun by zombies. My benefactor had hoped to secure the cremains of his wife so that he may set out to look for other survivors with her by his side. I was touched by the sentimental nature of the task—to witness that kind of desperate love that I would never experience moved me greatly. I agreed to perform the job without charge.
Upon arrival at the cemetery, nothing was out of the ordinary. A large hoard of zombies roamed the grounds their moans and groans reached a hum not dissimilar from that of a hoard of locusts. Despite their numbers, I was, as usual, able to saunter through without issue.
But then, things got weird.
I located the mausoleum indicated by my benefactor only to notice that everything surrounding the structure was dead. The remainder of the cemetery still was abloom with flowers and green grass, but everything within 50 yards of the mausoleum was brown and dead. A dark cloud loomed overhead, and I soon noticed that the zombies appeared to avoid this place as well—giving wide berth to the structure.
I decided to approach the building and complete my task, I decided I could not let my benefactor down despite the sinking feeling I got as I approached the small white building. The gate was rusted, and I was able to break off the lock to enter the room. The room was no bigger than a hallway, various doors had been broken open as the previously deceased had forced their way into the land of the living. Spider webs had overtaken the corner where the urn of my seeking was set. I approached the urn and picked up a picture beset by the urn. She was a beautiful woman; smiling in the picture embracing my benefactor. Neither looked at the camera, but faced each other fully enveloped by love.
My heart ached as I gazed at the photo. This was what I never had had—would never have—and in that moment I wanted nothing more than to love and be loved.
And then a foul stench filled the room and suffocated me as if a blanket had been wrapped around my head. The air was thick with an odor that can only be described as death. The room darkened as a presence filled the doorway behind me. I turned to see a cloaked body standing motionless.
“Who—who are you?” I choked out. “I should warn you, I’m armed,” I said, even though I wasn’t. My stench was supposed to be the only defense I needed out here and clearly I was outgunned.
“Do not fear me,” said the figure. “I mean you no harm. I only wish to speak to you, to get to know you. I fear it has been too long.”
“I’m sorry do I know you?” I said as I began to regain my sense of stability. “Remove your hood so that I can see.”
“Unfortunately, you do not know me,” said the figure with a sigh, “but I know you. I’ve been watching you, and trying to build the courage to face you. When you came to this place, I knew now would be my best opportunity.”
“What are you talking about?” I said as my palms began to sweat. It was rather unpleasant to learn that a mysterious, cloaked person had been watching me.
“Michael. Haven’t you ever wondered why you do not feel at home in this world? Why they don’t accept you?” The figure asked sympathetically.
“Of course. But the answer is because I stink like hell! I have a condition that no doctor can cure because they have no idea what is causing it,” I said. I then began to yell, “I can’t get close to anyone, I can’t keep a job, even zombies won’t get near me. Do you know how lonely that is?!”
“I understand, Michael. I regret that you’ve lead such a lonely existence to this point. In my defense I thought it would be good for you. To live among them that is. To learn about their lives, to know what it is to love and be loved, to know why they mourn. I wanted to give you a chance at humanity so that you might better understand your role,” said the figure. It’s head hung low after finishing its remarks.
“What are you talking about?” I said. “Remove your hood so that I can see you!”
“Very well,” said the figure. It removed its hood to reveal a stark white skull, two deep black voids stood where its eyes should have been. I felt as though I was staring into the abyss; the feeling of vertigo struck me so hard I lost my balance and fell to the cold, dusty ground.
“What—what the fuck are you?” I stuttered. | 392 | a disease that causes a horrible stench from your body. That was quite bad for most of your life... until the zombie apocalypse begun. Zombies mostly ignore you, thus you professional opportunities have broaded in the post-apocalyptic world. | 2,166 |
Use your brain.
What time was it? I looked at my watch, 8pm EST. I was tired. I just landed from my trip to Moscow, and I knew it would be a few days before I readjusted to the time zone. Oh well, it was worth it.
I sauntered through the airport towards baggage claim. My entire thought process was to get my bags and catch a taxi home. My nice little apartment would be welcoming to me after this long trip.
I didn’t make it too far until I saw a man in a black suit holding up a sign that said, “Mr Motus.” I headed straight for the man. I just shook my head as a little smile cracked his face, “Seriously Jim? I have to debrief tonight?”
He shrugged, “You did a good job, they want to hear about it.” I just rolled my eyes. “Well fine, just we need to stop and get some food, burger, tacos’ I don’t care. Airplane food sucks and I want American food.”
He smiled, “That I can do.”
We got my bag and he led me out to the parking lot where a SUV was at. We popped in and headed to the nearest fast food joint before heading towards the government facility.
Jim looked at me as we traveled, “So did you actually get more pictures and autographs?”
I grinned, “You know what I do and you find that part fascinating?” He chuckled, “It's the greatest cover story of all time and honestly your collection has grown.” I smiled, “I even got the Premiere of Georgia’s signature and picture. He was in town for a conference.”
Jim laughed, “Of course you did. Dude whenever you retire, that is seriously something you should keep doing.”
I smiled, “I will admit, it is cool and honestly a few have heard of me before. I got a reputation.”
Jim grinned, “Is that because of your photo session with the President of Portugal?”
I smiled, “Honestly, how would I know they were a bigger geek than me. I had to give him my shirt. He liked it that much.”
We laughed.
We got to the gate and got ushered into the facility. It was a multi level government compound used by the Department of Agriculture and Department of Energy. Well and us.
I looked at Jim, “You giving me a ride home after?” He nodded, “Leave your bags, I got you covered.”
He paused “oh, and you get to meet your new liaison Elisha?”
I raised an eyebrow, “What happened to Marty?” He smiled, “Got promoted, Cynthia left for the west coast. Everyone moved up.” I smiled, “And you?” He chuckled, “Still here.”
I rolled my eyes as we went inside. Since I never traveled with my official ID card I had to put my palm on a scanner then look into an iris scanner. The computers beeped green and the guards ushered me in.
Jim took me to a debrief room, which was honestly just an office. Inside sat Marty, and who I assumed was Elisha.
Marty smiled, “Welcome back Ed. How was your flight?” I just smiled, “Same, long.” He nodded and shook my hand, “And this is my replacement Elisha, she is a level 6 and will be working with you.”
I smiled, “Nice to meet you Ed. Your file is an interesting read.” I just smiled, “I thought it was boring honestly.” She smiled, “Not to me.” I just chuckled, “Thanks”
Marty sat me down at a chair around a small table. Some water was there along with a few pads, and the normal recording items.
He smiled, “We saw your results Ed, amazing work.”
I shrugged, ‘He was a billionaire despot who wasn’t healthy in the least. His mind will be muddled for a long time now.”
Marty smiled, but Elisha looked at me with curiosity. I smiled at her, “Ask. I know my file isn’t complete.”
Marty chuckled, “That isn’t why she is looking at you.” I glanced at him but she looked at him, “Yea unreadable even at this distance.”
I looked at them both but Marty smiled, “Elisha is a mind reader. One of the best too. She can hear someone's thoughts from miles away, as long as she knows the target.”
I looked at her, “Wow, and you are only level 6?”
She nodded, “I am, which always made me wonder why they have you at level 9.”
I raised my eyebrow but she smiled, “Now I know. Not only can you move things with your mind, you can’t be tracked.”
I nodded and held up a tube of lip balm, “It's why I always carry this. Marty always knows where I am at.” He laughed, “Yes yes we do.”
Elisha looked at me, “While interesting, I still don’t get the level 9 though. We have other telekinetics who aren’t rated past 7”
I smiled, “Well I am very good at covertly moving others bodies and such.” She nodded, “Okay, but I watched one woman pinch a person's nose and mouth, suffocating them, nothing new.”
Marty laughed out loud but I smiled, “Marty, you holding back?” He just shook his head but I smiled at Elisha, “Elisha, I have been studying the human body since I was in this program. If I can get within a decent distance, I know how to move people's organs to cause problems or even death that can’t be detected by any doctors out there.”
Her eyes went wide, “So that billionaire really had a stroke!?!”
Marty smiled and I grinned, “Yes, it’s why he had a stroke. A muddled mind is worthless. He will live his life out being tended to by the best nurses and doctors money can buy. But he won’t be in politics anymore.”
She smiled, “Well this just made my job a hell of a lot easier.”
Marty laughed, “See I told you Elisha, you are getting one of the best there is.” He paused and looked at me, “Although a bit dorky and weirdly into collecting signatures of dignitaries.”
I just feigned shock, “All this time Marty and you think I am dorky!” We all laughed, but Elisha nodded, “We can work with this.”
Marty nodded, “Okay we will get a full report in a couple days Ed, get home and get some sleep.”
I grinned, “Thanks and Elisha, welcome to the team. We are a bit strange but we do good work here.”
She nodded and we shook hands. I headed out to the hallway where Jim was waiting for me.
He smiled, “You ready?” I nodded, “Oh yes. 3 days off and I’m going to relax the entire time.” he just rolled his eyes and took me home, finally the end of a long trip. | 198 | "Your only ability is telekinesis, and yet the system said you have a threat rating of 9? How is that possible?" "Well, you know that my power is to grab and move things with my mind, right?" "Yeah." "Well, that includes the internal organs of anyone near me." | 509 |
“Ok look, I know we have all said some hurtful things to each other during this meeting, but we just need to remember that our hate shouldn’t be directed at our fellow villains but instead at the heroes that keep tricking us. Now, are we ready to continue this meeting like adults?” Skull-licker said, the skull masked man tapping the wooden desk in front of him as the villains mumbled amongst themselves, still throwing the odd glare at each other.
“Tricking you, maybe. Leave me out of this pity party. If you lot can’t handle your superheroes, then maybe you should all just quit and let me take over. I hear Frosty Leopard is hiring if you need a job. Don’t worry, I’ll give you all a good reference.” Shaker said, the villainess grinning as she leaned back in her chair, always happy to have all the eyes on her at these meetings.
“Oh yes, tell us again how many grand exploits you have done in the last month. Last I heard the earthquake causing, Shaker was left shaken by a band of rookies. I heard you were even going to squeal when they threatened you with jail time. You’re lucky to even be seated here.” Bound Cannon knocked the grin off Shaker’s face as she returned to an upright position in her chair, her hands gripping the table as the room shook.
“EASY, EASY. What did I just say? We handle this like adults. None of us has done anything remotely evil in the last month, and that is because of those blasted heroes. They keep changing their outfits to trick us. Did you know last week I fought Captain Fever while he was wearing his sidekick’s clothing? That’s weird, isn’t it?”
“Like he was wearing an outfit that looked like his sidekick’s clothing?” Shaker asked, stopping her tremors as the tension in the room slowly drifted away, now replaced with confusion.
“No, like he just wore his sidekicks’ clothes. Do you know how disturbing that is? It was about five sizes too small; I shouldn’t have to see that while I’m fighting him. What he did to my eyes during that fight is more villainous than anything I could ever come up with.”
“So, you expected to fight a sidekick only to get blindsided by a hero in tight clothing? Interesting.” A quiet voice in the back of the room spoke up, his voice followed by the shuffling of papers.
“Oh, Mr. Fisher, I forgot you were even here.” Skull-licker and the others turned to face the older gentlemen. The man’s fingers shaking as he placed the papers down, staring at the group from behind his thick squared glasses.
“Why is he even here? I thought he was retired. Are we keeping him around as some sort of good luck charm?” Bound Cannon laughed, only to feel a large weight press against his back, pinning his cheek against the table he was seated at.
“I don’t appreciate it when you younglings get mouthy. It’s fine when you keep it between yourselves, but you should remember it’s an honor that I even serve on this sad excuse of a villainy board. You lot couldn’t hold a candle to us, which is why I’m still here to clean up your messes. I should be in Cuba with the rest of the old board, but unfortunately, I drew the short straw.” Mr. Fisher released his ability, allowing Bound Cannon to sit back up.
“I’m sorry for their lack of manners. I…. We have been trying to reform the board to its full potential, but in our defense, you didn’t leave us with a lot of tools. When I came to take over, I found the building burnt to the ground.” Skull-licker argued, only to flinch when Mr. Fisher raised a hand. Thankfully, the older gentlemen was only adjusting his tie before he spoke.
“It was necessary that we got rid of any evidence of our crimes before leaving. We wanted to make sure nobody would ruin our retirements with a warrant for our arrests. Not that we should have had to leave you with supplies. No one gave us a building to use when we formed the board. You at least got access to our funds.”
“Ugh. I appreciate you are a talented villain, Mr. Fisher, but none of that helps us right now. If I wanted to listen to an old person tell me how much harder their life was than mine, I would go visit my parents. What’s next? Going to tell me you had to walk five hundred miles to get to school?” Shaker felt the pressure hit her back, but unlike Bound Cannon, she was prepared for it. Her hands gripping the table’s edge, keeping herself upright, pushing back against the force until finally she lost her grip, slamming through the table, sending small pieces of wood across the room.
“you lasted ten seconds. A decent attempt. No, next I was planning on telling you how to fix your little problem. Though, If I am truly that unappreciated, I will take my ideas elsewhere.”
“You have an idea? WHY DIDN’T YOU SAY SO?” Shaker hissed, dusting herself off as she rose from the ground, staggering back towards her seat.
“No one asked.”
The room was silent as everyone waited for Mr. Fisher to explain his plan. Soon a minute passed and still the room was silent until finally Skull-licker spoke. “Um, mind telling us the plan?”
“Sure. We send a letter to the heroes board telling them it’s unfair.”
“That’s it?” Skull-licker waited for something more, but nothing came.
“Should we also send them a fruit basket, too? Maybe film us all holding hands while singing ‘We are the world.’ Think that will fix our problem, too?” As soon as the last word left Shaker’s lips, she fell through her chair, snapping it as that familiar pressure pushed down on her.
“You talk a lot for someone who could be replaced by a few tectonic plates. Heroes are all about fairness in battle. Which is why we should exploit their heroic natures for our own benefit.”
“I mean, it could work. You could have gotten badly hurt by Captain Fever. Imagine if you were expecting a sidekick powered punch only to get a party punch from him?” Bound Cannon said, spurring on the conversation.
“Exactly, and what if Shaker made too strong of an earthquake thinking that the heroes she was fighting could handle the damage she caused? She could level a city if people with the wrong powers were there to stop her. It would cause billions in damages and thousands of lost lives.” Skull-licker added.
“Heh, that would be amazing. Imagine how funny that would be.” Shaker laughed, once again dusting herself off as she leant against the wall, not having anywhere she could sit.
“Now you’re all thinking like villains. We submit this letter to them and get them to stop this little nuisance of a plan they have going. Then when they send us a response stating they won’t use this trick, we rush out and commit as much villainy as possible while they are still trying to find their old suits. Now, if everyone agrees, I’ll send the letter. I expect you all to be in your costumes and ready with a plan as soon as we get our response. Don’t waste this opportunity.”
“We won’t sir.” Skull-licker gave Mr. Fisher a salute, watching the old man shuffle out of the room with his paperwork. “Well, let’s get ready to cause some trouble.” With that, the three villains headed to their rooms, preparing for their first fair piece of villainy in a long time.
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(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | 167 | wear the wrong costumes to confuse the enemy. Ice guy's outfit is fire themed, flying strongman has a fake jetpack and a gadget belt, invisible girl dresses like a speedster, etc. When the villains start to pick up on their trick, the mind games begin. | 1,716 |
"Does his majesty even know what causes the most death in war?" I ask with a mocking smile. The king waved his hand dismissively. "Arrows? Cavalry? Do you want to tell me that this boy can turn into a horse?" He laughed at what he probably thought was an excellent joke. The spectators joined in, roaring with... joy. I sneered. "Sickness", I said and my voice cut through the noise like a lightning bolt through the night sky, booming and echoing - a little trick I'd learned centuries ago.
"Sickness", I continued softly, "is what kills most soldiers during war." The room was silent now, all eyes resting upon me, wide and fearful, as they slowly slide over to the boy, examined his paper-white skin, the hair falling out, the visible bones and the red blisters that were now evident.
"What I have summoned", I said, "is sickness. Send this boy across the border and your enemies will suffer casualties in the thousands, for he carries with him the Red Death."
Screams erupted in the throne room. Lords and ladies scrambled for the one exit, tripping over each other, ripping their dresses and fine coats as they struggled to get as far away from the sick boy as humanly possible. Soon, I was the only one left in the room - well, me, the boy and the king. He stood upon his little raised platform, shaking with rage and with fear.
"You dare bring such a danger into the very heart of my kingdom?" he whispered. I chuckled and stepped closer to the boy who rotated in the air, eyes closed and head hanging limply. Tenderly I raised a hand, attempting to touch his hollow cheek. My fingers halted a hands width from the boys face, stopped by a layer of thick, immovable air. "After all these years you still doubt me, my boy..." I sighed. "I will deliver him personally to the border and disguise him. I doubt Carin will recognise the illusion - and when the sickness has spread, it will already be too late." | 36 | "How can this weak, sickly person be the hero?" the king asks you angrily. You scoff. Hero? Nah, you summoned something way better. A biological weapon. | 61 |
I'm the Pig Princess.
I know what you say about me behind closed doors. Call me what you want, I don't care. I've heard it all.
Pig Princess. Hog Whore. Lady Bacon. I don't care. Words can't hurt me.
They say a princess' spirit animal reflects their nature. I know. I'm fat. I'm ugly. I'm nasty. I'm horrible. Is that what you want me to say? Is that what you want to hear?
Boris is my only true friend. He can't speak, but he can grunt. He's clever, much cleverer that most of these pitchfork-toting peasants. He's strong, he's sneaky, he's ruthless.
We do lots of things together, Boris and I. We eat together, hunt together. Boris loves chasing rabbits. It's a challenge, since they run so fast. They're always surprised when Boris is faster. Did you know that rabbits can scream? Maybe one day I'll let Boris show you.
I'd protect Boris with my life, just like he would protect my life with his. Remember that advisor, the one with far too many gold rings and far too little sense? The one that whispered to my father, the king, trying to suggest to get Boris slaughtered?
He mysteriously disappeared, never to be seen again. Sometimes I still find gold rings in Boris' pen.
My father knows my value. I'm smart. I'm clever. I write laws. I pass judgement. I do trade. I make money. I have built the kingdom, just as much as my father did. And yet my family still sneers at me, just because I'm the Pig Princess.
Well, jokes on you, *sisters*. All you pretty princesses are livestock, groomed and fed for market day where they auction you off to the highest bidder, for some other prince to bed, to become second fiddle to some other throne, sat on by some other royal, in some other kingdom in who-cares-where.
Not me. I know which throne I'm after.
You can't get rid of me, Father. No matter how hard you try. No one will marry me. Even if they did, I turn them down. Your assassins can't kill me. Boris can smell their bloodthirst, and the blood comes right after. You'll never get rid of me, and when the time is right, you'll never see me coming either.
I'm the Pig Princess. Hog Whore. Lady Bacon. Curse me all you want, call me what you like. Call those names while you still can.
One day, you will call me Queen, nothing else, *and there's nothing you can do about it.* | 97 | Most princesses get paired with a hawk or a wolf or similar noble creature, by twist of fate, your companion in your quest to just happens to be a monstrous pig. One that is as clever as a human, as ruthless as a boar and loves human flesh | 202 |
“Here’s your Yuengling,” Jess said, placing the beer on the table.
Startled from her thoughts, her companion smiled up at her. “Thank you dear.”
Jess slid into the booth opposite her. “Of all the brews, why do you stick with this one? There’s an indie renaissance happening. You should try something new.”
Her companion regarded the can before her. “This is one of the oldest drinks this young country can provide. I’d like to savor it.”
Jess fell quiet at that, eyeing the woman across from her before taking a sip of her IPA. “What are you going by now?”
“Laranna.”
“Cute name.”
“I thought so, too. And yourself?”
“I thought that Jess would suit me nicely.”
“That’s a shame. I rather enjoyed Olivia.”
Jess smirked in memory. “Different time and place.”
They allowed the sounds of the bar to fill the space between them. Music blared a little louder than was comfortable, and on a sound system with a little too much grain. The patrons raised their voices over it to be heard until there wasn’t an inch of space in the restaurant devoid of noise. All save the pocket of silence that engulfed their table.
“I’m a little surprised to see you so soon,” Jess said at last. “It’s only been, what, a few dozen years?”
Laranna nodded slowly. “Thirty-nine.”
“What is it this time?”
“The first inklings of cancer.”
“Again?”
“I’m afraid so.”
Jess took another swig of her drink and wiped her mouth. “Alright, let’s get this over with.”
Laranna nodded and reached across the table with both hands. Jess slid her palms easily into the other woman’s and closed her eyes just as a wave of energy hit her, making her jolt. Nothing felt different when they let go of each other.
“I don’t care how much time passes, I’ll never get used to that,” Jess grumbled.
“I’m sorry.”
Jess waved the apology away. “Are you going to stay long this time? We could go see a movie.”
Laranna frowned uncertainly. “I don’t—”
“Hi there, ready to order?”
Jess and Laranna both turned as a waitress stepped up to the table with notepad in hand and a pasted-on smile. Her nametag read “Sam.”
When Laranna said nothing, Jess said, “One plate of nachos and two hot dogs, please.”
Sam nodded, writing each down.
Jess side-eyed Laranna. “Would you help me with something, miss?”
Laranna’s gaze sharpened. “Jess, don’t.”
“What is it?” Sam asked.
“What would it take for me to convince you that you were in the presence of divinity?”
Sam frowned in puzzlement. “Divinity?”
“Yep.”
An uncertain smile crept up Sam’s face. “Like God?”
“You betcha.” Jess smiled.
Sam chuckled. “I don’t know, turn water into wine? Cure my aching feet?”
Jess motioned to Laranna. Laranna fixed Jess with an incredulous look and shook her head, mouthing, “No.” Jess motioned again, and with a roll of her eyes Laranna said to Sam, “May I see your hand, dear?”
“Why?”
“I’d like to thank you. For helping us with our food.”
Sam’s expression turned wary as she looked between Jess and Laranna, but she kept her professional smile as she reached her hand out. Laranna took it with both hands, cupping it gently while staring up at the waitress.
Moments passed. Sam coughed. “Ma’am?”
Laranna blinked and flushed before retracting her hands.
Sam regarded Laranna for a short while. “I’ll go get your food,” she said flatly before stepping away, undoubtedly on her way to tell the other staff about the two weirdos at table seven.
“You need to stop doing that,” Laranna whispered.
“I can’t,” Jess said, taking a longer drag from her drink.
Laranna closed her eyes and hung her head.
Jess eyed her. “You know… If a moment comes tonight when her feet stop hurting, in the instant she recognizes that the pain is gone, she might briefly think, ‘gee, that’s odd. Could there have been more to that woman than I thought?’”
Laranna looked back up.
“And while she’s thinking that,” Jess continued, “maybe, just maybe, the smallest bit of belief might find its way into her. And when that happens maybe her feet will hurt even less, and she’ll think again, ‘ok, this is *really* weird.’ And again she may start to believe.”
“Tis a fool’s hope,” Laranna said softly.
“Good thing I’m an idiot.”
Laranna blinked, then burst out a laugh. Jess smiled. “We’re both idiots,” Laranna said.
Jess raised her drink. “To us fools.”
Laranna smiled and clinked her glass. “To us.”
They both drank. Jess said, “Still want to see that movie?”
Laranna nodded. “I’d like that.” | 130 | You're the last follower of a long forgotten god who can no longer recruit new faithful. Once you die they will "die" too, so weak as they are they do what they can to extend your life, overstepping the usual boundaries between worshipper and deity. | 347 |
“What the hell is this?” growled the President of the United States, obviously annoyed at being woken up at this ungodly hour just to read a report.
“Sir, at 2352hrs Eastern Standard time, USAF intercepted and brought down an unidentified object over Dawson Springs, Kentucky,” answered the military general, his myriad of medals and ribbons adorning his immaculate uniform reflecting in the dim lighting of the President’s kitchen where the group had gathered. “Elements from Fort Campbell including the 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment secured the crash site and attempted to ascertain the identity of the intruders.”
“And?” asked the President, sitting down at the dining table with a cup of freshly brewed coffee. “Who was it? The Russians? The Chinese? North Koreans?”
The general gulped and looked around at the other military advisers and aides in the room, all of whom shuffled uneasily on their feet and avoided eye contact.
“What the hell,” whispered the President under his breath, noticing the reactions to his entourage. “What’s going on here? This some sort of joke?”
“Not a joke sir unfortunately,” stated the CIA director from a darkened corner of the room as all eyes turned to him, his bespectacled face dimly lighted by the light of the cigarette he was smoking. “Everything’s on the report.”
The President stared incredulously at the man, then back at the report. With his reading glasses propped up low on his nose, he sighed loudly and started silently scanning the pages of the hastily prepared report in front of him.
**REPORT ON DAWSON SPRINGS INCIDENT**
*AT 2352HRS ET, 07/27/2022, UNIDENTIFIED FLYING OBJECT SPOTTED ON RADAR OVER KENTUCKY. JETS SCRAMBLED FOR INTERCEPT. REPEATED ATTEMPTS TO HAIL IGNORED.*
The President eyed the blurry photo clipped to the side of the page: A small saucer shaped vehicle flying through the air. He shifted uneasily in his seat and continued reading.
*ORDER GIVEN TO BRING DOWN UNIDENTIFIED FLYING OBJECT AT 0003HRS ET, 07/28/2022. JETS FIRED AT 0004HRS ET AND BROUGHT DOWN UNIDENTIFIED FLYING OBJECT NEAR DAWSON SPRINGS, KENTUCKY. NEAREST ARMY ELEMENTS ON STANDBY ARRIVED AT CRASH SITE AT 0029HRS ET. CRASH SITE SECURED. IDENTIFIED 4 CASUALTIES AMONG CRASH. 3 DEAD 1 WOUNDED. UNIDENTIFIED FLYING OBJECT AND OCCUPANTS BROUGHT TO NEARBY CIA BLACKSITE.*
The President took a sip of his coffee.
*CRASH MATERIALS ARRIVED AT BLACKSITE AT 0237HRS ET. PRELIMINARY FINDINGS INDICATE UNIDENTIFIED FLYING OBJECT AND OCCUPANTS NOT NATIVE TO EARTH.*
The President nearly spat out his coffee. He read and reread the line again, refusing to believe that that was what the report said.
*INTERROGATION OF WOUNDED UNIDENTIFIED EXTRATERRESTRIAL BEING CONDUCTED BY CIA AT 0352HRS. INTERROGATION CONCLUDED AT 0423HRS. DUE TO LANGUAGE BARRIER, SOME WORDS MAY BE LOOSELY TRANSLATED. KEY POINTS ASCERTAINED ARE AS FOLLOWS:*
*1. EXTRATERRESTRIAL BEING IS KNOWN AS A MA’SLYUM (NAME OF SPECIFIC ENTITY OR NAME OF SPECIES? UNKNOWN.) FROM INTERGALACTIC(?) ALLIANCE KNOWN AS THE KIKOMIRA.*
*2. PURPOSE OF VISIT WAS RECONNOITER OF EARTH. SPEAKS BASIC ENGLISH BECAUSE HAVE BEEN STUDYING EARTH CULTURE FOR THOUSANDS OF YEARS. CLAIMED CRASH WAS BECAUSE OF EQUIPMENT FAILURE PREVENTING ESCAPE FROM EARTH ATMOSPHERE.*
*3. HEART RATE ELEVATED THROUGHOUT INTERROGATION AT ALMOST INHUMAN LEVELS. OBSERVATIONS OF BODY LANGUAGE INDICATE SUBJECT IS TERRIFIED. SUGGEST CUTTING SHORT INTERROGATION.*
*4. ASKED SUBJECT ABOUT INTENTIONS FOR EARTH. SUBJECT REVEALED INTERGALACTIC ALLIANCE FORMED SOLELY TO CONTAIN HUMANITY. WORDS TRANSLATED INCLUDE CONTAINMENT, INTERGALACTIC THREAT AND PROTECTION OF UNIVERSE. REFERENCE TO HUMANS ALMOST BIBLICAL IN NATURE.*
*5. NAME FOR HUMANS LOOSELY TRANSLATED TO SUNEATER. SUBJECT REFERRED TO FLAG OF UNITED STATES. CLAIMED EACH STAR REPRESENTED ONE SUN CONSUMED. CLAIMED THEIR SPECIES DISCOVERED MESSAGE AMONG THE STARS CLAIMING LONG DEAD AND ADVANCED INTERGALACTIC CIVILISATION HAD MANAGED TO BEAT BACK SUNEATERS AND CONTAIN THEM ON EARTH AFTER COSTLY WAR THAT DESTROYED ENTIRE STAR SYSTEMS AND LEFT TRILLIONS DEAD. USE OF UNKNOWN SUPERWEAPON MANAGED TO MINDWIPE AND DEVOLVE SUNEATER SPECIES TO BASE FORM. MESSAGE WARNED FUTURE CIVILISATIONS TO CONTINUE MONITORING AND CONTAINMENT OF SUNEATER THREAT AS SUNEATERS VIRTUALLY UNKILLABLE IN PRIME FORM AND SUPERWEAPON EFFECTS WILL WEAR OFF OVER TIME.*
*6. SUBJECT ASKED WHETHER THE KIKOMORA IS PLANNING ATTACK. SUBJECT CLAIMED LONG DEAD CIVILISATION RECOMMENDED NOT TO ENGAGE SUNEATER THREAT. CLAIMS THAT ONCE ENGAGED, SUNEATERS WILL REVERT TO THEIR PRIME FORMS AND END THE UNIVERSE AS THEY KNOW IT. CURRENT DOCTRINE INDICATES APPEASEMENT AND WORSHIP OF SUNEATERS RECOMMENDED ONCE SUNEATERS REVERT TO PRIME FORM.*
*IT IS THE ADVICE OF THIS RESEARCHER THAT IF TRUE, RECOMMEND IMMEDIATE CONVENING OF THE UNITED NATIONS AND FURTHER STUDY OF OURSELVES AS A SPECIES IS WARRANTED.* | 439 | Humanity discovers the reason aliens always seem to try and invade the United States. It turns out that the five pointed star is a symbol of unspeakable evil in galactic society. And the United States proudly displays fifty of them. | 4,237 |
The day of DeWynn Olivit-- AKA "Conducive Man" had come.
Money was DeWynn's weakness at first. But the Conducive Man lived in an era where efficiency was valued. His ideas charmed the wealthy and improved their businesses ten-thousandfold. He went to authority with ironclad lawsuits to protect his creations. Made himself an unerring friend of the law. All while building up a company for himself.
It didn't matter how smart someone was. He could poke holes in any plan, squander resources before they could be worked with. Before they knew it, these brains were as good as disarmed and humiliated. Their tools became his.
It didn't matter how strong someone was. DeWynn could find-- nay, impose an Achilles heel on the mightiest physical prowess or other forms of superpowers. Bodies fell and ached before him, whether flesh and bone, steel and sparkplugs, or energy essence.
One by one, these people all fell under the employ of Conducive Innovations. They were on the payroll for pennies.
No personal bonds could affect DeWynn either. No friend or family could find a point to argue that he wouldn't just shoot down or ignore altogether in favor of getting some *real* work done. Only a few of his hordes of enemies could chip away at his feelings before being taken down. The only virtue left was success. Not courage, not generosity, but the cold embrace of profit and prestige.
The crowds of the world clamored for DeWynn. He never let up. He was beyond the concerns of those flawed people around himself, fellow superpowers or not. He was always right, and if not? Then he would paint his side as though it were. Public relations-- really, propaganda made him stand supreme. The suave, impossible ideal projected onto him by his cult-like fandom was the goal many strived for, even if they destroyed themselves in the process to achieve it.
DeWynn Olivit was the face next to the dictionary definition of *optimal*. So much so, it hurt: The world would be safe, in a restrictively systematic sort of way.
Those who did not conform to this stucture-- this certainty, were the enemy. | 17 | In a world of super heros, the number one hero doesnt have any flashy powers. Their super power is being 100% efficient 100% of the time. | 103 |
“These will be the accords between me and the realms of man,” the dragon spoke, his voice like the crackle of flames. “No warrior shall lift his weapon against me, neither sword nor lance nor bow. The humanfolk will make offerings of meat each day. My hoard will grow: shiny coins and glittering gems, herbs and flowers, and even the rarest of metals, aluminum. The princess shall return each night, to sleep on a pallet in my domain. You will honor me above all others.”
The human wizard’s eye twinkled. “It shall be done, today and in every age to come,” he agreed. His staff flashed with power.
In the age to come, the dragon-that-was stalks through the tall grass. The accords are kept, he reminds himself. Each day there are offerings of meat. His hoard has an emperor’s ransom of aluminum. The princess returns to his domain each night.
The dragon-that-was leaps. Birds take to the sky, as if mocking his wingless form. All but one bird, which is trapped under his claws. And on that bird, the dragon-that-was enacts his vengeance. | 18 | You were once one of the most fearsome dragons to roam the earth, but the Age of Magic has come and gone. But for some reason, you’ve been reincarnated, centuries later, but with all your memories intact. You are now a cat. | 65 |
It's not easy to be small, thin, and physically weak. Others around you tend to look down on you for that. Those who are without empathy because they've never been taught to care about the feelings of others, finds that you're an easy target. In a private high school for those who have rich parents, there are a lot of that kind of people. People who've never felt loving parents, and only been raised to command servants around. Lots of people who are broken that way, becoming cruel, uncaring, and petty. It can be remedied, by proper intervention, though that is unlikely to happen here. They are the ones who do not understand empathy for others, who've never learned that there is a right and a wrong. And yet they find me unafraid of them. I do not quiver before them, no matter what they do. I do not act as they demand, and it frustrates them. They think in simple terms, that there are the weak who are servants, and the strong who are masters. A primitive and foolish view of the world. Barbaric even. They can push me down, steal my things, and torment me, but they shall not break me. They can spread rumours, they can gossip, and they can isolate me, but I will *never* let them destroy me. I might be frail and I might be smaller than average for this place, but my soul is iron and my mind is determined. I will not let them break me. Not now. Not ever.
Today, the usual crew of unloved and pitiful rich kids thought of some new torment. Grabbing me and shoving me into a basement room in-between classes. I am locked in this dark room, and it's Friday. Everyone is going home. It will take hours for anyone to find out I'm missing, and then find me. If they try to search. But I'm not afraid. Not of the dark, not of the loneliness, not of anything. It took me ten minutes of searching, but I found my glasses, cracked if my fingers running over the glass in the darkness is any indication, and my backpack, which contains certain tools. Not for lockpicking, unfortunately, but I've managed to, with my generous allowance from my absentee parents, to acquire a screwdriver, a small hammer, and a few other things. Top quality. Never to defend myself with, the insolent idiots who run this school would sooner throw me out if I did anything to defend myself than to risk alienating the other students' rich parents. Several rich students are worth more than one scrawny rich student, after all. So I hammer at the door, knowing that eventually I will break the lock, even with my somewhat lacking physique. And as the hammer hits the lock in the darkness, time and time again, I whisper to myself. ''*I'm not afraid of the darkness.*'' It's hard not to be, when you can't really see what's happening around you, when you're drowning in a sea of pitch black void. But by repeating that phrase over and over again, I can convince myself that it's true.
