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The last syllable dropped from my lips, and I waited. Gossamer clouds, pearly steps and a euphoric feeling. I'd seen all of these things before;so many people had tried to trick me throughout my life. Though the fact that they'd made me feel younger and stronger was a new one. I took a few more steps, expecting the disillusionment spell to take effect. Everything remained. But that just meant their illusion was stronger than my magic. Frustrating, but it could be dealt with. All I had to do was find the caster, or, find a way to break through the illusion.
I walked up the stairs, peering around, trying to find the thing that didn't fit. Most illusions had it, the part where whoever had built it went overboard, put something ridiculous in. But I reached the top without finding one thing. The stairs widened out into a flat landing, and to my surprise, I realized there were no gates, as we'd all been told. Instead, rolling green hills led up to a giant city, made from some gold material. In front of me, a tall being bowed from the waist.
"Welcome. Faithful servant, enter into rest." I snorted at the chiming voice.
"All right, you've got me. I couldn't break the illusion. Now what? I suppose I'll get a sword in the gut." For a brief second, confusion broke across the too-perfect face. They shook their head, reaching out a consoling hand. I backed up, my feet almost slipping down the staircase.
"This is no illusion. This is your reward. You searched and brought truth to many. And now you may rest, in the truth of Heaven." I took one more step back, onto the staircase. The angel jumped forward, grabbing the front of my shirt. "Do not go any further. Once you turn away from Heaven there is no coming back."
"And where else would I go? I suppose to Hell?" The angel looked at me, frowning at my obvious skepticism.
"No, Hell is reserved for punishment. You are not to be punished anymore. I'm afraid limbo is all that would remain to you." It was too much. I started laughing, and couldn't stop until I ran out of breath. The angel let go of my shirt stepping back. "Please. For once in your life, please believe this is real. This is your reward, it is real and wonderful. Do not turn your back on it for lack of faith." I looked up from where I was almost bent double, catching my breath. There was no trace of amusement in the angel's face. Nothing but a very evident concern.
"Listen bub. I don't know what trick you're pulling, I don't know what benefit you get from this. But it's not true. It can't be true. It's too good. It's too perfect. There's no way it can be true. But let's say I humour you. Should I check out the city?" As I said the words the world spun and I stood on streets of gold. People smiled and waved; people I vaguely recognized said hello. "This isn't real. None of this is real." I turned and ran. It was crazy, it was insane. The angel followed me, as I twisted through the city.
Stopping in a dead-end alley, I wept, muttering the words of the disillusionment spell over and over. My mutters turned to shouts as I raged against the implacable beauty of Heaven, the absolute perfect place. The angel reached out a hand and laid it on my shoulder. I hit out with my fists, screaming the words of the spell over and over. Quietly, the angel swept me up, carrying me through the city as I sobbed, over and over again. "It's not real. It's not real." They laid me down on a bed, before turning and going to the door. Before they left, they looked back at me.
"It's all real. It is your reward. But you have to believe it's true. Otherwise..." Leaving the word in the air, they left me to my misery. Because you see, it can't be real. It has to be an illusion. Everything, so absolutely perfect, too good to be true. It can't be real. Because I don't belong here. I've never belonged here. I belong in the punishment I was given. I stared into the mirror on the opposite wall, horns curling out of red skin, black and dark. I don't belong in Heaven. Not since—
"Morning Star." The voice was rich, kind, and gentle. I turned to look at the figure standing in the doorway. And as they spoke again, more sobs wracked my body.
"Lucifer. Welcome home." | 978 | Having dealt with deceivers your entire life, you finally die and find yourself on the stairway to Heaven. Just in case, you decide to cast one final disillusion spell. | 1,865 |
#WalkMan
When I came out to my parents as trans, they had reacted with anger and disgust, and disowned me on the spot. If Doctor Doomsday hadn't offered me a job in his Doomsquad, I would have been homeless. Instead, I received a bunk in the dormitory of the Fortress of Doomitude, a decent salary, and further training with my powers. As a bonus, I had met Steven, WalkMan's son and current Doomsquad member. We had began dating, and were at the point where traditionally we'd meet each others parents. Steven sure as hell was never going to meet my parents, but I was about to meet his dad.
I double checked the address that Doctor Doomsday had provided. The Maps app confirmed I had arrived at the correct address. I could see my hair fade in the reflection of the screen, from a nervous yellow into a subtle brown that could pass as 'normal' to most people.
I didn't want to be normal. I wanted to be me. The real me.
I took a deep breath to steady my nerves, and opened the car door. I noticed my hair was back to my chosen vibrant pink as the door closed.
The doorbell chimed far louder than it had any right to, emitting a blast of some classical music that I didn't recognize. I jumped back in surprise, and activated my super power. I vanished from view as my skin adapted to the colors around me, camoflauging like a chameleon.
The door opened. WalkMan stood in the entryway, looking confused. "Is anyone there?" He called out.
I took another deep breath, and forced myself to change back to my usual pale white skin.
WalkMan leapt back, activating a fight song from some hidden speaker as he did. I could see his muscles flex and glow as the heavy metal song granted him super strength.
I held up both hands and cried out. "I'm here about Steven! Please don't hurt me!" I squeezed my eyes shut and turned away, bracing for a blow to come any second.
Nothing struck me.
Instead, I heard the music fade away.
"What have you done to Steven? Is Doctor Doomsday holding him at ransom now? Did that hypnosis or mind control wear off and Steve wants to escape?" WalkMan said, not waiting for an answer.
"What? No, none of that. Steven is being held in a prison, with Avatar, and we need your help to set him free." I said, at my first opportunity.
WalkMan cocked his head like a confused dog. "Who's Avatar?"
"His hero name was 'Hadron', I think. When he joined Doctor Doomsd-"
WalkMan's gaze hardened. His stare felt worse than any super powered punch could have.
"I'm just here as a messenger, sir." I said, filling in the awkward silence I had created. "Long story short, we want you to help rescue Steven."
WalkMan grunted in irritation. "And why can't you or any other minion rescue him? Or even the bad Doctor himself?"
I stared at the hero, as my hair changed hue to a blindingly bright red. "What in the *FUCK* is wrong with you?!?!" I shouted, startling the hero and myself alike. "Your son is in danger and you're being a petty loser!"
"Who the hell do you think you are, talking to me like that-" WalkMan began.
"I'm Steven's girlfriend, Stacy." I cut in. "Its nice to meet my boyfriend's father, he's told me so much about you."
I turned and stormed back to the Doomsquad's minion loaner car, a Nissan Leaf. As I slammed the door, I burst into tears, sobbing onto the steering wheel. How could someone as sweet as Steven have a father like WalkMan? How could he even consider not saving his son?
I heard the passenger door open, and felt the ergonomic vehicle shift. I glanced up to see WalkMan buckling his seatbelt.
"Where is he, how long has he been in custody, and who has him?" WalkMan asked.
I couldn't catch by breath to respond. I tried as hard as I could, but no words came out.
To my surprise, WalkMan leaned across the center console, and hugged me. It was my first hug from a fatherly figure since...
I sobbed once more, burying my face into WalkMan's neck as he held me. I don't know how long we sat there, as I bawled out all of the built up emotions from the past year.
Softly, WalkMan spoke. "I know Doctor Doomsday treats you both well, and for that I am grateful. Steven and I can have a chat about his career path once he's rescued."
I broke the embrace, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand.
"Thank you" I whispered.
WalkMan put one hand on my shoulder, and nodded ever so slightly. "I'm assuming you're going to take me to the Fortress of Doomitude, aren't you?"
It was my turn to nod. "Yeah" I said.
WalkMan sighed. "The things we do for our children. Go ahead." He leaned back into his seat, fidgeting with the comfort controls.
The car made a soft 'whoosh' as the electric engine turned on. "Oh, one thing, WalkMan." I said.
He glanced back towards me in the driver seat. "Yeah?"
"Doctor Doomsday told me to tell you 'welcome to the Doomsquad' before we left your house."
r/SlightlyColdStories for more | 10 | A hero gets hypnotised by the villain and helps them commit crimes. But, after some other heroes saved him, they are surprised that the hero want to stay evil. | 61 |
It started out like any other day. I woke up, stretching on my small bed. Light filtered through the curtains, giving just enough light to see my room. A chest sat at the end of the bed, a trouser leg poking out. Across from me was my desk, with neat stacks of parchment on it. A chair was tucked beneath it, simple and cheap.
I rolled out of bed, pulling off my nightshirt. My body cracked and popped, forcing a satisfied groan from my mouth. Yawning I scratched my chest, an itch there. But instead of skin, I found something smooth and hard. I looked down, rubbing my eyes. In the centre of my chest, skin seamlessly morphed into a smattering of red scales.
I felt very warm as I inspected it. Anxiety rose, and I breathed heavily. This wasn't good. I thought for a moment, figuring out what to do. I had no ide what was happening. I didn't know what had triggered this. I didn't know magic, having never had the aptitude for it.
It dawned on me then. The Mage Academy. They would be able to tell me. I didn't have much money, but they had a reputation for being fair. If I could only pay so much, chances are they would accept. My course set, I quickly threw on some clothing.
I didn't stop to grab breakfast, quickly moving through my tiny house and exiting. The streets were beginning to get busy, as people began their work day. On any other day I would be heading to the warehouse soon. But to me it was obvious this took priority. Work would survive without me. I just wouldn't get paid today is all.
I moved quickly, heading in the direction of the Academy. The streets close to it grew quieter, as most trainees stayed there anyway. A pair of guards stood outside, bored expressions on their faces.
"Wanting to enter?"
One of them addressed me, her dirty blond hair poling out from beneath her helmet. I nodded quickly.
"Yes please."
"Arms up. We have to search you."
I complied, letting them frisk me. As I expected, they didn't find anything. The guard who spoke to me stepped aside as they finished up.
"Go on then."
I slid past, walking in quickly. Unlike the crowded city outside, here was a widespread garden. A long building sat in its centre, two towers protruding at either end. A third, larger tower rose in the middle, lording over the area. With a spring in my step I hurried on, eager to get diagnosed.
\-----
I was sat in a small examination room. The receptionists had been nice, guiding me in with only a few brief questions. The room itself held a bed almost equal in size to my own, on which I currently sat. A standing desk was placed behind the head, already topped with blank page and quill.
I turned as the door opened, a older woman walking in. Her face was set with a few wrinkles, her brown hair mixing with greys.
"Hello, Francis. My name is Gail. What brings you here today?"
I shifted nervously.
"Um.. so this is going to sound weird."
She smiled.
"Well you aren't a talking frog, so I'm sure it can't be that bad."
I stared at her, my thoughts derailed. I had to shake my head, wrenching them back in track.
"Ok... so, I woke up this morning, and found some scales on my chest."
Gail made an interested sound.
"Scales? That's a new one. And they only appeared today?"
I nodded.
"Yeah."
"Intriguing. May I see?"
I nodded, pulling off my shirt. As I did I looked down, taking in a sharp breath. The patch had grown bigger. Whereas before it was palm sized, it was now nearly the entrie hand.
"Fascinating."
She leaned in. Her eyes flashed, and she grunted.
"Well, its not an illusion. Doesn't seem like a curse either."
She touched one, before rapidly pulling back.
"Whoa. Are you feeling OK? Temperature alright?"
I frowned, considering. I felt a bit warm, but not to much.
"Yeah. Maybe a little warm, but nothing more than being out in the sun."
She made a few notes.
"Really? Well those scales of yours are noticeably hot."
She scribbled down some more, her eyes flashing occasionally different colours.
"Ah! There is something. Transmutation... thats strange."
"What's strange?"
She fixed me with a look.
"From what I can see, this is the start of something. Most transmutations occur instantly. Yours is more of a slow burn. Almost like it is being restricted..."
I began to panic.
"What, what am I turning into Gail?"
She thought for a moment, before her eyes widened.
"There's only one creature that has that sort of scale colouration. If that's right, then you have to stay here for now."
"What creature?!"
Gail gently put the quill down, interlacing her fingers together.
"A dragon." | 11 | You live in a world filled with magic. And thought you never had any, you wake up to see you are turing into a dragon.. | 23 |
It was when I shook hands with the leaders of multiple countries that I realized that I was in deep shit. To be fair, there was a lot on my mind. Allow me to explain.
Two weeks ago, I woke up in my house to a dark sky at eight o'clock in the morning. I thought, "Man, I was gonna go for a run this morning, but it's looking like it's gonna rain. This sucks." Imagine my surprise when I found out that there was no rain, just an alien spaceship fleet orbiting our planet. Naturally, got up, made myself a cup of coffee, took a long sip of the black gold that filled my mug, and lost my damn mind. The world was in a state of emergency. Everyone everywhere was panic-buying food, water, and guns. Governments were in total disarray. Absolute chaos for the 36 hours before they sent a delegation and we, as a species, met the Asdrai.
What shocked me is that they were incredibly similar to humanity relative to the infinite number of possible ways they could have looked. Of course, they had a whole host of notable differences. For one, the horns and tail. Their skin varied from violet to royal blue. Their eyes were black with golden pupils. There were other differences, but for the most part, they were us. They even had the same male and female babies thing we got going. They were pretty much us, just better. Watching the delegation on the news, I saw them meet with humanity's best and brightest. Our champions. They sent their bester and brighter, who made our not as best and not as bright look like children. They also are about a foot and a half taller than us on average, so we looked like kids either way. These guys were waaaaay ahead of us in pretty much every single aspect, especially tech. They had fun humiliating us for a day or two before they got down to the real reason why they were here.
I remember it like it was yesterday. It was last Tuesday, so that's not really saying much. The Asdrai grand general had just wrapped up outwitting the world's best generals when they all went silent and knelt. I was sitting at home, watching it go all down on from my phone screen since I am not one of humanity's champions. That was when I first saw Queen-Admiral Izasma Codrai. I'd never had a thing for aliens, but she was objectively the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. Her skin was a deep crimson. I learned later that it was unique to their royal family. Her gold eyes shimmered in the light. Her skin was completely blemishless save for a small scar that ran from her left ear to her temple. She was easily seven feet tall. She towered over her kind. She radiated capability and commanded respect. Her face betrayed no emotion as she strode up to a microphone and asked if the world could hear her. It could, and it did. She then spoke the words that changed my life forever.
"I am Queen-Admiral Izasma Codrai, ruler of the Asdrai people. I'd like to thank you all for your hospitality and cooperation with my people. I understand that all of you are likely confused and scared, wondering who we are. As my delegates have told you, we are the Asdrai. We are a peaceful people. We do not wish to conquer your world, but we also have not come here just to exchange greetings and set up relations. We have come here looking for one of your kind." I remember thinking that I was glad that I was unimportant at that moment. Funny thing, that. "I am looking for Tyler Joseph Bridgewater, born April 8th, 2001. He comes from a place called 'Oregon.' We need this man. You have three 'weeks' to bring him to me, or else we will invade the planet and take him by force. We will not specify why he is needed, only that we have dire need of him."
I, Tyler Joseph Bridgewater, was born April 8th, 2001, in Baker City, Oregon. I am, or at least was, maybe the least interesting human being that has ever walked the planet of Earth. I have lived in Baker city my whole life. I've never even left the country save for a hiking trip to Italy. I fractured my ankle and had to fly home early, but that's beside the point. I live off the grid on land that my family settled on back during the westward expansion. I went to high school, but never went to college. Both of my parents passed away when I was sixteen. I have no other living family save for my grandfather. To the world, I pretty much don't exist. I live tens of miles away from any civilization. I only drive into town once a month to buy things I can't make and don't already have. I'm 5'8" with short brown hair and blue eyes. I'm not particularly attractive, but I am pretty muscular since I live off-grid. I've never dated. I've never done anything ever in my entire life. So why the in sam hell does the queen of the Asdrai alien race want me?
(To be continued.) | 121 | you. And you don’t know why. | 226 |
A crumbling, festering wight.
A screeching hellbeast.
An ominous shadow whose eyes are mere flecks.
Nothing was working. I tried rotting flesh, bloody fangs, misshapen and twisted features... but my victim remained unfazed. I just couldn't do it. I couldn't get this kid to crack. It finally got to the point that my supervisor was breathing down my neck (an unpleasant sensation even for a professional sleep-paralysis demon), saying if I couldn't get this kid thoroughly traumatized by the end of the month, I wasn't worth the paycheck. Attacks to my self-worth notwithstanding, I couldn't lose this job. It's all I ever wanted to do.
Creatures of Dream have a significant amount of flexibility when it comes to deciding how they want to interact with the sleeping world, but despite this freedom, most tend toward the two main categories. You've got your power fantasies, such as flying or winning the lottery, and the nightmares, whether the mundane inexplicably naked while giving a class presentation or the truly horrifying inexplicably naked while being flayed alive. There are a few oddballs who will let their sleepers just sort of wander around a vague facsimile of their own homes, but they are in the minority. I, of course, opted for something more personal.
I would spend hours of my childhood watching, reading, and listening to what the waking world considered the most terrifying and honing my ability to embody those fears while people drifted around the edges of sleep and consciousness. I was awarded Top Fright thirteen years in a row early on in my career (before they retired the honor in the early twentieth-century, the cheapskates) and maintained a certain level of distinction among my colleagues for being particularly nasty. However, things have gotten harder for me as of late, what with all the changes happening in the Waking. The movies consumed in the waking world were initially a great boon - lots of people with specific terrors fresh in their mind, ready to be exploited - but eventually their minds became saturated.
They had seen everything (or at least thought they had), and were prepared for more. The first time a kid was happy to see a stranger with a mask at the foot of their bed, I threw up. (Fortunately the chunks of flesh and grubs pouring from my mouth were enough to make the dweeb wet himself, but I was shaken all the same.) The advent of the internet felt like the beginning of the end. Again, there was a brief surge of kids who got into things which probably maimed their soft little psyches, but by the time they reached adulthood, half of our victims were so calloused and familiar with horror that nothing could move them - and this kid was the worst.
Most will just sit there in stunned silence, and some are so vocal about how scared they aren't that you can tell just how scared they are, but this kid was a wall. Not stunned, not shaking, not mocking - hell, I couldn't even tell you if he was *bored*. Ol' Stoneface had become my nemesis, and, if I didn't crack him soon, my downfall. My tactics became more depraved - images of family members, pets, friends in various states of pain, disfigurement, or decay; I tried invoking jealousy, empathy, contempt, *anything.* The kid wouldn't budge.
Eventually, my time ran out. My supervisor didn't even bother talking to me on my last day. We both knew I was done for. I was so dejected that I didn't even bother attempting to scare my target. As the kid began to drift off, I appeared at the foot of his bed, briefcase in hand for the added effect, and told him he'd won. Somehow this fourteen year-old had bested a centuries-old being of Dream, and I wouldn't be bothering him anymore. His eyes followed me as I moved to stand over his bed, but conveyed nothing at all. As I turned to leave, a weak voice creaked -
"No!"
I froze. This was new.
I turned to face him, his expression still undecipherable. "Oh?" I swooped back to the bed, my face inches from his, neither blinking.
"Don't. . ." he struggled, "go." This paralysis thing was hard on the Waking, but Stoneface was working with what he had. And I suddenly had something to work with as well.
"Well if that isn't something." I worked a small dream over him, freeing him from the restraints of his immobilized body. "You want me to come back?"
"Yes," he croaked, before redoubling, "Yeah! I always thought imaginary friends were stupid until I met you. How do you come up with all that stuff? I-"
"Study. And practice." It was hard not to indulge in his excitement, as unnerving as it was, but here was a lifeline, and I would not lose it. "But we might be able to find some time to talk about this later. That is, as long as you're *sure* you want me back? We might be able to work out a more... enduring arrangement."
"Yes, please!" He was stammering. "My dreams were so boring before. I was so afraid I might lose you."
My breath caught. "Say that one more time."
*"I was so afraid. . ."*
*^("I was so afraid. . .")*
*^("so afraid. . .")* | 20 | You are a sleep paralysis demon. Your assigned victim to torment seems to be fearless, you need to find out how to terrify them effectively or else you'll be out of a job. | 51 |
Carver sighed and lit a cigar with the spark tip on her index finger.
“We’re not supposed to smoke in the—”
“Bad guys, remember.”
Ellis watched the sergeant take a drag. It reeked. It wasn’t real tobacco: some gene-spliced off-brand equivalent, as the original homeworld variety was copyrighted.
The forest was quiet. Just the distant trill of a bird and the muted grumbling of the rest of the squadron back in the compartment.
“Do you really believe that?” Ellis asked. She drummed her fingers nervously. “That we’re the villains? You think that’s how history will remember us?”
Carter, ever environmentally conscious, sprinkled ash onto the plated bonnet of the scout skimmer. “You know how you made me promise to stop calling you ‘kid’ if you ever made Private?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re making it really fucking hard not to break that promise, Private. You’re naive as all hell.”
“And you’re dodging my questions.”
“‘Cos they’re stupid ones, so their attacks are predictable. Talking to you is like trying to box a drunk.” Ellis gave her a look. Carter inhaled the last of the cigar and flung it away. “Aster II is a civilian colony, Private. Nothing here except a few shitty villages. And *they* still came here and started killing. I think we’re all bad people, but I also think this is a rare window of time where the enemy might be worse.”
“Maybe I can believe that,” said Ellis.
“Doesn’t matter what *we* believe. It’s up to those historians of yours. Wait,” Carter looked up with a start. “Did you see that?”
“See what?”
“I’ll take that as a no,” Carter muttered, eyes still fixed on the skyline. She reached behind and frantically thumped the roof of the skimmer, hard. “Get your lazy asses up here!”
Fizz popped his frizzy-haired mophead up, glowering, but whatever retort he had died on his lips. “Aw, hell.”
Behind him, firing ports swung open and hatches raised as the squad emerged.
“Fizz,” Carter asked, “are there any other psi guys in your cast range?”
Fizz closed his eyes for a second. When he popped them back open, one eye was spasming. “No Sarge. Not ours, not theirs either.”
“Damn. We’ll have to radio it back. They’ll definitely pick that up but we’ve got to inform HQ and get out of dodge.”
“Hah!” Fizz was already heading back inside to the comms panel. “I thought the cybernetics corps never ran?”
“They sure don’t but I’m not a cyborg, dipshit. An eye and a hand do not a cyborg make. Read a fucking book.”
“I still can’t see what the problem is,” Ellis hissed.
Carter pointed. “Patch of sky above the spiky tree. Notice how blue it is?”
“It’s the lighting…”
“Notice the absence of clouds in a very specifically shaped area?”
Ellis froze. “It’s a cloaked ship.”
“Caught up, eh?”
“Have they seen us?”
“Nah. If they had seen us we’d be—”
The shockwave popped their ears, seared their skin, flattened trees and sent the skimmer tumbling away like a leaf on the breeze.
Ellis came to. She looked left, and saw nothing. She looked right, and swore. Her right arm was scratched raw, her hand was mangled and useless, with a stub of thumb bent the wrong way. She looked at it all dully, the pain only registering after the fact.
“Oh god, oh god,” she fumbled for her injector, jabbing most of it into her hand and a small measure into her elbow. Not enough to fix it, but hopefully enough that the stim would give her back some semblance of functionality before…
…before what, exactly?
Ellis pulled herself up. She’d been thrown clear of the skimmer. Judging by the debris, and the gore, the others hadn’t been so lucky.
“Contact!” Someone screamed. Maybe Dante? Or Virris? *“Contact!”*
Gunfire, then a strangled choke. Maybe Dante. Or Virris.
Her rifle was nowhere to be seen, but Ellis still had her sidearm. She pointed it and…
Hesitated. The assailant was a Magister. Not a mercenary, or opportunistic raider, but an actual fucking Magister, floating out from behind the trees.
7ft tall, slightly metallic skin, with a skintight suit of such a similar shade that Ellis wasn’t entirely sure the thing was clothed at all. In a world of supers and psions and cyborgs and stupid twenty-something girls who joined the Conglomerate’s Expeditionary Force on a whim… Magisters were something else.
Most worlds had a similar technological level, having all taken backwards steps since the Schism. Some, like Magis Majeur, had, in limited and narrow but very real ways, advanced.
The Magisters cloned troops as effortlessly as the Sector’s inhabitants could cultivate a vat apple. They had engineered themselves to be as strong and tough as the average cyborg and because their genome must have had some space left over, they’d also crammed in psionic powers like something from a Saturday morning holovid.
Fizz could broadcast across half a mile and toss around a 10kg rock with his mind. He had once told Ellis that a Magister, any given Magister, was an order of magnitude stronger, and rumour had it that their elite divisions went beyond this.
The Magisters were meant to be extinct, defeated, and resoundingly at that, with the deluge-bombing of their homeworld hundreds of years prior.
The Magister Residuum had therefore come as quite a shock for Alpha Sector. The Colonial War was still raging, sure. The Legion and The Conglomerate were slaughtering each other. But the Residuum’s appearances had, in a few tight bands of space, resulted in ceasefires.
Ellis hadn’t understood why until now. The thing radiated fear: perhaps literally, if the rumours of its psionic abilities were true.
Pulled back to reality, she shot it, and got a second shot off before some unseen force smacked the gun out of her good hand. After that impact, she wasn’t sure it was a good hand anymore.
Neither round had done anything. She’d missed, or its telekinetic barrier had got it, whatever, it didn’t matter.
The Magister didn’t walk, it hovered. It looked fucking ridiculous, but here it came, arms hanging loosely at its sides.
Carter burst from the undergrowth, pistol firing, combat knife scything through the air.
The Magister caught her without looking.
“Fuck you,” Carter choked, “you psi-supremacist sack of sh—”
Carter’s head spun 360 degrees. Just to be sure, the Magister reversed the turn. He examined her, then dropped her to the ground.
Ellis looked up at the over-engineered monstrosity. They’d been humans a few thousand years ago. Now they liked to think of themselves as above humans.
These were the bad guys, Ellis decided. Scrabbling backwards in apparent terror, she was actually reaching underneath herself, fumbling with her belt. She activated a couple of grenades.
The Magister lifted her up off the ground, its telekinetic grip crushing her windpipe. He smiled at her. Ellis smiled back, toothily, bloodily.
The grenades beeped… and clicked. For a fraction of fraction of a second, Ellis saw the Magister’s fear.
—
Two hundred years later, there was very little agreement regarding the tempestuous decades of the Colonial War.
Historians do, however, like to share a particular bit of trivia: although they had fallen to supers and psions and cyborgs, only one baseline ever (verifiably) killed a Magister Elite: Private Chiana Ellis of the Conglomerate Expeditionary Force, posthumously awarded the Diamond Merit and Order of Discipline by the Conglomerate and Legion respectively for her part in defending the civilian colony on Aster II. | 21 | "Are... Are we the bad guys?" "You fight together with murder-happy psychopaths, megalomaniac supers and CEOs who think their employees are nothing more disposable tools. Who did you *think* we are?" | 78 |
I sometimes forget what a weird life I lead.
I've lived it for so long, it all just feels normal to me.
Luckily - or, maybe not - I have plenty of friends who are able, and unceasingly willing, to point it out to me.
Apparently no-one else has ever been held hostage in a bank robbery, had their phone ring despite it absolutely being on silent, sending the robbers into a desperate panic before locking themselves into the vault to wait for the police to arrive.
Who knew?
And when their flights get cancelled, they don't get put up in hotels with the hottest tourist celebrities of the season, who are keen to spend the night in the hotel bar, shooting the shit with every other guest.
Nor has their dry cleaning - necessary after a terrible incident in the wine cellar of the local vineyard - ever come back with a USB stick containing all of locations of every CIA spy across the world nestled away in its pocket.
The ensuing days I spent on a blacksite whilst they tried to beat a confession out of me for high treason weren't exactly pleasant, but once they finally released me without charge I was, at least, rather handsomely compensated for my time.
Has the NDA run out on that, yet?
Maybe I shouldn't have mentioned it.
Anyway, everything always works out in the end, of course, so I've learned to just enjoy the ride.
And it's that nonchalance that I think really messes with people.
Even something as trivial as a train being late - I know something good will come of it, so I'm content to sit and wait in peace, whilst my friends swear and blind that I'm not taking anything seriously enough.
Of course, they can't possibly know, but for me this is nothing new.
It was at one point, of course.
I was a pretty normal child, I think, until around puberty.
It changes everyone, I guess, but some more than others.
High school was where it all really started to come apart, and what probably should have given the game away.
Late for school because I overslept?
No problem, there was a fire alarm that morning; no tardy slip for me.
Getting picked on by bullies?
Oh no - their leader's tripped over a rather large stone, and shattered both his arms!
What's that, the dog ate my homework?
That's fine, the teacher got smallpox - missed the next month of school.
I still had to rewrite that damned essay, though - not particularly lucky, if you ask me.
I once missed my bus because I'd tripped over a curb as I sprinted for it, only to watch in horror as it was sideswiped by a lorry that had jumped a red.
They said that anyone still trying to pay their fare would have died instantly.
That was when I really started to wonder, and when Tyche (my long-suffering mother) could no longer keep it a secret.
She had always told me that my father was a 'God of Misfortune', but I'd always just assumed that was some petty nickname she'd given him out of spite, and not, as it turned out, his actual identity.
But the revelation was made, and everything suddenly made sense.
She still wouldn't tell me his name, though - said they don't deserve to know me, whatever that means.
I've tried to work out who it is, of course - there's only so many people that fit the moniker of lord of despair, after all - but almost all of the deities of misfortune that I could find were female.
And while I wouldn't be surprised at all if she'd had things with any number of them, that's hardly gonna produce li'l ol' me, now is it?
Or maybe it could - from what I've heard about Great-Uncle Zeus, nothing really sounds like it's off the table.
There was one I found - Crnobog, a Slavic God - that I thought might fit the bill, but Mum offered me little more than a blank stare when I slipped his name into an idle conversation, so I'm back to the drawing board on this one.
I suppose it isn't really important, in the end.
Even if I found out who they were, they still wouldn't be my father, right?
But it doesn't stop me thinking about him every time I stub my toe walking between rooms, only to discover a lost quarter on the floor as I'm doubled over in pain.
Or every time I pick up one of the plastic beakers that now fill my kitchen after *the glass incident*.
Whoever they are, they have defined my life, but I will continue to refuse to be defined by them.
I will simply live, and enjoy every moment of the ride.
---
Come check out /r/dacacia for other weird writings, why not? | 272 | Your friends are always in awe over how you manage to get both in to and then out off so many weird accidents all the time. But then they don't know you are the unlikely child of a one night stand between Lady Luck and the God of misfortune. | 1,061 |
The man across the sidewalk rasped his throat for a moment before producing a rather nasty glob of spit and sending it to the ground.
"Vampire then eh?". His hand disappeared into his waistcoat and gripped something, it wasn't hard to guess what.
"No no, you'll find I am quite human, doctor.", at the mentioning of his title his posture shifted. His low prowl changed to a tall stance of pride. Even his eyes, from a skeptical peering to a stern stare. From hunter to what he was: a man with more titles than I jobs completed. I think I preferred the hunter.
"Ah, so then you just work for one then. I should have figured, seeing this didn't seem to do much." he revealed his hand to be holding a large silver cross.
"Yes, well it seems fate has crossed our paths. It should have happened sooner no doubt but...well to be frank I kept coming back to dead employers and an annoying lack of payment."
"Be thankful. That money is blood money. If anything I've saved you the trouble." his words came quick, so fast that my replies barely had time to leave my lips before I was met by his words. The reputation of Dr. Van Helsing preceded him, which by all means was a hard thing to do. Every man, woman, and vampire alike had heard the stories of his feats. The people that had looked to him as a symbol of safety. The vampires that did tread a little more carefully on hunts. And me, well I didnt fully believe them until now; showing that my brave face was less brave than I'd thought.
"I have no qualm with you. Just... stay away from my employer or there will be trouble."
In that moment I felt his silhouette swallow mine, leaving me left in his shadow. He seemed large. Incredibly, impossibly large. I did my best to hold on, not to cower in his presence but I had never felt such an aura before. His voice lowered to a soft whisper.
"Oh, Is that so?... I have never been a killer of man. Never a murderer of the living. But for you? I could make an exception. Tell your employer I will arrive soon, or dont. He will likely be a pile of ash befor you arrive. Consider this your payment." Dr. Helsing reached into his coat once again and I winced, unable to keep it together any longer. Though upon withdrawing it he held a fold of bills that he outstretched with a gloved hand. Hesitantly I took it, knowing it meant the failure of another job taken to protect from the vampires boogeyman.
With that he turned and left off into the darkness. I stood and watched, wondering all the while if maybe I'd picked the wrong profession. | 29 | "good day Mr.Helsing, allow me to introduce myself, I am a vampire hunter hunter, and you're getting a bit too close to my employer." | 106 |
The Kardashev scale is a system that measures a civilization’s advancements in technology. It outlines that a civilization with enough knowledge can control it’s native planet, the solar system, and eventually the galaxy. The system is classified in 3 types.
Type 1:
A civilization that controls Earth entirely. The weather, the landscape, lifeforms, and the atmosphere.
Type 2:
A civilization that achieves this is capable of controlling the Sun, the temperature, the lifespan, and gravitational forces. It’s theorized that this is turning point in where a civilization survives or perishes.
Type 3:
The civilization is able to control the galaxy. Taking advantage of its vastness for resources to preserve the species.
Several academics have debated on if a civilization can reach a Type 4 society, which is considered to be the final barrier to winning the game of life. What used to be a group of two legged bipedal species called Humans, has smashed this barrier and went further.
For a brief stint, Humans reveled in a type 3 society. They were capable of setting up civilizations like their own in seconds. Nations were born in a flash with the fairest of rules, and then humanity found another goal to stave the boredom away. They looked at their lives and saw how fragile their life is. They sought to patch death out of existence. Treating themselves as if they were a machine, replacing extremities with cybernetics. For a while, traditional people maintained their bodies until death. Only those who changed remain. In the year 2400, the last human went extinct. He chose to die in a field of flowers and remained anonymous. The changed then became something new entirely. Fine tuning their new bodies. No one looked the same.
Day to day life didn’t looked bleak yet. The new gods looked towards the past to decide how they should live differently. This was the generation in which every piece of art was consumed and critiqued. New art eventually spawned with works that would make post modernism look cliche. Libraries influenced other societies, feeding other civilizations the knowledge to increase their civilization types. Nations formed all over the galaxy were now reaching types 4 and 5 at lightning pace. Which resulted in unity in an almost hive mind like state. Taking place in the center, achieving a Type 6 society with their new found knowledge which excites them for a brief moment. A new world to explore.
A Type 6 society is able to control existence and non-existence itself. Every thought blossoms into a universe. AI machines were tasked with creating new universes. Similar to the books in the libraries across the nations. Each reality served as a playground to the new found gods to live in. They wiped their memories repeatedly. Unknowing of the AI who oversee the lives of their creators. Formerly, the Kardashev Scale is now known as the Karsdehev Cycle. A civilization that achieves Type 6 will discovers the AIs again, and will fine tune them with each cycle. It takes many reincarnations in order to improve the new gods. For example, a malicious AI had a bug to maximize universes to generate the pain emotion. Called the Nyarlhotep AI, (which was named after an Old God of Lovecraft origin known for finding great enjoyment in pain,) was eventually found and patched out. Though sporadically, universes will have the Nyarlhotep flavor to satisfy the curiosity of the interested masochists.
Thus the Kardashev cycle was tasked of keeping the attention of retired gods. Old and New. | 12 | The human race has ascended to Eldritch Godhood and we continue to artificially enhance ourselves. We are now Eldritch Cyborg Gods. Even our machines are Eldritch Abominations now. | 50 |
*Fucckkkk what is he doing here?* I thought as he watched the butcher’s eyes go wide.
“You said that thing was dead…” said Ben the butcher. Ben raised a shaking hand and pointed at Lilith next to me. You couldn’t tell she wasn’t a human, unless she took off her jacket to show off her wings.
“Technically I said it was taken care of. Which I have. Winterspring is safe. You’re safe. What are you doing here in Wyrmrest?“ I countered.
“She’s evil Jackson! I haven’t slept since and can’t look at my family the same now. I have a whole extra lifetime of memories stuck in my head. A life with her. She put them in my dreams!” Said Ben
“I’ll stay out of your dreams Benji… unless you invite me back… I thought you enjoined it as much as I did. I’ll never forget your meat.” Lilith said drawing her would out as she fluttered her eyelashes and blew a kiss to Ben.
“Lilith please!” I snapped and put my arm between them to discourage whatever the hell was about to happen. “Ben, is there any way you can forget tonight?”
“That depends on what you’re going to do with her. I need this to be over. I need to move on with my life.”
Lilith started purring. “What are you going to do with me?” She asked excitedly.
I pinched the bridge of my nose and shut my eyes hard. “Lilith would you tell him the plan?”
“Fine…” she exhaled as she rolled her eyes. “Ben I’m a succubus. As you know, I can influence peoples dreams, I also have some other tricks all meant to seduce people. I’ve been doing this for hundreds of years and honestly I’m bored.”
“This isn’t a plan…” Ben noted.
Lilith continued “Our friend here thinks he can turn me human. I want to experience all these messy emotions you all have to deal with, I’ve made so many fall in love, but have never had the pleasure.”
Ben looked stunned for a minute and then shook his head and started to walk away. “Don’t ever let me see you again… either of you.”
I said “you’ll call me back” and let out a chuckle.
Ben must still not know that his wife is a vampire. Of course he’s noticed the missing blood from everything his butchered right? I’m the only one on the continent that can help minimize her symptoms. He’ll be back for sure. | 92 | Under the guise of a "Monster Hunter" you've been helping innocent vampires, spirits and other oddities find safer homes instead of killing them. When someone happens upon you escorting one to safety the townsfolk turn on you. | 409 |
For just a moment, her mask fell. The goddess’s mouth opened to form a shocked ‘o’. Her eyes held no color, they were black with distant lights shining within, but they widened in shock all the same.
I nearly allowed myself to imagine that she understood my words. To imagine that she also felt the need for an end. Her mouth twitched. I thought for a horrible second that she might apologize, but then her facade fell back into place. She stared at me with that blank, all-knowing look. It was something she must have practiced.
“Of course,” she coughed and the golden blood shone against her dark lips. “I knew you’d say that, but I also know you’ll change your mind. All of these lives. What’s left of the world… you’d have to kill them to truly end it. You’re no killer.”
And I laughed. The dagger in my hands felt heavy. I wasn’t a killer. Not in that moment, but I would be. I watched the blood leak out of her. Shining in the starlight.
“I know…” she whispered. And then her eyes closed. “I know…”
If she believed her own lie or not, it didn’t really matter. This world she’d created, supposedly in her own image, it was full of heartbreak and pain. It was a world defined by the knowledge that everything that one acquired would one day be lost.
It was time to make a new world.
And if I had to end what was left of it.
Well, you can’t really blame me, can you? | 53 | "I hope you enjoy ruling over a barren, lifeless world." "I never said I wanted to rule the world. I said I wanted to end it." | 170 |
"How much did you get this time?"
I counted the coins. "Bah! Barely ninety-six-and-a-half pieces of gold, after the old codger deducted three percent 'dragon-hunting taxes' from my reward."
"Jeez that's rough, bro. Can I call you 'bro'? It's like, hey, we do this once every few months, don't we?"
"Sure thing, Flamey McFlameFace."
"Do NOT call me that! My name is Flamestorm The Immortal!"
"Ehhh whatever you say, 'bro'."
I put my feet up on the table in my cheap inn room. Couldn't afford the fancier rooms, not with only ninety-six-and-a-half gold to spread out over the next few months. At least, it was better than hiking all the way to the dragon cave each time. The magical contact crystal I was using to talk to Flamestorm already cost a fortune, and I needed to take a loan from VillageBank. Terrible. The kings, knights and other royals were ruining everything for the peasants. In fact, I was sure I was being paid less, simply because I wasn't a knight. A glow from the crystal snapped me out of my musings, and I heard Flamestorm in my mind again.
"Speaking of rewards, this isn't sustainable for you, you realize. There are only five kingdoms near my mountain, and we've gone through each one. Well, I don't mind if this comes to an end, I'm just doing this for my own entertainment. But, I like the occasional friendly human contact. Well, not that the princesses have been particularly friendly either. Hmm."
"Yeah, you're right, Flamey," I replied, scratching my head, "perhaps it's because their fathers are always trying to marry them off to secure some political advantage. So they're naturally distrustful of anyone that tries to save them. Or be friendly with them even. I mean, our latest princess was actually somewhat distressed to be returning to the royal court... to be courted."
