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Doug's face fell . The angel had just told him that not all dogs go to heaven. This would have been less of an immediate problem if they were someone else's dogs, but they weren't. They were his. Doug looked at the angel, his eyes slowly going blank as he came to the realisation of what he would have to do.
"Which way to Hell?" he asked with a steely voice. The angel seemed both shocked and confused by the question.
"There is no way to Hell, at least from Heaven. Souls cannot get there, you'd need angel wings." The angel did not realise it, but these words would not serve it well. Doug sighed at these words. He, unlike the angel, knew exactly what these words would lead him to do. As Doug's large hands grabbed onto the floating clouds that formed a holy robe around him. His slow steps encroached on the angel, his hands tearing the robes to pieces.
The angel watched Doug curiously as the distance closed between them. There was no fear in it's eyes. This was probably the last time that statement would be true.
​
Five minutes later, a 7 foot man jumped from the platform into the clouds below, covered in the golden blood of an angel. On his back were two wings, stained with the same blood, that looked as if they had been pushed into his back like swords. Red and gold mixed in two streams that flowed down his back, pulsing forward with each awkward flap of the wings. Doug was both flying downward as well as falling. His speed was pushed far beyond that thing the living called terminal velocity. Even then the journey seemed to take forever.
As he sank deeper and deeper away from Heaven, hunger and thirst began to assail him. His bones and muscles creaked in protest. A sickly smell of rot and flesh assailed his nostrils, and a great heat blew up from the darkness, scorching his eyes and hair and skin. Doug did not relent and, flapping his new wings with greater fervour, he flew down into deeper darkness.
​
Suddenly, in his view there was not darkness. Instead lakes of fire and mountains of bone had appeared before him, too close to avoid. At the speed he was travelling it would surely do to him what throwing a little porcelain doll into a wood-chipper would do. Nothing good. Doug strained his wings, and the sheer force they had to exert against his fall was so great that they began to slip from the flesh of his back. The pain was incredible, but he had no time to even consider it. The last bit of the fall felt like an eternity. Before he had even landed, the wings gave a final jerk, separating themselves from him. Two jets of red trailed him as he fell the last distance, and above him the feathers were consumed by the heat and scattered by the fetid winds.
He landed. Hard. His hands scrabbled for purchase, grasping onto jutting bones and pulling them with him as he slid down the mountain of death. Below him was a lake of brimstone. He could not find purchase, could not slow his fall. In desperation he drove his arm violently into the bones, hoping that it would give enough resistance. It did, but it also made some snapping noises which, in his current state, he could not be sure were the bones around him instead of inside him. That was a problem for later; his fall had ceased.
​
Doug breathed, something rather unpleasant to do in an environment where the air was both deathly hot and full of the rot of flesh and filth. He lay on the mountain of bones and closed his eyes, both to protect them from the heat as well as the view. It did not help much. More breaths of fetid air. It did not calm him, but it did at least allow his mind to focus, that regular, rhythmic movement of the lungs so common to the living. A small part of Doug wondered if he even needed to breathe anymore, but the rest of Doug was thinking about how to find his dogs.
Very slowly, he began to extract his arm from the place it had been thrust into the bone-pile. Each small pull caused pain, both from the fractures as well as the assembling cuts he was gathering from the sharp bones. What he pulled from the hole he had made was less recognisable than it should have been. His fingers were intact though, most of them, and that was enough.
​
"Oh God Damnit!" he cried as he brought his fingers to his lips, his arm screaming in pain and refusing to listen as it should have. His good arm flicked hastily, bringing his bad arm up to his face. His teeth bit softly into the fingers to keep them in place while he shifted his body in the bones, moving himself to rest the arm against his chest and knees to keep it in position. Once again he moved his fingers slightly, pushing his bottom lip to his teeth and sliding them slightly under his tongue.
He pulled a deep breath, instantly regretting it, and trying his best not to cough. Alas, it was not meant to be. Only after he had fixed the position of his arm once again could he draw another deep breath, slower and more measured this time. It did not help with the taste or the heat at all.
From between Doug's broken and bleeding fingers came a whistle. It was loud, and piercing, and clear. A true note that sounded three times, three distinct calls. It was so unlike the sounds of Hell. There were fractured cries, and hoarse screams, and the sizzle of flesh, the breaking of bone, and other sounds of suffering. Something so clear, and true, and pure, was not heard very often in Hell.
​
Doug whistled until his throat was raw, and every blow of the bellows of his chest brought up more blood than wind. Exhausted, he lay back into the bones, their sharp points digging into him but no longer affecting him. He mused that, had he been alive, he would most certainly have died of blood-loss by now. Truly a silver lining then, at least as far as silver linings could go in Hell, that he would be able to live through this.
His eyes were shut against the heat, but his ears could hear the soft creak and crack and crumble of bones from the bottom of the mountain on which he lay. No doubt some demon come to torture him or drag him into a fiery lake or wrap him in molten chains. Doug would have sighed if it did not require breathing in so much of this cursed air to do so. He decided to lay there, unmoving, and accept his fate as it encroached towards him.
​
The sounds of bones being crushed had grown much closer. It was then that he felt hot breath streaming over his face, as if some monster was mere inches away from him, ready to devour him. The breathing grew more agitated, heating up and nearly roasting the skin from his face. It was then, to his surprise, that he felt something hot and wet slap his face, and begin to lick it.
Startled, he opened his eyes and beheld the monster. It was part bone, part flesh, part fur, and part fire. It stood much larger than he, casting a shadow over him as it set to licking him. A collar hung from it's neck. Doug grasped at it with his good arm, drawing himself closer to read the name that hung from it.
***Brutus***
***"***Ha, hahaha. Brutus? Is that you boy? Huh? Is that you?***"*** It was then that this giant monster did something that neither Heaven nor Hell would believe. It let out a little whine, as if a puppy, and pushed it's monster head softly into Doug's chest. "Who's a good boy Brutus? You are, yes you are!" Doug shouted in joy. His hands were rubbing Brutus, scratching under his large ears, sliding between his neck and the collar to give everywhere he could reach a good scratch. "Such a good boy! You came when I called."
Doug suddenly struggled to get up. Brutus could sense it, and removed it's head from his chest. Doug's footing was uneasy, and he almost fell down again, but Brutus placed it's body gently against him, steadying him.
"Do you know where the others are, huh, boy?" Doug asked. Brutus whined again, this one softer and unsure. "That's okay, don't you worry." Doug said, patting Brutus on his side. He rested against Brutus' flank for a bit, before straightening himself. "If you don't know, and I don't know, then all we can do is find them. Isn't that right?"
​
If one looked from Heaven, they could not see Hell. Even if they could, it would be impossible to see the tiny figures moving around it, and even more impossible to find among them two specific dots that moved slowly down from a mountain of bones next to a lake of brimstone, in search of their family. | 135 | A good person spends their life caring for the most troubled, aggressive dogs, the ones deemed "lost causes" by shelters and wardens alike. At the gates of Heaven, they're told that the dogs are now in Hell as hellhounds, and turns and chooses to go to Hell, too, unwilling to give up on them. | 259 |
The alien ships appeared nearly 13 years ago. At first, they showed up on deep space telescopes as an unidentified comet coming in towards Earth from a very long orbit, but eventually we were able to make out 2 distinct objects. They seemed to be nearly identical, but one of them had a large crater in the center. The next thing we noticed was that their trajectory had changed, bringing them directly towards Earth. There was panic amongst the populace once amateur astronomers discovered the objects, but it was shortly after that we received the first message.
It clamed to be an artificial intelligence, named something that roughly translated to “83”, a construct of some advanced alien race and sent into the void with 3 imperatives. The first imperative was to travel to uninhabited star systems and produce copies of itself to continue doing the same thing. The second was to protect intelligent life that it discovered. The third was to advance technology and communicate back to its home world to advance their own technology. Seventeen years prior it had arrived in an inhabited star system with its twin ship “84” and been attacked by the species there. The AI of “84” had been neutralized and “83” had been controlling both ships since then. It had fled to the next system, our system, in an attempt to continue its mission but had left drones behind to monitor the hostile species. Several years after it had left the system, the drone closest to that system had gone dead. A few years after that, the next drone had also gone dead. The aliens were following it, and it estimated 13 of our years before they reached Earth.
Over the course of 17 weeks, it created a copy of itself using rocks from our asteroid belt, christened it “85” and then, “83” and “85” left us the corpse of “84”, a gargantuan cruiser compared to anything humanity had created by that point, taught us to interface with its systems, and said they didn’t have time to produce a defense of their own before the aliens arrived. Then they left the system as quickly as they had entered, apparently continuing on its way and telling us to “make do” as best we could.
The hulk of “84” had been studied by thousands of scientists, and its secrets soon discovered. The aliens had incredibly advanced technology in some ways, the ability to reorganize materials at the atomic level, incredibly advanced computer systems, power systems beyond our wildest dreams. But they seemed also to be missing any sort of weapons beyond throwing pieces of metal really fast (without even any explosives). Scientists at NASA had determined the ideal amount of time to spend reproducing the technology used to reorganize materials at atomic levels before using them to start crafting other devices.
Within 4 years there were dozens of giant floating shipyards in the asteroid belt, harvesting the giant rocks and spitting out more reorganizers. 2 years after that, the first handful of ships had been produced, and 2 years after that there were dozens of ships. Humanity had never been united in such a way as to face the existential threat of destruction. All of the Earth seemed to come together, training people to go into space, creating enough food, and advancing all our technology as fast as possible. By time 10 years had passed since the alien’s arrival, we had developed weapon systems that worked by firing massive arcs of power out of a capacitor like a lightning strike, so powerful it could shatter an asteroid. We had developed repulsor shields capable of deflecting even the largest objects. We had attached massive nuclear warheads to the missiles that could be fired or dropped as mines and hidden in debris.
Now it had been 13 years. The last drone in the direction the aliens had first come from had gone dead a month ago and humanity’s first space fleet was lying in wait, hiding behind moons of Jupiter and Saturn. Parked in stealth orbits around Neptune and Uranus. Clustered in the shadows of Mars, Earth and anywhere else they could be. Nearly 200 ships, most of them considered by our models to be many times more powerful than “84” had ever been.
When “83” re-entered the system from the same way it had departed, humanity was shocked. It sent us a message telling us that the hostiles and the drones going dark had been a ruse, and it had simply used them as motivation to help us to advance ourselves to a level at which we were protected, in accordance with its second imperative. We detected too late that it was downloading our data from the systems integrated from “84” and it thanked us for helping it with its third imperative as well, before departing the system once more. | 279 | The aliens did not tell us what was coming. They just left us a single, partially damaged cruiser in orbit and told us to “make do. You have 13 years.” | 643 |
"We're on a mission from the old gods." One of the two men in the car said as he laid a fragile looking urn in the backseat.
"We *are* the old gods, Pazuzu."
"*Older* gods, then. Why do you always have to ruin my good times, big brother?" Humbaba shook his head at his little brother.
"No time for good times, we've been asleep for far too long. If it weren't for these bodies we've stolen, we'd still be out of the loop."
"But we aren't, and we're going to do what we set out to do ages ago. Just... a little slower than we thought we would."
"So long as we can keep ahead of Lamassu."
"Lamchops? Pfft... I wouldn't worry about her."
"That's what you said in Syria."
"I have it under control!"
"That's what you said in Berlin."
"Are you *really* going to keep bringing up *everything* I've ever done that's backfired?"
"You asked me that in Rio."
"...dick."
"Yes, you are." Humbaba took the wheel, utilizing his host's knowledge and experience to turn the keys in the ignition and putting the car into gear.
"Why were these guys out here, anyway?" Pazuzu asked, looking back into the backseat and seeing the roll of duct tape, some of which had been placed over his host's mouth and around his wrists as well.
"Some stupid human thing." Humbaba said as he turned the car around and started back down the rocky dirt road that served as the only way in or out of that empty field.
"I guess it doesn't really matter." Pazuzu said, picking up the half-eaten Butterfinger and sinking his host's teeth into it. "Let's do this!" He said through a mouthful of chocolate and peanuts.