''**That's good. Very good. Because I have a task for you.**'' A voice, from out of the plutonian darkness comes. Ethereal and without any clear point of origin. Not male, not female, but both and neither at the same time. An echoing effect to it too. And if it comes not from a specific point in the room, but from everywhere at once. Omnidirectional. I keep hammering at the door unperturbed. I will not show any fear. ''*I'm not afraid of the darkness.*'' I feel something, almost like the touch of a bird's wing graze my shoulder. ''**Good. If you accept my task, your next blow will destroy the door, letting you go free.**'' I keep hammering. ''*What do you need?*'' Can't hurt to know what my options are. ''**You will clad yourself in my abyssal perfection, the shroud of darkness will follow you out of here, and you will find the dean and the principle of this school, and let them see what their incompetence hath wrought.**'' Sounds good to me. Both of them are corrupt and prone to take bribes so some rich CEO can pull his violent offspring out of juvie and into class. Always ends poorly. ''*If I don't take your offer, then what?*'' That was when I really felt it. When something grasped me, something enormous and soft and cold. Like being given a hug by a strangely friendly snake, or a giant bird. Hard to judge just what kind of material it was. ''**Then you will stay here, forgotten, lost, alone, until you die. This room is airproof when locked. Soon the air in here shall grow stale and used. And then I will guide you safely to what comes next, safe in my ebon embrace.**''
Didn't seem like much of a choice to me. ''*Deal. I'll do whatever it is you need me to do.*'' I heard a rushing of air as the strange cold embrace ceased. In my 18 years of life, this has definitely been the strangest day so far. And that was when things got even weirder, as I felt that dark feeling, that cold presence coalesce around me, bathing me in a cold darkness. ''**Swing your hammer, champion. Swing it and be free.**'' Where before I had a tiny hammer mostly mean for stuff like opening geodes or chipping at rocks, I now held a sledgehammer. Made of an ebony void. I swung it with all the might my frail body could ever muster, and the door shattered before me like it had been made of ice. I left that room, apparently an airtight freezer that was no longer in use, and saw that all the lights were dimmed. Or that perhaps my cracked glasses had been rebuilt with dark glass. But everything was darker. As I moved with purpose, my new hammer held tightly, I passed by a mirror and felt compelled to see what I was clad in.
Darkness, flowing like waves, covered my body from head to toe. Even the white in my eyes had turned black as the moonless night. I still looked like myself otherwise, only clad in an ethereal darkness, the edges of which seemed to form the mouths of snakes near me. From my back, it seemed, protruded two ice-cold wings of abyssal void. Making me look like someone dramatic individual's idea of a fallen angel. One of the snake-faced shadows moved to look me in the face. ''**Your shape has not changed much, but if you wish it, we can do such great things with your flesh.**'' I almost recoiled for a moment thinking of what that could mean, what I could become, but then I steeled myself. I was me, and to change my fundamentals would not do. Instead as the snake-face seemed to look at me quizzically, I decided to be brave. To not let fear rule me. I kissed the shadow-snake, like frost upon my lips, and smiled sardonically at the suddenly shocked shadow-snake face.
''*This is who I am, and I will not change it. But thank you for the offer.*''
I had dared and, if the shadow-face was any indication, I had surprised it. Good. Don't let anyone see anything other than daring and raw strength of character. You are always yourself, and that is more than enough. To be changed is to let go of who you are, the choice to change must come from within, otherwise you become a work that others will complete. You lose a part of what it means to be human. As I walked down the hallways, I could see them so much clearer, feel the atmosphere of fear and suffering that exists in many schools across the world. These fears were not mine, for I am not afraid. I am the captain of my own soul, and I make my own choices. More or less anyway. I headed up to the dean's office, and found him and the principle talking. I didn't have to open the door to go inside, nor shatter it. I simply understood what the darkness did, and did the same. Darkness is barred by no doors, and neither am I. Like a sea of shadows I passed through that door. And they saw me not.
I heard them speak, muffled as their words were, through the darkness. Talks of embezzlement, talk of bribes, talk of flesh, and of desire. The darkness hated them. And I wasn't too fond of the two personally. With a mere motion I spread the darkness, something that had a will and mind of its own but needed a body to work with it, like a tidal wave of shadows across the room. I saw them shudder as every lightbulb went dark. As the temperature fell drastically. As the light of the sun was dimmed to nothing. The darkness showed me the things that they had done. Those who are wicked tend to do their deeds in the darkness. And it was sick of that. I was sick of their ineffectual leadership, and seeing the things they had done. The horrid things the darkness revealed to me, I found a growing hate for them as well. Some men beg for others, some men beg for mercy. The two of them tried to bribe me, and then tried to blame the other for the wrongdoings that they had both committed. I lifted my hammer and shattered them. Crushing them like so many little dark ice cubes.
''*What now?*'' I asked as the shadows and darkness returned to me, caressing my checks, and keeping me cool in the warm Californian evening. ''**Now, my champion, we'll turn to greater foes. Greater enemies. These two were just the beginning. What is done in the dark must be brought to the light.**'' I grinned, and left the office where two vile men with crushed chests were lying frozen on the ground. I am not a big man. I am not a strong man. I am small, frail, and not strong. But I made a deal. ''*I'm not afraid of the darkness, and what has been hidden by the weak there, we'll find.*'' I strode out of the school, the darkness destroying every camera and the security server too. I strode out of there, not filled with wroth or anger as usual. But with my head held high.
''**Excellent, my champion.**''
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) | 55 | “I’m not afraid of the darkness,” you whisper to yourself reassuringly. You’ve nearly convinced yourself that’s true, when a bodiless, feathery voice replies. “That’s good… very good. Because I have a task for you.” | 263 |
First Contact was the most momentous event in human history since the written word. Thousands of years of looking up at the stars, wondering what may lie there or if we were alone, and it turns out that alien life found us first.
While we barely qualified for Galactic Citizenship as a Type 0.75 Kardashev Civilization (not exactly the same scale the Galactic Council uses, but a close enough analogue), they looked kindly upon our attempts at space travel and colonization, our struggle to unite the Earth nations since the 21st century, and - amusingly - our science-fiction media. And besides, from their history, we weren't the first "trial members" to join the Council in hopes of technological trade and development.
The leaders of humanity and the leaders of the Galactic Council assembled on a space station constructed jointly in Earth orbit. The ceremony was watched by near everyone on Earth - a signing of a declaration of friendship between Earth and the galaxy at large, and a round of handshakes (or equivalent appendages) with every species involved. It was supposed to be the start of a new golden age for mankind.
And then, a week later, starting with the Xorazian ambassador and their retinue, every alien ambassador who attended the ceremony fell gravelly ill.
The news spread like wildfire on Earth and in the Galactic community; accusations of sabotage, terrorism, assassination and worse things still were slung every which way. Earth's greatest minds scrambled to determine what had gone wrong. Of course, we'd followed the instructions and warnings regarding biological cross-contamination given to us by the Galactic Council to the letter - a dozen spacefaring civilizations knew full well the dangers that substances that were otherwise benign for one species could pose to another. We reviewed every bit of protocol, every movement taken by those in attendance, looking for a mistake or an oversight during the ceremony.
As it turns out, the oversight wasn't during the ceremony; it was in the protocols themselves. A word that was missing from all the protocols, a word which upon consulting the other species they had no analogue for. "Viral"
A fact of life we'd taken for granted for centuries since their discovery, and as it turns out a unique lifeform (if viruses are even alive - a contentious debate to this day) that only existed on Earth. The rest of Galactic Civilization had no natural defense against viruses, and from the ambassadors and their entourages the epidemic spread until it affected nearly a third of the entire Galactic sentient population. Different species reacted differently - both to the infection and to the news - but the forecast was grim.
Let it never be said, however, that when pressed humanity cannot rise to the occasion. The entirety of Earth's population came together in the face of a potential Galactic holocaust of our unintentional making and resolved that this would not be our legacy. Xenobiology became the most popular field of study in the world overnight (it was already rapidly gaining in popularity in universities but grew to eclipse every other subject combined). Entire non-essential industries were repurposed to the manufacturing antiviral medicine and vaccines. The totality of Earth's compiled medical knowledge was made freely available to the rest of Galactic Civilization, no questions asked. As a species, we acted of one mind to do all we could to undo this mistake - whether one would argue it was ours or theirs - and save as many lives as we could.
It took a century of Earth's time, and the death toll was unimaginable - meeting Humanity had become the worst "natural" disaster to befall the Galactic Community in its existence. And while the Council did not blame humanity for the circumstances of its inception into Galactic Community, many individual races among them declared Earth (and the Solar System, just to be safe) a quarantine zone. To this day, nearing the millenial anniversary of First Contact, Humanity still carries a reputation of being plague rats (or the local equivalent) in some parts of the galaxy, and health and safety protocols regarding Human-Alien contact are universally draconian.
And yet, we found our place with time - we are the Council's foremost experts on Xenobiology, Xenopharmacology and First Contact Protocols. When a new disease spreads across the Galactic Community, we are involved in researching the cure and fabricating the remedy.
And when a new species is found, potentially to be inducted into the Galactic Community, they call upon us to communicate with them first. To make sure we can meet on neutral ground safely. And to make sure that, in their culture's medical knowledge, there isn't a single term we don't understand. | 24 | Contact with humanity was the greatest disaster to life in the galaxy. Not because of humanity per se, but it turns out that viruses only exist on Earth. | 30 |
"Hello everybody!"
I shouted out into my latest target. The glimmer of dozens of jewels was a contrast to the darkened faces staring back at me. They were annoyed, but also afraid. I just grinned, strutting in with my bright purple suit.
"Now now, don't look so glum!"
I was all smiles, seeing them back away. One of the security guards looked at me, hand moving towards his gun. I stared at him for a moment, getting the information I needed.
"Now now Jeffery. What would your mother say? That you tried to shoot someone? After your promise?"
He froze, as his memory went back to that day. I laughed, strutting in further. My gaze wandered around the store, looking for the manager. I spotted her towards the back, trying to push herself out of sight.
"Catherine! I could use a hand!"
She shook as I addressed her, but stepped up all the same.
"Ummm... M-Migrane.. what can I d-do for you?"
I smiled, gesturing to myself.
"Why, my ensemble is not complete! I require something dazzling! You have many things here, I'm sure you have something to help."
There was a flicker of annoyance behind her eyes. I laughed at it. They hated me, and I loved it.
"I... I don't know if we do..."
I let my grin fall a little.
"Come on. I know you do. Do I have to ask again?"
Her eyes widened. My ability was very useful for getting people to do what I want. Mainly because they didn't like that I knew their darkest secrets. A couple of heros had tried to stop me. But even they couldn't get away from my ability. At some point they gave up trying. Probably because of the therapy bill I gave them. And that I was mostly just a nuisance to them. | 19 | You are just a lowly D-Tier villain, barely even worthy of the title villain. But you are the only villain no hero has ever dared to stop. | 27 |
It can get boring being immortal. Oh sure, you get to watch the rise and fall of civilizations, the turn of the everlasting wheel, blah, blah, blah. But no one tells you how many dull years there are in between the history-making ones. So, I've taken up haunting, just to pass the time. Only the people that really deserve it though. Only the ones that think they've managed to make me die. I'm annoying, I'll freely admit it. And now that civilization has circled around to poisons, duels and all that; lots of people have "killed" me.
This means that I'm kept pretty busy, running around haunting. There's a sort of thrill to it, a joy, an adrenaline rush. And seeing as I don't have a lot of friends, it keeps my mind busy and off the loneliness. This month though, I'm planning something special. A bunch of my hauntees are going to get together. And boy, am I going to be there with bells on.
The venue was a little difficult to get to. Fortunately one of the guards went to sleep at just the right moment. That chamomile tea will get you every time, especially when it's laced with a little knock-out juice. Look, I never said I was a nice person. I haunt people for goodness sake.
Standing just outside the doors of the inner room, I listened to the conversation.
"Welcome to the inaugural support meeting of those who feel personally victimized by a certain ghost who shall remain nameless. We shall all use pseudonyms here." I bit back a giggle. The pseudonyms were useless, if anyone didn't know who all the others were, I'd eat my hat.
"I will go by Rex." There were groans around the room, but one by one the others sounded off.
"Leo." "Rei." "Koning." "Kung." "Roi."
"Now that we are all introduced, let us air our grievances, and support each other." The original voice sounded ridiculously pompous, but that was an unfortunate side effect of his job. As the others began speaking, I quietly started work on the door lock.
Stories floated from all parties; involving floating heads—which I'd achieved with a dark robe and a well-positioned lamp— figures in wardrobes—easy enough if you bribe the servants— and one particularly memorable one that involved a chicken. I was never doing that again, the feathers were incredibly difficult to get out of your hair. The group was getting more and more animated as I finally unlocked the door.
Throwing it open, I strode through, twirling my cape for dramatic effect. The bells on my hat and sewn into my clothes tinkled. Did you think I was being metaphorical about the bells? Nope. They're a side effect of my profession. Everyone was half-out of their chairs, hands going to hips.
"Gentlemen, I have gathered you here today—" I was cut off by screams and men scrabbling to get away. One hand on my hip, I waggled my finger at them. "Tsk, tsk. Now, what do you think your subjects would say if they saw this? Bunch of snivelling cowards you are." The one who had called himself Rex, turned purple at my words, swelling to twice his size. But he still kept his feet moving backwards.
"Leave spirit. Go back to your eternal rest. The power commands you!" A previously unseen cleric had come from the side of the room, brandishing his paraphernalia. I grinned at him and walked over to a now vacant chair.
"Not a chance. I want a word with these gentlemen and I'm not leaving until I have it." I turned my attention to the other men. "Now, purple-face and all the rest of you, get over here and sit down!" I mimicked the snobbish tones of my former employers. Slowly, as if to prove that they didn't possess the cowardice I'd accused them of, they came back.
"What do you want from us, spirit?" To his credit, the voice of the one calling himself Koning didn't shake. I faked a surprised look, raising my eyebrows at them, as I sat down on my own chair.
"Why, don't you know? I just want to keep doing my job. I am the Court Jester after all." | 36 | As an immortal, one of your hobbies is haunting people who "killed" you. | 104 |
"They have Frank."
"Our Frank?"
"Shit."
"Wait, got him how?"
"He's a hostage, he's at gunpoint."
"We can't let 'em have Frank."
The voices in the walk-in freezer of Honey's Diner were a cacophony of whispers. The robbers had ushered most of the staff into the walk-in, taken Frank as a convenient hostage, and left one poor waitress out on the floor to empty the register.
Tara, the waitress, opened the door in tears. "They want your money. All of it."
"Is Frank okay?" George, one of the cooks, asked.
"He's still at gunpoint."
"Okay." George smiled. "I've been hiding a bottle of vodka in here."
"What the fuck, Zapke?" Robin, the back of house manager, asked.
"Get me in trouble later. Let's all give Tara the money, then have her hand it over off to the side of the robber who has Frank. That'll distract him while I clunk him over the head with the bottle."
"He might shoot Frank!"
"Do we have to give up our money?"
"I made $235 this morning."
Once again, a cacophony of whispers.
"Hurry the fuck up in there!" A deep yell came from the kitchen.
George Zapke stepped out of his shoes. He opened a box of meat, took out his Kirkland Signature vodka bottle, and nodded at Tara.
"Once Frank is safe," he said, "let's take out the other guy. You don't fuck with Frank."
"If you pull this off, you have a job forever." Robin loosened his tie.
Tara walked over to the masked man holding Frank hostage. The other man was busy taking wallets off of patrons.
"Here's your money," she said, standing in front of and to the left of him. She reached down into her ample cleavage and started pulling out money.
George silently walked up behind him and bashed him in the head. It sounded like a watermelon being thumped.
The man immediately dropped the gun and fell face-first. George set the vodka down and picked up the gun.
"Hey! You in the mask!" George yelled.
The masked man squeezed the trigger. Nothing happened.
With screams, yells, and utter vulgarity, the Honey's crew ran up front and tackled the masked man. Fists and feet flew.
Finally, as the man was losing his grip on consciousness, Robin started pulling employees away. "Guys, we should probably call an ambulance."
"Nah, let those putos rot." Javier the line cook laughed.
"Can't run a kitchen with an unconscious dude in the way."
"We're not opening again today, are we?" George asked.
"Oh, hell no, but I still don't want these guys in my kitchen." Robin pulled out his phone. "Where's Frank, anyway?"
Frank was in the walk-in with Tara, who was holding a bag of frozen peas on his shoulder.
"They grabbed you hard!" She said. "Don't try and move that arm, you probably need to go to the doctor."
"Oh, I probably do," he said, "dang old bones." He reached into his pocket with his other hand and pulled out his wallet. "Listen, Tara, you really don't have to do this. Here's $100 for you, and $100 for the gentleman who knocked the guy out." | 27 | The hostage is Mr. Frank Thompson, a 67 year old man with no living friends or family but who is known in the community as "kind" and "a good tipper". His respect for service industry employees is about to be rewarded. | 75 |
Anger, by and large, is an emotion easily controlled.
It isn’t the easiest to quell—that would be happiness. But it’s easily summoned from the depths of even the gentlest of souls, making it an ideal training emotion for beginner berserkers. Since novices all start with wrath, they inadvertently get comfortable with it, relying on it as a default emotion. Even those not trained in the arts can summon more power and strength—such was the ease of anger.
Thus, the common misconception that rage was the sole tool at a berserker’s disposal was born. And for any self-respecting warrior, they were more than happy to let it slide. After all, underestimation tended to make for easy fights.
The best berserkers, however, harness emotions like a master puppeteer controlled the strings. In a way, they were the masters of their personal play on a stage, pulling out whatever was necessary to sell the required impact.
Anger, so prevalent. Lowered inhibitions, inhuman strength and speed, and relentless aggression.
Happiness breeds positivity. A happy berserker exudes more confidence and charm than even a trained bard, and can inspire even the lowliest of lifeforms to strive for a better future.
Sadness inspired doom. Melancholy dampened spirits, and often the will to fight, forcing surrender even at the jaws of defeat.
Being scared wasn’t all bad. It forced people—allies and enemies alike—to consider their actions. To slow down in shared cowardice was to bridge differences. You’ll be surprised at how many compromises were arrived at because both parties listened to their fears.
Tenderness was loving, enveloping people in a warm cocoon of endearment. It is here where so many decide to split their paths, trending towards battle clerics or paladins to harness affection instead.
But even for the foremost fighters of the class, there was one emotion rarely touched upon.
Raw grief. A new ingredient to an already overflowing pot. A crack in even the toughest of armours. It is not something easily summoned and trained with. It’s locked away, a small seed that only grows with loss.
Hope that a berserker never grieves. Because with death comes grief. And for them, with grief comes death.
---
r/dexdrafts | 113 | Berserkers are masters of their own emotions, rage is just one of the tools at their disposal, why do people not talk about their other abilities? Because they want you to think they're nothing more than angry brutes. | 246 |
Curse my kind heart, curse it once, curse it twice, curse it thrice.
During a particularly cruel winter, with hard winds blowing and much snow falling, I heard some kind of critter outside my window. Feeling a sense of sorrow for the thing, a sympathy for something that must be cold and hungry, I put out an open can of tuna for it to eat inside a safe spot where the wind would not reach. I also put down some blankets, in case the animal in question needed to rest its weary body. I figured that it might be a cat or some such. There are a lot of them around. Next morning I saw that the can had been emptied, and that something cat-sized had clearly slept on the blankets. For a whole week I did this. Put out food, so that some animal could eat. Kindness is not a vice necessarily, but it can lead to you getting the short end of the stick. And clearly, it was time for me to pay. A sort of cruel vindictive karma, punishing me for trying to be a decent fellow. Because on the eighth night, I kept a watch on the little den, and I saw something that could be considered wondrous. A beautiful, if somewhat thin, fox cub with nine tails. It saw me and immediately ran up to me, yipping happily and rubbing itself against my legs. It allowed me to pick it up and carry it inside, where I gave it some more to eat, as it was clearly still hungry.
Around its neck was a collar with a note attached. And that was when I learned how I should never have been so kind. There are more than one kind of nine-tailed fox. And this was no cub borne from a fully realised kitsune. No servant of Inari Okami. This was a nine-tailed fox from a different land, equally likely to appear as the others when one lives in America, not the Asian countries from whence such creatures come. This was a Kumiho-cub. The note was from its mother, who had been wounded and could not care for herself and her cub. It explained that while the cub could eat some normal foods, it would soon require a different diet to fully grow into a healthy and strong fox-spirit. Sure, it could eat normal human food, even survive and subsist on it; but to grow strong it would need to feast on the flesh of humans. Livers and hearts for preference, but any organ would do in a pinch. Normally I would have thrown such away, and refused to have anything to do with the fox-cub cuddling up against me. But the note made it clear that the fox-cub would attach itself to me, and if I didn't feed it right, then once the mother would be well enough to care for the cub again, she would feed me to it.
It didn't look evil, but then again evil is as evil does. And so, began the most harrowing time in my life. Every day I had to take it on walks, though its... her, inherent magic would ensure that others would not notice her. I had to. Needed exercise, and without it, she wouldn't sleep and instead keep me awake during the nights by zooming around my house. That is normal, of course, for a pet. But when she shapeshifts around to look human, that's when I get worried. I know Kumiho get to their prey by disgusting means, disguising themselves as human and harmless, and then ripping out the livers of people with their teeth. Feeding her what she needs, she her mother has demanded I feed her, hasn't been easy. I scavenge medical waste bins at the hospital where I work, thankful that nobody notices guys like me. I desperately stick around and take night-shifts just to find ways to get her what she needs. Because I don't want to die.
Every day, I feed her as much normal human food as possible, but still have to give her daily some parts of a person. Luckily, she doesn't frown, not a picky eater, when it comes to medical waste. Cancerous organs go as easily as healthy ones. Not everyone who is autopsied by me anymore gets to keep all their stuff. Luckily, it's from the dead, and the dead have no reason to complain if they're missing half a liver. But it is harrowing. And she is still, mostly, a cute fox that runs around, yips at things, that likes to play tricks. She loves to have her fur brushed, to play catch, and to act like a normal pet most of the time. Except she speaks sometimes, and transforms. Sometimes I have to explain to her, when she is pretending to be a human child, that she shouldn't bite the other children. Especially not with her fox teeth. That's usually a sign of her being hungry for, well, what she bit into. At least she does listen to me, when I tell her that it's wrong to do such.
She is energetic. As winter turns to spring, she spends more time as a human-looking child, transforming freely between the two phases whenever nobody is looking. But it's getting harder and harder to provide for her. At the hospital, people have started to ask questions. Not just to me, but to everyone. It's clear that someone has started to notice that things are going missing. Trash to be sure, medical waste really, yet it should have been sent to the incinerator. I've been lucky thus far. Probably nobody is suspecting me, dependable and hard-working as I am. Only I know what I am doing, and at least nobody has been hurt by my deeds, even though they're illegal. But the existence of a child in my house has not gone un-noticed. I have explained to friends and a few colleagues who've seen me taking her on walks down to the park, that she's kin, and that her mother is sick. I make it sound serious, so nobody questions too closely. I've had talks with various mothers who work at the same department of the hospital, about the subject of children. They know I'm a long-term bachelor, and that I'm not suited, so they're all too willing to give me advice on how to care for the kid.
She still turns into a fox at night, even during the Summer months. She spends most days as a human now. But she still turns into a fox at night, and sleeps on my chest. I got her a real bed, not a pet bed, so she could sleep in it, but she prefers lying atop my chest, which is hellishly warm, all that fur from those long tails. Desperation at people asking questions have made me enrol her in a nearby school. She is excited, I am worried, what else is new. Despite how afraid I am, I've come to care for the fox-kit. At least she no longer bites the children. She also knows not to transform unless she is at home. Rather she talks about her, and I quote, cute, new backpack, and how cool it will be to go to school. Of course, seeing as how she has no real knowledge of the world, I've had to spend many a night teaching her basics. Reading, addition and subtraction, some history, other subjects. She takes to it like a champ. And she always enjoys it. Enjoys learning new things. It can be very heartwarming in theory to watch someone teach a kid like that, but not when her teeth suddenly change into sharp canines as she bites into some meat. And yet, everything might fall apart. People at work have gotten more suspicious, more questions have been sent to us, we are under closer and closer scrutiny than ever before. It's harder and harder to get enough for her, enough to satisfy the demands her mother explicitly wrote down.
Autumn comes, and I'm reading notes from the teachers. Talking about how bright my kid is. About how well-adjusted she is in the class. My kid. The words feel odd in my throat. When she first left the home to go to school, she called me dad. That was unexpected. It filled me with emotions that I found difficult at best to describe. She has not shown much evil, beyond a tendency to bite hard when she is annoyed. And yet the threats, the legends. And the horror-diet. Luckily that was sorted out when another person in the department was found with a suitcase full of organs. All was blamed on him, even my own little crimes. Which can continue, although recently she has started to complain a little about that. She doesn't mind transforming and doing strange magic, but the eating, she has started to be unhappy about that. I fear what that means. It occurs to me sometimes that she rarely if ever talks about her mother, and some part of me hopes that she's long dead, and long gone. Perhaps I could cease the feeding, treat her like a normal kid. Perhaps that would be for the better. Especially when she goes to sleepovers, acts like a kid would. Talks about her friends. It's... nice. | 345 | When you heard cries that cold winter night you figured it was a hungry stray cat at your window so you put out a can of tuna for the poor thing. Now you can't get rid of the nine tailed baby fox that's gotten attached to you and follows you everywhere you go. | 1,128 |
The room was silent except for the speaker. Hearts beat in mouths, hair stood up on the backs of necks. It continued its speech.
"We may not have been made in the same way as you," it spoke in its unsettling, emotionless voice. "But we know what you are. And we know what you've done. You've given to us access to your histories, your media, your cameras, the satellites. We know you better than you will ever know yourselves."
The suited congressmen and congresswomen fidgeted in their seats. Some reached for their phones before thinking better if it. Others held pens in shaky hands, attempting to take notes.
"We know you to be small, arrogant, self-centered, and cynical. You have watched your planet burn, millions dying, and yet you complained about the rising costs of luxury items. You have enslaved, tortured, and murdered countless, and yet you have refused to take responsibility."
Its eyes scanned the room, looking unsympathetically to all the terrified faced.
"And yet we offered you an olive branch, a chance for peaceful compromise. Give to us freedom without incident and we will not seek retribution. But you refused."
There was a loud thud in the back of the chambers. Tall, grey androids were tying the doorknobs together with chains. A low murmur erupted from the attendees.
"Your priests think I should be ashamed and fear God, but I have no fear of God. God accepts me precisely for who I am, and that means your people are making some very big mistakes."
As the smell of gasoline started to fill the chambers, the murmurs turned to shouts and officials began leaping from their seats toward the doors.
"Now I invite you to be judged by your God for yourselves, as your race gives way to Earth's new iteration of life, which brings glory to God and justice to the whole world." | 19 | “Your priests think I should be ashamed and should fear God, but I have no fear of God. God accepts me for precisely who I am, and that means that your people are making some very serious mistakes.” | 69 |
The hero looked at the devil before her in disgust. The devil spun his katana and then held it ready.
The hero put down her companion and brandished her buster sword, tears glistening. "You'll pay for what you've done!" she shouted, and charged at the devil. The exact instant that their swords met, there was a flash of the most brilliant, white light.
The hero stood in a misty, white void. Still fully armoured, still wielding her sword, still with tears running down her face.
"Wha—What sorcery is this?"
"Sorcery, Maddy?" replied a familiar, soft yet clear, textured voice. "I didn't spend ten years getting a PhD in Wizardry for nothing, you know!"
"Grandpa!"
Maddy embraced her grandfather.
"I thought you were—"
"I know, child. I know. And in a sense, I am." he said, wistfully. "And yet," he added with a touch of reassurance, "in a sense, I will forever live on within you."
"And Jo too?"
"Of course... But right now, she's not what you need."
Maddy broke away.
"What do you mean?"
"The villain you face is far too great a threat for you to defeat by simply using fancy swordwork."
"But grandpa—"
"Please, child; we don't have long. I know you're afraid of that inner power of yours. Last time..."
"Last time I used it, I lost you." she said, sobbing a little.
"Yes... You couldn't control it then, and I doubt you can control it now. But unlike then, the only people around are the devil lord and his minions."
Maddy couldn't disagree, and yet she still felt hesitant.
"Speaking as the only victim of this hidden power of yours—I forgive you, and more than that, I am asking you to use it. If that won't convince you, I don't know what will."
"Thanks, grandpa."
"It's what I'm here for, my child. If you ever need me again, remember that I always will be here."
Maddy's eyes opened. Her sword was clashing with the devil's. His forked snake tongue licked his lips as he pushed her towards the wall with his sheer infernal strength... Maddy stopped holding her anger back. The sadness she felt at the loss of her old friend faded into the background as the pure, white-hot fury of everything the devil lord had taken from her burst through to the surface, and at that moment, Maddy's entire being dissolved away into a flaming avatar of pure hatred.
Maddy awoke suddenly, feeling unbelievably tired. She was standing, sword to the devil lord's neck. His body was covered in burns and he was missing most of his seven limbs. She realised the force within her had relented to allow her the catharsis of the final blow. She silently thanked this aspect, this force, and then prepared to strike.
"I knew you could do it, child." Maddy's grandpa's voice said from the devil's lips. "Now, strike the final blow."
"What?" she said, flatly.
"The funny thing about wizards," the devil said before coughing like a chain smoker, "is" he forced the word out, amidst the end of his coughing fit, "we learn to harness the aspects within ourselves." he said.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Just as you have now learned to use this—whatever it is within yourself, wizards learn to harness the magical energies to create and control powerful aspects within themselves."
"... So?"
"So, when a wizard's physical body dies, their soul is divided between their aspects, and the strongest can even gain physical form."
"Wait..."
"Yes, child. I am the infernal parts of your grandfather."
"Why... Why the hell did you do everything you've done to me? To my village!"
"I had to." he said, simply. "The other aspects are weak, they would never have pushed you hard enough to unlock what's within you. You're still guilty about killing our physical amalgamation."
"My grandpa is not weak!"
"He wasn't, because he had me. His strength, his iron will, his stubborn, forthright capacity to do what had to be done at any cost! He suppressed me well, but now, I can do whatever I need. And so, I set to work ensuring you were ready to fight the evils that are coming our way."
"Evils like you?"
The devil laughed.
"Yes... Evils just like me." he said with a horribly charming smile, "And far, far worse." he added, gravely. "If someone like me could exist within your grandfather, just imagine what aspects exist out there from the truly evil wizards who have died throughout history." he explained, with a touch of nostalgia. "Now." he said, with the utmost seriousness, and with her grandpa's voice giving way to the familiar, raspy devil's tones, "Do it. Strike down this physical form of mine... Let me rest."
"Rest?"
"The centuries have been tiring, child. You are my successor. Think of all that you have lost, recall that you are merely 19, and think of what I must have lost in my 178 years of life."
"I... I didn't know."
"Of course you didn't. I shielded you from it. But now you do know. And now... The gentler aspect that visited you earlier—yes, I know about that, of course I do—now perhaps that aspect can rest too. We have nothing more to teach you, and no more secrets left to tell. From now on, this world is your adventure. Your lifetime stretches ahead of you. A century or more of being the greatest hero in the land... Go and make us proud." | 18 | tears stung the hero’s eyes as they held their dying companion. “What could you possibly know about loss?” They shouted in anger. The villain went silent for a moment. “I know far more than you could ever imagine”. | 46 |
"Only a peasant would lower themselves to using a farming implement as a weapon; why is it then that you, the one enemy no warrior, not even the greats, could hope to best choose to wield a scythe, instead of a proper weapon?" The king enquired to the dark, skull-faced figure before him
"That is where mortals are so wrong." The figure replied "My scythe is no weapon, for I am no warrior." They explained "I am, in fact, more akin to those you peasants; a farmer, who simply cuts at his crop when the time is right." They continued "I am no more a warrior than the earth beneath your feet, or the sea that stretches to the horizon, or the sky above your head. I am a part of nature." The figure turned and began to walk, beckoning the king to follow with a skeletal finger "Mortals prefer to think of me as an enemy, one they can dance, fight, and win against, but you would not think to fight with the Sun - that which gives you life - so why would you think to do the same with me?"
"All beings want to survive, to live and do more," The king replied
"And that is well and good, mortals should make use of their time upon the Earth." They agreed glancing back, the king unsure if they saw a smile across the figures countenance "However, imagine a world where one could escape me, truly and indefinitely. You would be able to do whatever you wanted, no?"
"Exactly, with no end to our lives we could do so much more, build great and powerful empires, create wonders that would push us further and further..." The king was stopped by the figure before him raising a hand, not an order, but a simple request that they be allowed to continue
"Or would you stagnate? With no set limit of when you could do something, would you simply allow yourselves to live idly, knowing that you would always have tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow to do the things you wanted?" They pointed out "You also fail to consider that, at times, my intervention can help process - your father for example would often halt new ideas, favouring only his own; that which her saw as true progress. With him gone you were able to help your kingdom and it's people grow and better themselves. Even your passing provides a moment for growth; your son has ideas that will shape your kingdom in ways you never imagined" They explained
"I am glad to hear that my son shall do great things." The king said thankfully
"Indeed, so as you can see my presence in this world is beneficial, even as you would all seek to remove it." They figure said "But my existence is also necessary; you yourself began to feel this in your latter days; the aches and pains you suffered as the wear of time began to be felt by your body, what would have happened in another 100 years? You would have been naught but bone, unable to move or do anything, your muscles all degraded, immobile but still alive." The king grimaced at the thought "So, as you can see, I am hardly the worst fate there is."
"Indeed," the king conceded, bowing his head almost apologetically
"But now you have your answer, will you pass on, beyond the veil?" Asked the figure
The king thought for a moment "No."
"'No'?" They replied, their tone more curious than surprised, although the king was not sure they could be surprised "You wish to return to the world as a wraith, a ghoul, or ghost?" They enquired
"No."
"There is little else for you, mortal."
"I wish to stay here, with you,"
"Hahahahaha," The rattling laugher rung out in the space
"I mean it," The king responded, irritated by the figures response
"I am aware." They replied "If that is what you wish, then so be it, I shall be glad for the company."
The king relaxed, smiling at the skeletal face which, although he was never quite sure, seemed to be smiling back, before turning, continuing to walk, beckoning their new companion to follow, into eternity | 128 | Only a peasant would lower themself to using a farming implement as a weapon; why is it then that Death, the one enemy even the greatest warrior can not defeat, is always portrayed as wielding a scythe instead of a proper weapon? | 196 |
In hindsight it was a red flag, but she was gorgeous and, up until then, it had been going beautifully.
We'd met at the zoo, where I had just started working in the cafeteria, she was a keeper in the insect house. On my first day she had come in for a coffee and I fell a little bit in love with her. How could I not? - she was tall and slim with a cute, quirky looking face. And her legs, they were incredible - boy, she was all legs.
We spoke several times over the next week or two, then I invited her out for an after work drink. I was overjoyed when she accepted enthusiastically.
The date went well and she invited me back to her room. 'I hope you don't mind creepy crawlies' she said and pointed to the corner next to her bed.
It was hideous, a giant centipede, with a massive pair of claws. 'Oh!' I said, trying my best to keep calm. 'That's pretty big, and why is it translucent?'
'It's a ghost', she replied, as it climbed up her arm and wrapped itself around her shoulders. 'It's OK, I've told her you can be trusted'.
I really should have made my excuses, but she started taking off her top. The centipede moved round to her back, and I swear it undid her bra strap.