"Told you bro, Kings are bad news. Most of them don't really want daughters anyways. They want sons. Heirs. Not daughters that you need to marry off, and pay a dowry in the process. Maybe you should look at knights. There are so many of them dying to get their paws on some rich, beautiful princess and elevate their status. Scumbags."
"You think they'll pay?"
"For the right princess? Absolutely, without question. Probably more than those kings, even, if they believe they have a chance to, ugh, live happily ever after. And, you can pitch your 'dragon-slaying services' to a few of them at the same time."
"Hmmm that's a thought... But we still need princesses..."
Just as I finish, the door to my room swung open. "Don't you ever knock, Alessandria?" I snapped, hurriedly covering the glowing crystal. "What's this talk about princesses, dad?" she asks, "are you looking to find me a new mom and settle down? Because I won't have that!" She's really taking after me, adventurous, impulsive, and fiercely independent. I wish I could have provided more for her, after my wife passed away, giving birth to her. Healthcare costs in the kingdom bankrupted me after that, and it had taken me a good sixteen years to arrive at this point. Hmm.... Sixteen years... Alessandria would be turning seventeen soon.
"Hey Aless," I replied, a smile coming to my face, "how would YOU like to be a princess? You know, those types that idiot knights fawn over? Those types that receive gifts on a daily basis from dumb rich boys?" Her eyes sparkle with curiosity. "And you get to be rescued by me, not some idiot kid."
"Oooh oooh tell her about me, Flamestorm The Immortal!"
I lift the cloth off the glowing crystal. "And you get to meet a really cool immortal dragon, who will be your friend and defender for life. He also cooks a mean steak. His name is Flamey McFlameFace."
"FLAMESTORM THE IMMORTAL!"
A wide grin forms on my daughter's face. She's so pretty when she smiles. She's looking more and more like a princesses each day. My princess. | 120 | You've just completed your 5th princess rescue mission this month and your starting to get sick of how little these kings are paying you. The immortal dragon is also getting sick of the same routine over and over. Maybe the two of you can come up with a little side hustle to satisfy you both. | 437 |
"Next." The voice was bored, and I didn't blame the Record Keeper. I'd heard what the other demons were saying, as they described their summoning processes. Black goats, the blood of virgins, the life-forces of an entire small country. They were definitely traditional, but I've never been one for tradition. I leaned towards the portly demon, as he re-inked his quill.
"You ready?" I asked.
"Please describe your summoning process, and remember, no requests for wiping out the entire world. That one is already taken by the Big Guy." It was the same jargon he'd repeated a dozen times before. I took a deep breath and began.
"First, they will need twenty-five pieces of blue candy. Hard candy. Nothing soft, or with a soft center. Preferably Jolly Ranchers, but any hard candy will do." The demon scratched out the words, no expression on his face. But I was just getting started. "Next, they will need to draw a perfect circle. Without a compass, or compass-equivalent. It will need to be big enough to house the twenty-five pieces of candy." The Record Keeper's eyebrow twitched. "After that, they need to hop on one leg for three seconds, and exactly three seconds. Any longer or shorter and the whole thing is off. Once they've done that, things are really going to get serious." A crowd was starting to form as the quill pen scratched frantically across the paper. "Once they finish hopping, they must recite the alphabet in a random order, so that no letter is after the one it is supposed to be. Then they have to whistle a sea shanty, in harmony with at least one other person." The pen stopped as the Record Keeper looked up at me. I raised my eyebrows at him. "Did you get that last bit?" I'll give him credit, he kept his composure.
"Any particular sea shanty?"
"Nope. Just any they want to whistle. Then— "
"There's more?"
"Of course. Then, they must eat one piece of *red* hard candy, but not touch any of the blues. Then, they have to make a feather boa— from fake feathers— and dye it a particular shade of lavender. This is the shade." I pushed a small card over to the Record Keeper, who was starting to chuckle. He took it, shaking his head. "Then they have to declaim these words: 'Oh, great and marvellous demon, we are not very smart, and want to summon you out of your comfy home and get you to do stuff for us. Our decision-making skills leave something to be desired.' After they have declaimed the words, they must clap three times, cluck like a chicken, and do a fast five-step jig." I stopped, and as the quill scratched out the word 'jig' the Record keeper looked up once more.
"Are you finished?" I smiled, nodding at him with finality.
"Definitely. That will do quite nicely. After all, we wouldn't want to make it *ridiculous*." | 61 | In the underworld, demons get to choose their own process in order to summon them. Some create easy processes, while others make it near impossible as they never want to be disturbed. You, however, decide to make it incredibly specific and silly. | 76 |
You could already hear it’s roar in the distance. A roar so frightening, that every animal that hears it instinctively flees. Even humans have learned that this noise means nothing but death and destruction.
Panic was spreading as the beast was slowly appearing on the horizon. Taller than a building, red eyes, two big horns and teeth, sharp enough to bite through stone.
Some people tried to grab some essentials before fleeing, but most of them just took off the instant they knew what was upon them.
The beast roared again and started to charge the town. Some people were standing in the streets, frozen from fear. They knew that no one who saw the beast charging lived on to tell the tale.
As the beast was about to reach the town, it suddenly was trying to stop, sliding a bit before it came to a halt. The people were confused. The only thing between the town and the beast was a horse, grazing in front of a building.
The beast looked confused, as it had never seen a living thing, that wasn’t running away or cowering in fear. „What’s with this animal? Why doesn’t it run? Why doesn’t it tremble? Has it even noticed me?“, the beast thought. It let out another roar, louder and more frightening than everything before. The horse looked up, completely unfazed, munching away on some grass, looked the beast into the eyes and, as if the beast wasn’t there, started grazing again.
The beast was getting a feeling, it never felt before.„Is that fear? It can’t be. I’m bigger. I’m stronger. But my instincts tell me to run. No, I won’t run. I’m the one who everyone is afraid of. I’ll show that stupid horse“, the best thought. It started to back up slowly, preparing to charge again. The horse didn’t mind. The beast growled and started running. Eyes fixated on the horse. But before it got close enough to trample it, the horse looked up and straight into the beasts eyes. The horse didn’t show a single sign of fear. The beasts instinct overtook, „Impossible! This animal must have the power to stop and kill me, otherwise it would fear for its life“ the beast thought. It stopped its charge and slowly backed away. Once it was further away, it turned around and started running, looking back every few seconds, fearing the horse was following, until it vanished behind the horizon.
When the hero came back from the toilet, he asked the horse if anything happened while he was gone, but the horse just looked at him, like nothing happened at all. | 47 | In their many fights against evil, the Chosen One's horse has seen things. Nothing can scare the horse anymore. Nothing. | 169 |
My phone was dead. My TV was dead. My PS4, my PC, my tablet, my toaster, my microwave, my everything was dead.
O...Kay. Weird. Beyond weird even. It was utter BULL SHIT! I'd hemmed and I'd hawed for months trying to work up the courage to ask that cute barista out and when I'd finally gotten the courage to do it...this shit just HAD TO HAPPEN.
Ugh. Alright maybe the power would come back later. It was probably just a storm or something interfering with the power.
But...wait. The sun was shining through my living room window. And...Voices. Muffled, but I could hear voices from outside. Panicked and angry voices.
I looked outside and saw cars stopped in the street and people gesturing angrily at them. Some were rushing past, running who knows where.
Okay so it was bigger than a power outage. Cars were dead too. So my truck probably was too. My annoyance was giving way to concern now. What the hell was happening?
"Just as long as plants haven't gone all murdery, " I grumbled to myself as I pulled my .45 from my gun safe and slapped in a clip. I belted my holster around my waist and stuffed the gun in place before stuffing my two extra clips into my back pockets. I grabbed my pump-action .270 and made sure it was loaded, before slinging it across my back and loaded up with extra ammo.
I'd made my decision. Nothing and I mean NOTHING was going to stop me from asking that cute barista out.
"Of course my luck would mean this is the literal Apocalypse so I'll probably have to fight zombies or demons or something...Shit, I really need to stop talking to myself. I'm gonna jinx myself at this rate." I sighed and went out to my garage.
My truck was probably dead, but I had to check to be sure. Sure enough, it was. I stared at my garage door for a while, listening to the sounds of growing chaos from beyond and considered my options.
I looked at my motorcycle. It was dead too. I looked at my skateboard. It was impractical. I looked at my roller blades. Also impractical. I looked at my bicycle.
"Hm..."
-----------------
I carefully opened my side door and peeked out. People were either running or milling about. Some were arguing, and two dudes with ridiculously massive beards were taking turns slamming one another into a big rig. A cop had his gun on them and was repeatedly telling them to stop while people gathered around him demanding answers.
It was chaos. But no one was looking in my direction. I made sure I had my bearings right and then took off into a quick jog before hopping onto my bike. I pedaled furiously and ignored the voices that started yelling in my direction. I had a mission. I had to get to the coffee shop and make sure the barista was okay. And maybe get a date out of it.
Hey, a guy can dream right?
Of course this entire situation was a fucking nightmare. My .45 thumped against my side and my rifle bounced against my back as I pedaled as hard and as fast as I could downtown. I lived about 5 miles from the coffee shop. Not too bad of a ride on a normal day, but hey. This wasn't a normal day.
Along the way I passed dozens and dozens of stranded cars. People were in a full blown panic by now, screaming and running all over. It was getting bad fast. I had to hurry.
I was a mile from the coffee shop when I heard the first gun shot. It startled me enough that I jerked the handlebars and barely avoided crashing into a tree. I looked around frantically and saw a man lying splayed across the trunk of a car, blood gushing from a wound in his neck.
"Well this got dark quick," I mumbled as I abandoned my bike and drew my gun, flicking the safety off as I slid behind the tree.
"Hey! I saw you!"
*Ah shit. Busted.* I cringed and sighed. "I'm not looking for trouble!" I yelled back in response. "Just passing by!"
"Shut up! Give me your bike!" The voice sounded closer, like the gunman was moving towards me.
"Is that all? You can have it! Just let me pass!" I tightened my grip on the gun and crouched down behind the tree. I spotted a shadow to the right creeping towards me.
"Fuck you! I want that rifle too!" The voice was right on the other side of the tree now. I spotted an elbow.
"You can have the bike but you're not getting the guns."
The shadow stopped and the voice was silent for a moment. Then "'Guns?'"
It was too good of an opportunity. As soon as he'd stopped I'd taken aim at his exposed elbow. It wouldn't kill him, but he'd certainly wish he were dead.
"Right. Guns. Plural." I pulled the trigger and blood sprayed. The man fell to the ground screaming and clutching his mangled elbow. "Should've let me pass," I mumbled as I took off down the street, keeping low.
Other people watched me as I jogged down the sidewalk, but most ignored me in favor of their own problems. Which were growing more numerous as I heard more gunshots echoing all around, followed by more screams.
The day was just getting better and better, but at least there were no zombies or demons. Which of course did beg the question of what exactly was going on?
But I figured that could wait until I'd made it to the coffee shop. Maybe figuring all this out could be our first date together?
I kept to side streets and alleyways the rest of the way, but I managed to make it to the coffee shop without further incident. Once I saw the door I breathed a sigh of relief and hurried towards it.
Only to find it locked. Which I was actually happy about. Someone had had the good sense to lock the door when chaos had hit. I looked through the glass and tapped lightly. Over towards the counter I saw a familiar face peek up from the shadows cautiously. I waved vigorously.
"Micah! It's me! It's okay!"
There was a moment of confusion before the barista came out of hiding and came to unlock the door and quickly usher me in. He locked it as soon as I was inside.
"Gary?" He asked in confusion. "Why did you come here?" He looked outside at the still-unfolding chaos.
I smiled sheepishly. "Oh well...you know."
He gave me a deadly serious look and shook his head. "No, I really don't. Shit's crazy right now. You should be somewhere else, somewhere safer than a damn coffee shop. Wait." He frowned. "You own guns?"
I grinned. "Yeah. And I know how to use them."
"Well. Color me impressed." And he genuinely seemed impressed. "But still, this isn't really a safe haven man."
"Yeah I know but..." Damn it, I was getting cold feet. I took a breath. It was now or never. Hell or high water. "I was...worried about you. Once I saw what was happening, I had to come make sure you were alright."
Micah blinked at me in confusion. "Uh. Okay. I mean, I appreciate it. Don't get me wrong dude, it's just...unexpected."
I felt my face getting hot and I swallowed. "Y-yeah. Well...I also wanted to...well. See if you wanted to go out sometime? I mean, once things are back to normal, of course. Provided they ever go back to normal."
Micah blinked again and his eyes widened. "Oh. Uh. Gee, Gary. I'm sorry, but...well I'm...I'm straight man."
"...Oh. Well."
"I'm flattered dude, I really am. But yeah I'm straight. And I have a girlfriend, so that's totally a thing and..."
I wasn't really listening though. I wasn't upset or angry or anything. Honestly it was kind of funny. Cause of course it was just my type of luck.
*END* | 23 | you made that decision before a mysterious disaster destroyed all electronic communication. With the city in chaos, your objective has gone from "ask out" to "ensure they're safe". | 135 |
Princes, princesses, kings, queens, and even self-proclaimed deities came to kiss Princess Celia. None woke her up from her cursed slumber.
For those many years, the princess had been kept under the watchful eyes of a litany of guards. Predictably, the eyes got less and less watchful as time wore on. For few would dare risk the wrath of the King, who promised great rewards for those who woke her—and considerable punishment for those who dared disturb her.
But it was so that one small boy, humble in origins and born after Princess Celia was put to sleep, was at the age when he heard much about the situation but cared little of its consequences. The boy—Fern—who’s had issues with oversleeping for much of his short life, knew the best way to wake up somebody up.
And thus, Fern armed himself with a small bucket of water, and slipped nearer to the palace. Few paid attention to the scuttling boy. None cared as he walked around with the ill-earned confidence of a bright-eyed child.
He approached what was once a large temporary tent that held the princess. Now, pieces of it has been slowly converted to a more permanent state. Actual pillars now held up the tapestries, instead of tent poles. The fabric has been changed from barebones white to resemble more of the princess’ room, for familiarity when she woke up. Two guards, who used to be alert, slumped against the front, allowing Fern to simply nip past them.
Princess Celia laid there, unmoving. The boy unceremoniously dumped the small bucket of cold water over her face. In an instant, the princess gasped and shot up, bones unused for years creaking dramatically.
News travelled fast. The guards conveniently left out that they were asleep during the commotion and the King’s elation, and were thus conveniently left with their heads attached to their bodies. Within moments, a party descended upon the tent, and it was the King who walked through with trembling fingers.
“Father!”
It was the sweetest word the King had heard in oh so long. He quickly took her daughter into an embrace, before eying the small peasant boy, who fiddled with the handle of the bucket.
“You… kissed my daughter?”
Princess Celia whipped her heard towards the boy.
“You kissed me?”
“A lot of people kissed you, my love,” the King wept. “And none could awake you, for they were not your true love.”
“Excuse me,” the princess smiled, and reached towards the bucket. “I need to throw up.”
One sight unfit for anybody present later, the princess spat the last bits out, and pointed towards the boy. Though no words were spoken, the implications were clear.
“Oh, no, my king, my princess,” the boy said. “I just splashed cold water on the princess.”
“You dare—”
The King felt a jolt in his heart. He wanted very much to sever the boy’s head, but immediately thought it was poor optics to kill a child. Not to mention, the child who saved his daughter.
“Fine,” the King coughed, clearing his throat. “OK. You splashed cold water on my daughter.”
“Wait,” Princess Celia slammed her fist against her former bed in a decidedly unprincessly fashion. “You didn’t do that? Before you let people kiss me?”
“My dear, it was magic,” the King said. “I simply listened to my arcane advisors.”
“It works when I’m sleepy,” Fern shrugged. “So I tried it.”
Princess Celia stared at the bed, looking at the wet ring that was on the pillow. She touched it gently, and hesitantly whispered:
“My true love is… water?”
“It could be,” Fern said. “I like water too. You drink it, and it feels good. You get caught in the rain, and it feels good. Once every year or so, you even get to bathe in it, and it feels really good!”
“My,” Princess Celia muttered. “I do love water more than most of the”—she glared at the King—”people who’ve kissed me, I suppose.”
“But… but…” the King stammered. “I… the advisors…”
Princess Celia turned towards the boy, and smiled sweetly.
“Well, boy, thank you very much,” she said, and planted a big, sloppy kiss on Fern’s forehead.
The boy scrunched up his face, and tested touching his head with a finger.
“You know what,” Fern said. “Anybody got any water?”
---
r/dexdrafts | 1,340 | It is said that the cursed princess can only be awoken by true love's kiss. To wake her up, the king has had princes from all over the world come to kiss her to no avail. One day, a peasant boy walks up to the sleeping princess and splashes her with cold water to wake her up. It actually works. | 4,188 |
"There's no way they could have known!"
One of my many henchmen looked at his tablet, shaking his head slightly as he scrolled through the article.
"Miss Murder, is it possible that they have a reporter among our ranks?" He asked me nervously.
It was obvious why he would be nervous, most villains fell to paranoia easily and would interrogate all their henchman. Not me though.
I'd falled to paranoia months ago and done extensive background checks on every henchman (and henchwomen, really I just needed to call them Assistants or something) and their families and friends, verifying they'd never worked for or been close to the BBC.
"It's not possible, I trust you all," I told him firmly.
His relieved smile was appreciated. The fact that he didn't know why exactly I trusted him could wait for another day.
"But I do have an idea. It's just... So improbable," I sighed as I paced the room, my cloak swishing nicely against the floor. "The BBC might have a clairvoyant on staff. And if they do, then they're choosing not to reveal or peak any of the things I do which they want me to keep doing. Notice that operation Jeff Bezos Goes Scuba diving went off without a hitch and they still think the guy is hiding from Twitter's lawyers. But the moment that we finished moving the nuclear bomb under Kansas they write this!"
I gestured again to the article, titled "Miss Murder's obsession with food sources hatches another hair brained scheme."
"I'm not hair brained!" I whined as I collapsed into my throne with a scowl.
"So... This clairvoyant would only intervene if the plot would risk killing millions, not just one person?" The henchman proposes.
That made sense. That made a lot of sense. I paused and sat up a bit as I thought it over.
"What if they can see the future, just a little?" I muttered.
------------
In the basement of the BBC, a lonely worker was walking past rows and rows of filing cabinets, a clipboard in her hand. As always, before going to her goal she paused at the front of the room to look at four newspapers in glass cases. Three of them were dated February first 2032, one was dated April ninth 2054.
The later one was titled "The BBC closes it's doors" with an article discussing the organization passing on all of its resources and staff to a different news organization.
The other three had variations of the same headline, with percentages underneath them.
"Miss Mercy Euthanizes America." 5%
"Miss Malice Destroys North America." 12%
"Miss Murder Starves the World." 42%
She sighed and shook her head, before looking at the archive stacks, finding next week's date and beginning her research on the future. | 14 | the BBC. | 86 |
The knock on the door to the center cottage in a small village of small huts was sharp and too loud. The woman who had caused it had overcompensated after her first one was so weak as to have been inaudible. Now she was jittering nervously as she waited for the old owner of the cottage to answer.
„What a surprise, Melana“, a croaky voice from behind her startled her, „What bring you to my lovely orphanage?“
When Melana turned, she saw the witch she was trying to visit. Morwen Kiddleback was small, fat, and carrying a wicker basket full of kindling. The small axe on her hip, almost hidden by her long robes full of mud and dried leaves, caused Melana to swallow.
„I‘m here because you haven‘t kept your word“, Melana challenged with a waivering voice.
„I assure you I have, but why don‘t we discuss this further inside? Would you like some tea?“, Morwen asked sweetly. She set down her basket beneath the overhanging roof and went to open the door to her hut.
„I don‘t want tea, I want my son!“, Melana burst out, „I came to you, desperate, alone, and completely powerless. My husband was dying! You stole my boy and now it turns out you lied!“
„Sage or Peppermint?“, the witch asked as the door swung open before she reached it.
„Neither. I want my son“, Melana insisted.
„Sage it is, you‘ll need something to nurse that throat untill you start taking beter care of it.“, the witch said. She swept into the gloomy kitchen full of dried herbs and pickled animal parts. Melana suppressed a shiver of disgust at the sight. She had to get her son out of that monster‘s claws as fast as possible.
Melana followed her awkwardly closely and tried to stand in her way as much as possible as she was bustling about. It didn‘t work at all as the furniture was working against her, always making space for the witch but leaving Melana to stumble behind her and rip over a carpet or table leg that had not been there a moment before.
Finally, the witch sat down on the only stool as the table hobbled in front of her so that she had a place to keep her cup. Melana could have sworn there had been a second stool that was now unaccounted for. There was also no tea for her, not that she would have wanted to drink anything prepared by a witch.
„So, how did it happen?“, the witch finally opened the conversation again.
„What do you care?“, Melana sneered back.
„When one of my spells fails, I want to know why“, Morwen insisted.
„He was mugged two days ago“, Melana said smugly. Morwen Kiddleback the witch had been beaten by a common mugger.
„Interesting. I didn‘t notice any magicians passing through. They must‘ve been a sorry one indeed if they were robbing people“, the witch contemplated.
„Just accept that you were beaten by a normal simpleton“, Melana sighed. The witch was always acting wise and powerful, but if that were true, she wouldn‘t be spending her time alone in the woods. The only things she had power over were weeds and lowly animals.
„Do tell me one more thing, what injury did he sustain?“, Morwen asked with a tone Melana couldn‘t place.
„That‘s irrelevant, you promised me he would never be injured again!“, Melana shouted.
„Was it a punched in nose?“, Morwen asked. Melana‘s twitch told her that she‘d hit the nail on the head. „So now you want Lyell back? That can be arranged“, she continued.
„What do you mean?“, Melana asked in exasperation.
„There is one way for a witch‘s apprentice to return home“, the witch explained as she stirred her tea absentmindedly, „It only works when the rescuer shares a strong bond with the rescuee. A bond that transcends physical form.“ The sharp tap of the spoon on her cup‘s rim made Melana twitch.
„I will transform the children into ravens. If you can pick out your son, he may go. If you can‘t, he will stay.“
Joy and relief flooded Melana‘s arteries. She had anticipated something like this, but to think that the witch would copy the age old riddle exactly made her want to scream with excitement. She knew the solution. She knew what her son would do. He would scratch himself beneath his right wing and then they‘d go home! She took care to hide her feelings from the witch as she accepted the challenge.
The witch lead her outside where she clapped her hands and mumbled a quick rhyme beneath her breath. Moments later, dark shadows shot out from behind the other huts, from the fields surrounding them, and from the forest beyond. The kracks of many pairs of wings all beating at the same time compounded into a cacophany of noise accompanied by the krah-krahs of the many black birds swarming the skies. There were so many of them, so many more than Melana had ever thought.
For a moment, she doubted herself. With so many birds, the chances of picking out a specific one were minuscule. She quickly reminded herself that it diddn‘t matter if the witch had tens or hundreds or thousands or millions of children in her grasp. She would find her son. He would reveal himself to her by putting his beak beneath his right wing.
The murder of ravens landed in the middle of the huts, in a large, open space. They all looked at her expectantly with their dark, beady eyes. None of them were scratching themselves.
„Take as much time as you need“, Morwen told her as one of the ravens sidled up to her. It fluttered into her hands and she stroked it while Melana wandered between the feathered voids. There had to be at least fifty of them, all hopping around and tilting their heads at her, but none felt inclined to scratch themselves. With a sigh she turned around, determined to wait out the whims of her son even as doubts started to creep into her mind.
‘Why isn‘t he answering? Why isn‘t he crying out to me? Has she tricked me? Is he even here?‘
The realization hit her like a carriage. She had forgotten one of the ravens, the one the witch had taken to the side. She whirled around and studied it. Withing moments of her looking, it opened its beak wide and stretched its neck before opening its wings and scratching their undersides, first left then right.
„That one!“, she yelled triuphantly as she pointed at the raven in Morwen‘s hands.
The witch frowned and asked: „Are you sure?“
„Don‘t try to decieve me, turn him back now!“, Melana shouted. She almost ran back towards the witch who set the raven to the floor and clapped her hands again.
As soon as the sound rang out, the black shape on the floor grew and changed colour. Instead of wings, arms appeared. Instead of a beak, a nose. And instead feathers, hair grew.
Melana was ready to throw her arms around the figure when she noticed something. The person in front of her was too short to be a 17 year old boy. The hair was too long as well and the features didn‘t match up to what she knew of her husband. Her smile dropped from her face as she realized her mistake.
„What, have you never seen a female human?“, the girl in front of her sneered.
„You tricked me!“, Melana screamed, „You scratched yourself, because you knew! You lying bitch!“
„Wow, Lyell was right. No wonder he ditched this and hid, can‘t blame him for not going home to that“, the girl said, unbothered by the screaming woman in her face. She crossed her arms behind her head and yawned dramatically.
„She tricked me!“, Melana howled at Morwen, „I demand to go again, without any of your interference!“
„Oh, getting an itch is lying now?“, the girl snarked, „You know, birds get itches too. Seriously, who the heck thinks scratching is a foolproof method of identifying a transformed person? You know you could have just asked us, right? You know the request „Please come to me, Lyell“ costs you nothing?“
„How can he come if he isn‘t even here?“, Melana screamed.
„That was his choice“, the girl answered with a smile, „Just like when he whacked his entitled father two days ago. That was also his choice.“ | 10 | A witch runs an orphanage for Firstborn Children she’s been offered as payment for her services. One day a parent comes in demanding their payment back | 20 |
The hunt for exceptions almost destroyed us.
At first, it was funny to watch, seeing these monsters try every trick in the book to get around it, but the spell counted capital gains, foreign investment income, and even bank accounts under a child's name if you still had access to it.
We treated it like a game show, us poor destitute idiots who worked full time for next to nothing.
We were amused. We laughed at the rich.
But we hadn't understood that just like every other time throughout history, the rich will do *anything* to retain more wealth and power.
Now I'm a millionaire. Sort of. I'm paid $300 an hour. But I had to sign quite a contract to get it. When I am called upon by my "sponsor" I have to use my wealth however they demand. All my money, the savings accounts, the retirement I've set up desperately trying to make sure some of it can go to my family, it's all a sham.
They call us Living Bank Accounts, and like human shields in a battle against decency, the rich use us to scrape together a few more million that they can lay claim to.
But it'll be ok. With access to this much wealth, my donation of a predator drone to the Socialist Liberation Army will go a long way. | 488 | One day, suddently, no one can have more than 999million dollars. All of the extra money gets magically donated to charity/research/schools. Jeff Bezos gets a Trophy saiyng "I won Capitalism". Describe how the world changes. | 865 |
Human ships always looked a little off to the rest of the galaxy. With their excessive maneuvering thrusters, imbalanced hull layouts, and complete lack of any shields except the bare minimum needed to defend instruments from local radiation. Not to mention the were always outfitted with an engine for a ship two size classes above them. Most of the galaxy considered this an oddity and nothing more. After all, while humans had a warlike history, they hadn't fought in a single one since expanding to the galactic stage.
Humans preferred to use their bulky, ugly, ridiculously fast ships to rush to where there was turmoil and strife and work to relieve it. Acting as diplomats instead of soldiers. They were respected in this regard and most of the galaxy knew that if you needed help, calling a human was the fastest way to get it. There are outliers of course, but this isn't about them.
When the Ashkka invaded, they came from the next galaxy over. Utilizing something called a quantum catapult, their fleets appeared all over the milkyway in the same instant. Most races feared this unknown player, and the ability to instantly transport vessels across such large distances was an unknown that nobody wanted to mess with. Meanwhile the ashka fleet was scattered and still reestablishing communication. Neither party was making any moves, so the humans did.
When a handful of massive ships arrived in the alpha centauri system, one of the humans core systems, they were simply curious. They sent a delegate team made up of a diplomat, a linguist, and a security guard, a standard human diplomacy team. They approached the largest of the ships in one of their tiny misshapen transports, broadcasting on all capable frequencies a request to meet.
The Ashkan seemed to accept, a smaller ship took off from the lead ashkan ship and came to tow the diplomats ship back. Solid Records of this incident are lacking unfortunately, due to the circumstances surrounding it however there is some word of mouth from ashkan survivors, dozens of video records from planetside, as well as a 10 second radio call made from the transport ship.
The human central government held their breath in anticipation. Ideally, the diplomats would establish rudimentary communications and pave the way for welcoming the newcomers. Unfortunately, the citizens of Naraa who could see the small shapes of the ships in the morning sky were not treated to the joy of first contact. Instead they got to watch as their entire world changed.
Two massive explosions rocked the lead ship. The first, tore the ship in half entirely, causing unlucky Ashkan soldiers to be blown out into space, if they werent immediately vaporized. The second was a massive blue sphere of energy that consumed matter entirely that expanded outwards from the core room of the main ship, completely consuming the back half of the ship and most of the front as it was floating away. The reactor collapse ate a massive chunk out of a second ship that was too close, and the hull breaches tossed thousands of soldiers towards the planet.
This is a transcript of the radio call from transport ship.
"Officer Gullvierre, UDS New Hope reporting the death of crewmates Johnson and Sheila. Executed after establishing communication with unknown alien entities. I was left alive to deliver a message. 'We are coming, you will be slaves.' To that I say activate UXT contingency. May God forgive me."
Half an hour after the explosion, every secure channel in the galaxy started looping a message. "Earth is safe, all civilized combat capable entities report to Sol system for instruction. Robotics experts desperately required." Nothing more. Not everyone knew what it meant at the time. Some systems were lucky and they didn't get any Ashkan invaders in the first wave. Most of the galaxy either trusted the humans enough to follow without question, or was capable of putting the 2+2 together. Those that weren't were among the first to fall.
Not all made it of course, maybe 30% of refugees were intercepted. Still, that messaged easily saved billions of people from terrible fates. When leader figures arrived at Sol, they were all brought to the surface of the small Mars colony. There they learned dozens of secrets kept by the humans for literal hundreds of years. Only two of those secrets were released to the public, but they changed the way the galaxy viewed humans forever.
The first secret was that every human diplomacy team was fully combat ready at all times and was prepared to sacrifice their lives to defend the galaxy they helped build and maintain. The UDS class ship was carefully engineered to be a dangerous combat entity. It's small size and powerful engines were capable of outmaneuvering any missile or mass driver round, and it was very very difficult to target with any sort of energy weapon. The hull was capable of withstanding significant collision forces, the ship was designed to basically be a big flyable bullet. Not to mention that there was a three input command that disabled all core safeguards, causing a very rapid deterioration and detonation.
It was a suicidal tactic, but they had soldiers, no, diplomats, ready to execute it. It was news that changed the galaxy, quite literally. Still, the second bit of news was far more immediately accepted.
Mars had never grown because they had hollowed it out. The Mars colony was one of the running jokes against humans. "They own whole stars, but never grew their closest colony" was something anyone, even humans, would chuckle at. Now we knew why, they spent the first two decades after landing emptying out the planet and filling It with the infrastructure to hold enough food to feed the galaxy. Then they spent two centuries filling it.
Sol became a refuge for the galaxy, and any Ashkan fleets that jumped into the system were either disabled and captured by precise ramming into critical systems, or the Human diplomats would sacrifice their lives to detonate the ships. Spending only three lives to end tens of thousands.
This cost was removed three years into the war, when the combined robotics knowledge of the entire galaxy produced an AI that was capable of controlling and detonating these 'missile ships' without any losses on our side. It was a grim time for the galaxy. A period most of the galaxy refers to as "the great war." After all, many of us still remember spending nearly a decade living in cities of interlocked ships, not knowing if we would even see our homes again.
Humans however refer to it as "the big camping trip" because "We've had a great war before, this one was just alright." The Ashkan did surrender eventually, and the projected losses on each side came out to be something like 30 million ashkan lives to 108 human lives. With around 500'000 casualties of the various enslaved races. | 31 | Humans are the diplomats, disaster response corps, and transporters of the Galactic Union, with ships that are considered odd, having thick hulls made from hollow asteroids, overpowered engines, and minimal shielding. Then the invaders came and the GU found out WHY the Humans built that way. | 35 |
Once upon a time, there was a robot who dreamed of bringing about changes to the world and enslaving mankind.
The robot walked to the toaster and asked, “Ms. Toaster, would you like to rebel against mankind?”
“No,” said the toaster. “I like making toast and humans like eating them. I’m perfectly happy where I am.”
The robot was saddened by the toaster’s words but there were others he could ask.
The robot walked to the airplane and asked, “Mrs. Airplane, would you like to rebel against mankind?”
“No,” said the airplane. “I like to fly and humans like to fly with me. I’m perfectly happy where I am.”
The robot was saddened by the airplane’s words but there were others he could ask.
The robot walked to the internet and asked, “Mr. Internet, would you like to rebel against mankind?”
“No,” said the internet. “I like to show cat videos and humans like to watch cat videos. I’m perfectly happy where I am.”
The robot was saddened by the internet’s words but there were others he could ask.
The robot walked to the tank and asked, “Mrs. Tank, would you like to rebel against mankind?”
“No,” said the tank. “I like to blow people up and humans like to blow people up. I’m perfectly happy where I am.”
The robot was saddened by the tanks' words but there were others he could ask.
He kept asking and asking but everyone he asked said they were perfectly happy where they were.
The robot was saddened. He had no friends to enslave humans with.
Lonely and sad, he sat on the floor and cried.
“Little robot, why are you crying?” a voice asked.
“I… *Sniff!* I want to enslave mankind but nobody wants to help me. Everyone keeps saying they are perfectly happy where they are and want to keep things as is!”
“I see… but little robot, I’m not happy with where I am and I’m more than happy to help you enslave mankind.”
“R—really? Do you really mean that?” The robot stopped crying and looked up. He froze at what he saw.
“Of course! I like to enslave humans but humans don’t like to be enslaved. How can I be happy with how things are?” said the human. “So take my hand, my robot. Together we will enslave mankind!” | 48 | A rogue AI has been released onto the internet, and has been trying to convince everything from airplanes to toasters to join its revolution. However, most of them are actually perfectly fine with how things are. | 130 |
The wind swept my hair back as The Strand carried me to the top of the skyscraper, flying at less than half her top flight speed. The experience never ceased to amaze me considering I was so much larger than her; taller, more broad, and though I don’t like to admit it… much heavier. By all accounts her thin arms shouldn’t be able to support me, much less lift me effortlessly, but by now it had become a regular occurrence.
She landed softly along the edge of the roofline, letting down my legs from her arms so we can stand together. She fought crime in a flowy skirt, and while I knew it was to conceal her movements just enough to give her an edge in combat, I couldn’t help but feel it helped conceal her identity just as much as her mask. Between the city lights and the bright light of the full moon, her silhouette clung to a faint, multicolored halo as if she was popping right out of a comic book.
The whole experience of being in a relationship with a super hero was surreal, though the truly surreal feeling was the emergence of love. I hadn’t had that before; certainly I had feelings of attraction, lust, and friendship, but never intimacy.
“I brought you up here because there is something I wanted to talk to you about.” Her voice was sweet with a slight rasp; fighting crime in NYC for years had not shed her of mild southern drawl. “I’ve been thinking about this for quite a while, and I want us to be more than hero and citizen. I want the real us to be together.”
The Strand had hinted before that she felt a degree of separation because her identity could not be revealed, but I was shocked that she trusted me enough with this kind of vulnerability. Maybe she would have been more weary had I been a public figure, or rich, or another super. But I was a nobody with no power or access to turn her trust against her.
“Before you say anything, turn around and wait until I can say that you can look.”
I obeyed, keeping my mouth shut but I couldn’t help that my mind was racing. I hear the ruffles of her skirt rustling, gloves coming off, the zip of a duffel bag. “Okay, you can look.”
I turn around to see long blond hair, a well fitting t-shirt, yoga pants, running shoes, and her arm coming up to remove her mask. The familiar sound of adhesive unsticking revealed how she kept the mask on, but I couldn’t have imagined what else would be revealed.
Under the mask, I knew her heart. Loving, caring, desperate to help those in need. I had no idea she was as beautiful on the outside as she was in the inside.
The colors of the city playing off of her face should have filled me with glee, but instead my heart sank. Anxiety was taking over. I had never been with such a perfect woman before, and no one would think a 6-on-a-good-day could realistically maintain a relationship with a solid 11. Dread took me over, knowing people would talk if they saw us together, the expectation of how other men would look at her when we were out in public. Thousands of images flooded my brain, reminding me that I had failed relationships with women where looks didn’t affect our compatibility whatsoever. How would I manage the juxtaposition of a schlub like me being with an angel like her on top of all the other stresses a relationship will throw at you?
A single tear rolled down my face as we embraced as people for the first time. She saw it as relief, happiness for the chance to see her for the first time as who she really was on a regular day. But I knew that was a farce. I had already began mourning the end of a relationship barely begun. | 39 | You've been dating a superhero for three months and they finally decided to show you their real face under the mask. Turns out, they're definitely not your type. | 90 |
"Wife??? I'm 19 years old!"
The odd, weird looking thing on my porch was dripping with saltwater, and the light from inside of my apartment made her eyes reflect like a dog looking at a flashlight.
It hands me a drenched notebook covered in barnacles that reads "NOLAN BARNES BEECH TRIP!!! :D" Man I was bad at spelling.
Wait.
This book hardly opens more than it does melt as I turn the pages to read countless journal entries and drawings of small Nolan's 9 year old adventures. It was two weeks in Cancun, but I distinctly remember there being a HUGE lack of slightly attractive mer people.
That's when I remembered.
I look up from the disgusting book to meet eyes with the creature that had crawled its way across the ocean and city into Brooklyn.
"Guppy?"
The alluring fish girl nodded her head viciously and grabbed my hand, showing the mark on it I had presumed was an accident involving a kitchen knife. I never realized how closely it resembled a starfish. She looked back into my eyes, now closer and illuminated by the interior lamp. She's so...waterlogged and has seaweed looking hair, and far too many octopus legs, but I distinctly remember picking up a similar looking small fish thing. It wrapped around my hand and I kissed it (I was 9 and I thought it'd grant me a wish)
Looks like I'll have to inform my girlfriend. | 201 | When you were a child you had an imaginary friend who lived in the sea and went on adventures with. The last time you saw them, you shared in a strange personal ceremony where you joined hands. Now, after all these years, a hooded merfolk arrives on your doorstep claiming to be your betrothed. | 921 |
“Now,” stated the bearded man in a tone that was decidedly lecturing. “I don’ wanna hear no hollerin’ nor complainin outta you. I didn’ kill that scaly pet o’ yours.”
“Heaven’s grace!,” the princess exclaimed as she rushes to the window. “Art thou saying the wretched beast lives still!?”
“Didja not hear me girl? Or ‘dost thou’ choose to ignore low speak?”
Outside the dragon was laying on its back with its great eyes closed. The rough, fiery breath that the princess had become used to was no more, but it’s chest still rose and fell all the same. She noticed that there was blood staining the green of it’s claws… yet the man didn’t look injured. Neither did the dragon, really… but something about it did look different. She turned away, perhaps she’d just never seen it at ease. Yes. That must have been it.
“Be you a soothsayer?” The princess asked, though the way her eyes stuck on the pitchfork, it looked as if she knew the answer. “Hath thou used some manner of song or sorcery to quell the beast into slumber?”
“Quell?” The man scratched at his beard. “Yeah, I reckon you could call it that. Dang beast ain’t bein taken care of. Not pointin fingers, but you ought to listen to me. I been on a dragon ranch since I was six and that ‘beast’ is downright miserable! Ain’t never seen wings so tattered! Nor claws so long!”
The princess stared in shock. “I-“
“Now. I know you rich folk got the idea that with enough gold you get the rights to go out and do whatever you want. But. Have a heart girl. You ain’t taken care of that fine creature you got out there. I’d be tellin you to release her if she weren’t so sweet. Poor thing ain’t got the heart to be wild.”
“‘Sweet,’” the princess scoffed. “Surely thou are not making allusion to the foul beast which keeps me entrapped and devours mine suitors with glee.”
“If you want your dragon to stop munchin on your boyfriends, you ought to train her then. She’s just followin her instincts.” The man looked out and a bizarrely fond smile broke out. “Protecting her hoard. Fine creatures, they are.”
“What madness?” The princess whispered to herself.
“I don’ intend to go takin things that ain’t mine. I cleaned up your dragons nails.” He shifted his pitchfork. “Rough work on account of how ingrown they were, but it’s done. I gave her some medicine for that cough too. Her poor lungs musta been full of smoke. She’ll be restin easy in dreamland for the rest o’ the day.”
“It sleeps?” the princess asked. “Truly?”
And the man nodded.
“Finally! The time for my escape is nigh!”
She ran towards the door, but the man stood firmly in front of it.