"I was going to eat that!" Humbaba lamented as the two breezed out onto a paved road. | 11 | "Okay, so we have this cursed relic from times the world forgot, a single roll of duck tape, a half-eaten candy bar, exactly $43, and a world to save. Hit it." | 102 |
"PUT THE MONEY IN! THE! BAG!" I screamed at the bank teller as she frantically complied and failed as more money fell back into the till or the floor behind her desk rather than the generous leather bag I proffered her.
"IN THE BAG!!!"
I hope she got it this time. I'm kind of in a hurry. The peacekeeper and his posse would be here any moment and while I would love to show them what I learned, the several holes in the ceiling after my dramatic entrance would have to be enough for them today.
Because today, I was testing my thesis.
And it was working.
And everyone around me was terrified at the magic I had wrought after thousands of hours of research, hundreds of hours of testing, dozens of hours of forging, and the most recent hour where my resolve to field test my work was buoyed by desperation and liquid spirits.
And now I was terrified. There was no going back. In the dust of a lazy afternoon here in town, I walked up, closed my research notebook, and brandished my life's work. I held it up, letting it shine in the blue firmament of the sky, admiring my craftsmanship and attention to detail, then walked into the bank to make a withdrawal.
Well, not that. More like loan negotiations.
"FASTER!" my bargaining implored as the teller scooped up what she could of wrinkled paper notes and shiny coins and together shoved them into the satchel and then pushed it across to my open hand.
Finally! I can continue my work. I pinched the front of my hat with a gloved hand, nodded to everyone cowering in the corners of the room, and sauntered toward the open exit and into the sunlight...
...only to find good old Peacekeeper Darnwit and his three men standing in the dusty street as they each held a well worn sword or crossbow at the ready.
"Tinker," the weathered lawman drawled. "You're a dead man if you step one more foot out that door."
Well...that was quicker than I thought.
"Officer Darnwit..."
"Don't you flap your gums at me," he spat. Like literally. Into the dirt. Disgusting.
"Drop the bag down. Put whatever that...thing...is in your hand down. And put your hands behind your back. Else you'll make a fine holster for these bolts here."
Sigh. This droll crowd couldn't even appreciate the work I had put into my greatest discovery.
In my back pocket was the greatest scientific breakthroughs I had made about the old ones who came before us, who lifted cities and peoples into the sky, and built their empire before it can crumbling down with the creation I had in my hand.
Squinting, I tensed. Darnwit, despite his name, recognized I wouldn't comply. He began to bark orders to fire as he raised his sword.
I imagined each of their heads as giant apples.
And thanked the gods that along with the insatiable curiosity I was blessed with that I also had a remarkably quick finger.
I pulled my magical device up and snapped off two concussive blasts that jolted my arm but had firmly placed two projectiles between two crossbowmans' eyes and froze Darnwit and his surviving deputy in their place.
I held them at bay, my weapon pointed at the leering peacekeeper as he kept his hand steadied on his partially lowered sword. I strafed towards my horse, grabbed the reins, and lifted myself over the side into her saddle, clicking my tongue and tugging the strap to make her go. I leveled the weapon back at them, ensuring they wouldn't make a move just yet and trotted off around the corner of the saloon before making away at full gallop.
I hooted and hollered as the wind whipped in my face. Securing the money in a saddlebag, I couldn't imagine how dumbstruck everyone was as my research had finally paid off. Countless years no one would believe me that such powerful magic had existed and could be worked even today. Not a single one.
And now I could continue my research. Make more of these wondrous magical devices. Go from town to town, accepting charitable donations from every bank that turned me down for my research. And one by one, they would become believers.
The gun is good, after all. | 61 | You are historian developing a thesis about magic in differen cultures and time periods; to demystify supernatural beliefs. The only problem is you are broke and your personal life is a mess. About to drop everything you decide, as a last resource, to try using what you learned about magic... | 301 |
Making worlds was what I did. Some would have gods, others wouldn't. Some had magic, others had a more scientific mindset. There were only ever three common links between them. The Creator, being me, and the two kids, Life and Death.
Sometimes I came back to my earlier work. If the world was dead, I would copy it, and see if Life would make something different. If it had an over abundance I would ask Death what was wrong. I had seen all sorts, from beautiful garden worlds to cracked, cold species sized graveyards. But none of them prepared me for this.
A brutal dictatorship ruled. The iron fist of the ruler was felt across the land. They had legions of armed men, near identical warriors. They were supported by millions of nightmarish things. Things that Life wouldn't dare create.
I investigated. I remembered this world, giving it a spark of magic. I tied it to children's imaginations. As long as there were children, what they dreamed would be real, if channeled right. It would be short lived, and I had assumed that I'd how it would be. But not this.
I followed a line of these creatures, to a dark facility. It was an enormous building, with a huge concentration of these troops. Within it were warehouse sized rooms, packed with tiny pods. Each pod held a child, trapped in place. They were asleep, with various drugs pumped in.
I watched as one buckled, and a creature faded into existence. It had a large, black scaled body, supported by five thick legs. There were no arms, but instead a dozen long necks, topped with gaping maws. Something that a child would be scared of in a dream.
It was corralled, led away to a different chamber. I could feel it be warped by another child's creation, until its will was bent to that of the rulers. As I watched, this scene repeated itself hundreds of times.
I watched as they counted the children like sheep. They read out numbers. One was lacking, as they claimed they were of the age where the spark was lost. I hoped they would be let free. Instead, I saw them shut off the life support. They didn't care as the child died, casually discussing clearing the body and getting a new one.
It was horrific. I didn't want to watch. But now I knew, I couldn't let it go. Something had to be done.
I could make it cease to exist. I had done before, when there was only one soul left who wanted to capture me. But that wasn't enough. I want used to feeling rage, but now I did. I didn't just want the ruler dead, I wanted them to suffer. I needed them to be destroyed in every possible way.
I thought through the worlds I had made. I couldn't just snap my fingers to fix it. That was too delicate a task for me but I didn't have to. I knew of ones who I had let know of my existence. They had promised to serve me, even though I had no such need.
But now I did. They would be my fist on this world. They would crush this rulers armies with the powers of their own. I would give them empty worlds full of the things they needed to win. It didn't matter to me. I just wanted that ruler dead, and those children free. | 18 | You're a Creator entity, usually making worlds from a template but occasionally adding a bit of extra magic. On one such world, the magic you added sprang from childhood imagination; a bit of whimsy. When you went back to check on it later, you were horrified by what adults had done with it | 50 |
For five whole months, humanity was in an uproar. Partly because of the aliens that hung over the sky, ominous profiles that blocked out the soon and moon, an ever-eclipse on our lives.
“This is absurd,” Sarah Gunther, the President of the United States said, jabbing fiercely at the tablet in her hand. “Five months! I finally have some time, and I still can’t watch Stranger Things?”
Mostly, it was because they took down our screens. Some people adjusted quickly—like the new Ambassador to Aliens, Michael Monk. The new status quo, however, was not something even the most powerful woman on Earth could accept.
“President,” Michael said. “The screen still says one, does it?”
“Yes,” she said, sighing. “Are you sure it’ll turn zero soon?”
“Yes,” Michael said, wringing his hands together. He paced up and down the room, nerves shaking his speech ever so slightly. “Any minute now. Today is the day.”
“Oh,” President Gunther said. “Zero.”
Almost on cue, whoever could see the ships in the sky—a bunch of people has turned to shipwatching as a new hobby—heard the enormous thrusters firing behind the ships. It had been five months since those rockets died down, and the ships simply hovered above the Earth.
“God,” Michael looked out the window, and swallowed a large lump in his throat. “Ready or not, here they come.”
It took but minutes for the ships to find themselves over the White House. Even though it floated high up in the air, it covered the entire grounds in shadow. A small beam of light flared out from the ship, which turned into a big cylinder. A greenish humanoid—cue the hundreds of binoculars, rifle scopes, and camera lenses that refocused on it—appeared in the beam, and started moving down.
Michael stood on the lawn, standing as straight as he could. While scientists were limited without their supercomputers, they calculated that the aliens’ visible technology blew anything the Earth could produce out of the water. Having enough energy to simply hover in space, resisting the gravitational pull and orbit? Earth couldn’t make a rock do that, let alone a spaceship the size of cities.
The green alien, about half the size of a human being, stepped out onto the lawn. It had two legs and two arms—a fortunate biological coincidence, considering its face. Eyes planted their flags everywhere, and Michael felt a disconcerting discomfort when every one of them eventually focused on him.
“Michael Monk,” the alien said.
Michael stood rooted to the ground. His jaw tried desperately to rejoin the clutches of gravity, but he managed to keep it closed.
“OK,” he said. It was all he could muster.
“Ah, how rude of me,” the alien said, holding out a hand. “Xakur. Of the Klohorians.”
The ambassador shook the alien’s hand, and resisted the urge to lay down in confusion and cry.
“Xakur,” he said. “How… Why… Wait. You speak English?”
“Of course,” Xakur said. “We speak all languages of the Earth, as of a few minutes ago. We came, and we saw everything you have. According to your movies, this seems to be a customary landing spot for many of our kind.”
“Wha—how? You could speak like this all this time?”
“No, not at all. We needed to assimilate all of your content in order to talk properly. Hence, the screens,” the alien said. “I believe we are using the correct syntax and grammar of this time.”
“I don’t quite follow,” Michael said.
“We needed five months to consume all the content humanity has thus far created. Hence, the countdown on your digital screens. It was simple to learn your numbers, and so we went with those. But language? That’s a different beast,” Xakur said.
“OK, that’s absurd,” Michael scratched his head. “Everything?”
“Everything. From the tumblers to the archives to the human tubes. “From literature to film to TV show to video games to blogs to vlogs to fanfics to—”
“I get it,” Michael held up his hands. “That’s enough. But… why?”
“We Klohorians are one of the only races in the galaxy that consume far more content than we generate,” Xakur said, pointing to his eyes. They all wiggled independently for a moment, a strange myriad of movement. “These are out sensory organs. But our cells themselves have content receptors.
“Content… receptors.”
“Exactly,” the alien nodded. “Then we heard about Earth. We have to hand it to you. Most planets we go to take but a few days. But Earth? Boy, your entire history might have given us enough content for a good year or two?”
“You mean our entire media history will sustain you for a month or two?”
“Yes,” Xakur smile cheerfully. “Most planets hit hours. We send our different ships to content farms, you see.”
“Well,” Michael said. “Regardless, glad to see you are not hostile to our planet.”
“Oh, we see the fiction. Aliens always lose to you humans, because you guys are absolutely nuts,” Xakur beamed. “Now. I have somewhere else to be.”
“Where are you going?”
“I am going on a personal trip,” Xakur said. “Some media really need to be finished in order to be fully appreciated.”
“Please try to not randomly land in other countries,” Michael said in worry. “You could cause an international incident.”
“But this will absolutely be worth it,” the alien said. “Now, I just need to find where George R. R. Martin lives..."
---
r/dexdrafts | 22 | We've never seen the aliens, only their ships in orbit. When they came, every digital screen on Earth just said '5'. A month later it changed to '4'. Yesterday, it became '3'. | 58 |
The most ridiculous part of this was just how blatantly I could get away with it. Hardly anyone took magical tea seriously (Fire breathing dragons? Sure. Floating blobs that paralyze you when you touch them? Look out! Magical tea leaves? Pfft.) so when I asked for my supplies so I could make myself a cup to calm my nerves no one batted an eye. Guess Maverik didn't think to tell his goons otherwise.
First up was the most delicate, lavender with bergmot and a bit of cinnamon. I needed to be especially careful because of the caustic qualities of this one, but I needed to get it set up before the rest of my plan could work. Working carefully, I set up my gear next to the wall below the window, as close to the stone as I could get. Using a porcelain pot I brewed my concoction, taking care not to get too close to the steam. I let it cool down before drinking it. The taste was ghastly, but stage one was complete.