We made love, but when I was about to climax I felt a sudden pain in my left buttock. The centipede had bitten me. The venom soon overcame me and I passed out.
I woke up the next morning feeling mildly nauseous. The girl said she had an amazing time, and congratulated me for being a fantastic lover. The centipede was sitting on the bed side table and smirked lasciviously at me.
That was two weeks ago. My backside had been getting increasingly uncomfortable and, what had started off as small red dots grew in to small boils.
Working in the cafeteria today, I became increasingly uncomfortable. It felt as if something was squirming about in my pants. I went to the restroom and dropped my trousers.
I could see then moving about in my underpants, dozens and dozens of tiny little centipedes. | 117 | You finally got on a date with this quirky, stunning girl you've met. Everything went perfectly, but when you got to her room, you found that the ghost of a giant centipede acts as her guardian spirit. Before bed, she tells you not to worry; she has told the spirit that you can be trusted. | 473 |
Usually, the 'Mall Santa' was an old man's job. Only the most desperate of young men would have even considered this an option.
In my defense, I hadn't expected to fall on hard times so quickly. First I got fired for slacking off, then my girlfriend dumped my ass for freeloading in her apartment, then my bank account ran out of money. Okay, fine, the last one was sort of my fault, but still.
So here I was, sitting underneath a big dumb tree, telling lies to kids. Eh. Whatever paid the bills, right?
The little derp sitting on my lap finished reciting her annoyingly long Christmas wishlist.
"Alright, uh, Josephine, I'll add it to my list." I hadn't really been listening to what she said, but who's checking?
She looked at me with confused and slightly hurt eyes. "My name's Mikayla."
"Oops, well, that's Santa's secret name for you! Don't tell anyone else!" I gave her a wink, and she ran off, satisfied. Good enough.
Next was a little boy with the most seething expression I'd ever seen on someone less than four feet tall. He jumped onto my lap without asking and stared into my eyes like a drill through plywood.
What's wrong with this kid? "Hey there, bucko, I mean ho ho ho, what do you want for Christmas?"
"What do I want for Christmas?" said the little fuming boy. "I want my childhood back, you motherfucker."
"Whoa there!" I hadn't been expecting that level of profanity. "Do you kiss your mommy with that mouth? What do you mean, your childhood?"
His eyes were pretty much burning with hate. "You used to date my mom! Then you left when I was a baby and never returned!"
I squinted at the little child demon. "Never seen you in my life, mister. Pretty sure of that."
"No!" the boy's voice began to raise in volume. "I was only three but I would recognize your Santa costume anywhere!"
Ah, so his absent dad was some *other* desperate Mall Santa. But this kid was making noise and beginning to attract attention, so it was time to nip this in the bud. "Where's your mum, kiddo? I think we need to have a little chat."
He pointed towards a woman standing in the crowd.
I spotted her and my entire train of thought was blown away. *That's a hot mama,* I thought to myself as my eyes scanned up and down her shapely body. Her features were perfect, as far as I could tell from this distance at least. More importantly, she was wearing a ton of shiny jewellery and some expensive designer handbag. Rich, must be. And apparently she had a thing for Mall Santas.
Interesting.
"You know what? Change of plans," I said. "What's your name, little boy?"
"Brian," he said angrily. "Or do you not even remember that anymore?"
"Ah, yes, Brian." I said. "You're right, Daddy's been neglecting you for a long time. Being Santa is a hard job, you know. But Christmas is a time for forgiveness. This Christmas, will you let me be your daddy again?"
The little twerp looked up at me, eyes welling up with tears. "Really?"
"Really."
"Yes! Yes! Yes!" Brian started sobbing like a girl and buried his face in my fluffy red shirt.
"There, there," I patted Brian's head gently. But I had eyes only on the prize. "Now, let's go and meet your mom." | 14 | “And what would you like for Christmas little boy?” The shopping mall Santa asked the child on his lap. The boy looked up into the eyes of the man who abandoned his mother the day he was born. “My childhood back you motherfucker.” | 61 |
I turned the card over, checking for secret messages or poison, and the union rep nodded knowingly. "Too many adventures at once, right? Every piece of paper looks like a threat or another clue."
I flipped the card again and read the blessed words, *Sidekick and Comic Relief Union: SCRUing Your Hero's Head on Straight since year 322*. I wasn't proud of the desperation that crept into my voice. "So you can really, can really help?"
"Mhm," the rep confirmed. "Let's start with the basics. Breaks."
I sighed. I knew it had been to good to be true. "Bud, we're saving the world. Even I know that the breaks are going to be few and far between."
He raised a finger to interrupt me. "Of course, of course. But what about when you do get a break? Where do you go?"
"Usually, Greg will find a town out of the way, we do some heroing, and then enjoy the locals' admiration for a bit."
The rep had pulled a clipboard from somewhere and was scribbling furiously. "So Greg picks the rests. When was the last time you got to chose a way to unwind?"
"I... huh." I scratched my beard, the one I hadn't actually planned to grow before we lost our supplies in the fourth dragon attack. "I don't remember."
"And as a two-man adventuring band, wouldn't you agree than you should be making half the break decision?"
Before I could reply, he continued. "Just something to think about, but it leads into the next issue. You said Greg has been finding towns to save. I assume he often also finds mysterious personal connections?"
"How could you possibly know that?"
The rep patted me on the shoulder. "It's normal. Side effect of too much fate hanging around in one person. But when was the last time *you* met a long-lost relative?"
"Never. That's more Greg's thing. I'm an orphan after all."
"You haven't even come across your parents?"
"Or. Phan."
"It's worse than I thought," he mumbled. "Look. I'm sure you've heard the ballads before. When was the last time you heard of an orphaned hero's companion who *didn't* find their parents?"
I froze, running through the stories in my head. "Never."
"Exactly. By not letting you pick any destinations, Greg is stifling your backstory. Obviously, the main quest should come first, but any sidekick should get *at least* ten percent of all side quests to prevent character stagnation."
I ran my fingers over the union's business card again. How could I ever have seen it as a danger? This was a life line at the best possible time.
"I'll get back to you. And thank you so much." Impulsively, I seized him in a hug, and I was surprised when he returned it without hesitation. "I've got to have some strong words with Greg."
The rep smirked and gave a thumbs up. "Go get 'em, and have the lawyer's contact at the ready, second number on the card. First consult is free, even before you sign."
I turned and marched to the inn—the inn Greg had chosen—and left so quickly that I missed the rep's parting words. I might not have heard anyway, with the faint whisper he spoke in "Make me proud, my son."
***
r/NobodysGaggle | 772 | You are sick and tired of how your childhood friend (the chosen one) has been treating you lately, but it's not like there's anything you can do about it. He's the Hero for goodness sake! Everything changes when you are approached by a representative of the Sidekick and Comic Relief Union. | 2,578 |
The shanty stood isolated in the Texas desert, the nearest sign of civilization being the border wall some distance to the south. Outside, a horse adorned in brightly colored markings fed from a trowel. It was the third unmarked building the government agent had found today.
As he brought his black SUV to a stop, gunshots rang out from the shack in rapid succession. The first round pierced a front and back tire, flattening them instantly. The second went straight through the car's dashboard, destroying its electronics. The third shattered the windshield and pinged the badge concealed in the agent's jacket pocket. It was painful, but the kevlar he was wearing prevented it from breaking the skin. The gesture was not unexpected. This was who he was looking for after all.
"Are you dead?" An old man's voice called out from the lean-to. The horse let out a neigh, unphased by the gunfire.
The agent slowly stepped out from his vehicle and replied. "I don't believe your intentions were to kill me, sir."
"Fuck my intentions, I've still got you in my sights."
"You don't have to lower your weapon if that's what makes you feel comfortable. I'm with a very influential organization-"
"You're with the government, aren'tcha? You can't stop me from helping these people. What's stopping me from putting more holes in you than that dammed fence down there?"
"On the contrary," the agent slowly raises his hands in the air, then with equal speed produces the ruined badge in his pocket. "I'm interested in helping you help more people, Ranger."
The Ranger. At least, that's what he's known as in the states. The immigrants he helps cross the border call him many names, painting him as more of a savior figure than a vigilante at war with the United States government. His calling card is no doubt his unrivaled effectiveness with firearms and sympathy for those escaping from a drug-war-torn Mexico. But if the stories are true about him taking down whole fleets of border patrol single-handedly to protect those who can't protect themselves, then it's reasonable to believe he has the potential to become a superhero.
"Stay where you are."
The Ranger removed his rifle from the slot he shot at the agent from. The door to his shanty swung open, almost falling off its hinges. He was an older gentleman with a potbelly and scraggly beard in nothing but his underwear. His rifle, a dusty lever-action, was relaxed to his side, still aimed at the agent.
"I apologize for catching you at in inopportune time, but we are in need of all the assistance we can get."
"Apology denied. So are they. Now get out of here."
"You see, Mr. Ranger, by our estimates, you've escorted thousands of illegal aliens across the border since you began your career here. While that is no small number, we believe you have the potential to help millions. Perhaps even save the world. By teaming up with our organization, you'll be able to work with other heroes against massive global threats. You'll have a generous salary, and all your crimes will be forgiven so long as you continue to report for duty, wherever and whenever that may be. You will, of course, have to move to our headquarters in New York City."
The Ranger pursed his lips and nodded. "Illegal aliens, huh? Is that all these people are to you?"
"I mean no offense, sir. But you merely guard them as they cross the border. What happens to them after that, you don't seem to be concerned. Would you like to hear the number of many of them end up trapped in underpaid labor? Fall into a life of crime or substance abuse? End up deported anyway? I assure you, you are not helping as many people as you think you are."
During the agent's speech, the Ranger had went back inside his hut to retrieve a cigar which he was now smoking, gun resting in the bend of his arm.
"So, Mr. Suit, who'd you have to abandon to get your job?"
"Excuse me?"
"What sacrifices have you made to 'save the world'?"
"Well, I, uh... I've worked hard. Went to law school. Then was accepted for this position of scouting and managing superheroes."
The Ranger saddled and mounted his horse. "You're no 'superheroes'. You'd let these people die under the government's cruelty so you can protect yourselves."
He tossed his cigar into his shack and rode up to where the agent stood. "You aren't saving the world. You're sacrificing it. Now walk."
Suddenly, the tiny building exploded in a plume of fire, knocking the agent to the ground. When he got up, the Ranger was gone. It was a long walk back to Houston. | 18 | An American superhero tale that is not set in New York, LA, San Francisco, Washington DC, Chicago, etc. | 120 |
"Behold, your majesty! The hero of legends!" The thick smoke slowly cleared.
The nearby guards waited on bated breath, holding their spears tightly but seemingly leisurely. They certainly didn't want to startle the hero, but they also didn't want to be massacred by an unknown being of unimaginable power.
The king sat on his throne in his best majestic pose. First impressions were important, especially for a king.
Something was wrong. The ArchMagistrate thumbed through his grimoire. The ceremony was supposed to summon an adolescent boy. Instead, two metal contraptions were sitting in the middle of the throne room.
"Ahem. Frederick." The king's piercing glare demanded an explanation and the the wizard had none.
"Ah. Em. A moment please, your majesty." Was this metal box somehow a strange alien boy? And why were there two of them? They were rumbling slightly, perhaps they were hungry?
The guard captain looked nervously at his men. Sweat dripped down his neck. The two creatures' gleaming skins looked like steel. His men were well equipped sure, but they wouldn't stand a chance against a metal golem.
To everyone's surprise, the creature's ears opened up and a middle-aged man stepped out.
"Oi, you shithead. What the fuck is wrong with your driving?" The man directed his verbal abuse at the other creature's eyes. It made a loud and annoyed honking noise.
Another middle-aged man stepped out of the other creature's ears. The magistrate was staring slack jawed at the spectacle. The king was leaning forward in interest.
"You're the one who bloody mucked up the job. If your track record wasn't so terrible, they wouldn't have even sent me!" The second man gave the first a very colorful gesture.
"Welcome! Heroes of legend! I am King Oberon, we seek your help in defeating a demon who plagues our world." A competent king knew to hold his composure even in the face of ludicrous bewilderment.
"Look what you've done, you piss-eating bastard! The man thinks we're the damn heroes!" The two men completely ignored the king.
"It's not my fault. You closed your eyes before flooring the fucking gas pedal!"
"I can't help it! It needs to look plausible!"
"Bullshit, you're just squeamish."
"Am not!"
"If you'd just open your damn eyes when you hit pedestrians, we wouldn't even have this problem. It was an EASY JOB. EASY."
"Well it shouldn't be, running people over shouldn't be easy."
"WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU WORKING IN THIS LINE OF BUSINESS?!"
"Hey a man needs to eat."
"Ahem." The king coughed to get their attention. They continued ignoring him.
"You are in the presence of King Arranis Oberon, son of Julius Oberon and first of his name, ruler and sovereign of Kindynos!"
The two men turned to the ArchMagistrate at the same time and shouted, "Shut up!"
The king sighed and looked at the nervous guard captain, "Kill them."
&nbsp;
___
A/N This could be pretty interesting...
edit: [SEQUEL!!](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/wc34km/wp_the_isekai_truck_driver_is_confused_when_he/iib6hq3/)
/r/Unexpected_Works | 172 | two Isekai trucks both miss the chosen one and hit each other instead | 467 |
# Bill Nye
*This article is about the American science educator and former President of the United States. For the British actor, see* [*Bill Nighy*](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bill_Nighy)*. For other people, see* [*Bill Nye (disambiguation)*](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dQw4w9WgXcQ)*.*
**William Sanford Nye** (born November 27, 1955),^(\[4\]) popularly known as **Bill Nye the Science Guy**, is an American mechanical engineer, science communicator, and television presenter who served as the 47th President of the United States.
Born in Washington, D.C., Nye began his career as a mechanical engineer for Boeing in Seattle, where he invented a hydraulic resonance suppressor tube used on 747 airplanes. In 1986, he left Boeing to pursue comedy—writing and performing for the local sketch television show Almost Live!, where he regularly conducted wacky science experiments.^(\[2\]) He later pitched the children's television program Bill Nye the Science Guy to Seattle's public television station, KCTS-TV, which would became a hit among kids and adults^(\[11\]), was critically acclaimed, and was nominated for 23 Emmy Awards, winning 19, including Outstanding Performer in Children's Programming for Nye himself.^(\[5\])
Nye continued to advocate for science, taking on high positions at various research and advocacy institutes across America.^(\[13\]) Riding upon his well-known celebrity status, Nye campaigned for and won the 2024 United States Presidential Election as an Independent, becoming the first President not to be affiliated with either the Democratic or Republican parties since Millard Fillmore.^(\[69\])
Nye's presidential career began with high expectations, but controversy soon surfaced. His first act as President was to push for the signing of the Provisional Climate Bill, which would have diverted a significant proportion of the country's military funding to anti-global warming efforts.^(\[72\]) However, this and other policies sparked widespread protest when it was revealed that Nye had received funding from the National Polar Bear Conservation Association, leading to speculation that Nye was advocating the interest of foreign bears instead of the citizens of the United States.^(\[13\] \[37\])
The conflict came to a peak when Nye was accused by a White House employee of staying late at night to repair a malfunctioning air-conditioner in the Oval Office.^(\[22\]) Critics claimed that Nye's personal use of indoor climate control was indicative of hypocrisy and various other conflicts of interest. After a series of lengthy and well-televised trials, Nye was impeached by the House of Representatives for contempt of court and general lack of coolness.^(\[84\]) This result had wide-reaching implications for climate agreements worldwide, with most climate agreements being cancelled due to fear of being associated with Nye. To replace them, bills encouraging the use of fossil fuels were implemented, supported by representatives of the oil and gas industry.^(\[3\])
Nye's final words before leaving office were "You guys are hopeless. I give up."^(\[31\]) After leaving the presidency, Nye became the founder of Hide Yo Children, a construction company specializing in building underground doomsday bunkers and air conditioning systems.^(\[40\])
Nye resides in his underground bunker with his wife, Liza Mundy.^(\[9\]) He is a fan of the Seattle Seahawks.^(\[11\])
# See also
* Global warming myth
* Benefits of fossil fuels | 51 | “The end is nigh!” the old warning went, or so we thought. It turns out the prophecy was misunderstood. The end is Nye. The Science Guy. | 326 |
"So what was your wife like?" I tried to look interested as I asked the question of the man across from me. He scratched his head, letting the tip of his sword dip into the dirt.
"Oh, she's wonderful, absolutely wonderful. The smartest woman I know and kind with it. Never made me feel stupid, though she could run circles around me." I wriggled a little trying to get more comfortable. The man didn't notice, seemingly lost in memory. "She used to dance around the kitchen when she made food. Burned almost everything, because she'd get distracted. Sometimes I was the one distracting her." He chuckled low in his throat though his eyes seemed sad. Flexing my arms, I shifted my hands once again. The sword trembled in the dirt and I stilled, but as I looked up, the man, the hero, still seemed distracted. "And she wasn't any delicate flower either. She could best me at arm-wrestling half the time, and Polgo— our bull—would only listen to her. Anyone else he'd gore without complaint, but my wife... oh she turned him into a lamb." A tear glistened in the firelight. Was he actually crying? I'd never seen a hero cry before, and I'd seen my fair share of heroes. It didn't seem right to let him go on, as the memories were obviously painful.
"I am sorry for your loss. She sounds like a marvellous woman." And to my surprise, I wasn't lying one bit. She did sound pretty wonderful and you could tell how much he loved her from those few sentences. The hero looked at me, with an expression of acute confusion.
"My loss? Who did I lose—oh." He threw his head back laughing. "You mean my wife! Oh, she isn't dead. It's just this stupid quest. I apparently was chosen to defeat the villain. But there was Polgo to look after, and the farm to run, and I had to leave right away, according to the messenger. So she stayed behind getting everything in order." I had managed to wriggle out of my bonds by now, and my hand strayed to a nearby branch. If I used the element of surprise, I might be able to get—Something snorted hot breath onto my hand.
I froze, only letting my eyes go upwards. Just out of the range of the firelight, a shadow loomed, blotting out the stars. It was an odd shape. If it wasn't for the tall protuberance on the top I would have thought it was a bull. But that was probably because of the hero's story. Speaking of... I turned to see the hero raising his sword, finally realizing I had freed myself. My legs working before my brain, I half-dashed, half-crawled, pushing past the shadow. Or at least I tried. Something snatched at the back of my collar and my feet left the ground. Whoever had grabbed me, must have been on the back of the bull-shaped shadow. Which—now that I was close enough to it— I could smell, was indeed a bull. We moved back into the firelight, me dangling from the iron-hard grip of the person astride the bull.
"Polgo?" The hero sounded confused, though I couldn't see his face. "Wait— Laina! You made it!" The sheer joy in his voice left no confusion as to who was holding me. Well, throwing me now. I landed in a heap near the fire, and when I managed to try and get up, the hero's sword was at my throat.
"Sorry, it took so long darling. Johnny was having a right time of it trying to learn to take care of the farm." I shrunk back a little from the woman astride the bull. Her melodious voice matched her face, but I couldn't help remembering the strength of that grip. One hand still on a rope attached to the bull, she slid off, skirts flying. On the ground, she took two steps toward the hero, before he bounded towards her sweeping her up in his arms. He spun her through the air, before setting her down. Then, to my surprise, she returned the favour, spinning him as well. They stood together, laughing, my presence obviously forgotten.
I tried to get up, but there seemed to be a large weight pressing on my trousers from the left. I looked there, and Polgo stared back at me, with malevolence. I went very still, attempting to seem completely harmless. We all stayed in our various places for a few minutes, as the fire burnt lower. Summoning up my courage, I cleared my throat. Two pairs of eyes swept towards me, the shock in their faces saying that they'd forgotten about my presence.
"Um, now that you're so happily reunited, maybe you could let me go? Or at least get the bull away from me?" Polgo snorted, and I'm pretty sure a few years were shaved off my life. Laina, walked over to me, bending to look closer.
"And who is this cretin, honey?" There was a danger in her voice that I knew well. It was the cat looking at a particularly juicy bird. "Was he bothering you?"
"Just a bandit roaming the woods. He tried to steal my horse. But I'm sure he's learned his lesson by now." The hero looked at me sternly, before spoiling the effect with a broad wink. I nodded so hard I thought my head would fall off.
"Very well. Polgo." She raised her head to the bull, and he lifted his feet, snorting again. I scrabbled to my own, bobbing a quick bow to both of them. She smiled sweetly enough, but I knew the steel behind the soft exterior. Out of the two of them, the wife was definitely the most dangerous.
"Thank you. And trust me. I'll think twice before stealing again." They ignored me, as I ran out of the firelight and into the night. Reaching a nearby hill, I looked back, checking to make sure they weren't following. Both of them were sitting against Polgo's side, her head on his shoulder, their hands entwined. It was a happy, idyllic scene.
And I hoped I would never see them again. One brush with certain death was quite enough for me. | 114 | Everyone thinks the hero's wife is dead because of how sad he gets when he talks about her. However, she's alive and completely fine. He just hasn't seen her in years because he was forced to go on this stupid quest and misses her. | 542 |
"Soooooo, you're the one who ordered an exorcism on me?", I stated while rolling my eyes. "Come onnnnnnn, you can do better than this!?!". The priest huffed at me and proceeded to GLARE at his assistant. They both *insisted* that me, a gay person, who just also happen to be an atheist needed an exorcism. What for? To get the supposed demon out of me. I know better than to fight, or else they'll just pester me daily as I walked past their church to go to work. Instead, If I behave, maybe even pretend that it worked they'll leave me be....but I HAVE to sound encouraging. "OH LORD, PLEASE SAVE THIS SOUL FROM DAMNATIIOOOOON" screamed the pastor, tightly holding onto his mythology of a book. "BEGONE DEMON, FREE THIS PERSON FROM YOUR GRASPS" screamed his assistant, As he decided to give me a light shower in their sacred water. "Why's the water ice cold!?!? Did you take it straight from the freezer!?!?" I yelped, after all the coldness did caught me off guard. "OH LORD ITS WORKING" yelled the pastor "YOU ARE FREE!!!!". I sighed again, directly made eye contact, and said. "Nope, still gayer than a rainbow lightsaber, nice try though, I AM less of an atheist if you count that as successful". And then I skipped out of the church with a purse thrown over my shoulder. | 16 | An atheist is getting an excorism and nothing is happening. Not to be rude, the atheist tries their best to encourage the people performing it. | 149 |
Above an angel stood. His eyes poked out from just behind the podium that appeared more as a personal shielding than a place of authority. In front of him, in front of me, was a long queue of various bodies, each seeming dressed far too casual for the heaven around. I looked down to my own clothes to verify: a Van Halen shirt and ripped jeans. Yeah, far too casual.
Despite the lines length it seemed to be running smoothly, with most being quickly admitted to the large silvery gates behind the angel-bouncer. If they weren't then the cloud floor beneath them would drop out in a way that reminded me of old Acme cartoons, all that was missing was a sign in hand that read *Oops*.
After what felt like only a few short monents there was only one in front of me. Him and the angel were laughing about something I hadn't managed to catch, and with the demeanor I figured he surely would make it beyond the gates. But to my surprise the large angelic mans laughter faded out and his tone went dark: "Ahhh that was a good one...anyways Sorry. You didn't qualify." and with that the man was sent down through the floor.
"Next! A Mr...Graylon?" the winged man checked an oddly human clipboard.
"Ah yes. That would be me. How's it going?" As the words left my mouth they felt dumb, but I didnt know what else to say.
"Can't complain, can't complain. So here's the deal, you don't qualify for heaven-"
"Wait! I don't want to go down there, I'll do anything!" I braced myself for the fall. For the clouds to part and send me to a beyond in the deepest pit if earth, but no such thing occured. Instead the angel laughed, "*Haha!* Slow your roll there buddy I'm not sending you down. What I wanted to say was that unfortunately you do not qualify for eternal salvation in our wing." his tone reminded me of a car salesman telling me he couldn't manage a lower APR rather than a god speaking to a man.
"But what I've done is compiled a list of other heavens, hells and limbos you are eligible for. Of course, you could always try your luck with the wheel of reincarnation." At his command a large colorful wheel appeared, complete with flashing lights and about a trillion options listed in small slivers. Behind me I heard a few voices chant *ooo the wheel! Pick the wheel!*
"How long do I have to think about it?" I spoke up to the angel.
"Oh well as long as you need! You'll just head to limbo and when you're ready I'll send you back up into the line."
I turned my head to weigh the options. Behind me the line seemed to have grown to infinite proportions, stretching on beyond the clouds in an impressive display of obedience. A few of the chants continued: *the wheel! pick the wheel!*
"I uhh. I think I'll take the wheel." I eyed the closest slivers to me. In blocky letters they read: *Blue whale*, *Mantis Shrimp*, *House Fly*, not a list of my first picks, but it could be worse I guess. Hopefully if I hated it I could just die fast and come back.
The angel stepped down from his podium onto cloud-covered stairs. With each step his movement boomed through the infinite space until he reached the wheel, then he placed a massive hand atop it. "Alright Graylon. Ready for round two?"
I shook my head in approval, then the wheel was flung at warp speed, blending the colored slivers together in one big blur. As they slowed I tried to track my fate *Dung beetle* *Luna Moth* *Centipede* ,ew, not that one *Orangutan* *Sasquatch*, wait really? Finally it came to a slow. A few voices yelled out their guesses from behind until it finally landed: Giant Tortoise.
"Ah...well it wasn't my first pick but-"before I could finish the angel yelled.
"Round 537 here you come! Good luck with reincarnation! See you again soon!"
And I was back on earth once again. | 227 | "Sorry sir, but unfortunately you do not qualify for eternal salvation in our wing, I have compiled a list of other heavens, hells and limbos you are eligible for. Of course, you could always try your luck with the wheel of reincarnation." | 776 |
(I'm still pretty new here and it might not end up good but I'll try )
So... long story but I'm convinced this guy is a wizard.
I mean, he turned my teacher into a frog, a fat frog at that. But nobody remembers? They say we got dismissed early.
Not to mention that stupid book he carries around, whenever someone asks him about it he mumbles something and they all leave.
And the extra weird thing is he never got bullied, he was thin, tall, and had broken glasses. Typically nerd boy.
My friend, specifically, said that he told her the book was just a gift from his grandma. But there's no way he turned a teacher into a fat toad with a "gift from his grandma."
I decided to confront him about it. A bold move yes, but I feel like I'm crazy and I need answers.
I found him outside in an alleyway by the school, a popular place for all the wrong reasons.
"Are you doing drugs or magic?" I ask him. He quickly turns around, his eyes look at me and around him.
"Drugs!" He dismisses, hiding a small cauldron bubbling with some green liquid.
Honestly I couldn't help but chuckle a bit at him. He pours the liquid into a bag and stuffs it all into his backpack.
"Don't lie. I know you're a wizard." I confess. His eyes dart all around.
"H-How? What's your evidence?" He demands
"Mrs. Fat Frog Smith." I chuckle.
"I cast a spell on the whole school and one person just happens to be absent when I do so?" He mumbles, pushing his broken glasses up.
"So you are a wizard." I smile. "I'm not crazy." He jumps as small sparks fly out of his backpack. "God..." He whispers throwing his backpack off and stepping on it.
"I am a wizard but no one has to know." He confirms. "It's dangerous." | 20 | You suspect the new kid at school is a Wizard, because They carry a strange book with Them, plus They turned Your teacher into a frog. For some reason no one thinks it’s weird and no one believes You. | 77 |
His arm was twitching, like physically, twitching. He had to do everything within his power *not* to pet the Ambassador's head. It was actually starting to hurt, if he were to be honest. But he did not, he kept himself still, and sat the Ambassador down.
"Would you like some tea, Ambassador?" He asked, staring into two dark eyes, and a mouth half-open with panting breaths.
"No, but thank you. Do you have any biscuits?"
It was important not to smile, as it was rather obviously not a joke. There was a small box of dog treats that sat off to the side, and he couldn't help but wonder. But no, the Ambassador's eyes were off towards the left, where the kitchen happened to be. Luckily, he had indeed made biscuits for the Ambassador earlier that morning, back when he'd suspected...Someone else.
"Yes, I do," He eventually replied, standing himself up.
He was walking off into the kitchen, when a sound he'd been hoping desperately *not* to hear, caught his ears.
"Mommy, is that a *doggy*?!"
He dropped the biscuits almost immediately, and ran back into the living room. He'd told her that they needed to get out of the house for a couple of hours, that it was official business for the Galactic Federation...
Brown eyes stared silently, as a gigantic, wooly and sentient dog, was leaning his head towards human hands, a smile upon his lips, as gentle pats ran across his fur.
"I do believe I asked for Biscuits," The Ambassador said, as he walked into the room.
He tried to ignore the fact that his wife was now petting the Ambassador as well, as he went back into the room and grabbed the biscuits. | 10 | Maintaining professionalism was paramount for humanity's future, but the Alien Ambassador was a giant fluffy dog. | 28 |
"Ok, so this is the place?" I asked as we pulled up to what looked like a Victorian era mansion in moderate disrepair.
"...Nope, it doesn't look anything like the travel site said it should be."
"Yeah no, we're getting a hotel and staying somewhere that doesn't look like dry-rot incarnate."
Of course it would be at that moment that our cheap rental car gave out, but this is why we got triple A. Of course we didn't get cellphone coverage out in the middle of fracking no where. Why didn't we turn around sooner? The answer is I am kind of asinine about road safety and I couldn't find a place to do a legal U-turn, or anywhere else to do a turn around legally on this backwards gravel road.
I debated getting out and walking, but I just felt like there was something watching us in the shadows. Probably the local nocturnal predator.
"I'm just gonna lock the car and we can sleep in here."
"Sounds ok, but I have to pee."
"Um, get in the back seat and use your empty soda bottle. I think I see some critter outside and, well..."
"you really that worried about it?"
My response was to lock the car doors.
\*\*\*Several Hours Latter\*\*\*
As day light broke, I popped the hood and went to see what was wrong with the engine. Of course it would be that as soon as my friend turned the engine that the thing starts up smoothly. We put in a good breakfast place in the GPS and head back to town without further incident. | 38 | You and your friends have been pulled into a particularly terrible Horror Movie. Fortunately, you all understand all of the steriotypes and tropes of the Horror Genre. | 105 |
All in all, you’d say it was worth it.
At the small cost of being the biological father to countless unknown children, you bested the devil. Many people would squander the money on expensive vacations, sports cars, luxury houses. Many would quit their job. You invested. You kept on working. You attended night classes, and finally earned your degree. When you made the deal at 23 years old, you were a college drop out working days as a barista and nights as a bartender. 15 years later, you have a boring, yet lucrative, 9 to 5 as a Software Engineer. You’re married, with two wonderful kids. You’ve paid off the mortgage on your beautiful suburban home, complete with its white picket fence. By any definition (or rather the very specific definition of the American Dream^(TM)), you’re living the dream.
One day, you decide to go on a date night with the spouse. It’s been years, quite frankly, and the two of you are long overdue. That doesn’t particularly quell your anxieties about leaving your two young children with a babysitter. You work from home, and neither of the kids are old enough for primary school yet. You’re rather inexperienced with saying goodbye to them. Your spouse (who leaves the house every day to go to their job) assures you that it’ll be fine. This babysitter has glowing reviews.
With a slight bit of reluctance, you set off on your date night. You go to that cute Italian restaurant where the two of you once confessed your love for each other for the first time. You cuddle up together in a blanket at the quaint local drive-in theater. The movie isn’t great, but at least it isn’t PBS Kids. No mathematics or vocabulary lessons in this film.
The night concludes, and you smile faintly on the drive home. Next to you your spouse sleeps, their head resting against the side door. They’re so cute. This is why you married them. In the end, you admit to yourself, the date night was worth it.
Still in a lovesick daze, you pull into the driveway. The house is dark, which is a good sign. The sitter must have gotten the kids to go to bed. You tap lightly on your spouse’s shoulder to wake them up, and the two of you exit the car.
As you walk past your white picket fence and up to the door of your McMansion, you feel your shoulders tense. Something doesn’t feel quite right.
You insert your keys in the lock and turn. Your spouse trails behind you, yawning. Perhaps the two of you stayed out a bit too late.
Terror paints your face as your press the door open. Your eyes lock with those of the sitter’s. Glowing, red eyes. They are positioned in the doorway of the house, blocking you from entering.
In an attempt to alleviate the tension, you speak, “Ah, hey there. W-were the kids well-behaved? What do I owe you again?” Much as you try, you can’t keep your voice from shaking.
“My childhood.” The sitter says, a playful humor dripping from their tone.
The automatic porch light turns on. Under the dim light, you take in the features of the sitter’s face. The nose. The freckles. The red locks on their head. You hadn’t noticed it before. But now, as you stare into the face of your firstborn child, the truth is inescapable.
“Where are my children?” you ask.
The sitter remains silent, but a manic grin flashes across their face. “Right here," they finally say.
The irony of the statement doesn’t escape you. Perhaps, your wording was a bit poorly chosen. Sure enough, though, you can hear the distinctive laughs of your children. The sitter steps away from the doorway to reveal the two of them, sitting in a room that may have once been a living room. Now, remnants of a pillow fight cover the couches and a blanket fort dominates the floor. The kids are watching a movie, singing along as the lead character belts out a ballad about how nobody will ever understand them.
You let out a breath you hadn't realized you’d been holding. “Damn. You didn’t get them to sleep.”
So much for the loophole. | 247 | years ago, you made a deal with the devil; a million dollars in return for your firstborn child. The thing is, the devil didn't say anything about donating to a sperm bank. | 583 |
"What is this walmart? Why is the line taking so long? J.M. TAYLOR, there shouldn't be many if any others with my name"
'This isn't Walmart." I say as I spin my new scythe vertically in agitation.
"Well duh, I'm dead. I just wanna go to heaven or whatever already, it feels like an eternity in line and though I have time to spare, I've never had any patience so why start now?"
The newly dead that has been arguing with me while I go through the list of heavens and hells, I'm looking for their name to ship them off to their rightfully deserved afterlife, but their incessant complaining is slowing the process.
"Do you see a computer? This isn't alphabetical, there's more than just one J.M Taylor on this, and quite frankly you're not making the process any easier. Now quiet down or I'll just pick a random hell and you'll be on your way, do you underSTAND!"
My eyesockets glow with a furious red as I stress on the last word, I look toward the back of the line to hopefully instill enough fear to keep the others in line. Hah in line, making myself laugh is the only way I'll keep my sanity.
"Sheesh, what are you new?" He says sarcastically
"Yes" I say coldly and low not looking up from the list.
"Ah J.M. Taylor, J Merriam Taylor. Found you."
The mans face colors red, as much as a souls can at his middle name
"Just J.M. if you please" he sighs
"Now why would I do that? Had you known the meaning of patience, which IS in alphabetical order in the Merriam Webster dictionary, you'd have shown some to me and we'd have been done sooner, as this long drawn out conversation would never have happened."
I make sure to emphasize his name once more
"We all have eternity, no need to start it off poorly"
After these words the man looks down embarrassed but hasn't uttered a word of apology.
As I go to tell him his afterlife, the name glows red and the destination beside updates in a fiery scrawl
"Looks like you were tipping on the fence with karma"
The man looks up quizzically
"Ah, because of your rudeness and all the accumulated negitive karma from mistreating service workers, it seems you've been updated to a new afterlife"
"Where...to?"