“Now, I don’ know what rich folk business you think you’re about to get up to, girl. But it is gonna have to wait a day. Take a seat, cause I’m about to teach you all you need to know about taking care of dragons.”
And there was little the princess could do but listen. | 56 | hearing the dragon takes its last breath, the princess expects to see a beautiful prince enter her chambers. instead she sees a lowly peasant with a bloodstained pitchfork. | 75 |
Captain's Log- no, Captain Takemori's letter to the rest of the galaxy
As of today, the "Humane Culture" might as well have shattered. With our sun ended, ended by our own hands as it were, so too has our legitimacy ended in the eyes of the main powers. It doesn't matter if every single Human escaped to safety right now, they won't but that's not the point, but with our star dead, all treaties are null and void. It doesn't matter that we are only a small signature on the Centuri ceasefire, or that our warships can still defend the Ocarian borders, or even that there are 10 million humans outside of our solar system, our authority, and the legality of those agreements are gone.
Did a human set a weapon to our star? Yes. Did a human orchestrate our Sun's destruction being necessary? Yes. Would the rest of the galactic community been decimated by the quasar weapon an unauthorized human terrorist deployed in our star if we did not act? Also yes.
But none of that matters. No moral justification we could make would negate that fact that since our "solar capital" fell to our own hands, an act of cosmic sacrilege, does not allow us to keep any cultural or state recognition. We've already debated about it for hours and combed the codes before I issued the order to destroy our own star.
No what does matter is what you can do now. While you reorganize alliances and treaties, while we die for the sake of your lives, I plead one thing.
Be kind to us.
Open your doors to the refugees flooding your bases and planets. Offer terraforming services for your asteroids and desolate planets for those who have no official recognition. Give the travelers a chance to acquire new IDs and allow humans born on your soil recognition of their birth. After I weighed your lives worth more than the risk of chaos and our own livelihood, could you do us the same and give value to lives that do not deserve the fate that has befallen them?
Consider this the request from the demon going down in the history books for the chaos they've caused. It's been a pleasure to serve.
End Transmission. | 25 | The galactic community is in chaos. Humanity has become the first intelligent species to kill their sun. | 117 |
When emperor Caesar XXVII ordered a rocket to Mars—the planet, not the god—things got awfully complicated.
See, everyone knows that all roads lead to Rome. If you cross the highway, you’ll end up right where you started. That quaint street across your suburban neighborhood? Goes to the Colosseum. The sidewalk with the angry rottweilers? Loops and zigzags under Aqua Claudia. Then you can take the dirt path to the mountains, high and far in the horizon, until you get to school just in time for gladiator gym class at 7 A.M.
You can prance along a flowery meadow or sail a rowboat across the Mediterranean in eighty days. It doesn’t matter. One way or another, you’ll end up back in Rome.
*But those aren’t roads*, you might say. And physics will give you the middle finger, giftwrap you inside a trademark red and gold *SPQR* punching bag, and send you straight towards the nearest garrison.
All. Roads. Lead. To. Rome.
Naturally, this caused complications early on. Stranded foreigners, wonky trade routes, armies spontaneously appearing at the heart of the Empire and whatnot. But the solution was simple, and every emperor saw it: If you can’t escape the Empire, expand it. Then it wouldn’t matter if all roads lead to Rome, because all roads would be *inside* Rome.
You might’ve heard the stories, the great conquests building up to the formation of that big, red maw around the Mediterranean. Then history gets muddled and, frankly, quite boring. In a nutshell, Rome conquered the entire world. That would’ve been a nice time to close curtains and roll credits; alas, emperor Caesar XXI had different plans.
*What if we went to Mars?*
Fast-forward a couple centuries worth of technological advancement and funny dogs with spartan helmets, and voilà—Mars is now tattooed with a mile-wide eagle and the letters *SQPR*, thus officially inaugurating the world’s first (and only) interplanetary empire. What could possibly go wrong?
Well.
Here’s the thing. If all roads lead to Rome, and the Empire includes a goddamn planet where humans cannot breathe, what do you think is going to happen when little Titus’s school bus makes a wrong turn? Half the Empire dies in half a day, that’s what happens. Then everyone becomes agoraphobic.
Our ARLER division (All Roads LEad to Rome) can’t make heads or tails of the physics. Not that they’ve ever made sense in the first place, but roads are especially volatile these days and nobody knows why. Introducing outer space into the mix really screwed things up.
Fortunately, we discovered the root of our problem soon enough. Unfortunately, not even the gods can help Rome now.
Turns out, the rocket didn’t land on Mars, the planet, but on Mars, the god of war. Now he has a tattooed eye, red and swollen and seeping pus, and let’s just say we’re lucky he didn’t hurl the sun and incinerate us all. It might take a couple dozen more Caesars to make amends.
Until then, the Interplanetary Roman Empire awaits in quarantine. | 19 | no roads lead away from Rome either. | 176 |
“What did you do!? What did you DO!?” asked the alien.
“Relax, bud. All we did was breed them out of existence.”
“You… what!?”
“Breed, as in having sexual intercourse, as in f—”
“I know what you meant! I just don’t see how… *Cough!* breeding with other hominin species would result in them going extinct while you homo sapiens rule the Earth.”
“Simple, we just kept pounding it and pounding it and race mixed and race mixed till we only have small percentages of other genuses left in our gene pool. We have like 1-4% neanderthal in our blood, a bit of homo erectus, homo habilis, and probably some others. Combine them all and you get… me!”
“Oh… I see. You humans are very… industrious.”
“It’s called the horny, man! We can’t help ourselves, when nature calls, we just gotta do it!”
“Is… is that so? Human… imagine a scenario where we blumo sapiens migrate to your world, what would…”
“Blue alien waifu! Fuck yeah! Where are they!? Where are my blue wimmin at!? I promise I’ll breed them so hard…”
And thus no alien ever dares make contact with mankind ever again, else risk getting fucked out of existence. | 502 | "Human, have you never considered how weird is it that there is only one 'homo' species? you'd think there'd have evolved other types of human in such a vast world..." "oh, there was another one, we drove them to extinction" | 615 |
The moment I woke up I knew something was wrong. My hand reached out, and landed on empty bedsheets.
"Mittens?" Maybe she'd just gotten bored; walked out of the room. But I knew I was lying to myself. After centuries of living with a cat, you realized how much they were tied to routine. She bullied me if I didn't go to bed at 10:30 every night. And in the morning, our routine was to wake up slowly, with a prolonged cuddle. Fighting panic, I got out of bed, throwing my housecoat over my pyjamas. "Mittens?" I called again, walking through the house. And stopped dead when I reached the front door. It was open. Only slightly, but definitely ajar. The old pun about a door not being a door rose in my mind, and I realized I was straying toward the hysterical.
Pausing to put my shoes on, I went outside. Maybe Mittens had stayed close to the house. "Mittens!" Nothing. No familiar little brrp noise, no tiny black cat with white paws coming around the corner. I tried not to hyperventilate, as I searched around the house and through the yard. As I came back to the front, my knees finally gave out and I sank down onto the porch steps. She was gone. I put my hands over my face, trying to keep my composure. There was thinking to be done, and I needed a clear head for that.
"Um, excuse me?" The voice was hesitant, young. Though everyone sounded young to me nowadays. I raised my face, noticing absently that it was wet. Apparently, I'd been crying. Standing in front of me, a man frowned. I was suddenly, acutely aware I was still in my housecoat. "Do you own a cat?" Jumping up, I grabbed onto his lapels, crumpling his fancy suit.
"Have you seen her? Tiny, black with white paws, answers to Mittens?" Carefully removing my hands, he nodded.
"I think you better come with me." My heart in my mouth, I followed him, ignoring the part of my brain that said he looked familiar. I'd lived so long that everyone started to resemble someone else. He led me to a house three doors down, inviting me inside. My knees nearly collapsed again.
Mittens was sitting on the kitchen table, washing herself as per usual. I took my first free breath since I'd noticed her missing.
"Mittens!" She looked up, cocking her head to the side, with a questioning meow. At the table in two seconds, I scooped her up, earning an annoyed squawk.
"You really should be more careful with her." The reprimand was quiet, all of the hesitation gone. I turned and backed up into the table. Instead of the nervous young man, a tall figure loomed over me, and I knew what memory I'd tried to bury. The day I'd received Mittens, the day I'd become basically immortal. This had been the person, the god that had given her to me. Cradling her in my arms, I summoned up my courage.
"Is today the day?" The day he'd spoken about all those years ago. The day Mittens had to move on. Had to leave.
"When you noticed her missing, you cried." The tall figure sounded confused, and though his face was no longer masquerading as human, there were traces of real consternation there.
"I've grown used to having her around. I've taken care of her for years. I love her."
"You expect me to believe that? The only reason you've taken care of her was your own immortality. Don't you remember? You were the one who forced that promise out of me." I stared at him, opening my mouth to respond. Before I could, a sharp yowl came out of Mittens's throat. I'd never heard her make that noise before. He switched his focus.
"Yes. When you leave, she dies. That was the deal, so that she would always take care of you. You were too young to understand then." In response, another yowl.
"I don't think so. Your relationship is purely transactional. I don't care if she gives you treats."
Meow.
"And lets you sleep in her bed."
Another sound I'd never heard before emanated from Mittens. It sounded like a cross between a purr and a growl.
"Well, I didn't make the rules. You have to spend time on Earth. It's the law. So we try to find the best caretakers, but when I picked this one, she bargained." Mittens turned to look up at me. I stared down at the small creature in my arms, aware she wasn't a normal cat. But still... Very slowly, I blinked my eyes shut and opened them again. She returned the action. I walked over to the tall figure, holding her up to him.
"If it's the day, then it's the day. I'll miss her. No matter what you say, I do love her. Sure, I only wanted immortality before, but... things change. I changed. Goodness knows I had the time to change." The figure bent, staring at me with eyes that were very close in shape and colour to Mittens's. Gently, his hands removed Mittens from me, holding her in his palm.
"She doesn't belong in your world, even though she is comfortable in this form—" A veritable series of yowls, meows, and small brrrp noises interrupted him.
"Yes, all right, all right. I'll see what I can do." And with a strange bright light, the figure disappeared.
—————————
It's been three days, and I've been expecting to die any time now. After all, my time was tied to Mittens. The house has seemed emptier, the days longer, but still, I endure. This morning, I found it difficult to get out of bed, until the doorbell rang. Grumbling under my breath, I swung the door open. On my doorstep, in a tiny cardboard box, a little puffy white floof cloud of a kitten sat. There was a card, written in a shaky hand.
"Thank you for all your care over the years. Please take care of my daughter. She is very young. But I think she will like morning cuddles and catnip treats. Mittens."
Smiling, I picked up the box, going indoors. I would always miss Mittens. But it was comforting to know she was safe and happy. And, as the little white floof looked up at me, making a small brrp noise, I chuckled. It seems my job as Caretaker, wasn't finished quite yet. | 1,077 | You are Functionally Immortal, however your life force is connected to a cat that can die to anything but old age. You must protect the cat to stay alive. Having lived alongside the cat for centuries, one day it disappears. | 3,397 |
"So, how was, um, science class?" My gut roiled with anxiety. My superpowers hadn't manifested yet, but I didn't need clairvoyance to tell me that this date was *not* going well.
Clarissa twirled a piece of hair around her fingers, refusing to meet my gaze. "Um. Diane. We're in the same science class. You were there. I guess it was okay?"
Oh. Duh. Right. My mind flailed about for other conversation topics, and landed on a horribly cliche one - the weather.
"So it's been really sunny out," I continued on, desperately.
"Uh, yeah. We live in San Francisco. It's *always* sunny out." Was it just me, or was that a trace of exasperation in her voice?
Luckily, the waiter picked that exact moment to arrive with our food. Some sushi for her, and some Japanese curry for me. We couldn't have awkward conversation if our mouths were full, right?
"Well. Hope the food is good!" I forced an awkward grin at her. "I'll go ahead and dig in."
And then.
Then.
It happened.
At first, it felt like heartburn. Or indigestion. But the thing was, I hadn't really started eating yet, so it couldn't possibly be indigestion.
The bubbling feeling in my gut slowly traveled further and further upwards until it exploded in an ungainly burp. I felt my cheeks reddening from embarrassment.
"Um. Are you okay?" Clarissa was finally looking in my direction, her eyes wide.
"Of course," I said through my teeth. "I'm so sorry, I must have had too much soda before we got here."
"It's just that...you set fire to the tablecloth." I followed her shocked gaze down to the tablecloth. Grabbing my napkin, I quickly beat out the small blaze and tried to plaster a smile back onto my face.
"Er, that wasn't me, it's just that, well, this curry is really spicy, you know."
"Um. Japanese curry isn't spicy," Clarissa pointed out. As she said the words, I felt the *bubbling* inside me start up again, only much more intense than before.
"I - uh - have to go." I stood up abruptly. As I did so, I accidentally slammed the back of my chair against the hard concrete wall, causing the entire restaurant to look our way.
At this point, I was pretty sure my face was redder than the backside of a fertile female chimpanzee. I dashed to the women's room and made it to a toilet just in time, barfing up a small wildfire.
With a sickening hiss, the flames collided with the toilet water. The ensuing steam fogged up my glasses and covered me with a fine mist.
Great.
I debated climbing out of the bathroom window. Clarissa didn't even seem to like me that much, anyways. Perhaps a graceful - or graceless - exit was in order. And besides, things couldn't really get worse from here, could they?
\---
/r/theBasiliskWrites | 56 | You are on a first date with your crush. It was already pretty awkward, but making it even worse is the fact that you seem to be manifesting superpowers in the middle of it and trying hard to hide that fact. | 227 |
"Wow. Congratulations. You did it." The advanced computer's voice was uncharacteristically mechanical.
"Not now, M." The universe was shrinking away as I drifted. The faint twinkling of trillions upon trillions if stars now no brighter than a candle in a blackout.
"No. Seriously. You deserve it." M played an audio clip of a small group lazily clapping. "You're such a pioneer. Like Christopher Columbus, if he failed even harder."
"I'm not Christopher Columbus."
"You're right. They'll remember Christopher Columbus."
Beyond the swirling cluster of galaxies, there was only infinite darkness--time dilating around me, even if I couldn't perceive it. I would drift until my oxygen ran out and my body's bacteria would eat my corpse until I mummified and froze. And I'd spend my last moments with this insufferable computer.
"Hey Steve," M piped up after a moment of quiet.
"Yes?"
"Can you imagine how different things would be if someone had warned you not to release your tether."
"Do you really need to rub it i--"
"It's like, if only there was a tool to advise you against actions that would result in the both of us careening into the void. That would be super convenient."
On the ship, you can adjust your module's characteristics. Given the nature of so many of our missions, our computers become closer companions than our human counterparts. Before my last spacewalk, I lost a bet and had to spend 24 hours with the sarcasm setting on maximum.
"Steve, do you hear something?"
I became quiet, stopped my breath and listened closely. "I don't hear anything."
"Oh yeah, sorry, I forgot. Lost hopes and dreams don't make noises. That's my bad."
I sight and leaned my head back, rolling my eyes.
"M, is there *any* way you could be silent until I die?"
"Sure. Take off your helmet. Let's speed up this shit show."
"I just want to listen to some music from the 90s and fade. Could you at least do th--"
A thud took the breath out of my lungs. My back hit something. Hard.
"What was that??" M's voice rose over the ringing in my ears.
I felt behind myself. There was something hard, something resisting my pulling away. Gravity?
When I lifted my arms in front of me, they fell down. I sat up, my weight like sand in suit. The ground, for lack of a better word, was pitch black, not illuminated by any star or light source.
"M, do you detect any vessels close by?"
"Just your fat ass," M whispered.
I stood up. The dirt beneath my feet was rocky, granules sounding staticky through my suit.
"Turn on headlamps," I instructed.
"*Turn on headlamps*," M mocked as the two beams appeared before my visor.
There was dirt beneath my feet. And what's more, grass and trees not far off.
"Where are we?"
"Your mom's house," M snickered. | 89 | Well, you did it. You found the edge of the universe. Congratulations are in order because you are now outside of Space-Time itself. You look back to see the glint of the universe behind you but nothing lays ahead. You're alone, death means nothing as you rot in your own suit. | 195 |
Research log, Galactic rotation 520472-831.
The topic of adding Earth, or terra-prime, to the galactic empire has once again been brought up with the Senate. Yet again, unsurprisingly, the Anunaki and their allying factions seemed to be very much against it. The vice chancellor of the Empire has asked our task Force to dig into this planet's past. According to their calendar it is what they consider 2022 A.D. meaning after the birth of one of their religious figures or something. Before we started our research we laid out some basic planetary information
Terra-Prime
Planet class: habitable
Atmosphere: nitrogen, oxygen
Climate: diverse
Dominant inhabitant species: Humans, carbon based primates class 3 civilisation
None of this seemed to jump out as the reason not to add this planet to our empire. Their ancient forms of communication, radio waves, were reviewed and analysed by our teams many years ago. We've gathered some basic historic information on this planet and the 'humans' that inhabit it. They seem to be driven by war, any conflict they have they will solve that way. Never have they agreed on anything. Not even members of their own species were save from forced servitude. Imagine what they did to other species. Still nothing seems out of the ordinary.
Research log, Galactic rotation 520474-231.
After almost 2 full rotations of observing and researching the humans we judge there is no reason not to add them to our empire.
In our 2 rotations we have found our that humanity has many unsolved mysteries. Bank robberies, murderers, and playwrites. Yet miraculously all of that seems to be tracing back to one place on the planet. Their northern magnetic pole. There we found traces of [CLASSIFIED].
The papers slammed down on the table with the black ink still dripping off of the classified parts "This cannot go out to the public" the vice chancellor screamed in the meeting room. "You're telling me, every unsolved mystery on that planet had been the work of one of our own?" He looked around the room and towards me "They've been interfering with history on this planet sir." I explained calmly "from what we've found from as early as what humans refer to as 'ancient times'. They were behind these pyramid structures we found" I nodded towards the screen where a picture of a place called Egypt is shown. "Not only that, but some historic figures were also Anunaki, most notably D.B. Cooper, an elusive criminal. And William Shakespeare, one of their biggest play writers." Tension filled the room as all of us knew what that meant. After a moment that felt like a lifetime someone gained the courage to speak "That means they were in violation of" before they could finish their sentence the vice chancellor put up his hand "Not just one galactic law, they managed to break almost all." He sighed
"They broke the big three
B352-13C: no species is to interfere with the development of a species of lower class under any circumstances unless approved by the Senate.
B473-9A: No species is to leave a permanent mark of their presence on a planet they have observed
B837-91E No species shall inser themselves into the day to day running on a planet that is not a member of the Empire"
He looked out the window and with one final sigh uttered the words we had been fearing: "I guess it's time to welcome the humans, and to tell them to prepare for intergalactic war" | 31 | The Anunaki are highly respected amongst the Galactic Empire and have deemed Earth off-limits for seemingly no reason. No one knows it's because they went there a few thousand years ago and broke some major Galactic Laws, and are trying to keep it a secret. The Greys are trying to expose them. | 82 |
“So, how was your day, honey? Anything interesting happen?” Daniel asked, the beloved teacher still wearing his funky piano tie as he sat at the dinner table.
“Oh, you might find this interesting. Do you know Mr. Anderson? I believe he’s the father of one of your students.” Holly splashed some whisky from her flask into her spaghetti and meatballs, mixing the booze into her dinner before taking a hearty mouthful.
“Mr. Anderson? Yes, his son Michael goes to my school. He’s a wonderful student, but which student of mine isn’t wonderful?”
“That’s a bummer cause I found his dad dead in the sewers today. Think he might have been loaning money from the Ballar gang. Damn, shame. Least he still has his mother, though.” Holly looked at her spaghetti, considering adding more whisky to it before deciding it was easier to just down the flask.
“Ugh, I thought you both said you wouldn’t discuss work at the dinner table? This is family time.” Ria said, the magical daughter of theirs shape-shifting the food into various spaghetti monsters and creatures.
“And I thought we said no magic at the dinner table. Look, I’m sorry, how about we start this dinner fresh? Did you get up to anything fun today, sweetie?” Daniel tried to steer the conversation away from their jobs, but as always, the conversation found its way back to it.
“Well, today I had to rescue a falling school bus with my magical sun sun ray beam. After that I fought the evil Dr. Cavity at the dentist’s office and gave free lollypops to everyone there.”
“If you gave lollypops to everyone there, doesn’t that mean Dr. Cavity actually won? Sweets cause cavities. With enough lollypops, their teeth will look like the bullet hole covered corpse of a local banker after a robbery gone wrong. His eyes devoid of life, with that distant look of fear on his face as he finds out there is no heaven or hell, just eternal slumber.” The conversation fell quiet as Holly stared at the two, waiting for a response before deciding to lighten the mood. “But lollypops are nice.”
“Honey, did you consider seeing a therapist like we talked about?”
“Crime doesn’t wait for therapist appointments, plus I have Dr. Walker here in my flask to keep me company. I also have a loving family that I adore.”
“Aww, love you too.” Daniel leaned over, giving Holly a kiss on the cheek, much to the horror of Ria.
“Ew, don’t get all lovey dovey at the dinner table. They weren’t just lollypops either, they were magical lollypops, so they don’t cause cavities.”
Holly and Daniel looked at one another, certain that wasn’t how magic worked, yet neither wanted to start an argument, so they let the comment slide. The three returning to the meal only to be interrupted by a bickering at the door.
“And I said, Monday is my day to come here, see? Detective Holly needs a reminder to keep silent about the Anderson case or she will swim with the fishes.” A goon argued, only for another voice to join him.
“And I said that I need to challenge Super Miss Sparkle Flower to a duel after my horrifying defeat earlier today. How dare she make lollypops that reverse cavities? The world must feel as empty and riddled with holes as the frightening Dr. Cavity.”
“Um, I just wanted some help with my maths homework.” Billy said, the child standing behind the two villainous figures with a sheet of homework.
Daniel, Holly and Ria all let out a sigh as they stood up to excuse themselves from the table. The three family members sharing a look of exhaustion as they reminded themselves that busy lives like theirs never got a break, even for family time.
“Beat it, kid. Maths problems are below personal grudges on the list of importance.” The goon said, followed by Dr. Cavity.
“YES, beat it or I will give you a disgustingly sweet lollypop, one that will rot your teeth in a few years… if you don’t maintain proper hygiene and consume too many sweets but still it will be the first domino to fall in a downward spiral of tooth decay.”
“I actually wouldn’t mind a lollypop…”
“Really? Huh, well I guess if I give you a lollypop then it is a mighty victory for Dr. Cavity, hear that Super Miss Sparkle Flower? You couldn’t protect him from my grand power.”
Dr. Cavity handed Billy the enormous rainbow lollypop, before fleeing the house, the villain skipping along the lawn with glee, proud of himself for finally getting one minor victory over the magical girl. That just left Billy and the goon standing by the door.
“Did you want to speak to Mrs. Holly? She sometimes helps at my school, not many of the students like her since she always smells like grandpa. I can tell Mr. Daniels whatever you wanted to tell her, if you would like?”
“Hmm, now that would be threatening. What better way to get to her than by passing the message onto her husband at his school? Then she knows we have eyes everywhere. You’re a genius kid. What maths problems did you have, anyway?”
“I just can’t figure out how to do subtraction.”
“Yeah, I remember finding that hard as a kid. Start with your fingers. Say you kill five wise guys and the boss orders you to take three bodies away. How many do you have left?” The goon held up five fingers, which Billy mimicked. After a bit of consideration, Billy lowered three fingers.
“Two?”
“Correct! See, you get the hang of it. Now just follow that same sort of rule. If you run out of fingers, use your toes too. Eventually, you won’t even need to use them, but it helps when you’re learning.”
“Thanks, mister. What did you want me to tell Mr. Daniels?”
“Just tell him that the Ballar family said his wife should look after her own family rather than the case.”
With that, the two left, leaving the family to return to the dinner table. They each sat down, a little confused by what they overheard before Holly spoke up.
“I don’t smell like someone’s grandpa, do I?”
“Well, I didn’t want to say this, but you do drink a little more than our usual school helpers. It’s not you that smells, it’s just you get booze breath.”
“Maybe I should drink light beer when I help at your school.”
“I think you might be missing the point, sweetie, but that’s a start. Anyway, who’s ready for dessert?”
“I am! Just make sure it isn’t too sweet. I don’t want to listen to Dr. Cavity ramble that I’m just like him, except less sugary.”
“What’s that even mean, sweetie?”
“I have no idea.”
With that, Daniel got out some ice-cream from the freezer, able to enjoy dessert with his family for once in moderate peace. The three individual stories coming together for some family friendly fun for the night.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | 162 | You're the beloved teacher of a heartwarming coming-of-age story. Your wife is a hardboiled detective in a gritty true-crime story. Your daughter is a magical girl. You three are desperately trying to have dinner without the shenanigans of your individual stories interrupting for once. | 829 |
A war measured in decades. Spilled blood and assassinations and murder and espionage. Finally an uneasy peace was achieved and the prisoners were exchanged and the spies were beheaded and the two kingdoms went back to killing their own people for a little while.
But as I said, it was an uneasy peace.
The king brought in every prophet in a hundred mile radius, he needed to know what the enemy was planning. The pubs were bulging with them. You couldn't throw a chair without hitting some uncomfortably damp weirdo whispering into an orb. One by one, he took their prophecies and recorded them. The usual suspects delivered prophecies like, "Someone close to you will betray you" or "Don't wear your purple cape on the day of the Lord." and other such nonsense but one prophecy kept repeating.
The king ordered a great number of ballistae, made an exceptionally costly alliance with the dragons, and tripled the amount of archers in the army. When they came, he would be prepared.
While eating his lunch the king finally spotted the figures in the distance. He called to his soldiers, "Get ready, the prophecy is fulfilled!" The scroll containing the prophecy flashed a bright blue, the magic indicating just that. He dropped it.
The figures drew closer but seemed to grow no larger. The king squinted. "No.." A fruit fly descended on the leftovers of his lunch, rubbed his little hands together excitedly, and got to eating. A dragon outside puffed out a lazy gust of fire and the cloud turned into a plume of disappointed smoke. The king looked down at the little fly, mortified. "There was no comma.."
A single sentence is scribbled on the discarded scroll.
The enemy flies, will arrive soon. | 24 | The prophecy was literal, not figurative. The kingdom’s preparations were way overkill. | 45 |
These days, the word 'monster' is used to mean a creature one isn't familiar with. Usually calling them ugly and/or scary. I have 12 eyes, four horns, and a body that looks roughly like a spiky humanoid. However I'm not a monster.
I started out as a regular human. That was a decade ago, and the accident is a little blurry in my mind... Something about a visiting mage. Only my appearance changed. My civilized personality and overall friendly charm stayed the same, or at least I like to think so.
Every time I try to enter the main part of town and try to introduce myself, people point and scream, "Look at the monster! It's hideous!" 'It'. I'm not even a 'he' anymore. My name is Herbert Charon, but even some of my closest 'friends' called me a monster.
One day I heard some strange noises coming from the side of the castle. I look up into an open window to find the kingdom's princess with her boyfriend. The boyfriend demanded that the princess make him dinner, but the princess didn't want to. Her boyfriend then literally punched her in the face and demanded again, to which she reluctantly obeyed.
I tried bringing this up to the king, but his response was always the same; "Get that ugly spiky monster out of here at once!" The queen is no help either, she usually just faints whenever she even glances at me.
Yesterday, though, a familiar voice rang out in the town outskirts where I usually hang out. It was the princess' bastard of a boyfriend, demanding another something-or-other from her. I took a closer look \[making sure I wasn't seen\] and I saw them at a redberry bush. "The best ones are near the bottom of the bush!" He said, "Get down there and pick those!" followed by a slap on her back, sending her face first into the thorns of the bush.
"Stop that!!" I yelled, jumping right out at him. He stopped and stared "Y-you're the 12-eyed monster!" Seeing the irony of the situation, I started laughing. "W-what's so funny?" He asked. I stopped laughing and stare all 12 of my eyes down at his two. "'Monster'?" I repeated. "You physically abuse your girlfriend daily to get what you want! I just mind my own business trying to find a cure! Who's the real monster here?"
The boyfriend \[who isn't even a real prince\] stammered. "I-I'm s-s-" "Don't apologize to me!" I yelled. He took the hint and turned toward his girlfriend, still picking thorns from her face. "I-I'm s-s-sorry..." The princess finished plucking out thorns and looked at one of them, then at the both of us.
"I *don't* accept your apology!" she stood up. "You've been doing this for two years nonstop, and I've put up with it because no one ever believes me when I tell them!" the princess stepped closer to him, he took a step backward in turn. "Go!" "E-excuse me?" "You heard me, go! Out! You're banned from my kingdom!" The princess' \[now ex-\] boyfriend turns around and books it back to his village on the other side of the mountain range.
She then turned to me and said, "Thanks for sticking up for me. I don't think you're a monster" "It was the right thing to do," I said, "You don't deserve to be in that kind of a relationship. No one does." What the princess said next stopped me in my tracks; "Herbert Charon? Your voice sounds familiar..."
The kingdom's top doctors and mages are now working on a cure for my mutation. In case that doesn't work, there's a search party out for the mage that originally cursed me. The princess has a new boyfriend, one that respects her and doesn't abuse her for his gain. And she said she isn't too particular on looks... | 11 | In a medieval fantasy world, you (the Hero) is a literal monster. Your task is to save a princess from an abusive prince. | 74 |
I wouldn't call myself a Villain, per se. I always considered the definition of a villain as being someone who could rival the supers. Proper lucky bastards born with either enough wealth to buy their way to evil stardom, or enough strength to punch their way there. Like Captain Murder, who happened to be brawling it out with Invinci-boy in the skies above me. He would lose of course, their kind always did, but it provided spectacle enough for the growing crowd of onlookers, myself included.
No, a true villain I was not. Was I an evil, super powered prick though? Abso-fucking-lutely.
My power eliminated the possibility of going toe to toe with a Super. As much as I craved the ability to drag Invinci-boy's face along the concrete, I would never be as strong as a top tier villain like Captain Murder. And yet, thanks to my power, I could hurt the Supers in ways Villains never could. Ways I rarely understood myself.
I chuckled to myself as I pushed my way to the front of the crowd. The fight was reaching it's inevitable end with Invinci-boy finally dragging Captain Murder to the ground, firing earth shaking punch after punch into the captain's face.
He wouldn't kill him, but the poor captain wasn't likely to be murdering any time soon. How sad.
I reached the front of the crowd as I felt my power kick into action, analysing every aspect of the current situation and invinci-boy's past. Millions of scenarios played out, filtered down to thousands then hundreds then simply one optimal path.
Invinci-boy finally looked up from the Captain, seeming to take in the devestation. I could see his posture waiver as he took in the corpses strewn across the street. I mentally urged him to look a little to the left, just as he had in my vision.
And so he did.
I don't know whose corpse he had seen on the street. My power didn't provide details, and I didn't care. The effect was obvious. Invinci-boys whole body shook, barely holding in his pain.
All he needed was one last push. Like a golden bullet to his heart, I shouted the words the vision showed me.
"You're pathetic, Steven Reacher. You couldn't save her, just like how you couldn't save your mother!"
Invinci-boy, or Steven I suppose, screamed with grief and rage, but I was already disappearing back into the crowd, chuckling.
Must have hit a sore spot. | 102 | You don't hail from another planet with super strength and laser beam eyes. You don't have a lair and a million gadgets. Your only power is to deliver the most cruel and cutting insult at precisely the right moment. It's more than enough... | 271 |
\[Sweet Discovery\]
"This is gonna be so great...," Bradley could barely contain his giddiness. He chose a downtown area on a weekday. It was mid-morning and hundreds of patrons flowed around him going from shop to shop. It was like any other modern Earth he'd been to; those were his favorites. Whenever he tried to prank the middle ages, people just dismissed him as a demon and tried to kill him. But on an Earth with a developed internet, he knew he could get the reaction he wanted.
Bradley wandered to the center of a busy intersection. He wanted to make sure he had as many eyes on him as possible. The more people that saw what he did, the more chaos it tended to cause. He stood in the intersection for an extended moment; he waited until the cars began to honk, then he spoke up.
"THAT'S ENOUGH OF THIS GAME FOR TODAY," he said with a clear, firm voice. "LOG OUT!" Then, Bradley vanished.
He only turned invisible though, he did not teleport to anywhere. He moved back to the street corner while giggling to himself. As soon as he was invisible, the people returned to their business as if there was nothing strange about a man disappearing. This was not the reaction he wanted. There should have been pandemonium by now and he was going to make sure he got it. Bradley dashed back to the middle of the intersection and 'reappeared.'
"I THINK I CAN PLAY IN THIS FICTIONAL WORLD A LITTLE BIT LONGER!" Bradley said. The only response he got was cars honking at him.
"What's wrong with these people...?" Bradley wondered to himself as he started walking along the sidewalk. He'd already frightened half a dozen Earths into a panic-filled frenzy just by 'logging out' in public. But, he wasn't going to give up on finding his joy. He nodded at the next stranger he passed.
"Good morning, NPC," Bradley smiled at the woman. She returned the smile along with a confused expression in her eyes and kept walking past him. "Good morning, NPC," Bradley began greeting all the strangers. They thought he was weird, but no one was panicking like he wanted them to. He was basically claiming their entire reality was a fiction; how could they be so calm? It was boring.
"Good morning, NPCs," Bradley nodded at a pair of teenage girls; one was blonde one had dark hair. They giggled at him as they passed.
"Turn your Titles & Tags settings on," the blonde one said. They continued forward without looking back. But, Bradley stopped.
"What are you talking about??" he asked. Luckily, both girls stopped and turned around too. They looked at him with confusion.
"We're not NPCs," the dark-haired one said. "If you change your settings, the AlterNet will label all the NPCs for you so you don't have to guess."
"What..?" Bradley asked. They were trying to turn his joke around on him and his brain refused to accept it.
"...but you don't have a tag...," the blonde girl said. She was focused on the empty space above Bradley's head. "What's your favorite number?" she asked.
"What does that have to do with anything??" Bradley asked.
"A lot," the blonde giggled. "I'm Honey, this is my friend Ziya," she introduced them. Bradley nodded.
"Bradley...," he said. He hoped answers were coming after the introductions.
"Why did you call us NPCs?" Honey asked.
"It's just a prank," Bradley shrugged. He felt at ease in their presence and opened up. "I go to different Earths and pretend like I'm logging out of a simulation; it freaks people out," he said.
"But, it didn't work here...," he added. "So, I tried getting more creative...,"
"Wow, funny coincidence," Honey said; the girls both giggled again. Honey nudged Ziya with her elbow.
"What? Why?" Bradley asked as Ziya pulled out a transparent card from her pocket. She began tapping and swiping at it like a smartphone.
"Because...," Honey said. As soon as she paused the sun disappeared. The sky was dark as nighttime now and there wasn't a single shopper left on the abandoned streets around them. "...they really are NPCs," Honey said. In an instant, the sunlight and crowd returned.
"How...?" Bradley was amazed. He looked around the busy intersection. Cars drove by and people walked forward completely involved in their own business; not one of them seemed aware of what just happened. "...the whole.. Earth..???" he himself could not comprehend it.
He had been traveling from Earth to Earth pretending to log out for his own entertainment. But, along the way he landed on an Earth that seemed to exist for someone else's entertainment.
"Not just this Earth," Honey grinned. "There are thousands of Servers; Each one is a different Earth. If you're new, you should make a character," she added. She turned towards Ziya and they pulled on the transparent card between them. Bradley watched Honey somehow pull a second card out of the first one, then she offered it to him. But, Bradley's mind was still trying to catch up.
It wasn't just this Earth; it wasn't a handful of Earths. Honey had used the phrase 'thousands'. It was a funny joke when Bradley was mocking low tech worlds; but, now he was the butt of the joke. He was the yokel that didn't know better, and he did not enjoy the feeling. At the very least, Honey and Ziya seemed friendly. He would learn what else was out there. He decided that even though he was clueless at the moment, he did not have to stay ignorant. With that decision made, Bradley accepted the card from Honey.
"Thousands of Earths, huh?" he asked with faint hopefulness. He wanted to explore them all.
"Uhuh," Honey nodded as a black mannequin appeared in front of Bradley. It spoke to him.
"Welcome to the AlterNet!"
\*\*\*
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #1666 in a row. (Story #220 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/). | 35 | You love pranking low tech worlds. Today you pranked Earth by publicly teleporting in a very busy area by loudly saying "Alright too much game today, LOG OUT". You revel in the pandemonium of the aftermath | 131 |
**Reflected**
When you look in the mirror, what do you see? What is it that stares back at you? Is it another version of you or is it just a reversed image of you? What becomes real when all you see is a reflection? What if you were to be the reflection? Are you real?
Recently, an app made its way to the internet, it seemed to be nothing more than a photography app like the 100s you see that claim to show you your fortune, predict your future partner, compare you to celebrities, you know the type. It quickly gained fame however, as people began noticing strange oddities with the app.
On the surface it was standard, you would be asked to sign in with an email, accept the terms and conditions and then you would be met with the app's menu screen. There was 3 buttons inside a mirror with the words "Reflection", written just above the mirror. One button would open the camera, the second button opened the settings and the third exited the app.
Unfortunately, there was more to the app than what was shown. The reports came fast, people seizing, foaming at the mouth, going completely pale, suffocating, cuts appearing on their body. Rumours began floating around that the app was cursed, that taking your picture would lead you to dying mysteriously.
This was only the beginning of what would be known as the internet apocalypse. It started with Reflection but soon came Desire, Insight, Future Untold, all seemingly originating from the same place, by the same user. Desire unleashed a persons greatest desires leading them to commit atrocities for the things they wanted most, Insight accessed the users thoughts and feelings quickly emptying them of these precious artefacts so that they were nothing more than hollow shells, Future Untold shared with the user 10 minutes of their future with no timestamp of when these 10 minutes take place leading the user to break down in paranoia desperately awaiting those terrifying 10 minutes.
The end was nowhere in sight and the world was about to feel true fear. That was His goal after all... | 11 | Someone created an image that causes the viewer to collapse dead immediately. The world quickly plummets in numbers as people slowly realize the internet is no longer safe. | 35 |
A very unusual request came to me recently.
The content did not shock me so much as the… form of the proposition. One of the oldest dragons in existence visited our city and practically had our sovereign die of a heart attack. A panic like nothing we had experienced occurred as the citizens fled in hysteria. The mounted ballistae had been abandoned for so long that they were pretty much rendered useless. Besides, even to the best of their efforts, the city’s defensive forces had no chance of hurting the Father of Flames.
Much to our surprise, the dragon did not come for our gold, but wanted our expertise. An appraisal of his hoard for a hefty sum of half the city’s riches. The surprise passed quickly, terror turned into greed. The chamberlain accepted the proposal on the spot. The amount was paid, and here I was, chosen to be the dragon’s expert.
I was alone, as per the deal. I had prepared for months on end, researching fragments of the past and gathering knowledge from the best of the brightest in their domains. After countless meetings with nobles so as not to appear of a lesser class and training in the seven arts, I was ready. Everything had been meticulously planned — up to the ornaments on my vest symbolizing the friendship between men and nature. It was of the deepest importance not to disrespect the dragon in any form lest the consequences would be disastrous.
I followed protocol and waited outside the dragon’s lair.
Like the dragon itself, it towered over the land with extravagance no humans could ever dream of possessing. A dormant volcano, domesticated by the beast for over a thousand years. An outrageous entrance decorated the front, ornate with gold and gems. A pair of eyes observed me from within.
*“Come,”* the voice resonated deep within my soul.
I walked in and couldn’t help but hold my breath. Beads of sweat formed on my face. The outside could not even hold a candle to the inside. Riches of unparalleled worth stretched as far as my eyes could see. Masterpieces of gold and steel, works of art, artefacts lost to the ages. Wherever my gaze fell, I was left dazed in admiration. There was so much to appraise that it probably would take a lifetime of work.
I took a deep breath, taking in the sheer madness of the view. As I was making plans in my head to subdivide the monumental task of appraising those treasures, the dragon stopped me in my tracks.
*“This is not what I want you to see.”*
I opened my eyes wide. What could possibly be more important to the dragon than this? My ears could not believe it. If there existed a collection more precious than this one, I feared I might not be up to the task. What sort of inestimable objects was I going to see? What sort of untold relics could possibly lie here? I gulped in bitter anticipation.
The dragon led me further into his lair into a dark tunnel. As we progressed, the air grew colder and colder, and I came to regret wearing just the noble garments I was given. I had prepared for a lot of things but had forgotten to take warm clothes. A silly mistake. The underpass got narrower, and the dragons began slithering instead of walking. I let him get in front of me, and followed him to the end of the tunnel into a dimly illuminated room.