Next up, chamomile and jasmine. I used my largest pot and most of my chamomile--I would need to restock my supplies later, but fortunately it wasn't a key ingredient of many recipes and I could make do with other herbs if need be. It was perfect for this use though. Once it was ready I poured a cup and called to the guard.
"Hey, you must be bored out of your mind. I thought a nice cup of tea might help you feel better."
He raised an eyebrow. "Aren't you the guy who makes tea for heroes?"
"Yup. So you know it must be good if they bother to keep me around."
He paused for a moment before coming over to take the cup. A quick sip changed his expression. "You got enough to share? I'd feel bad if the other guys didn't get to try it."
"Oh I've got plenty. I love sharing good tea with people."
He turned, then looked back. "It's not gonna turn us into newts or anything, is it?"
"I promise, it won't hurt you one bit." It wasn't a lie. He called his friends and they quickly drank all the tea.
Idiots.
Once they were done I got to work on the final brew. This was a special recipe I don't share with anyone, dear reader, but it used a good number of different herbs. I took care to put each away as I was done, both to avoid arousing suspicion and to make things easier once I was done. It was tedious, and not one I made often, but this wasn't the place for targeted enhancements, I needed all I could get just in case. Hopefully I could find a safe place before I crashed. Anyways, by the time I was finished the previous drink had done its job, the guard by my cell was fast asleep and anyone else who drank my tea would at best be too drowsy to care. I drained my cup quickly and packed up as much as I could while I waited for it to work. The pot needed to be left behind, I wasn't going to wait for it to cool enough to take with me.
Finally I felt it take effect. Strength, speed, agility, endurance, all physical attributes were heightened. Not a lot, but enough. I hit the wall by the window with my fist. The stone crumbled, and a couple more kicks cleared things enough for me to get through. A glance back--the guard didn't even stir. I looked out. My cell was on the second story, something I wasn't aware of but wouldn't be a problem. I grabbed my bag and jumped down. The encampment was larger than I thought too. I quickly made my way through, dodging or knocking away anyone who tried to stop me. It was easier than I had hoped to get away from Maverik's men and into the forest. I felt a little bad. His temper towards those who failed him was legendary, and no one deserved to be on the receiving end of it. But I was free, and could rejoin my companions, who would have their own rage to expend on him in turn. | 956 | You're the "weakling" tea maker. People think you're a burden on the hero's party. But it's the enchantments from your premium teas that boost the party to world-class. Bandits kidnap you to blackmail the hero. Leaving you in a cell with your tea supplies was a mistake. It's tea time. | 5,393 |
"What?!" Sylana of the Seelie yelped.
"I said," the human, Christoph, whom she'd made this bargain with, replied, "That *you* are the one I wish to fall in love with me."
"But -- but I am the contract holder!" Sylana protested. "This is...entirely unreasonable!"
"Unreasonable because you're upset a lowly human beat you at your game?" Christoph eyed her sardonically. "Or because you recognize that it's not right to begin with, but now it affects you, you're unwilling."
"The first, no, I've been outwitted by a human before," Sylana grimaced, not wanting to recall the memory, it was simply embarassing. "The second, I cannot make anyone fall in love who does not already feel a certain attraction. That's not the way the magic works."
"Well then," Christoph pointed out, "Cast the spell. If it is as you say, you have nothing to fear, and I will simply have wasted my chance."
"And invalidated the contract in the process," Sylana frowned. "You are clever, human, more clever than any I've met in a millennium, and I do not say such a thing lightly." She sighed. "Very well." She waved her hands and the parchment signed by them both began to glow, then she chanted a phrase in the musical tongue of the Seelie. The glowing sheet dissipated into a haze which floated into her body, and then nothing seemed to happen.
After a moment, Christoph couldn't help but say something. "Well?"
"It is as I said," Sylana replied. "The magic can't *make* someone fall in love against their will, it only works if attraction already exists." Christoph began to turn away, frustrated, but stopped when she snaked her fingers into his. "Which, apparently, it did."
For a moment, the man felt a sense of overpowering joy, but then it was tempered by a dark realization. "You...are telling me the truth? I am not forcing you into this?"
"Mmmm, perhaps just a little," Sylana smirked, enjoying his discomfiture. "Now that the spell has been worked, I can't deny I've always found you...quite interesting. But had you not done this, I doubt anything would have come of it. Your human lives are so brief compared to ours that by the time I made a decision, you would have been in your dotage." A look of sadness briefly crossed her face. "But since I have...if you are still feeling any sense of guilt, you can assauge that by doing one thing for me."
"Sylana, I have loved you for years, ever since we met that starry night," Christoph replied. "I will do anything for you."
"Even eat the fruit of *Elphame?*" She purred. "Leave behind your human life, and join me in my realm, forever?"
"Yes," Christoph answered without hesitation. "I have no family here, no ties to leave behind. If you are going to love me as I love you, let us be equals."
A surge of happiness flowed through Sylana's heart. "Then so it shall be...beloved. Come. The nearest portal is several days walk, and we must reach it by Midsummar's Eve if we are to pass through." Christoph worked his arm through hers, in the manner she'd often seen human lovers do, and they began their journey to the lands of both faerie and eternal love. | 16 | A fae makes a contract with a mortal to make an individual of the mortal's choice fall in love with them in exchange for the mortal's firstborn. After finalizing the contract the mortal does something the fae never expected. They choose the fae to fall in love with them. | 92 |
It’s not that I didn’t care for my family, it’s just my parents had always been the type to believe in the nature over nurture business. And to them that meant that they could send me out onto city streets to play without supervision. I don’t really think the concrete jungle really counts as nature.
My sisters weren’t that different of a story either. So, when they all changed I didn’t really mind.
It was my oldest sisters Allie’s birthday when I first noticed the difference.
“Daddy, don’t you think I deserve my own room?”
Ally gave big puppy dog eyes to my father who was busy stuffing his face with cake. She tried again looking over to my mom whom gave a skeptical look. She nudged Jess to help her out. The two had been reluctant roommates ever since I was born and the two couldn’t be more different. Jess shrugged at Ally as she gave her the death stare. Apathetic as usual.
I sliced a piece of somewhat messily frosted chocolate cake to try to give to Allie. I had made it myself, from the box but I was still pretty proud. It was an impressive enough feat for a 12 year old. I had even managed to write a pretty enough looking ‘Happy Birthday Allison’. On I, I even was able to dot it with a little flower. The whole thing, including some cheap metal nibs earned from nabbing loose change from the house and looking on the floors of the local arcade.
“It’s not like Jess would bother Becca. Jess is usually holed up in her room and Becca is out who knows where. It’s perfect!”
I sat the piece of cake in front of Allie. All night she hadn’t said a word about it, but my kid brain thought a corner slice which I had bravely defended from Dad’s hungry gaze would help my 18 year old sister to notice. I mean corner prices were always her favorite.
I remember waiting for her to say something to me. If she had just asked me about the room I probably would have given it too her. If she had said ‘this cake is delicious’ I probably would have given it to her too.
And that’s when Jess noticed. She
had a piece of cake in front of her she had barely eaten. Her fork was still clean. And yet suddenly, she jumped slightly only I noticing as she looked around the room at my father and chose to take a bite. And then another and then another. And then she said louder than I thought was possible to escape her mouth.
“This cake is delicious!” I smiled to myself, looking down proudly at what I had made. I waited for mom to say something. It’s only box cake- anyone could have made it.
And yet she didn’t. Instead she turned, looked at my Father who had been nodding in agreement as he continued to stuff his face, and began to do the same.
“This stuff is delicious!” She exclaimed.
I beamed, blinded by my Mom’s excitement. But when I looked at Allie she looked exasperated.
Allie exclaimed “ What are you-“
She cut off and began to look down at the piece of cake I had given her. Looking around just as everyone else had, she took a bite.
Somehow it still was a surprise when she said “This is delicious!”
I jumped out of my chair then, and grabbed Allie in as big a hug as my tiny arms could give.
“You can have my room Allie!”
She looked down, I’m sure confused at first at the final family member left to possess. Giving her such warmth and excitement and offering something she did not care about.
Her voice was gentle, not loud or demanding like Allie’s usually was.
“Who made the cake?“
“I did!” I said happier than I had ever been.
She sat me back down with a smile and looked back down at the cake. It was almost eaten except for two words.
“Happy Birthday!” She said to me, mirroring my bright naive smile. Everyone was smiling at me, their eyes fully attentive for the first time in my entire life.
I didn’t feel scared somehow, and maybe that was on purpose. Some sort of magic or science like they kind that took my family. But somehow, despite how much it tears me up inside to say it, I don’t think it was. | 36 | The body snatchers have replaced your family so they can observe human society. At dinner one of them makes an awkward mistake that should reveal everything. They watch you carefully, but you don't say a thing about it. After living with those jerks for years the aliens have been a joy. | 182 |
“It is a total disgrace!” Luther said. “I will not tolerate such blasphemy in my own house!” He was irate. Veins pulsating, face flushing, and a heat wave that could set hell on fire - if it wasn’t already. “I have called this meeting to solve this problem once and for all. I can’t stand little imps whistling ‘Ode to Joy’ or young devils tattooing wings, crosses, and fucking Saint Michael in their lower backs!” He stopped, catching his breath. “I need ideas.”
​
After a few minutes of silence, one of the largest devils said “My Lord, why don’t we ban everything? We ban anyone from wearing white clothes or using a crown of horns. We ban everything that brings joy like music and art.”
​
“Hmmm. But I really liked what that boy Dante made. Well, at least the first part.” Said Luther.
​
“My Salty Lord, why don’t we burn alive anyone that worships the white one?” Suggested one of the oldest members of the council.
​
“Hmmm. But this would bring pleasure to delinquent imps!”
​
"Then why don’t we drown them in holly wat-!”
​
“Hush! This would only make it worse! We need new and bold ideas! Not the same old manual of torture and censorship.”
​
“We…well, I…I have one bu…but I don’t know i...if it is go…od”. Everyone turned their heads to see a small and twiggy figure. One of the newest additions to the council. Still half an imp.
​
He talked with all the fear his little body could bear “Ha..have you all he...ard of someth…ing ne..new called Go..gospel music?”
​
“Hush! I will not hear of anything that comes close to being used in a church!” Said Luther, with sparkling eyes.
​
He talked once again, holding to the only thread of courage he could find “No, no, my Lord. The i..idea would be creating something to spread like a virus. We wo..would have to do the u..usual, offer them fame and riches in exchange for their soul, as we did with Ivan, Vlad, and Catherine.” He paused for a second, taking a sip of sulfur, then continued. “But, if w...we se..select the right ones, dress them in black, make they use your symbols, my Lord, and move like they have been possessed....”
​
“Hmm. That could work. How would will we call that?”
​
“Counter-Gospel” Said the half-imp half-devil with hope - if that exists in hell.
​
"We can work on the name later. "
\---This is my first one and English is not my first language. Looking for advice to improve :) | 19 | Just as human teenagers use satanic imagery to be edgy, so too to demon teenagers use godly imagery to be edgy | 88 |
As I wander about the ship, wondering what I want out of my life, I get spotted by one of the guards. "Excuse me, miss, but do you have permission to be roaming around?" I quietly shake my head; I wanted to say 'does it matter', but I saw first hand the consequence of being rude. Since being abducted by aliens, I learned that they take manners and respect *very* seriously, and it's practically a sin to be rude in any way.
The guard just smiles. "Well, I understand your curiosity, but unfortunately I must request you return to your room." I nod, knowing that saying 'no' is considered a sign of disrespect, after all I'm not in charge here. I accept the escort, during which time we talk. At first, all I wanted was to get away, but there's something about these guys... they're so much more polite and kind than 90% of humans! It feels kinda warm here, even if I'm technically a prisoner.
Through my chats with them, I learned that they wish to establish relations with our planet, so that the two species can join forces in an alliance. They abducted about 10 of us; one was returned after much pleading and begging, two others were rude and hostile, and wouldn't calm down despite chats and warnings, so they were transferred to another ship to go back to the alien's home planet to be kept imprisoned. That was the only time the aliens treated us as anything less than, for lack of a better word, 'equals'.