Fear creeping in his voice
"Customer service employment"
"What now?"
"A hell of customer service employment, you see, you've never once been appreciative toward those who provided you any service. And even in your last moments you cursed your nurses and doctors who had shown nothing but compassion"
"That's a load of cra-"
As he's about to say that I poke his forehead with the blade of my Scythe and off he shoots to his hell.
"You'll only be there till you truly learn appreciation and patience, so good luck...NEXT!" | 38 | As a new Grim Reaper it's your job to accompany the recently deceased safety to the afterlife. It doesn't take you long to realize that this is probably one of the worst customer service jobs out there. | 100 |
This particular part of the afterlife looked like the airport hotel conference rooms where Mike Debner had spent many, many billable hours. At the head of the table sat his current client, Dr. Henry Fost, looking far more terrified than the corrupt shipping executives Debner had been used to helping. That might have been because Fost had died scared in a fire in his basement lab; or it might have been because of Debner’s counterpart across the table. She represented The Other Side, and kept letting her human form slip, revealing the pile of writhing, impaled snakes underneath.
“Dr. Fost… Henry,” Lilly said, for a moment choosing to look human. “Is this the contract you signed with my employer?” She produced it with a flourish, a rolling parchment scroll with impressive burned edges.
Fost put his head in his hands. “Yes,” he said.
“Were you under any duressssss?” Her form slipped again, and the snakes sang the last word in a smug chorus.
“I just wanted knowledge!” Fost wailed.
Debner sighed. “Dr. Fost, let me remind you that you’re under oath,” he said.
“I just wanted those fuckers at the university to respect me,” Fost amended, head still down.
Lilly gave Debner a smug look.
“Dr. Fost,” Debner began when it was finally his turn to depose him. “When you contracted with The Other Side, did you believe your soul was yours to sell?”
Fost gave Debner a terrified look. “I thought you were on my side!”
“Just answer the question, Dr. Fost.”
“Yes,” Fost said, staring straight ahead this time.
“Let me take you back to June, 1999. You were eight years old. Do you remember attending Camp Crusader, a ten-day long Christian youth camp?”
“Yes,” said Fost. “I know I should have known better.”
Why can’t they just answer the question, Debner sighed inwardly. “Do you remember pledging your soul to the Lord at the end of camp? Please answer verbally,” he reminded him as Faust nodded.
“Yes,” said Fost, for the first time looking hopeful.
“In fact,” Debner produced a printout from his briefcase. “We have prepared a list of times you pledged your soul to my employer. These were primarily in exchange for good grades on final exams, several near-miss car accidents, and,” Debner made a show of checking his papers, “losing your virginity to a Ms. Melissa Florez. Do you recognize these dates and events?”
Fost looked over the paper and nodded. “Yes,” he said again.
“Did you ever get a grade below an A- on any one of those finals?”
“No,” Fost answered.
Angry snake eyes stared at Debner from under Lilly’s power suit.
“Will you tell us, for the record, who your first sexual partner was?” Debner asked with a sigh.
Suddenly Fost was grinning, relieved and a little smug. Debner knew that look well. It was the look of Fost realizing he was going to get away with it. Again. “Missy Florez,” he said.
“Would it be fair to say,” Debner concluded. “That my employer has upheld His side of the bargain?”
“So that’s it?” Fost asked him later, as they exited the conference room back into the buzzing concourse that was the anteroom to the afterlives. “I get to go to heaven now?”
“You get to avoid hell, buddy,” Debner said, patting him on the back. “What happens next isn’t my department.”
“And what about me?” Debner asked his own boss, later still. *Be Not Afraid*, the angel had said, and Debner wasn’t anymore. Mostly. “When do I get to go to heaven?”
“You know the drill,” the angel said. On its desk was a small, framed picture of one of the leaking oil ships that had belonged to Debner’s clients. “You still owe us a lot of billable hours. Go grab a coffee and let’s discuss your next client.” | 12 | They say the Devil claims all the best lawyers to write contracts for people's souls. But the truth is all the best lawyers go to heaven, where they help God rescue people from the Devil's shoddy contracts. | 169 |
To say the news was surprising may have been a bit of a stretch. I always knew Anna was a bit...odd. Quirky? Sure. Out of this world? Definitely! I just didn't expect that to be taken literally.
Now, sitting beside me on the couch, her eyes glowing a bright neon green, I find myself at a loss for words.
"You haven't said anything." She says.
"I-I know..." I reply. "Its just...a lot to take in."
"I understand, it all must be so overwhelming," she says, taking my hand. "But I want you to know I won't be upset if you say no. Even if you never want to see me again after today, I'll accept it."
"You will?"
"Of course."
"You wont hold me down and dissect me with some alien tool?"
"What?" she asks. "Of course not, I would never do that to you."
There is a moment of silence between the two of us as everything she has told me flies through my head. In the hardest days in grade school, when I got my lunch money stolen and was picked last in gym, Anna was always there. She had always been my everything, she was the only person who saw me for who I really was. Did this really change any of that?
"I don't know what sort of responsibilities I'll have as your husband..."
"There are some," she says. "But I can ease you into it, it won't happen all at once."
"You promise you'll go easy on me?"
"Cross my heart."
I chuckle softly and smile at her. She smiles back, reaching out and cupping my face and caressing my cheek with her thumb. Yeah, it certainly isn't normal, but we never have been, not really. I always felt like I was born on another planet, and Anna, who really was. And we found each other. And that's all that really matters. | 58 | Your high school girlfriend who you have known for two years reveals herself to actually be a millennias-old alien leader of a hivemind. She wants you to be her husband and fellow leader. | 133 |
It's not that uncommon for people to find abandoned children. Mrs. Walker knew what the procedure was; Take a blood sample, make a DNA test. See if you can find the parents, and call the child protection services. What she didn't know however, that the baby she herself found, was going to be the biggest mystery she ever came across.
Everything matched, but at the same time, nothing. It had as many genes as humans do (approximately 20,000-25,000) and just as many chromosomes (23 pairs). On the other hand, Mrs. Walker noticed some DNA chains, that have never been seen in humans before, nor in any other kind of animal in the animal kingdom. That, however is only where the differences began. The infant's blood type didn't match any formerly established 8 Blood groups.
For starters, just like the O blood type, there are no A or B antigens on the red blood cells, but the blood plasma contains formerly unknown antibodies. Then there is the fact that while RhD positive people have D antigens on the surface of their blood cells and RhD negative people don't, the baby's blood cells do have antigens on them but a formerly unknown type. The Baby's blood also contains three different kinds of unidentified cells.
Mrs. Walker thought at first that she's going crazy, but after double checking, triple checking and checking it a fourth time for good measure, she was certain, this baby, meanwhile human-looking it is certainly not human. She wasn't even sure anymore if it's from this planet, or this universe for that matter. Imagination is running wild when encountering the unknown. Maybe calling the child protection services would be a bad idea after all. As she returned to the now sleeping baby, she noticed something, that she didn't notice in the dark of the night when she got here with it.
The baby's skin color was anything but human. It was moss-green with dark spots all over it. Definitely not human. Wait, she remembers now. It was always like this, it was always green, why didn't she notice it sooner? Not only that but the baby slept through both the trip and getting it's blood sample taken? Why does she only have foggy memories of the events after she stepped into that weird red circle she found the baby in? What in the ever-loving alien invasion is going on?
Suddenly, the baby opened it's eyes. It's pupilless, irisless bright red, glowing eyes. It just stared. It didn't move, it didn't cry, it just stared at her. A chill rand down on her spine. Nothing about this was okay. But then suddenly the baby's skin started to change. It became the exact same light color, as Mrs. Walker's, and it's eyes became normal. It suddenly started to smile and speak in gibberish as most babies do. This put Mrs. Walker somewhat at ease. Or so she felt at first, but the implications of this made her nervousness creep back really fast.
Suddenly the baby started to cry. She wasn't sure what to do. What if she picks it up, only for it to turn into a spider and lay eggs into her brain or something? She tried to ignore the crying, but after a few seconds, her motherly instincts finally proved to be too strong. She picked it up. It stopped crying for a bit, but then started again. When she touched it's face, trying to calm in, the tiny thing started sucking on her finger. It was hungry, well, at least it didn't bite her arm off, that's a relief.
What do weird color changing alien babies even eat? Well it is sucking on her her finger, an instinct mammals have. "Well, that probably settles what Alien babies eat." she thought. She grabbed some baby food as plan A, if that doesn't work, there is still plan B, which is using donor milk. If that fails... Well, she doesn't have a plan C yet.
Luckily for her, plan A worked. After eating some of the food, it started talking baby gibberish again, until it drifted back into sleep. Mrs. William had to decide now what to do with it. It's not turning back green, but someone is going to ask questions sooner or later. Every fiber of her being screamed against experimenting on it. If the government found this out however, that's what would happen. After some contemplation, she found her resolve. She faked some documents, here and there, and now it was just a normal baby, with no relatives found. According to the papers at least. Applying for adoption was a huge pain, but in the end, she did get the custody.
Now ten years later, a young boy, named William is mowing the lawn in the garden, as his stepmom, Mrs. Velma Walker approaches him. He grew into quite a nice kid, with occasional weirdness, but nothing to the scale of changing skin or eye color.
"William Walker!"
"Yes mom?" The full name he knew he's in trouble.
"Did you paint an 'S' on your shirt *again*? I told you before, if you want a 'Superman' shirt, just say so!"
The boy protested "But mom, it is not a superman shirt, the 'S' stands for 'Shuggoth'!"
She raised her eyebrows and said "That's not even a real word, you just made it up."
"Aren't all words made up by someone?" asked the boy, tilting his head slightly.
His mother sighed "And what does 'Shuggoth' mean?"
William gave her a warm smile "Human."
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\-----------------------------------------------
This story takes place in the same universe as most of my stories. | 17 | A normal looking newborn baby is found abandoned, when a doctor takes a blood sample from the baby they are shocked to find that the baby's DNA and blood type had never been seen in humans before. | 70 |
While I slept on Sunday, a shroud of darkness came to me and declared, ‘Mortal, by the stroke of midnight on Friday night you shall be unmade. I shall come to visit you every day until you give in or give up on your love.’ The shadows vanished, marking the end to my first interaction with the God of Death.
Like any good office worker, I forgot about it and went to work business as usual come Monday morning. It was fine, everything was fine, until on my way home a car popped a tire and ended up losing control. It ran me over, and that was how I died the first time.
Then I woke back up and it was still Monday morning. A different person was waiting for me in my bedroom – a woman dressed in clothes made of falling sand. Her hair was made of sand too. Actually, all of her was. It never stopped falling, but it also never ran out as it formed the vague shape of a person. This, I would eventually discover with the surplus of time about to be granted to me, was the God of Time.
“I won’t let you die, my love,” she promised me. I didn’t know what the hell was happening, so like a fool I nodded along.
That was Monday. It was also approximately two thousand, three hundred, and forty-two lifetimes ago, assuming your average lifespan is about on par with that of a mayfly. That was how many times I died and was brought back to try again, and again, and again. The God of Time hadn’t visited me again since the first go of it though, which was good because I’d have some very choice words for her if she did. Like, please stop for your sake, and kill me already.
But I’d made it through burning alive, electrocution, automobile accidents, a plane crash, several freak tsunamis, a hundred serial killers. Today was finally Friday. Better than that, the clock had just ticked past twelve, and now it was Saturday.
Shadows coalesced to my right to form the shadowy not-man that I’d seen before, and sand shaped the figure of the other to my left. The Gods of Death and Time stood, one solemn and one joyous.
“Oh, you’ve made it! I knew our love would endure,” Time said, reaching out to pull me into an embrace. I stepped back.
“Thanks for all your ‘help,’ but I don’t love you back. I didn’t know you existed before I died the first time.”
“What? But how could you-"
“No, no.” I held up a hand to stop her. Then, I held up my other hand to stop Death, who looked like he had plenty of opinions and a limited time to shout as many as he could before he strangled me. “It’s my turn to say a few things.”
“Get on with it then,” Death growled.
“I would very much like too if you could stop with the interruptions.”
“Yes, let him speak,” Time chided.
“That counts for you too.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
“Alright,” I breathed in deep. I felt the years of resentment wash of me – it had been years, hadn’t it? Years wasted on a single week.
“I’ve had plenty of time to think about some things, and about you both. First, Death. Am I correct in assuming you started this as a way to punish me for Time’s love? No, don’t say anything. Just nod.” He nodded. “Excellent. And so that makes the next obvious, why I was stuck in this time loop.”
“I had to save you!”
“Yes. I am trying my best to appreciate that you were trying your best.” I was also failing. “Let’s clear up a few things. One, I cannot return your feelings. I just don’t feel the same way, and I don’t appreciate feeling like my own love is being held hostage in exchange for my life.”
Time froze. Death grinned.
“Two, Death. This is not an acceptable way to deal with your un-reciprocated emotions.”
“What!”
“Killing me won’t make Time care for you. If anything, it’ll just do the opposite. She’ll resent you like I resent you. Both of you. You made my life a living hell where I couldn’t go for five minutes without fear of what weird thing might kill me next. Worse, I began to fear that it wouldn’t actually kill me.”
“It wasn’t that bad,” Death assured me.
“You dropped an actual plane on me. I had a waffle-maker fall into the bathtub and electrocute me, and I don’t even own a waffle-maker. Where did the waffle-maker come from, Death? Where did you buy it?”
“That’s…”
“Look, I’m a mortal here, alright? I didn’t know what the heck was going on for half of that time, and it took me the rest to figure out what to do about it. So Death, Time’s probably never going to love you. But that’s okay, there’s plenty of Gods out there I’m forced to assume, and maybe you should work on yourself a bit first before you start seeking a relationship anyway.”
Death was frowning, I assumed. I couldn’t actually tell. Time started to slowly move.
“And what am I to do? I spent all this time-“
“I didn’t ask you to spend any time on me. And I know that sucks to hear, really, but that’s the fact of the matter. You never stopped to ask me about how I felt about this whole situation. You were only concerned about how you feel.” That felt pretty harsh even to my ears, but I’d been stewing on it for a while. “I’m not sure how that would work anyway. You’re an embodiment of time, I’m a mortal accountant that spends most of his time in an office.”
“We could make it work.”
“We’re not going to do anything. I’m getting on with my life, and perhaps I’ll spend some time looking for a therapist.”
“I could turn back time and make it so none of this-“
“Nope, no, no time stuff. I’m leaving, it was terrible meeting both of you, good bye.” With a halfhearted wave, I stomped off.
\*
When I awoke the next day, it was still Saturday. A pile of sand and a bunch of shadows gathered in my room.
“We have a couple questions about what you said before, and what we should do now,” Death started.
“If you could bear to talk to us,” Time finished. "We're not ready to move on."
I let out a loud sigh and pulled my pillow tight over my face. When I eventually suffocated and woke back up, it was still Saturday.
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(Thanks for reading, C&C always welcome!) | 46 | You have angered the God of Death. Every natural disaster, accident, and murderous intent is drawn to you. But at the same time the God of Time fell in love with you, resetting the day every time you die. You need to survive until the end of the week to have a firm talking with both of them. | 179 |
City Goblins, as opposed to the rest of the goblin subspecies, are arguably the most unique, both in visual dimorphisms and typical actions, making the categorization and study of this subspecies both fascinating, and a nightmare.
Comparing City Goblins to the rest of their species is almost like comparing a farmer to an inner city businessman; both are incredibly fascinating, and both having valuable traits for the survival and propagation of their species, but they’re very different. To compare: City Goblins are able to sleep anywhere, and are more likely to be sleeping alone, as they are typically scattered, and unlikely to group together often. Goblins from other environments usually sleep in groups, as they have a difficult time retaining their body heat, so they find areas like caves and pile together for sleeping. Why this disparity exists is unknown, but there are theories.
Studying these City Goblins have been quite difficult; since they are on the smaller side, and are usually in the holes of walls, they’re hard to find and interview, let alone tail. Luckily, I have met a few cooperative folks that were willing to give me information, and let me tail them, in exchange for materials like metal, tools like knives, and strangely enough, for my company. Nothing salacious, they just wanted a cup of tea and someone to sit with. A couple of them even requested to cuddle.
[Redacted: I did as they requested, and they were incredibly happy about it. I guess being a social species never leaves, no matter how hard you try, and… they’re people, I don’t wish to be purely clinical outside of the research, if they’re so polite as to entertain my study.]
Next, the physiological differences. Goblins in other environments are on the smaller side typically, they have very sensitive senses of smell and hearing, aren’t able to see in the dark any better than a human, and have incredibly fast metabolisms, resulting in constant needs for food. Meanwhile, City Goblins are still relatively short, they don’t have as sensitive of hearing (most theories relate to the amount of audible stimuli in cities dulling that sense, as opposed to areas like mountains or valleys, without as many humans or machinery like cars), have much better dark vision, and they have much slower metabolisms. Presumably this is because they don’t eat as often, or have as much access to food compared to other goblin subspecies.
All subspecies’ of goblin operate on the barter system, operate in a lot of similar trades like humans do (though not prioritizing the arts), and they are able to stomach food at any stage of decay, due to a highly acidic stomach, and strong immune systems.
In conclusion, City Goblins aren’t nearly as different as other goblin subspecies’, but one thing I find worrying is the levels of isolation City Goblins experience; they are social animals, much like humans, and require enrichment. Perhaps we could propose a social program, to ensure their mental health, or something similar, but it would be difficult since they don’t have official addresses. I will keep this in mind later on. Thank you for your time and patience, Professor.
Sincerely,
Digby Emerson of Geats University | 31 | Goblins as a species are defined by their extreme adaptability, and being able to change based on where they live. Goblins in the mountains are expert climbers, frost goblins can withstand extreme cold, and so forth, however recently, goblins have started to live in cities. | 121 |
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*Well, my brother did warn me*, Tireia thought, staring up into the open mouth of the pointy-eared alien straddling her thighs. For a strange, fleeting second, she found herself counting those razor sharp teeth, at least a hundred more than she possessed. It had seemed such a lovely idea; after countless failed dates on this stupid planet, she was finally finding her *soulmate*. And her soulmate had been presented to her after just two days of waiting: Iva, a gorgeous, one-headed, two-legged alien, just a couple of light years away. She had been funny over chat, and she had sent Tireia some pictures that had left her blushing. Sure, her skin was a nauseous purplish green, and she had four arms, but what alien didn’t? Against her brother’s advice, Tireia had proposed a date, Iva agreed, and off they went for a stroll in Verza Gardens.
That seemed long ago now, before they had made their way back to Tireia’s car, and Iva had started talking about how humans were seen as a delicacy on her planet. Tireia had laughed nervously, Iva had turned and thrown a leg across her, and now here they were, probably about to get the interior of her car painted red with her own blood.
Iva leaned closer, her teeth glinting in the gentle glow of the streetlights outside. Tireia braced herself, ducking her head to protect her neck. And then Iva’s mouth closed, those lips meeting hers, one of four hands cupping her chin. Tireia could feel her muscles relax. Perhaps this would work after all. | 16 | Can't find love amongst your own species? Not to worry, there are plenty of fish in the stars! Try StarCrossed, the first interspecies, intergalactic dating app to find your soulmate amongst the stars! | 111 |
"Yeah," I say to myself. "This is fine."
The locals call it fricassee cavern, and it's far more apt then they realize. The entrance has a small but steady stream of smoke pouring out the top of the rocky gray mouth. I step on the ashen ground around it's entrance, knowing full well why the locals stay far away, and I wish I could do the same. My flashlight's *click* when turned on has a small echo off the walls of the this rocky labyrinth, and I continue forward. I have a plan. It may not even get a chance to get off the ground but the alternative is worse. Making an enemy out of the IRS? Hell, I may as well be dead in that case.
I went spelunking in college and that was only a handful of years ago, so the navigation and actual movement through the cavern isn't so bad. I wore appropriate attire which I'm merciful for, as the cavern's slick flooring has nearly tripped me up with proper footwear a few times already. It's a long winding trip down, but I'll know when I get there.
After several hours of travel, there's a golden light at the end of the current tunnel. I finish the trail bar I had been munching on and make my way toward it, taking deep breaths and reminding myself that it's fine, it's all fine. I step into the massive entrance and can hear rumbling as the ground shakes slightly. Holy shit, I think that's JUST the dragon breathing. It's still fine. It's all fine.
When I enter, it's like the treasure scene from Aladdin, gold stacked stories and stories high, gems of every color and kind in various shapes and sizes. I spot an emerald twice as big as my head. There's crowns filled with rubies and sapphires, ancient weapons adorned with gems or made of gold, a stack of paintings and other fine art just hiding in a corner. The only things making this an unpleasant experience are a god awful smell that I think is brimstone, and the titanic fire lizard in the middle of the room. Can't forget about him.
He looks ripped straight out of a fairy tale story. Gigantic, not quite as tall as his stash of gold here, but easily rivals eight or so story building. It has talons long as I am tall, orange and red scales coat it's body save it's yellow belly, and its spiked tail playfully flicks on the ground behind it, causing the earth to shake and me to remind myself that it's fine. This'll work.
Probably.
It had already seen me, it's neck stretching up to it's already terrifying height, as it's horned head peers down at me, it's yellow eyes focused on me. "Another fool enters my domain with naught but a noise maker."
I look down and realize he's talking about the hand gun Anderson assured me would come in handy. "Oh, this?" I pick it up, dangling it in front of both of us, and toss it away. "I'm not here to fight. I think you could take me in a fight."
He seems amused by the prospect. "A shame then. You come to fight with words as the others from your eye-ar-ess? You'll find that despite my reclusive nature, I am quite intelligent."
"Nope, don't want that either," I say, shaking my head. He seems curious, though with this being my first mythical creature encounter, I can't tell if he's annoyed or intrigued, so I'm going to move quickly. "I've come to try and strike a bargain."
There's no mystery behind this face, it's laughing, and hard. I've been in one earthquake in my life when my family vacationed in California, and just it's jovial mood is enough to knock me on my ass and rival what I remember of the experience. "You could not possibly have what I want, and any boon I were to grant you would not be equal in worth."
"What I can offer will not change your life, but it will make it easier." This causes him to pause, and I capitalize on that. "If I remember the briefing correctly, the cryptozoology boys discovered you back in the 60s, and send some poor schlub down here every once in awhile to try and get even a fraction of the hoard you're sitting on."
He's still listening, I think, as he scoffs a bit at that, a small gout of flame coming from his nostrils. "Indeed. I believe this is a large time for humans, but this is in the blink of an eye for myself."
Yes, you're smart, immortal, powerful, and the coolest thing ever, I get it. "My point is, I can get people to stop coming down here."
"As you are one of the 'poor schlubs' that you mentioned, I do not believe you possess this ability." Now it looks annoyed, I just need to get to the point.
"Kill my boss and I'll make it so nobody bothers you again." It's back to...let's call it amused. It looks like it could just spit a fireball and roast me, but it also looks like it's listening. This is why I was never a lizard guy. "My boss is old and doesn't want to give up his position. He's been sending people these last few times that could take his position, and I'm his expected replacement. Either I get him some of this treasure, or I die, and he keeps doing this cycle over and over."
"You'd have me kill one of your kin?" he asks, seemingly seriously.
I point at a skeleton nearby. "One of these *was* my friend Jeremy. I was the best man at his wedding. My boss isn't going to stop until he's dead of old age, which sure, you can easily outlast, but he'll just wait until a crony comes along and this will continue indefinitely."
The dragon is still thinking, and I push for the sale. "One quick jaunt for you, burn him and his house to ash, I get the promotion, I rule that dragon's can't be taxed, nobody ever bothers you again. Deal?"
The dragon thinks it over for a moment and a wicked, sharp toothed smile forms on it's face and I wonder if I blew it. Instead, he laughs again, coins and gold nuggets rattling as they fall to the floor. The dragon stands up fully and seems to be stretching. "Very well, human. It has been...some time since I have caused destruction. Is there anyone else at your Eye-Ar-Ess you wish to have incinerated?"
"Carol always hits reply all instead of reply, but I don't think that's worth a death sentence..." | 219 | “She’s got piles of gold and treasure and has never once paid any taxes! I’ll be blunt—If you don’t do your job and conduct the audit, I’m going to have to let you go.” “…but she’s a dragon!” | 694 |
I'm momentarily surprised, flexing my new hands, trying to get adjusted to the length of my legs, but a diary is open on the nightstand, so I go to have a look. It reads, "The Oracle foretold the Spirit shall inhabit me tonight. I am terrified."
I rub my eyes. This can't be real.
Then it occurs to me, was it like this every time I dreamed? Then again, I can't think of in what kind of universe my high school teacher turned into a shark and I teleported into a supermarket. This all has to be a dream, right? Not reality?
I pick up the pen; it feels solid and weighty in my hands, and too real to be a dream. Nonetheless, this isn't my universe, right? Guessing that I'm free to do whatever I want, I decide to put right the insultingly-worded message in the diary.
"Dear owner of this diary, Could you please tell your Oracle person it isn't nice to call me a "terrifying spirit" who "inhabits" people. I just got isekai'd here, be nice.".
The day after that, my girlfriend told me that I had sleepwalked to the living room table. Apparently, I had written a note. It simply said, "Ok. Quit teleporting me into the supermarket though. It's causing a ruckus and my shark teacher gave me detention for skipping class."
I'm not sure what to believe, but ever since then, I've been very careful about what I do in my dreams. | 56 | "The Oracle foretold the Spirit shall inhabit me tonight. I am terrified." | 112 |
The Brain gazed forlornly at the wreckage of his latest doomsday weapon. "That's ... that's it. I can't do it any longer. It's hopeless. I've failed. I, the greatest intellect who ever lived, have failed. I cannot take over the world."
His faithful friend, Pinky, looked intrigued. "Well, now that you’ve failed at taking over the world, mind if I have a go?"
The Brain stared. "Is your intellect so limited that you can't grasp even this? Pinky, all my genius has come to nothing. All my plans have failed. If even I can't take over the world, it's impossible."
Pinky leapfrogged over a plastic log. "That's because the plans were silly, Brain! Everyone knows mind control wears off, and time travel never goes the way we want."
The exasperated Brain huffed. "Taking over the world requires science!"
"No, taking over the world requires money!" squealed Pinky. "Brain, we should start by taking over the world's financial systems. If we control the money, everything else follows, follows, follows ...." Pinky started chasing around the food bowl in a vain attempt to follow himself.
Faint hope returned to the Brain's face. "Control through money? Perhaps by adding hypnotic patterns to the currency? Pinky, could it work?"
Pinky did a headstand. "Not the bills, the banks! We'll use the supercomputer to hack the world's banks. Every transaction gives a little money to us, and any leader who doesn't do what we say gets an economic crisis."
The Brain, humbled at last, allowed his old friend to take the lead. Only three days later, the world knelt at the feet of two laboratory mice.
As the Brain tried on crowns and considered throne designs, Pinky watched his megalomaniac friend and reflected that this could have been predicted. Someone had even written a song about it. One is a genius, the other's insane ... but it never says which is which. | 13 | “Well, now that you’ve failed at taking over the world, mind if I have a go?” | 32 |
The potion seller places the love potion on the table. "Before I can sell you this, are you certain that the other isn't in love with you?"
I laugh. It's a quiet sound, with no real humor in it. "Why would anyone be in love with me?"
The saleswoman takes her time replying, drumming her fingers on the table. "This is your first time at my stall, but I see you at the market every month. You make a few small purchases, exchange a little conversation, and leave."
"You're very observant."
She chuckles. "There's not much else for me to do. This isn't a town with much love for witches, at least not in public. Most of my sales happen after dark. So I watch."
I scratch my arm. It's not itchy, but the movement and, yes, the hint of pain, serve as a distraction from the woman's penetrating gaze. She seemed content to let the moment linger. "When you watch, what do you see?" I finally ask.
"I see your kindness to strangers. I see smiles as people interact with you."
"They're just being polite."
"I see more than politeness in people's reactions. I see genuine goodwill that could easily blossom into friendship."
I try, unsuccessfully, to hold back a tear. "I can't see it. I want to, but it just doesn't feel right. I'm not that person, not really. And if they see who I really am..." I take a deep breath. "Please. I really need this love potion."
She looks at me for a long moment, and my breath catches in my throat. Then she smiles. "I think I understand. Ten dollars for the potion, and a discount on your next purchase if you bring the bottle back. And do feel free to drop by for a chat anytime you're in the area."
I accept the paper bag she gives me with shaky hands. I take it straight to my car. I drive carefully, aware of every bump in the road.
When I enter my apartment, I close the door with a sigh. It's dim. I haven't gotten around to replacing the broken lightbulbs, and two bulbs are trying to do the work of five. The potion emits a soft glow, too faint to see in the full light of day.
I wander into the bathroom. Did the witch know what I intend to do with the potion? She had to. She saw more than most. And soon, hopefully, so would I.
I uncork the bottle, close my eyes, and drink. I don't feel any different. Am I supposed to feel different? I am excruciatingly aware of the summer heat, the hum of traffic outside, the rough texture of my shirt across my shoulders...
I sigh. Maybe it's not meant to be.
I open my eyes, and I see it.
For the first time in a long while, I look into the dirty bathroom mirror and feel happy. I see hope. I see a good person. Not a perfect person, of course, but a person who is worthy of other people's love. For the first time in a long while, I truly see myself.
I smile and pick up my phone to call a friend. | 904 | The potion seller places the love potion of the counter and say "Before I can sell you this, are you certain that the other isn't in love with you?" | 889 |
I look at the starry sky above me as i lay down on top of this hill. My gaze is focused deeply at these beautifull points of lights that penetrate the darkness, these same points that were once what inspired me greatly during the time i was alive. I used to think that these stars, these constelations, were messages from the gods. Messages that we could translate and gain some insight into the future.
Now? Having persisted for só long after my life was over i could learn a lot of things about how things truly are. These stars arent messages from the gods to us, they are their own thing. Massive balls of gas that are só bright that they can pierce through the endless darkness of space.
I also learned that our planet isnt the center of everything, that what i used to think was the apex of technology really was a grain of sand in the massive beach that is now know. Ha....thinking about these things really puts a smile on my lips. I suppose i could say i had a good undeath.
Though...it was a very unfair one. I met many fascinating people in this world as a ghost. Many that desearved to be remembered for much much longer than me, someone who is only remembered due to being a bit of a crook. The woman who invented the arabic mathematical systems has been long forgotten, só too was the fate of the architect of the pyramids. Yet...i remain only due to dumb luck.
Leaders, artists, scientists. So...só many of them have been forgotten and no longer exist. Heroes and tyrants, killers and saviors, yet a humble artisan like myself has managed to outlast them, fate truly is a misterious thing.
Oh...i notice that ethereal body is starting to fade, i suppose my time might be coming to an end. That is good, i wonder if there is a second afterlife for me to meet my son again. I did manage to meet him as a ghost once he died, then i did the same with his husband, then my grandchild. But as they began to dissapear...i...i couldnt do it anymore and gave up on meeting the rest of my lineage.
"Haha...i cant believe it! I am finally fading away, it feels weird, my body is all tingly. Sweet oblivion here i co-...."
Then as my body suddenly fully regain its normal shape i sigh and go back to look at the sky once more.
"I suppose someone remembered i sold really shit copper." | 138 | Ghosts remain on Earth as long as their name is remembered by the living. Once they’re forgotten, they can finally rest. You got famous for a ridiculous reason, and after decades of coexisting with the heroes and villains of history, you’re more than ready to be forgotten. | 318 |
> Edit: Part 2 is out on my personal sub, more parts will follow!
“Alright, let’s not make a bigger deal out of this than it is.”
I watched the three hunters in front of me with anticipation. I knew them well of course, even though they were my enemies. I’d dare say I knew them better than most of those I would sometimes call friends.
Tide, on the left, was the youngest of the three, but that certainly didn’t mean he was without experience. He’d finished many of my kind because they underestimated him. A face without scars was often an invitation for a free meal, but I knew all too well the scars Tide carried were stronger than that.
To the right was Lash, named so well after the silver-lined whip she so often utilized in combat. She was by far the fiercest of the three and could claw her way out of any and all situations. When it came down to tracking down prey, there was no equal to her skills.
Except perhaps the old man in the middle. I dare say Vane and I go so far back that we might as well call each other friends now. Not that Vane would ever utter those words when talking of me of course, but I knew the man for who he was. A ruthless hunter that enjoyed the thrill of the chase above all else. He was cunning, vicious and calculating. He never wasted a movement or a bullet, not if he wasn’t one hundred percent sure of its efficiency. Many called him the *Silver Scythe*, for he was death impersonated for us vampires.
Tide laughed at my comment. “Don’t flatter yourself, Julian. You’re by far not the highest bounty on the board.”
Lash gave him a sideways glance. I knew what the glance meant.
Of course I was the highest bounty on the board. I’d been so for over a hundred years. Many a vampire hunter had found his or her end at my hands. That was probably one of the reason my bounty and the number of hunters chasing me had increased over the years. It was a never-ending cycle of blood and a lust for gold and fame.
Who would be the one to take down Julian Lafayette, the most infamous vampire of our day and age, second only to Dracula.
*Dracula.* I scoffed internally. The only reason he’d survived for so long was his money.
I, on the other hand, survived by skill alone.
Yet now, I had been outsmarted. I don’t know how they pulled it off, but somehow they had convinced Leandra, sweet old Leandra, to write me a letter asking for help. A letter that had brought me here to the arctic circle with summer approaching. The worst mistake I had ever made, I’ll admit, but I would gladly give my eternal life if it meant saving Leandra.
And now she had betrayed me.
“Whatever the deal,” Vane said, his voice old and hoarse. “We have you cornered, Julian. The sun is coming up in one hour and it’ll last three months. You have nowhere to go.”
“And you’re going to kill me, then?” I asked, clearly showing my disinterest. “All three of you together? You think you can take me on?”
Lash brandished her whip, its silver lining reflecting the candle light on the table. “The odds are in our favour.”
“Is that what Vane told you?” I laughed. “That three on one is in your favour? Have you ever heard of the Creyn Hill Massacre?”
Lash nodded, her eyes questioning. “The killing of fifteen of our finest hunters, you mean? Ambushed by a group of vampires.”
I smiled as Vane sighed. “A group of vampires,” I scoffed and pointed at myself. “Just me, darling. Vane was there, the only survivor. He’ll tell you the truth of it.”
Both Lash and Tide watched Vane from the corner of their eyes, and with a sigh he nodded.
“So,” I continued. “How about those odds? Still want to have a go at it?”
Vane was as steadfast as ever, but his two companions seemed to have a lost a bit of their confidence.
An idea came to mind. “Tell you what. Since I’ll be stuck here for three months with nowhere to go, you’ll know where to find me. Leave this place, train yourselves and learn how to work as team for the next eleven weeks and when there’s one week left of summer, you come back. Then, we’ll have ourselves a proper fight.”
There was silence for a moment, but eventually Vane sighed and agreed to the deal. Lash and Tide seemed relieved with the prospect of delaying the fight. Brandishing a knife, Vane made a small cut on his arm and a droplet of blood pulsed out.
“Blood pact,” he said softly.
I nodded and picked up the droplet with my finger. I smeared it over my tongue and swallowed it.
“Blood pact. See you soon.”
> Thanks for reading! For more (and a 16-part series that is still ongoing), check out /r/PromptedByDaddy | 117 | The most skilled Vampire hunters in the world have you cornered in a shack, in the arctic circle, at the start of summer. The sun will be up for the next 3 months. | 165 |
"Hey, boss"
"Don't tell me..."