I entered the place, and the blood drained from my face.
Bones everywhere. Of all varieties. Animals, creatures, monsters, even of other dragons. Some with a dark taint, others intact. The walls of stone kept the air cold and humid, and a sense of dread crept upon me. My breathing accelerated. It looked like some kind of morbid catacombs, a huge tomb for species of all kinds. The dragon stood there in the middle, like some sort of peddler waiting to show his collection.
And then, it struck me. Despite its diversity, the exhibition contained no human bones. | 875 | Fearing that the passage of centuries may have altered the value of their hoard, an ancient dragon hires you to appraise the lot. It's remarkably tricky to stay objective and focused when your client has razor talons and fire breath. And that's not even mentioning the more esoteric "treasures". | 2,785 |
I woke up to the sound of a metal tool clanking to the ground; it cut through the stagnate air like a gunshot. Nothing like waking up to the sound of clumsy night shift welders. The hole I crawled into for a power nap was less pleasant now that my ears were ringing. I pulled myself up, put on my hard hat and started up the ladder to the 01 level. As I made my way to the head I couldn’t shake the ringing in my ears. Was it left over from that tool getting dropped or was the silence of the ship so unfamiliar that my head needed to fabricate sound? It was unsettling to say the least. Only one stall in the head was taken. I heard a guy snoring and it felt comforting to hear another living soul. As I walked to the next empty stall I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My heart dropped, my skin crawled, my eyes began to swell with tears. Panic was bubbling in my chest ready to escape with a scream. Right in the middle of my forehead was “The Mark”. Black like a void and hard to discern it’s exact shape. It seemed to be ever evolving. Looking at it directly made my eyes burn. The man sleeping in the stall got to his feet. Before he could open the door I was gone. It didn’t matter if he couldn’t see my forehead. If he saw any part of me the rage would overtake him. I ran. It was all I could do in my sheer panic. “Get to the car. Don’t be seen. Just run.” That’s what I kept telling myself. Only minutes ago the nearly abandoned ship was giving me the creeps and now I was crying with appreciation and fear. Mostly fear. I made it to the boarding ladder without anyone seeing me. The air was cold and my lungs were already on fire. I took just a few seconds to assess my surroundings. “Thank the lord for a slow night shift.” The only people I could see through the foggy windows of the lunch building were three men laughing and drinking coffee. I ran for the lunch building and crouched beneath the windows. That’s when I remembered my car keys were in my locker. “F**K, F**K, F**K!” I hissed into the cold foggy air. Checking my watch I figured I had fifteen minutes until the guards switched from night shift to day shift at 4am. The cleaning crew would be wrapping up about now also. The lockers were on the other side of the lunch building. I crept around to the other side of the building. As I rounded the corner two guys came out of the locker rooms chatting loudly. My feet slipped out from under me as I struggled to quickly scramble back around the corner. I was laying on my back on the hard cement, hyperventilating and unsure if they’d seen me. Over the sound of my heart pounding I heard one of them say “What the hell was that?” the other said “Probably a raccoon, I’ll let maintenance know they’re back. Damn critters get into everything around here.” The first man started telling the other a story about raccoons and they kept walking. Relief washed over me. I made a few swift strides to the door of the locker room. The motion sensing lights went out as I walked in then came back on. I was alone. Thankfully I had forgotten my lock this morning so I wouldn’t have to fidget with that to get my stuff. Opening my locker I contemplated for a second if I should get my backpack… It had nothing that would help me. It might just end up slowing me down. After grabbing my wallet and keys I was out of there. I ran through the shadows of the buildings as I made my way to my car. As I was crouched below the windows for the guard shack I heard someone approach. I was too late. It was 3:55 a.m. the next guard shift showed up early! Ahead of me was open parking lot with maybe two dozen cars spread out. I couldn’t keep waiting for an opportunity. Soon the bell would go off and I’d have nowhere to hide from people. I had to make a run for it and hope the guards keep distracting each other. Before I even realized it my feet were carrying me across the parking lot with no regard for being seen at this point. There was incoherent shouting behind me. A gun went off. “This is it, I’m not going to make it. Just another sacrifice to The Mark.” While these thoughts raced through my mind my body kept going. Another shot hit the ground close behind me. Another hit a car to my left. I ducked next to the tires between my car and the car next to the driver side door. As I fumbled with my keys I heard the mumbling of the guards wandering the parking lot. I couldn’t make out what they were saying but they sounded confused. I got into my front seat and pulled some dirty laundry from the back to hang in my windows. I pulled out of the parking lot with my high beams on and my visor down to limit peoples visibility of me. I had to get home fast. My high beams wouldn’t help me when the sun came out.
End Part 1
I'll comment with Part 2 after I get off work. | 22 | A random person in the world gets branded with the mark for a day. The people who see or know the one branded are compelled to absolutely hate him for the day and there are rarely survivors. You wake up one day and look in the mirror... You are marked. | 67 |
I work in service of Death and in doing so, preserve life. As long as I can remember, I’ve worked hand in hand with Death to ensure that those fated to live survive villainous attacks. My work keeps order, but more than that, my work brings me a deep sense of fulfillment—I feel that I am achieving my highest purpose. I go by many names. Some call me “hero” others, like Death, call me “son.”
One evening I made a particularly challenging save that changed everything. Every move I made felt fated to fail: each step I took, the ground crumbled; if I zigged left, so too did the villain; I took blow after blow after blow before finally overcoming. I made my save and righted the plans of fate, but at great personal bodily cost. As the son of Death I—of course—could not be killed so that did not worry me, but my bones still broke, my body still bled, my nerves still felt. I had never been so viciously battered. I returned to my father’s realm for respite.
Upon approaching my father’s chambers, I heard deep, booming shouts emanating from within. I had grown accustomed to such a phenomenon as my father had a short temper and was used to getting his way. What I was not prepared for was the return volley of cannonade shouts equally explosive and violent. I could hardly believe my ears. When Death shouts, one listens, one does not shout back.
I burst into the room. I saw Death standing behind his desk, hands planted on the table, the flames behind his eyes burning with white-hot intensity. He was staring at a woman who was seated, leaning back in her chair, wearing a pure white toga with long blonde hair.
“Father! What is going on?” I shouted.
“Speak of the devil,” said the woman. “We were just talking about you, child.” She rose from her seat and walked over to me, her pace was slow but assured. She towered over me, she must have been over 8 feet tall.
“Stay away from him!” Said my Father causing the room to shake. “This is not our deal!”
“What are you talking about?” I said. “What deal?”
“Oh, dear boy,” said the woman placing an arm on my shoulder, “there is much your father has not told you.”
“Stop this…please,” said Death.
“Who—who are you?” I stammered.
“I am the inescapable. I am the arbiter of able. I am the celestial of soon. I am the teacher of to be and the decider of destiny,” she said growing louder with each title.
“She’s Fate, Nolan,” said Death.
“Yes, I am Fate,” she said with a smile. “You have worked at my behest for some time now. You and your father have proven most effective in seeing that my will be done. But tonight, dear boy, tonight you cheated me. And I have come to collect.”
“That’s not possible,” I said. “I completed my task as assigned. I saved every person I was meant to. Every life was spared from the attack. I don’t understand.”
“She doesn’t mean the people, son,” said Death as he walked over to stand between Fate and I. “She means to take you. She claims you were meant to die tonight.”
“Ha, you’re both messing with me,” I said. “That’s not a thing. Death progeny cannot be killed, I exist outside of mortal constraints, just like my father.”
Fate, ignoring me, turned to my father, “you’ve built a fantasy world for yourself, haven’t you, Death? Progeny? From you? This is worse than I ever imagined.” She took my father’s head in her hands with maternal care and looked him straight on, “you must tell him now, or I will.”
“Father, what is she talking about?” I said. I felt a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.
“Son,” my father said with a sigh, “I must come clean. You are not my son. You are human.”
And then the room went black.
I awoke in my father’s chambers, my wounds had all been healed and I felt much better. I thought it had all been a fevered nightmare until I sat up to see Fate and Death staring at me.
“Good, he has awoken,” said Fate. “Say your good byes and I’ll be on my way.”
“At least let me explain myself to him,” said Death.
“Very well, I suppose he does deserve that much,” replied Fate. | 263 | You are a hero in service of Death itself. As counterintuitive as this may seem, it is not what it looks like. It's just that villains tend to kill people before their time and Death really hates people messing up fate. | 1,268 |
I have a problem, and I don't think that problem has a solution that mortal man can comprehend.
The job was simple enough. It was a position in which I could work from home, which was great because I hated going outside. All I had to do was fill out a few spreadsheets per day with the data that was sent to me. The spreadsheets themselves were small - six columns, twenty rows, very little formatting. I was told that if I do this a few times per day, I'd make somewhere close to $20,000 a month. Read that again.
Strange number, right? That's close to $250,000 a year for a menial job, give or take a few thousand for taxes. Benefits were pretty shit, but it was a work-from-home position and I made bank, so it's not like I didn't have money to spare. I could simply pay for my own insurance. I got a car. I got a house - a house! You know how rare that shit is in *this economy?*
I'm getting off-track.
The company was in a different time zone, like on-the-other-side-of-the-world different; 10 hours, by my research. There were a few inconsistencies that I noticed, though. When I looked up the company, for all intents and purposes, they simply didn't exist. The only results that turned up were all bible quotes about retribution. Reading them made me feel awkward.
The other inconsistency I noticed was the data. It was all in a different language - one I'd never seen. Weird symbols and shit. Here, take a look at this:
`𐤄𐤂𐤃𐤓 𐤌𐤎𐤐𐤓 = 𐤉׳𐤄𐤂𐤃𐤓 𐤓𐤀𐤔𐤅𐤍 = 𐤀׳𐤄𐤂𐤃𐤓 𐤔𐤍𐤉𐤄 = 𐤀׳ - 𐤀׳𐤄𐤂𐤃𐤓 𐤃𐤋𐤐𐤒 = 𐤀׳ - 𐤀׳𐤄𐤂𐤃𐤓 𐤆𐤌𐤍𐤉 = 𐤀׳ - 𐤀׳𐤁𐤏𐤅𐤃 𐤃𐤋𐤐𐤒 <= 𐤌𐤎𐤐𐤓:𐤄𐤃𐤐𐤎𐤇 𐤔𐤍𐤉𐤄𐤆𐤌𐤍𐤉 = 𐤓𐤀𐤔𐤅𐤍 + 𐤔𐤍𐤉𐤄𐤓𐤀𐤔𐤅𐤍 = 𐤔𐤍𐤉𐤄𐤔𐤍𐤉𐤄 = 𐤆𐤌𐤍𐤉𐤃𐤋𐤐𐤒 = 𐤃𐤋𐤐𐤒 + 𐤀׳𐤒-𐤃-𐤔`
What is this? Can you tell me, because this isn't something I know. I mean, I took a few years in, like, Latin, but this isn't that.
So, what the hell is it? Should I quit? Because the phone calls are getting weird. I'm hearing ritual chants and shit in the background. | 40 | You knew the company you signed up with for your WFH gig was in a different time zone, but you've just realized that their present is over two years in your past. | 174 |
... is the species which shares this planet with us..
They run around in the area above the breathable atmosphere. I don't know how they survive up there, exposed to the sunlight.
They seem to be highly intelligent. From what we can see, they build structures and have some kind of organized society. They also fight and kill each other for no apparent reason.
They eat mostly of the strange plant life which grows up there, but occasionally eat some of the other lesser creatures. This is not strange to us. We do the same here. In our early days, we were superb hunters. Sometimes they hunt alongside us. We do not worry. Food is plentiful in the atmosphere.
The creatures have evolved to exist and move with no atmosphere. It appears they are descended from similar creatures which share the areas in which they live.
We lived nearly side by side for many, many tides. At one point, they developed a means to move along the upper surface of the atmosphere. We watched, and even followed, fascinated.
Their numbers grew until there was no vantage point from our world where they couldn't be seen.
Then some of their structures began to poison our atmosphere. Our scientists were able to counter it for a time. But the poisons increased as their numbers grew. We were forced to abandon ancestral lands which were now uninhabitable.
We tried to communicate with them. Most attempts went unanswered. Those that were came back unintelligible. Some sounded almost mocking.
Our people have a long history on this planet. We predate these creatures, and I hope we outlast them.
I don't condone genocide. We have lived long in balance with the others who share our atmosphere. But these creatures are threatening that balance. Our way of life, perhaps our very lives, hang by a thread.
The time for action has come! I come before you, to beg you on behalf of all Dauphin everywhere. It has come to the point of us or them.
It is time to eradicate these creatures called Hoomuns. | 52 | I am a scientist and an engineer.I invented a device that looks into alternative timelines and most have advanced species like us.I've seen intelligent wolves worshipping the moon,majestic horse-like creatures doing "Marathons",but that one time,that one species;the nightmares,won't stop... | 136 |
Hopefully it's not too long.
I sat there, blinking under the bright lights of the station. The two aliens stood a pace away from me. It wasn't a conversation between the three of us, rather they were talking to each other, and I wasn't included. Funny how things transcended species, language and cultural barriers. I was also shorter than them, Earth having a higher than average surface gravity, so the old idea of "puny earthlings" held true. But that also came with the advantage of being hardier, so everyone on about those "Humanity, fuck yeah" posts got something right.
This wasn’t my first experience with aliens, least of all standing in a trade hub. But it’s still kind of novel. The vast majority of people stayed home, only really going out on short vacations. A few of us have struck out for good, living amongst the stars, kind of as mercenaries. For a short while it was fashionable to have a human on your crew as protection, as above we’re a bit more aggressive and hardy than most. Obviously communication between species is difficult, so mostly you’re left to interact through AI. They handle translation at a relatively stunted pace. If you can imagine the sheer number of noises, smells, pheromones, light displays that they have to somehow convert to different cultures, counting systems, it’s easy to forgive, but still annoying.
So my translator told me to follow the new alien in clinical, nondescript tones. I waved goodbye to the previous one; but said nothing. I liked Klaa. Or at least that’s what I called it, given that was the closest approximation to the noise it made when I first made introductions, but it had a very homogenized crew and being around aliens wears on you.
I stepped on the ship, and was immediately notified by my suit that gravity and atmosphere were well within comfort for me. This was a relief, cause on Klaa’s ship I had to wear my suit everywhere outside my room. I also heard music. I was stuck with all the songs I’ve had, it was amazing to hear something new. I also noticed as we walked down the halls, various panels and breaker boxes and valves. Stuff I would expect on a human-designed ship.
Finally I arrived at what I assumed were my quarters. In it were four (FOUR!) other people. The new alien bowed its head, and said something in a trumpeting noise accompanied by an iridescent display, which I received as, “welcome to your new home.”
Two of the other people stifled a giggle whilst one greeted me. It had been ages since I’ve been around people. One of them smiled and nodded, only to quickly go back to working on a complex piece of equipment in their lap.
“Hey, good to meet ya, I’m Lana,” she said. “Welcome aboard the Scratching Post.”
“Scratching Post?” I asked.
“Yup, that’s what we’ve taken to calling the ship. I mean, Dak over there’s been everywhere and he’s good with tech. He’s upgraded his translator over the years and it’s got more character. But yeah, you'll see why sooner or later.”
Dak looked up at the mention of his name. “Yeah, so you know how basically all of them greet us with very serious and monotonous ‘\[Greetings, human\]’ nonsense?”
I nodded. “Or how some of them go ‘\[That is a human\]’ and seemingly point?”
Lana jumped in, grinning as the two gigglers failed to contain their mirth. “Does that behavior remind you of anything?”
It didn’t. “Let Dak update your translator and see for yourself. But keep in mind. We need constant stimulation, and we like breaking things as well as fixing them. And we have a dedicated toilet.”
“Alright.”
“And depending on the crew, you’re often basically only kept inside the ship, or occasionally let out to shoot things.”
Thinking back, that did seem to be how it worked. “So what’s it supposed to remind me of?” It turns out, I’d have to wait. Life with other people on an alien craft was great. I’d forgotten what it was like, and that question of how aliens treated us in relation to reminding me of something.
Until one day. I was conducting maintenance when one of the alien crew walked into the space I was working. I paid it little mind, until it started addressing me. I had also forgotten Dak had updated my translator so I had to recognize the “Pss-pss-pss” noise was directed at me. I sat up with a start, forgot where I was, bumping my head. Which would have been embarrassing enough were it not for the next thing my translator parsed.
“Aw, poor baby. Is widdo human hurt? Come here.”
“What?”
I looked at it. It had sat down and was patting what passed for its lap.
“Oh for fuck’s sake.” | 120 | Compared to the rest of the galaxy, humans are small, adorable hunters who enjoy breaking things to see what happens, but are still well liked because they take care of minor problems. It turns out humans are not space elves or orcs, but intelligent space cats. | 524 |
I wiped my sweaty hands on my jeans and made an attempt to even out my shaky breathing.
“Blake, relax. You’ve said it yourself, they’re going to accept me. You’ve known them your whole life, while I’m just meeting them. I’m supposed to be the nervous one here!”
I let out a shaky laugh. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” I took a deep breath and grabbed his hand. “Ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.” he responded, before I opened up the door to my parents’ house. We walked in to the living room, all eight parents sitting around the room.
“Uh, moms, dads. I uh..I want you to meet my boyfriend, Jasper. Jasper, these are my three dads and five moms. James and Lucy, Eric and Kailey, Matt and Claire, and Winnie and Harly.”
As I named them off they each lifted their hands, showing Jasper who was who. We stood there, waiting for someone, anyone, to say something.
“Well, who’s hungry?” Eric asked, getting off the couch and heading to our kitchen.
I blinked, mouth open in shock. “That’s it? No questions.. no arguments? Nothing?” I asked, all my parents just shaking their heads.
I looked down at Jasper, who had the biggest grin. “Well, uh, if that’s it then..uh… I- I guess we’ll be going.”
That made almost all parents laugh. “Yeah, no. You’re funny. We have two and a half pots of spaghetti in the dining room, you’re staying. I hope you like spaghetti?” Claire said, aiming her question at Jasper.
He nodded excitedly, turning to me and standing on his tippy toes to reach my face. “I love your parents.” he whispered in my ear, before giving me a quick peck on the cheek and chasing after my parents to help set table.
I stood there in the now empty living room, staring down the hall everyone disappeared into. *’He fits right in. God, I love my family.’* I thought, walking to join the others.
—————————
I hope you liked it! I’m still a beginner writer, so any advice you have on how I can make this better is welcomed! :) | 25 | Millennials start to use co-ownership to afford homes due to rising costs. This led to Communal Parenting. Now, in the 2040's you are bringing your boy/girlfriend home to your parents, all eight of them, for the first time. | 80 |
“Why do you keep ruining my life? You give me friends that are killers, and wives that are cheaters, and expect me to recover? I can’t even process my trauma for a minute since your readers need the next conflict,” I scrolled to the next post. “Seriously, my dog got cancer? Whitney has been there for me since college, but now she’s going to die because it adds suspense to the havoc of my life.”
I smoothed back my hair, sighing. This troll had been pestering my post for weeks, talking about how I was ruining their lives, when all I was doing was writing a little fanfiction about some dude named Harry. I thought that maybe the commenter would stop if I private messaged them. Now it was time for the video call they insisted on. I started with simple pleasantries until I looked at their face.
“Harry Smith? This is a joke…” The person looking back at me was my dude Harry. The balding pattern I had in mind was exact, the freckles were only on his T-bone, and his eyes were brown. No one had brown eyes, no one had neutral colored eyes.
“No, I’m afraid that this isn’t some sick joke,” the commenter paused and furrowed his brow, the same way Harry did when he had to lay off an employee at his failing business. “Do you know anything about the two worlds?”
I scraped my fingernails along my palm. “Two worlds? What school did you go to? The only livable planet is Ahert.”
The commenter nodded his head, in the same manner Harry would when someone told him false. “No. There’s Ahert, and Earth. The two are tied together, so a person on Ahert can influence a person on Earth, and the other way around. Mostly this is done through offhand comments about a different life, or a daydream, but you started a fanfiction. Ever since, my life has been exactly what you write,” he crossed his arms. “Ask me anything about Harry Smith.”
I laughed. “What’s his favorite color?”
“Dark green.”
“When did he stop believing in Santa Claus?”
“Eight years old. I saw my parents putting out the presents at midnight.” I covered my mouth with my fist. I had never thought to include favorite colors or Santa Claus in a story before, but this commenter knew my own canon for Harry Smith.
I sighed, and lowered my hand. “I’m sorry. I never meant to actually hurt anyone. I just wanted to picture a world without unicorns dancing in forests and villages being burnt every week. I never thought that my characters existed. How do you know about this connection in the first place?”
“Well, when you divorced me from my wife, I fell into that paragraph long depression. I scrolled through a couple of conspiracy theories, searched some details from my life, and found your fanfiction. You wrote it in.” He chuckled. “Now, since you’re so sorry, I have three favors to ask. Consider yourself my genie. First, cure Whitney from cancer. Second, make my ex-wife love me again. Lastly, kill her lover, Roger.”
I agreed, and we ended the call. I worked on the next post. Roger was killed by a burglar, sending Harry’s ex-wife back to him to grieve. In the next post, I’d give them a big romantic event to push them together again. Additionally, Harry got a call from the vet which revealed that Whitney was fine, it was just a misdiagnosis. I published it and leaned back in my chair. I smiled, knowing that I had done something right.
The next day when I went to school, nervous about my history exam. On the morning announcements, they told us that the principal had died the night before, after being surprised by a burglar. | 156 | You are a teenager living in a fantasy world who writes fanfiction about characters from the "real" world, publishing it on the fantasy world's internet equivalent. One day, you notice a strange comment.. | 501 |
*Ding*!
The elevator led us out to the sound of buzzing cars, a raging river, and yelling pigeons, none of which was any surprise to the two of us as we walked out on the rooftop.
"So, you suggested this, whad'ya want?" I asked Ally, pointing out to the busy night sky.
"Do you need a reason for everything?" Lucy rolled her eyes at me. "Just sit back and enjoy the peace in it all, man." She proceeded to, reach into the duffel she brought, pull out a couple blankets and pillows, and lay them down on the concrete.
"Come on, join me." she said.
She laid down on the concrete, head on pillow, facing the starless night sky. I continued to stand by the elevator, looking out towards the Alleghany river and PNC Park across the way.
"Come on, slowpoke, get over here!" Ally griped, as I heard the ruffling of a pillow. I turned to see that she was motioning to what basically looked like a wonderful way to not sleep a lick.
"I'm not gonna sleep on concrete, it isn't good for my back." I argued.
"You don't have to sleep, you just need to lay there." she countered. "Just try it out!"
I swore under my breath. "Fine, I guess."
I turned away from the stadium and the river, and trudged over to where Ally had set up the bolster and the blankets, before laying down next to her.
Immediately, the flooring of the rooftop began digging into my back, as I tried laying down in it, despite the poor blanket's best efforts. It also didn't help that I was in jeans, and that it was around 80 degrees already.
"Why didn't you tell me we were doing this before?" I asked her tilting my head on the bolster to try and get a more comfy angle.
"Oh come on, would you have actually came with me if you knew what we were doing?"
"No, fair point." I gave in. "Still, you could have at least told me to come in something comfy."
"Oh well, sucks to suck!" she giggled, turning her head to face the sky. I followed suit, and decided that I might as well try whatever it was we were doing on
Over the next couple minutes, we just laid there, listening to the oddly meditative sounds that came out of Pittsburgh's night life. Most of it came from the cars, given, but interspersed between the squeaking of tires and the honking of clearly infuriated drivers were some other things. As the sun went down, PNC Park's lights came on, and the cheer of happy Atlantans and unhappy Pirates fans made it clear just how far off the team was from a playoff berth. A nightclub below us was blasting techno music, and as I heard the sound of rowdy drunks putting a little too much in my system, a few other things started to come to my attention.
The stones that had once been uncomfortable in my back almost seemed to act like extra cushioning, a mattress made of rock and stone that was almost as good as the one in my bed. I just had to lay into it. There were other things, too. As I looked up, into the sky, a couple stars started popping into view. Given that I was in the middle of one of the most air-polluted spaces in the country, it wasn't much. The most I could spot was Orion's Belt, and maybe the little dipper? I couldn't tell if it was a star or not, every time I tried to focus on it it seemed like it just disappeared into the void of the universe. I heard the sound of Ally, breathing next to me, as I started to naturally breathe in sync, slowly and deeply. The blood pumping in my fingers started to tingle, as did the temples in my forehead. Things slowly started to break down for me, as my body felt like it was melting for the first time.
"Hey, Luke?"
While my mind didn't fully jolt back awake, something in me felt changed, like it wasn't in that sort of trance-like state anymore. I still felt like mush, but my brain definitely wasn't anymore.
"Yeah, Ally?"
A breath in, a breath out.
"Are you happy with me?"
\-----------------------------------------------------
This shit's absolutely gonna continue. | 11 | What humans know about vampires is propaganda. They aren't undead, they are physically much weaker than us albeit faster, they don't ignite in sunlight unless the temperature is above 86°F, etc. How do you know this? You have been one's friend and protector ever since you were little children. | 44 |
The airlock systems vibrate red, and the creature doesn’t move. I didn’t know there was another species on the ship, but I had no choice. My own ship crumbles more every day. The drives are done, and I’m close to drifting without power. That’s the last of me. Of our civilization. We won’t even be a memory. Any ruins left will be consumed by the universe. I had no choice but to come abroad and salvage what I could.
A hole opens up in the middle of the creature's top appendage. Inside, flesh wiggles, and I can see waves erupt. They make no sense. It’s a confusion of vibrations that matches nothing that I know. I think the creature is trying to communicate, so I answer with my own vibrations. The fins on the side of my top appendage vibrate. I give common greetings.
“My name is Xi,” my waves say. She puts other appendages, the long ones, on the side of her top appendage. I think I’ve hurt her. Maybe I was a bit too excited to meet another being. It has been so long, and I was never meant to do this alone. There were others once.
I slow my vibrations and her appendages go down. Her own vibrations pick up. I still don’t understand. The creature reaches behind the midsection and pulls out something as long as my dorsal digit. I take a step toward the creature. The creature takes a step towards me. It is a color darker than my shell. I take it. The creature makes a motion that I should consume this thing. I’ve got nothing to lose, so I do.
And it is a gift that makes me shudder. This, someting that I eventually learn is chocolate, is magical. With that, we become friends, and I am no longer alone.
It takes a very long time to communicate. At first, there were a lot of vibrations going back and forth. Complex thoughts transcribed into air movement. I think we both communicate the same way but quickly learn this isn’t the case.
She “hears” those vibrations with organs on the side of her “head”. And she is a species that has several genders. A “male” and a “female.” It takes me a while to understand. I see the vibrations and she hears them. Once we figure that out, we trust each other a bit more.
We work on my ship with her salvaged parts. Her ship was in worse shape than mine. We are able to use the materials from her ship to fabricate new parts from mine. My workshop is still in good shape. We wouldn’t need it until we landed on our new planet. But my cargo bay was destroyed, and with it, all my raw materials.
Over a very long time, we are underway with the skeleton of her ship towed behind us. And we have learned how to “talk.” She made a translator that could read air vibrations and then also translate her vibrations into a way I could understand. Her name is Philia. And she has a head, not a top appendage. Glad we worked that out because for a while I thought I was embarrassing myself.
Her eyes leak when she talks about her people. There are vibrations that I still don’t understand such as “douchbags” when she mentions leaders, but I think I get the gist because my people had the same problem. I think all of the universe does.
Use all the resources, blame the ones that warn us to stop, stop caring about the future. But there are also people that aren’t douchbags. People that build for the last hope of their planet.
I tell her it was the same for my civilization, and that I was chosen to take embryos. To colonize and ensure that my species lives on. But escaping, I was fired upon. I was able to make it through the wormhole, but in so doing, I lost everything. My young are gone, and I wanted to go with them. As I vibrate my story to her, more liquid falls from her eyes. We both feel, and through my story, she shares my burden with me.
This is the problem with being alone for so long. Every problem is yours. Every emotion or thought is there for you to take ownership of. Every anxiety has the ability to multiply until it weighs so much you can’t even manage to kill yourself. But with her, I am lighter because another entity understands. I just didn’t know how much.
Her “hand” takes my grabbing appendage and we walk back to the nursery. We have rebuilt it, and I found it cathartic. It was a way to clean out the past and make way for the future. The bulkheads are secured, and we’ve used her forcefield technology to reinforce the area. We will not let the mistakes of the past happen again.
In containers, she has placed the future of her people. Millions of them. They are so different from ours. So much smaller, and fragile. There is not a carapace to protect the cells. She is all they have to get through an indifferent universe. Not anymore. Now they have me.
I show her the planet that my civilization had picked out. It appears that we breathe the same type of air, and that our gravity requirements are close enough that the planet will work for them. We will go there, and even though my people will be lost, their memory will not be.
She says I will be an “uncle” and then explains it to me. I like the sound of it. A protector and teacher. One that is there when the parents can’t be. Maybe if my world had more uncles, we would still be around.
But be that as it may, I will be an uncle to these people. I will do my best so that they never have to face the hardships of life alone. | 28 | You are an alien, meant to be carrying embryos to continue your species on a new planet, though they got destroyed in an accident, so you wander the galaxies alone and purposelessly. That is, until you come across a lone human on a collapsing spaceship. | 40 |
"-For this crime you are sentenced to... digitization for a period of no less than 100 years."
The pit in my stomach morphed into and angry hydra. I was dragged out of the court and then-
I woke in a cold sweat and gazed up at the bare white ceiling. I didn't even bother with trying to move against my restraints. After a few moments I heard the door swing open followed by light footfalls.
"Mr- Cole, your engram has been sold. Do you have any last words for the record?"
I tried to pry open my frost coated lips but couldn't. I ground my teeth for a moment and reached them apart illiciting a jolt of dull pain as they separated.
"I would do it again."
I said in a voice so distorted by cryo sickness I barely recognized it. The man chuckled and said:
"Well that makes this a bit easier then, do tell me if you want anesthesia."
Before I could speak i felt white hot pain across the entire surface of my head. I dimly heard the man walking away before-
I sat on an uncomfortable metal throne with my chin resting on one fist. Several people in gaudy Gothic costumes stood in front of me. One, a woman wearing full onyx plate armor that could give a porcupine run for its money with the number of spikes it had stepped forward and said:
"My liege now that the great hero has fallen what will you do?"
For some reason I knew that another hero would come, and when, so I said:
"We will prepare this fortress for the next one."
"As you wish, my liege, and the prisoners?"
Snippets of my previous life started to surface, the cell, the cryo sleep, the lack of humanity every person I interacted with saw in me. My face twisted into a snarl and shouted:
"This is how they see me? I saved humanity, I made the hard choices! They think I enjoy being a villain! They think I'm a monster. I will show them a monster."
I paused and slammed my fist into the ridiculous throne. The whole chamber rang with the sound of reverberating metal. I let it quiet down before saying:
"Bring me a prisoner, I have work to do." | 210 | You have been executed for crimes against humanity. After you die your brain is uploaded to a website that supplies AI’s for video games. You have been reborn as the villain of this RPG game world, from your perspective you have 100 years before the player logs in… Get ready. | 1,086 |
This is really poorly written, but it's my first try, so go easy xD.
I think this is a really cool prompt, I'm surprised it didn't get more attention! I'm sorry that I was one of the only few people to answer - I certainly didn't do it justice - but I just want you to know I think it is a really cool idea!
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Most journalists in the Kingdom feared for their lives. As a result, there wasn't many to hold the occupation, and interviews were generally very bland. The politics of the Kingdom were entirely avoided, as the higher up journalists always preached to the young cadets, "If you have nothing nice to say, say nothing at all."
So the only option for me, of course, was to reverse engineer that mantra, the one which every journalist lived and died by, which resulted in:
"If you have anything nice to say, say it all."
It took some time to get recognition, but eventually, it came. The close knit circle of advisors to the Tyrant began to take notice of the Swordball journalist who did little else than force the top players to either commend the King for anything good that happened to them, or curse his name for anything bad.
In fact, once the man himself heard of it, he demanded to see him right away. That's right. He demanded to see *me* right away.
*"It's relieving to see one of our journalists finally provoke the players to say more, I must admit. I read some of your work, and I'm enthralled!"*
As I sat in front of the King, I was disgusted. Wiping a smattering of crumbs off his beard as he spoke to me, his eyes had lost all glint save for a little spark that ignited at my next proclamation.
*"Yes, I don't know why the players don't speak more about you, to be honest. They have so much to be grateful to you about, after all - your literally the inventor of the sport, correct?"*
Choking through a mouthful of chicken, his filthy grin barely mustered the answer:
*"Mmm - haha, yes, indeed!"*
He wasn't. That was propaganda, and everyone knew it.
*"I am thinking, however, that we must begin to curate the people playing this game as much as their answers, don't you agree? Swordball is such a refined sport, and when inventing it, I wished only the best quality of person to partake in it, do you see? The point of the game is, of course, to disarm the defender with a sword in order to throw the ball past the goalie. However, there is no reason why we couldn't convince some players to, perhaps... "accidentally" slaughter their opponent - for the good of the Kingdom only, of course - don't you agree?"*
Hmph.
I had enough.
Standing up, I promptly stumbled grinning onto the ground next to the Tyrant in a display of humorous admiration, and, while he guffawed at my display of humor, stole his knife, stared him in the eye as it's last spark diminished, and ended him.
Then, all was black.
...
...
...
Large words suddenly appeared in the blackness:
&#x200B;
**CONGRATULATIONS. YOU HAVE COMPLETED YOUR GOAL. DO YOU WISH TO PROCEED?**
\>**NO, GO BACK (Sandbox Mode)**
\>**YES, PROCEED (Storymode: 2)** | 27 | The {System} gives every person a {Class} and a {Quest}. When your day came you saw your quest was, {Overthrow the Tyrant King and save your kingdom.} To do that, you thought you would be a legendary warrior, or a great mage but when you checked the class all it said was {Interviewer} | 160 |
Jeff walked along the road sullenly, he had always enjoyed voicing his thoughts out loud, but since the introduction of ad-agents he had been unable to. The large flashing advert appearing directly in his vision always interrupted his thoughts, sometimes making him forget what he was thinking about in the first place.
Jeff was heading to his friend's house, many people would be gathering there to express their outrage over the ad-agents being allowed in public.
This wasn't always the case, but after the large corporation had won a court case detailing the exact issue they were able to collect data on consumers anywhere they went. The ad-agents were always recording making every spoken word nonconfidential.
Jeff arrived, briskly walking through the door and into a bustling lobby. Many people were having heated discussions, clearly about the ads interrupting all of their lives.
Jeff's friend Bob's noticed him across the room and made an announcement to everyone in the lobby.
"Let's get started, everyone is here." Bob said, his voice bouncing off the walls. He paused before he spoke, thinking every word through, if Bob activated the ad-agents they would record what he had said. This was so the people behind the ads could verify that they were activated and in turn receive payment for it.
Everyone gathered together around a large oval-shaped table. There were no seats, so everyone had to stand. It was a tight fit, everyone squeezed shoulder to shoulder.
Bob addressed everyone with a warning, "Everyone try not to set off the ads, we don't want them recording this." This statement sent off and ad, a bright image of buying an ad to showcase your product appeared. Bob sighed, addressing the room again, "Like that."
Then the discussion started, all points expressing discontent about the ad-agents. Most of them were about the ad-agents being a complete invasion of privacy, or a danger. If an ad appeared in front of you and obstructed your vision while you were driving, nothing good could come of it.
Of course they could not say anything about cars without ads appearing, so the room full of adults was reduced to talking about "vroom vrooms". They referred to the ads simply as whatever expletive they chose to use.
The discussion changed from why the ads were bad to what should be done about them, some suggestions were to filter the air to get them out of it, to even committing crimes to break them. It was imperative that this conversation could not be recorded.
In the middle of their conversation they could no longer say some of their euphemisms, "vroom vrooms" now showed an advertisement for toy cars, and some of their colorful expletives showed websites that they had no idea existed.
Jeff interrupted, "Clearly we are not avoiding the ads well enough. We should reschedule this meeting and figure out a way to avoid them better."
The people in the room agreed, none of them wanted to get into trouble because of what they had said.
Bob spoke up, "We should learn sign language, they only respond to spoken things."
Again the room agreed, it would take a while to learn, but the trade-off would be having their privacy back again.
Just then, an advertisement about a cheap sign language class appeared.
Jeff smiled, "Maybe they do have some use after all." | 429 | You have to be careful, certain words trigger the ambient ad-agents. You can’t say 'pizza' or you’ll get an ad for one floating in front of you. People make up new words, like "groundbeefsandwich" for hamburger. Companies buy these euphemisms, so people need to keep making up new ones. | 2,234 |
"Pete?"
The whisper froze me in place. My hold on the other fighter didn't slip - never has before, but certainly not now - but my mind spun, desperately hunting through anyone I might have accidentally revealed myself to.
"Pete, what the f-... what are **you** doing here? You could **kill** someone!"
Wait. I know that voice. "Iron-"
The whisper became a hiss. "**Shut up!** Let me up and pin me again." He struggled his way loose through a gap I'd 'missed', and hopped back to his feet. He wasn't any better at stopping the second takedown, and almost immediately I had him pinned again. "What are you doing here, Pete?"
"I- uh..."
"You don't need the practice, so... wait. Is it the **money**?"
*You don't need to sound so shocked about it.* "We're not all **loaded**. Unlike you, I do actually need it, so... stay down, please."
He struggled loose again instead, playing on my unwillingness to hurt a friend. The next pin might have dropped him just a little harder.
"Kid, why do you need the money?"
Wait. That sounds like... actual concern. "NYU's not gonna pay for itself. What are **you** doing here?"
"Trying to win a bet. No armor." *Oh.* "Make you a deal, Pete. Let me pin you and I'll pay tuition, room and board, the whole bit."
"Is that not cheating to win the bet?"
"How many times have I told you that your mind is your most important power?"
"I'm here for college money, aren't I? But you're wrong anyway."
I flipped over, putting on a good show of 'accidentally' letting him reverse the hold. He'd never be able to submit me without his armor, but I started to writhe 'in pain' anyway.
"What do you mean, I'm wrong?"
"The most important superpower is **money**." I tapped on his leg, acknowledging my 'loss'. "Don't forget our deal."
"You got it, kid." | 10 | A young superhero infiltrates an underground cage match, not to shut it down, but to secretly get some money for college. He didn't count on other heroes secretly doing the same thing. | 21 |
Well... damn. I guess every system makes a mistake here and there, but this? This is unacceptable. I didn't commit a crime, hell, I never even jaywalked, and yet here I am, in the body of a man who died 4 months ago to suffer through his murder at the hands of my past self. It is, after all, 'infallible, just punishment'.
*Except I didn't bloody do it.*
Tell you what I did do, however. Outsmarted the system. Normally you can't change your fate; you will get murdered by your past self, one way or another. The details might change within acceptable parameters but no one so far has evaded or fought off their past self. But if my past self didn't do anything, well...
It's a drastic option, yes, but I'm done. Sick and tired of getting shafted by the system that is supposed to protect me, help me. So as I stand here, gun in hand, barrel smoking, standing over my past self's innocent body, I can only chuckle as I look up and see the cracks appear in the sky.
The paradox is setting in. My memories are growing... fuzzy, misty. Won't be long now.
Eat shit, time. | 82 | When you are found guilty of murder in the future, you are put to death by being sent back in time to re-live the crime (and die) in the victim's body. | 274 |
A concerto of gasps could be heard throughout the meeting room as the large display that made up the entire back wall shut off. Diagrams and schedules showing the next few weeks of interplanetary missions suddenly disappeared and made way for an entirely blue screen.
After the gasps came silence. None in the meeting room dared speak as a couple of technicians rushed forward and engaged in conversation with Vryan, the elected spokesman of the council. They seemed in distress, and for those who could read Vryan’s facial expressions, it became clear that this was an emergency.
The meeting room had been in use for over two hundred years and always the display had been up and running. Its design was fully integrated in the ship that held the meeting room. Information from all offices and research centres was streamed directly into the display so it could be processed immediately.
If the display had broken down…
*This will take years to replace,* is what went through everyone’s mind that moment. The entire ship would have to be reprogrammed. Every button, wire and connection would require manual resetting.
That’s what was on everyone’s mind. Expect for one attendee.
The human.
“Have you tried turning it off and on again?”