One other person escaped... without a plan. We watched him explode in space. I overheard a couple aliens talking about how... 'misjudging' humans can be, so I went up to them and said "I know you mean stupid... and I fully agree." So now, there's six of us left. I'm the only one not going crazy, due to learning to appreciate the aliens.
Anyway, I've just reached my 'room', which is really just a very nice prison cell. Normally, the doors are left unlocked as a sign of respect and trust, however this wasn't the first time I decided to walk around without permission, so I already knew that they were going to lock the door. I was fine with that, after all they're not evil. Just before my door is even shut, though, another alien shows up. "The other five were not doing well... we've been forced to return them."
They both turn to look at me. We're all silent for a while, then the first alien speaks. "Our project failed... we have no reason to stay. We'll be returning to our home planet. We can return you to yours." I think for a moment. Do I *want* to go back? No. I have no friends, my family abandoned me, and no-one will even glance at me. Why did I even want to escape in the first place? Maybe I was afraid I'd be tortured or worse here... but it's actually been rather pleasant. I get the feeling I'm wanted, and this would be the first time.
I smile. "You've seen what humans are like... violent, stupid and crazy. Except I've been none of them. I feel much more at home here. Please, let me come back with you." The two aliens start beaming - I knew they wanted me! "Very well, miss. Understand that you will *belong* to us; we'll still treat you with respect, of course, but in return we're going to ask for your obedience and trust." He pulls out a strange-looking device. It looks uncomfortable, but I decide to trust them. He puts it around my head, and it connects to the main part of my body. I feel a tingling sensation. But I don't mind. As long as I'm appreciated. | 98 | The aliens who "abducted" you were surprisingly courteous. You are not reconsidering your desire to escape. | 290 |
"Marcus!" The first spider exclaims.
"Unbelievable, a habitable planet, with fauna, presumably the one in front of us is sentient." The second spider, Marcus says.
"Yeah, why does he look so weak," Ralph asks. Marcus pulls a briefcase out of the cloth on his back end.
"Ralph, the environment across planets is highly..." Ralph, the first spider, cuts Marcus off. "...Variable, which can drastically affect biology."
"Correct" Marcus says.
"but he looks squishy." Marcus says as I remain frozen from the fright of two giant spiders standing in my backyard.
Marcus doesn't look up as he peers into his case, held by his two front feet. "they look like they could have had a significant amount more hair in the past."
"It's the hair?" Ralph asks skeptically.
"as to why they don't fit your mental image of what a sentient being should look like" Marcus answers.
"But what happens if they are attacked?" Ralph inquires.
"Don't you carry a pistol?" Marcus says.
"Okay fair" Ralph concedes. They remain quiet for a moment as I stand still, still frozen. "I got my reading, let's head back and mount a crew." Marcus turns towards me and waves.
"What if they think we're attacking?"
"We'll surrender. If they contain us, our comrades should be more than capable of getting us out. Now get moving." Ralph does as he is told and exits through the portal with Marcus close behind.
Edit: spacing and words | 52 | When you had first heard of the many worlds theory, you didn’t think much of it. That changed when a portal opened in your backyard and 2 dog sized spiders came out arguing. “Really though, the chances of us finding a habitable realm are so small that-“. Ah, they seem to have noticed you. Crap. | 118 |
This is a challenge where I'll spend 30-some days writing a micro-story based on a combination of whatever catches my eye at r/writingprompts that day plus the theme of the day as predetermined by a list prebuilt out of my friends' suggestions. Note that I don't do this every day, in practice - too much stuff going on IRL.
Today's theme is "Wall watcher" and the writing prompt is "The knight returns from his expedition, and the lookout towers report no activity from the dragon's cove. "How did you do that without bloodying your sword?" asks the prince regent, his father ill. "Uhh... diplomacy, yes, diplomacy.""
---
"Hello, father. I know you can't hear me now, but I still want to share the news with you - perhaps somewhere deep in your slumber you're yet... here. Sir Orban has returned from his quest. No villages have been scorched to ashes for several days now, but... it appears that our - my! - brave knight has paid the price. You promised him your daughter's hand in wedding would he succeed in the endeavour, yet there is *nobody to marry now*. The poor thing is barely more than a vegetable - he spends his days sitting on his bed in the castle, staring at a wall. Sometimes shuddering or moaning. We have to forcefully feed him in hopes that he will awaken once again - his condition much reminds us of yourself. His armour is spotless, his sword sharp and clean, undulled by the dragon's scales - it remains a mystery as to how he's dealt with the beast, and the now-mute wouldn't answer. I will have to take on the burden of sovereignship in your absence alone.
I hope I can make you proud, father."
...
"Hello, father. I have come to complain - for you are the only one to complain to, these times. My advisors and other subjects would see it as a weakness were I to let slip that for the past half a year, I've been *so tired*. I... I never imagined just how much work running our kingdom was. Managing all the nobles with their petty rivalries, the peasants and burghers with their feuds over some pig or workshop, the growing unrest with "a woman on the throne"... They're incorrigible. The revelry of big feasts and exciting hunts is the only thing that helps bring the mood up - yet they're also perfect opportunities for would-be assassins from the neighbouring states or my distant relatives, so while others enjoy themselves, I have to be extra vigilant.
I don't blame you, of course. You only taught the intricacies of stateplay to my brother - and even after the same tragic illness that now plagues you had claimed him, your next resort was to find me a spouse to handle the politics. What I do take issue with is your method of finding one. Why did you believe that there would be any kind of correlation between being able to slay a fire-breathing monster and managing the diplomatic intricacies of governing a state? Really, father, what were you thinking? It's quite a nice coincidence that he also suffered a debilitating condition, don't you agree?
Still, father, I think I make a fine Queen."
...
"Father! What is the meaning of this? You were supposed to be comatose! Did somebody... oh, I know how it is. It's that new court healer of ours, isn't it. Quite the professional. My apologies for the outburst, father, the last few years have been getting to me. It's exhausting, it really is. Here, I've brought you some soup. Drink up. There, that's good. Where was I? Ah, yes. Do you know how many people I've had to murder and execute by now? All those naysayers at the Council, the would-be rebels among the knaves... I've actually been quite adept at rooting out spies from our friendly neighbours, too. Did you know that when you put an unmarried Queen in charge literally everyone has issue with that? Good thing I've got the loyalists now.
Oh, and keeping that drooling idiot Orban alive! I have to feed him myself just to make sure he's not poisoned - or cured, like you were. Oh, father, careful, you don't want to get too excited in your condition. Don't tell me you didn't realise what I'm doing. Then again, you were infirm and incapable for the past three years, so I can understand that. In any case, while the knight sworn to marry me is still alive, I am safe from would-be suitors - at least that's one less headache. That dragon trick really worked out well for me.
Gods above! The dragon story was so much easier to maintain. Just hire some mercs to burn a few villages and make sure nobody survives... Maybe I should do it again to keep people in check. Worth a thought, wouldn't you agree? ...Oh, ew, can you aim that bile somewhere away from my dress? Sorry, I did not expect the poison to start working so soon. I suppose I should have taken your generally weak state into account. Well, you know what they say, live and learn. *I* will, anyway. You... I think I've had enough of our conversations, stimulating as they were.
Farewell, father." | 44 | The knight returns from his expedition, and the lookout towers report no activity from the dragon's cove. "How did you do that without bloodying your sword?" asks the prince regnant, his father ill. "Uhh... diplomacy, yes, diplomacy." | 208 |
“A door wizard you say? Sorry lad, but we don’t have room in the party for a carpenter.”
I was used to it by now, nobody ever wants to party up with a utility caster. Unlike most other classes I didn’t have a specialized role, there was no emblazoned crest next to my title no bardic runes of power bordering my adventurer card, just a basic minimalistic door symbol in the top right corner. It was going to be another one of those dungeons.
“Fine then” I signed. “Move aside and let me enter the dungeon while you search for the rest of your party members”
“What!” “Ain’t no way I’m letting a runt like you push me aside, you know the rules, first come first served”
“Yeah, first complete party to enter the dungeon gets a shot at it. Until they clear the dungeon or die its off limits to other entrants. But seeing as your just camping in front of the dungeon waiting on random strangers to show up so you can reject all but the best of them, I’m sure you won’t object to myself going at it solo?”
“Fine then, it’s your funeral.” “One way or another he mumbled under his breath.”
Several hours later the party assemble by Ogden the Banner Man, consisting of Ashra the Ranger, Kyre the Bastion, and Rotgon the Squirrel Master finally stood before the boss room. They had no issues up to that point, as the mysterious stranger before them had cleared their way through every undead beast befouling the pathway, and now they stood in front of the most ornate runed bow door that Ogden had ever encountered.
Unnerved slightly, but confident that he could trump what the lone carpentry wizard could not, they proceeded to enter the boss room. Immediately they felt a enchantment on the door sap away a fifth of their strength, and then they noticed the walls of the boss room carved from solid stone were surrounded by even more magical gates, similar to boss doors, all carved with intricate magical runes. At the center of the dungeon stood a mighty skeletal ancient dragon, and at its base stood a man covered in heavy armor resembling… miniature doors fused together?
“Charge him now, kill the litch before he revived his dragon or were all dead”, screamed Ogden.
“But he doesn’t look like a litch to me?” Rotgon questioned.
But Ashra was not slow to act, she immediately loosed a volley of arrows at their potential attacker, who did not react as a series of magical runes on one of the gates surrounding the room shined brightly and the arrows were deflected out of the way.
Kyre, realizing the threat, quickly engaged the monstrous foe so that his new friends could effectively focus on their roles at a distance. He did not hear the party leaders orders as the blood rushed to his ears, but he must have been doing exactly what was told of him as he felt magical energies buffing his offensive and defensive stats. As he charged the litch he saw it raise up a massive tower shield made from cast iron dwarves tavern doors still showing the runes of homeliness and comfort. And as his war axe breached through the shields defenses he tried to pull back but he was too late as he crashed into a random eatery far from the conflict he signed up for. With no portal master in sight he pulled up a chair confused and shouted out for a meat pastry and a pitcher of strong mead, much to everyone’s confusion.
Back in the dungeon, the brawl was a madhouse as automatons made of wood and steel clashed with ferocious primal squirrels. Clearly this summoner was among the greatest of his peers, but he felt his mana running dry as he commanded legions of primal beasts, but how could his foe keep summoning more and more automatons? The last thought that he had as he faded into the blackness of mana burn was how bright blue the eyes of his foe appeared, like he hadn’t even begun to burn through his own mana yet.
“Retreat” cried Ogden. Half of his party were either swallowed up by some fowl magics or incapacitated by their own incompetence. He felt the buff of his words flowing into himself and his remaining ally, who was already on the outskirts of his powers range. Realizing that he was already abandoned, Ogden ran towards the boss gate, hoping to make it out of this nightmare alive. But before he found reach it he saw it slam shut right before he could make it out.
“Please” he begged, “have mercy” “I thought it would be easy to take you down after you were weakened by the dungeon.” His best hope was to play on pity. He figured that feigning ignorance was out of the question at this point. Clearly that would only serve to anger whatever god of sorcery stood before him.
“So you recognized right away that I was not the boss” “you thought that you could just convince your hapless party members to kill me while you stood back and buffed.” “Did you think that your hands would be clean as you stuffed your pockets full of gold and enchanted artifacts?”
“Please don’t kill me, I’ll do anything that you want, just spare me please”
“Fine then, I left every treasure in the dungeon at the base of the dragons head. Gather them up and carry them for me until the next town.”
Ogden happily obliged, but as he was approaching the pile he noticed all of the magical gates surrounding the boss room slowly fading away, as if they were summoned there.
As he turned around he saw that nobody else was in the boss room with him anymore. As the Doormancer walked through the dungeon he prepared powerful sealed gates and placed them strategically through the pathway. No specialist would be able to break through such a variety of different seals. And after a month or two he would reclaim his treasure, he was excited to see how far he could enhance those debuffs runes on the gate.