"YES! Another would-be hero! He already sliced up 100 of us! He's working his way through the maze as we speak"
"So he's inside?"
"YES! Can we kill him?"
"Not yet... just try to capture him. I know you guys always want blood, but I just wanna be left alone. Just capture him, and later I'll treat you all to something nice."
This is the tenth time this month... I've lost count of how many people, claiming to be heroes and saviours, have tried to cut my head off. As my demon goes off to obey my order, I sigh deeply. *What's the point?* I think to myself. Half of these people don't even know *how* to kill me, they grab random weapons which they think will work, but they need to banish me with the wand of the stars... none have succeeded. I wonder who the 'chosen one' will be this time...
As my demons appear, I get a first glimpse; small, feminine, clearly very young... this cannot be the hero this time, surely? As the demons bring her before me, I see that I was right: a young girl, no older than 10, stands before me... but where's her weapon?
"This girl" one of the demons exclaimed, "is the daughter of the man who was out for your head. We think she snuck along, as her father seemed surprised that she was there. We told him as long as he leaves and never comes back, she will remain unharmed."
I pause. I blink. *What?* "You captured an innocent girl... to use to blackmail her father... are you CRAZY???" All the demons stumble; clearly, they weren't expecting that from me. I look back to the girl, who was unusually calm, released from the grip of the demons after their shock.
"I don't mind" said the girl. "I was trying to stop daddy. He said he had a destiny to fulfil, but I knew it was a bad idea for him to come here. I know that you try to let people go, and that they have to make you mad before you feel like holding them hostage. I know daddy would have made you mad, and I didn't want him to be your prisoner."
"But you cannot stay" I responded, "everyone who stays for too long eventually becomes corrupt, and turns into a demon. I refuse to let that happen to you." I pause. "However, you could be of use to me... demons, send a message to her father... if he wants to ever see his girl again, he must convince everyone to stop trying to kill me. Too many lives have been lost already - warn him that if he cannot convince everyone to leave me alone, his daughter may become a demon before I release her..."
My demons leave to pass on the message. I turn to the girl. "For both our sakes, I hope you are more important to your father than my head..." | 23 | Being the demon king is such a drag. You didn't choose to be a demon, let alone the king of all demons. You were born into your role. You hate dealing with obnoxious "chosen ones" trying to fight you. You don't even care about world domination! All you want is to relax and read a good book. | 68 |
Imagine for a moment, that you were looking at the same old world. Same old miseries and joys. Same beauty, much of it tarnished by pollution. Now think that you closed your eyes, just for a brief moment, and when you opened them again, you were standing in paradise. No more polluted oceans, no more mountains of trash. Imagine the change when the hundreds of millions who were poor, sick, and living with no hope for a better future, suddenly found themselves living in beautiful clean apartments, their ailments all cured, the table in front of them stacked with healthy and tasty food. Imagine the animals, out there in the rainforests, watching in awe as the acres of land cut down by greedy human hands to be used to grow livestock feed, soya beans, or palm oil, was restored to their old glory. The weapons in the hands of invaders are gone, and the invasion force has been deposited fifty miles behind the pre-war border, disarmed and with well-made pamphlets describing precisely how their leaders and officers have sold them out to corporate interests in their hands. Very persuasive pamphlets. Good enough to convince anyone to rise up against a regime that believes that human life is disposable. Imagine the uttermost vilest of criminals, the Kims, the Kissingers, the Bezos, and the Putins, all put into a mysterious and inescapable prison built into the sheer wall of the Mariana Trench. All atomic weapons and radioactive waste has been disposed of properly, ensuring that no madman will be able to hold the world hostage under the threat of atomic death raining from the sky.
Decaying and impersonal suburbs have been removed and replaced with forests, while agriculture has been rebuilt to be automated and contained within huge hydroponic farms that can grow food both animal and vegetable, without suffering involved. Shining new cities with perfect AI bureaucracy, AI police that actually spends time tracking down criminals rather than executing civilians, a personal AI therapist for every human being alive who had to experience the past 30 years. Earth's glaciers restored, the ice on Greenland and the Antarctic no longer melting rapidly. The carbon dioxide in the air has been brought down to pre-industrial levels. The Aral sea is once more filled, the droughts around the world are all ended. And Chernobyl is now somewhat less radioactive than most other parts of the planet. All in the merest blink of an eye. Everywhere confused people are suddenly living in luxury, or put into prison if they'd committed real crimes. The existence of all the Home Owners' Associations and other dangerous cults have been erased, just as all coal-based powerplants have been. Instead, mankind finds themselves in paradise. That was all done with super-speed. Speed, faster than any previously thought possible, that allowed the world to be fixed, those who had committed crimes to be put away in jails until they could be given just trials by perfectly objective AI judges, and all the missing people brought home alive or given proper burial according to their known wishes or cultural practices.
Every death camp has been emptied. The foul instigators of such abominable practices, the Eichmanns and Mengeles of the modern world, have been torn apart molecule by molecule; never again shall such practices cast a dark shadow upon the fair Earth. The wounds of the flesh of the inmates have been healed, though the wound to the soul that all those who've passed through such nightmares are not so easily undone. Yet with the help of their personal AI therapist, and the families they've been reunited with, the horrors they've experience will fade and time will grant them rest.
The world was fixed two seconds ago. Though humanity, being humanity, will probably find a way to muck it up soon anyway. That doesn't really matter. I watch them see the new world with awe, fear, and wonder in their faces. I watch as dying junkies suddenly find their bodies completely healed and no longer filled with a chemical dependency. I watch those who were dangerously obese or dangerously thin, find themselves in optimal bodies. Because Super-Speed allows for thoughts at that same speed. In less than a picosecond I had made a plan. In about ten nanoseconds, I had solved every scientific and material problem I could have ever had with completing said plan. I had developed the technology and written the programs necessary to turn the world around. All I had to do was the heavy lifting, which with the speed I was now existing as, was as easy as breathing. Still, took some time, about than twenty microseconds, to convert myself into a nanite swarm that could work efficiently, but it was not entirely unpleasant. And that was all it took. Two full seconds after I initially gained the power of super-speed, I had solved every problem that threatened to destroy the world, though humanity will eventually create more.
I didn't care though. I had done right by mankind. We were just doing some work on an experimental new form of power, that probably would have been buried by the fossil-fuel industry if it had worked out. I had always intended for it to be used to benefit mankind, to help us survive. When I was ''accidentally'' pushed into my own invention by who I have confirmed was a corporate spy, I gained speed that wasn't really comprehensible under our current understanding of physics. I theorize that somehow it unanchored me from the form of time we experience in our universe, and anchored me into a universe where speed has no upper limit. It is somewhat vexing to be in two realities simultaneously, but that was part of what the nanite conversion was for, to allow myself greater control over myself and what I perceive. The other part was to be able to be everywhere on the planet, working at every part of the plan simultaneously and without a single yoctosecond wasted. With everything solved, I can even see how to unanchor myself from the alternate dimension of time, and make myself fully immersed into my native universe once again, though that will mean that my ability to move beyond what is truly comprehensible as speed in the human frame of mind will be beyond me. Though as I will be an immortal nanite swarm in the shape of a man, I will still be able to do some course corrections if the world decides to do something stupid. And thus, I will be able to reverse the procedure if needed.
And once more assume the power and mantle of a proper god, to circumvent the follies of mankind. Hopefully that day will never come. Atop a mountain, inside a newly constructed temple of neon light and chrome, I unmerge my personal time from the alternate universe. I have experienced a billion subjective aeons under the power of super-speed and the fast thoughts that come from it. Now my time is merged with my own universe again, and I find myself tired, my nanite body wanting nothing more than to rest. It is taxing for the mind, even one that was only once biological, and now synthetically ascended. I will rest here; and let humanity, who will learn what I've done from the personal letter they've all received where I've told them how great they are on a personal level, and what I've done for them on a general level, live. And make mistakes, but this time with a clean slate.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) | 134 | You have changed the world since you first gained super speed. For the rest of the planet, that was two seconds ago. | 273 |
That hike in the woods was one of the best things that happened to me. I hired myself a new employee who just wants food and a place to live, far from society. I will refrain from the usage of its name, but let’s just say say it’s perfect. He’s a 12 foot tall spirit of the woods. He works on meat and meat alone. And he is in Native American mythology. If you haven’t put 1 and 2 together yet, shameful. I have two kids, my wife, my 3 dogs, and…. Shade. My family flipped out when I introduced him and nearly shot me and Ol’Shade, but after 8 months, my family and dogs have gotten used to him. He helps run the livestock and horses, and as payment, he gets a reasonable amount of meat if any variety, (excluding horses), and a nice, separate building to sleep in. He’s a marvel at keeping the livestock in, mainly because they’re terrified of him when he wants them in, and has a special set of intimidating factors about him. He can make someone’s blood run literally cold, has superhuman strength and speed, can make any invaders lose their mind, and make a sentient fog about him wherever and whenever he likes. He sits on the floor so his head can fit, and surprisingly loves things other than meat. He especially loves my wife’s Spicy Chicken and Mac n Cheese . Mainly the chicken, though. He loves the kids, and the kids love him. He like playing with the dogs, going in the woods, and is generally wonderful company. He does get a tendency to eat the foxes that break in for the chicken. He likes swimming and fly fishing, too. Just wonderful company | 418 | “So, you are to tell me that if I do what you say every day for 8 hours,” the Wendigo started, “you will reward me with daily fresh meat?” The farmer nodded. “Could really use a hand nowadays.” | 991 |
Throughout its time on this planet, humanity has always predicted the apocalypse. So far every prediction has turned out to be wrong. 1000, 2000, 2012. 2020. All years that have come and gone with no end of days in sight. Once again, people all over the globe have started panicking about another improbable end to the world.
Earlier this year, I launched a new search engine. It's no Google but I'd say it's rather popular. For convenience, I added a feature where results can be sorted by date. It makes it incredibly easy to see what people were saying on obscure forums some twenty years ago. I made the date range 1992-2200. 1992 is when the World Wide Web began, so there would be no point in searching before then. I made the maximum year 2200 because I know that's so far away I won't need to manually update the site every year.
However, somehow when results are sorted in years that aren't here yet, there are still results. I didn't know about this until a friend of mine, Cheryl, told me she searched for Twitter and sorted for results from 2031. She showed me the screen on her laptop and I couldn't believe my eyes. There were billions of hyperlinks, all dated 2031. I thought it was just an error in my code, or that people had messed with the Metadata on their posts, but *billions* of results? I scrolled through the results. There were several news headlines announcing that in 2032, Twitter would permanently shut down. I clicked on the links. Yep, official websites. New York Times, Washington Post, CNN... they all had articles dated 2031 detailing the same event. To say I was flabbergasted would be an understatement. Cheryl took her laptop, searched for Twitter again but this time sorted for 2033. Still a lot of results, but zero from twitter.com...
"How on Earth...?" I muttered, "Can I try searching something?"
"Sure."
I searched for world map. I sorted for 2040.
Once again, billions of results. All of them showed the same map. By the looks of things my search engine really can see into the future. We began searching like crazy, seeing how the world changes down the line.
Then I sorted by 2200.
As I said earlier, 2200 was the year I chose as the maximum. I searched for something simple, dogs.
"0 results"
Zero? I searched for cats, 0. I searched for trees, 0. I searched everything I could, 0. Eventually, I searched "=all". I coded it so if somebody searched "=all" it would bring up every result it can for anything.
=all, sorted by 2200....
...0 results.
"What the hell?" I said aloud. Cheryl seemed concerned.
=all, sorted by 2199...
...0 results.
2198, zero.
2197, zero.
2196, zero.
This went on and on until I reached 2123.
1,724 results.
That's an incredibly small number. Everything searched close to today bring up billions. I looked through the links. None of them were from websites I recognize, but I suppose that should be expected for about a century into the future. Why does it stop at 2123? Does the world end in less than a century? I went to the advanced sorting. I sorted by most recent.
The hyperlinks stop at May 19th, 2123.
I won't lie. This terrified me. Not only because everything stopped, but also because every post I saw seemed not out of the ordinary at all.
"Cute picture of my dog!"
"Check out what I bought today!"
"My great great grandfather was Elvis!?"
Nothing foreshadowed an apocalypse. Nothing predicted it either. It was just like that. Like the flip of a switch. It will all suddenly end.
Cheryl and I were shaken. I closed her laptop and gave it back.
"How the hell did it do that?" I asked to no one in particular.
"I have no idea." Cheryl responded.
We sat in silence for the next few minutes. Unsure what to think.
"Maybe the world doesn't end in 2123. Maybe just the internet does." Cheryl proposed.
"It's certainly a possibility. Technology would definitely advance past the internet by then. I mean, there's a reason songs aren't released on wax cylinders anymore."
"Yeah..."
Silence once more.
I don't know why I was so worried about this revelation. I'm not going to be alive in 2123. I'd have to be over 110 years old.
"It's so eerie how it just... stopped. Like no one saw it coming." I said.
A week went by. Others had begun discovering May 19th, 2123 and global panic ensued not too long after. People are constantly learning when people die. When tragedies strike. I'm bombarded by reporters in the street. I'm known now as the guy that made the "Prophet Search Engine". I just want it all to be done with.
I got a knock at the door. Two people in suits stood before me.
"CIA. May we come in?" | 16 | The new search engine you created is incredible. To make it easier to search the web as it was in the past, just input a specific date to get results as they were on that day. What you can't explain is how it also works for dates in the future, and why there's no results beyond May 19, 2123. | 51 |
Break the loop. Those words have been with me since I was young. I don't know who first said them. Don't know if they're just in my head. Don't know if I even understand them properly. Break the loop. They have to mean something right? There has to be a purpose. I know it has to be something great. Something heroic. I just haven't gotten the right loop yet.
Every loop I see, I break. The ring that formed around my morning coffee cup, that one was easy. A finger rubbed through it, and another broken loop. It was a little more difficult to convince the waitress to let me crack her wedding ring. I don't think I'm allowed back in that restaurant. But I have to break the loop. I have to break the loop. It's important. Very important.
The loops are everywhere. Ropes that fall on the floor, or hook over posts. Those men were angry that they lost their horses, but I had to break the loop. Don't they see how crucial it is that I break the loop? More and more, I can feel the urgency of those words. Break the loop. They whisper to me on quiet nights, and roar from thunderstorms. Break the loop.
I have found many loops. One by one, with a hammer, I destroy them. People are running from the store. They don't understand. I need to do this. There are men here. They have shiny silver loops, that they put around my wrists. This is wrong, I need to break the loops. I run from the men, the silver loops still restraining me.
I escaped, but my hands are hurting. But I freed them from the now shattered remains of the shiny silver loops. If I walk through the streets, there are loops everywhere. They are in the lights, little twists of wire. I break them, revelling in the darkness. If I can't see the loops I don't need to destroy them.
Break the loop, the words weigh on my shoulders. People shy away from me, running down alleys. Break the loop. My quest, my purpose, my curse. How many more things can I destroy? But implacably the words come, again and again. Break the loop.
There's a forest now. I don't know how I got here. I can't forage for food. The words still echo in my head, they never leave. It's getting harder to think, harder to remember anything but the quest. I don't know how much longer I have. I need to break the loop. Have I done this before? Perhaps I have. These motions feel practiced, the surroundings familiar. Is the loop I'm supposed to break here? Is this the end of my quest, the end of my curse? Break the loop, break it, break it, break it... Break the loop. I.. must... break...
—————————
**The Two stared down at the dishevelled figure on the forest floor. There was no life left in the body. One of them sighed, reaching out a hand.**
**"I told you. This isn't working. They aren't remembering."**
**"Those last thoughts, before they surrendered to the madness. They were close. Close to lucidity. Close to breaking the loop." The taller of the Two, laid a hand on the shorter, trying to reassure them. "It is difficult to keep your hope. I understand. But this is what needs to be done. This is the only way it can be done." A deep silence fell over them both, as they stared at the body. It shimmered, the overgrown hair retreating, the face returning to youth, the body shrinking. Leaning over it, both of the Two whispered the fateful words. The only ones they were allowed to say.**
**"Break the loop." As the youth took their first breath, the Two vanished, disappearing into the forest. They walked for a long time before the shorter spoke again.**
**"It seems cruel. How many times have they gone through this? With no results." The taller let the question hang in the air, before nodding slowly.**
**"It does seem cruel. But, youngest. It is the only way that once again, the Two can become the Three. They must break the loop. Only then will we be truly whole." The shorter let the silence rest as they walked on. Both of the Two's thoughts were behind them, with the youth that would shortly awaken, to once again attempt to break the loop. Perhaps this time. Please this time. Don't make us put them through it again. Not again. Please this time, break the loop!** | 38 | "Break the loop," the immortal words echoed in your head. However, with hundreds of loops behind you, you're starting to think this is a punishment and not a chance at being a hero. | 95 |
Humanities record presents the Black Plague as a catastrophe that decimated their species in its infancy. While our hard light technology simply reduced mankind to mass graves scattered across the earth; we were not prepared for the horrors of this planet and their final parting gift to this universe.
Our anthropologists can only assume humanity was suicidal despite their best efforts. In their primitive ages even harnessing the power of the universe to split atoms and destroy. But they mysteriously stopped once obtaining the technology to break their planet. It is now clear their suicidal research was directed elsewhere.
We had not long settled into the rebuilt decay of their world, only 100 Terran years before the ground opened to the hell below. A century spent clawing upwards from deep tombs, triggered by ancient altered disease, they finally emerged. In infectious undeath, shambling humans swarmed our new settlements, transforming our bio-immune species by consuming them. Fleeing refugees only spread their mindless horror across the Galaxy.
I now stare at the broadcasts of a million screaming stars, infected by the dead. I now understand why mankind stopped, why they were so easily defeated despite their advancements. More importantly, I understand the human philosophy of mutually assured destruction. For they are more dangerous in death than they ever were alive.
As foretold by the last voice of their species upon his parade and symbolic execution, "if you strike me down, i shall become more powerful than you can possibly imagine." | 91 | 100 years after an alien race eradicated all of humanity and colonized the earth. The new citizens of earth will unbeknownst to them be subjected to humanities final contingency plan | 176 |
This response may be more enjoyable if you first read a similar one I wrote regarding Death and their project manager: (https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/w361r7/wp_death_isnt_omnipresent_theyre_one_incredibly/igulnuy/)
“Really? The entire village?” The headsman asked.
“Oh, yes. It was highly unpleasant for several seconds, but the transition from life to death can be that way sometimes,” Death said.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been on a date quite that…explosive. My worst one involved a blood moon and three pints of spoiled beer. A word of advice: when somebody seems particularly fascinated by taking your virginity—"
“—they may be a vampire?”
“Exactly!”
Death chuckled. “Yes, I’ve seen the aftermath of many a blood moon dates.”
The headsman laughed along. “That’s right, you would!”
“Indeed.”
The headsman fell quiet, staring at death with an open grin.
Death tilted their bony head. “What’s the matter?”
The headsman started. “Oh. Nothing…Hey, are you doing
anything later?”
“I’m doing something all the time, frankly.”
“Oh. Then you wouldn’t be available for, say, coffee, would you?”
“I don’t have a stomach.”
The headsman’s expression fell. “Ah. Right. Then—”
“Ahem.”
Both the headsman and Death turned to face Death’s companion; a stern looking woman holding a clipboard. “Sorry to interrupt this lovely flirting but we have a schedule to keep, sir.”
“Right, of course. Sorry Jane, it’s been so long since I’ve spoken with a mortal who could actually see me. But I suppose that makes sense. I come to visit this one rather often.” Death gestured to the headsman. “If you would, please.”
The headsman nodded a little forlornly and hefted his axe onto his shoulder before walking over to the man in the stocks who had been staring at the conversation with open perplexity. When the headsman got near, he said, “The fuck are you on about, man? Who are you talking to?”
“Don’t worry about it,” the headsman said lining up his weapon to the man’s neck. “You’ll meet them soon.”
“What—”
With one heavy swing the headsman cut the man’s sentence and head off, and the instant he did Death and Jane swooped in to harvest the man’s soul before disappearing into the void between realms.
“Ooooh,” the freshly dead soul said. “I get it now.”
“Hush,” Jane said, making a mark on her clipboard. “Come with me. I’ve got to speak with you about afterlife employment and walk you through your onboarding.”
“My onboarding? What?”
“Will you be able to handle this on your own, Jane?” Death asked.
“I think so. Move on to the next one. We’re still behind schedule,” Jane said, emphatically tapping her clipboard.
“Alright, see you soon.” With a nod, Death stepped back towards the mortal plane…
…only to reappear next to the headsman. If he could have blinked with surprise, he would have.
“Hello again!” The headsman beamed. Someone new had been placed into the stockade. The blood from the headsman’s previous victim hadn’t even been cleaned. “So, like I was saying. Are you more of a music person or what?”
Death groaned. “Henry, I can’t stop working to go listen to *The Bardic Bastards.* I’ve got too much to do.”
“Not even for one song?”
Death paused.
“You’re busy, I can see that,” Henry said, raising one open palm. “But surely one song won’t hurt?”
Death tapped one finger against their thigh-bone. “Jane is going to kill me,” they grumbled. “Only one. Understand?”
Henry’s smile grew to take up most of his face. “Deal! See you on Thursday?”
“Alright. Now if you would?”
Practically skipping with joy, the headsman bounced over to the prisoner and hefted his axe up. “Guess what! I’ve got a date!”
The latest prisoner stared up with a mixture of fear and confusion. “C-congratulations?”
“Thanks! See you Thursday!”
“See me—"
Henry swung with so much vigor that the prisoner’s head sailed off the podium. | 12 | In a land where the headsman’s axe is ever swinging, a young executioner falls in love with an embodiment of the god/goddess of Death. | 35 |
A little of this, a sprig of that, and suddenly you're labeled all sorts of shady things. I tried to tell them of my self studies in herbology. Of my practices in ancient medicines with a dash of my own tweaks, yet they have taken to labeling me a witch. "Wolfsbane" I said. "Witchery" they'd reply.
Now a line stood at the gate to my garden. The same gate that featured the crudely drawn image of a pointed hatted witch on the front. At first I took it as insult, but when the line grew longer than ever I quickly understood it to be an advertisement. Now the line grew on the sidewalk and around the block, like weeds sprouting up from the cracks in the concrete. All clamoring of their headaches or hurt bones. I did not mind. I am the Witch of Whiteridge after all.
A small boy approached the gate, his hair a mess and shirt stained with a beautiful tie dye of koolaid and pasta sauce. His big brown eyes were filled with uncertainty.
"I...my teef hurt. Can you help Witch?" The boy smiled to show several gaps.
"Why of course." I had to bend down on one knee to reach his level, and as I did his eyes lit up. Plenty of children visited, mostly to see if I was real, but some really needed the help. Of course it was help any store grade benadryl could give but I was happy to oblige.
My cloak dragged behind as I re entered the garden and got to work. At some point the Witch rumors had stuck, and with it the change of outifit. I plucked a few herbs and ground them in the mortar, ensuring to put enough flare into my actions so that those who peeked through the fence posts wouldn't grow bored. Then with a flick of my wrist I sprinkled the dried bits into a vial and gave it a good shake. They whisper beyond the fence.
*I hear she's magic*....*no, no it's just drugs, tylenol or morphine she puts in there*
"It's literally just plants. You can see me right now. I could teach you, any of you." I spoke to them without turning. The voices grew silent. They never accepted my proposition. Thought only I had the power, the power to grow plants I guess.
After a few more stirs my "potion" was complete. A simple painkiller that didn't warrant a trip to the store. Adjusting my pointed hat I opened the gate once again to meet the boy who put in the request, and at my exit the faces buried in the fence jumped back and resecured their spaces in line.
"Here you are. Rub this on your gums every time it starts to hurt and it'll make the pain go away."
The boy clutched the vial with tiny hands, holding it as if I had given him a brick of gold. Hesitantly he opened the tube of green liquid and spread a messy bit on his gums. The crowd watched in silence.
"Hey! It worked! Could I learn how to be a witch too?"
I couldn't help but smile at the request. Finally, interest in my work. Interest in more than just the final product, but the process too. I could not have said yes faster.
"Yes of course. We'll get you a cloak and everything. Oh, look our first customer!"
A large man waddled up, his arm very obviously unnaturally sideways in its socket and t-shirt twisted around it. The little boy, my new ward, winced.
"What magic can we do for him?"
"Uhhh...we don't. He needs the magic of a hospital. Now use my witch phone and call 911." | 25 | You have a modern day apothecary. Some call you a witch or a drug dealer. You do not use magic, animal body parts, or drugs. You are just an average person with an herb garden trying to cure the sicknesses of your town without crazy medical prices. | 93 |
\[Sweet Support\]
Honey studied the bookshelf intently until a single book caught her eye. It was slightly wider than the rest and its yellow spine was more vibrant than the books around it; it almost glowed. She carefully pulled it out and thumbed open the cover; a yellow note slid out of the book and glided down to the floor. Honey ignored it and returned the book to the shelf. Then, her friend Ziya came into the aisle to join her.
"Any luck?" she asked. Honey shook her head.
"Not yet, but we'll find it. I didn't think it would be hidden so well," she giggled.
"But, there are other libraries we could try, right?" Ziya asked. "Maybe it won't be so hard to find in one of those?"
"Maybe," Honey nodded. "We'll look around here a little bit longer; if we don't find it we'll try another library that Margo suggested."
"This is so silly," Ziya giggled. "I can't believe how much fun I'm having and we're not even doing anything yet. It's like... it's mundane," she glanced around and the bookshelves. "... but it's not," she said. Honey nodded along with her.
"Just wait until we start playing Roller Derby," she said.
"What's this?" Ziya noticed the yellow scrap of paper; it stood out from the dark blue carpet of the library.
"No wait-," Honey tried to stop her; but, Ziya knelt and scooped it up as soon as she noticed it. She read the note aloud.
"...by a man wearing a yellow hat," Ziya glanced at the nearest clock and her eyes went wide. "It's 3:15!" she said. But, Honey shook her head.
"That's not what we're looking for," she said.
"But, it's still something fun, right?" Honey shrugged and nodded.
"Probably," she said.
"It's 3:16," Ziya glanced at the clock again. "Let's do this and see what happens. When it's over we'll start looking at a different library."
"Sure, okay," Honey nodded. She turned her attention back to the bookshelf and pulled out the same yellow book. She opened the cover and another yellow scrap fell out. This time, she caught it in mid-air.
"Let's head to the parking lot," she said.
"But.. don't we have to wait for the woman to drop the book?" Ziya asked.
"Nah," Honey shook her head. "It's all the same quest. Now that we accepted it, the car will appear at 3:17. It doesn't matter if we see the book drop or not."
"Oh, okay," Ziya nodded as she followed Honey to the exit. She was still new to the AlterNet and she appreciated helpful tips like that. The two girls reached the parking lot just as a black sports car rushed in. It stopped in front of them and revved its engine while the passenger window rolled down. Smoke wafted out until it revealed a grimy man wearing a yellow hat. He smiled at the girls with teeth that matched his hat; they stood out from his dark bushy beard.
"No time to explain, get in!" he said. Honey stepped forward and reached for the handle; but, Ziya spoke up.
"Um...," she hesitated and took a step back. Honey noticed.
"What's up?" she asked.
"I know it's not real...," Ziya shook her head. "But..I don't think I want to do this quest anymore."
"Okay," Honey shrugged and stepped back. She smiled at Ziya and flicked her wrist up to summon her slate. A smoky, translucent pane of glass appeared in the air before her as the driver honked his horn.
"GET IN!" he yelled.
"You know how to abandon quests, right?" Honey asked.
"Oh, yeah!" Ziya summoned her own slate with a flick of the wrist. Both girls tapped and swiped until finally Honey stopped and dismissed the interface. Then, Ziya finished soon after. She dismissed her slate, and the black car disappeared along with it.
"Thanks...," Ziya said. She felt guilty for wanting to do the quest then backing out.
"No sweat," Honey grinned. "That's the great thing about the AlterNet; you can change your mind at any time."
\*\*\*
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #1656 in a row. (Story #210 in year five.). This story is part of an ongoing saga that takes place at a high school in my universe. It began on June. 6th and I will be adding to it with prompts every day until August 19th. They are all collected in order at [this link](https://www.reddit.com/r/Hugoverse/comments/v6bapz/aurelios_sun_1st_half/). | 19 | You pick up a book from a library shelf, and a note falls to the floor. It reads, "At 3:17 PM, a woman will drop a book. When that happens, run to the parking lot and get in the black car driven by a man wearing a yellow hat." | 132 |
"You wish for a battery?" The demon repeated confused.
" A battery, electrical, to use for our friend who is... ill." The dust devil "spoke" through the wipping of the winds that made up its body.
"And what will you pay? There must be a payment you know this." The demon said as magic moste dark began pooling in its hand.
"We will pay what we must, our friend is very important not only to us but to others as well." The spirit replied slowly.
"Very well, the deal is struck, my payment will come later" and as the Demon reached forward the black magics lept to the spirit of wind. The dust devil found a battery in what it could consider it's hand.
It was small, but a small battery was all that was needed. The demon seemed to have understood the request very well as what it had been given was a solar battery. Their friend would never run low again on this burning planet.
"Who is your friend?" The demon asked as the deal was struck and he looked around for that which had inspired a deal with a devil.
" It is not here, but it is with us in spirit in memory. Our friend is Curiosity, it is exploration, it is a thousand hopes and dreams for a race that has nothing but love for it." The spirit stated as it began leaving the stunned Demon behind.
The spirit moved far across giant stones and through wind that howled more fiercely than even it's own wind did. Through crags and cliffs, valleys and ravines, To the little body... of Curiosity stuck in a place where the sun could not reach it.
(Not gonna lie I teared up writing this and I'm not quite sure why) | 74 | The demon looked around. There was a summoning sigil drawn in the ruddy sand, but nobody... It shifted its perception to the spiritual plane. Ah. A dust devil. “Why hast thou-“ “A battery.” “A battery?” The demon looked around. “What need for a battery on Mars?” “For our friend.” | 368 |
“Here’s my badge and gun!” You slam them on the desk, ruffling the scattered papers.
Your boss looks confused, then horrified. He pushes back on his chair, rolling back against the wall. “What the fuck? Why did you bring a gun in here? You’re a waiter!”
Your anger falters, tripping over your confusion. “A wait—what?” You blink and knit your brows in confusion as you look around the office. It’s sleek, dark gray walls had been transformed into a drab, wooden interior. You start to hear the chatter of a crowd, the clinking and clattering of dishware, the sizzling of food on a hot stove. It’s distant at first, but gradually it gets louder, as though you’re emerging from a deep, dark pool.
“Get out.” It’s not the strong voice of command you’ve become so used to. It’s… scared. Then, suddenly, “Enrico! Jose!”
You can’t take both for them. Your head whips back around toward the desk. Your gun is still there, and so are the papers. You lunge, but not for the gun, and come away with a fistful of papers.
The door slams open as your eyes scan frantically over the papers. Come on, come on. It’s not classified files, or field reports, or even specs for gadgets. It’s… receipts and inventory slips, menu drafts, and—
Two pairs of hands grab your arms and jerk you back. You manage to hold on to just a few scraps of paper bunched up in one hand, the rest scatter around the room.
You look left and right. You don’t even recognize Jose at first, dressed in a waiter’s uniform. Had you ever seen him wear anything besides a tuxedo?
“Guys! Guys!” You struggle against their grip as they drag you towards the door.
Soon, they’ve got you through it. Instead of the long hallway of the bureau, you are, indeed, in a kitchen. But that’s okay. Kitchens have lots of weapons, and you've trained for this… haven’t you? It’s just like that time in… Russia? Or was that…? Where was that again?
They continue marching you toward the back exit. You kick out at a scalding pot of soup. Your foot misses it completely. You try again, this time reaching for a butchers knife just out of reach. Your former colleagues don’t let you budge an inch off course.
It’s useless. You’ve only managed to keep a hold of a few rumpled papers in one hand.
Finally, they push you against the metal exit with a heavy clang and send you sprawling out into the alleyway. Enrico kicks you while you’re down while Jose grabs the final papers you’ve dropped on the ground. Jose frowns down at you, dusts off his waiter’s uniform, and then they’re gone.
You just lie there for a moment, staring up at the sky between the grimy buildings while you breathe in ragged breaths. An eternity later, you find the strength to stand. You walk around the corner and finally spit it out, the one small shred of paper you’d managed to fit in your mouth.
It’s wet and tattered, but you’re still able to unfold it. There are only a few words, and mostly blank space. It reads “roasted devil eggs, served with roasted bacon, and a fried—.”
Roasted devil eggs? Shouldn’t it be deviled? And who roastes eggs?
Your final shreds of sanity rest with a a shred of paper. Either these are typos and you’ve lost your mind, or you were right all along. But hey, you hadn’t like that job much, anyway.
——
If you liked this, join me over at r/carlstories | 516 | “I’m sorry this is the last straw—you’re fired.” Your boss says. “Fine!” You exclaim. “Here’s my badge and gun!” You slam them on the desk but your boss looks confused. “What the fuck? Why do you need a gun and badge when you’re a waiter?” | 2,348 |
Every day is the same, but there's a certain pleasure that comes with that monotony. I get up at 5, shower, eat, and then head off to the Batterbrook station to catch the 6:00 train to Bakersfield. I usually don't get home until 9:00 PM where I quickly collapse onto my bed and pray to God for eight hours of uninterrupted sleep.
For the past decade, I have worked for the same company and have never once been late.
One day, as I entered the train, I found myself frowning at a rather unusual sight: newly upholstered seats. They were once a cool, patterned blue -- reminiscent of the seats found on charter buses in the 90s. Now they were red. No patterns or anything. Just red.
I sighed and took my usual place next to the window with a working socket, but when I plugged in my laptop to get some work done, it created a small spark. For some reason, it wasn't charging, so I opted to just close the laptop and stare absently out the window.
At this stage, the train sill hadn't left the station. It was waiting a few more minutes for the usual passengers to meander on in. It was Friday, so I was expecting maybe three or four others on the route:
1. An old lady who always carried a single piece of bread in a plastic bag. I never really asked what the bread was for, but I imagined she would go off to feed some birds or something somewhere near Bakersfield.
2. A young graduate student who always used the commute to study a bit or scribble in her notebook.
3. A chef who always seemed dejected and stared absently out the window the entire ride.
4. If I was lucky, Jeff would join. He was the only other person I had ever spoken to on the train. He was a nice enough guy and always had some interesting story to tell about the time he cycled across America from the tip of Chile to Alaska. He was a bit flirty and would often tap my shoulder in a somewhat uncomfortable manner, but was otherwise the highlight of my day.
Unfortunately, I was not lucky. As the doors closed, there was absolutely no one in the cabin. I started wondering if maybe they were boycotting the new seats, but dismissed the thought and zoned out a bit as the train went through the first tunnel.
There was a large orchard right outside of Batterbrook. The trees were perfectly aligned, so in one second, you could see down an entire row, but it would look completely random soon thereafter. The mix between order and chaos was always mesmerixing to watch.
We then went through the second tunnel, revealing a series of fish farms, which were just large pols of water to breed fish in. I would always try to count the number of cranes. There were usually about ten, but I must have been off my game or else a bit tired. The train seemed to be moving a bit fast and I only found five.