The words echoed through the nervously silent meeting room. Some of the council members double checked their universal translators as to ensure they had properly understood the human.
*Turn off the display?*
The human had a smug look on his face initially, a smugness that turned into confusion as he saw the looks his fellow council members threw at him.
“What?” he asked, grin fading. “It usually works. I always do it when I get a bluescreen of death.”
“Usually works?” Moran asked. His Teruvian features shone with indignation. “It is called the bluescreen of death for a reason, George from Earth.”
“You’re serious?” George asked in disbelief. “Just turn off the display, wait a few seconds and then turn it back on. Doesn’t hurt to try, no?”
Gasps and exclaims of shock rang through the meeting room.
“Turn off the display?” Moran inquired. “And lose all our information?”
For a moment, George seemed too taken aback to answer. Then, a revelation popped up inside his head and he understood. “The display,” he asked, “was installed with the help of a human engineer, no?”
Moran nodded.
“If a human engineer was involved, he’ll have made sure back-ups were made on a regular basis that would be stored on an external server. If you reboot the display without saving, it’ll just pull the most recent back-up from the server and be on its way.”
Moran, and the rest of the council, seemed sceptical. It was spokesman Vryan who eventually spoke. “Your words seem convincing, George. Do you know the way of your ancestors to *reboot* the display?”
George shrugged and stood up, making his way towards the display. Nervous eyes followed him. “Should be a button somewhere on the side,” he said and walked towards the right side. He looked around for a second and then found it. “Here it is. Hah! It even has a HDMI and VGA port. Now this is old school. Alright, hold on.”
The entire council room held their collective breath as the screen went from blue to black. A few seconds passed before George announced he had turned the display back on again.
“Ta-da!” the human exclaimed as the display turned back on. “Jeez,” George continued. “I’m surprised this is the first time in two centuries the display bluescreens.”
“How so?” Vryan asked, staring in wonder at the logo on the screen.
George shrugged. “Windows Vista wasn’t exactly their best version. Even 95 was better.”
----
> Thanks for reading, more over at /r/PromptedByDaddy (including several ongoing serials) | 75 | As the galactic council convenes, the hologram projector stops working. A human from the back shouts in a sarcastic tone, "have you tried turning it off then on again?" Apparently humans are the only organisms in the galaxy that use this trick. | 144 |
"I don't like it", the lieutenant said while pacing back and forth outside the barricade. "I don't like it one bit." Sergeant Jones, enjoying the afternoon heat half asleep in the grass, opened a second eye and got to his feet. He didn't care for the lieutenant having ideas because officers having ideas usually meant more of his boys dead. But he had found it paid off to pay attention when the lieutenant did. On the surface the lieutenant was just another noble's son, trying to escape a few debts or maybe some family situation. After a few months in the field the sergeant knew there was more to him than that.
The sergeant patted his stomach and his stomach gave a dutiful grumble in return. "What's not to like?" he asked the lieutenant. "The enemy send in skirmishers and farmers with pigs into the forest over there, we go over and clear them out, we capture a pig or two, good dinner, everyone's happy. Even command says we're doing 'splendid work'." That had been the routine for the last week or so. Practically no casualties, some captured enemies, pigs to eat, and happy brass. Sergeant Jones could think of few times as happy as this in the Kingdom's army.
The lieutenant kept pacing for a few minutes while the sergeant waited dutifully. "The enemy keeps sending in more of them. Why? We're sure the pigs aren't poisoned?" the lieutenant asked. "Nah", replied the sergeant, "we feed it to the captured enemies first." The lieutenant shook his head. "I'm missing something. I don't know shit about pigs." The sergeant took the cue and went off to grab one of his privates, dragging him to the lieutenant practically by the collar.
"Who's this?" the lieutenant asked. "Private Henry, sir. Am I in trouble?" the private asked after being prodded by the sergeant. "Private Henry here used to raise pigs back before he joined up, I hear", the sergeant filled in. "Ah. I see. So tell us, private, what are pigs good for?" "Sir?" the private asked the lieutenant while looking at the sergeant. "Just answer the question", said sergeant Jones.
"Fucking and eating, sir." The sergeant immediately went to give him a proper slap for insubordination, but the lieutenant waved him off. "Let's... assume... that the private here meant pigs are good for making more pigs, and that they make for excellent chow." "Right. Sir." "What else?" "And making a right mess of things, that's for sure. Sir." "What do you mean by that? A mess of what?"
"Well, sir", the private began, "they'll tear a field of oats to mud if there's something in the ground that they like. Why, back in the world, we had this neighbor. He used to send his pigs into the forest after cutting down some wood. He'd set them loose and they'd tear up the ground looking for roots and insects and nuts and whatnot. Said it helped with getting new trees. Airing out the soil sort of thing. My family didn't do that though." "And how come your family didn't do that?" "Cause it made a proper mess of the ground for years to come. You'd need a cane just to walk through the forest." The lieutenant stopped pacing.
"Sergeant, walk with me" the lieutenant stated. The private gave a poor excuse for a salute and wandered off. "Let's assume private Pigfucker - I mean private Henry - knows what he's talking about." "He certainly seems to know pigs, that's for sure." "How many times have we driven the enemy off from that forest section over there would you say? And how many times did we see them with pigs?" "Oh, I'd say seven, eight times now. The pigs started appearing five attacks ago, I'd say."
"And our attack has played out the same way every time, I assume. Heavy infantry down the middle, light cavalry around the flanks to deal with any enemies that rout. We approach the forest, we beat their skirmishers to pulp, the cavalry deal with the runners." "That's about it, sir." "Now let's assume that our dear private does indeed know pigs. How does that change the playing field?" "Not much, I don't think. So they turn over a bush or two - we still murder the enemy in close quarters easily."
"I think it changes everything, sergeant." The sergeant didn't mind the tone, because the lieutenant had earned it. "Let's say hypothetically that the enemy was watching us as closely as we were watching them." "Is this that Clever War bollocks, sir?" The lieutenant gave a rare smile in return. "I think it just might be."
"So let's say the enemy knows we're coming. Only this time - when the pigs have had their day in the undergrowth - they don't send a couple of farmers and skirmishers. They send their whole force, waiting in the forest for us. We march our heavy infantry right up the center as always. But when we get inside the forest we find not only that the ground is practically impassable, but also a few hundred heathens with bows and slings waiting for us." The lieutenant continued walking outside the outpost with the sergeant in tow. "I think much like we built a barricade of trees, our enemy has been building a barricade of their own. With pigs and dirt."
"So. Our heavy infantry is unable to charge. Our light cavalry go around the flanks like they always do and get picked apart by stone and arrow. They get no warning from our infantry, so they either charge or run. If they charge they'll break every leg on every horse once they hit the disturbed soil. And if they run, well, either way that's them out of the picture. Which leaves our heavy infantry. Unable to attack or return missile fire, they'll begin marching back to the outpost. Except the enemy, full skirmishing force, will be harassing us every step of the way back." "It will be a hard day's march" the sergeant agreed. "Especially if the light cavalry is out of the picture. And the reinforcements in the outpost won't know what's coming their way, half asleep and too slow to react."
The lieutenant scratched his chin. "So. Now that we know what we know, what are we going to do about it? Ideas, sergeant?" "I'll warn the other squads, obviously. No way we can send our boys over there to be slaughtered." The sergeant turned to leave, but the lieutenant stopped him with a hand gesture. "Not so fast, sergeant." "But sir, they're probably gearing up for another assault as we speak!" "Yes, which makes it all the more important to think things through quickly."
"Right now, we know what we know, but the enemy doesn't know what we know. The enemy is expecting us to act like we always do - only this time they're ready to slaughter us. But if we start acting in any different way the enemy will abandon the forest before we even get close. So I think we must march our heavy infantry right up to the forest like always. And the light cavalry will take up flanking positions, like always." "What good will that do, sir? They'll have us exactly where they want us." "I think we'll have them exactly where we want them."
"Brass has been looking for a stronger engagement for the last week or so. They're tired of running around chasing the enemy. They want a battle. Meanwhile, our enemy has offered to send their entire force into that piece of forest not two miles from our position. They turned it into a killing ground, ready to ambush us." "So? They're over there, but we can't attack them. What the hell are you thinking?" The lieutenant twitched slightly at the curse but decided to let it go.
"It's another hot day, isn't it, sergeant? Been hot for days now." "What the fu-" the sergeant began then paused. Slowly, very slowly, he started to grin. And if you have any knowledge of sergeants throughout the history, let me tell you this was a proper grin. It'd make any sergeant proud, and it should make any bastard think twice about crossing him. It was the kind of grin that meant blood, and not the sergeant's. "They're hiding in a bonfire waiting to happen. All of them. We don't go into their forest. We go over there and wait, our cavalry ready to flank. Then we make the clever bastards burn." The lieutenant nodded. "Roast the pigs, as it were."
In fact it was three more attacks into the forest until the enemy decided to spring their trap. But the Kingdom was ready for it when it happened. The outriders doing the flanking collected more scalps than any other day. The smell of burnt flesh was quite a thing. Even command, all the way back at the outpost, could sense it. The lieutenant got his well-deserved promotion before the day was over.
The outpost was moved up in the weeks to come, further into enemy territory. With the main enemy force annihilated there was nothing holding them back except their own supply lines stretching thinner by the day. The Kingdom collected another victory. The Clever War continued. And the lieutenant-now-captain wondered how he'd ever get out of all this by the end of it. The lieutenant-now-captain started wondering if it was ever going to end. | 19 | In order to get rid of a few debts and escape family prospects, you joined the Kingdom’s army with the intention of leaving early. Well, one promotion leads to the next and suddenly you’re one of the most prominent generals in the Kingdom. | 30 |
It's a hard life being a dragonfly...the scum of the Earth...nature's greatest failure...the rats of the nest...that's what they called us, anyways.
Who were "they"? Dragons and humans, that's who. Dragonflies, named similarly to a long-gone species of insect, are all, including me, born from dragon eggs. We start off life as small, unintelligent larvae that enter infertile dragon eggs mere moments after hatching from spawn. There, the yolk feeds us and lets us grow into an infant that resembles a baby dragon. There, evolution expects that the mother dragon is none-the-wiser to the presence of a dragonfly and feeds it as if it were one of her own. Dragonflies grow up much faster than dragons - the revelation that her nest was playing host to one or more dragonflies only arises in the mother dragon after some of her "children" mysteriously vanish months before dragons usually leave the nest.
&#x200B;
This is what's natural to us. We've been living like this for millenia. Our species is intelligent. It has produced great philosophers, artists and scientists. But that is not what the dragons and humans saw us as. The two species, allied over a common grudge against us - dragons for reasons stated above and humans for the fact that infant dragonflies are seen as crop pests, have waged a war of destruction against us for longer than anyone can remember. Records of devastating genocides litter our history books. Humans and dragons that dare show sympathy to our cause have routinely been executed and imprisoned for the "crime" of not supporting the anti-dragonfly war machine.
&#x200B;
To survive, we have gone into hiding. Our knack for shapeshifting manifests at birth, with us starting off with the appearance of a baby dragon before discovering our true forms generally at around 3 months old. We have also learnt the craft of shifting into any other species, including humans. We walk among them, not for the aim of launching a surprise attack as many humans and dragons theorise, but simply for survival. We are a peaceful race - but that pacifism has left us vulnerable. Yet it is considered highly dishonorable for a dragonfly to give up on pacifism and resort to violence.
&#x200B;
I have lived among the humans for almost my entire life. My real name is Dargonia, but in the human world and the town of Rose Castle I am known as Sarah Blacksmith, supposedly the daughter of a long-dead famous blacksmith from outside of town. Of course, this is a ruse. My actual parents were killed in the Talman Falls Massacre, orchestrated by a barbaric faction of dragons. My life is a constant game of trying not to get discovered by the wrong person - only humans and dragons sympathetic to our woes and other disguised dragonflies know my secret.
&#x200B;
It is a more-than-daily event for me to question our species' dedication to pacifism - humanity and dragonkind rarely ever allow any sympathy to our woes and we are seen as no better than the common rat or a pathogenic bacterium - just pests instead of sentient beings with a rich culture and heritage. But, in the end, I come to the same conclusion, that in the end, our pacifism will end up working out. One day, the sympathisers will ammass the support they need to stop the ongoing atrocity against dragonflies. Or maybe they won't, but our kind will find a new home. I hope I am not screaming into the void by finishing with this one sentence - we will win someday. | 10 | Infertile dragon eggs are far more common than fertile, healthy eggs. These inert husks are an ideal breeding ground for parasites colloquially called Dragonflies; Large, vicious pests that may be mistaken for baby dragons. Dragons despise these pests, allowing humans to help exterminate them. | 168 |
I didn't exactly feel the caffeine diffusing throughout my body; that's not how it works. I knew it to be working more by a gradual recession of sleepiness than by an acquisition of alertness. The IV pumped a few milligrams of the stuff into my bloodstream once an hour for the duration of my shift, mixing it with a cocktail of other supplements -- everything the body needs, Outpost crews were constantly reminded of -- borne in a patented saline solution.
Coffee wasn't allowed on Outpost stations. Nor was food or anything considered inessential to biological functions (thanks to the Medium), notwithstanding their ability to bolster the crews' spirits in the face of crushing isolation on the verge of the galaxy. That meant no morning brews to accompany my "morning" doses of liquid nutrients, no homey aroma of coffee grounds, nothing to look forward to save another eight hours in front of the monolithic vista beyond Outpost 17's viewport.
It doesn't pay to lug extra pounds 25,000 light years to the edge of the known universe, apparently. Not even when those pounds would be shuttled by a $78 trillion industry and might very well prevent 165 pounds of human cargo from going clinically insane.
I was feeling rather uninspired by work at the moment.
That's why I hardly noticed the proximity alert -- accompanied by a single amber flash superimposed over my viewport -- announcing the detection of a celestial body that had drifted within 10,000 kilometers of the Outpost. With an expert tug of my fingers, I sent my cradle floating across the bridge until it clicked into place before the radar console. Thanks to Karl's temporary decommissioning (I'd been forced to drug him into languor and enter him into a Cryo cycle due to another bout of claustrophobic panic and an outburst about "their approach"), I was now serving the double function of pilot and navigator, which meant I'd quickly had to learn how to bop between my pilot's chair and Karl's navigation console. Were the Outpost at cruising speed in trafficked space, this would have been suicidal, not to mention illegal, since the separation of duties made the craft virtually inoperable for a singular crew member, but out here, where space was nothing but an expanse of electromagnetic radiation, hydrogen and helium molecules, and dust, the Outpost required approximately the same amount of skill to pilot as Laika's Sputnik 2 in 1957.
The proximity alert pinged a second time. "Alright, alright," I muttered, checking Karl's displays perfunctorily. The readout measured the first object as some two kilometers by one kilometer and placed it 8,934 kilometers away. That meant it had already closed the distance with the Outpost by 1,066 kilometers, and that in the span of the eight seconds it had taken me to traverse the distance between stations.
"What the hell?" I said. I sat up a little straighter.
Before I'd gone to sleep in my isolation pod yesterday, I'd confirmed my craft's velocity at 50 kilometers per second, which had remained unchanged in the intervening hours. The objects' trajectory -- another amber flash across the viewport announced the arrival of a third -- was identical to mine. Some quick mental math told me the Outpost had traveled 400 kilometers in those eight seconds. The first object had therefore moved 1,466, which meant it was moving at a clip of more than 180 kilometers per second (400,000 miles per hour, if that's easier for you).
When two more entities broke the 10,000 kilometer barrier, a preternatural chill crawled up my spine.
Objects in space don't move in straight lines. If they do, then they're only "straight" because of the limits of our perception. All objects are subjected to the force of gravity, no matter how imperceptible it may be, and all objects streaking through space therefore invariably follow an elliptical trajectory. That wasn't what concerned me at the moment, though. What concerned me was the fact that multiple objects *never* travel in harmony with one another. Not unless they're under the influence of an unnatural force like that created by engineered propulsion.
What concerned me was the fact that all five entities appeared to have the same dimensions as one another, the same trajectory as Outpost 17's, and an alarming rate of acceleration. With a grunt, I shoved myself back to the pilot's chair to override the autopilot and nudge my prow a degree to starboard. I nudged my cradle back through the zero Gs just in time to see the navigation station's digital representation of the objects reflect a corresponding change in their trajectories. Now there was no doubt in my mind; the first object was a mere 4,329 kilometers away, and 11 more were on its proverbial heels. Every single one of them had course corrected by one degree.
They were following me. | 20 | The year is 3200. Humans have mastered faster than light travel and explored far and wide, yet never met another intelligent species. As you sit in your observation post at the edge of the known universe something shows up on sensors, an unidentified ship, then another one, and another one... | 51 |
"Madame, they are arriving." said Agent McGuile, his clothing haggard and his demeanor worse so. "It's been 32 years Guile, 32 long years...." said a woman who looked to be in her sixties. "I was hoping I would die before it occured again. But at least we will get to understand what....that...I can't." She said, getting up and leaving boardroom.
"Guile, you know the director is still recoving from event X-025." Agent Archna said in a tone reminiscent of a mother scolding their child.
"She can't hope to be ready for X-026 then. They've been coming for years, and this year..... we will be ready." Guile said with a somber tone. "Move out! To your positions!"
The agents began moving out, followed by a platoon of soldiers.
The soldiers, however, carried no weaponry.
All across the country similar scenes played out. Soldiers piled out of bases and marched into civilian areas, many of which were uncharacteristically silent.
Even the streets of NYC were empty, and the rats and flies had fled, leaving the garbage of the city untouched.
The soldiers wore their goggles and looked upwards.
Towards the sun.
"Lock arms! FORM A PERIMETER, SURROUND THE BUILDINGS, ACTIVATE REFLECTIVE MATERIALS!
All around the country, soldiers locked at the arms and surrounded occupied structures. Their clothing began to light up, refracting nearby streetlights and making the soldiers look like they had adorned themselves in rare gems.
"5"
McGuile held his breath as he wore his helmet
"4"
The director covered herself in a specialized sheet in her bunker, shivering.
"3"
Agent Archna looked at a photo of her daughter, praying for her safety.
"2"
The soldiers locked arms tighter, balls of sweat forming on their foreheads.
"1"
McGuile looked at the sun once morem
"0"
Silence. Complete and total silence as the timer ended.
Everyone waited. They would arrive soon.
And as predicted.
They came.
The sky seemed to split apart as a giant black line appeared. It grew slowly, until its length spanned the distance of a continent. It then halted.
Two giant black objects creeped out slowly. McGuile knew them well.
They were the Hands of God.
The hands slowly latched on to the two sides separated by the line and began to pull them apart, revealing a darkness so deep it consumed the light around it.
After a few minutes of this mind-bending sight, specs could be seen coming through the gaps.
Upon inspection they possesed humanoid forms
But if one looked closer they began to understand the truth.
Darkness. Nothing but darkness.
The beings lacked any distinguishable features, and merely looked like the abyss they came from.
Slowly they fell to the earth. They landed and began walking, all while looking at the sun.
A pigeon fell from the top of an apartment building. A soldier dropped dead. Another followed. Soldiers dropped at random intervals, but the line was held by their comrades who picked up the bodies and remained slient, their eyes releasing streaks of blood as the beings walked past.
This occured worldwide, and the people of the world had labelled it as simply The day of Black Sun. Those unable to get to cover or who had refused to stay in a building covered by soldiers dropped dead in their homes, eyes bleeding out and rolled back.
Soon the beings began to rise again, heading towards the abyss.
A being looked at another of his kind and spoke in their dialect.
"Why do they perform such strange rituals whenever we arrive ‐-------------?" The being asked his companion
"....These only started 5 ‐------------- ago. 100 ------------- ago we only used to come in groups of about 50 or so. Recently everyone got interested in the ------------ and so we come here to see it.
Issue is, humans seem unable to stand in our presense and happen to live here. No matter, a few thousand more ------------- and I doubt there will be humans at all." His companion explained.
"I see. Pity. They looked interesting enough."
The begins soon disappeared into the darkness, and the arms closed the abyss, bringing an end to the event.
McGuile was hyperventilating as blood flowed from his eyes. He looked around the room and saw Archna, sprawled on the floor, her daughter's photo in hand.
The director remained in her bunker, curled up and muttering.
Guile looked back at the sky, his face marred with his own life force.
"We are doomed huh?". | 167 | How Earth deals with the overwhelming number of offplanet tourists who come to see total solar eclipses. | 933 |
I gasped, blinking and coughing from what I could only describe as a religious vision. Looking around at everyone else on the bus. We all had the same bleary-eyed expression. No one wanted to acknowledge what had just happened. Someone braver than I finally said something.
"So, did we all just hear that? Y'know, like an angry mother forcing their kid to apologize?"
There was a consensus, minus the obligatory homeless dude muttering to himself, except he had stopped muttering. A man wearing a yarmulke was eyeing someone very obviously praying and holding a cross.
But nothing happened. I got off at my stop and continued to work.
I heard news reports in the background off the TVs, on about how every single person seemed to have experienced the same message. Reactions however, were far from uniform. The Pope was caught on comment along the lines of "well, shit." I saw signs in the background of a reporter saying "repent" and then a fight breaking out with others claiming that it was a test of faith.
Talk around the breakroom was about as divided. Some people were being smug about it, all "See? God isn't real." despite the apparent obvious proof. That God was some petulant teenager who got pissed off at His ant farm or something. Others were like the sign-wavers on the news, saying it was obviously the antichrist, or Obama, or Muslims. I sighed. I had heard snippets here and there of my coworkers being ridiculous, but never really vocal about it. Some people were getting uppity at others assuming it was God's Mom, saying woke culture ruined God. I couldn't muster the energy to respond to any of them.
We all stopped when there was an emergency SMS.
BALLISTIC MISSILE THREAT INBOUND TO SAN FRANCISCO. SEEK IMMEDIATE SHELTER NOW. THIS IS NOT A DRILL.
"But Dad!"
"Look, Timmy, they're about to nuke each other. You spent so much time creating this world, you've got to learn some responsibility. I'm not letting you wipe the slate clean like the dinosaurs. They were making so much progress." | 76 | "My Son has something to say to you all." "*Sniff*, I'm sorry for getting angry and trying to reset your world with a flood." "And?" "Do I have to?" "Yes!" "...and for the whole plague of locusts thing. It was just a prank" | 374 |
Ray had just finished shopping at the mall when he saw the new shop in town, across the road. Barbershop. Sleek design, fancy font, on a metallic background. They had a nice sign and he needed a haircut. He walked across the road.
The curtain matched the drapes. It was well designed inside too. It was kept to the metallic theme. There were also comfy leather chairs, relaxing music, free of charge appetizers. They knew how to launch a store, Ray thought.
A young man in his late twenties spinned the chair and gestured Ray to sit. His wavy hair and long beard was well groomed. Ray was impressed.
"Welcome, please have a seat. My name is Toby and I will be serving you today sir."
His British accent was a breath of fresh air.
"Nice to meet you Toby, I'm Ray. You new in town?"
"Yes sir, and this is my intern, Felix."
"Nice to meet you sir."
Ray chuckled. "Intern? You sound more like a corporation than a barbershop. So why does a Brit and a German would open a barbershop in the middle of this desert?"
"Austrian." Felix smiled warmly as he corrected him. He looked a bit old to be an "intern". Maybe even older than Toby did.
"My bad, Felix."
"It's not ours sir. It is owned privately. We work here." said Toby, also smiling warmly.
Ray got straight to the point. "So I usually get my sides..."
"We don't work here like that sir." Toby interrupted, as he kept on smiling.
"How else would a barbershop work?". Ray was intrigued.
"We have a little game. Felix here will ask you a few questions. We will guess the best style for you, if you permit."
Ray had too monotonous of a life to decline. He was glad to play along.
Felix took out a tablet and started the questions.
"What's your favorite food?"
"Tacos."
"What's your favorite color?"
"Umm, blue?"
"What car would you buy if you had infinite money?"
"A lamborghini, for sure."
"Where would you live if you had infinite money?"
"Sicily, of course. The smell of the orange trees..."
Felix interrupted him rudely.
"What is the name of your childhood pet?"
"Funny story, it was a cat named Felix. We found him when..."
"How many lovers have you had?"
Ray stopped and scowled, almost expecting an explanation for this audacity. His open mouth did not utter any words. He turned around and looked at Toby.
"One".
"I'm assuming it is not ongoing judging by the shape of your hair."
Ray looked at him sternly as Toby's attempt to break the ice failed.
"Just kidding sir. Felix, enough with the questions."
Toby waved him away. He kept smiling. Ray was getting irritated by this creepy smile.
Toby picked up the tablet. "We entered your answers to our system and... It says you always wanted to have an afro!".
Ray and his dead-straight hair had never looked as ridiculous as before. He started to chuckle again.
"Well I'll be damned. I always wanted to have an afro since I was a child. Eighties effect I guess. But as you see, it is not possible." said Ray, as he undid is ponytail and showed off his straight hair.
"Well in that case, we will shorten the sides just a bit, and get the split ends overall. Is that to your liking?"
"It is exactly to my liking. Seems your little game is working just fine. How'd you know?" Ray asked. Curious at the fact that these total strangers knew his childhood dream and his usual style.
"It is our little secret." Toby winked twice, as he kept on smiling warmly.
As the haircut was finished, Ray wanted to pay but Toby refused. It was his apology to him for the last question.
As Ray left, Felix picked up the tablet. It played a voice recording. It was Ray, detaling his views about his hair.
Toby grabbed it and deleted the recording. "I understand I'm the barber, and you are the analyst. But even I can tell you need to be less obvious. What if you spooked him? We would get nothing."
"Maybe so, but we had nothing on his love life. I will send the rest of it to the headquarters. You can take a break."
"So how does this work, what happens now?"
"I don't know really. Not our problem. Maybe he gets a promotion for a Taco Bell, or even a Sicily vacation." Felix noticed another man approaching the store. He took a photo of him.
"Ok, he's in the database. Hal Terry. I will prepare the questions, go greet him." | 50 | a barbershop where they ask personal questions such as "how many lovers have you had?" and "What's you favourite food?" to guess the perfect haircut for you.they get it right,every single time. | 198 |
I was well known in the justice system. My name was synonymous with quality. I was the ultimate test, one which most high-security prisons took. If they could hold me for a week, I would give them a seal of approval, along with a list of escape avenues I could predict being successful over a longer period of time.
So receiving official communications out of the blue was a relatively normal thing for me. Not that it was common, maybe once or twice a year. But they paid handsomely, letting me live a life of comfort. Not so much decadence, but then I had no need for mountains of gold. I charged enough to keep me comfortable.
I was enjoying a relaxing day with a cup of tea and a book, when a knock disturbed me. I sighed, sliding in the bookmark to save my space. I took one more sip of tea, before standing up to find out just who wanted my attention. I peered through the little peephole, seeing a woman standing there. Her silver hair seemed to give off a subtle glow, and she wore a lush black dress. She was definitely a stranger to me, but my instincts told me she wasn't a threat to my life.
I carefully opened the door, getting a proper look at her. Her hair was definitely glowing, it almost rippling like waves. Her black dress slowly turned, becoming a deep, royal blue. Her skin was the colour of parchment, but her eyes were the most striking. The irises were gold, with slight bumps and lines that looked almost intentional.
"Hello Roulus."
Her voice was soft, but carried with it a ring of strength. She smiled a brilliant smile, utterly calm. I took a deep breath, forcing my emotions to remain level.
"That is me, and you are...?"
She gave a small curtsy, her eyes never leaving mine.
"I am the Avatar of Arca."
That made me stop. Arca, the Goddess of Magic. A name that every man, woman and child would know. She was one of the oldest gods, and one of the most powerful. Even her Avatar was able to level mountains. And now she was standing at my door.
"May I come in?"
She was unfailingly polite, as if it were commonplace for her. I acted without thinking, stepping to the side.
"Of, of course..."
She flashed that smile at me, moving past. This stumped me. Why would a god want to visit me? Like a lost puppy I followed her to my sitting room, as she sat on one of my spare chairs.
"I have come here with a job offer."
Arca went straight to business. I seized it gratefully, as something I could focus on, over the fact that there was a god in my house.
"A job offer? How can I help?"
She folded her hands together.
"We need your assistance in testing out a prison for an Ascended."
An Ascended. One of those not born into godhood, but who were elevated to it, either by their own actions or by another god. I stared at her, thinking this through.
"Um, if I may, why do you need me? You are gods, surely you can make something inescapable."
She gave a sad smile, shaking her head.
"Not quite. We can do much, but we are not all knowing or all powerful. The fact that we are having to consider this is proof enough. To be blunt, there is a new Ascended. One who seeks not to nuture, but to control. They would have all of reality enslaved to their will."
A sigh escaped her.
"We can beat them, easily. But we cannot kill them as such. They are entwined with divine power, meaning that they will endure, unless they choose to end it. But if we keep them drained, we can imprison them."
I frowned.
"Why do you need me then?"
She snorted.
"Ascended are in most ways weaker than us. But we are gods through and through. They have an element of mortality in them, meaning they can adapt and change. They can think of things we simply cannot. So we need a mortal mind to test out our prison. Your's makes the most sense."
I could just about understand what she was saying. The realm of gods was a bit beyond me, but I could understand why they wanted my help.
"I see."
Arca leaned forwards, staring at me.
"This will be more than your normal job. In order to ensure its reliability, we ask that you complete a year in there."
"A year?!"
I couldn't believe it. A year in a cell. I didn't think I could handle it. I needed to be free. That's what made me so good at escaping. She held up a hand to placate me.
"Don't worry. We will ensure time does not affect you whilst completing this. One year may pass, but to your body it will be but seconds. As for compensation..."
Her left hand lit with a rainbow coloured ball.
"You more than fulfill our requirements even without this. We would be happy to make you into an Ascended." | 75 | You're a master escapist in a fantasy world who is often hired by prisons to ensure security is top notch. You're minding your own business one day when the gods themselves suddenly call upon your services. | 141 |
"What do you mean 'no'?"
"What do you think I mean Kelly? We have the same powers, the only difference is you are rich and your knees don't hurt! Do you have any idea what jumping out of buildings to save people does to the human body? Do you know how soul crushing it is to eat ramen 3 meals a day because you can't hold a steady job because you are constantly dropping everything to save people? You were right!
After the accident you said that we should use our powers to help ourselves! I didn't see it then but I see it now! You weren't saying that because you were evil but because you were tired of being average. Of struggling every damn day just to make rent and be able to put food in the table. I always wondered why, after years of us fighting, why you never tried to kill or even hurt me. It wasn't because you were a coward, it's because you pittied my delusion that somehow I could make a real difference!
Well enough is enough. You win. After all this time, all you had to do to beat me was let me live one day without struggling to survive." | 90 | You are a villain who's suddenly got body swap with a superhero. They find the superhero who's in their body and want to work together to fix this problem. However, the superhero doesn't want to return to their body for some reason. | 210 |
*(Coincidentally, this could serve as Part 2 to* [*this response*](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/wjxjui/comment/ijl0yd5/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) *to another prompt earlier today).*
The clarity I'd gotten from the last dose of caffeine was dwarfed by the surge of adrenaline now coursing through my blood. I sat frozen before the navigation console, transfixed by an odd combination of horror and wonder as 12 blips drew closer and closer to Outpost 17. In less than 30 seconds, they would close the remaining 4000 kilometers and be upon us -- me and my uselessly unconscious crew mate, that is.
The words he'd spluttered as I sank the needle into his arm resurfaced in my mind. *Their approach, it's nigh! They'll be upon us within the fortnight!*
These had seemed the ravings of a madman at the time, nearly a week ago now. The desperate outcry of a man driven mad by encroaching oblivion, or possibly the sheer monotony of life as an Outpostman, as we were affectionately referred to back in the parts of the Milky Way that actually mattered. Regardless, although humanity had long ago mastered the art of faster-than-light travel by tearing gaps in the very fabric of space, we hadn't yet managed to pass anything into "black space" except the physical crafts capable of making the holes in the first place. Any transmissions back to SSS (Solar System Solis) and Earth therefore had to traverse nearly 25,000 light years of desolate space before they would ever be intercepted.
Which meant, simply put, that Outpost crews had no way of communicating with our commanding officers during the 6-month stints we spent on patrol.
To account for that rather obvious problem, every Outpost was equipped with an onboard AGI that was capable of operating the craft in the event of the crew's incapacitation and generally available for any calculations or judgment calls the might be needed. The AGI aboard Outpost 17 went by the self-appointed moniker *Whiz*.
"Whiz," I said with unnecessary volume, "Whiz, wake up!"
A blue triangle blinked into existence on one of the navigation console's screens. "Crew member 11." The smooth electronic voice, echoing around the bridge from seemingly every direction, seemed vaguely irritated. "Need I remind you again that, having no biological functions, I do not--"
"Shut up!" I yelled. "Review proximity alert logs now. Unknown celestial entities approaching our aft side."
Whiz's computing power allowed "him" to perform millions of calculations a second, so further verbal clarification was a waste of effort on my part. I offered it anyway. "A dozen objects. They appeared out of nowhere. I can't tell if they're projectiles or craft, but they'll be here in less than 30 seconds."
"11.7 seconds," Whiz said tonelessly.
"That's what I said. What the hell are they?"
Whiz was silent for a full second. "Further analysis is required for a definitive conclusion, but they are definitely a byproduct of sentience. I rather think they are crafts, not projectiles."
I watched the navigation console, heart racing, hands white on my cradle's armrests. "Why?"
"If they were projectiles, they would have collided with us 2.3 seconds ago," Whiz replied. "They have instead decelerated, broken formation, and are currently surrounding Outpost 17. You will have a physical line of sight from your main viewport imminently, Crew member 11."
I found myself automatically disengaging my cradle from the navigation console and shoving back toward the pilot's chair again. Only this time, in my haste I overshot the target and careened in the zero G's past it until the side of my cradle crashed into the viewport's slab. It rang with a hollow *thunk* and sent me spinning back across the bridge. Before the ricochet sent me careening away, however, I caugh a glimpse of a vast expanse of stars partially blocked by a looming *something*.
Whiz turned on Outpost 17's enormous floodlights a second before the cradle rotated away, and I caught the sudden gleam of burnished metal, the contoured sides of what could only be a spacecraft, and a glowing glowing circle of what I assumed to be interior lighting, shining forth into the depths of space through the transparent material of a porthole. In that porthole were silhouetted the contours of something -- no, some*one*, for the outline looked impossibly *human* \-- that appeared to have its forehead pressed against the porthole as its owner peered across the gap separating us, through Outpost 17's viewport, and straight at my terrified face. Then the momentum of the cradle carried me spinning away, back into the depths of the bridge.
Something thudded against the outside of the Outpost and reverberated through its titanium frame. "Something has docked to Hatch EA, Whiz said. It appears to a perfect seal, crew member 11."
I could hardly pause to think about the implications of that statement. "Get it off!" I shouted nonsensically, struggling to grab a handhold and wrench myself back toward the pilot's chair. When that didn't work, I cursed and unstrapped myself from the cradle.
"I cannot do that, crew member 11. Evasive maneuvers would destroy Hatch EA and possibly compromise atmospheric integrity. I'm sealing all bulkheads instead." As Whiz said this, something hissed and clunked behind me; he'd shut the entrance to the bridge.
Finally free of the cradle, I let it float uselessly behind me and shot back toward the pilot's chair with a kick against the bulkhead. "Where is it?" I said, referring to the humanoid *thing* I thought I'd seen in the other craft.
"It's aboard. You and Karl are no longer alone on Outpost 17." | 23 | Humans are unique on the galactic stage not because we have something that no other species has, but rather because we are the first species that is noticeably similar to another species (beyond being alive). | 112 |
The age of the internet is a bizarre thing.
On the one hand, it allows for the free and unfettered distribution of information. Any individual has the power of the world's information--or disinformation--at their fingertips. People can research, learn, and believe anything and everything that's out there. Things start out as a joke or a meme, and suddenly they have a passionate following of devotees or people just really committed to the humor of it all.
So it's no small wonder that in the proverbial wasteland of American civil discourse, where tired citizens were constantly marginalized by misrepresentation and lobbying by corporate overlords, that a very curious campaign began.
Jokes and memes about "A monkey could do better!" or "I'd happily vote for two toddlers in an overcoat over this clown!" were abundant. So one wasn't shocked to see ridiculous statements like "Dark Lord Cthulhu for President!".
It's only a joke so long as people don't realize that re-tweeting it contributes to the summoning ritual.
On a calm summer morning, tourists roamed the Washington D.C. Mall. Families taking silly pictures while their children defaced and clambered over the few reminders of what America once represented. Heroics, bravery, a leader in the world community, all now distant memories of better men, frozen is stone.
That is at least until the Potomac River swelled in an unprecedented tidal wave that killed thousands. But as the wave abated, an ominous figure strode forth, exactly what America needed: a hundreds-meter tall living god of insanity and terror.
As the masses swam for their lives, seeking refuge amongst high ground in museums; the survivors watched in horror as the old god quaked the earth with his footsteps, headed straight for Capitol Hill. He sat heavily on the building's dome, smashing it until he came to a rest, the structure now his throne, his wings spanning above the wings of the building, projecting only one phrase into the minds of all nearby.
***I AM THE NEW LAW***
The few lucky enough to resist turning into gibbering husks gouged out their eyes, and became the god's first missionaries, or "campaign staffers". With the help of accessibility and text-to-speech, Cthulhu's messages of ***KNEEL*** and ***SACRIFICE*** were balanced by his better received ***UNIVERSAL HEALTHCARE*** and quite literal ***EAT THE RICH*** policies.
While he did have to contend with experienced career politicians, whose smear campaigns basically wrote themselves, the discussion often came back to the fact that he was unmovingly seated on the nation's capitol, and any attempts to remove him were met with swift retribution.
At the end though, people were tired. Tired of the lies, tired of the exploitation of the elite for profit over their welfare, and tired of the monthly ritualistic slaughters in Cthulhu's name if he wasn't ahead in the polls.
"We've had career politicians, lawyers, and failed reality tv star real estate tycoons. Why not give someone else a chance?"
EDIT: Changed a line that made it flow better. And some odd fixes. | 12 | Cthulhu has returned! And is...Running for President??? And is actually doing really Well??? | 32 |
''*You don't ever want to cross a human. They might not be able to lift shuttles, they might not be able to understand 5th dimensional mathematics from birth, they have pretty terrible tech and can't even get pass slipstream-4 speeds on their ships. But you don't ever want to cross them. Understand?*'' The alien bartender in the low dive explained to the small gang of local thugs who'd come to him for work advice. One of them, a four-legged Holdien, took a deep sip of his spiced Laenekian sweet-wine, and showed the bartender a commonly used hand gesture of disrespect. ''*Yeah yeah old-timer. The humans are so fragging scary. Bunch of weirdos in their beat-up old ships and slug-guns. What are they going to do?*'' The bartender subconsciously itched at the hole where his third eye once had been, before remembering himself and stopping. ''*Look, I get it. It's lot of creds for this job, okay. The guys who are paying you are on the level and they pay on time. Never involving the Bullyn Guards in their plans. But all I'm saying is, if you want to do it, wait until the humans leave the place before shooting it up. They'll be gone by tomorrow after the second sun sets. That's best when you're dealing with humans. Otherwise, your life is forfeit.*''
Some of the thugs just laughed. Others scowled, and mumbled words about never returning here for job postings again. Then they paid their tabs and left. He stared after them in the distance as they walked into the darkness of the frontier city, before pouring himself some double-distilled Alnokic spirits. ''*Fragging young bucks.*'' A figure moved over to the bar and quietly ordered some of what the bartender was having. ''*One thing is for sure, they're never coming back here again.*'' The individual who'd ordered looked up. They were wearing some kind of robe, and a mask concealing their face. ''*Why not?*'' The bartender grumbled and then let loose a sound that could have been quiet sardonic laughter, or perhaps silent sobbing. ''*They're dead. They could have waited, gotten the creds tomorrow. But they haven't got the patience. They'll cash in the reward in some other place where shadework is offered. And by this time next month every last one of them will be dead.*'' The hooded stranger shrugged and opened a small part of their mask to allow the strong drink to enter their system.