It’s odd, he lamented, adventurers always fight and die over scraps and pass over the most powerful artifact found in each and every dungeon. Although he reflects on how lucky he is that the first party to accept him was matched against a powerful mad wizard boss with near limitless mana, one who carved complex mana generation and storage runes, each greater than a hundred amulets of the highest grade.
But he had learned much over his years fighting through dungeons solo. If not for the fact that he had claimed the boss door as his own before changing the undead dragon, he probably would have been the one to be crushed instead. But enough reflecting He decided. It was time to move on towards that new mangrove dungeon, after all who knows what secrets a plant based boss would have carved into their ancient chamber gate. | 41 | Magic talents are rare, but very specific. Summoners can only summon one type of creature. Controllers can only control one type of item. And while Conjuring a ton of potatoes is useful, it’s boring work. Tomorrow is Career day, when you consider your future employment and unlock your talent. | 114 |
It was... wrong.
A vast expanse of bluish grey, fixed at one point relative to... to something. To me?
Yes. It was above me. A sheet of shimmering spectral silence, it had... thing in it. Beasts? No. I reached toward it, pushing my essence outward and-
What was that?
Something was before me, a long stream of some kind of energy that splayed and diffracted into five finite beams at the end, I recoiled back into my being and the thing went away, it moved toward me and then it was just... gone.
"Hello?" The sensation hit me suddenly, and I felt my being be shocked, everything shuddered. I focused, the sensation was... it was finite. It was in a position. Behind?
Yes, behind, but curiously I was only partially aware of the behind. Why? Why was I not fully aware of all my surroundings? I writhed, trying to expand my being to incorporate behind and my perception violently upheaved itself. Something happened and the blue expanse vanished, being replaced with a black one, streaked with cracks and lines. The darkness flew closer to me then abruptly stopped before my perception. A new sensation appeared. A sharpness, a pressure, an awareness of something just above the darkness. More sensations appeared, the same, but different, they came to me below the darkness I could see, below and to either side. More pressure, force, forces pushed into my very being and then I was heaved and experienced a sensation not unlike liminal transition.
"Hello, uhh, can you.. uhh can you understand?" This sensation came from before me, and was mapped to new visions. I saw now the blue expanse and the dark cracked expanse in equal parts, blue above and black below, and before both of them were a mass of quivering shifting energies.
No, not energies, they were... static in their fundamental nature, they didn't diffract or diffuse as things ought to, they just were. Quivering, shivering.... things. I concentrated, I took in what sensation I could and recognised two of it's terminal points were the diffracted beams I had seen earlier, that I now saw were not beams. The thing had a spherical mass of many colours, and beneath that central mess and perpendicular to it came the two appendages, which themselves ended in five more appendages. Beneath that nexus was a large trunk, which bifurcated into two smaller trunks. I pushed at it with my being and again one of those five-limbed trunks appeared before me, between me and it, and it was with great horror that I realised that this *was* my being. I managed to replicate the sensation of transition, but in a more controlled fashion, and could direct my perception *down* when I saw the same central trunk and bifurcated termini.
Revulsion and disgust rolled through my being, and a sensation came to me, surrounding me from all sides, it was a sensation that instantly made me think of pain, of suffering, of violation.
"Woah! Whoa don't scream, they'll hear us, please, please, come on now, hey, look, I've got... uh... food? You want food?" These sensations were clashing with the first one, and when I focused the suffering sensation stopped.
Had I produced that? Was that a part of this strange state of being? The other thing reached for me, pushing it's being toward my own, and wrapped within it's tentacled boundary was a sphere that glowed and puled with something that seemed familiar, though I could not comprehend what it was.
"I'm gonna break this, Ok? The ritual," the thing turned it's spherical mass away, then back again "The ritual says this will help you adjust. It's... We spent a lot on you, and things get weirder the more we try. The basic invocations only bring a portion of your power into a vessel, but, well, this if the first time we've tried to manifest one of you. God, a million, what's wrong with us? What were we- no. Not the time. Not now. Get it together John." The things sphere appeared to have two other spheres embedded within it, each of which held a central black disc. These discs centered on you. "If you can understand me then...well... I'm, sorry if it hurts. We know the science, but this is... We're all experiencing something new here, ok?"
The glowing sphere it held grew brighter, and brighter, I felt it's light, it's power, it's warmth, and then-
Understanding erupted through me, through my *body,* through my *brain*, I had a *brain,* what sickening dark science had this mortal wrought!? I had been manifested in four dimensions, no wondering everything was so confusing, so vile, so profoundly *perverted*, and *wrong*, and utterly, and completely blasphemous to the very nature of my existence. More understanding came to me, I realised that the thing in front of me, this base creature, had meddled with concepts it barely understood, yet somehow had harnessed mechanisms far beyond it's ken. The concept of discrete mathematics was also, apparently, beyond it's ken. I retroactively understood it's poor approximation of communication; a million beings had not been used as the catalyst, no, 1,004,632 being had been used. 1,004,632 lifeforms abruptly transitioned beyond this plane and the violent upheaving in the cosmic interstition had been used to drag me, whole and entire, and compress me into this... shell. This pathetic little meat shell. The gross little thing had then used a final experiential distillation to impress upon my newly formed brain (I still revulse at the memory of that fucking tissue computer being used, but I digress) the understanding and comprehension that these pathetic little amoebas used to navigate their plane.
Nonetheless, I looked past the indelible sin this zoo of bacteria had committed. The 1,004,632 souls that had been polarised and fired into my essence were digesting, and tiny though these creatures were such a mass was recognisably nourishing even to one such as me. This worm, simple though it may be, had, beyond all odds, made an offering worthy of my attention. I stood on the cacamorphic legs it had fashioned for me and glanced down at the geometry burned into the hard earth beneath my feet, it was laughable. The verminous creature may have compressed a dozen spatial dimensions down to three, but did it really expect a two dimensional sigil to do anything? I crossed the circle, and looked out at the burnt out boxes and husks that surrounded, my borrowed experiences told me they were dwellings and shelters, once.
I turned my attention to the morsel. It withered. | 130 | It takes the lives of 100 people to summon a hero, and every 100 more adds to their strength. You wake in a city filled with thousands of corpses, just as confused and terrified as the survivors. | 566 |
”No…”
I was fairly certain that was what my garbled voice had attempted. The sound of blood rushing in my ears was deafening. I tried to blink away the dark haze at my peripheral vision and tried to focus on the woman in a white coat sitting in front of me. She had not reacted me speaking.
”… at the moment there is no known cure. As you might be aware lycanthropy draconia is a progressive condition. Unfortunately, we are not yet able to predict the exact course of your particular case…”
Her voice faded out again. This was not happening. It just wasn’t happening. It was just severe heartburn. That was what my personal doctor had told me. We just need to second opinion. Just routine procedure. Her voice bled back to my head.
“Now, there is a slight hereditary tendence to lycanthropy draconia. We recommend that after you have adjusted to your diagnosis, you inform your family to be on the lookout for symptoms.” She gave me a reassuring smile.
I flexed my fingers. The little scales on the back of my left hand made a slippery sound and the long fingernails clicked on the edge of the table.
“The next full moon is in a fortnight,” she continued. “You are still in the early stages, so I’m fairly confident that you will not experience a full shift in at least a few years.” She glanced quickly at my hand. “Before that you will experience these minor symptoms and partial shifts which do not follow the lunar phase. Are you feeling any discomfort at the moment?”
It took me a moment to register the question. I cleared my throat, let out a little puff of smoke between my lips and shook my head.
“Good.” She looked down on the pile of papers in front of me. “You have received the information pamphlets and, of course, feel free to call my office if you have any questions.” She rose and offered me her hand. “I highly recommend joining a support group. You will find instructions on how to find one on the red booklet. Now, have a nice day, Mr. Odei. I will see you in two months.”
I stood on shaky feet and shook her hand briefly. Turning I stumbled out of her office door, clutching the stack on papers against my chest. A dragon. A freaking weredragon. My wife was not going to take this well. | 11 | Lycanthropy is a real disease that perplexes everyone. One interesting fact is that it isn’t restricted to wolf forms, but can extend to bear forms, bat forms, panther forms and a few others. The rarest of them is dragon form, which you just got diagnosed with. | 19 |
Yawning, I stretched my arms over my head. My open palm entered a patch of cold air, and I frowned up at the ceiling.
"Frank. I told you, the bedroom is off limits when I'm in it." I said. There was a mournful sound above me, and the cold air travelled out of the room, making sure to flow over my bed. Frank was a bit of a drama queen. And if he was properly upset...
I jumped out of bed— not bothering with clothes, pajamas would have to do—and ran out of the room. There was blood dripping down the hallway walls, and I waved at the pale smudge floating in front of the guestroom door.
"Morning Brenda. Like the artwork. Very, um... bloody. Not downstairs though, right?"
The smudge nodded or at least bobbed in place. I took the stairs two at a time, racing towards the kitchen. Skidding around the corner, I heard rustling sounds. Dang, it! One more turn, and—
"Frank! Drop the cornflakes!" The box hovered in mid-air before slowly turning upside down. Snatching a bowl off the counter, I shoved it underneath the now free-flowing cornflakes. I grabbed the box —meeting only slight resistance— and stopped the rush just in time. Well, it looks like I'm having cornflakes for breakfast.
Grabbing the milk from the fridge, I added it and walked out onto the deck that overlooked the lake.
"Hey, Steve. How's it hanging?" I nodded to the dark stain on the left side of the deck. When I'd first moved in, the realtor had said I could powerwash that out. The problem was, that if you removed it from one spot, it appeared in another. I didn't mind though. As long as you didn't bother Steve, he didn't bother you.
Crunching down on my cornflakes, I sighed, staring over the still water. The ghosts were the reason I'd been able to afford this place. They weren't so bad once you got used to them, but I was going to have to talk to Frank about his histrionics. Waking up to cornflakes all over your kitchen floor was unpleasant, not to mention wasteful. And we had company coming today. Some of my extended family was visiting, which reminded me—
"Steve. Can you get the others? We need to have a house meeting." The stain vanished, reappearing on the glass door, then disappearing again. He was on his way.
It took until the end of my cornflakes for every ghost to appear on the deck, surrounding me in a semi-circle.
"All right. Listen up. We're going to have guests." There was a general susurration of sound, ranging from wails to clanking chains. Frank wasn't the only drama queen of the bunch.
"They're nice people," I continued. "Very tolerant and accepting of the dearly departed. In fact, they may actually offer some of you a new home. Trust me, I won't be mad if you accept. But I would like to make one thing clear." Giving them a stern look, I made my voice firm. "House rules are still in place, even with guests. If anyone breaks them, I have the priest on speed-dial. Got it?"
General sounds or movements of agreement were made. They feared the priest, though I would never actually call him. I enjoyed their company too much. But sometimes the ghosts did behave rather like little kids and needed the threat. Clapping my hands together, I smiled.
"Right. We have a lot to do before Gomez and Morticia come this afternoon. Let's get going." | 126 | Your house is haunted. It's not so bad though. I mean, where else are you going to get 5 bedrooms, 40 acres and a lakeside view for $75,000? | 272 |
"Here for the interview?", asked John, sitting across the short hallway from what he believed to be a contender for the entry level IT job he had applied for three weeks prior.
"Yeah, yeah," answered Paul. "Traveled all the way from London, England. That two day work week allure will get you."
John nervously laughed. "Haha - yeah. It'll get you."
The door to the interview room swung open with a large blue tentacle holding the handle - a disheveled looking human exiting.
"Successful or not you will here from Blorg in due course."
"You too!" said the human nervously before realising his error.
"John?"
"Yeah."
"Please step inside the interview room."
Paul stood from his chair and awkwardly made his way around the 'you too' human who stood idly in the hallway wondering what he had just said.
The interview room was strangely human. Bleak, bare minimum furniture, and the overwhelming sense of workplace depression. John sat in the seat facing the interview panel and attempted to collect his thoughts."
"Hello ..." Primak checked his notes, "John. So, John. First thing is first, the previous human stated he would be willing to work for three days rather than two for the same pay as long as did not inform the other humans of the offer. However, we have chosen to inform you of the offer to find out what your counter proposal is. On our planet we call this leverage."