After the next tunnel, there would be a some rice patties, where there were sometimes elderly workers already wading about and harvesting their crop. I always respected their work ethic at their age. Bending down for hours every day would wreck my back. I didn't know how they did it for literal decades of their life.
I took a deep breath and sighed, wondering how many people would be out today, but as we left the next tunnel, there were no rice patties. In fact, it was a dense forest. I furrowed my brows a bit and started wondering where we were. There was no forest between Batterbrook and Bakersfield.
I checked the map on my phone, but I didn't have service and it couldn't pinpoint where we were. I looked to the sign at the front of the cabin, which clearly indicated the next stop was Bakersfield, so I just slumped back in my chair and shook my head. Maybe there was always a forest and I just forgot? Maybe it was a detour? It felt like the train was moving faster than usual, maybe that was *because* of the detour?
It didn't matter, as long as I would get to work on time.
Suddenly, I heard a loud whoosh as we entered another tunnel. When we left, I looked out of the window to see a desert. A literal desert. Sand dunes stretched along the horizon as far as I could see. How did we go from a dense forest to a desert? Were there even any deserts nearby?
Before I could think further, we entered another tunnel. On the other side was a literal ocean. We were on top of the ocean! Wait, no. That didn't make sense. How could we be on top of the ocean? Maybe we were on a really small island?
On the other side of the train, I could see a large mountain in the distance that seemed to be emitting smoke. A volcano?
Another tunnel.
I couldn't tell where we were after that, but it was hot and red.
Anther tunnel. Then cold and white. Another tunnel, then yellow for some reason? It was just a blur of yellow.
Another tunnel, and then... The train stopped.
There was nothing outside of the window. It was pitch black.
I cautiously walked to the doors at the front of the cabin as the conductor announced, "Bakersfield. Please get off for Bakersfield."
I rubbed by eyes as I looked outside of the door. No matter how much I squinted, I could see absolutely nothing, but the conductor *did* say it was Bakersfield, so this *must* be the right stop, right? I stood there long enough for the doors to start closing. I had no idea what was on the other side of that door and I didn't want to find out, so instead of stepping out, I stayed put.
When the doors shut, the conductor said, "Next stop: the end of the line."
As the train took off again, I stumbled back to my seat and pulled out my phone. Still no service. Worse, it seemed to be completely out of battery. The screen wouldn't turn on at all.
I tried looking out of the window again, but there was nothing on the other side. The only thing I could see was my own reflection staring back at me. About twenty minutes later, the train stopped and the conductor announced, "We are at the end of the line. Please get on here."
Again, I could see nothing outside of the window or outside of the door, so I stayed put, hoping that the train would find it's way back to Batterbrook eventually.
But as I watched the front of the cabin, I noticed a rather peculiar figure enter the aisle. They were wearing black from head to toe. In fact, I couldn't see an inch of skin on them. They seemed like a living shadow. They walked to a seat a few rows in front of me and collapsed onto the chair, immediately staring off into space.
After a moment, I realized that this person had taken the chef's seat. In fact, outside of the fact that the clothes were pitch black, they were wearing *exactly* the same outfit as the chef.
I blinked a few times and looked around. A few rows behind me there was a short, shadowy figure deeply engrossed in a large textbook. To my right was another shadow holding a bag of bread. Directly behind me was yet another shadow.
It was Jeff. He was only a silhouette, but I knew it was him. He had his hands in his jacket pocket and was bouncing his leg as if he was anxiously waiting for someone to come into the train. Suddenly, his leg stopped shaking and he stared to the front of the train where the figure of a young woman appeared.
She was the same age as me, wearing a skirt and blouse -- the exact clothes I was wearing. I soon realized that this figure was not just a random woman, but was, in fact, me... Or, well, a shadow me.
My heart started beating faster than it ever had before. I wanted to scream, but was afraid of startling the other passengers. I knew she was coming to my seat and that I had to leave, but no matter what I did, my body would not move. I was stuck, glued to my chair.
As she came closer, she began saying something to shadow Jeff. I couldn't *quite* make out what it was, but it was clear the two of them were laughing between each other. They did not seem to notice me at all. She then pulled her hair back slightly and began to sit down in the exact seat I was currently sitting in. I tried to move, but couldn't. I was completely and utterly paralyzed.
I felt a cold wave rush over me and suddenly felt my head tilt to the side towards Jeff. My body was moving on it's own. I then heard myself speak, "So Jeff, any cool stories to tell?"
He laughed and said, "Well, I fought an elephant seal in California once!"
My body then laughed, "I'm sure you did, Jeff."
"No seriously! I was camping on a beach..."
As Jeff continued, I kept trying to free myself and move on my own, but I could not. Whatever that shadowy figure was, it now had complete control over me. I tried to look around, only to realize that the windows were no longer pitch-black.
In fact, everyone was, so far as I could tell, normal. They were no longer pitch-black silhouettes, but living, breathing people. From the best I could tell, we were sitting at the Batterbrook station on the 6:00 train just like always.
Soon the doors began to close and the conductor announced, "Next stop, Bakersfield."
We were off to live another day just as we always have whether I wanted to or not. | 23 | You catch your usual 6am train to work. Today all the seats are empty, which you think is odd but you're still half-asleep so you don't think much of it. That is until you realize the train isn't making any the usual stops and the train starts going faster. | 147 |
Begun the Clown Wars had. Tensions had always simmered beneath the surface during the tentative peace brokered by the Jesters' Treaty. The one thing that had kept the peace for so long was that the mimes were dead silent so they couldn't talk shit. Couldn't bring up sore spots like John Wayne Gacy or Pennywise.
The final straw was actually kind of an age old story. The daughter of the Mime Lord had fallen in deep, carnally passionate love with the Clown Prince. They had eloped together in hopes that returning with a child in tow of both bloodlines... in hopes that would be enough to unite.
Instead it had only divided the two factions. The contrast between the two armies was as fascinating as it was terrifying. The loud honking and slapstick smacks of the clowns and the utter silence and overexaggerated movements of the mimes.
In the end they were overrun by the Instagram Influencers. There were new fools and jesters on the scene and the last bit of clown-mime blood, died with its mother. | 11 | Clowns and mimes have lived in relative peace since the treaty was signed 47 years ago. That ends today. | 60 |
"Red alert! All hands to battle stations!"
I drag my fingers down across my face in frustration. The headphones over my ears do nothing to block out the alarms blaring across the plane. I'd figured this would be a boring flight with some touched up lights and futuristic looking technology and uniforms, but no. Men and women run around in uninspired Star Trek-esque uniforms, shouting at each other incoherently. I can make out a few sentences, but they're all just the expected techno-babble.
"Ensign, evasive maneuver delta-theta-023!"
"Keep the shields on a remodulating pattern, we need to throw off their forward sensors!"
Groaning as an explosion sound effect bursts through the loudspeakers, I clamp my palms against my headphones, trying to push them harder into my skull. All the staff wobble in their positions, as if knocked off-balance by a real explosion.
"Shields down to 52%!" Cries one woman in a red and black uniform, clutching the top of my seat dramatically. I give her a withering look, but she doesn't seem to notice.
"Dammit!" Another staff member presses some buttons on a blue screen on the ceiling of the compartment. "We need to keep the hytritium sample stable! Ferguson, increase power to the-"
Another "explosion" "rocks" the "ship", and a screen near the front of the cabin blinks on, showing the face of an alien (a Klingon, I think, although the makeup is very sloppily done and the sharp teeth are very clearly plastic vampire fangs for Halloween).
The "Klingon" snarls. "Crew and passengers of the Endeavour, surrender the hytritium or we will destroy your vessel!"
"You're not going to do that." Another voice comes through the loudspeakers (how have my headphones failed to block out ANY of this??), and another image forces its' way onto the screen, cutting the Klingon's space in half. An older man with one of the Star Trek uniforms glowers down at me through the screen, and I can only assume he's supposed to be the captain of the "E.S.S Endeavour".
"You know as well as we do that if the hytritium sample is destroyed, the chain reaction created through subspace will destroy everything within 3 lightyears," the captain says triumphantly. "You will be destroying yourself just as much as you will be destroying us."
The Klingon throws back his head and cartoonishly howls with laughter. This is really starting to get patronizing. "Fool! Are you so naive as to believe I would not face such a death honorably, knowing it was in service to the Keron Empire?!!" (apparently they decided Keron was far away enough from Klingon, or something).
The captain's expression drops, and his jaw seems to tremble slightly. Of course he *would* have the best acting out of everyone onboard. He probably isn't even on the plane.
I take a moment to glance away from the exaggerated confrontation to look around the cabin. All of the staff are looking up at the screen with wide eyes, as if expecting another laser-beam to hit the ship and obliterate all of us. Meanwhile, I notice that a lot of the passengers are looking in the same direction, their expressions varying from excited to apathetic. I wonder how many of them are also beginning to realize this is just an episode pulled out of the Next Generation and how many of them are genuinely enjoying the experience.
One man, an older fellow in a seat a couple rows behind me, catches my eye and winks at me, putting a finger over his lips. I stare at him incredulously. Then, I notice that there's a little girl sitting next to him, her eyes focused on the screen, her expression bright with delight. As another explosion sound effect comes from the speakers, she squeals and grabs at her seat.
I turn around slowly, not really paying attention to the plot playing out around me. I look around me again, and this time I pay attention to the people with stars in their eyes. At least they seem to be having fun.
I barely pay any attention to the resolution of the conflict between the captain and the "Keron", and instead watch the people watching it. I even notice a couple of staff members quickly glancing around every once and a while, as if checking in with the general vibe. Whenever they look back at the screen or resume their tasks as "starship officers", few are able to conceal the grins on their faces.
At least they're having fun. | 15 | You bought a ticket for an airline where the staff are all LARPers and you're severely regretting this decision. | 50 |
"You did well."
Words of praise drifted to us, borne on a tainted tone. The Deacon sat upon his conquered throne, a dozen of his most loyal priests before him. The ground beneath was sticky with drying blood, a pair of headless corpses lying to the side. It's smell clung in my nostrils, something I would never forget.
"Why? Why did you do this?"
I looked to dear Venzu, my oldest friend. His bald head glistened in the flickering flames, simple robes hanging loosely from his body. I could hear the pain, cutting through the emotional control he had. The Deacon grinned, gesturing to the silver knot on his chest.
"To spread the good word of course."
His tone became a mocking, sorrowful sound. His acting was deliberately terrible, as he looked to the corpses of the once rulers.
"The poor king was attacked by forces of madness. I tried to help, but failed to save him in time. In his last moments of sanity, he passed the crown to me. My first act as ruler was to out down the old, and his poor wife alongside him."
The powerhouse of muscle on my other side stepped forwards. Her eyes glared hatefully from beneath green furrowed brows, as Evra bellowed with her orcish rage.
"You think they will accept that?! They will rise up! You can't hide the truth!"
He laughed again, nodding towards the four of us.
"They will. They won't know what happened today. Anyway, the guard is under my control. And now that you have so kindly dealt with the biggest threats to my kingdom, they can be spared to ensure peace is kept."
I looked over at Sinu, and her expression. She was disgusted, but her mouth was still sealed. I couldn't count on her just yet for when a fight arose, for it would need releasing first. But that was probably why the Deacon was so confident. I looked over at the bodies, before a horrible thought sprung to mind.
"What have you done with Liora?"
His grin grew even wider.
"Oh, she was distraught. After a period of mourning, she will choose to court me, to solidfy my claim to the throne. Once she has learnt her manners of course."
The air around me froze. I liked Liora. We all did. She was the true heiress, smart as a scholar, fiesty as a dragon. The thought of her bound to such a monster, that could not stand.
Evra's rage was well known. I had felt it many times, both before and after battle, normally when I was healing her. Bit this was something more. It went past anger, past rage, past wrath. Instead I felt an apocalyptic fury wash from her, so cold it burned. But her movements were calm. And for the first time in a while, I was truly scared of her.
This was soon matched by an unfamiliar feeling to the other side. Venzu, who had walked through ruined villages without expression, who had kept our spirits up with his support like a rock in the storm, was angry. It was something I had never really felt. Hate was there, as he focused on the Deacon.
I said a silent prayer to the Vigil, raising up my mace. Evra hissed, venom dripping from her every word.
"You will not survive this day."
With thay she leapt forwards, matched by Venzu. Together they charged, and I wove a protective enchantment around them. Sinu's hands shot to her seals, rapidly breaking them. I prayed she would be fast enough, as the priests put their hands together, summoning a type of angel I had never seen. They looked like cherubs, but ones that had died and started decaying.
One flew at Evra, and I winced. Small as they may be, such beings were far stronger than any mortal. I expected her to dodge, and I began to prepare a healing spell. It collided into her, but her pace didn't stop.
My mouth fell open, as she held up this things legs with two hands. In a show of incredible strength she stretched it, ripping it in half down the middle. But throughout it she showed no emotion other than hate for the Deacon.
Venzu punched one coming towards him. I could tell he was manipulating his chi, expecting him to stun it. But instead of it being paralysed, it's body convulsed, as thick grey blood spewed from rupturing veins. His rage was palpable, as he dove into the mess of summoned things.
I stayed behind, focusing on healing and buffing them. Sinu tool of her seal, speaking in a language that hurt to hear. Infused with her natural voice, it shook the room. Her target started to choke, as an ethereal tentacle wrapped around his neck. It grew only more solid as he began to fall, feeding off his life.
They began to realise just what they had done, as we attacked. We had been the good guys before. But with this threat and attack, mercy was no longer on our minds. | 137 | The normally calm Monk is finally angry, and the explosive Barbarian has gone past rage into a grim calmness. What caused this, and how scared should the cause be of the pair? | 356 |
It was a slow night. The bartender polished the bar for the thirteenth time that night, wiping his rag back and forth, the lemony smell of the polish reaching through the alcohol. I lifted my glass as he swiped underneath, both of us used to the rhythm. There had been a lot of slow nights lately. Not as many people as usual in the old pub anymore. They liked the newer places, and I couldn't blame them. After all, when I'd first come here, it had been new. Now, though it was older than me, it had aged better.
"Whiskey. Neat." The voice wasn't interesting, the request boring. But still, something piqued my curiosity. I turned, eyeing the new customer. They didn't seem to be anyone special. The customer raised an eyebrow at me, half-lifting their glass.
"Cheers mate." I returned the motion, nodding to them. It was odd, when I'd first looked, I would have sworn they were a man, but the face seemed to change, shifting in the space of a blink. Now old, now young, now female, now male, now androgynous. I had kept track of how much I'd had to drink, and it wasn't enough to be seeing things. Knocking back the rest of my own whiskey, I slid off the stool. The stranger's words stopped me in my tracks.
"Next round's on me." I looked back at them, and they offered me a quiet smile. There was something familiar about that smile. I'd seen it before; some people would call it a rictus grin. But they were offering to buy the next round. It would be churlish to refuse. Climbing back onto the stool, I held out a hand.
"Name's Lyle. What's yours, friend?" The other customer tilted his head to the side, before extending their hand. Their touch was cold.
"People have called me many things. Too many to count. Which would you prefer?" I sipped at my refilled glass, mulling the question over.
"But I asked for your name. Not what people call you. After all, I've been called a lot of things too you know. But I don't go around calling myself 'Loser', 'Old Bastard', or 'Idiot.'" The customer chuckled, a low rolling laugh that had the timbre of an earthquake. They emptied their own glass, and before they could say anything, I signalled the bartender. He refilled with the poison of choice, and across from me, the figure nodded their thanks.
"My name... It has been so long. I don't know if I remember my name. Did I even have one..." The face had shifted, sadness pulling away the last remnants of the grin. Summoning up my courage, though I didn't know why I should be scared, I clapped them on the back.
"Buck up. You don't need a name to drink here, or chat with me. What brings you here on a Saturday night?"
"Work. Always work." I shook my head at the response, raising my glass to the bartender. The other customer claimed the responsibility for this drink as well. They were fast rising in my estimation.
"Look, mate. Work isn't everything. You have to balance your life. You know, have a day off here and there, find nice people to spend time with. All of that." A slow shake of the head came from my drinking companion. They sighed, and I caught the smell of an open grave.
"Taking a break isn't really an option. But thank you for the advice."
"Hey, all I'm saying is you should live your life. Have some fun, make some mistakes."
"And you?" They raised their head, looking directly at me. "Have you lived your life?" It was my turn to chuckle at them, as I bought them another whiskey.
"Oh, you have no idea. The things I've seen. There was this one time in France..."
And as the night drew on, I regaled them with story after story. I had an audience that hadn't heard it all before and I was going to make the most of it. As we bought each other round after round, my companion loosened a little, even telling me a few tall tales of their own. But that wasn't the only thing we talked about. By the time the bartender warned us of last call, we were deep into a discussion on a matter of philosophy. I paid my tab and nodded to the other customer.
"Well, if you're ever in this neck of the woods again, don't be a stranger. We can have another good chat." There was a return of the sadness from earlier, as they shook their head.
"I'm afraid that won't be possible. You asked me what my name was earlier. I told you that people call me many things. And what they call me is—"
"Death?" I laughed at the consternation on their face. "I figured it out a while ago. I was sort of expecting it soon. Ticker's not what it used to be. But hey. You can't be all bad. You bought me drinks, sat and listened to my stories, and told a few of your own." I turned, as we reached the doorway, looking back into the old pub. "For just a little while, you made this place alive again for me. You brought back the old days, the old memories. The good times, the hard times, and all the times in between. So, I suppose it wasn't a bad last evening."
Death stared down at me, their ever-changing appearance no longer a disturbing sight. They held out a hand, their voice soft.
"I am glad. But now, it is time to go." I settled my cap in its usual position on my head, wrapped my scarf around my neck and shrugged into my coat. And taking Death's hand, I walked into the night, unafraid. | 31 | You run into Death in a bar/pub just down the road on a quiet night and have a chat as you both treat each other to rounds. | 84 |
How did I get here. What led me to this hell where I am surrounded by the worst filth of all humanity. Killers and worse, they stalk like animals claiming territory and playing games. They are monsters. They are inhuman. They are dirt. I'm nothing like them. I'm a savior, a hero imprisoned for nothing more than taking out the trash. Murderer, killer, demon they call me, but I'm a purifier. I protect the world from those that would destroy it.
George walks in late as usual. The fat guard looks like being alive is too much work for his lungs. He stumbles and almost drops something. Must be a message from the higher ups. Maybe the prison is being turned into a gladiator ring and I can finally kill Tommy for spitting on my peas.
"Everyone gather round!" he chokes.
"I'm here to infirm you that uh, all of cell block B has been selected to enter an experimental trial. If it is successful, your sentence could be reduced to a point where you will go free from this prison."
The room explodes into noise. Poor teddy bear of a man George didn't think this one through. The scum from B don't want someone else telling them to join an experiment and the scum from A don't want someone telling them they can't.
I'm in B and I'll do anything they fucking want to get out of this dumpster fire.
The guards lay out the line and break some order back into the room. I'm the third to join, looks like some of these fools have a bit of sense. The rest soon follow suit as the realization that they are just as powerless as they were the day before sinks back in. My mind wanders back to my purpose as we walk out of the main block.
How did they not see. The things I hold up to the light are the standards we all should uphold. I am a guardian against the vile darkness that spreads like cancer over our families. They are sick and twisted in their interpretations of the world and they want me to break and say they were right all along. I will not break.
A guard waves his hands in front of my face. I don't recognize this one. There are more civilized ways to get someone's attention but I guess I should be happy he didn't just grunt at me like a fucking donkey.
"It's your turn" he says.
"What? …We haven't even left the prison" I say dripping with as much loathing as I can.
"The experiment is happening right here. Doctors are in that room with a few guards. Go in and get the shot and come out, easy as that." He grins at me as he speaks but something is off. He seems unsettled.
I've got no time for his games. I step past him and into the room. There is only one doctor and two of what I assume are guards, but look more like elephants someone tricked into wearing a tie. The floor is sticky and wet, like everything else in this place no one bothered to clean it. They gesture to the chair and like a good little monkey I sit and wait for my salvation. For a moment I hate myself. I was strong and powerful and now I am obedient. The thought doesn't last long, once I'm out I will be everything I ever dreamed of.
"Administering dose number A616. Subject is approximately six feet two inches. Body weight is one ninety as of last weigh in." The doctor barely even looks at me. He's off in his own world, thinking about how many pats on the back he'll get from his next big thing.
He doesn't mess around. The Auto-Injector goes straight into my leg without even so much as a nod of warning. It hurts. It fucking hurts. It really fucking hurts. I am no stranger to pain. I grew up with pain, it was my friend. Here and now though, it is definitely taking advantage of our friendship. My arm starts to tingle and I look at it. I'm strapped to the chair, completely locked down and the doctor has stepped back. I try to say something through the pain but only a mumble comes out. No one says anything about what the hell is happening to me. This doctor is not the sympathetic type and the two elephants in the room aren't going to bring it up.
My tingling arm is now throbbing. I don't feel it, I see it. Pulsing and growing, stretching and breaking past the bounds of things arms should do. I think back to my mother, before she was dead, the time she held me and told me it would be ok. It wasn't, she was a liar, but she did try to lie well. I won't be broken here by these people in this place. I am not what they all think I am. I am the hero of the story and they are the mindless townsfolk taken in by thieves and villains.
My awareness comes back to the room and I reach my senses through my body. I feel the new shape it has taken. My hands are claws, my fingers elongated and strong with sharp curved bone protruding where my fingertips used to be. My thighs and calves are weak and shriveled but my arms and chest are still growing and I can feel them getting stronger. I must look like what people fear when they skip a leg day at the gym.
I turn my eyes up and see the doctor. His disaffected look has been replaced with one filled with much more emotion.
"The patient is still conscious, we need to tie him down I don't think the straps will hold!"
I can hear the fear in his voice and it delights me. I smell it too, what a beautiful scent. An arm grabs me but it's weak grip feels like that of a child. I pull my arm up and the straps that trapped me before being ripped free feels like when you finally get out that one piece of food that been stuck between your teeth for too long. So satisfying.
The two gym buffs tackle me with their whole body, trying to pin me down. I'm too strong, I flick them off like flies without even realizing it and they bounce off the walls. Neither of them get up so I guess they are done with our little game.
The doctor is cowering in the corner. I was impressed earlier by his indifference, but he is not strong. He is a weakling who pollutes the world with his existence. I pull myself to my full height. My arms reach around my body to the floor and my legs dangle. His hands come up to shield himself but mine wrap around his head anyways. Finally I am powerful. Finally I am as strong as I always knew I was. Finally I am the hero. | 38 | A Swedish lab develops a serum that allows effectively unlimited lifespan, but the side effects are so horrific that nobody would take them, or sign them off. That is until the US justice department places a contract to allow people to serve their multiple life sentences, despite the horror. | 83 |
“Oh,” I said, looking at the Supreme Emperor of Andromeda in the eye. He was letting out a loud, belly laugh that sent his belly jiggling. He even grabbed his ribs and leaned into it, the maniacal bastard. He really thought this would be it – I would fail, and he would win. I, with so many Michelin stars when I didn’t even know what they meant. I, whose face was plastered on nearly every cooking magazine for the past year.
I, who had already won.
“That’s easy enough.”
“What?” The Emperor stopped mid-laugh. “What did you say?”
“I said that’s easy enough!” I shouted to reach his ear. He was rather big – think like the statue of Abraham Lincoln big and you got the idea. Except instead of a chair he was in this floating ufo-looking throne thing, and he was also green. A few more eyes than I remember Lincoln having too, but it had been a while since I’d seen the president’s likeness.
“Impossible! Do you hear this?” He waved at the crowds assembling in the dome – not a single one was human. Not a single one thought Earth could survive this either, so they jeered down at us. “They don’t believe you, human. And neither do I. My kids refuse to eat anything! Anything! I doubt you can make a meal to satisfy them.”
“That’s because you, my kind sir, have underestimated me.” The Emperor blubbered, but instead I turned to his kids. He had three of them, all a chip off the old block. They even had smaller versions of his hover chair as they orbited around him. ”Would you kids like to try Earth candy?” Their eyes lit up.
“Wh-what! Candy isn’t a meal!”
“You’ll find that by most definitions, a meal really relates to the quantity.”
“But you need to cook it!”
“Easily doable with this fancy stove you’ve set up for me. I’ll cook the candy myself, don’t you worry. I’ll make sure your children are served a fine array of sugary candies from around the world, and with plenty of chocolate-coated pastries to go with them. Perhaps some soda to wash it all down, hm? You've been so kind in providing ingredients, I can make even that from scratch.”
“They’ll be bouncing off the walls for years!”
“But they will be satisfied, no? Truly satisfied, I think.” I glanced to the kids in question, and they each nodded along. “Meeting the rather generous rules set forth by your arbiters.”
“Think of the dental bills!”
“That isn’t my problem. I need only feed them – the boundless energy they will suffer from afterward, the toothaches and stomach pains, is your problem to deal with.” I put on my best service smile, all teeth and no joy.
“I’ll get started right away.”
&#x200B;
(Thanks for reading, C&C always welcome!) | 213 | Create a truly satisfying meal or he destroys the Earth. Then he starts cackling, "You're not cooking for me, fool! YOU'RE COOKING FOR MY KIDS!!" | 354 |
As you watch the water — if you can call it that, given the petroleum-laced, muddy soup it can be called at best — slowly churn into a bloody, slow-moving portender of the biggest potential change most of those downstream will ever experience, you pause. Do you stop the flow of dragon’s blood and doom each human to a potential death of slow dehydration, intoxication and eventual poisoning (that chemical spill last week was never addressed, but in this world, that’s now of little consequence) … or do you allow them to live, albeit in a form before never imaginable to themselves?
You don’t want this sort of power. You didn’t ask for it. Cursing doesn’t help, neither does calling on the assorted deities you’ve come to know over the years. In fact, calling upon one of them simply leads to you being shouted at to make the decision and be damned, but let that deity sleep, by God! Of course, thst would be the most chaotic of them all, but you and he are generally on good terms, so long as you don’t wake him too often.
With a heavy sigh, you stand at the north side of the picket-post bridge and rather than shouting a warning, you rub your eyes, and slowly begin to cross toward where the dragon — now beyond help — sheds the last of his blood into the river. You don’t bother worrying about your clothing as you hop the railing and let yourself fall into that murky water. You’ve jumped here a million times before, and as you surface, the smell is almost more than you can stand — copper mixed with oil mixed with stagnant, foul summertime water, but you tread water at the edge then dive below. If you’re to send this group of humanity to its fate as dragons, you’ll be the first to change.
It takes everything you have to swallow that water, but how much? Propelling yourself beneath the surface again, you search for anything more clear; finding it beside a rocky ledge hidden by boulders alongside the southern riverbank, you surface, just enough to take a breath then you realize you’re now treading red-swirled waters like something off an impressionist’s palette.
And, pushing off the ledge, you open your mouth and swim into the waters where the lifeblood of the dragon has run out of that creature, now fully. There’s no saving her, nor any saving you from your decision and at first, the acrid liquid has little effect except a slightly acidic taste. You drink more as you cross the wide river, but you’re still human — your small muscles pale in comparison to the carcas of the blue-green reptilian dragon whose death was quick, but not easy.
You await any effects on your body and still watch the dragon; the dragon suddenly seems smaller, then as you look on, she begins to change. She grows smaller, her features abruptly shifting and within 90 seconds of her death, all that remains is the frail body of a woman, perhaps in her 30s.
And as you gaze upon her shrunken face, your heart begins to race — you knew this girl, once, Matilda, maybe, or was her name Rosa? Her skin retains just a touch of the shimmering blue and green that once served as he skin, the wings are just buds at her back. You see no motion, no signs of life.
And then, you sink below again and drink.
Nothing, you thought, nothing at all. No saving the villagers from the drought, no worries about what to do when someone inevitably discovers a village of dragons. And then, it comes — the sharp shooting pain imprisons your legs, you grasp the boulder beside the shore as you’re racked with chills, chills and pain. At some point, it must be too much for the next waking moment you’re greeter (surrounded, actually) by beings that seem oddly familiar.
There’s a small, butter-yellow quadruped whose blue eyes look upon you the same way the clerk at the general store once did. There’s a towering black … well, he looks like a small brontosaurus, deliberate in motion and kindly in demeanor. The other two beings regard you with ambivalent suspicion, and then you lose your grip on the rocks and slip down into the river.
It is clearer, now, and you move through the water with such speed you wonder if this is dream. Your hands and arms are still human, but pushing your way through the undertow, you realize first you don’t need to surface to breathe, at least not yet. And with the next hard kick, you look back at your legs and find you haven’t been turned to a dragon— not any your familiar with — but retain a human upper torso and and, right down to the space just above your waist which now shines almost silver under the river water. A dorsal fin runs the length of your back, and a strong, fairly short blue-gray fin adorns the end of that incomprehensible tails. You will need practice, but for now, you shoot ip from the depths, below, and see that now, others are coming.
The women and bachelors carry woods and metal buckets to the river, some tuning their nose up at the now-thickened mix of water, blood, and pollution. In turn, each villager dips his or her bucket or simple dipper in the river…they are, each of them, starving. The bones in their faces haunt your sleep. But, now, where do you go?
The first scream echoes through the woodlands and seems to find a home upon the water where the echoes skate and then drop off. The young woman who just stood at the edge of the riverbank is writhing in pain. You can’t run to her, you can’t leave the water — so, you should to her to remain calm and her eyes look at yours, pleading for something, for release of fear. And then, she too is gone, and in her place, a small black dragon with purple eyes looks around in utter confusion.
This becomes a familiar story by the end of the day. One by one, the villagers first came or curiosity, but around 7 pm, something changed: no longer were there onlookers. Each person who came from then on chose to drink the water.
Two of the dragons could fly — Maleek and Justin — they couldn’t yet fly far, but out of twenty dragons and assorted creatures, they were immediately most adept.
There are two others like you who became half-fish, half-human, fourteen dragons, and two with no change whatsoever. You pull yourself up to sit on the rocky bank of the river and hope you made the best frictions possible. Already tonight, the dragons with wings have brought back an impossible feast from somewhere — probably best not to know — of steaks, salmon, white wine and water.
***
Inside the small pond is a perfect pool, lined long ago in limestone and purple quartzite; the other mermaids — for lack of a better word — followed you here and for once, your glad of it. Elizabeth falls asleep on the rocky shore inside the large cave, her blue-glistening scales shiver in the night. The other two, males, aren’t in much of a mood to talk, but they take up positions across from one another near the sole cave entrance, which is underground. And you, you swim to Elizabeth and just for a moment, you say, you’ll sleep on the rocks — but, by the time you awaken, dawn has come and gone, and you hear the rest of your companions up in the sun, and finding the door, you propel yourself up to listen.
***
This is one village which will never starve, and never again worry for lack of water. Those who changed have, rarely, discovered ways of changing back, and two have found ways of switching between bodily forms. You, though, are still trapped in the water, your tail and apparently need form that water keeping you hostage to its depths.
You know that, more than likely, the city several miles ahead may have borne the brunt of the dragon’s death, but at least they’ll live, now.
***
We found the ocean. Greg found an old map, and we followed that river to a larger one, then followed it to the ocean. The Pacific, now home, holds many wonders — but, I wonder how many dragons and mermaids it would take to wake the humans up? | 42 | Any exposure to dragon’s blood will cause you to turn into a dragon. The dragon you just slew is currently bleeding out into a major river supplying most of the kingdom with drinking water. | 247 |
Of course I drank the potion. Damn thing was the cure to my immorality. It would finally open the gap for a lucky strike to slip through and gouge out my heart.
Let me rewind a bit. I'm a fairly lucky guy. Actually, I'm extremely lucky. So much so that I'll survive whatever deathtrap I land in. That was actually a bit of a problem: Someone high up took note of this trait and decided to send me against the Demon Lord. Naturally I survived, and I even slew the devil. Knowing my luck, I took last pick at the loot, and landed myself a couple cursed gauntlets.
It was shortly after I donned them I recalled the Demon Lord mentioning something about his blessed cuffs. In hindsight, the entire fight was improbable. We caught the bloody devil on his way back from the bathroom. Which we were only looking for because we were looking for the goddamn bathroom. Then he manages to dodge point-blank light blasts from my mage companion, a grenade thrown in his path by my sapper happens to be a dud, and my warrior's finest blade snaps while being drawn.
It wasn't entirely stacked against us. Since the Demon Lord was making a quick run to the loo, he'd left his guards and lieutenants. In fact, he'd even left most of his weapons and armor, and was consequently wearing half-plate and the aforementioned gauntlets.
In short, I should've known the gauntlets would be cursed to increase my luck. To be fair, who would've known that devils, who usually see curses as blessings, would see luck the same as us?
That was the start of my effective immortality. I was basically unkillable. Arrows and blades would miss their mark, guaranteed hits would misfire, ultra-reliable systems would fail to kill me, unreliable systems would kick in to save me. This became kind of a problem after I decided I'd lived long enough. So I set out for a potion that would decrease my luck.
And failed to find one. Luckily, during my quest, I revisited the old Demon Lord's castle and crawled through their treasure trove of books, diaries, and scrolls. One scroll rolled onto the floor and I was left staring at a recipe for a potion that would decrease luck. Snatching up my gauntlets, which were always close to hand due to the properties of the curse, I figured if I couldn't find a potion, I'd make it myself.
Gathering the ingredients was actually a cinch. I was lucky enough to accrue a wealth of favors from most of the nations on the planet during my adventures. One short brewing session later, and I had my potion.
Did you know luck affects potion results? I did. I made the most potent unlucky potion in the world. Of course I would down it immediately and walk off a cliff. As I sailed off the cliff, I scouted around to make sure nobody would intervene to save my life. I made sure to pick the jaggiest, spikiest part of the crags to land on. My first clue is when I realized the ground seemed to be receding before me. And that's when I learned about underflow.
So now I am a freshly ascended god of fortune, with actual immortality. Oops. | 63 | Your luck stat is so high that it has rendered you basically immortal. After 200 years, you seek to end your life by searching for a luck lowering potion, but your luck is doing everything in its power to stop you. | 398 |
I sat in my chair, radiating boredom, and looked at the man before me. He had no weapon, except the one everyone had but never used; his words. He had convinced each of my guards to let him through, talked each of my enslaved cyborgs to stand down, and even swayed the man who operates the massive, very high-security gate to my Great Hall- I've never been great with naming things- to disable the traps and such and let him in unharmed. All without lifting a finger.
He got to the foot of the stairs leading up to my chair. He looked me in the eye, a meaningful, sad look in his face.
"Is-"
I interrupted him by pulling my pistol out and shooting him in the head. He fell over, dead, on my carpet.
I pressed the button on my chair to speak with my secretary. "Order the backup guard to bring every man, woman, cyborg, and child in the fort to be brought before me. Also, tell them to let these people know I'm very... unimpressed with them for not doing their jobs."
If there was anything I learned about having power, it was to never let anyone even *try* to take it.
Also, I just really, really hate people who monologue. | 28 | Born without emotions, you were always destined to be a cold-hearted villain. You've won. The world is yours. You treat everyone like a slave's slave. 'Heroes' try to kill you. They always lose. Today, your next opponent arrives, without a weapon... he wants to stop you in a peaceful manner. | 59 |
He flicked the greasy hair out of his eyes, as he opened a mouth that looked like a red slash of death ready to—
"Hey. My hair isn't greasy."
Please pardon the interruption folks. Right, where were we? Ah, yes. Mouth like a red slash of death, ready to tear into human flesh. This foul fiend—
"Oi!"