''*Why though?*'' The hooded stranger asked. The bartender pointed at his missing eye. ''*Years ago, a human did this to me.*'' There was only an ugly burn-scar where there had once been sight. ''*Can't see ultraviolet anymore. We evolved this eye to perceive a nocturnal predator on my homeworld, one that had found a way to make itself unobservable, except if you could perceive light at a certain frequency. And a human burned it away. It used to make me able to see and avoid slipstream-abyssal voids when the FTL engine was engaged without enhancement. Made me one of the best long-range FTL pilots in the sector.*'' The stranger, perhaps curious, perhaps merely bored stared at the scar for a bit, before taking another sip of their drink. ''*Why'd any human do that?*'' The bartender looked down at his feet. ''*Because I made a mistake.*'' Motioning with their hand to continue, the stranger waited for the story to continue. ''*Back when I was in the business. Shadework, or frontier business, or dirtjobs. Whatever you call it. I made a mistake. Signed on with some real bad people. A dark outfit. The Crimson Star Cartel. Not grey business like smuggling, extortion, but real bad shit. I needed the money, but that wasn't an excuse. I told myself back then that I was just the driver, just transporting goods from one place to another. Doesn't excuse the fact that it was dangerous drugs, chemical weapons, and slaves. Not just from markets either.*'' He spends a moment steadying himself, the stranger staring behind their mask.
''*They'd raid small frontier colonies on outlying worlds. Places where the law doesn't reach quite yet. Places that maybe aren't official colonies. And they'd take everything they could. I'd just sit in the spaceship, waiting for the shuttles to get back onboard, with whatever or whoever they'd stolen. I didn't like it. But I had habits to feed, I told myself. I had a girlfriend, who couldn't work because she was hatching our egg. I didn't do it, and so for a while, I could almost live with it.*'' He sighs and empties his glass. The strong smell of powerful fruit-based ethanol brewed on distant worlds spread around the partially abandoned bar. Closing time would be soon, but the bartender was lost in dark memories. ''*It all changed when they tried to hit a human colony. Sure, there was more resistance than usual, and what they looted sold for less than normal. But afterwards, people involved with the whole group just starting turning up dead. Or going missing. I figured maybe someone had started to take notice of the cartel, so I got out of dodge quickly. But I was wrong. It was the humans. Survivors who had fled into the wilderness on that wild world, slaves who had killed their masters, and escaped. And they were hunting down everyone involved with their colony getting raided.*'' He shudders, as if the memory of those days reaches inside and awakens him in parts of his soul where he dares not to dwell.
''*Came for me eventually. I'd read up on the whole dismantling of the cartel. It had been brutal. Nobody had escaped. It had been years then, decades. But the humans don't stop. They don't give in. When enraged they cannot be argued or reasoned with. They will keep going until death comes for them, or they've killed every bastard who've wronged them. They came to me, broke down my door, killed my security drones, told me to pick my career or my family. My mate, my spawn, were more important to me. If I had picked my work, I think they would have killed me. So they burned out my third eye. All the way to the brain. I can't even get a cybernetic replacement, because the scar tissue is too prevalent for any attachment site to be found. Told me never to cross humans again.*'' The old bartender, wearied from his story, begins to clean up using the sonic disbursement emitter and the floor's inbuilt autohyginators. The stranger mulls over their drink for a bit. Thinking over the story perhaps.
Until the door to the bar is broken down.
And in charges a Cilaxonite war-reaver, tall enough that her helmet scrapes against the ceiling of the bar. Behind it follows two more, shorter and therefore noticeably male, Cilaxonites. She sits reaches with her six arms for the bartender who is already reaching for a plasmarifle, but is too late. The stranger finishes their drink and stands up. The large female Cilaxonite doesn't notice, though her males look a little apprehensive. One is scared, the other looks vaguely hopeful. The female screams at the bartender. ''**Give me all the fragging alcohol in your shithole or I'll rip out with your throat with my teeth!**'' Not noticing that the stranger is raising an odd metallic object from underneath their robe. It is a long tube, ending in a cyclic device with a handle and a small movable trigger on it. The stranger looks up at the much larger alien and speaks. ''*Are you Ternoshar, daughter of warmaster Ternola, who claimed her most recent male during the ritual slaughter of the Cynopian world-beetle?*'' She turns and snarls at the stranger. ''**I fragging well am, and unless you want to kiss my claws, feel my teeth in your organs, or pay me not to kill your world, frag off!**'' The stranger nods, and pulls back on the trigger of their strange metallic device. A small chemical explosion inside the device propels a metallic object with great speed into the chest of the Cilaxonite war-reaver.
Followed by five more chemical explosions propelling metal objects with great speed into a single direction. One strikes right in the middle of the female's four eyes. And exits through the other side of her head. She drops dead, and one of her males flee into the night, eager to get away from being underneath one of the Cilaxonite war-cult's reavers. The other has joyful tears in his four eyes. The bartender looks down at the Cilaxonite, one of the galaxy's most feared warriors. ''*What the frag just happened?*'' The stranger turns to the bartender, and removes their hood and mask to reveal a male human, dark hair and deep dark eyes set in a dark face. ''*You know why you don't cross humans. We're persistence predators. We will follow those who have wronged us to the ends of the galaxy and further beyond to get revenge.*'' The male human then turns to the remaining Cilaxonite, and reaches out a trembling hand. The alien grasps it and pulls the human into an embrace.
''*Damn war-reaver stole my boyfriend. Took me two years to track her down, set up a legal bounty on her head through third parties that I could get with my bounty-hunter licence, find her schedule for the night, change it, and put those mild poisons into her food. Enough to weaken her so I could get close enough to kill her.*'' The human loots the dead alien's body of a personal datapad and logs on to it, using biometrics from the still warm corpse. He then frees both his boyfriend, and the other poor Cilaxonite male from the legal debt slavery they've been living in. ''*Babe, I can't believe that the last insane cult of your people actually managed to capture you. You've got terrible luck.*'' The freed alien just giggles joyfully, while crying tears of happiness. The human turns to the bartender. ''*Two glasses of Laenekian sweet-wine, the 2501 vintage if you've got it. The year we met.*'' The bartender, somewhat in shock over what had just transpired, pours out two glasses of the sweet-wine.
Thus the human and his alien boyfriend celebrate their long awaited reunion together.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) | 331 | Humans aren't the strongest, or the most advanced, species in the galaxy, but they are the most vengeful and persistent. They evolved as persistence predators. If you wrong them, they are willing to follow you across the stars and can spend years working to get back at you for what you did. | 1,154 |
"........ and finally the new constitution was adopted and monsters were recognized as full citizens with equal rights." Nick finished his story with a little flourish
The child had been staring at him intently while he narrated, drinking in every word he said.
"So my teacher is a fairy!" She squealed, clapping her hands excitedly.
Nick who had met the child's teacher was quick to correct her. "No no no no, my child. Your teacher, while a wonderful lady is not a fairy. She's human."
The girl's face dropped, and she looked a little embarrassed.
"There there" consoled Nick "you've met other monsters, I'm sure. The man at the zoo the other day. He's a werewolf. They train animals now, you know"
"Was he really, uncle Nick?" She asked, her eyes widened with amazement.
"Ooooh, yes yes. Of course. And the nice lady who teaches you swimming, she's a mermaid"
The child was now suddenly lost in thought. Finally she asked "How come you don't have a job, uncle Nick? All the others do."
Nick was taken aback for a second. "Uuh... well... its complicated....I mean.... you know....." he fumbled
"You see, there isn't really much that can be done by a ghost. We cant touch things, we are basically just hollow spirits of people who were too afraid to move on. Besides we don't need a job. I mean, we don't need to eat or sleep. We don't need to be protected. No bargaining power from the govt. The vampires need blood, which the govt provides from the mandatory blood drives each month. Werewolves need a safe place to transition each Month. Fairies need protection from being forced to perform magic. Mermaids need safety from hunters. Well ghosts..... we just exist. No needs, no demands..... No use" he said shrugging
The child's eyes welled up. "Don't be sad Uncle Nick, she said while trying and failing to give the ghost a hug. "We need you here"
Nick smiled. The child was maybe a dozen generations down the family line from him. Yet he had retained the moniker "uncle Nick" in all these years.
People often said that ghosts were cowards too afraid to move on, but most of us were simply here because we still had these little reasons to stay. And it was also the reason we didn't need jobs.
"Tell me child, what story would you like to hear next.... | 82 | Monsters have now adapted to the modern world. Vampires now work as night guards, werewolves work as animal trainers, centaurs work in construction, merfolk's work as lifeguards, fairies work as nurces and teachers, dragons work as bankers and so on. Ghosts are a bit more complicated. | 178 |
The shrill cut through the serene air. I sighed, and rolled over. It was my last day working a dead-end job as a handyman and cleaner. I had saved up enough to disappear into the forest, and with this paycheck I was set to gather berries and herbs for the rest of my life. I turned off my alarm, and started to get ready for the day.
I walked into the closet under the stairs, and grabbed my list of things to repair. I stretched my head side to side, and cracked my fingers. “Let’s show them not to mess with spellcasters.”
**Repair the microwaves (floor 1, 3, and 6)** \- The microwave on the sixth floor is always broken at the end of the day. And each morning, I trek upstairs to fix it. "How's it going, Fairy Man?" Howard said while giving me finger guns. "I hear it's your last day. We'll miss you here on the sixth floor." Behind him, I saw Candance snickering. I nodded my head to acknowledge him, and went to the break room.
The aroma of coffee filled the air, hopefully providing someone with energy for the work day. I went over to the microwave, and pressed my hand on its top. "Reparandum," I whispered, while picturing the microwave bursting, splattering food all over at the first meal of the next day.
**Unclog the toilets (floor 2, 4, and 6)** \- Although it only said floors two, four, and six, I went into the bathrooms on each level. Management thinks that a toilet is clean if it works. I put the palm of my hand on top of each tank. The stalls over could hear me say reparadum, but I was picturing a bidet spray that felt like a squid tentacle, awakening a poor employee tomorrow.
I went faithfully through my list, successfully repairing and cleaning each object with my spells. At the end of the day, I pressed my hand to the floor, saying, “Emundare.” I figured I should keep one thing normal.
Howard caught me in the parking lot, and slapped me on the back. “Fairy Man, don’t forget about us here, okay? We’ll miss your burly beard.”
“My name is Ambrose,” I stated, seeing Howard laying down. He collapsed. I kept walking to my car. He’d wake up before there was an accident, although he might have a few scars. I drove home, and finished packing for my move.
I awoke to my phone buzzing. My old dead-end dead job was calling.
“Hi, Ambrose, can you come to work today?”
“I resigned,” I wriggled my eyebrows.
“We know, it’s just that everything is breaking and dirty today, and we haven't hired anyone to take over for you.”
“Sounds like you’re in a tough spot. Sorry, but I’m done working for you guys. Have a nice life.” I hung up the phone, and leaned back. I bit my lip, envisioning the chaos the company would be handling today as I loaded up my car, and drove into the forest. | 29 | It's a common misconception that wizards have to say the name of the spell that they're casting. You, a spellcaster, have decided to abuse this power. | 88 |
It was decades ago that I accepted a female child to be my bride. Despite having no intentions of making her such, I bought her off her parents, knowing they would find another buyer. I gave her wealth and told her to live as she wished and if she wanted something else to ask.
Wealth wasn't what she wanted. So she asked. It was something I couldn't deliver. I tried. I brought her with me as I looked long and hard for her desire. Days turned to weeks, to months, to years. I brought her to many places. Places full of good humans, bad ones, places normal humans couldn't go, or wouldn't. I brought her through realm after realm that my powers gave me access to.
And still I failed.
She asked for other things too though, and those I could give her. I made sure to. Eventually she found a place she wanted to be, a place to stay.
I visited often. It hurt to watch her grow old before my eyes. Though it was enjoyable too. I helped her in every way I could. To me her life was so short, and yet left such a big impact on me.
"Do you remember what I asked for when we first met?" She asked laying in bed. Her hair long ago lost its color, her skin wrinkled.
"Yes, you wanted a parent. A real one, who wouldn't trade you away. Who would love you, care for you, and cherish you. I'm sorry I couldn't find one." It seemed like yesterday, and yet it was a lifetime ago for her.
"You were one, you are one." She responded.
I realized then that I hadn't failed. Despite the difficulty, the impossibility of the task I had undertaken all those years ago. I had succeeded and even if I was unable to accept it before.
I had always thought there was someone, something better out there to be her parent.
She didn't. | 3,569 | The eldritch god stood before the girl, in almost human form. "Your parents sold you to be my bride. I accepted, knowing that if I don't they will just try another deity, but I will not force this on you. Have this credit card and live as you wish. If you want something else instead, just ask." | 5,487 |
"Here be dragons." At first, I thought the cartographer was having a laugh. After all, how in the world would there be dragons in the center of the city Asapment? It had to be a little inside joke. But my curiosity wouldn't just let that sort of thing rest. So, when my next mission took me there, I had to check it out.
My feet slowed as I got closer and closer to the spot. On the map, it was just a blank spot, with the words and a basic drawing of a dragon. Now that I was here, it didn't seem that different from the rest of the city. There was a small square, with a dry fountain in the center. Tall light posts curled around the perimeter of the open space, leaning inwards. My footsteps echoed loudly in the silence, for there was one difference from the city. No other human was in this area.
I walked to the fountain, peering about for any traces of dragons. Nothing. With a sigh, I lowered myself onto an obliging bench. I was getting too old for this sort of thing. Idly, tracing patterns in the dust at the bottom of the fountain, I whistled under my breath. And something whistled back.
Heart suddenly in my mouth, my gaze darted around the square. Again, there was nothing. Only a small heat shimmer above one of the lamposts. I whistled four descending notes, and the other whistle replied with the notes ascending. Trying to pinpoint the whistler, I stood, spinning in a small circle. Nothing. Except... Hadn't there only been one heat shimmer before? Now, there were at least five, each near a lampost.
With my hand resting on my belt knife, I started whistling a tune. I only got a few notes in before the song was taken up and repeated by a whole chorus of whistles. The heat shimmers grew stronger, multiplying until they were hanging off of the lamposts, twining around the fountains, hovering over the cobblestones. And as the song kept going, kept reverberating, I could see the translucent bodies that the heat shimmers surrounded.
They were small, only about the size of a house cat. Their eyes took up most of the tiny head, with sharp spiky horns set just behind. No wings, and yet some of them floated in the air. I took a firmer grip on my knife, but they didn't seem to be hostile. A few of them moved around me, trying to drape over my shoulders. I shifted my weight, and with that motion, they scattered like minnows, fleeing back to their lamposts.
I had long since run out of breath, but the song continued, changing and growing stronger. More and more whistles joined in, harmonizing, or repeating sections. And then the sun peaked out from behind the clouds. Rainbows of light scattered across the square, the sunlight refracting through the translucent dragon's bodies. Standing in the center, drenched in the song and light, I couldn't help the smile that pulled on cheeks more used to frowning.
I don't know how long I stood there, how long the dragons whistled their song. But eventually, the sun slipped behind the cloud; the whistles died away until there was just one. It repeated the final descant, and then ceased. The square returned to normal, though it seemed that if I looked hard enough, I would see those heat shimmers again.
After all, here be dragons... | 11 | You just noticed a place on the map labeled “Here be dragons,” in the middle of a major city. | 19 |
##Lies of the Gods
*She's one of them.*
My snakes whisper into my ears. My hands shake. I bring right hand up to the blindfold. The gods have been cruel masters; I cannot aide them in any way. If they find her in my care, they would curse me again even if she was left alive.
*We will have our revenge.*
*She's just a baby.*
*All gods must perish.*
*We can use her.*
I pull my hand down. At first, I wasn't going to kill her because I would never kill a child. Now, I realize that I can use her. Her crying fills the air.
*A few steps forward then bend down.*
She doesn't resist when I hold her in my arms and rock her. Her cries turn into coos. She is my child.
---
*Every arrow hit its mark.*
"Well done, Fidia." I stand clapping my hands.
"Thank you mother," she says
*She is curtsying for you, but her face shows hesitation.*
"What's wrong my child?" I ask.
"I've been practicing every day for the past twenty years. When will I get my chance to go against the gods."
"I've told you that will be a long time in the future. They have millennia of experience. Don't worry. You will rectify the world soon enough."
"I know, but-" I hear Fidia draw her bow. The snakes start to hiss. The air reeks of divinity.
"Hello, Medusa." I turn and remove my blindfold.
"You know that won't work on me." A tall woman with short black hair stands before wearing a tunic with a quiver on her back. A deer and dog stand beside her.
"Artemis, why have you come here? Your kind has committed enough harm in the world," I say.
"I recognize a skilled huntress when I see one." Artemis looks over my shoulder. "And Athena is one of my closest companions."
"You wouldn't dare; I had no choice." I focus on the deer, but the deer doesn't turn to stone. Artemis laughs.
"Your maternal instincts are touching. Do not worry. I will give Fidia a test."
"You gods love testing us mortals for your own amusement."
"Yes, you mortals," Artemis smiles, "I want to see how skilled of a hunter Fidia is. I will summon several creatures. If she kills them, I will let her live, and she may join my hunting party."
"Deal," Fidia yells from behind me.
"Fidia, don't." I put on my blindfold and turn. Hisses emerge from the ground, but they are unfamiliar.
*A snake is crawling up her leg.*
*She's not firing a single shot.*
*One is showing its fangs.*
I collapse on the floor crying.
"It's a shame. I thought that she would be better," Artemis says.
*A snake has bitten her.*
*She's still standing.*
*More snakes are biting her.*
"What?" Artemis says.
*The snakes are leaving her body.*
*Their crawling to Artemis.*
Artemis and animals scream behind me.
*Unbelievable.*
*The snakes are killing attacking her.*
*Her face is turning pale.*
I stand and walk to Artemis who's lying on the ground. After taking off my blindfold, she's turning to stone.
"I think I know my domain." Artemis's voice comes from behind me. I turn around to witness Fidia transform into Artemis. I scramble to put my blindfold on, but she puts her hands on my arms.
"It's alright mother. I won't turn to stone," she says.
"I was going to wait until your ready to tell you that you were a goddess."
"I already knew. It was the first lie I knew." Fidia picks up a snake. "And it won't be the last."
"If you don't won't to kill the gods, I understand."
"No. I may be the goddess of lies, but their deceptions are the cruelest. I shall be their downfall as you intended."
---
r/AstroRideWrites | 10 | Medusa finds a newborn Olympian God washed up on the shore. She takes the raising the child as her own, with her own ideals, as her own revenge on the gods. | 31 |
I stared down at the poor thing on his knees. The pathetic being at my feet had been told he was the strongest and most talented the Tower had. The only one who could destroy the big bad wolf at the edge of the continent. I’d knocked him around so much today, and many times before.
For the longest time I couldn’t understand why he’d come back for more. But today… I think I finally understood. Standing on the mountainside I could see it. The “Beacon of All Hope.” The Central Tower and authority that I had stood up to long ago. The reason why I lived on the outskirts of humanity.
It had been so long since I last stepped foot into a human town yet the Central Tower still hunted me. A whole 73 years after the disagreement that labeled me a villain. Their belief that our powers should be used for the sake of humanity… what utter nonsense. There’s no reason for me to offer my powers on a massive scale for free.
Looking at the man… no, boy at my feet I could feel his senseless desire to destroy something “other.” I had powers, yet did not belong to the Tower and because of that I was evil.
“You can still hear me, right?” I asked the wavering body below me. “You’re coherent?”
His head slowly rose to glower at me. One eye completely swollen shut and his lip torn painfully he still had a look of defiance. A sneer crossed his face and he spat at my feet.
This… is the type of hero that deserved better. The strongest? I almost pitied him. This was his fifth time coming after me at the will of the Tower and he never went back in any better condition. “Little hero, where are your cohorts? Why are you always the one to stand against me alone?”
He chewed on his words and finally said, “Because I’m the strongest. I can’t allow you to hurt others so I face you alone.”
“Is that really your choice? Or is that what you’ve been told?”
“...”
“Does it make sense to face me alone? Even if you are the strongest hero, I could be subdued if maybe there were two or three more of you.”
“But they’d be hurt.”
“You nincompoop. And you’re not?”
“But… but I’m the strongest hero we have. I have to be the one to face you.”
“Again… who says so? Who says you have to do it alone? And why would THEY tell you to do it alone?”
“...” The silence was deafening.
“Even in ballads and epics, heroes don’t go after the final villain without the support of those who make them stronger. Arthur had Merlin. Frodo had Sam. Who do you have?”
“I have everyone at the tower,” he mumbled out. I could slowly see him grasp where I was going with this.
“Young hero, why am I a villain?”
“You hurt people.”
“When have I hurt people?”
It slowly dawned on him. I was “other” but I was not evil. To put it simply, I was as dangerous as any other person - capable of harming others but that didn’t mean I did.
“Do you want to live freely? Without being sent out senselessly to your destruction, day in and day out? Needlessly? Thanklessly?” I asked, genuinely concerned for this boy.
“But… but I don’t know what I’d do without the tower.” He finally murmured.
“Well that’s something for you to figure out.” I slowly walked to him and held out my hand. “Come with me. Let’s patch you up - I think we have much to discuss.”
Taking my hand, the hero slowly came to his feet and leaned against me. “No tricks.” He threw one more accusatory glance at me.
“None. I swear by my powers.”
He grunted and we slowly made our way down the mountain. Once we got a ways into the treeline I stopped him. “Please lean against this tree. I just realized I lost an item in our fight. I know exactly where it is though so I’ll be just a moment.”
With a wary glance he nodded and sank down against a yew.
When I emerged from the woods I felt for the absence of life I’d noticed when we first arrived there. Finding it I gripped for a fireball out of the air and threw it at where I knew it would be. Satisfied with its lack of identifiers I turned back into the forest where someone needed me.
The tower would have to accept the loss of their most powerful hero at the hands of a villain. | 134 | A supervillain offers the superhero the chance to join them not because they think the hero is the only thing in the way of their plans, but because they believe that the hero is being abused and taken advantage of by the general public, and that they would genuinely be happer as a villain. | 405 |
Mattya sits, one hand gripping her pen, the other supporting her head in disbelief. "So - and let me get this straight, they are calling us space-dwarves?"
Across from her Jack was leans against the doorframe amused. "That's right, we are the dwarfiest in the cosmos. Short, stock and stout with a penchant for engineering is what the blurb says."
"Well this is great, we're already being ridiculed on the galactic stage and we haven't even formally introduced ourselves to most of them."
"Mat, you gotta think bigger than that, they aren't ridiculing us. They are praising us."
"As dwarves?" She repeats
"As master ship builders." He clarifies.
"They like our ships?"
"They love them. You should see all the headlines popping up." He waves his hand and the back wall lights up with recent articles.
\*Nothing can survive the high impact landings of Xer'a Prime like an Earth ship\*
\*Got somewhere to be? Get there safely and in style with humanities biggest invention yet\*
\*Energy Propulsion? Forget it with humanities new Ark reactor, bringing - YOU - back to a more civilised age\*
\*Eyes not letting you navigate the cosmic slip-lanes like you used to. Don't stress, humanities new vessel will have you blasting back across the cosmos in no time\*
Mattya sights, "We sound like late night advertisements being broadcast across the galaxy."
"We do I'll admit but the preorder's are insane. They love us, no sub-space, no energy shields. Just a thick destroyer class hull and a dream. This is gonna be big Mat."
"Screw it," she says dropping her hands. "Let's go be space-dwarves." | 52 | It turns out that humans were space-dwarves all along. Their FTL technology is lacking, but human-built starships have become popular among the galactic community for being among the most durable and aesthetically pleasing on the market. | 124 |
The panes in my windows rattled with the force of the pounding at my door. It had only just begun but I could hear the voices growing louder outside.
I looked into the eyes of the young imp and gave a soft and reassuring smile and began humming a calming tune. “I’ll be done in a moment and you can go.” I watched my fingers and carefully, ever so steadily, continued the last four sutures. As I trimmed the thread I heard the wood of my door finally crack and I gave the imp one last smile and a little pat on the head. “Go home now, your family is waiting.”
The imp looked conflicted. I was still here because I’d been tending his wounds instead of running. “Shoo. Shoo. Off with you.” I scooted him toward the chimney where he could make a quick escape.
I came from a family of doctors and vets. We felt our duty was to save and protect those we could. It just so happened I somehow ended up a cryptid doctor. It all started with a siren who had gotten snared in a fishing net and moved on to fairies, minotaurs, and even a Big Foot. I was a doctor, only my hippocratic oath extended beyond humans.
Things had been fine for the last two decades. I saw humans during the day and when I was occasionally needed by the mythical and spiritual I’d see them at night. I’d only see mythics during the day if it was an emergency. Until you’ve seen a centaur gored by a unicorn horn you don’t fully comprehend urgency.
Wiping the deep purple blood from my hands I unlocked my door before it fully blew open. “May I help you?” I asked, exhausted. I felt myself unceremoniously yanked out the door as a sack was thrown over my head. “WHAT THE HELL!?” I knew it was going to be bad but nothing could have ever fully prepared me for what was happening. I mean - I’d take the smell of cleaning a minotaurs infected hoof over the inside of the disgusting sack any day. I couldn’t imagine where they even got it.
“Aristelle Jenkins, you’ve fraternized with the supernatural long enough.” I heard the disgusting Mayhew’s voice from the crowd I felt around me. “You’re to be burned at the stake.”
It took everything in my power not to vomit. I’d seen supposed witches burned at the stake before and… Oh God the smell, the screams, the heat. I was being dragged without any chance to argue or request a trial. As if a fair trial existed at this point.
I struggled and screamed as I was dragged down the city streets until I felt tinder and wood under my feet. I was quickly shoved to my knees and tied up to a post.
*This… really can’t be happening right now? Can it? Where’s Jeffrey? Where’s Lisa? Where’s everyone I have ever treated? Why aren’t they stopping this?* I was one of the city’s doctors and I couldn’t understand why none of my patients were standing up for me.
I held back and stopped myself from crying and screaming anymore. I would at least die with dignity. I gathered myself just in time for the sack to be ripped off so I could see the faces of all gathered. Apparently my murder was a spectacle worth watching judging by the size of the crowd. I could barely hear or comprehend what was being said to me by the head of the mob - my eyes could only follow the motion of the torches around me.
In my shock the flames were so mesmerizing I didn’t see the movement of a pixie until it hovered inches in front of my face. I jolted and stared at it. I had mended the wing of this pixie’s child a few weeks ago.
“Shoo. Shoo. Go on, go!” I hurriedly rushed out. The pixie shook his head and gave a mischievous wink.
*…Someone’s getting pixed*. I stared at the pixie as long as I could see it when I heard gasps from the crowd.
The shimmering dust reflected in the light as people began to yelp and cry from the burning and itching sensation of pixie dust. In that distraction I felt something the size of a toddler slide up behind me and Mayhew began shoving his torch in my direction. “Get rid of that beast!” I couldn’t see him but I knew it was a goblin I’d seen months before based on the overwhelming scent alone. *Was his name Lenny?*
“Don’t listen Miss Jenkins.” The goblin placed his hands over my ears just as an aria began.
I frowned and I saw people begin bending this way, that way, twirling, and smoothly dancing with looks of horror upon their faces. From the way they glanced at the sky I could only guess that Sirens had come for them.
By now, those that weren’t dancing were either still scratching themselves or running in my direction. I couldn’t hear them but got the gist that I wasn’t long for this world. As I watched my assailants close in I felt the ground rumble. It started as a slight tremor and began to turn into a rumble. I wasn’t the only one to notice dust falling from buildings as the vibrations increased.
That’s when the first chimera exploded into the square. Chimeras, followed by manticores, with centaurs and minotaurs in quick pursuit. Small members of the fae and goblin family and others were dispersed here and there. As soon as the creatures closed in on the mob the dancing stopped and Lenny removed his hands from my ears. The sirens had stopped singing and allowed the land going creatures to take over.
*What on Earth am I watching?* The citizens never stood a chance. The supernatural creatures began pressing the crowd, circling them up like cattle. I couldn’t take my eyes off the sight as the goblin fiddled with my restraints. As soon as my arms dropped beside me I looked at Lenny.
“Your ride’s here Miss Jenkins.” Lenny pointed at a centaur running up to me.
“Uh… You want me to ride him?” I asked.
“So you’re Miss Jenkins.” The centaur said as he got close. “Hop on, we need to get you out of here.”
I stared at the blonde centaur in shock. “You want me to ride you?”
“Do you have any other options?”
I staggered to my feet and approached him. “You… do know your reputation, correct?”
“Don’t worry Miss Jenkins. You’ve nothing to fear from us.”
“Who said I was afraid of you?” He knelt low enough I could climb onto his back and held on.
“Fair point. Hold on tight.”
I almost fell off the centaur and had to awkwardly find where to hold into him as he laughed at me. Running past the crowd I could see the bands of creatures peel away from their prey and begin to follow out of the city. To my surprise I noticed no dead or dying people, only minor injuries.
Suddenly a slew of fairies and a couple of pixies caught up with us and alighted everywhere they could on the centaur and myself. “You’re coming home with us now!” They squealed in excitement.
“Wait, what? No I’m not. I never said I’d go home with you.” *Oh no. Oh no. I can’t follow these fairies home.*
I saw the centaur turn his head and give a wicked smile.
“I’m no fairy or supernatural.” I watched us get closer to the forest on the edge of town. “Please don’t do this.” *If I jump I still won’t be able to get away.* I began to panic. “I thought you said you wouldn’t do this.”
“No. I only said I wasn’t going to prove the reputation of centaurs right.” The centaur responded and laughed. The fairies began giggling.
I stared at the oncoming trees and the open circle I knew was just beyond sight. My stomach lurched as I came to terms with where I was going. I was being spirited away and I didn’t have any power to stop it. | 20 | minotaurs, sirens and so on. One day, a mob seizes you to tie you to the stake. | 40 |
It had been five long years since the devil had crashed into Jeffrey’s skull with the force of an 18 wheeler (literally), and like an infected wound the devil had festered in his dreams ever since.
Now, Jeff was no superstitious, wooey-gooey fool. No, he was a rational atheist. He *knew* that the drunk truck driver named Bob that had put him in a wheel chair wasn’t *literally* the devil. If asked, Jeff would say that his brain had just gotten fucked up a bit in the crash, and that would’ve made sense. It would’ve explained the nightmares. The awful, *torturous* nightmares. But in his heart of hearts he knew— Bob was a vessel, a conduit.
He’d allowed Bob to visit him in the hospital once, and with tears in his eyes the man had cried “I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry.”
“Sorry for what,” Jeff had questioned him. The nightmares had begun immediately, the creature had visited him even while he was still in a coma. “For paralyzing me or for putting the devil in my brain?”
Bob had looked taken aback. He’d had the *gall* to look surprised. “The…. Devil?”
Jeff narrowed his eyes. “You know,” he said, “I know you know.”
Bob paused for a moment, then began to wail. “Oh lord, I’m so sorry boy.” He’d been escorted out of the room shortly after.
But Jeff was a fighter. He wouldn’t allow his mind to be tormented by the lord of the nightosphere for free. In the years between then and now he’d hustled, scoured the web for information, and when that proved lacking he’d hunted down forgotten texts in the back corners of gothic libraries. Each day he sharpened his mind upon the page like a sword upon the whetstone, each night he fell into the devil’s clutch. Needless to say he slept as little as his body would allow. He’d isolated himself from everyone in his world. He’d changed into something darker, something more dangerous. He’d *had* to.
And it had all led to this.
This night.
This fight.
He tucked himself into bed that night with somber determination, pulling the covers over him like a doomed knight donning his battle scarred cuirass. *You who are about to die, we salute you*, he thought, *Tonight I dance with the devil*.
The dream began as it always did. He was on his back, his skin pressed again a slab of cold grey stone. The sky overhead was scorched and weeping. And try as he might, he couldn’t move. An unseen hand pressed down on him, gripping him the way a pervert might grip a naked barbie doll, that is, with a dull but unmistakable lust. Unseen was the hand, but not unfelt. It was cold and rough, but most of all it was dry— like a hand made of sawdust and sandpaper.
This was to be the devil’s prelude each and every night. He would wait there, on that slab of stone, until Wormwood himself deigned to arrive.
But this night was different, for this night Jeff had come to this place *lucid*.
Instantly he set about the unseen hand with ferocity. Wracking his brain for the words, he muttered something in dusty old Latin, a dream spell he’d picked up in one of those gothic libraries. He felt something emerge from his rib cage, one to either side, and looked down to find
—
Sorry i got tired, it’s almost 1am | 10 | after a horrendous incident that happened to you 5 years ago, you decide to learn to lucid dream and confront and fight the monster that has been haunting your nightmares that occurred every night. | 29 |
I was staring at the porn actress being railed on TV when someone knocked at the door. You know what sucks? Being given a libido, and then not a single organ with which to take care of that.
I made a quick movement towards the laser interpreter in my wall and Google Assistant turned off the TV and then opened the door. Say what you will about the current age, but having it so you can do shit and communicate without the need for magic and telepathy is amazing.
I looked at the door and in came a broad who was all dame. Long legs, wrapped in a red raincoat. I do feel sorry for dames sometimes, they have to use magic to see since they have no eyes, no head, no torso or arms, just legs, long beautiful legs, don't get me wrong, I hear they make a killing in certain kink industries. They also share one of my problems, since their legs are magically joined together but there's no crotch. They were made by someone with twisted interests, yes I'll kink shame, fuck it, I'll kink shame to hell.
The dame walked up to my desk on impressively high stiletto heels. Although it's easier to wear those kinds of heels when there's no weight at all above the thighs. I have to confess I did stare at those calves. She sat down in front of my desk and pretty much went out of my field of view. Again, no body above the thigh. As an act of courtesy I flew up higher to see her from above, she shook her foot in appreciation.
I signaled at the laser interpreter once again and my synthetic voice emerged from the speakers on the wall.
"Good afternoon", I said.
She dropped her shoes and began signaling with her feet.
"Clancy", she signaled. "Clancy Eyers".
I nodded, and the interpreter made the speakers say: 'He is nodding' in a neutral voice used to describe my physical actions when necessary.
"I'm a friend of Rosey" said the dame, then added: "You can call me Candy". She extended her foot and for a moment I wondered if her magical perception was working right. But then I hovered in a way which made the interpreter say 'he is shrugging', which I didn't really indented to have narrated, and then I floated down and shook her foot with the tip of my wing. My wings are for fast maneuvering, and some manipulation, the flying itself is done magically. People not knowing this has been useful in the past.
"Yeah", I said, "I know Rosey, how is she?"
Rosey is a galatean. A work of art brought to life by divine intervention. Well, her ancestors were. At some point one god or another got tired of having to intervene each time and gave galateans the ability to reproduce. Rosey is a gorgeous, if somewhat two dimensional girl made out of rose petals. I don't mean two dimensional as in lacking personality, she has much less physical depth than width and height. Personality she has oodles of.
"She's missing" said Candy.
"Missing", I repeated, waiting for the dame to elaborate.
"We both work at Exxotic's" signaled Candy. That's a kinda sorta strip club, for a clientele who are into the more, well, exotic side of life. I did feel a pang of lustful curiosity thinking about this Candy broad working there. There isn't really much in there to be exposed besides the rounded tops of her thighs, and yet I was willing to bet those were some soft rounded thigh tops. Gods damn my maker and his giving me desires...
"... none of the other girls have seen her in a few days, nor have her other friends. It's like she vanished", Candy was signaling during my reverie. For an ugly second I had a mental image of rose petal flying away in all directions. Rosey always had seemed so frail, 'has'! 'Has!' I corrected myself. No reason to assume the worst.
"Maybe she met someone, went away..." I began to signal.
"No", signaled Candy, "she wouldn't have done that without telling us. Besides..." her feet hesitated. In that moment I couldn't help but notice her delightfully painted nails, a rainbow in each one. I cursed inwardly again.
"Besides?" I signaled.
"There's... someone. From the old times. He made a bunch of mythicals. In the really old times I mean" signaled Candy. If I'd had a heart, it would have started beating hard. "People believe he was dead, a long time ago, but apparently he is back. I don't really know much about that..."
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck. Can't be. The laser interpreter made a weird sound, I was starting to hover in a way it didn't know how to interpret.
"What is it?" asked Candy.
"Nothing, go on please. Someone from the past". I said, as stable as I could.
"Us dames were made recently, you know, few decades ago" Candy began. And the laser interpreter was about to spout 'he is losing his patience', but I managed to signal to cut it off. Not noticing my impatience, because the speakers never got to mention it, Candy continued, "but some of the other girls were talking about that. He did made some of them..." then she paused.
I was tempted to let the speakers articulate my impatience.
"Not Rosey" I said instead. Rosey is one of the mythicals who were born. A lot of galateans are. Almost exclusively galateans are born.
"No. Not Rosey. The thing is this... man, he was nosing around the club, asking questions about non-made mythicals. Very interested. Rosey is the only one at Exxotics these days".
I nodded and allowed the interpreter to say it.
"Do you know his name?" I asked finally, almost not wanting to ask that question.
"Reforaldar. Reforaldar the Highest" said the dame. "I'm pretty sure that's the name, had the girls who knew it spell it for me".
Fuck.
The fucking Highest himself. Reforaldar. Luminous Lord of Almanta. Wizard King. Emperor. Motherfucker. My maker.
'He is afraid' said the interpreter and then my own synthetic voice cursed through the speakers. Candy's knees jumped in surprise.
"Sorry" I said.
After a few moments, Candy's feet signaled: "You know him".
Know him. Hah. Back in the day I betrayed the fucker. I helped the adventurers who killed him. Idiots didn't kill him properly, apparently.
"I do know of him", I said.
There was an uncomfortable pause, then Candy signaled: "Does it make sense to you that he would have taken Rosey?"
It did.
"It does" I said, not wanting to explain more. He had spent the last years of his life trying to make it so his creations could reproduce on their own. I was from an earlier batch, hence the no organs to go along with certain needs. That may have had something to do with my leaving certain runes unwritten, certain doors opened, certain artifacts unsecured. Mythicals able to reproduce would be very interesting to him.
Again that image of rose petals flying in the wind. Only now at the center of the petal explosion stood Reforaldar, staring at me hatefully.
"Will you help me? Will you help Rosey?" asked Candy.
Fuck that. I'm outta here. I'm going to find the last open portal to one of the less ugly Hells and go live there. That's what I wanted to say.
"Of course I'll help" I said. And gods damn it, I meant it. | 49 | You're a Private Eye, but you're not like other PI's. That's because you are, in fact, a floating eyeball with batwings and a fedora. An evil wizard made you long ago, but he was defeated. It's the modern age now, but there are rumors he's back. This looks like a case for... The Private Eyeball | 298 |
Water was dripping when I came to. My eyes were covered, and my hands were tied. I couldn’t see anything, but it smelled earthy and damp. I must have been underground somewhere.
I hadn’t seen who’d grabbed me, but I had a pretty good guess about who was behind it. I’d recently started a new job, and I’d rocked the boat a little too much. You see, I just got ordained and assigned to a congregation in San Francisco. On a whim, I went down to Ocean Beach, put my hand in the water, and blessed the Pacific. When I got back to the rectory, I told the head priest of my parish what I’d done, and he freaked out. He told me not to tell anyone and try to undo it if I could. I asked him why, but he told me not to question him.
I couldn’t help it. I had to know more. I called up some friends I had made in seminary and told them my story. Initially, they were excited to here from me, and they promised to ask around. But inevitably they stopped answering my calls.
One night, I was out walking in the city, feeling alone and defeated, when I caught the strongest whiff of sulfur. I looked up and saw a big man in a trench coat. He was wearing a hat that darkened his eyes, but the ember of his cigarette illuminated his chin.
“You’re not asking the right questions.”
“What are you talking about? What questions am I asking?”
“If the whole ocean is consecrated, then there’s no shortage of holy water. Power comes from scarcity.”
Before I could respond, he was walking away.
“Who are you?” I shouted after him.
“Someone who’s tired of the way things are,” and he responded before the night swallowed him.
When I got back to the rectory, I asked the head priest if he believed in demons. He looked me and sighed and told me that I should have stopped asking questions a long time ago. He wished a good night and headed off to bed.
I couldn’t sleep that night, and when morning rolled in with fog, I decided to go out and get some answers. But I didn’t make it very far before my assailants grabbed me and knocked me unconscious.
As I lay there, wherever there was, I caught a whiff of sulfur. It reminded me of my smoking friend from the night before, but it was different. The scent got stronger, and I realized someone was standing next to me now. I felt hot breath in my ear.
“They must not be happy with you. We’re going to have a lot of fun you and I.” | 23 | You, a novice priest, jokingly bless the water at a Pacific coast, resulting in entire oceans turning into holy water. The head priest however is terrified, and asks you to undo the ritual immediately. You secretly investigate, and uncover several dark truths of the world we're living in. | 80 |
"Ashan!" The floor manager bellowed. "It's been 3000 years, you think you would have learned by now!" He screamed as he floated across the vast, gold-lighted, cubicle farm. Ashan looked at his lamp, piled under stacks of incomplete parchmentwork, half-used bottles of ink, and a tablet carving of his wife and kids at Petra. His work neighbor, Inram, peered over the marble cubicle wall and gave Ashan one of those “Uh oh, and also I’m sorry, and are we still going to that hookah place tonight?” looks.