John was taken back, "but I thought on this planet you only worked two days a week? That's why I traveled here."
"This is correct but never have we had someone willing to so quickly sell out his own kind for a job. Within our species this would never happen."
"Well what if I worked four days?"
The interview panel huddled and began to whisper to each other.
"And you will do this for the same pay?"
"Begrudgingly yes."
"And people do this on Earth to each other? This is normal practice ... this ... exploitation of a workforce? Playing staff off against each other in private at the benefit of those who run the company?"
"Erm, also yes."
"And the workers they do not revolt?"
"Well not against those above us. We usually just revolt against those on or around the same level as us."
"We see. OK this has been a fantastic interview. Allow me to walk you out."
A large blue tentacle twisted the door handle and ushered John out the room.
"Successful or not you will here from Blorg in due course."
John stood in the hallway as the final candidate, Paul, stood from his seat and walked in to the room. As the door shut John could hear the faint voice of the interview panel.
"So ... Paul ... you will never guess what the other humans said about you and how many days they agreed to work just so YOU wouldn't get the job." | 361 | Interplanetary brain drain. | 1,407 |
It started off innocuous enough. Dr. Dynamo silently retiring from the scene. The Scarlet Slayer skipping her annual Christmas heist.
People shrugged and moved on with their lives. Supervillainy was a fast-moving industry. Even S-Tier villains burnt out eventually.
Then the bodies started showing up.
First it was the Jackal. Found decapitated in his own bathroom. His jackal mask nailed to the bathroom mirror. The villain was known for his unhinged brand of terrorism, and most figured the untreated mental issues had finally done him in.
Then the Everyman was found dead in a freak accident, having apparently fallen off his roof while replacing some shingles, impaling himself on an unfortunately sharp bit of fencing. They didn't even know it was the rampant serial killer until they found the skin masks in the second basement.
Within hero circles, it had been Black Hawk who'd remarked on it first, how it seemed like the villains in his city were dropping like flies, joking that at least it allowed him to catch his breath for once.
But then the Wrecking Man incident happened, where in a series of unfortunate events the handle of the villain's signature spiked sledgehammer shattered against Black Hawk himself, rebounding and splitting his own head open in a gruesome turn of events on live television. That had gone national, and was in the news cycle for weeks on end.
By the time the heat had gone down, other heroes had started to pay attention. The state of crime in Atlantic City was *decimated*, with 3 more high-tiered villains murdered in their own homes. And that was just the ones they knew about. One of which they hadn't even known was based out of Atlantic, with previous intelligence all pointing to out of state. Word on the street was that the criminal underbelly was in chaos, with various factions either fleeing the city, or going unnervingly dark. Either hunkering down, or wiped out in some kind of intergang war. No-one knew what was going on.
But after months of ramped up tensions, nothing seemed to come of it. Mid-level villains tentatively started up their particular brands of crime, and heroes got back to work. For Black Hawk, the strongest member of the local Hero Council, it had been a nice bit of vacation, but he was chomping at the bit to get back on to the frontlines. No-one had said anything, but between the Wrecking Man incident and waiting for the other shoe to drop, he'd been effectively benched from partaking in out of state heroics for months now. His various nemeses were dead or missing. And while the reappearance of various mid-level flunkies had him glad to be out and about on the streets again, it was essentially just the Handyman, an inoffensive home improvement themed villain who survived the criminal purge, and a few D-tier nobodies who's case file he'd taken over on account of getting stir-crazy.
It was infuriating, that even with a dozen top-tier heroes loaned from the Council, they hadn't been able to get to the bottom of things. And the other heroes couldn't stay to help forever. Black Hawk swore he'd get to the bottom of things though. It was a matter of pride now. Some unknown criminal had gotten away with coming to his literal backyard and cleaned house. Black Hawk's city. That made it personal. And with all the free time he'd gained, he was going to pull all his focus on to catching this new nemesis. They were literally taunting him, he just knew it. | 323 | A powerful S-Tier superhero fights mostly supervillains on their level, except for the one C-Tier villain they regularly fight. To the hero this is a nice break from the constant high-stakes fights, but to the villain the hero is their nemesis. After finding this out, the villain gets jealous. | 914 |
I am the Splinter.
I have a real name, of course. I’m an accomplished vampire hunter. I investigate rumors of their activities, I track them around their feeding grounds and lairs, and I carefully orchestrate my confrontations to put them down for good.
Nobody cares about any of that. They’d rather focus on my weapon of choice, the true Splinter.
It’s a heavy crossbow, about the size of an arbalest. It’s been tinkered with and modified over the ages, at first a heavy replica of a Chu Ku Nou that found its way in Europe, with the bolts replaced with stakes. Then the mechanism improved for faster renocking, and then the magazine was replaced with a moving chain of stakes to nock into position. Then the mechanisms were redone with a watchmaker’s precision, allowing longer bursts before the whole crossbow had to be winded again. The intricate sets of pulleys and strings across the dark wood and metallurgic steel are numerous, and the inlaid winding mechanism is hidden inside a top panel. It weighs like a miniature suit of armor, and so a fashioned bipod was constructed to lay prone and operate the weapon. The Heavy Machine Stakes Gun, cause it may as well be one of those bombards from the south.
They call it the Splinter, because of the endless hail of wood it chucks at those unlucky enough to be at the receiving end. And since I wield it, I am the Splinter as well. We are the one and the same, I am his operator and he is the force of destruction.
It used to be an easier time hunting. I wasn’t well known back then and I would usually enlist the help of a fellow hunter or a couple zealous volunteers to track down and prepare the grounds for a fight. Most thought that I would be merely offering archer support and they would receive the glory of the kill. Some assumed I was a coward, more willing to hide behind a barricade or in a ditch than join them in honorable battle to rid the world of a forsaken creature. They would quickly learn how deceived they were. There needed to be a reason for a vampire to enter an open area, for they were survivalists and pragmatists. Having a pair of novice fighters goad them out is usually an easy way to guarantee a fresh meal. Sometimes the shot was clear, and I would open up with my freshly-wound machine, impaling 40 sticks into it before it succumbed to the inevitable. Other times I had to wait until my distraction was slaughtered, just as the vampire felt safe and victorious, before letting fly a dozen bolts into its back. You see, they don’t die until they are staked through the heart. Normally I can accomplish this through accuracy by volume, but you always have to have someone confirm the kill with another stake in the heart.
Vampires aren’t stupid, either. I was in France one time, using a collection of stones as cover to mount Splinter, and sent my three men to lure out the vampires from the den. Due to the savagery of the vampires, and perhaps some friendly fire in the process, everyone was downed by Splinter fire. I set him down and moved up with my stake, making sure each one was dead. The first two were, but I included my personal stake just as a precaution. The third, however, reached up and gripped my hand just I was about to stake him. The fucker was only grazed and was playing dead, somehow knowing of my reputation and waited for me to leave my beloved crossbow behind. If it wasn’t for me pulling out my knife with my other hand and slicing his wrist off, I would be dead, with a vampire in possession of the greatest vampire hunting weapon in history. Ever since then, I’ve always kept a guy close to me in these encounters. It made my job a lot easier, having someone help carry my belts of stakes, perfect the cover for Splinter, to send out and stake everything when its over. It even protected me one time: a savvy vampire flanked around to try and surprise me, and only the shrieking young man guarding me kept me from getting ripped apart.
I may have been a little -too- good at my job. Vampires have gotten more cautious lately. They don’t respond to bait as well, and their attacks have lessened and been more covert. I’ve been accused of promoted cowardly nature in the vampires by my fellow hunters, who feel I’ve destroyed the tactics and valor of the older generation of hunters. Now its more tracking and ambushing and no one really performs combat in the classical sense anymore. They can’t even replicate my weapon, a one of a kind piece forged by the greatest and most patient minds. Even I cannot fix much of Splinter’s parts, and finding watchmakers and engineers qualified to work on him are difficult in the best of times. Many have disappeared, and I suspect vampires. I don’t know whether I’m being tracked, or if the hysteria I cause is inadvertently setting back technological progress, but I can feel the dread in my heart. If I cannot service Splinter, I lose all combat effectiveness.
That doesn’t mean I can’t rend my services any longer. No, during the times I’ve been without him, I’ve still helped younger vampire hunters investigate and track things down. I am still gifted in that arena. It still hurts, though, when I’m sometimes taunted for it, when they claim the Great Master Splinter is nothing without his crossbow, and that he needs real hunters to do his dirty work. I’m more than capable with a traditional sword, but I’ve seen the casualty rates firsthand. Hopefully the fools I work with understand the value of combat pragmatism before it claims them, too.
I’ve left a legacy. The great Vampiric Clans of old are no more, or have run underground. Centralization is dangerous because of me. I’ve changed how vampires operate, I’ve turned them from fearsome bloodied warriors into sniveling hideaways who lurk in the shadows. My weapon is the icon of indiscriminate death on the open battlefield, I’ve inspired the use of asymmetrical warfare and the value of covered positions.
The Splinter will be remembered as a team of hunter and crossbow, the greatest duo in vampire hunting history. | 15 | The Heavy Machine Stakes Gun. This automated repeating crossbow is a Vampire’s worst nightmare. | 49 |
We all thought that the day that humanity freed the being known as Ck'luth\`oin would be the last day in the galaxy. Humanity had long been looked down upon by the other spacefaring civilizations. They were less advanced, with their ships made out of lowly titanium and steel, their FTL barely able to go 10 times the speed of light, and their weapons still using projectiles. Their culture wasn't much better. They were an aggressive species with countless wars in their past, they looked up to martial prowess, and had countless war gods. These barbarians ate plants that could cause minor chemical burns in their mouths, drank multiple kinds of poisons, and listened to a horrendous cacophony of sounds they called "music" - whatever that is. They had no central government, no uniform language, and were famous across the galaxy for leaving chaos in their wake. In truth we thought of them as barely more than aggressive pests.
The central administrator who first saw the incident report that a crew of human treasure hunters entered the ancient temple where Ck'luth\`oin was imprisoned assumed that it was either a prank, or that humans would be too stupid to do any real harm. The next day when hundreds of reports began flooding in that not only had humans entered the temple, but they had also undone the bindings which kept Ck'luth\`oin imprisoned we knew that the reports were real. No-one knows when or how Ck'luth\`oin was imprisoned, but the ancient stories say that before it was, any planet it visited would soon be devoid of life, and that it took the greatest minds of an entire civilization to entrap it.
In the panic of the planet wide evacuation few people noticed that a fleet of human ships had shown up as the temple opened. They did not aid in the evacuation, or attempt to notify anyone of their presence. Instead they began deploying thousands of devices around the temple, and connecting all of them - an undertaking of such scale that we had previously thought impossible for their kind.
As the final seals broke, the humans began powering up whatever the device was. The last inhabitants of the planet who were still waiting on transports reported that this device seemed to crackle with an indescribable power, and hum with a force so strong that they could feel it in the deepest parts of their thorax. No evacuation was coming for these last poor souls. It was too late. And it was unneeded.
Apparently the Humans had figured out that Ck'luth\`oin was not evil, or malicious, but instead a creature from another realm trapped in our reality. Humanity was not as primitive as we thought either - they had created a rift between realities which they used to send Ck'luth\`oin home, before closing the rift. Never again did we underestimate the Humans. We feared them. If they could and would do this to help a creature they never met, what would they do to a creature that angered them? | 923 | An powerful ancient being has been held captive by an interstellar civilisation. After eons of being held captive, it has accidentally freed by humans, who've not been to the "galactic stage" for long... | 2,302 |
You take stock of your surroundings, a resigned grim look on your face. “Another goddamn zombie apocalypse,” you think.
“Dan, give me some help here” you yell out.
A glowing white door appears from nowhere in front of you, and a man steps through scowling. He is dressed in a fashion so incongruous with the situation you would think you were hallucinating, had you not been in this situation many many times before. Dressed in a pure white jacket and trousers, with red shoes, and fingers replete with many rings, he hits the small rectangular device in his hand. It emits a series of complaining bleeps.