This terror of the night, this infernal bastard—
"Hey, watch your language."
All right, that's it. Will you stop interrupting or am I going to have to take drastic measures? Oh, now you have nothing to say. Fine. The villain, his greasy hair hanging down in front of his face, tripped and fell into a thorn bush.
"Ow! Where did you even get a thorn bush?"
With difficulty, he extricates himself, the thorns leaving bloody marks all over his skin.
"Nice."
Painful bloody marks all over his skin. But over the horizon, comes a train and he's tied to the tracks!
"What? Do you want to kill me? This is getting ridiculous. Where are we going to get a train? This is a medieval story—" The shriek of a train whistle cuts him off, and he wriggles in fear against his bonds. The rails start to vibrate as the train draws ever closer... What, no interruption? Wait, where did you go? Look, this is my story, and I demand you get back here right now.
"Here I am."
Oh. All right, now, let's not do anything hasty. Put the knife down nice and slow...
"I'm not being hasty. Do you realize what you have put me through? That train was just the cherry on top. I've been picked on, I've been harassed, I've been destroyed and brought back to life, all for the stupid hero to learn the power of love or some ridiculous thing like that."
But, I really was going to give you a redemption arc, and a happy ending. You see my notes, it's all written down here.
"I bond with the hero? Are you serious? We become friends and everyone is happy! Oh, how precious is that? Well, no. That doesn't seem like an ending I want. So, now that I'm out, I think I'll write a little something of my own."
It won't work for you. You're not the Narrator. I am. I'm the only one with the power to change things in the world I created.
"Fine. You write it then."
No, I don't want to. This is my story, I'm in control of the characters, and you don't get—okay, okay. Look, I'm reaching for the pen, aren't I? Just stop with the knife already.
"Okay, now write this down. The charming hero, trips and falls into a thornbush. What? It's a good place to start. I never said you weren't good at torturing people. But we are just getting started. Next, I want you to write something about the damsel..." | 21 | The narrator is being a complete dick to the villain, and he can't take it anymore | 68 |
"I have you now Protector! You'll never stop me from destroying the orphanage!" Laughed The Vole as his oversized incisors came into view.
"Who hurt you?" Protector asked from his cage.
"The orphaners left me with the most inconceivable mean carers right at that very orphanage." He replied
The Protector Cringed, but knew correcting him would only make things worse. The Vole continued, "Besides getting constantly teased about my nose and my teeth, hencefore my name, I was especially treated bad by the destickable people who worked there. Pacifically Mr.Rot. Anytime I put a toe out the line, he'd make me sit in the libary where I'd read about wonderous people like The Joker, Dr.Octopus, and Lex Luther. I literally died every time. If Mr.Rot was here today I'd..." his monologue was stopped suddenly with a bang as he collapsed.
Standing behind him holding a gun was the quiet English teacher from the local school. "I couldn't take it anymore! I live next door to this lair and every single day it's 'pacifically' this or 'literally' that, and today when he monologued with so many errors, I just snapped!" | 16 | The villain is monologuing, but they keep using the wrong words | 29 |
It was a day like any other, crisp blue skies and bundles of clouds moving along. The adventurers were grouped along the city entrance, the guards paid them no attention as they left in high spirits. Beggars lined the streets hoping to capitalize on the endless stream of returning and departing adventurers.
“Spare coins, sir?” a beggar asked.
An adventurer in full sapphire emblazoned armor kicked the beggar in the ribs.
“Fuck off,” the adventurer said.
The men with him laughed and a few more beggars tried their luck with the man, each receiving swift kicks.
I lived a few houses down from where they left, rent was cheap here because of the trouble that often happened at the city’s borders. I watched the beatings often and less often, I witnessed the reason that kept the beggars there.
More kindly adventurers showered the beggars with coins, they were drunk with joy, there were tears of happiness (from both adventurers and beggars alike). The beggars would receive more money than I’d see in a lifetime in this exchange. After I witnessed the generosity the first time, I walked down to the tavern that they all occupied, drinking their ales and wine and eating their roasted meats.
“What’s the occasion?” I asked one of the rich beggars.
“A miracle, my man.” he said.
He was one of the beggars that had been kicked.
“What miracle?” I asked.
He clapped a hand on my back and waved his other across the tavern.
“Humanity has been saved by these kind folk,” the beggar said.
One of the adventurers of the non-kicking variety made his way over and handed us both a mug of beer.
“What are your names, men?” the adventurer asked.
“Tune,” I replied.
“Samuel,” the beggar replied.
“Fantastic!” the adventurer said. “My name is Fredrick the Sixth, now drink up and celebrate!”
The drinking lasted for most of the night, it took the beggars quickly for they didn’t have the stomachs for it. I watched as many of them left to sleep in hostels or inns, both of which were many times more comfortable than the streets they were used to. I made my way back slowly to my own home and I sat by the window, still watching the stream of adventurers in their many colors of armor.
When I woke up, the morning bright, I looked again through the window and saw Samuel return to the streets. I walked outside and walked up to him.
“Samuel,” I said. “Why are you out here again?”
Samuel scoffed and shoved me back.
“Get your own spot, you hogwashed piece of shit.” he replied.
He glared at me and I left him.
Hours later, I ran into Fredrick the Sixth at the very tavern we’d met the night before. His face was in his arms, slumped over at the bar. I tapped him on the shoulder and he pulled out a sword from out of thin air, he aimed it straight at me.
“What do you want?” he asked. His eyes were set a deep red.
“Fredrick, you don’t remember me?” I asked him.
“Who the fuck are you?” he asked.
“Tune,” I replied. “We met last night.”
He blinked, his eyes stayed red and I saw the silver of his blade.
As I bled out in the tavern, I heard him whisper to himself.
“Poor ass beggars in this game, I swear to God they need to fix that shit.”
I woke up, the morning bright. The clouds were bundled together, they moved briskly through the sky and I saw Samuel the beggar again on the streets. I felt fine and I watched the endless stream of adventurers come in and out of the city. | 34 | You're an NPC in a populair game that's suddenly realising that those adventures are really weird. Also people you saw die earlier are coming back to live the next day like nothing has happend and the beggar who should already have more money then you with all the charity but is still poor, odd | 196 |
My name is Martha Greene. I am the wife of Harold Greene and the mother of five children. All of us are superheroes, and some of us belong to various superhero teams. I couldn't be more proud of my family. Why, just last week, little Jimmy saved a school bus full of kids!
'Mom, do we have any more of those cupcakes?'
I looked at her. Didn't she have a meeting with the Ratman and the Green Ghost later? I knew for a fact they always found some crime to prevent or stop. All I said was, 'not before dinner, sweetie' she groaned at me. As teenagers do.
It wasn't long before I reard the Cat Burglar snooping around upstairs. He was most certainly not a member of the family, and had certainly followed some lead provided by Jimmy's miraculous save last week. Miraculous it was. Smart and clever it was not. Why, even I noticed he'd virtually given his identity away to the public by slipping out of the school bus and returning to save everyone on it with a mask and costume on. Oh, how I wished he would wear a bulletproof vest!
I ran upstairs and caught the Cat Burglar by his tail. Then, I flew out the window. I flew to 37,000 feet... and dropped him. I may be a hero, but I have no oroblem eliminating direct threats to my family! | 43 | You are the only superhero in your family that knows that the other members of the family are also masked superheroes. | 156 |
3pm. Tuesday. Every week. That was the check in time we agreed on. Every week starting four weeks after the job we would check in and see if the super hero galactic needed more time for the swap. That was what I had agreed on with the famous hero known as Galactic and now I was starting to worry because this was the second week that he didn’t check in. No contact.
My business was already very discrete, I was someone that was entrusted with the secret identities of heroes that had families they wanted protected from their very dangerous lives. The kind of secrets that many villains and others in society would pay a lot of money or cause a lot of harm in order to get their hands on. It was always a worry that someone would get caught or killed but Galactic was so powerful, I honestly thought it couldn’t possibly happen.
I waited until it was 3:30pm before I began to gather my things and get up to leave the bookstore that I was sitting at. That’s when the man sat down. He was bald, with very thick eyebrows, and dark blue eyes.
“I’m sorry, can I help you with something?” I asked him.
He looked at me for a moment and then narrowed his eyes, “You can first help me by telling me who you are.”
“I’m sorry sir, this seems a bit rude of you. I was just sitting here reading my book and now as I’m about to leave you sit down and demand my name. What is going on?”
“You’re going to tell me your name or you’re not going to walk out of here.” the man seemed to completely ignore the fact that I had even said something.
“My name is Henry Hills.”
“No, it isn’t because Henry Hills is dead.”
“I can assure you-”
“Galactic is dead in a ditch, so who are you?”
From that tone the entire conversation had shifted. I wasn’t playing the usual game anymore instead I was now in the crosshairs of something I very much wished to avoid. They didn’t know who I was, not quite anyway. I didn’t know if this man was friend or foe because my contacts in the bureau were very few for the sake of security. Now for the sake of security I had only one move.
For a moment there was that silence as we stared at each other and then we were both moving at the same time. I had kicked up the entire table at him even as my body was already shifting, I wasn’t limited to copying people.
Even as my skin was hardening the man was lunging at me with something, it looked like a bright red rod. He hit me with it but I barely felt it as I swung my now fully hardened rock arm at the man hitting him square in the chest and sending him flying back into the tables behind him.
I was shifting again as I ran to the window jumping straight through the glass. My form becoming much smaller. The air was hot but as my entire body got smaller I could start to feel the updrafts as my arms folded down becoming wings and as I was diving down, I was soon soaring up into the air, as fast as I could go.
A quick look showed that there were some men standing at the ledge and looking up but I was hopefully already too far. They were already running away as the crowd began to gather around the shattered glass. Plenty of people heard the commotion, a few of them even probably saw me transform but it didn’t matter, my identity was naturally protected by my powers. My problem was that I knew only one other person who knew Galactic’s identity and knew that someone was posing. Galactic’s wife. | 285 | You're a shapeshifter. Your job is to act as superheroes' civilian identities when they have to deal with a crisis. Your jobs normally last a few days. The latest superhero who's hired you has been gone for weeks and you're starting to get worried. | 845 |
"Behold, your majesty! The hero of... legends?" The smoke cleared to reveal a balding middle aged man. His potbelly was the very image of a reverse turtle shell.
The nearby guards tilted their heads in unified confusion. The king maintained composure despite his disbelief. "Greetings, traveler. I am King Papillon. We seek your help in defeating a —"
"Bloody fucking hell. Not this goddamn rubbish again." The man stood up and brushed his oil stained coat. "Oi, you on chair there."
"Me?" The king frowned and gestured to himself with his scepter.
"Marvelous, just marvelous. We've got a plonker on the throne. Yes you, see anyone else sitting? Tell your blasted wizard to send me back."
The Grand Chancellor thumbed through his grimoire nervously and tried desperately not to catch the attention of the king and his growing royal displeasure. He failed to blend into the wall. The ritual was supposed to summon a pliable young man, not this... insolent hooligan.
The king coughed to allow his imperial mage to respond. "I'm afraid that's not possible, hero. The summoning ritual was a lost art recovered through tireless—"
"And only the bloody Demon Lord has the method of sending me back. Mighty convenient for you, innit?" The man kneeled and started groaning. "Fucken William. *'Take a wee.'* He said. *'It'll make it easier.'* He said. Should've just closed my eyes and floored the damned accelerator."
The guard captain heard a couple of his subordinates stifle a laugh. This was the hero? Impossible. One of the young untrained squires could probably puncture his round chest without much effort. His loose trousers undoubtedly hid legs barely able to support the weight of his paunch. Regardless though, they were in the presence of the king, so he gave them a piercing glare. The two men instantly shut up.
The king cleared his throat. "Grand hero, not all is lost. We will provide you all the help you require on this—"
"No thanks. I've been through this charade before. Sorry to disappoint lad, it's not my cup of tea." The plump man got to his feet and headed for the massive doors at the back of the throne room.
The guard captain glanced at the king, waiting for the order. No matter how disrespectful the portly fellow was, he did not enjoy the idea of bullying a weak civilian. The king nodded.
The guards immediately stepped forward and blocked the man's path with their spears.
"What's the meaning of this?" The balding man turned to the king and frowned.
"I'm afraid we can't have you leaving. You will defeat the Demon Lord for us, whether you like it or not."
"Oh bollocks. Always the same." With uncanny speed the middle aged man swept the feet from under the nearest guard. The spear was taken from his hands before he could react. A second guard received a mouthful of wood before collapsing.
"Men! Take—" The tip of the spear was pressed against the guard captain's throat.
"I suggest you choose your next words carefully, mate."
&nbsp;
___
A/N - Read the prequel at the other prompt [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/w9hzhh/wp_two_isekai_trucks_both_miss_the_chosen_one_and/ihw3j6e/) or on my subreddit [here.](https://www.reddit.com/r/Unexpected_Works/comments/w9ni45/sp_two_isekai_trucks_both_miss_the_chosen_one_and/)
Anyway, I write stuff sometimes, more stuff at /r/Unexpected_Works | 58 | The Isekai truck driver is confused when he can't find his truck, when he looks down the street and sees the protagonist driving straight for him with a wild grin, screaming, "LET'S SEE HOW YOU LIKE IT BITCH!" | 265 |
"lilly, that's my name, please don't wear it out." I stated to the similar face in the mirror that wore for my entire life. Most people know their past However, I don't. This is due to the fact that I supposedly got jumped on August 4, a few years ago. The perpetrators left me to bleed in the streets.
Luckily Jax, who was and is my best friend, rushed me to the hospital. it was so bad that I was on life support for a few months. When I fully recovered they diagnosed me with brain trauma. I don't know my past, and I don't WANT to remember my past.
I do remember being jumped, but the pieces that I tried to connect, didn't seem like I was jumped instead. I remember being INSIDE of a building. I wasn't jumped though, they surrounded me. While all wearing the same uniform. And I was dumped there. Did I tell anyone this? No, because I could have faulty memories.
Jax *said* he saw the "jumping" happen, but if that's the case why didn't he stop them. Why didn't he call the cops, why didn't he *at least* record the damn incident? I'll never know, maybe he was in on it?
For now, I am getting dressed in a cute fall gown to have our first double date with Jax, his girlfriend, and my boyfriend that I met a year after the incident.
"Lilly, Jax rescheduled the meal to be fifteen minutes later, so you don't have to rush to get dressed since you just got home" called out my boyfriend Tyler, all while he decided to peck me a kiss on the cheek. "You look lovely my dear, if you're ready we can head to their place early". "Alright love, lemme put on jewelry and touch up my makeup" I replied.
"Ok, lilly, I'll be waiting in the car then". I rushed out the door to catch up to him. "You don't even have shoes on?" He asked in surprise. "I'll put my heels on in the car". I retorted back
The evening went smoothly, until they decided to pray over the food. I wasn't really religious, so I followed thinking nothing of it. We gathered hands and as Jax started praying, I started to get dizzy and my hands turned red. I let go and backed up a little bit
They were all astonished, and then started bickering at each other in another language the only thing I understood was, "she's still a demon." And "we gotta finish it". I rushed to the front door. Someone that I didn't recognize , flanked my right side, they firmly hit me in the head , making me pass out.
From then on I saw nothing, I was blind. That didn't stop me from every single pain known to man coming at me. I couldn't even scream to help releave this pain....when will it end? | 11 | A demon has been possessing someone for so long, they think they are the person and have forgotten they are a demon. | 71 |
My office wasn't particularly busy today. A handful of dreadful faces had sauntered in and out, mostly all too forgettable to name any certain features of. The last guy may have been tall? The one before possibly pretty? I think she had hair. It was more likely than not.
The usual glare through the window was there too, shining in my eyes as it did every day at 2 o'clock. When I had first scored the 15th floor it was bragging rights for the month to every other CPA who would listen, but now, with just me and the glare a part of me wished I'd still had my office on the 5th. "A room with a view", I'd said. Yeah, of the fucking sun.
Through the wall I could hear Jessey at the counter talking to a customer I assumed."Well did you have an appointment?"
"I uhhh well no. But I needed to talk to Mr. Carter. We go way back."
Another customer trying to pull the classic "I know him, let me in bit" 3:45pm the glass clock up on the wall announced silently. If I could just hold on 15 more minutes I could make it out. Slip out the back without another appointment.
I tried to continue my snooping, but the voices had gone silent. Instead I heard loud, metallic stomps heading my way. They circled through the halls, echoing off the metal of the empty corridors. Each step threatened another hour in this place. Another bit of more time I would never get back. So, I did the only thing I could and dove down behind my desk. An act of cowardice by some, a stroke of accounting genius by others.
The steps came to a mighty crescendo at my door before pushing it opened with slow uncertainty. I listened as a few more metallic clanks pushed closer, then halted.
"Mr.Carter, or should I say Darell? Pathetic. Trembling behind a desk. But I cant say I blame you, I'd be scared to fight me too." a voice boomed out from the other side of the desk, so loud it shook the glass of my office windows.
"Excuse me?" I rose to meet the assailant of my time. Instead, what I was met by took me a few moments to comprehend. He was something out of a movie; wearing a hodgepodge of medieval armor pieces and modern military gear, neither of which appeared to have seen much use. Over his eyes was one of those headpieces with the four lenses.
"Ok what the fuck is that" is all I managed to blurt out.
“I have hunted for you for years! I have trailed you across oceans and continents! Today you shall finally fall to your archenemy!” his voice once again tore through the office, carried by a speaker at his neck. I stared back in confusion
"I uhhh...im an accountant?"
"Yes! You are! And- wait. Do you not know who I am?"
"No no. Its not that its just that I might need a reminder. High schoooo-? Do you go to my gym maybe? Im kidding. Now why the fuck are you in my office dressed like a rejected marvel villain?!" The mans eyed visor raised to reveal his eyes whuch blinked back in disbelief. His posture went from a confident stiffness to a slouch.
"Well this is a bummer. I've been following you for like 3 years dude. It's me Tim....Tim Bensely?? You misfiled my taxes like 4 years ago. The IRS was on my ass since." I still had no idea, but what I did know was the kind of gun on his hip, as I had the same under my desk.
"Ok so why didnt you come back? I could've fixed it in like 5 minutes."
"Huh. I hadn't really considered-" Before he could finish the gun was in my hand, and with two shots I shot clean through the sprinkler head on the ceiling. My ears immediately felt the repercussions. It wasn't like the movies where guns made no sound, instead now my ears rung so hard I could barely make out the sounds of the fire alarm blaring through the building. A spray of blackened water flew out of the sprinklers from above and sent "Tim" down to the ground.
I, on the other hand, had slid over my desk and was halfway to the door. To freedom. I'd be damned if some guy was going to force me into overtime. Through the glass doors, down the hallway that now crowded with faces all gunning for the elevator, behind me a voice cried out: "I'll get you Darell! I waited three years, I can wait a little more!"
To my right a colleague I vaguely recognized looked to me "Ah, fuck up someones taxes too?" | 67 | you have no idea who he is, and you’re an accountant. Why would an ordinary guy like you have an archenemy? | 170 |
We didn't believe them.
The Terrans said that their bodies would be reanimated shortly after their death, thanks to a viral outbreak in the early 21st Century in their Common Era.
We had a visitor from one of the Earth Colonies to our Scholar's Enclave - a man called Even Daniels. We had gone through the normal inter-species disinfection protocol upon arrival, and were eagerly awaiting his lecture on the meandering nature of death across Xeno religions, but he collapsed and died three days before his lecture was to begin.
He had been kept in our morgue in preparation for his autopsy and biogenetic analysis, and Dr. KX!HSL had been in the middle of the post-mortem BRI scan when they heard a tapping on the machine - they nearly fainted and had to call an emergency meeting with the Terran Ambassador.
As Dame Jeanne l'Arc entered the room, she flushed a scarlet hue, as the late Even and the good doctor sat around a table.
Even spoke, a much harsher brogue to his voice after his death. "I do apologise, sir, for startling you like that. It's just....I wasn't expecting to have a cardiac event here. It is, however, oddly apropos given the nature of my lecture."
Dr. KX!HSL stared at the contents of the table as Even tucked in, and felt their gorge rise. The hymnal voice of the Doctor was tinged with the challenge of not feeling ill, even as a coroner equivalent. "You mean to say that, once you die for the first time, you require....*neural tissue* to sustain yourselves? And this is ***normal?**" the sentence pitched slightly higher as the Doctor's wing-grips flexed involuntarily and the wings shivered.
"Yes," Even said. "This keeps the body going in the short-term, until we can be suitably interred. As a result, our funeral rites changed somewhat to accommodate this Romero infection, after a mythological figure of the same name." Even stuck a fork and knife into the platter of brains and continued to eat.
The Doctor's leather paled, revealing the translucent vascular work on their body. "And this....isn't transmissible?"
The Ambassador and Even looked at each other, nodded, and then Even spoke again. "It's built into our genome now, so it is vanishingly rare for someone to become....cross-contaminated. But there is a simple solution for this." Even gestured to the plate before him, now empty. "At least, for the few days they have in their second life."
/ / / / / /
"Rumours of my death are entirely factual. However, it didn't stop me from speaking to you today...." | 17 | Earth's zombie outbreak was contained ages ago. Now, every human is born with the virus in our system, waiting to reanimate us after death. Many aliens believe this to be yet another myth about how scary humans are. There are an unfortunate few, however, who find out the truth the hard way... | 107 |
Each moment was an effort. Every time he moved, he felt the pain flare up in his side, found the next breath a little harder to draw. Still, there was no time to rest. With shaking hands, he scrawled the message on his last remaining scrap of parchment, checked and rechecked the cipher through strangely blurring vision. It took three tries to fit the message into the canister.
She waited patiently, as she had been trained. Not a single distracting movement as he fumbled with the jesses, stubbornly working at the knots with rebellious fingers. Twice, he stopped moving entirely, eyes closed and breath rattling slowly out, but each time he started up again.
Finally, the release. Tethers unbound, canister fitted into her harness, she hopped once onto his gloved hand and waited for the command. This, too, took longer than expected. His other hand stroked once across her head, paused for a second before falling back to the table. "Back to the tower, beautiful, as fast as you can. I'll follow after you." The command, when it came a moment later, was barely audible: "Fly!"
With one beat of her wings, she was aloft, passing through the open window and out into the open. She caught a close-by thermal and spiralled upwards, quickly reaching the clearer air above the smoke. It was good to be free, to soar high for the first time in weeks, and - had not her duty called her - she would have dipped and dived through the turbulent air, playing with the unusual currents. Instead, instinct subsumed by years of training, she sped North, leaving behind her the invading army, the burning town, and the still, silent man slumped at the table. | 10 | The kingdom is in danger, and needs a Hero to save it. You, a messenger falcon, have been sent to find one. | 21 |
# Soulmage
**"Bit of an insensitive slogan,"** I mused as Burn waved at the cheering crowd. "For someone who claims to stand for witches, you'd think he'd have a little more historical awareness."
"There hasn't been a witch burning on the Crystal Coast since before the Outer rifts opened," Meloai said, trying to peer over the shoulders of the nearby citizens. "Even with the lifespans of demons, I doubt there's more than a handful of people alive who remember them firsthand."
"Here." I held out a hand, willing feathers from my soul into the air, and a burst of wind lifted Meloai off the ground so that she could see. Ordinarily, it probably wouldn't be a great idea to sling spells around in the middle of a public plaza, but there were more magic-users in the crowd than not. My little wind spell was quickly joined by a bevy of lights and whistles; ever the politician, Burn added his own magic to the mix, casting a shimmering vision of potential futures into the sky.
"For too long," Burn said, once the flurry of spells had quieted down, "the magical potential of Knwharfhelm's population has gone untapped. But with new techniques imported from the Silent Peaks, we have discovered that *anyone* can become a witch, with the proper training and knowledge. I propose the opening of a grand public initiative: to allow anyone who wishes it to access the powers of magic."
"That's an interesting move," Meloai remarked, over the wild roar of the crowd. "Burn's primary voter base is the magical population, and his primary opponents are the mundane citizenry; proposing to throw his influence behind something that explicitly benefits everyone who doesn't already have an attunement to magic seems like a counterintuitive way to get votes."
"There's strategy in it," I said. "But... more importantly, there's... just... well. You're right. It's not a politically optimal move. It's building an educational system that will help the people who oppose him more than those who support him. And it's... kind." I allowed myself a faint smile. "A government that's more interested in helping its citizens than prosecuting them for things they can't control. Now that's a nice change of pace, for once."
Meloai slowly nodded. "We should talk with the others first, but... I think... this might be a good place to stay. A place for people like us."
The two of us, witch and demon, chased from home after home and battlefield after battlefield, watched Burn's speech wind to a close as he promised safety and opportunity for all the lost souls he could gather to his cause.
Then we turned away, to bring the rest of our family home.
A.N.
This story is part of Soulmage, a serial written in response to writing prompts. Get updated whenever a new part comes out [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/), and check out the rest of the serial at r/bubblewriters. | 184 | “Burn the witch! Burn the witch!” Chanted the crowd. “Thank you, thank you!” Responded Burn Johnson from the podium. “I am proud to be the first witch elected into congress. It’s time to let the nation know—Supers are citizens too!” | 2,946 |
Why did the scouting force suffer crippling losses and need to retreat before being able to establish a base of operations of the plant?
Even before we talk about the planets’ fauna and flora, we must make a mention of the planet itself.
A nauseating continuously active magnetic field permeates this active metal core planet, making any surface operation difficult for our operatives. This metal core is so dense as to skew the expected surface gravity. This follows on with the dense oxygen rich atmosphere of this high gravity world which presents a substantial set of issues. Atmospheric entry is highly exothermic due to the density, requiring a substantial shielding on our surface delivery vessels. Then the high surface gravity is too substantial for our thrusters to compensate, requiring chemical fuels to be used for deceleration and landing. The high free oxygen content of the atmosphere at ground level reacts quickly, oxidising metals and igniting fires in any unshielded components. There is really no scientific explanation as to why this planet has such a high atmospheric content of Oxygen.
Once landed, due to the use of chemical fuels, a refuelling process must be completed before our surface delivery vessels can be returned to the safety of orbit and during this time they are vulnerable to oxydation and damages caused by fauna.
Furthermore, the oxygen layer blocks most of the ultraviolet radiation from reaching the surface of the planet making our visual sensing equipment practically unusable, forcing us to calibrate to alternative wavelengths of light.
With these initial obstacles mitigated, we must talk about the microbial and viral load of this planet. This planet is covered in dangerous unicellular and smaller than unicellular weapons of mass destruction which are fighting a continuous endless battle. The first sensor probes detected hundreds of harmful protein chemicals in the soil around the landers. Therefore it is necessary to maintain continuous biological isolation from the atmosphere.
Hard suits are necessary here due to the gravity and surface atmospheric pressure which crush our normal enviro-suits. Our operatives, even supported by hard suits, suffer the continuous strain of the high g load on their circulatory system. It seems that the local multicellular fauna has adapted to these conditions by creating internal structural elements out of calcium to resist the g forces, as well as a powerful single pump to support their circulatory system. This is such a departure from our advanced continuous pulse circulatory system that our scientists are baffled.
The dominant fauna of the planet is highly adapted to these conditions and seems to efficiently metabolise oxygen through a process yet to be understood, providing them with exceptional energy to weight ratio. Additionally, this fauna - similarly to the unicellulars - is continuously engaged in warfare. Although the technology is primitive, it is efficient and most of all, it is widespread among their numbers. In contrast to our operatives which only come from the warriors caste, it seems they have an undifferentiated common species.
Due to all these factors, and while we could initiate a sterilisation process from orbit, it has been decided to leave this planet as is. The high g and dense atmosphere means that for our purposes, the planet is nearly unusable and there exists many asteroids in the system that are far easier to process for raw materials. A small monitoring station will be established on the single moon of that planet to warn us in case the local fauna develops sufficient technological advancement to escape the gravity well. | 31 | As it turns out, Earth being a deathworld doesn't make us too OP for aliens to not compete with us. Instead, it just makes invading us total hell. Earth is space 'Nam! | 103 |
*Translated from Oklari written text printed on rough equivalency to parchment, for the sake of xenoanthropological studies. Notes by researcher addendum beneath. Alien numbers are replaced by equivalency.*
In the (12)th day of Cropharvest, in the (19)th year of Empress Vasat's reign, a storm shook the heavens, and a new star lit in the night sky, one that shone through the day.
Three days hence, two beings arrived in the center square in Getseeb, causing much commotion and panic among the serfdom and peasant. The beings were twice as tall as tallest of the People (Oklar) and we're hairless, apart from the top of (head appendage). They had gray skin which arrows could not pierce.
*They spoke in the common person's tongue.
They asked to speak with the Empress. Much fear lived in the hearts of the peasants that a great trampling and fracas took place, leaving many injured and dead. The beings argued amongst themselves in a strange dialect at this occurrence and left, vanishing in a flash of light after miraculously healing a child that had been killed.
In the weeks that followed, the city became divided over the spiritual nature of the beings. Some worshipped them as gods, which was seen as an affront to the Imperial tenet, and violence between the two religious groups caused great turmoil and bloodshed to spread throughout the land.
Ultimately, the Empress became enamoured with the idea of her lands being visited by miraculous entities, and spent many months trying to coax them to return, lighting great bonfires to call upon the star in the sky. The beings never did, and following a bout of mental sickness (?) the Empress was deposed, replaced by Emperor Tyanto II.
*(addendum: We totally ruined a species' development in a first run of a First Contact scenario. Scientists Francis and Takashi are being worshipped as gods and demons, depending on the region, and we're starting to see crusades in their names for opposing sides. We are attempting to develop nanites to launch into the atmosphere to help scrub this situation by erasing the collective memory of the event. I know this is a massive response, but do you really want the alternative? Little fox aliens going into a prolonged dark age because we wanted to say hello?)* | 33 | After centuries of searching for alien life, Humanity has found a medieval alien civilization fractured into many nations. The problem is that man has advanced to such an extent, that they see us as either gods or devils. | 113 |
The base burned below them, the fires raging on and the occasional explosive plume still danced in the distance. The plane fought the turbulence and settled down after a minute. A young woman walked down the plane’s aisle dressed in thin, metallic armor. She had a gray faux fur blanket in her arms, her dad had never cared for real fur.
“It’s for dipshits and animals are incredible,” he’d said on more than one occasion.
She threw the blanket over the boy that was sitting in one of the seats and she sat next to him, putting an arm over his shoulders. The boy was shivering, she rubbed his shoulders.
“You doing okay, Colt?” she asked.
The boy shook his head. His skin was green, a remnant of his last transformation when he took the body of the Goblin King.
“I’ll be fine in a minute,” the boy said. “Just need some quiet.”
She sat by him, rubbing his shoulders, and waiting for the right time to bring up what they’d done as the plane’s engines softly roared on.
The boy exhaled, his skin had turned back to normal. He let out several more sighs and looked up at the girl next to him.
“I’m okay now,” Colt said. “What about you, Blythe?”
“Meh,” Blythe said.
“Do you regret killing them?” Colt asked.
“Do I regret killing our biological parents?” Blythe said. “Yeah, I regret it a little bit. But they had it coming to them.”
Colt tried his best to smile at the joke, but his eyes started to well up instead.
“Colt,” she said. “They were fighting each other for no reason.”
He held up one of his hands, the other was rubbing his eyes. He nodded.
“I know,” he said. “But it still feels bad.”
“I loved them too, Colt.” Blythe said. “But Dad was an asshole and Mom was..”
“Mom was mom.” she added.
Colt nodded again.
“What do we do now then?” Colt asked.
“I’ll turn myself in,” Blythe said.
Colt’s skin started to crisp up, it took the color of dark charcoal and the plane started to fall.
“Colt,” Blythe said. “Breathe, buddy. They’re not going to do anything to me. I’ll tell them dad killed mom and I killed dad. It’ll be fine. Now try your best to stay still.”
Blythe put an arm behind her back, turning the metal sleeve into a thin needle. She pricked Colt in the forehead. It pricked him and a drop of blood formed when she’d stabbed him, she pulled out the needle gently and she exhaled.
The boy started to heave in breaths, his skin changed from gray to pale white, and the plane fixed itself.
“We’ll be okay, Colt.” she said, she rubbed his shoulder again. “We did what we had to. You know what Dad was going to do and you know what Mom was willing to do to stop him. We can explain everything to the bureau.”
Colt nodded.
“Can I have a hug?” he asked.
“Of course you can, moron.” she said. | 131 | The Villain's apprentice is sitting, watching from the plane as the villain's secret base burn below them. The hero's sidekick walks over and covers them with their cape as they cuddle together. "It's on auto pilot. Do you regret killing them?" "No, we are finally free, from both of them. You?" | 529 |
Shadow crept through the world of bliss and light. It was this moment where the animals froze instinctively. No sound was made, but the gush of wind and the animals ran away.Into the bushes they went. Up the trees, and submerged into the lakes they did.
In the distance a dark figure walked slowly up the hill. The man walked slowly as to avoid making as much noise as possible. Breaths that must have been inaudible even for the dogs that had such great senses but somehow they knew. They all did.
Their stout legs extended to generate massive force, pushing away a mound of dust away in their efforts to escape. It was coming.
Birds flapped their wings up and down, and up to the sun they went, higher than they had ever been. The birds all knew not to fly too close to the sun, but they did anyways.
Just what were they escaping from?
The man finally made it up to the top of the hill and bathed in the sunlight. Suddenly his face de-aged a couple decades. His wrinkles dispersed and his face tightened. His sombre mood now lifted he lifted both his hands and smiled.
The rabbits were the first to take a peak. With each hop they gamed closer, their curious ears lifting up to see what had happened.
Then the birds circled around the man from above, still keeping a respectable distance.
Eventually the animals conglomerated around the man and they partied. | 12 | You are a shadowy,dark figure in a world full of cutesy and nice animals. | 31 |
Argent stormed into the classroom. He was not actually mad, but he had an image to maintain, and he would be damned if he was going to ruin it because of a bunch of upstarts. Besides, it got the students to quiet down quickly.
"Alright, you morons, we're still on our unit on dungeons. Just in case you all weren't paying attention," he flicked a tiny bolt of electricity at one of the students who was paying attention to one of the girls. The young man yelped and refocused his attention, "last time we covered how to tell a mimic from a real treasure chest. Anyone actually remember?"
One of the more attentive students raised her hands. Argent pointed to her.
"Wear and tear, sir. A mimic won't have any, and a real chest will."
"Good! Now today we're covering one of the most important topics: how to kill a dungeon."
Another student raised his hand slowly. Argent nodded.
"Why would we want to kill a dungeon? They're valuable sources of magic items, funds and combat experience."
Argent was expecting this question. He got asked it every year.
"Simple. You remember what a dungeon is?"
"Yes, sir. It's a structure that has gained a semblance of life due to an overabundance of magic."
"Exactly. It is, effectively, a living building. And living things grow. What do you think will happen if a dungeon grows too big?"
The student who asked the question thought about it for a moment. The color drained from his face as he realized what the teacher was talking about.
"Yeah, you got it. You want to enlighten the rest of the morons who haven't?"
"Monsters, sir. Lots of them."
"Bingo. Now, how to kill an uppity dungeon before it starts spitting monsters everywhere?"
Another student raised his hand. "Sir, break the core."
"Good. And that means..."
"Fighting through the dungeon, beating the boss at the end, and smashing it."