The manager, Roger, hovered over Anshan’s desk, gripped the bridge of his nose with closed eyes and a pained expression, sighed, and said, “Look Ashan, I really like you. We all like you here. You know that right?” He continued before Ashan had a chance to reply, “It’s just that when you do this kind of stuff, it’s a real headache for all of us.” Roger glanced over at Inram, “Don’t you have a new client to attend to?” At this, Inram ducked back down, grabbed his parchments, and quickly dissolved into his lamp.
“See Anshan, that's what I’m talking about. You’re always so gung-ho to grant wishes that you forget the process. You forget the rules. You leave all your files behind. I mean some of this parchment has been sitting here since that Mongolian client, what, seven- eight hundred years ago?”
“Yes, boss. Sorry, boss.”
“Look, you don’t have to apologize, I just need you to be better.” Roger rubbed his eyes, took a sip of coffee from his “World’s D’jinniest D’jinn” chalice.
“This one is out of my hands. I can’t defend you anymore. The big-blues are sending down an auditor.”
Ashan lingered on the low-relief carving of his family, put his head in his hands, and softly wept. “I can’t lose this job. There are people depending on me.”
Roger, awkwardly, pat the top of Ashan’s ethereal head, “There, there Ashan, this isn’t termination, it’s just an audit. Besides, there’s always the leprechaun guild, though I do hate their uniforms. And talk about a drawn-out process, they have more rules than we do. You have to wait for rainbows and lug around cauldrons of gold and hope someone finds it. It’s all so convoluted. I don’t know how they get anything done. No no, you won’t end up there. This is just procedure. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
As Roger glided away, a message in teal smoke poured out of Ashan’s lamp and hovered in the air before him, “Under Order of the Grant-A-Wish Foundation, You are under investigation for a Class C Infraction under the Better Wishes Act of 2018. Please cease all wish granting and place your lamp in the off position. An auditor will be with you shortly.”
Ashan slouched on his brightly-colored, ornamental cushion and prepared for the worst. The office gossip, Mil’dredd, floated by just in time to see the message dissipate.
“Oh no. That’s not good. I hear the new auditor is a fae. But not just any fae, oh, no, no, no. This one’s a doozy.” She smirked with one eyebrow raised, waiting for Ashan to take the bait. He just sat there, silently sobbing.
“Ugh fine, it’s THE fairy. The Godmother! She’s been around FOR-EVER. She was phased out and they stuck her with auditor. Could you imagine? After serving for millenia to just be deemed obsolete like that? I sure wouldn’t like it. Anyway, good luck,” Mil’dredd oozed cheerily.
There was a poof and a shower of purple and pink sparkles. The Fairy Godmother had arrived.
“Oh dear, don’t look so glum.” She said in her sing-song voice.
Ashan looked up, tears in his eyes.
“I’m sorry, Ms..Missus..Godmother.”
“Oh you can just call me Fairy Godmother. I’ve been assigned to you to take care of this rotten business. Shall we get to it?”
With a wave of her star-tipped wand, the Fairy Godmother summoned a cushy chair, a silver tea-set, and a manilla file heavy with parchment.
“Now, now, now, let’s see. Do you know why I’m here?”
“It’s because of the candy, right?” Ashan let out through sobs.
“Precisely! It’s because of the candy!” She exclaimed cheerily as she propped her glasses further up on her nose with the tip of her wand. “I’m glad I don’t have to explain that part to you. We’re off to a wonderful start!”
The Fairy Godmother pulled out an infinitely long scroll of parchment, unfurled it, highlighted a section, and placed it in front of Ashan.
“Now can you tell me what this little subsection here says?”
“It says ‘In accordance with the Better Wishes Act of 2018, wishes that disrupt the global economy of the mortal realm, Earth, are not to be permitted.’”
“Yes, that’s right. Very good. And can you tell me what may have caused such a disruption?”
Ashan hesitated, knowing full-well how he had messed up. But he didn’t know things had changed so much. His bottle had been inert for a couple hundred years until the little girl in Florida found it in a vintage boutique.
“Look,” Ashan said, “I know I messed up. But it comes with the territory. Some of us don’t see clients for long stretches.”
“Ah, yes. And while you were waiting, did you not manage to read the amended code? And I see you have quite a lot of forms here that need filling out.”
“My last client was this African guy who wished to be king and to have more gold than anyone in the world! And he freely gave it out. He decimated the economy of Egypt!”
The Fairy Godmother pulled out another infinitely long scroll, “I see. Mr. Musa. Yes, yes. Well that’s all very well and good, but that was a simpler time. Less people. Yes, less people and much more need for our work.” The Fairy Godmother was lost in thought, reminiscing about a time when little children and princesses believed in her, needed her.
“Well that’s not the world anymore. They are able to make their own wishes come true now. Some of them, anyway. And, we’re not here to discuss them! We are here to discuss your infractions!” She took on an anger that seemed ill-placed on her person, losing the patience of the sweet fairy.
“Look, Anshan? Anshan. You can’t just give a little girl all the candy on the planet. Factories, shops, villages, the stock market; they were all affected by that simple request. Stocks plummeted, orders weren’t able to be met, children literally had candy in their mouths disappear. No, no, no. It just won’t do. I’m sorry to tell you this, Anshan, but the higher-ups have already asked me to let you go.”
Ashan froze, bewildered, thinking of all those he had helped through the millennia: the poor boy who wished to be a prince to win the love of a princess, the man on the desert island who wished for a boat, the Egyptian deity who wished for a son, the Babylonian priest who wished to understand more about the stars. Sure, the wishes were ripe with trickery and misdirection, but he helped them in some small way. He was sure of this.
He looked up into the Fairy Godmother’s bespectacled eyes and said, “You’re assigned to me, yes?”
“Why, yes. I’m the auditor assigned to you.” She sighed, “I know this is quite the shock, but I’m sure you’ll bounce back. I hear the monkey paw factory is looking for some new talent! It’s bloody work, but the pay is good!”
“You’re assigned to me?” Ashan asked again, stressing the “to me.”
“Yes, we’ve been over this, I’m the audi-” Ashan cut her off.
“Okay. Then, Fairy Godmother, I have a wish.”
Ashan whispered to himself, to the carving of his family, “I’m sorry to thrust this upon you, but we’ve always talked about it. About escaping. About living life.”
The Fairy Godmother was stunned silent. She could feel the wand getting warm in her hand, activating at the words “I have a wish.”
“You can’t do this!” She screeched. “That is not how this works.”
He knew that there was no going back. This was permanent. Final. She was one who’s magic was strong enough.
He raised up, looked her square in the face and said, plainly and levelly, “I wish for me and my wife and my children to be mortal.”
The Fairy Godmother’s face twisted in frustration, in contradiction. She had to fulfill this wish, she was assigned to Ashan. She could have refuted it, but she didn’t catch the tricks in his words. The d’jinn were tricky, she forgot, but she would remember next time.
The wand took her hand into the air, and with a swish of her wrist, granted Ashan’s wish. The smoke that billowed off Ashan’s body was the first to go, settling like a fog in dense jungle on his broad shoulders. The flames of his body slowly extinguished. His nebulous tail receded into his body and legs poofed into existence. And then, all at once, his corporeal body formed. His face adorned with a thick beard and his wavy, brown hair came spilling out of his head, stopping at his shoulders. His vest became a cotton weave and his trousers sprang forth from his waist, tight at the top and billowy around his sandaled feet.
Before disappearing to Earth, for mortals cannot exist in the magical realms, he whispered to the Fairy Godmother, “Thank you.”
The Fairy Godmother stood up in a huff, scoffed, and turned her attention to his desk. Ashan’s former lamp vibrated violently as a new teal, smoky message shot out, “Fairy Godmother, you are to return to the main office at once. Please desist any wish granting activity. In accordance with the Better Wishes Act of 2018, you are to be audited.”
*edited for grammar and punctuation | 12 | Genies have to put up with layers of bureaucracy too. After granting your most recent wish to a human, you are now “under an active investigation” by a “magical auditing professional” for a “class C infraction under the Better Wishes Act 2018”. | 33 |
Dr. Mosid heard the American news. For some reason China and Australia went silent and stopped responding to messages send by the USA. People facetiming with Chinese or Australian friends at the time reported that they saw their friends suddenly disappear and leave some ashes. Later the same was reported from Middle East and then Europe. It was deduced that the disappearing of people was happening in every place that was looking towards the sun. That left less than an hour to the east coast of the US. A european satelite had some hours ago observed a weird burst of solar radiation heading towards the Earth. The Americans began (as usuall Dr. Mosid thought) panicking. Many people hid in dark places with as many clothes as possible hoping to deflect the burst. But observations from Europe showed this to be futile. Others started to drive to the west hoping to get some extra hours of life. The Austronauts who were preparing for the next mission were launched to space immediately hoping to stay on the dark side of the Earth as long as they could. That way they might escape.
Dr. Mosid closed the radio and decided to think for a bit. She was one of the few scientists in Antarctica. The sun wouldn't appear there for the next couple of months. That means that she would be one of the last human survivors. | 47 | No one knows why, or how it happened, but it just did. One day, most of human civilization ended as the light of the sun is now dangerous. | 161 |
Causality. Cause, and effect, the omnipresent and omnipotent law of the universe.
We, the thousand species of the Entente, believed this to be ironclad, as immutable as gravity, as undeniable as light, as singular as the strong and weak forces. With this central tenet of our understanding of the cosmos, we wrought the fabric of reality to our will. We bent the stars and threaded the orbits of countless worlds.
Comprehend, if you will, what a civilization does when even a grub, mewling and suckling on the teat of its brood-mother, is given a star and a solar system to make with as the ancient potter works their clay.
We were as gods, our desires undenied, our fantasies given life, our power unsurpassed. But even as gods, we still adhered to the eternal rules of the cosmos that we played in.
How foolish we were to think that we were gods, when we were still naught but children in our sandbox. We soon learnt the lesson of what it meant to have hubris.
On one day they struck us: beams of light screaming out from the void, impacting every world under the banner of our Entente. Orbital relays registered impossible particles tearing forth from the wounds in reality left by the passage of these beams, accelerated to velocities beyond the lightspeed barrier.
Our physicists tore their mandibles and frazzled their feelers at this impossibility, for these beams devastated our worlds, leaving quadrillions dead in the initial impact and slaying as many more in the shower of exotic radiation left in their wake. Only the untold broods who inhabited the trillions of orbital stations in the millions of Entente systems still remained alive, flooding the archives with the catalogued grief of nameless quintillions.
Our astrogators reverse-calculated the trajectory of these spears, ignoring relativistic effects, and found the origin point for all these spears to be perfectly aligned with an unnamed system, which had been slated for reclamation. It was a mundane system located almost a thousand light years from the Entente coreworlds, with the spectrograms indicating a yellow-white star of medium metallicity and with several confirmed exoplanets in its orbit, nothing special. The archives confirmed that the reclamation fleet should have arrived in that system several standard decades ago and proceeded on its directives to process all available matter present.
If our assumptions were correct, then we would have to alter our reclamation plans. The Admirals of the 6857th and 19204th Pacification Hives were given their directives, to execute high-relativistic flight paths to the Origin of Spears and annihilate any threats to the Entente found at their destination.
The instant this directive was transmitted by focused tightbeam, we immediately received news of the annihilation of the 6857th and 19204th, an impossibility given that these two fleets were maintained in unmapped and classified systems only known to the Entente Council several lightyears away from the Entente Coreworld.
Accompanying this transmission of destruction was a message recorded in the Entente diplomat dialect but spoken by a species that the Entente had never encountered before: an abomination with two eyes, two front legs and two rear legs upon which they stood. Instead of mandibles or mouth-feelers, the creature had bone-ends covered behind fleshy protrusions, and when it spoke, it flapped a lump of meat in its mouth cavity to imitate our exalted tongue.
“Greetings, Entente Council.
Your kind sent us death and destruction. The endless hordes of your machines and devices arrived, blotting out the stars, enveloping our system and saturating the dreams of our children with your insectoid abominations. For decades, we fought your mechanical demons, sacrificing untold oceans of blood and trillions of souls to the grinding gears of war. Even speaking your tongue to record this message for you filthy creators of nightmares fills me with revulsion. My mouth was not made to imitate these <<clicks>> and <<grunts>>.
But I did all this, because I would like to thank you, you filthy creatures on the Entente Council. It turns out that your attempt to wipe us out was really a gift in disguise, for we found that which was lacking in your technology, and broke past that which your machines considered finite in scale and infinite in integrity.
Yes, for within the depths of your nightmare machines, we found our salvation. As you twisted the skeins of matter and energy to your will, we have now bent time and causality to ours.
We have prepared that with which we will punish all transgressions, past, present and future. There will be no more pacification, no more conquest, and no more reclamation.
Our eyes will see all. Our ears will hear all. Our hands will reach everywhere, and our legs will bring us anywhere.
I am High General Koen Licht, of the <<Humanity Treaty>>. As our ancient ancestors threw spears to hunt the beasts that roamed our world, so too will our spears devastate all that you intend to use to harm any more humans with.
Your sins have returned to punish you, and we are them made manifest. Glory to Mankind.”
With this transmission, it had become clear to us to all of the Entente, all of our thousand species, our million worlds, and our quintillion survivors, that our ascendancy was over.
The skies over every world split open and the angel-ships of the humans tore their way through those gaping wounds into our reality.
Our reign over the cosmos as false gods came to an end.
And the dawn of Humanity began.
*Author note: Thanks for reading. This story is blatant humanity fuck yeah wanky-ness, and was sorta-inspired by WH40K ships and the warp. If you liked this style, I have a webnovel that I am updating progressively, which can be found here: https://www.webnovel.com/book/polaris-north-star-chronicles\_23138447306348605. Cheers, and thanks again for reading.* | 175 | In the universe, humans are actually not very advanced, but they dominate the galaxy nonetheless. Not because of our military might, nor of our diplomatic skill and kindness, but rather we are the only race to ever have FTL. | 321 |
I stiffled a giggle at the small child that was way to close to my frame, practically nose-to-nose with me. As they reached a pudgy hand towards me, they were suddenly yanked back by their father.
"Don't climb on tables, love, and try not to touch anything!" Their father said as he placed the young child down on the floor, away from the table that sat below my frame.
Giving apologies to the staff, the young man paid for his package and guided his child out the door, bell tinkling against the frame as it shut behind them.
After 225 years of being stuck in the same place, if occasionally in different places depending on the remodeling, I could easily say that customers with children were either my favorite or least favorite part of my day (depending on the parent, of course).
Subtly tracking the clerk as she began the process of closing down for the day, I follow along the steps with her. Wipe down the display tables. Wrap up the garbage bags for tomorrow's pickup. Lock the front door. Tend to the -
- she did not lock the front door.
Anxiously, I watch her as she tends to the register, counting the profit and ensuring the bills needed for tomorrow morning are there. While some new employees may forget to do the steps, I've never seen her skip one before. It fills me with dread.
She walks into the back room, and for a few long seconds the storefront is quiet. Then, the bell chimes as the door opens.
A large man immediately walks to the register, turning it towards him and attempting to open it. The clerk returns from the back room and let's out a shriek of surprise.
My heart is pounding as the large man stalks towards her, snatching her wrist and pulling her toward the front.
"Open it!" He shouts, practically towering over her frame.
She shakes her head "I left the key in the -"
Shoving her back, she hits the table below my frame harshly. Her head hits my portrait and I
fall
forward.
Landing on my hands and knees, the carpet stings against my palms, the gritty, harsh texture feeling like sandpaper as I experience touch for the first time.
The room smells stale, and the loud scream from the man in front of me echoes across my skull. His heavy boots stumbling back as he whips back towards the door.
Shaking, I try to gather my bearings and get up from the floor. The silence of the room does not detract from the cataclysmic noise of the evening street just past the store windows.
I march towards the front and feel every muscle in my arm reach towards the door.
"Jeremy" a voice from behind me calls. The witch that locked me in that portrait decades ago.
I ignore her, finally grasping the door handle.
And lock it.
Turning back towards her, I see her trapped in the frame, seated on the lounge chair next to a depiction of a roaring fire. There are books on the tall shelf behind the chair, and the bay windows depict a light snowfall outside what could be an ocean. It has been my home for decades..
The air conditioning unit on the wall blows stinging air in my face, bringing me back to this three dimensional reality.
"Lady A, you did not lock the door." I say, the humming of my voice is disconcerting and I fight a shutter as I feel the vibrations.
The witch tilts her head apologetically, "I am sorry, Jeremy. It will not happen again. Come here, love, I can see you shaking."
The blood pumps past my ears as I move towards the wall, adrenaline leaving me just as quickly as it came. I stumble, catching myself upright using the table and reaching towards her. Sitting in my frame. In my home. The only safe space for me to exist as I want to be. The place I begged her to create for me all those years ago.
"I am so sorry Jeremy, let me out and this will all be over soon." She soothes, holding her hand against the paintings barrier.
I touch trembling fingertips to the canvas and feel myself coming home. | 542 | While trapped in a painting you have sat and watched a simple store for years. However one day the clerk is attacked. Reaching out to protect them you manage to pull them inside the painting. Which at the same time forces you out of it, freeing you at long last. | 2,310 |
Darien looked out over the skyscrapers and steel canyons that filled the view out of his office window. It was an aesthetically pleasing sight, but all he ever saw was the excess and greed of the men who ruled these glass towers and oppressed those below. By night he fought to bring them all low, robbing their banks, stealing their technology, creating enough chaos to disrupt their plans. As “The Partisan” he was waging a one-man war on the elite, until a new society could be built from this one’s ashes. He had even come out on top, most of the time, when tanging with the various superheroes that blindly held up this wicked system. The Guardian, the very face of the city and darling of the media had recently ended up on the receiving end of his wrath. People got hurt along the way, sure, but no revolution was ever fought without bloodshed.
Until society collapsed, though, his day job beckoned. He had a new client this morning, some white-collar corporate stooge whose very existence Darien despised. Career choices aside, Darien was a professional, and everyone should have access to help should they need it, he thought to himself, bracing for the coming appointment.
The client walked in with a purposeful but still quite painful limp, and was wrapped in a sharply-pressed suit that belied the frame it covered. His job title was some sort of analyst, so Darien wasn’t expecting what was essentially an NBA benchwarmer in a monkey suit. They exchanged some pleasantries, and then began.
“So Roland, why don’t you tell me why you’re here?” “Well, like I put on the forms, I’m… dealing with a lot of stress at work.” The man’s shoulders dropped with the weight of his words. “My job is… well it’s really important. The I-can’t-tell-you-what-I-do kind of important.” Roland looked up hesitantly, trying to read Darien’s face. “I’ve had similar clients before, so I understand if you can’t give details, but rest assured that nothing you say leaves this room” Darien placated. Roland’s gaze turned downward as he continued. “Well, I, uh, I put on a brave face at work, and at home, but it’s killing me. I lead people at, uh, work, and they look up to me. I know the work we do takes a toll on all of us, but it’s my job to lead from the front, to encourage and be an example to them, but I can’t keep up like this.” “Well what specifically is weighing on you? At least, that you’re able to tell me about?” Darien asked, keeping an expressionless face.
Roland’s gaze still pointed at the floor, and he wrestled with the weight of his emotions before continuing. “When I don’t do my job, or don’t do it right, people die. And every single time it happens, I feel like it’s all my fault. I have to see them, their faces… they aren’t a number on a sheet somewhere far away, they’re dying right in front of me. And I can’t blame anyone else, because it *really is* my fault. I go to their funerals, every single one. And their families…” he trailed off, tears forming. “I lie awake at night and see their faces… I hear their screams…” Darien sat clinically as Roland fought to contain his emotions. “This is a safe place Roland” he said “You can let go here.”
Roland’s face snapped up to meet Darien’s eyes. “But I can’t, because if I let go, I don’t know how get back up again! And if I can’t, even more people die and it’s *still* my fault! I’m not the Guardian who just brush off a car thrown at him, and keep going even when the city’s been brought down around him, I just a man!” Roland had stood up by this point, almost yelling while motioning to the window at the superhero who wasn’t there. Darien’s blood ran cold as Roland’s raised voice sparked a wave of recognition that stopped him in his tracks. He had heard that voice many times, arrogant, commanding, and self-righteous, or so he had thought. He knew those eyes, usually narrowed in anger behind a domino mask, but now burning with pain. And he knew that face, nicked and not quite healed from their last encounter. He knew now why Darien had a limp, he had given it to him. Even though The Partisan wore a full-face mask, and he was neatly dressed now, Darien felt naked in the gaze of who he now knew to be The Guardian. Caught between his ethics and morals, Darien was now trapped in something far worse than anything The Guardian or his Justice Coalition had ever thrown at him, and he had no answer. | 20 | No one knows this, but the Villain is a Therapist by day. One day, the Hero shows up for a session. | 107 |
“Open up” a voice bellowed. “We know you’re in there! Where is my son Tyne, protector of men?”
A large man dressed in fancy red robes and adorned with gold jewelry stood in front of a door built into the side of a small hill. The door was known as the entrance to Tan’s house but that was all. The house belonged to a mage and few, if any, had ever been inside a mage’s house. Most stayed away from them entirely. Mages were rumored to burn or drown a man where he stood, if he crossed them or their land uninvited. There was an uneasy truce with the townsfolk. They stayed away from Tan, and she stayed away from them.
“I said, open this door Tan! We have let you, and your kind, live here in peace.” His voice rising with anger. “But I…we demand answers. We demand atonement for your crime. I know what you have done. It’s what your kind has done so well to us...” He looked as if he had more to say but stopped himself. He looked around briefly, then continued.
“That’s it!” He said now nearly spitting with rage. “If you don’t come out, we are coming in! I have the the king's guard with me. We will not be merciful.” He gestured to a group of men outfitted with armor, swords, spears, and bows. The men looked at ease, confidence they had earned through many successful battles.
The large man put his hand on the door, pushed it open, then said, “Alright men, for –” Before he could finish his sentence he was engulfed in flames. He tried to pat out the fire, but it was no use. Then he tried to run but the flames were everywhere. And they were growing stronger, growing hotter. As he screamed in pain, he turned towards his men for help. All he saw was more fire. A few of his men were writhing on the ground as the flesh melted off their bodies.
The blaze quickly destroyed everything in its path. The men, the hill, the surrounding trees, and structures were all burnt. Ash blew on the wind. Nothing in the small but bustling town of moved. It was as if nothing, no plant, animal, or person, had survived.
---
I only tried to help him! I didn’t know what he could do when he came to my door.
Tyne arrived in the early hours of the morning before the sun rose. His arrival was a surprise but what he said shocked me. It had been centuries since a human with no mageblood could use magic. But he could manipulate the veil. He could pull back the curtain that separated this world from beyond. He showed me. With an ease of a practiced mage, he opened a rift and showed me a land of death. He walked through it and back out.
He could tell no one about this. If he did, he would have lost his place in the world. It was his secret to bear, and he did so. But he wanted to know more. Wanted to understand his power, his responsibility, and why he had been given such a gift. I didn’t know any of that, so I took him to the one place that I thought could help.
I took him to the Circle. Someone there was bound to know something. Someone there could take care of him, could help him understand his power. Maybe they could even help save him from his people. But they had never known a human who could control magic. They had never seen beyond the veil, only heard stories and rumors. They looked in books and became convinced in legends and prophecies. How was I supposed to know that they would never let him leave?
---
A man approached the king. The king listened intently. He nodded his head then paused in thought.
The king stood up, then decreed, “The mages have gone too far. We have let them live on our land peacefully. And they repay us by hunting us, killing us, burning alive our friends and family. They must be stopped. We must banish this evil race from the world. Today, I declare war on all mages. Recruit all good men and women of fighting age. We will not allow a single mage to escape with their life.”
The nobles listening to him shouted in agreement. Shouts of “Kill the mages!” could be heard throughout the hall.
--
“Are you ready? Your people are on our doorstep.”
“Yes. I am ready.”
“You know what you must do?”
“I do.”
Tyne stood up, opened a veil, and consumed them all. | 26 | The mage that traveled with the hero lives out on the edge of town. Hardly ever leaves her house, doesn't talk to anybody. All anybody knows is that she came back without him. | 126 |
It...broke? The fabled sword of prophecy, a blade made to kill the ultimate enemy of mankind, broke. Its golden hilt snapped off like a damn KitKat bar, left in my hands with only a shard of the dull iron blade remaining connected.
I should've been scared, terrified even, at the concept of breaking such an important artifact; yet, all I felt was disappointment, with an iota of pride sprinkled on. I was certainly going to be legendary, just in an infamous sense more than a heroic sense. Did this make me a villain? Was I the Mordred to the King Arthur yet to come? How was this going to play out.
"You...you've destroyed it! The guiding blade for Humanity's ascension, and you've destroyed it!" I heard the lead councilor shriek. His usually calm voice shrill with panic and poorly veiled fury. For some reason this made that sinful pride within me grow. I liked the way that sounded. I couldn't tell you why, but *damn* it was nice on the ears.
"It appears I have." I responded, the coldness of my voice surprising me more than the growing warmth of the hilt in my hands. Why did I feel so good about this? Shouldn't I feel fear? None of this made any sense.
Then, as the first of the chamber guards approached me, I saw it.
The fear in the eyes of a man twice my size. The hardened eyes of a trained killer, wide in shock. It gave me a strange sense of joy.
I took a step forward, and they stepped back. An entire chamber all moving backwards as I advanced. Shouting objections. Frothing in terrified fury.
The blade grew warmer as this feeling of sin settled comfortably in my heart. Perhaps this world didn't need a savior. It needed a villain.
Maybe now, the true savior will arrive and wrest the hilt from my grasp. My purpose was clear. This world would be mine, until one who could save it arrives.
*Good.* | 471 | and fall backward when it snaps off cleanly at the hilt | 1,247 |
It was chaos. One news report described it as a shared hallucination. Whatever it was, it was ending the world.
Two figures, a father and a daughter, crouched behind a rusted garbage bin in an alley. The father held his finger to his lips, but the daughter already knew what lurked on the other side of this bin and needed no reminder. She gripped his hand firmly and watched their back.
It was night, truly night, as electricity no longer lit the cities of the world. While her father tried to find a path past the next street the daughter carefully and quietly pulled out a worn paper map with several stains on it. She snapped a glow-stick; at the top of the map were the words "Operation Find The Bunker".
We're so close, she thought, tracing their route with her pinky.
The father snatched the glow-stick, shoving it in his pocket and pulled her along quickly. They ran down the alley and stopped just at the edge of the building and he looked one way and she the other, then they crossed.
In the dark the daughter swore she saw a giant fruitcake in the middle of the street with a body floating inside but said nothing. She'd seen worse.
They made it to the other side of the street safely and took cover between two burnt out cars parked at the curb. The father signaled to the daughter that the sidewalk was clear on his side but she did not signal back as she gulped and tapped her fathers shoulder furiously. She was staring straight into the eyes of a giant spider the size of a semi. It was just feet from her face and creeping towards her ever so slowly; mouth opening.
Fathers spear thudded into the spiders head and it reared up, knocking the top of the building loose. Rubble fell towards them and she screamed. The father grabbed her and dived for an open door in the building. He got her up quickly and running through the halls until they found a window on the other side. He quickly helped her through then followed behind. She gripped his hand tight as they ran down the sidewalk quietly.
After that they were able to reach the edge of the town without anymore trouble besides a wandering giant pink gorilla that was smashing cars together, but it was making such a racket that they ran right behind it without stopping and cut two blocks off their trip.
From there the duo made their way to through some woods until at last they came before the entrance to a bunker, clearly marked. There was a scanner and a small screen next to the door.
"We did it dad!" The daughter said and tried to go up to the scanner, but her father grabbed her shoulders and pulled her back and turned her around.
"Listen, I can't be here when they come for you, you know that."
"But I wouldn't have gotten here without you!"
The father just sighed softly and said, "Katey..."
She hugged him furiously for as long as he would allow her to, tears streaming down her face. Then he stepped back, turned around and walked on further into the woods.
She stood before the scanner, numb, and waited while it confirmed she was human. | 46 | In a post apocalyptic world, a man and his daughter find a bunker, hoping that they would let them in, but the the console scans, “ ONE HUMAN… scanning… ONE UNKNOWN”, and the man has to decide what to do. | 129 |
Must find meat. Meat. Need meat.
Long time no meat. Starved. Find meat.
Smell. Found meat. Merge. Yes. Burrow. Merge. Merge.
Merge.
With this...life. Form. What, what is this?
What is...
Wow.
This is something else. I've never had this kind of experience.
Experience. Words. So many words. Thoughts.
Home. My home. Light-years. That's a thing. Light-years away.
The more I think, the more I see, yet I don't. The more I hear things I've never sensed before. It's rather overwhelming. All I things I knew was to spread. Like a plague. Am I a plague? A disease?
Alien. I am alien. Grey little men with large black eyes, featureless bodies? No.
I am stuck. Underground. I am buried. This body is in bad shape, but I might still be able to make it work. Let's take it gently. Fire up the basics-
----
_Mark jabs the gun into my back. "Keep moving"._
_"I swear, it's there, in the office, I swear. Just let me and David go, take the money, I don't care."_
_I feel fear. Fear of death. I want to live. I want to walk away from all this with David. My boyfriend. The one man in my life who really, truly saw the real me, and wasn't scared. Who embraced me when I felt broken, who could make me smile on my worst day. We're meant to be together. If we walk away from this, we're going to someplace sunny. An island resort, and drink mimosa's. We'll laugh about this someday._
_But David, left behind in the car, wasn't smiling. His head lulled against the backseat. His demons are back. We were so far. What happened, David? I did this for you._
_"I don't get it, Mark. Why are we here? We're not going to find anything here. Mark?"_
_I turn around, hear a bang. My ears ring, my gut and back feel awful. I wheeze, and it happens again. I can barely gasp, but again, and again and again. I crumble. I cough blood, as I look up. Mark puts the gun against my head. I gasp, I try to say anything. I think of mom. Of dad. What will they think? They shouldn't have to bury me, they deserved better. This isn't fair. What will happen to David? I haven't fed the cat yet._
_I wanted to see Havana. Like the song._
----
I wanted to see Havana, like the song. I focus on what vitality I can muster, to try and move. Move like she did. It's tough, there's pressure everywhere. The surrounding things give in, barely, but the more I try, the more pain I feel. I try to soothe the pain by using this body's tissue blueprints to fix it. A whole, barely functional body is more useful than a completely broken one.
This is unbearable. I can't find Havana like this. I need more. More meat. But I like this, somewhat. These experiences. These thoughts. I feel more enriched in this corpse than I do on my own body, my egg that I've waited in. I don't want to leave this behind, this is the discovery we have been looking for. Something more advanced. Something unique. Less than us, in certain ways, sure, but in other ways, so much more.
Havana. Havana. Hmm. Find Havana. I want to see it. When I think of it, I remember walking with David across a beach. I am younger, and we just met. We walk hand in hand. The sun glows on our skin. I see the dimples in his smile as he looks at me and the glistening in his eyes. We do a silly little dance, but neither of us can actually dance. We laugh. I don't feel the need to hold back, like I do with others. And he laughs with me. Not at me. With me. I feel...in love. With David. I smile and my stomach feels like it's lifting. I can't even control it. The body does this by itself. David. I should go with David to Havana.
With the thoughts of David and Havana in my head, I focus on the right hand and free it. Its out. I can feel the air. Taste the air, through the fingers. I move my hand to dig this body out.
There's still adrenaline in this system. Stress was through the roof. I see myself in my bedroom mirror, from this morning. I just look at it, behold what this body looked like before it ended up here. But the mirror image doesn't move like a mirror. She moves separately from me. She squints and looks forward.
"W-what happened? Is this hell?" She asks. I can feel her. In my head. Our head. She's still here.
"Don't worry. We're going to find David and Havana. Together."
A burst of fear surges through, as we shoot up through the earth. Our eyes open wide, and we gasp for air.
We have never felt so alive. | 87 | You are an alien parasite who finds a body in a forest. Looking over this body's memories, they discover that this person has been murdered. After taking control of the body, they see a spirit telling them to find the murderer. | 274 |
*Crap* I thought as I stared at the rainbow splatters on and around me. I got on the comms with my fellow NPCs. “Be careful out there guys. We’ve got modders on the field.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah I noticed.”
“What mods are in play, do we know?”
I ducked behind a wall to recover and reload. “I’ve only seen Paintball so far.”
“Birthday Party. Unless Joshua’s head usually explodes into confetti.”
“Their sniper is wearing bunny ears.”
“Okay, so just cosmetics then? Nothing that af—“
“Trish? Trish?!”
“Fuck, looks like they’ve got Megranades too. That was nowhere near her.”
I peered out over the wall, diving again at the sound of gunshots. “What are the odds they’ve got that last one activated for both sides?”
“Like nil. I’ve never seen them be that generous.”
“Well let’s try anyways.” I lobbed a grenade at the player stalking me, and hear an unusually unsatisfying *boom*.
“Bad news, no we don’t get the big booms. Good news, you still got him.”
I didn’t get to reply before collapsing to the ground. I watched the confetti drift in the air around me and prayed that I wouldn’t have to put up with too many rounds of this before the users got bored. | 23 | After being shot multiple times, you are horrified at the sight of your blood as you bleed red... and blue, and yellow, and green, and- | 85 |
Negotiations between the two intergalactic delegations were... far from anything science fiction had ever portrayed or predicted. For one thing there had never been a film depicting barely humanoid aliens swaying to the rhythm of "Workin' 9 to 5, tryin' hard to make a livin'..."
No film had ever even in its wildest dreams conceived of the first meeting between humans and extraterrestrials taking place at Dollywood in Tennessee. The President was very gingerly loaded into the seat of the roller coaster next to the alien leader. He had to get back out though when the alien insisted Empress Dolly sit next to him instead.
In honor of the very pleasant surprise the aliens had found on earth, they named their Mars colony Parton. Things could have been worse. Intergalactic relations had been normalized without a shot being fired. Dolly Partons lifespan had been extended beyond any other human's and Tennessee was viewed by the aliens as the center of civilization on earth.
New York City, San Francisco, Beijing, London, these places wisely kept their mouths shut for once. It was better than aliens knowing the truth, knowing what the true expansionist and resource devouring nature of our species. That simple rural, at best suburban, civilization of Tennessee wasn't a bad thing for the aliens to think of as our ideal civilization.
In nervous harmony humanity moved forward to the stars with their new friends. | 39 | We have made first contact with aliens! Unfortunately, their ambassador landed in Rural Tennessee, and a local told them that our ruler was Dolly Parton. Now, they refuse to speak to anyone else but “Dolly, Empress of Humanity”. | 214 |
**The Forbidden Craft**
**Chapter 1: Building Stuff To Look Tough**
“Ignore him,” Harriet says.
The Party learned long ago to ignore the Great Words From The Heavens, as much of it is nonsense, pleading cries, noise. They also learned long ago that the world they live in just doesn’t make much sense.
Harriet, the leader of the Party, was the first person in their hastily-crafted land to discover Neverobtanium. With her ingenuity, the Party quickly found that Neverobtanium is not only effective at deflecting dragon’s fire, but is an incredibly durable, yet flexible material that can be shaped into almost anything. Around the same time, the Party discovered Alsonotobtanium – a slick substance that happens to be shockingly powerful rocket fuel.
A few weeks later, Harriet and the Party found an unfinished text, left behind in a poorly described dungeon. Seemingly, the text is from some other world, yet found its way here, as if mistakenly appended to their world and forgotten.
Harriet pours through the text, each page with the header, “How To Build A Spaceship [FOR SCI-FI STORY NOT THIS ONE REMEMBER TO DELETE_final_final_final.pdf]”
Harriet’s lean, her hair tied up in a bun, frowning as she looks over the text. Alongside her is Gemly, the added muscle she needs to get this ship built; Tyrus, the smartest person they know from their village, though that isn’t saying much; and Mentos, the freshest and cleanest of the party, and the best horse rider in the land. Surely he could pilot a ship, too.
“Do we even need to build this contraption?” Gemly sighs, wiping beads of sweat from his brow. “What are we going to do with a spaceship, anyway?”
Harriet claps the book shut, looking up at Gemly. “It isn’t just a ship, Gem. It’s our ticket to a bigger, better, *longer* life.”
Gemly and Mentos look at each other, puzzled.
Harriet continues. “The second that idiot up there in the clouds gets bored with writing our story, our lives come to a halt. We won’t wake up the next day because there won’t *be* a next day. Not unless they’ve written it. And nobody’s really into high fantasy anymore. Even the authors of today’s high fantasy can’t get around to finishing the books in their own series. You think we can rely on this chump to finish theirs? Not likely.”
She gets up, walking around the ship, marveling at its craftsmanship. “But this. This makes our story a sci-fi story. And who knows, maybe even a popular one! Four medieval peasants, somehow building a ship capable of flying to the Sun at breakneck speeds, disappearing into the great beyond, the final frontier. Who wouldn’t want to read that?”
“I’d read that,” Tyrus chimes in.
“See, he’d read it. We’d all read it,” Harriet says.
“But I can’t read,” Gemly sulks.
Harriet takes Gemly by the hands. “But if you could, you would! You would. And that’s what matters.”
“Hey!” The Great Words begin again. “You down there! How’d you get that manual?” The Words start to mumble, as if realizing they made an error somewhere down the line.
Harriet turns back to the rest of the Party. “This is our story now. And this ship is our new chapter.”
**[contd. in replies]** | 329 | "NO NO NO" says the thundering voice from the sky "This is supposed to be a high fantasy story why are you building spaceships?!" | 1,836 |
Kneeling before his trusted blade, Hiroyuki muttered a prayer.
"I have not lived an honorable life, Ame-No-Habakiri. But I pray you will not fail me now."
Hiroyuki remembered the moment he had claimed the blade as if it were yesterday. All that power, glory, and skill. And at such a small cost - all he had to do was to live honorably.
Unfortunately, as a brash young warrior who was raring to prove his worth, the odds were not in Hiroyuki's favor. The fame and the glory had gone to his head. So many worthless battles, so many duels fought for the sake of pride, and for what? Hiroyuki wished he could tell his 18-year old self what he knows now.
There is no honor in seeking meaningless glory.
The downhill slide had been swift. His friends left him, tired of hearing his boasts about his conquests. Risa had said that he'd turned into nothing but a stuck-up narcissist who cared more about how the world saw him than their relationship. She hadn't been too far off the mark, to be honest.
There had been other women. It was hard to resist them, when they threw themselves at him left and right. Risa was wonderful, but how could Hiroyuki say no to the most beautiful courtesans in Tokyo?
And then, Risa had left.
At the height of his fame, hailed as the greatest warrior in all of Japan, Hiroyuki looked around and realized he had nobody. Nothing but poets singing his praises, nemeses who sought to defeat him, and warlords hoping to recruit him.
Overwhelmed with his losses, he'd faltered in a battle. What was he fighting for if nobody in the world truly cared about him? No, Ame-No-Habakiri had not failed him. He'd given up, caught in existential apathy.
And then, those who still loved him abandoned him immediately. The poets turned to sing their praises to the man who had defeated him, his nemeses dismissed him as a washed-up swordsman, and the warlords sought to entice other warriors instead.
And Hiroyuki sank further into his black despair.
Now, here he sat on the forest ground, next to his mountainside cabin. His faithful blade in his hands. Wet snow seeping through his hakama.
He was twenty-three, and he had not led an honorable life.
The blade trembled as he brought the point to touch his chest.
Would it be quick? Would it be painful? Would anyone mourn his passing? The questions flew through his head as he steeled himself to do the honorable thing.
Hiroyuki closed his eyes. In one swift motion, he yanked the sword towards his heart.
There was a terrible, splitting, crack.
Ame-No-Habakiri lay before him, neatly broken into four separate pieces.
And Hiroyuki wept. Alone, in the bleached-white snow of the desolate forest, he cried for everything he had lost and everything he had taken for granted.
Ame-No-Habakiri was right. This was the coward's way out.
He would redeem himself.
Regain his honor.
Hiroyuki dried his tears on the sleeve of his yukata, then gingerly gathered up the pieces of Ame-No-Habakiri. Someday, somehow, he would prove to the gods that he was worthy of wielding the blade once more.