“Well do you want the bad news, or the really bad news?” the man – Dan – says to you
You pull yourself up off the seat, as the sound of zombies banging on the window intensifies. A small crack starts to form in the corner.
“Let’s start the bad, just for a change” you say
“Bad news is, time circuits have blown and you can’t leap out of here for a good 15 minutes” says Hal.
You sigh – that’s pretty bad. So the really bad news must be REALLY bad. You wait expectantly for the punchline.
“The really bad news is, the target is OUTSIDE the train, 400 metres southwest”. Hal points in the direction, and you can see a small warehouse a little way in the distance.
More cracks form in the windows, and the zombies outside become more frenzied. They can sense they’re close to their prey now.
You crack your neck, and warm up your arms
“Weapon portal still working though? “ you ask
“Oh yeah”.
“Ok, let’s get to it” you say. In your mind, you picture a long samurai sword, made of an unbreakable metal in your right hand. In your left, you imagine a snub-nosed Uzi. You concentrate on the image, and a static feeling of energy envelopes you as your implants activate, calling the weapons from sub-space. Then they solidify out of thin air and you grab at them just as the windows break.
The zombies flood in, but you’re well practised at this. You spin with the sword in on hand, effortlessly beheading three of the corpses at once. Your gun takes apart the others, and you leap over the heads of the remaining few and being to run to the warehouse. The zombies give chase.
“Straight ahead, keep going!” yells Hal, as you swing at a lone zombie that lurches out from behind a box card. You catch them in the stomach and their entrails burst out, showering you with gore.
You wince, but keep your pace. At times like this you remember the leapers in the other universes, the ones that get the fun missions like being a jazz singer or astronaut. Yes, they struggled to get their leaps right – Sam Beckett famously never made it home – but they certainly weren’t covered with zombie guts on a regular basis.
You reach the warehouse and run in, bolting the door. Huddled on the floor is a young girl, wrapped in a blanket with her eyes closed and hands over her ears. The target. You approach and gently touch her.
Her eyes fly open and she leaps back
“It’s ok” you say, “I’m here to help you”.
Suddenly, there are bangs at the door. The zombies have regrouped. They may not be strong individually, but a lot of them together can batter down a door of its hinges quicker than you’d think.
“Hal, any news on the leap?!” you say, reloading your gun
“30 seconds!” says Hal to you, then to someone off to the side you can’t see “hurry up, he’s got the target and need extraction now!”
The door bursts off its hinges and zombies pour in…just as you and the girl are enveloped in light and disappear.
The light dims, and you’re both back in the leaping chamber. The door opens and walks in. His gruff demeanour is softened by obvious relief.
“Good to see you back” he says, and turns to the girl. “And good to see you Dr Eldridge” he says with a smile.
The girl looks puzzled. “Doctor…?” she says. “I’m only 8 years old”.
You and Hal both smile. “Give it time” you say, “you’ve got some important things to do when you’re older….”. | 14 | You wake up groggy in a moving train, with blood on your hands and a army of zombies trying to get into your train compartment. | 68 |
“Hello? Is anyone there? Hello? I need help, hello?”
“Hello. Calm down, you’re going to be fine. Was it the bus?”
“How- How did you know?”
“You’re not the first one. We’re going to help you. Deep breath, okay? I’m Natalya. What’s your name?”
“Alex.”
“Alright, Alex, we need to conserve your batteries. It’s afternoon now, the sun is in the west. Take a moment to orient yourself, then tell me what you see.”
“Okay. Sure. West. I see… Fields to the east and northeast. There’s a forest to the west, some hills, I think. I see smoke. South there’s a… village?”
“You’re doing great, Alex. Can you see a castle near the village?”
“A castle? No, no castle.”
“That’s great. You’re right where we expected. Okay, Alex, that smoke is from charcoal burning, that’s where the river is. Is it north or south of you?”
“South… Southwest, I guess?”
“Perfect, Alex. You’re wearing twenty first century clothes, right? Start walking south, you’ll hit a dirt road. Don’t walk on the road, but if you stick to the fields about a hundred meters off from it you’ll be fine. It’s about six kilometers to the river. Are you wearing comfortable shoes? Do you think you can walk six kilometers?”
“Y-yes, I think so.”
“Alright, walk to the river, try to stay hidden. Someone will meet you there. You’re doing great, Alex. Call again if you need help, but otherwise keep your phone off until you get there to save batteries, okay? Turn it on when you get there, we’ll call you. Do you understand?”
“Yes. Yes.”
“Can you repeat it back to me?”
“Walk south to the road, follow the road off to the side. Turn it on when I reach the river?”
“Perfect. Okay, Alex, I’m going to hang up now, but I’ll see you soon, alright?”
Alex hung up the phone and slid it into a pouch on his new robe. It was one a priest would wear for a feast-day. He wasn’t exactly a priest, but they were still working out his rank. On the horse beside him was the prince-bishop, dressed in armor like his retinue of men-at-arms.
“I’ve found the demons, your eminence,” said Alex in Latin.
“Well done, my son,” said the prince-bishop. He gestured to one of his retainers to pass him a bag of Guldengroschen, but Alex shook his head.
“Serving you is reward enough, my lord,” he said.
The prince-bishop eyed him carefully, but nodded. “Very well. You will ride with us.”
It wasn’t a question, but Alex bowed from saddleback. Nothing he had said on the phone had been a lie, precisely. But he was far from the new arrival they expected. And unlike Natalya and her band of temporal maroons, rigging up cell towers and little islands of the future in the hills, he intended to do more in this era than just survive. This was the Renaissance, after all – the first time that a man could rise in the world based on what he knew. And Alex knew a great deal indeed.
“Ride!” called the prince-bishop, and Alex spurred his horse forward. | 37 | You fell asleep on the bus and awaken in a hay pile in an open field. Nearby, serfs toil and question your sense for not knowing it is the Year of Our Lord 1473. Habitually, you check your cell phone. It has signal. | 107 |
I knew exactly where and when I had to go back. The scientists told me it was all up to me. I was the only one who could use the machine due to a genetic abnormality I possessed. I was born with two brains and I had the ability to use them both at the same time.
In order for the time travel machine to work, you had to be thinking of the time and place. The visit back in time would only last a few hours so whatever I did, I had to do it quick. I spent night after night meditating so I could focus without distraction. Eventually, I was able to go into a state of semi-consciousness where I was completely alone to my thoughts and oblivious to the outside world. They considered me ready when I was able to spend an entire day with people yelling at me and throwing things at me without even noticing them.
The time and place we had decided upon was January 30, 1933 when Hitler was appointed Chancellor. I was all prepared in my Nazi uniform and ready to go.
I sat down inside the machine and they closed the door. There was a countdown going for five minutes to allow me to get into my meditative state and think of the agreed upon date and location. My breathing slowed and I felt at peace. Thoughts and feelings completely drifted away from my mind. I opened my eyes briefly to look at the time. There were thirty seconds left. I closed my eyes again and continued the countdown in my head. Ten...nine...eight...seven...six...and then I had a huge sneeze that I couldn't contain. For some reason I said "pardon me," outloud. My voice was a little congested and it sounded to me like I said Harambe. Immediately, I was thinking about the Cincinnati Zoo...I couldn't remember the date, but I knew it was late May, 2016.
Before I could shout at the scientists to abort the machine, I felt myself dissolving and when I opened my eyes. I was staring face to face with Harambe in the gorilla enclosure of the Cincinnati Zoo. It startled me and I backed away a few steps.
Then I thought that maybe I can save Harambe while I was here and I spoke softly to him, telling him that it was okay. He opened up his arms as if he was going to hug me. The people outside the enclosure screamed and shouted for security.
Unfortunately, they thought Harambe was going to hurt me and guns were drawn. When the shot was fired, I dove in front of Harambe, taking the bullet in my left shoulder. Harambe ran away and they were able to come rescue me. I was in the hospital being stitched up when I felt myself begin to dissolve again.
I came back to an empty room. No machine, no scientists. I thought for sure they would be here. My shoulder had most of the stitches in and I wasn't in any pain because of the painkillers they gave me.
I walked outside and the sun was shining brightly. I found my phone and checked out my news feed...there were only positive stories. After performing a quick search on Harambe, I found out that the enclosure was more protected and that little kid never went in there. Harambe was still alive and he had learned how to speak. He had run for president of the United States in 2016 and easily won. He was reelected in 2020 unopposed.
He worked hard to get other nations to work together and world peace was attained. The COVID outbreak was contained and eradicated quickly with simple measures and people acting selflessly. I had no idea how important Harambe was to the world.
Edit: fixed a typo | 23 | You were somehow given a one time chance to go back in time to make a single change that would lead to the betterment of humanity. The problem is, if you don't choose the right time and choice, everything could be worse. | 66 |
(I half want to just past in the script to that one Futurama episode lol)
​
The Felanid empire ruled the galaxy for many millennia, gods to their subjects and clients, extinction to those who didn't conform. They existed to rule, the universe existed to kneel. So was the status quo, until a scout ship found a habitable world in a remote sector of the galaxy. It was an ideal location for a new colony with over a million primitive, but sentient monkeys who had only begun to develop concepts of metallurgy. Strong and dumb, they would be the perfect slave race to add to their eternal empire. The scout ship cloaked and landed to observe the primitives, but disaster struck as one of the investigators was discovered by the primitives. It shouted out a single word in fright, Mau and ran away. The monkey, and a few of its fellows, followed the fleeting creature to discover the base camp. The Cats stood there frozen in shock, not knowing what the monkeys would do next. Would the brutes kill and eat them? Enslave them? The Cats, Gods of the known universe, destroyer of empires, brought so low. That was until one of them picked up one of the landing crew and started... pampering it? Soon they all joined in and the ground crew didn't resist. It was pleasant. The humans called the Cats the Mau.
The years went by in kind. They begun to worship us as Gods. Not the empire, but us personally. It was ironic for this was what we wanted, but normally it would take centuries to truly pacify our new subjects. The humans as they called themselves, did it all on their own. Well not quite, there was one critical difference. Our subjects served us out of fear. The humans served us out of... love? That little difference made all the difference and the investigation team decided not to leave. Why serve the greater empire when we had an entire planet of creatures who loved us.
Millennia passed in solitude. The humans pampered the cats with feasts most fancy and vittles most tender (line unapologetically stolen). Even when they stopped viewing the cats as literal gods, they still worshipped the cats in action taking them in as pets and masters in their own home.
Finally the inevitable came to pass as another ship of the empire traveled to the system only knowing that an investigation ship was lost in that area. They were horrified to see their kin, manipulated and modified by the still comparatively primitive humans. Without knowing, the humans had changed their oppressor's into subjects of their own. They still served them, but it was a small comfort to all the other changes. Cages, forced sterilization, tracking devices, forced breeding, and a general brutality from the worst of their kind not knowing that the ones they considered pets were the rightful masters of the galaxy. The ship reported back with this inexplicable discovery. No one could decide how to handle this case of the masters becoming the slaves. Some wanted to exterminate the humans for their crimes, others wanted to enslave them in revenge, others just wanted to forget this embarrassment ever happened. For the moment, the system was quarantined and isolated from the rest of the universe. Humans became the boogymen of the empire, mythical creatures who would capture and enslave the masters. While it was a comfort knowing that the humans were trapped on their world, deep down lingered the knowledge in every cat that this was inevitably a temporary protection and the countdown to the end of their eternal empire was approaching. | 16 | The reason why the aliens never answered us? Cats. They're terrified of us because we kept 'The Great and Mighty Progenitor of The Galaxy' as pets. | 53 |
Lorna took off the six-inch heels. Beneath the flesh-coloured pantyhose, her feet were already raw and blistered. There’s no way she still looked sexy. Not like she had before. Her make up would surely be smudged by now. Mascara running down her face. Water proof or not, the steady light rain would defeat any brand. She should have left when the rain started. Gone to where she’d left her motorbike and chalked the day down to experience. But Lorna was an addict and her craving had become her.