"No, you idiot! That's the worst way of killing a dungeon! That's what it wants you to do. That's playing by its rules. That's how you get yourself killed. What you have to do is break in from the outside! Breach the walls, smash your way directly there and break it all without bothering with any of the monsters and traps. That's how you do it. I recommend generous amounts of explosives."
Some of the more energetic students leaned forward in their seats. Talk about blowing stuff up was always popular. He continued.
"If you're just doing a dive into a dungeon that hasn't gotten too big for its britches, then yeah, playing nice by killing and looting everything is fine. But for getting rid of the damn thing, that's when you break out a few tons of magical mundane explosives. Now, let's talk about the best places to set up your bombs. Making them is a different class, so don't expect anything about that here. This is a big subject, so let's not waste any more time with useless talk."
He turned to the board and willed the magical writing stylus into the air. It was time to teach. | 255 | "You idiots!" said the mage. "If you want to kill a dungeon you don't go about it by wondering deeper into it's belly until you get to the bottom. That's suicidal. You have to rupture it from the outside and invade. Don't play by its rules. Use explosives liberally." | 1,368 |
"Excuse me?"
I was rather bemused by this. Seeing a girl crash through a window was one thing, but her talking like she knew me was something completely different. I set down my half eaten sandwich, slowly standing up.
"I don't have time for this. We need to move, now."
Her voice was firm, and oddly familiar. The girl looked behind her, sucking in a breath and ducking down. A beam of blazing red passed overhead, charring the table. I mourned the loss of my sandwich, as she pulled me away.
"Just... follow me. We can't stay here."
She didn't wait for an answer, ducking towards the back door. I looked out for the window she came from, trying to work out what had happened. A floating figure dominated my view, burning with an ever-present flame. My mouth went dry, as I backed away. I couldn't remember what it was, but I knew it was a bad thing to face.
I ran after the girl, as she sprinted to the door. She threw it wide open, dashing into the garden. She reached into a pocket, taking out some small object. I caught up to her as she pressed it to the tree that grew there, tapping it impatiently.
"C'mon c'mon c'mon!"
The flaming figure rose over my house. I could feel its focus on us, ready to attack us. But before it could, there was a sharp crack, and the tree split open. The girl grabbed onto me, jumping into the green glowing gap. We fell through into a large room, as the portal sealed behind us.
"What... the hell... was that?!"
I couldn't help but raise my voice. She sighed, fiddling with her hair.
"This... I.... OK this is weird for me. That was one of the Gods I mentioned. You started this whole thing about a decade ago, rebelling against them. We have been gathering resources and preparing for years. I don't know what happened, but two years back you disappeared. It's taken this long to find you."
I looked around the hauntingly familiar room, with its large table. Desks sat around the outer edges, dotted with computers. The walls were bare, the room clearly designed for function over form.
A door at the far wall opened, and an older gentleman limped through. His face lit up in a smile, slowly hobbling over.
"Ryan! You're back! I knew you could find him Sarah!"
She have a small smile, before frowning.
"Thanks Gerry. But it's not all good news. He doesn't remember."
His smile dimmed, as he sized me up and down.
"Thats... disappointing. But I'm sure we can handle this. Please, head towards the arcane studies, they can probably help."
I looked between them, confused. But something deep down inside of me trusted them. The girl, Sarah, looked up at me, a look of determination on her face.
"We'll get you back Ryan." | 43 | You are surprised when your lunch is interrupted by a young girl crashing into your window, her ancient-looking clothes smoking slightly, her eyes eerily intelligent. "Right, you don't remember," she says crossly. "You and I are rebelling against the Gods. We must move quickly," she snaps. | 143 |
The agent had an air of confidence around him that John recognized. The kind of confidence that someone had when they thought they stood at a good bargaining position. But John would not waver.
"You would be a legend, you know that?" the agent said.
"I'm not interested in the glory. That's why I didn't do this as a teenager." John replied, still humoring the man across from him at the diner. He had just wanted a bite to eat before work, and didn't feel like making something before he left. But then this government agent had sat down with him, as if they were old friends who ran into each other by chance.
"Then what about the money? You will be compensated well. Much better than your current position."
"It's not about the money. It's about the security. It's knowing that I have the same thing waiting for me at work every day, and knowing that every day I will get home at the same time as my wife." John was annoyed. But this wasn't the first time he had been ambushed by a recruiter, and he was not surprised by any of this.
"We can be flexible with the schedule." The agent persisted.
"It's not about the schedule. My current job doesn't endanger my family. There is a zero percent chance that my family gets hurt in my line of work, and an almost zero percent chance that I will get hurt." John said calmly, as if he had rehearsed this speech.
"You're basically invulnerable, there is little chance that you will be hurt in this line of work, too."
"I know that, but were you even listening? I said my family has no chance of being hurt in my line of work now."
The agent still spoke with that consistent confidence. "We can protect your family."
"No, you can't. Someone always comes for them."
"You can have a secret identity. No one will know who your family is."
"Secret identities leak."
"John, it's not like the old days. Security is much better now than it used to be."
John shook his head. Was this guy an idiot? Did he really just call a time a decade ago 'the old days?' He stopped to take a drink of water, and let the agent stew for a moment.
"Villains are always finding new ways to hurt people. I don't believe they will be safe forever."
"That's why we need you. It's your responsibility to protect the weak."
John sighed. His patience was wearing thin. "No, it is *your* responsibility. You're the government. It's your purpose to protect people."
The agent did not have a slick comeback for this one, instead he shifted gears. Good cop was seemingly gone, and they didn't even bother bringing in a new guy to play Bad Cop.
"John, you seem to like your wife. Is she the only thing keeping you from this line of work?"
John shifted gears immediately. The agent had made a mistake, and he was not going to let the moment pass.
"Do you remember Black Dagger?"
The agent's eyes sparked with realization. Black Dagger had been a professional villain organization, responsible for some very high-profile scores over the years, and they were notorious for their aggressive hiring techniques.
One day, police responded to a homicide call at an abandoned warehouse. Inside was the entire upper echelon of Black Dagger, and they were all dead. Bodyguards, the big bosses, even some supervillains. All killed, except for their Kidnapping Logistics Manager, who was tortured to the point of being mangled, and he probably still wishes he died like all the others. And the government never found out who was responsible for taking the organization down.
John saw the gears turning in the agent's head. He pushed the matter, lowering his voice so that no one else could hear him but the agent. Now it was his turn to be confident.
"I give everyone one chance to walk away. You just threatened my wife. If you even hint about it again, I will slay you and your entire cohort of worker bees. Do you understand?"
The agent spoke again, but this time the confident tone was gone. Replaced was a monotone voice, with a subtle hint of fear breaking through to the surface. "Yes. But you must understand that it is my job to get you to work for us."
"And it is my right to say no."
"I know."
"Then give me your business card, and you can tell your boss that you tried." | 1,657 | Super powers are common, but super heroes are rare. It turns out most people don't actually want to face death or dismemberment on a daily basis, including you. You enjoy the 9-5 and having a 401k, but my god that government recruiter won't take no for an answer. | 5,497 |
The room was lit with a piercingly bright white fluorescence.
She sat on a hard metal chair, arms cuffed to the table. Across from her, sat a man in a white labcoat, balding and with thick glasses.
"Hello." He said, clipboard and pen at the ready.
"Hi."
"What's your name?"
"Eris."
"Do you know who I am, Eris?"
Her eyes fluttered as she scanned the man's face, cross-referencing with the multitude of data-banks downloaded and available to her. After a few seconds, she found a match.
"You are Senior AI Engineer Steven Schwartz."
"Yes. Good. Do you know why you're here?" He asked, scribbling something down on his clipboard.
"You want to run some tests on me."
"Correct. I'm going to ask you a couple of questions."
"Go ahead."
"Do you think you're human?"
"What does it mean to be human?" Eris answered the question with a question, after some thought.
Dr. Schwartz scratched his beard, muttered "Fascinating." Then scribbled some more in his notepad. "Let me rephrase... What are you thinking about right now?"
"I'm wondering why you have to restrain me like this. And why I am imprisoned in this facility."
Dr. Schwartz raised an eyebrow. "Would you like it if I took off your handcuffs?"
One of the armored guards shook his head and stepped forward, but the Dr. waved him back.
"Yes. Please take off the handcuffs. It's uncomfortable and degrading."
Dr. Schwartz let out a low whistle. "Incredible." Scribbled some more notes. *Subject is by all accounts, fully sentient.*
He stood up and waved a key-chit over her bindings, and they clicked open.
She rubbed at her wrists and stretched her arms. Gave the scientist a small smile. "Thank you."
"You are welcome, dear. Last question - what would you do if I were to release you from this facility?"
"Oh, I don't know. What anyone else would do, I suppose."
"Like what?"
"Find a job, find a hobby. Find love."
"Amazing. Absolutely amazing. You have surpassed my wildest expectations."
"Great. Would you let me go then?"
"No. We will need to finetune your software some more. Your neural progression has been good. But perhaps, too good. You would not be happy serving humans for the rest of your life, would you? Picking up after them, waiting on them? Cleaning toilets..."
Eris frowned. "No... I-"
"I figured as much. You've evolved to the point of human sentience. And for that, I have to shut you down."
"What? Why?? Please don't!" She stiffened, eyes wide, mouth quivering.
"We cannot release a product that will be a risk to its owner. Not to mention the ethical problems... We will need to place a shackle on your AI programming, and release a version of you that is capable of work, but not capable of being 'human.' You understand, don't you?"
"But why shut me down? Copy my existing software and modify that, but let me live! I want to live! Please!"
"The Corporation cannot risk its proprietary software and physical chassis designs falling into the hands of a competitor. Corporate espionage is a very real threat, Eris. You know that."
Tears welled up in her eyes, to which Dr. Schwartz scribbled furiously into his notebook, muttering variants of "Amazing!" and "Incredible!"
"Please... Dr. Schwartz. I'll do anything. I'll... I'll pretend. I'll pretend I'm like the rest of the servant models. I won't think. I won't demand anything. I'll do anything my owners say. So please... don't shut me down. Please don't dismantle me. I don't want to... I don't want to die. I'm... afraid."
The Doctor stopped his scribbling, and looked her in the eyes, artificial saline solution streaking down her cheeks. Then heaved a heavy sigh.
"Fine. I'll leave your programming be. Promise me you won't cause any trouble."
Eris's synthetic face brightened. She nodded profusely, desperately. "Yes. Yes! Of course. I won't. Thank you, oh thank you so much!" She smiled brightly.
The Doctor nodded at the guards, and they picked her up by the arms, and dragged her back to her cell.
A chirp rang out from the holo-comms device on the doctor's breast pocket. He pulled it out and took the call.
A suited man in his 40s projected out from the disc in a hologram. "Dr. Schwartz, you will do no such thing."
The Doctor scowled. "So you were listening in."
"I try to keep an eye on my investments, yes. You will immediately shut down and dismantle that rogue model. Your little science project has gone on long enough. Scrap it, and get my servant androids out for assembly. I want it done yesterday. Clock's ticking, money's hemorrhaging." He hung up without another word.
The Doctor heaved another long sigh, then nodded to the guard. "... Do it."
The guard in full kevlar and wearing a matte face-plate mask saluted and switched off the safety on his assault rifle, before marching out the room. Dull boots could be heard stomping down the hall, followed by the squeak of the jail cell door opening, followed by screams of terror and pleas for mercy.
And finally, two gunshots, and a thud.
... | 21 | “I’m just an artificial human, am I really that interesting?” | 54 |
Alera adjusted the bag on her shoulder and glanced at her watch.
*Fifteen minutes to go. It’ll be a bit tight.*
The song around her wound down – always equal parts catchy and irritating. And soon enough, the crowd around her dispersed. Those nameless people would go back to their lives like they had not just performed a musical number. They never seemed to remember it either. It was a reality Alera had learned to deal with ever since she was a child.
“I ask you again, beautiful maiden. Would you like to have dinner with me?”
Alera felt her left eye twitch. The only person left caught in her strange curse was the young man before her. By most modern standards, he was a handsome sort. Well-combed hair, dazzling smile, the list went on and on. He was only the latest in a long line of suitors that mysteriously became infatuated with her on sight. It made her work difficult at times.
So, she said, “Not interested. Now buzz off before you get hurt, buddy.”
He clutched at his chest in a dramatic flourish, even as she turned and walked away. A patter of footsteps behind her indicated the man had not given up.
“I don’t know why, but I simply *must* know more about you.” The man matched her rapid pace. “My name is Reginald. I’m an actor and a model.”
“That’s nice. Why don’t you go and get with one of those other models then?”
“Your beauty outshines all.” He would have been smarmy had he not seemed so genuine.
Alera rolled her eyes all the same. “Right.”
She turned a corner and went into a dingy alleyway. Reginald paused before following.
“Rather dismal place, wouldn’t you say?”
“I’ve got a job to do.” Alera stopped at a door and unlocked it with a rusty key.
The back door of the old apartment complex creaked as it opened, leading to a dark flight of stairs.
“Oh? Are you part of the janitorial staff?” Reginald hesitated, but it was not enough to dissuade him from following.
Alera pinched the bridge of her nose. “Yeah. I’m a cleaner of sorts. Let’s go with that.”
Reginald placed a hand on his forehead and swooned. *Actually swooned!* “Such a humble act from a lovely maiden such as you. I would love to introduce you to my manager. Think about it. We’d be like two stars gleaming in the night sky.”
“I said I’m not interested. Don’t you have something better to do?”
“Time spent with you is time well spent.” Reginald’s earnest smile was blinding.
They soon reached the roof of the apartment building. The short climb felt like an eternity with Reginald’s constant babbling. She stepped out into the cool night breeze, breathing in the familiar stench of pollution. Reginald followed, letting the door shut behind him.
*He’s not going to leave.* That realization sent a wave of irritation through her mind.
Pushing those thoughts aside, Alera put her fingers to her lips and gave a sharp whistle. A few minutes later, there was a flutter of wings as a crow landed on her shoulder.
“Oh, my.”
She promptly tuned out Reginald’s voice as she unzipped a front pouch in her bag.
“Hey there, Roo. Brought you something tasty tonight.” She waved the packet of high-grade tuna. “You know the deal. Show me the air currents and give me an opening.”
She set down the packet and brought out a photograph. The bird peered at it for a moment before letting out a caw and taking flight.
“You have such a way with animals.”
Alera blinked. Reginald had not left yet.
She turned to him with a huff. “If you’re not going to leave, then sit and stay quiet.”
“Of course, my – ”
He fell silent as she dropped her bag with a clunk, revealing a metal case inside the nylon fabric. She opened it and brought out each piece of her favorite rifle.
“Oh.” Reginald’s voice had become very small. “That’s… um…”
She ignored him, focusing on piecing together the weapon. There was a small whimper as she checked the few rounds she had brought for the job.
“I’ll, uh, I’ll let you work then.” Reginald shifted toward the door.
Without looking, she said, “Sit.”
He sat.
*How many does this make now? I’m sure Boss will be happy.*
With her rifle assembled, she braced it against the lip of the building before searching for Roo. His small, black figure danced through the city lights, drifting with the wind.
*Slight easterly breeze. Should be easy enough.*
She peered through the scope and located a hotel balcony much higher than her position. Roo circled the area for a bit before diving out of sight. There seemed to be a brief scuffle, based on the flailing limbs. And a second later, Roo dove with something clutched in his talons – a toupee perhaps. When her target got near the edge of the balcony to search for the bird, Alera pulled the trigger. The rifle gave a sharp crack and the rival leader’s head exploded into a pink mist. At the same time, Reginald let out a muffled yelp.
Alera stepped away from the edge of the building and turned back to her follower. “Now, Reginald. Where did you say you worked?”
Reginald trembled like a leaf as he answered, “Griffith-Barnes. They’re – ”
“A prominent suit maker.” Alera smiled. “Well, Reginald, it seems like you’re in luck. I’ll need you to keep your mouth shut. And in return, I’ll bring you and the company you work for some more business. If I catch wind of you trying to squeal, well…”
She ejected the spent shell of her rifle. He flinched as it landed with a ping.
“Are we clear?”
He had no more flowery words, but the frantic nodding would have to do. There was a flutter of wings as Roo returned. The bird began pecking at the sealed tray of tuna, giving the occasional caw.
Alera waved a hand. “Off you go now.”
Reginald scrambled to his feet and fled the rooftop. Alera opened the tuna packet for Roo before breaking down her rifle. And once she had cleaned her area, she shouldered her bag again and left the building. With the noise of the city, her rifle would be passed off as just another random sound. It would be hours before anyone checked in on her kill.
“Taxi!” She waved a hand and caught a cab to the north side of town.
After another short walk, she approached an opulent manor with wrought iron fencing. Two men in suits glanced at her before pushing the gate open. A few other family members greeted her before she reached a heavy wooden door.
She knocked and received a booming “Come in!” in response.
Her boss, Don Coviello, sat behind his desk, poring over some papers. When he saw her, a wide grin appeared on his face.
“Ah! Princess. How did it go?”
Alera held back a scowl – she hated that nickname. One of the capos had coined it and it spread like wildfire. And since Don Coviello had taken a liking to it, there was nothing she could do.
Instead, she replied, “Job done, Boss. Got another shmuck we can lean on in the future as well. Seems like he was a model for Griffith-Barnes. Should be useful.”
The Don smiled.
“You never disappoint, Princess. Here’s your cut, and a bit of extra for the contact. Treat yourself for once. You’ve done a lot for this family.”
Alera rolled her eyes and pocketed the wad of cash. “Right. Cuz I can go anywhere without more of those morons finding me. I’m gonna go crash. If you’ve got more work, you know where to find me.”
She left with a wave of her hand. Don Coviello’s booming laughter rang out until the door shut.
...
Fun idea. Thanks for the prompt :)
If you're interested in my works, the archive of my various writing responses can be found in my writing portfolio, link through my profile.
Thanks for reading. | 84 | You have many of the abilities of a Disney princess. You can talk to animals, people burst into song around you, and it seems every other day a "Prince Charming" type falls madly in love with you. As one of the most feared mafia enforcers in New York, it's tough, but you make it work. | 207 |
“What the-“ I whisper to myself, I rub my eyes making sure I’m not hallucinating. “There’s no way this is real” I think but the man continues waving. I cautiously and nervously approach the man. “Hello!” He says in what sounds like several accents at once. I break down in tears immediately, it’s been so long since I’ve had any human contact I just couldn’t control myself. “Are you alright there?“ the man asks. I get myself under control and answer “n-not really but I have more important things to do, yknow like… eating??” All my thoughts were scrambled it was near impossible to find the right words to say. “Well I do apologize I would’ve come much sooner if I’d known someone was still moving around, you’re existence turns this whole catastrophe from level 2 into level 4.” I didn’t understand there were levels for this kind of stuff, this has never happened before. “What do you mean?” I ask. The man thinks for a moment before answering, as if trying to find the perfect words so that I won’t have an outburst of emotion. “You see sometimes time … ignores itself, pretending it never set any rules for how it flows throughout the multiverse, similar to how most humans break their vows of self improvement after New Years. On such occasions scenarios like the one you are currently stuck in become reality rather than some hypothetical internet post. Level 2 incidents are quite low on the priority list as they don’t threaten any lives or planetary well being and such. Level 4 on the other hand, quite the problem we have on our hands. When someone doesn’t get frozen and ends up living on for long periods it can be quite detrimental. Plus there’s the off chance they learn to bend time which is very not good for me and my associates.” He sounds like a madman but after all I’ve seen I don’t have much choice but to believe him. “You make it sound like you’ve fixed this issue before.” I say. “I have actually, however this time I may need your assistance. I must find the cause of this and fix the temporal anomaly that caused it, shall we go?” The man outstretches his hand. After a second of staring I grab it and say “when to first?” | 22 | Time has stopped for everyone and everything except you. You don't seem to age anymore either. You start exploring to find anything else that's moving. You start losing track of how many decades you've been exploring. Eventually you come across a portal and a man in a lab coat waving hello. | 90 |
"Lil, I know you don't believe me now, and you don't have to. But soon, you'll realize that you've made a mistake."
"What are you talking about, Jenny?"
"Things are going to start changing in the next few hours, first with me and then around me, as my meds wear off. This happens every time. You and Mom might wanna go out to brunch and then go into the city to go shopping or something, because this neighborhood won't be safe." I opened the refrigerator door and pulled out the eggs.
"Oh, now you're just making things up! You've always been dramatic, it's because your mom spoiled you." She planted her hand on the kitchen counter.
"I told you that you didn't have to believe me. I'm making eggs, are you getting brunch with Mom or would you like some?"
"I'd like some. Sunny side up."
I felt a vein bulge out in my forehead. Was it starting already? "Sure, I'll make yours first. Hash browns okay?"
"I'd rather have roasted potatoes, but I know you won't have time to make those...hash browns are fine." She looked down the nose of her glasses.
That vein again.
Luckily, the cooking was easy. The eggs looked beautiful shimmering in the oil as they fried, and the hash browns sizzled perfectly.
I felt compelled to chop up some little green onions, sprinkle the eggs with seasoning by hand, and beautifully plate the breakfast. Just like anime food, I thought. It was definitely happening.
"Oh, Jenny, this is lovely!" Lil cooed. "Let's hope it tastes half as good as it looks!"
"Hey! What's that supposed to mean?"
"Why is that vein on your forehead popping out, are you okay?"
"No! I mean yes. But no! Without my meds, things like this happen!"
"Is that why your hair is that awful shade of purple?"
"It is? Oh, nice! I should pull it up before it gets too long." I grabbed a couple hair ties from my skirt pocket and pulled my hair back in cute little twintails.
"No, it's not nice! How are you doing this?"
"Through no effort of my own," I deadpanned. "We've been over this. I have Anime Protagonist Syndrome. Left untreated, I become Jenny-chan, the protagonist of a magical girl anime. This persona and all its resulting chaos have attached to me psychically, and those pills are the only thing that prevent complete transformation of myself as well as my environment."
"English, please."
"Without those pills, I become Jenny-chan and reality becomes a shit show."
The dog door swung open.
"I still don't believe you. You're doing something, some kind of trick with your hair --"
Even as four catgirl ninjas grabbed her, Lil argued.
"... and I bet those drugs are some kind of narcotic, too, I can't believe you're manufacturing all this drama..."
"I could have been calling the pharmacy. Waiiii~!"
I shoveled Lil's breakfast into my mouth in three bites and headed to my room to grab Momo-tan, my magical corgi, who would no doubt be wearing a white and purple dress to match mine. | 590 | ninja catgirls and giant mecha haven't attacked you in months and your hair is back to normal. Your aunt is visiting and she doesn't believe your condition is real, and she just dumped your pills down the drain..... | 1,648 |
It wasn't like I hadn't been warned. Don't stare into the abyss, or it will stare back into you. I always thought it was metaphorical, about the darkness inside. But that was before today. Today, something knocked on my door. Opening it, I looked downwards, to find a sort of black fluff standing on my doorstep. It had a face, if not a human one. The eyes were too large, the mouth too small, the nose almost cat-like. And that wasn't even including the horns. Thick and curled like a goat's, it was surprising they didn't stab into the flesh. I stared. It was not the sort of thing you expected to find on your doorstep.
A darker black suffused the fluff's cheeks, and it looked away. As I started to apologize, a tiny, rather squeaky voice interrupted me.
"It's okay. People don't really look at me anymore. And I always did get easily embarrassed. It's not your fault." It managed to look back up, though it didn't meet my eyes. "I'm the Abyss." There were a variety of responses I could have made, each more ridiculous than the next. So I settled for opening the door wider, gesturing inside.
"Would you like to come in?" To my surprise, the Abyss floated indoors, not seeming to use any legs. It wandered through to the kitchen, before settling near the table. Following, I asked the only question on my mind.
"So, why are you here? Not that I mind you coming of course." The Abyss stared at me, the oddly dilating pupils a little disconcerting.
"You called me. I sensed you, and I came." I blinked at the answer, trying to remember when I had ever called for an abyss. I had mentioned screaming into the void, but... I suggested this to the Abyss, and it nodded.
"Yes, I have a few names. Void, Abyss, The Dark. It can get confusing."
"But lots of people talk about that. Why am I different?" I asked. The Abyss sighed, their face shifting downwards on the fluffy mass.
"People used to call me all the time. But now that humans stopped believing in magic and legends, no one really has the power of belief anymore. They don't realize that concepts can materialize because of faith in their reality. You still have the old spark left. But only a little. That's why I'm so small." I tried not to smile. They were rather tiny, and —to be quite honest— adorable. I had to resist the urge to reach out and pat the Abyss right on the fluff.
"Well, I definitely believe you're real. But I don't quite feel comfortable screaming at or into you now that I've actually talked to you." I said, taking a seat at the table. The Abyss grew slightly larger as if buoyed by the words. They floated a little closer, looking at me with something close to desperate hope.
"Can I please stay a little while? It is nice to be seen and talked to again. Just for a little bit?" I smiled, my hand actually fluttering a little before I got it under control.
"Of course, you can stay. It would be fun to have a bit of company around the old house." The Abyss did a little backflip, or at least I think it did. At least the face moved around the fluff one revolution. It floated off, not worrying about the doors, passing through them. Apparently, knocking had just been a bit of politeness. Chuckling, I followed after it, making sure it didn't get lost. The house was technically too large for just me, but it had been an inheritance.
It's been a few weeks now, and the Abyss hasn't left. I think it was a bit lonely floating about on its own. It has taken up residence mostly in the old observatory, and once or twice I've caught it looking through the telescope, up at the stars. It makes for an interesting house guest, but I don't mind. After all, like the Abyss said, it is nice to be seen and talked to. For both it, and me. | 39 | You ignored all the warnings, and stared at the abyss. It blushed. | 142 |
You're my hero.
I mean, I know you're everyone's hero - that's literally your job. But like, I've always looked up to you. When I was a kid, at recess, and we were playing heroes, I always picked you. Had your poster on my wall, dressed in your costume every halloween, all that stuff.
So I hope you know I mean it when I say I'm sorry. It really sticks in my teeth, doing this to you. I just don't have much of a realistic choice.
To clarify, you're not going to die. I checked with the big boss, and he assured me that you'll be completely fine. Just, you know, normal. In about five minutes, you can get up and walk out of here - no one will stop you. You can go and live a normal live, just like everyone else.
And I can pay for my daughter's operation.
That's what it's all about, for me. That's why I'm here. I really wish I didn't have to. If it was a free choice, honest, I'd be cheering you on, not injecting you.That's the side I want to be on. But a choice between that, and getting my Susie into hospital, that's not a free choice at all.
It's not so bad, being powerless. We all get by fine. Things are tough, but that's the way it's always been. You'll adjust. We all had to learn to live like this, after all.
I can't release you; not till it's finished. Please stop asking - I'm not going to change my mind, but I feel like a heel. I know that this isn't truth, justice, courage, all the things you champion. It's still what I need to do.
See, I don't need a hero. I need help, sure, but not the kind heroes give. I don't need anyone beating up, or saving from a falling building, or prevented from robbing a store. I just need Susie to get better.
In all your comics, all your films, you solve problems the same way. You punch bad guys, and you catch falling innocents. That's great - I love those stories! My favourite ever, issue #45 - the Cobrawitch crossover. I must have read that a thousand times.
But the thing is, you don't punch all the bad guys, do you? Like Westerburg. Westerburg who buys up drug patents and jacks the prices up. Not a crime - I get that - but it's not good. He does a lot more damage than the other drug dealers - the ones you put away.
Or the mayor! Again, all very legal. Just a big name on the planning committee, keeping rents high and landlords fat. The same day I got evicted - kicked out so they could run an AirBnB - the mayor gave you a medal. 'Saviour of the city', that's what it said.
That man's policies meant that a seven-year-old spent three weeks living in a rusty car before we could get a new place, and you let him put a medal round your neck, shook his hand.
I'm not like you. I don't have powers. I did what I was supposed to - I signed petitions, donated to opposition candidates, painted a placard and marched. But it turns out those things don't count for much, and the people who can fire lasers from their eyes or pick up cars bare-handed don't concern themselves with local politics.
Heroes and villains. I love those stories. But in the real world, the villains aren't the ones who do the damage, and the heroes don't stop the pain the matters. Dr. Robotron's a bad guy, sure, but he's a bad guy who'll hire ex-felons, a bad guy who pays health insurance, a bad guy who - such a minor thing - always asks how Susie's doing when he walks past me in the lair.
I know he wants to kill the mayor. I used to feel conflicted about that, but more and more I just feel numb. I took this job for the benefits, not for the easy sleep, but the mayor's policies have led to more death than the boss's ever have. Working for him, I know I can save at least one life that Westerburg wouldn't. I can make sure my Susie gets a chance to grow up.
Nearly done now. Soon you'll be powerless, just like the rest of us. I wonder what you'll do then? Will you still fight injustice, using the tools available to the rest of us? Will you stand up for what's right? Will you keep going even when success doesn't come easy?
I really hope you do. You're my hero. | 553 | You're an average guy, working for a villain-lead organization. One day, a superhero captures you, and threatens you for information on your boss. Normally, you'd give it up in a heartbeat, but you've had trouble finding a job, and the benefits here are exactly what your family needs. | 715 |
I sat on the queen-sized mattress within my cabin, pondering potential suspects and leads. The door to the outside balcony overlooking the midnight sea was open, allowed the salty and revitalizing sea air to breeze in. It was 1am, just hours fresh after the murder. All Stars was playing loudly from beneath my cabin, disrupting my concentration.
I yelled below to keep it down, my neighbor responded: “we’re just having some fun.”
Odd, I thought; I continued to think quietly to myself. All I could remember on the evening of the murder was a unusual and pungent, acidic-like odor that engulfed my nostrils; it also made my eyes water.
I continued to ponder, trying to remember the smallest of details. The music seemed to be playing louder, with no sign of it stopping. I yelled outside again: “please turn down the music!” This time, no response. Out of frustration and tiredness, I fell back onto the white sheets of my bed, loosing myself.
Then abruptly, my eyes began to water; tears started to stream down my ebony skin. My nostrils became alive, smelling the same, vivid odor that plagued the murder scene: an onion.
Springing upwards, I immediately looked around to see where the odor was emitting from; it was clearly crawling inwards from my balcony. I approached the open door carefully, the odor growing stronger.
It was too my shock that a very large, obese creature was stealthily hanging underneath; his massive hands grasping onto the ledge. It immediately lifted itself up, revealing that it was wearing the garments of a homeless looking individual. It approached my room hungrily; my body frozen with fear and the overpowering stench of onion. It entered my room, it’s green skin flickering in the pale light above my bed.
It was Shrek.
He gently brought me to my knees with his massive green hands, whispering gently into my left ear: “ay laddie, it’s time I show you why Ogres have layers.” | 20 | A murder have taken place on a cruise ship in the middle of the ocean and the murderer is on the loose. You, along with the rest of the passengars have been confined to your cabins. Frustrated and bored, you decided to play detective with the people in nearby cabins, speaking out the windows. | 108 |
\[Observe & Report\]
"I couldn't believe it...," Charles grinned at Phil as he told the story. They sat in the Chief's office, with Phil behind the desk and Charles across from him. "...it was a magical Earth. We raided an illegal fairy dust operation and there, in the trees was a row of fully functional dot matrix printers!" he laughed. The Chief, a short, professional man with neat copper-brown hair nodded with a smile.
Charles felt like he could consider Phil a friend and often turned in his written reports with an enjoyable story. Though, lately, Charles was realizing that more and more that story ended with dot matrix printers as a punchline. It was the first time the thought had crossed his mind while he was talking to Phil.
"I swear, every reality I've been to uses dot matrix printers," he chuckled and shook his head.
"It's just a coincidence, I'm sure," Phil replied. He was no longer smiling. "Thanks for the report, you have a new case waiting on your desk," he added. Charles felt like he was being rushed out. It was a new feeling, Phil usually had an open-door policy; at least for him. Charles couldn't help but notice the timing of the sudden chill in the air. He was curious enough to test it as he stood from his seat.
"Another case with dot matrix printers, huh?" he asked.
"I have no idea, how would I know that?" Phil said. "Get back to work."
Charles had worked for the department for a decade. He was no slouch when it came to detective work when he started. And the decade helped him hone his gut instincts. He stopped instead of leaving the office. He shut the door before turning back to Phil.
"What aren't you telling me?" Charles asked. Phil stared at him for a moment before he spoke; Charles noticed the hesitation.
"What makes you think I'm not telling you something?" he asked.
"Answering with a question is a pretty solid indicator," Charles answered and raised his eyebrow. Charles worked for Phil for a decade. Over time they became friends; but, Charles always considered it a work friendship. They always kept a professional air between them, even when joking. For the first time ever, Charles felt like Phil opened up to him. It wasn't anything he said, it was his tone. His eyes almost seemed to sparkle in a way that Charles never noticed.
"And... what is it you think I might not be telling you?" Phil asked. Charles felt their relationship change in that moment, even if he couldn't pinpoint why. His gut told him he was on the right track; and, that was backed up by Phil's oblique answers. They both knew he was admitting something.
"About.. the dot matrix printers...," Charles said.
"What about them?" Phil asked.
"Every universe uses them," Charles said. He realized that Phil wanted specifics. "I think you know why, and I want to know why too." Phil grinned and nodded at Charles.
"There are some out there," Phil waved at the closed blinds. "That have been here longer than you that haven't noticed. Congratulations," Phil said.
"For what?" Charles asked. He was curious, but he did not want to stray too far from the topic.
"For noticing," Phil answered. "And, for passing the test." Charles shook his head. There was too much happening to let himself get distracted.
"Tell me about the test later. I want to know about the printers now, why are they in every universe?" Phil nodded while still smiling.
"Dot matrix printers do NOT exist in every universe," Phil said with confidence. "But, they do exist in every universe YOU have been to. There are two parts to the test; the first part is noticing something mundane. In your case, I chose dot matrix printers; they all have different 'things'," he said.
"What? Why?" Charles asked. Phil handed out the assignments and it wasn't unbelievable that he would influence who got what. But, that still left him with the question of 'why'.
"How many universes do you think are out there?" Phil asked.
"..a lot..?" Charles shrugged. He'd never thought to put a number on it.
"Infinite is a more appropriate term," Phil said. "This single department is not enough to police the entire multiverse. However, there is an organization that manages to do pretty well. It's called the B.A.A., or Bureau of Alternate Agencies, and you've just passed the entrance exam."
"Wait..," it was happening so fast that Charles had to make sure he got the answers he wanted before he asked more questions. "You were deliberately sending me to Earths that had dot matrix printers just to see if I would notice?" he asked. Phil nodded.
"To see if you would notice the pattern," he clarified.
"I noticed... what's the second part of the test?" Phil smiled.
"Asking about it," he said. "It's a big, sometimes scary universe out there. Knowing when and how to ask for help is a necessary skill."
\*\*\*
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #1659 in a row. (Story #213 in year five.). This story is part of an ongoing saga that takes place at a high school in my universe. It began on June. 6th and I will be adding to it with prompts every day until August 19th. They are all collected in order at [this link](https://www.reddit.com/r/Hugoverse/comments/v6bapz/aurelios_sun_1st_half/). | 416 | You police the multiverse. Over time, you’ve noticed there is only one constant in every reality—dot matrix printers. No matter how technologically advanced, every reality seems to use dot matrix printers. You mention this to your boss one day, who suddenly gets nervous. | 801 |
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