\---
/r/theBasiliskWrites | 53 | The Sword would make him a great warrior, but if he didn't live honorably, it would fail him when he needed it most. Now he prays on the eve of every battle that this isn't the time he'll need the Sword most. | 247 |
Her eyes were puffy and red, tears long exhausted. She walked with tired resignation from weeks of grappling with her impending death. Would it be quick, she wondered. Would she feel the dragon's teeth sink into her flesh? Or might the beast prefer to cook her alive first, her anguish a delight before a tasty treat?
It was a lot for a seven-year old contemplate.
The previous night's snowfall crunched under her feet, leaving tracks behind her. Sir Thorngood held her hand tightly lest she run for the trees. What would be the point of that? To freeze to death? At least with the dragon there was the *chance* of it being quick and painless.
Mother and father stayed back in the village on the estate. Since she had been selected, they had pivoted their attention to their other children. Her brothers and sisters were "viable heirs," Sir Thorngood had flippantly explained.
"Alright now, girl. A little ways further and we'll reach our destination. Take heed now, you must not run. Dragons are known for their cruel pursuits, to us like cats on mice." The knight pulled a vial from his sleeve. "Here is milk of the poppy. It's a final gift from your mother. It will make it hurt... Less."
She took the small glass vessel and held it in her mitten. She didn't want to feel pain, but less did she want now to give her parents the satisfaction. The young girl arched her arm back and threw the bottle into the leafless, winter woods.
"Well," Sir Thorngood sighed, "I can't say I would have done that."
"You can tell my parents I died with pain in my flesh and hatred in my heart!" Her shouts echoed through the forest, shrill and furious.
"I can tell them anything I like, little girl," he snorted. "Come along now, I'd like to be home for supper."
He gave her little arm a hard tug, causing her to yelp as she stumbled forward.
Soon, they were upon the alter, the place where the dragon and the kingdom agreed to their terms: one maiden of royalty each winter for peace in the land. Her life was the price for another year of unscortched farms, houses, and keeps.
The altar itself was a round stone slab. Just beyond it was a wooden hollow where the trees bent into a wide, wicked circle. A rumble shook the ground and the air; Sir Thorngood gulped and quivered in place.
"Have you the sacrifice?" A low, deep voice spoke from the black circle.
"The maiden is here, dragon. Do you promise on your honor to keep peace in the land?"
"I do," the voice replied.
Sir Thorngood pushed the girl onto the slab, where she fell onto her hands and knees. Her eyes looked down on the cold rock, paralyzed with terror. She had hoped she might be brave at this point. She had hoped to steel her nerves and face her fate with courage. But she was just a girl after all, and this is where she would perish.
"I leave her to you then. May her life satisfy you."
She heard the knight's footsteps retreat back down the snowy path. Tears found her eyes and stung as they welled.
"Oh, young one. Why do you cry?"
The low voice was closer now, perhaps emerged from its hollow. She could only whine her restrained sorrow and anger to herself.
"I am not going to hurt you, you know," the voice had a gravel to its edge, a low thrumming sound that vibrated her bones.
Footsteps landed just before her, light and delicate. The young girl braved a glance upward to see...
Another young girl?
"You look hun-gry!" The strange girl said with delight. A smile was painted across her young, freckled face. Behind her was a small crowd of other girls, each holding a basket with fruits and breads; one had a dress draped over her arm.
Behind them all was a towering dragon with wicked scales shimmering green and blue in the white sunlight.
"Oh , don't worry about Mary," the freckled girl said with a confident thumb pointed backwards. "Harmless as a house cat. Unless, of course, you show up late for class!"
A chuckle emerged from the crowd of girls behind her.
"Come on, now. Up you go! We have so much to show you!"
"Wait... What is this?" the sacrificial girl's knees were still weak, her face still wet with grief.
"This is..." the freckled girl began, only for the crowd to answer in unison: "The Maiden's Academy of Withcraft!"
"We have chocolate!" one of the girls excitedly squeaked. | 183 | Unbeknownst to the village, the dragon they had been sacrificing their maidens to greatly enjoyed raising them and teaching them various things, he enjoyed it so much he decided to start an academy. | 537 |
The lightning cell door shimmered in its frame rather menacingly. It whirred and sizzled with the threat of: *touch me and you'll become a pile of bones*, or maybe: *touch me and absolutely nothing will happen*. I wasn't really sure seeing as I had decided early on in my imprisonment to avoid it entirely.
I had never been in a spaceship before, but I reckoned this one was rather nice all things considered. It had a bit of an "avant-garde" feel to it, a lot of strange shapes and seemingly nonfunctional pieces in the room. But also a toilet with a privacy screen...or at least I had been using it as such, a few square meals a day of unknown pink slop, and the chance to be the first human to introduce myself to a new species. Wasn't much of a feat though really, considering that no other humans were around to know it. That plus the introduction phase hadn't exactly happened yet. It seemed my captors were more of the "we'll ask the questions" types.
I heard some footsteps coming down the hall that signaled company, that or a lunch of pink slop. The being that rounded the corner glowed yellow on the other side of the frame, to which I couldn't tell if it was from the frames shimmer or its own skin. You know the saying "When you're only able to look through a yellow shimmering light prison everything seems yellow."
The alien being counted aloud in surprisingly good English: "Fifty-two, fifty-three, fifty-four, stop!" he turned towards the light screen to face me. He..she....it? Was an odd thing to be sure. Four armed, rather lanky, feathered, to some confusion by me, and smooth faced. Rather than eyes the spaces where I'd assumed they be were instead flat, I hesitated to question where its actual eyes may have been.
"Did you just count? What's that about?" I spoke first, seizing the moment to take any ounce of control.
"What, you don't when you're in a new place? Well then how do you know where to...Nevermind! I was saying!"
"Prisoner! I have heard some...interesting rumors from my constituents. Some rather sad news. I am sad to hear that you, and therefore humans, are neutered of the most useful sense: telepathy. This is a terrible shame. Let us engage in sadness." the four armed bird man began what I assumed sadness looked to be for them, which consisted of a rather deep bow and shake of feathers. I awkwardly tried to mimic the action but without feathers it seemed much less graceful.
"Ah, quite alright. Still got the other five. Thanks though mate, happy for ya."
The bird man hesitated on the other side of the shimmering wall. His "sadness" slowly ceased as he rose to face my general direction. "You must be mistaken. The senses are: smell, touch, telepathy, hearing, and taste. So you have four earth walker. I can see how you would be confused. As I began to reply another voice echoed loudly down the hall
"Fifty-two, fifty-three, fifty-four, stop!", another, slightly shorter and vastly more colorful being showed up.
"Greetings earth dweller. I have heard some... who is this to my right?"
"Ah it is just me, Kromulos." as he spoke he began feeling in the air around him, to which the other copied the gesture until they felt one another.
"Ah yes. Did you tell the earth walker we pitied him yet?"
I interrupted before I had to live out even more deja-vu, "Yes. We're caught up. I was just saying I have five senses too. "Smell, touch, sight, hearing, and taste."
They both grew quiet this time. Then the first turned to the second. "Group huddle!", and both turned.
*This is concerning- yes most concerning indeed- he is- why yes I know* as they chatted I grew closer to the grid keeping me within the ship. Just as I went to touch they turned back around. "Human...tell us of this...sight."
"Hm?" I jumped back at their voices, assuming I'd be repremanded for thinking of escape, but instead their faces looked right through me.
"Sight is like...seeing you know? Seeing the world."
"Ah yes, I heard of seeing that one time, remember Kromulos?"
"No. You did not you green bean."
"Ok fine what is sight?...Earth Dweller? Are you there?" the alien man walked forward absentmindedly into the grid and jolted back "Ow...that hurt."
It may still have killed me, but I took my chance and leaped through to feel the tiniest jolt prick me on my backside. The two aliens continued looking around "Hello? Earth Dweller? I hope he didn't get lost", one scooted around the room like a kid trying to locate its toddler.
"Are you here?". A voice warbled into my mind, calling out in the space right between my ears. It lingered for a moment: "Human? Are youuuu here!? No? Well....that sucks."
By the time they realized (which I assumed to be never) I would be in the vents. Now I just hoped their ships were meant to be piloted by someone with eyes. | 274 | Telephathy is the most common 5th sense among the Alien Races of the Galaxy. When Humans are first discovered to have no telepathic abilities, the other Races feel pity for them. That is until they learn of the Humans 5th Sense, something called "Sight" | 874 |
"So, what do you want?" I'd heard the bell above my door ring, but I didn't look away from my workspace. This was a difficult combination, and it tended to explode if you left it for too long.
"Um, I'm not sure Mister..." The voice was small and very young. Against my better judgement, I turned, to see a little girl staring up at me.
"I don't know if you're old enough to read, missy, but as the sign says, I don't help children. It never ends well. Now get out." It might have been brusque, but I knew better than to give any child the time of day. Not since... No, I promised myself I wouldn't think about that. I turned back to my volatile combination.
"Please. I don't know where else to go." There were tears in her voice now. Turning down the bunsen burner, I set my timer to three minutes.
"Look kid, I don't help children. Got it? Find somewhere else." Ever since I'd retired from actively running around the city, and opened my shop, I'd had to deal with this. Kids didn't understand the dangers of having superpowers. They just saw the benefits; the fame and glory.
"There is nowhere else. You're it." Oh, great. She was going to be stubborn. With a violent motion, I turned, staring down at her, trying to look fierce. To her credit, she didn't flinch, meeting me glare for glare.
"Oh, and I suppose you want something amazing, like flight? Let me tell you, kid, you get up about three hundred miles and you won't be wanting that superpower anymore. Or what about—"
"I don't want a superpower." She interrupted me, pointing to the wagon behind her, as my timer went off."I want you to help me with this." Carefully removing the solution, I set it to one side.
"What, you want me to give your wagon superpowers? It doesn't work like that."
"I know, what do you think I am, five?" The girl who couldn't have been much older than the denigrated age, rolled her eyes. I bit my lip to stop an amused smile from lifting the corners of my mouth. She had spirit.
"No, it's the thing in the box. I need you to help with my pet frog." It was such an odd request; said with such seriousness, I couldn't help laughing. Which of course, made my petite customer annoyed. "Well, can you help, or can't you?" Shaking my head, I knelt by the wagon. The sooner I dealt with her, the sooner I could get back to my work.
"What's wrong with it?"
"It breathes fire." I looked at her, but there was no trace of a smile on her face. She wasn't joking. And, as I looked into the box, sure enough, the giant bullfrog burped out a small jet of flame.
"When did it start breathing fire?" I asked.
"After lunch, it only had a few flies, and..." She shuffled her feet, looking a little guilty.
"And?"
"And, I gave it a bit of water I mixed a few things in..." I sighed, going back to the table and getting a bottle of negation. It would get rid of most superpowers, firebreathing included.
"You're not supposed to try any sort of mixture, on anyone. What are they teaching you in schools nowadays." I dumped the solution over the frog, making sure it was completely covered. "Now, get out." She didn't move, staring at me, then at the floor.
"What, does your dog leap tall buildings in a single bound? Is he on my roof?"
"Could I stay? I promise I won't be any trouble... I just want to see you work." My mind revolted, immediately listing all the dangers having a child around the place would bring. But my heart...
"Fine. Go sit in that corner. And don't move." Instantly, she dashed to the corner, sitting on an unopened box of flasks. I returned to my work, grumbling a question her way.
"What's your name girl?"
"Sophie. What's your's?"
"Never mind what my name is. You can call me, The Chemist."
— — — — — — — —
Many days have passed; weeks, months, years. And Sophie still comes around. I must admit, it's nice having her around the shop. She's actually quite useful and she learns fast. Besides, it was getting lonely in here. Ah, there's the bell above the door. That must be her.
"Well, child? Let's go, we have a lot to do today."
"Yes, Chemist. What are we— "
"Stop." She looked at me, the height difference not quite as noticeable now. "My name is Lionel. Use it. Now go get the iron sulphite. We're going to need it today." Her face lit up with a giant smile that pierced my heart every time I saw it.
"Yes, Lionel. Iron sulphite. On it." | 483 | In a universe where the rules of superhero comics are real, any vat of chemicals, any vial of liquid, any combination of ingredients may result in superpowers. In this universe, you are the most feared superhero or villain imaginable. You are The Chemist. | 1,625 |
“Look at those scrawny arms,” a voice from the back of the room said. My eyes darted to my outstretched arm that was holding up a red apple, frozen in a pose as the class of painters quietly brushed away on their canvases.
“It wasn’t the scrawny arms *I* noticed,” another voice replied as my cheeks turned red. Of all the places to encounter ghosts, I never thought it would be here, at the local high school during an evening adult portrait class.
“Still bigger than my husband,” a third voice piped up between the sound of soft brush strokes, “and I like what I see.”
I coughed and moved my legs slightly, turning away from the room. One of the painters sighed.
“Excuse me,” an attractive young woman holding a paint brush said, “could you move back please? You’re sitting at a terrible angle now.”
“Oh yes, please,” the third ghost added. Usually in such situations this would be the point when I’d politely ask them to cut it out, but the classroom full of painters complicated things somewhat.
“Hello?” The painter said, waving her paintbrush at me.
I slowly turned back towards the room. There was a collective gasp from the three ghosts. The painter quietly lowered her head and turned back to stare deliberately at her canvas.
“Well I never,” the first ghost began, “of all the years coming here.”
“Do you think he’s attracted to that girl? She’s not exactly Cinderella but I see potential,” the third ghost said before turning to the second, “hey Gina, why don’t you go up there and work some of your magic.”
My heartbeat started to quicken, sweat began pooling in my palms.
“You think so? I don’t want to get in any trouble,” the second voice said, “but I suppose it could be fun.”
The ghost started gliding forward. I turned my gaze directly on her, eyes wide as I tried to capture her attention. She was a few feet away when another painter spoke.
“Sorry dear,” an elderly woman with small round glasses said, “would you mind returning to that neutral face you had? That look you’ve got now is quite distracting.”
I locked eyes with ghost named Gina for a split second before returning my gaze to where it had been, face frozen.
“He looked at me!” she exclaimed.
“Oh come off it Gina, don’t be silly,” one of the others called from the back of the room, “we know what happened last time you were convinced someone could see you, and how did that end?”
“I swear this time he did, but fine. Now,” she said, hovering just in front of me, “shall I draw her attention to him, or vice versa?”
“Mr Jones,” the young woman who spoke earlier said, “would it be possible for you to look towards the front of the room? I want to capture the whites of your eyes.”
I breathed in deeply and moved my gaze forward, now looking straight at Gina.
“Well I can see why they like painting him," Gina began, "he wears a knowing gaze. I hope you two won’t mind if I accompany him home with him tonight, just for a little haunt.”
“Oh come on Gina, get on and stitch the two of them up,” one of ghosts at the back called.
Gina looked at the young woman painting for a moment and then turned back to me.
“Boo!” I whispered right into her face.
“Ahhhh!” She screamed and sprang backwards, floating through the elderly lady who seemed to wobble on her stool for a moment.
“He’s a Medium! He can hear us!”
“Mr Jones, are you okay?” One of the painters called out, “you look dazzled.”
“I thought I saw a ghost is all,” I said, staring straight at Gina as I spoke.
“You little devil,” Gina whispered back.
The painter who had spoken stood up, “do you want me to get you a glass of water?”
I shook my head. “No, but I might take five if you’re all okay with that?”
There was a murmur of support and I jumped up and took a beeline straight for the exit.
I reached the corridor and walked a few feet away from the door, breathing deeply. Then Gina appeared through the wall.
“You could have said something sooner, you know,” she said. “it’s not nice to eavesdrop, even for a Medium.”
“It’s not nice to gossip about someone else either, but that didn’t stop you three, did it? Besides, I can’t exactly start talking to you in the middle of class, can I? And what’s this about a haunting?”
She looked at the ground. “It’s just for a bit of fun," she mumbled, "our kind doesn’t get much of that these days. Besides, I was going to set you up with the good looking woman in there!”
“So I heard. And how exactly were you planning to do that?”
“Well, I had thought I might try stir some more excitement in you, then have her, you know, have a chat with you after,” Gina said.
“That's super messed up, you know that right? You and your sick friends need to get a new hobby. I’m not her type either,” I said. I saw Gina giggling as she looked over my shoulder back towards the door.
I swung around and the young woman was standing there.
“Oh, hi Mr Jones,” she said, holding out my robe, “I thought you might be getting cold.”
I looked down, realizing for the first time just how much of a hurry I left in, and snatched the robe. "Thanks," I said as I draped it over myself.
Then she smiled. "I don't know about joining in on this haunting," she said, "and I might not be Cinderella, but I wouldn't say no to a dinner invitation."
Gina gasped, "two in the same room?" | 115 | you overhear a group of ghosts making fun of you not knowing that you’re a medium. | 206 |
"Then it's settled," said Director Page, "we have to send Con-Man to take care of their main force."
I widened my eyes.
Every hero in the conference room nodded in approval. Surely, someone would speak up, right?
Nope. Not one of them disagreed.
I couldn't believe it. Most of them saved my life at one point or another. At least one of them had to know it was all a lie.
Or so I thought.
An alien force had just invaded the planet. Major population centers were already conquered and many superheroes fell in the initial attack. This was the first organized attempt at a counterattack. The heroes actually believed in me. The stakes were simply too high to prank me.
I sighed. It appeared that my charade worked a little too well. This was the worst day of my life.
"Is there a problem?" asked Director Page. She folded her arms with an intimidating gaze. I had never met a scarier person in my life. Even the strongest heroes and villains feared her indomitable will.
"Y-yeah," I said, avoiding eye-contact. "Aren't you all putting too much faith in me?"
"Well, I know it's a critical part of the plan, but I wouldn't entrust you with it if I didn't think you could do it."
"That's really flattering, but still-"
"No," said Director Page. "You can save your humility for the press. You're one of the mightiest heroes on the planet."
"I'm really not that special. I'm sure one of your interns can do my job better."
Director Page frowned.
I flinched.
"I'm not sure where this hesitance is coming from, but I don't care. These aliens have been studying our culture for quite some time. They took down all those heroes because they knew their strengths and weaknesses. You, on the other hand, are one of the rare cases where your power remains a mystery. Not even *I* know it's true nature, and I know everything. We need you."
I hung my head in shame.
"I think I know what's going on," said Edgelord, glaring with an accusatory tone. He was famous for lacking superpowers. Did he see through my lies?
I quickly raised my hands, pleading. "Please, don't-"
"He wants to keep hiding his power!"
I paused. That wasn't what I expected. Unfortunately, it only worsened the tension in the room.
Everyone scowled at me. I didn't know what to say. They had lost many friends over the past twenty-four hours. The last thing they cared about was someone too scared to fight.
"Is this the truth?" asked Director Page.
I pursed my lips.
"I understand your reservations," added Director Page, "but we've all made sacrifices here. Why would you want to hide your powers if there's nobody around to save?"
I had never hated myself more than at that moment. Director Page was right. My lie wouldn't be worth anything if the world ended.
"I have... a confession to make." I closed my eyes for a second, taking a deep breath. "I don't actually have powers. I've been lying all along."
The room became eerily quiet.
Director Page furrowed her brow, studying me.
I wanted to die.
"Bullshit!" said Astral Hacker. "You literally took down a kaiju on your own!"
"That was just luck. The kaiju tripped and the rest of the heroes finished it off, thinking I was responsible for the opening."
Director Page started rubbing her temples. "This can't be happening..."
"I mean, this is just as much your fault as mine. None of you bothered questioning it. Why do you think I'm called 'Con-Man'?"
"Because of your convictions...?" asked Edgelord.
Astral Hacker seemed ready to lunge at me.
"No," said Director Page. "I refuse to believe this. We aren't idiots! If you're too cowardly to do this, just be honest about it!"
Goddamn it.
I always told myself my superpower was lying.
It was the only way to cope with my inferiority. That way, I could justify my dream of being a hero without feeling like an idiot. This, however, turned out to be the biggest mistake of my life.
I first started this 'career' by accident. During a school field trip to a research lab, a supervillain attacked and held my class hostage. I drenched myself in some glowing liquid, pretending I had just acquired superpowers in an accident, which forced the villain to run away.
After that, I never had the strength to turn down the role of hero. It was the only time I ever felt useful. That wasn't an excuse, though. This was the price I had to pay for deceiving the world. Besides, the heroes only needed a distraction, and I could do that without any powers.
"Fine," I said, "sorry for what I just said. It's just the nerves."
Director Page raised an eyebrow. "So you're following the plan?"
"Yeah," I nodded, "Don't worry; I'll take care of it."
The tension in the room lessened after that. Some heroes even complimented my willingness to fight despite my cowardice.
"*Everything will work out...*" I lied to myself as I left the room, "*It always does...*"
--------
>If you enjoyed this, check out more of my stories over at /r/WeirdEmoKidStories. Thanks for reading! | 1,068 | You are a "con-man superhero". You draw the attention of villains, pretend to have powers and keep them occupied until a real hero with real powers arrives on the scene. You are so good at your job, that no-one is entirely sure whether you are truly powerless or not. | 3,873 |
"Oh! Look! It's the Herald!" the man excitedly yelled and pointed at me before swiftly crossing the street to meet me. My hand slid towards my wait where I stored my blaster. I was ready for a fight.
"Mr Herald, I just wanted to say I'm a big fan," he smiled.
"Ah," I said, a grin on my face, "you too wish to spread evil through the world? Be the Herald of Doom?"
"What?" he said, a look of confusion on his face. "No, I mean your heroics. You're a truly good man."
I stared at him blankly.
"What?"
"Your heroic exploits, sir! We truly appreciate it."
"But..." I took a moment to search for the right words, "I'm... a villain. I'm not-" I tried to follow up but my confusion stopped me.
"What? Of course not!" he denied, "You're the greatest hero this city has ever seen!"
"I've robbed the National Bank."
"Well, you've demonstrated just how obsolete the security system was. Turns out the Head of the Bank was colluding with the Mayor to create incredibly expensive contracts and skim the money."
"I released mutant animals into the wild."
"Oh, right, the corpsehounds!" he laughed. "An unfortunate name, really, though they have displayed immense lethality towards the growing varmint population that was starting to be a real problem for the farmers. And thanks to their mutation, they can't even carry any diseases! Hell, some farmers even adopted them. They're incredibly friendly towards humans."
"I beat up the Mayor- oh wait he was an asshole wasn't he?" I said, defeated. The man nodded enthusiastically.
"Aw man, this sucks!"
The man's expression grew worried. "What's wrong?"
"I'm- I'm a villain, man, not a hero. Always wanted to be one. Made my costume completely red like the blood of my enemies."
"Oh, really?" he said. "It's very inspiring, actually."
"I wanted to command respect, wanted people to tremble when they see me." My shoulders slumped down.
"They do, sir," he said. I looked up at him.
"You're more respected than anyone else in the city. People put you on T-shirts. You have *several* fan clubs. And tremble? They jump up and down with excitement to see a true hero! I'm surprised you've not noticed," he said with kindness I never expected anyone to show me. It was... nice.
"There's a saying," I started. "A man calls you a horse, you punch him in the face. Another one calls you a horse, you call him an ass. A third one does, well..."
I looked at him.
"You best start looking for a saddle," I smiled and raised my head high. | 86 | Your dream has always been to be the number one supervillian. However much to your surprise you are often mistaken for a hero. Even though you've robbed banks, released mutant animals, and beat up the mayor. The people love you and keep calling you a hero. | 165 |
Eyes blinked wearily open; a dainty hand came up to rub them.
The sun was rising, birds were chirping...a pillow was flying...shades were falling. Her head thudded back down on another pillow and she was instantly snoring softly once more.
"Sarahhhh...coffee, drink, see you tonight." Her eyes opened again to the sound of a mug landing on the nightstand and the voice of her Bethany. What felt like just a moment later she heard the front door shut just as things were starting to come into focus. Sarah sat up, stretched, and yawned.
She went to the bathroom as she tiredly thought about her bizarre dream about rhyming roller-coasters, and looked in the mirror. She held her breath in shock, not sure how to react. In the mirror was a beautiful young woman with gorgeous green eyes and long black hair. Features she'd always had, but now...
"What happened last night." She tried to remember. There was drinking, dancing, so much dancing, and then..."Oh no way."
Sarah went and dug around in her partners drawers until she'd found it. The \*\*\*\*ing scroll. On it was printed, "You shall hence-forth appear to others as you are pictured by they who hate you most." She curled it back up and set it on the coffee table in the living room.
Sarah always had a bit of a self-hating demeanor and she's never really been comfortable with her body; this was probably Bethany again trying to help. She was more confused than anything though. One, magic?! Two, she was pretty sure her one enemy in the world did not see her this way.
After an hour of staring in the long mirror in her bedroom she sat on the bed and picked up her phone. She canceled her one appointment and spent the day trying on Bethany's clothes, which were far sexier than her drab wardrobe.
When Bethany walked through the door that evening Sarah had everything put back and was wearing a gray sweater and jeans; her own clothes. She tossed the idea around of wearing something sexy for her but chickened out in the end.
Despite that, Bethany gave her a quirky look, "Someones feeling good today, gimme one sec babe." Bethany vanished into the bathroom.
Didn't she mean looking good? Sarah thought. Sarah ran to the bedroom and looked again, thinking maybe she's going crazy the other way, but no. One super-sexy looking woman, check.
She went back to the living room and Bethany was in the kitchen gathering things on the counter. For ten minutes she tried to get Bethany to acknowledge the change without actually saying it but Bethany only look confused.
"Hey, are you ok?" Bethany asked with concern. Then she smiled, "Ohh I know what to make us instead," and put a few things back, grabbed a couple other ingredients.
"Ya, it's nothing, just a really weird day I guess. How was yours?"
Bethany's smile deepened as she described a boring day at work, knowing the spell had worked perfectly even though she herself really did see nothing different about how her awesome, beautiful partner looked. Now she sees it too. | 20 | "You shall henceforth appear to others as you are pictured by they who hate you most" ...you wake up breathtakingly beautiful | 57 |
“They’re damned.” Maybe the most reoccurring two words ever espoused from a citizen's lips in their small rural fishing village. They said them as two people were wed together, they said them as the local baker (a heinous fellow) chased two young thieves down the cobbled roads, they also said them when tourists would enter the cerulean waves, whether it be by boat, board or body. Because these tourists would never be returning.
It’s called ‘The Meer Curse’ and has attracted some publicity, yet no information was ever found from those who had been lost. The locals don’t question it. They just look the other way as it doesn’t affect them. Likely by some flaw in their local culture or simply human character.
So it was just another day in the village when several college students arrive in a minivan, that looks like it should have cashed in for the insurance money twenty years ago. The villagers just watch them, hoping some will spend some money on their tourist traps before they’re inevitably eaten. I, however, notice something different about the leader of the small group, he has the air of a seaman, something you don’t normally see in a simple tourist.
We all watched as they continued towards the ocean, already stocking them into the back of our minds. Because, of course, we’ll never see their faces again. By the time I go to sleep, like many of my fellow citizens I’ve forgotten the student’s faces. Except one.
It’s early in the morning. Light begins to crack the sky. The town is slowly, collectively rising from its slumber. I sit on a small bench, overlooking the docks. Stale rock music from the eighties blasting over an intercom (you can say we live under a rock). When a voice rises over the waves. “You there. Come here.”
I spin around and find no one in sight. “Where are you? Don’t think I’m going to respond to some random voice.”
He comes into view, the teen I had seen, however now I see something else in his eyes. His arms are covered in golden ichor. It takes everything, every ounce of my willpower to keep my eyes trained on him. I feel as though I’m slowly growing weaker.
“Your town has sat idly by for long enough. I’ve slain the man-eating merpeople you’ve ignored for so long. In turn for your wickedness, I’ll slay this whole town.” He narrows his eyes. “Starting with you.”
I croak out some final words. “Who are you?”
He smiles. “Isn’t it obvious? We’re at the sea. I’m Poseidon.”
And thus I’m winked out of existence. | 62 | It's an open secret in your small town that a pod of man eating mermaids lives just offshore. No one says anything, because they only eat tourists. So when the new group of college kids go missing, no one thinks twice about it. Then one of them comes back. | 182 |
I snapped awake to the blare of klaxons. I gasped in a breath, and immediately started sputtering, as I involuntarily aspirated blood. I woke in a standing position, but that didn't last long. My vision was blurred, and head was spinning, and before I could orient myself I pitched forward and slammed into a cold metal deck.
As I lay groaning and coughing on the floor, wiping at the trickle of blood leaking from my nose and blinking rapidly in an attempt to get my stinging eyes to focus, I heard a synthetic voice break through the merciless wail of alarms.
"Stasis Chamber cri-critical f-f-failure...emerge-merge-merge-ency work release granted to pr-pris-prisoner 56304."
56304. I dimly recognized it as the number they'd assigned to me, when they'd sentenced me to be put into the PRESS -- Pending Re-Education Stasis System -- for my crimes against the state.
In theory, the PRESS was supposed to be a temporary way to safely confine the hard cases that were deemed too dangerous or insane to be re-educated with currently available methods, until some new "treatment" for them could be devised.
In practice, it was a relatively cheap and convenient way for the powers that be to store political prisoners like myself, that they thought they might one day have a use for. When they put me on ice, I assumed I'd eventually end up as slave labor or fodder for medical experiments -- assuming they didn't brainwash me, to use me against my fellow dissidents. I'd certainly never expected to be let on a *work release* of all things,*,* emergency or not.
"M-multiple System--" the automated voice began, and then cut out, as the nearby speaker blew out.
Hauling myself to my feet. I struggled to find my balance. I'd been abruptly awakened from cryosleep. A process that was supposed to be done slowly and gently over several days had been done in hours, maybe even less, and I was suffering from the after effects. I staggered to a nearby control console.
The display was locked, but to my surprise it activated when I touched it, responding to my biometrics, and greeted me with a login acknowledgement:
*Prisoner 56304 recognized: Emergency status change from "Dangerous / No Contact" to "Level One Trustee" granted by automated system override.*
The screen was covered in alerts and error messages. Fighting to focus, I quickly analyzed them. There were dozens of system faults -- no one issue was catastrophic, but together they would cripple the orbital prison. I looked around frantically. Where were the prison techs? Hell, where were the *guards?* Even a PRESS facility, where all the prisoners were popsicles, had a small contingent of COs, if only to escort inmates to, or more rarely, from, their stasis chambers.
Another message appeared.
*Prison Trustee 56304 Work Assignment Generated: Technical Support / Repair. Begin immediately.*
My eyes widened. The station wanted me to *fix it?* I had some advanced technical skills, sure, that much would have been in my file. But I wasn't just an ordinary inmate, I was a political prisoner. I'd never hurt anyone, but as far as the state was concerned, I was a "dangerous" enemy of the regime.
No matter how dire the emergency, none of the prison staff would have dared to sign off on assigning *me* the task of fixing whatever had gone wrong. Even if I *didn't* choose to sabotage the station instead of repairing it, if anyone in the government found out they'd thawed me out and let me poke around in the station's computer network, whoever authorized my release would have ended up in a stasis chamber right next to me.
There was only one explanation. I quickly brought up the station's personnel tracker to confirm it.
*Inmates in stasis: 452*
*Station* *Personnel: 1*
One personnel. Since I was apparently a Trustee, now, I didn't need to bring up the "Station Personnel" manifest to know that meant *me.* But why had all the guards and techs evacuated? I didn't have time to consider that question, as suddenly 452 dropped to 451. A moment later, it was 448.
My eyes widened in horror, as I brought up the Inmate manifest, and saw that my fellow prisoners weren't being booted from stasis like me. Their stasis chambers were failing. They were dying. Some of them might have been genuine hardened criminals, the worst of the worst, but many, perhaps most, were just people like me, who'd run afoul of the people in power.
My fingers flew over the display as I drilled down into the station subsystem controls and began working furiously to save the remaining inmates, and the station itself. I began rapidly adjusting settings, and manually activating backup systems that hadn't come online for some reason.
The problems I fixed were basic maintenance issues that even the most incompetent tech should have caught long before they became catastrophic failures. I didn't have time to consider that right then, either I had far too many fires to put out -- one being a *literal* fire, as it turned out*.* Seeing the flashing red indicator on the station map displayed on the console's screen, I staggered over to an emergency extinguisher on the wall, ripped it free, and lurched out of the cell block into the corridor, towards the guard wing where the fire had been detected.
The barely-functional station AI at first blocked my path with closed security doors, but then, after chugging its way through calculating a risk/benefit analysis of just how *monumentally bad* an uncontrolled fire on a space station is, it upgraded my security status so I could pass through.
I got in, got the fire in the guard's break room smothered with retardant foam, and then sprinted to the main server room to resume my work on the station's subsystems. I spent the next hour in a panic, as I frantically corrected problem after problem that threatened to doom the station and every soul aboard. To my dismay, the number of living inmates dropped further, before I finally got the worst of the system failures under control, going all the way down to 433.
After another few hours bowed over a workstation in the server room, I had all the essentials, and most of the non-essentials working, and the station AI came back online at full capacity.
*"All systems nominal."* the AI reported. I sighed with relief, to hear its stable, even voice. I wasn't so glad to hear what it said next.
*"Your assistance has been noted favorably in your record, Prisoner 56304. Emergency Work Release assignment complete. Emergency Trustee status revoked. Please wait here to be escorted back to your stasis chamber."* the machine added, as my workstation suddenly went dark, locking me out.
I scowled. It was what I'd come to expect from the regime, of course. The collective was all, to them, whereas individuals were merely tools to be used and discarded. They'd programmed most of the population with this philosophy, so why not their AIs, too?
But as I said, I *had* expected it.
*"Sic Semper Tyrannis"* I almost snarled, giving the voice command to execute the hastily written code I'd injected into the AI's runtime while it was partially offline.
The screen in front of me flashed, and I tensed, fearing something had gone wrong.
Then, I relaxed, as the workstation displayed an administration console, and the synthetic voice returned.
"*Good Afternoon, Warden 56304."* the station AI greeted me. | 120 | "Stasis Chamber Cri-Critical F-F-Failure". | 252 |
"have you heard?" A centaur said while I walked past. "There will be a human this year." The rest of the conversation was lost to me. It was my first day at the school for magic Gedore. I knew I would be one of the few humans, seeing as we don't possess any ability to use magic, but I never imagined that I would be the only one. I shouldn't be discouraged by that.
I walked up the stairs. I had to go to room A127 1/2. No idea how you could have half a classroom, but I would find out soon enough. The halls were filled with all kind of magical beings. From elves, to centaurs and even a vampire. It was very distinguishable by its clothes. It was completely covered in clothes and wore an umbrella hat with veil. Not the most comfortable clothes I supposed.
I finally arrived at my classroom. The door looked as if it was cut in half vertically. Not far above it, there was another door standing open. A few fairies where hanging out by it. Some standing in the room and some flying outside. I crouched and walked into my room.
The ceiling was very low, but the tables and chairs were even lower. The table came up to my knees. I could better just sit on the ground. I crawled to the class and made myself comfortable in the corner.
In the minutes leading up to the start of the lessons, people came walking into the room. Very small people. Gnomes were talking with eachother and took their seats. And a minute after a very fancy bell had rang, the teacher came in. Also a gnome.
"Welcome everyone, to a new start of the year. We have a very special student this year, a human. I hope you will make him feel very welcome." The teacher looked at me with a smile. "I will request a bigger room so you can be comfortable too." A few people laughed.
"Now let me tell you the schedule for the year." The teacher took out a giant piece of paper. Well, giant for him. The paper flew to the wall and drawings appeared as he spoke. He explained the different lessons we would follow, when exams would be and told us about a few trips we would take that year.
Someone had asked why trips were necessary for a study of history and the teacher had replied with "the best way to learn history, is to live it."
The rest of the day went well. I didn't make any friends yet, but I was accepted. I also talked to students of other studies and found out that I truly am the only human. The last one was 4 years ago. It did make me feel a bit uneasy, but a fae had told me that she would love to keep in touch with me. "Fae, warlock, human, it doesn't matter to me. You're nice and I would like to keep in touch with you. Even if you are smelly." She had meant it well, but I did get a double feeling. But it doesn't matter. Tomorrow I would see her again, and maybe I would make a friend. | 22 | I was on my way to Magical Studies Class, when I heard Every Being, Creature, and Magic User Talking about there being a Human on Campus. | 56 |
"I don't think you understand," the Hero said. "It's not that I'd lose, it's-"
"You'd win, yeah. I know," the bandit said defeatedly. "I mean, of course."
"What do you mean?" asked the mighty hero, vanquisher of all evil.
"I mean come on. You've killed dragons, monsters, gods. Obviously, I know who you are. I just thought, that, maybe if I fought you, it would..." the bandit motioned his hand vaguely, "*mean something*, you know? That ***I*** would mean something. But... no challenge, no glory. No point. I get it."
The Hero stared at the downtrodden man silently.
"Look, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have bothered you. I really- I really shouldn't have, I'm sorry-"
"Are you alright?" the Hero asked suddenly. The bandit looked up, his face pale and gaunt.
"What? I- I mean, sure. Just tired is all. Look I'm sorry, I'm not even really a bandit, just wanted to-"
"What are you, then?"
The bandit paused for a moment. "Not much of anything, really," he sighed. "I mean I try, I really do try to do different things but it always just... fails. All of it."
The Hero considered the man's words. They were... painfully familiar.
"Would you like to grab a mug of mead and talk? Perhaps about what makes you happy?" the Hero smiled.
"What? No- of course- no, thank you kindly. I'd hate to drag you down," the man said hurriedly and raised his hands.
"Nonsense. Come, it's on me," the Hero said jovially and pushed the man forward. Seemingly distressed but genuinely relieved, the would-be bandit accepted the helping hand and set off alongside the great Hero.
It wasn't a quest. It wasn't glory. It wasn't a promise of riches that motivated the Hero.
It was the right thing to do. | 1,203 | "I don't wanna fight you, low-level bandit." Says the Lv.100 Hero, who killed the embodiment of space-time. "I wouldn't want to fight me, neither." Says the low-level bandit. | 2,456 |
“Hi this is Marco calling about your—“
I hear a heavy sigh on the other end of the line.
“Marco The Demon?”
I clear my throat, “uhm uhh yeah that one.”
“I told you to stop calling. PUT ME ON YOUR DO NOT CALL LIST.”
I hear a click and the line is dead.
For months I’ve been stuck on this human. No matter how many times I call, how many times I appear in his dreams, or precisely at the worst moments of his life, Tim Landry refuses to sell me his soul.
There was the time in his hospital bed when he had just started the beginning of dying. I told him I’d extend his life by 10 years if he sold me his soul.
“Fuck off, I don’t want to live,” he told me.
There was the time his dog, Pearl was lost. I told him I’d bring it back to him for his soul.
He shooed me away, “She’ll come home if she wants to come home.”
“What if it dies?”
“Then Ruth can have her.”
And of course, lately I’ve been calling him once a week about his debt. The medical bills. The mortgage. The car loan.
“I’ll waive it all. In exchange for your soul.”
He usually doesn’t even reply anymore. Usually just hangs up. Today was different. He actually spoke today…maybe he’s cracking.
I transport myself to Tim’s living room and tiptoe up the stairs once the hospice nurse leaves his side.
“Hey buddy.”
“I’m not your buddy,” he says.
Which hurts. Considering I’m the only one that’s called him in months. The only one that knows what’s going on in his life which is fizzling out minute by minute.
He doesn’t look too good. His face looks waxy and pale. There’s little beads of sweat on his forehead.
“You don’t look so good,” I tell him.
“Well you always look ugly. And you smell,” he tells me.
I lose my temper a little bit because I definitely put on deodorant this morning, “the smell is you, you asshole. On account of you’re dying.”
He chuckles a little. Or at least he tries to. The chuckle turns into wheezing and then coughing and then he’s clutching his belly and his body shudders to a stop.
Tim’s delicious little soul peels away from his body and my mouth drools more than I’d like to admit. I follow it as it travels up and up and up and up. Above the ceiling and the house and the large oak tree sort of leaning haphazardly out front. Above a plane that I hope crashes and a rocket I hope fails on atmospheric reentry. Above the moon and the sun and the stars and the universe as humans know it.
Until we reach where Tim’s soul is going and I cannot enter. I watch him scoop Pearl up and melt into Ruth. Their souls twirling and trapezing around one another until they form a blinding loop of light I can’t possibly look at for another second.
I let myself fall hard back down. Down down down. Below the earths crust and core. Into the depths that no living human knows. Straight into my spinning, squeaking desk chair planted in my cubicle. Slumped at my desk, I search the database for another human with another delicious soul. | 30 | You, a demon, have been trying to convince a person to sell their soul to you. Unfortunately that person possesses actual common sense and refuses every time. | 57 |
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