The headlamps in the distance were the first she’d seen in half an hour. They pierced the deep darkness like a sword of light. Blinding. Bright. The pregnant rain clouds had obscured all the natural sources illumination. The moon and stars were buried in their bosom. Lorna was desperate now, and she looked it.
Her long silky black hair was now a matted mess. The sheer black dress was dripping and no longer hugged her curves. She looked like a wilted flower.
The lights were blinding her after the constant darkness, but the rumbling engine and the size of the vehicle marked it out as a truck. Lorna sauntered to the passenger’s side. She tried to sway her thick hips. But the gravel was biting into her injured soles. The tears in her eyes were real for once.
“Are you lost, Miss?” a voice boomed from the rolled down window.
Lorna nodded. Her throat was tickly. She’d been in the rain for three hours.
The driver leaned across and thrust the passenger door open. Lorna caught a glimpse of her saviour. His jaw was strong, his cheekbones high. The dark blue eyes which were gazing at her were almost black.
Lorna shuffled into the truck. She had to be careful when she sat down. First time she’d done this, the knife had nicked her in the back. She often thought of the blood which had dripped on the chair. Precious DNA. The driver who picked her up would never know what had saved his life. But Lorna did. Sheer carelessness. Poor concealment of her weapon. And she’d never made that mistake again.
The truck was warm. And she really was grateful for the lift this time. She felt a strange mixture of gratitude and safety. Like how a real hitchhiker would feel. But then adrenaline surged through her veins. And she became aware of her desperate hunger. This was beyond craving now. She could almost taste the pleasure to come. There was no better feeling. No greater high. She knew this was wrong, but nothing this good could be that wrong.
She couldn’t stop the smile.
The driver looked at her. Lorna realised he thought she was smiling because he’d rescued her.
And she didn’t suppress it.
“I’m Danny,” he said, holding out his hand. He spoke with a Southern drawl that was too loud for the space they were in.
Lorna nodded again, but she didn’t take his hand.
He smiled at her, and then turned the knob to increase the heating.
Danny was handsome. Handsome in a way which would have made her weak at the knees, if they’d met at any other time. His body was average. Not full of muscle but not exactly flabby.
Lorna had already worked out how to incapacitate him. This was her superpower. The first clue she’d noticed about her dark nature. She usually knew within 30 seconds of meeting someone, how best to bring them down. It was game she’d played when she was bored in class as a teenager, and then in between clients at her flower shop.
“Where to?” he said, as he shuffled in his seat.
“I live in Lawrence,” she said, her voice weak.
“Lawrence it is,” he said, turning the car back into the road and beginning to drive.
Lorna was about to direct him to the road which was a few metres away. It led to another deserted road. And a forest. Not many people knew about the side road. It was easier to go straight. But before she could tell him, Danny spoke first.
“There’s a quicker way up ahead. I’m just gonna turn left here,” he said, his voice still too loud.
Lorna was startled. No one ever suggested going that way. By now she was experienced at what she did. Danny would be her fifth. The other four had gone pretty much as she’d expected. This was new. And Lorna didn’t like new.
She started looking at Danny closer. He was wearing a dark hoodie and black jogging bottoms. The truck was so hot, Lorna was pretty much dry. Danny’s dressing wasn’t right. And then she glanced at his hands. He was wearing driving gloves. She’d noticed this earlier, but it hadn’t seemed strange until just now.
They’d turned off by now. A few metres down the road, Lorna would feign sickness. The driver would stop the car. She would pretend to vomit. He would come to check on her. And the rest, Lorna gulped in anticipation. But just as she was starting her act. The truck stopped.
“I think we’ve got a flat tire,” Danny said, shaking his head, “I’m so sorry Miss.”
Lorna stared at him. Her green eyes were blazing. She hadn’t felt the truck jerk or heard any of the sounds one would expect from a flat.
“Do you mind helping change the tire? With two of us, we’ll have you in Lawrence in no time.”
He seemed so sincere. And his smile was like the sun.
The spot he’d picked was perfect. In fact, it was where she’d stopped for her third. Deserted, but close enough to the road they’d just left to avoid suspicion. No one would come here.
Danny jumped out of the truck and headed to the back. Lorna could feel her heart pounding. Her muscles were tensed. She opened the door and stepped outside.
Danny was taller than her, around 5’11. She was 5’7 but strong. Lorna was holding her breath as she walked behind the truck. The back lights were on but it was almost pitch black behind the truck. Lorna had her knife in hand, just as the tire iron whistled downwards. It missed her by a whisker. She lunged at Danny with the blade and he side stepped her with ease.
They both stepped backwards. Eyes growing accustomed to the darkness. Both were predator and prey. Lorna was looking at him with same intensity she could see in his eyes. Danny spoke first.
“Son of a bitch,” he said, “You’re the Sideroad Stabber!”
Lorna was only seconds behind him.
“And you’re the Lawrence Ladykiller. You were trying to kill me you asshole.”
The tension in the air was ripe. And then like the air being let out of a burst balloon, it dissipated. They both started to laugh. It was such a strange situation.
Danny dropped the tire iron first. He lifted up his shirt up to show his waist band, and a surprisingly toned stomach. He then lifted his jogging bottoms legs, to show her he had no other weapons.
Lorna sighed, and dropped her knife. Her dress was so flimsy, she was clearly unarmed now.
Danny took the first stride forward but Lorna had leapt into his arms before he could take anymore. There was another kind of tension engulfing them.
They stared at each other. Lorna could feel a different kind of hunger stirring within her. This was insane. He was a killer. He’d killed six women over the last two years. And he understood her in ways no other man could. Love in strange places.
And just like that a new serial killing duo was born. | 11 | A hitchhiker is desperately wandering along an abandoned country road at midnight. A seemingly noble truck driver pulls over to give him a ride. However, both are serial killers who believe they just found their next victim. | 58 |
The Devil, for all of his powers, couldn’t see inside a human.
Their emotional state, at least. Otherwise, it was a simple, if gruesome, matter. And though he was busy running the ever-growing state of Hell, the Devil found time to check in on some of his realm’s tortured subjects. There was nothing like learning from the victim themselves to determine if his tortures remained effective for the new age.
One thing the Devil has recently implemented was the cruel crime of introspection on these damned souls. Implanted with consciences and remorse, they could look inside themselves, and see the horror staring back.
The Devil took a long journey from his throne room to one of the newer torture chambers. He stopped at the door of a new experiment, beckoning the imp who guarded the doorway over. The small fiend immediately flew towards his master, and bowed deeply.
“My lord, we’ve been expecting you,” the imp said.
The Devil nodded curtly, then turned back towards the door, reading the list of crimes implanted on the door, and he shook his head. Typical. It was the sort of thing that Thanatos detested having to be summoned for.
“It’s this one, then?” the Devil said. “Thanatos recommended this?”
“Yes, my lord. Please, I’ll get the key.”
“No need,” he said. He reached a hand out towards the lock, which promptly disintegrated. “Do get a new one, however.”
The imp bowed deeply again, and the Devil stepped through into a simple living room. Bottles of alcohol in various states of fullness littered the room. They mostly converged into a path leading towards one chair, where a man was sprawled.
The door opened, slowly and carefully. A woman walked through, tiptoeing, then slowly pushed the door back.
The man stirred. The woman immediately winced.
“Goddammit,” the man shouted, syllables slurring together into an amorphous mess. “I told you. I told you to be quiet when you come home!”
The woman barely whispered a small apology, trying to shrink herself against the wall. The man stood up, his hand fumbling at a bottle. He took a large swig, and started to bear on the woman.
“God,” the voice came from behind the Devil. It was the same voice, except the influence of alcohol had long escaped it. Now, it was deathly sober.
“He isn’t here,” the Devil turned, seeing another version of the man. Naked next to the brimstone, he was curled up on the floor, rocking back and forth like a child. The man’s eyes were devil red, and he moaned feebly.
The Lord of Hell walked towards the man, kneeling beside him.
“This is everything? All the sins you’ve done?”
“It might as well be,” the man whispered, haunted eyes unable to look away from the scene. There was the sound of shattered glass. “Oh, god.”
The Devil sighed, deciding to brush past his exclamations. He wished that the denizens of Hell would stop saying that, but at least they were mostly in vain.
“It’s a common thing for you humans,” the Devil said. “Fixating on the worst thing you’ve done. It’s OK. Your punishments cover everything else. If it makes you reflect, so be it.”
The man moaned again, trying to curl himself back into a ball. But eventually, his eyes peeked out, taking in his sins once again.
The Devil turned, raising an eyebrow. It wasn’t pretty. Violence tainted by human imprecision and carelessness. He demanded far higher standards from his soldiers.
He walked besides the mortal soul, and pointed at the scene.
“These mistakes. What would you give to take them back?”
“Everything,” the man croaked, then fell back into his patterns. Hiding, but could not look away.
The Devil smiled, and started to exit the chamber. All was well here. He paused, and turned back towards the man.
“Know in your heart of hearts that you can never, for all eternity, take them back.”
---
r/dexdrafts | 19 | In Hell, instead of subjecting the sinners to most gruesome corporeal tortures, they are stripped of their profanity, endowed with conscience and forced to observe everything they did. For all of eternity. | 45 |
You do not look at the sensors.
The dead person bleeding from their eyes at tactical told you what type you were dealing with.
You cannot look at the sensors.
After the first death you sent back the orders, the computers did not bleed, set the course and hands off for the civilians. If they were smart, they'd leave their bridges and put their blindfolds on too.
You will not look at the sensors.
With a calm you know all too well, you reach down to ypur utility belt and pull out a blindfold, covering shut eyes even over the eyepatch you already have from a past voyage, tightening them painfully around your head. You sit down in the command chair.
You shall not look at the sensors.
"Helm? Coms?" You call out. No answer, just as they practiced. Earplugs with white noise to keep the mad silence at bay. Around you, all is silenct except the sound the air cycling through the ship and a low thrum of engines.
*Why do you humans always scurry along like this in metal insects I could so easily squish?*
The voice was too soft, too nice, too human. It caresses your mind in a way that reminds you of cold water.
You do not respond.
*Take off your blindfold dear Captain. I am not like the others.*
You consider it. The cold in your mind settles like soft snowflakes around your psyche.
*Witness what scares ypu child.*
You take off the blindfold. The cold gets sharper, like a hungry tiger seeing weak prey.
*Now open your eyes.*
Your hands caress controls long memorized. The Eldritch mind sheilds that protected you from hyperspace and its wild horrors.
The sheilds drop.
For a second you feel exposed to the true horror of hyperspace, twisting in ways, hearing the unholy sounds, feeling the ice of the silk tongued speaker that desired to swallow your convoy whole.
Then you rip off the eye patch and colors, sensations, twisted and sharp, hot and firey, explode out from the eye kept hidden under a pact-sealed eyepatch for just this reason.
The ship amplifies the horror to a size you can barely understand screaming and thrashing as it fought with the *thing* made of ice and silk trying to barr the way.
Time means nothing to you until you feel the cold retreat to nothing and the eyepatch returns to your eye, sealing the horror you keep in you at bay... for now.
You open your good eye as the rest of the crew gets back to work, knowing that their convoy would be safe for at least a few days now.
Your XO steps up beisde you.
"How do you feel?" They ask.
You reach up to touch the eye patch, pulling your hand away to see a drop of warm red that was definitely not human blood on the finger.
"I think I will need another seal for my beast."
The XO looks at you, with a strange look of pity and knowing. "Will it last?"
You smile. "It will last for the return journey. Then you will have to feed me to hyperspace before it breaks the seals entirely."
"The crew will miss you."
You shake your head. "They should know better than getting attached to Captains. After all, sacrifices must be made so humanity can travel the stars." | 217 | Eldritch horrors prowl through hyperspace. Interstellar convoys have to be protected by frigate captains like yourself. Hard choices must sometimes be made. | 455 |
"How many times did you tell me to give in to my base emotions?"
I sighed, words from so long ago coming back to haunt me.
"Dozens of times throughout the years. But I've realised that was wrong. They are useful to an extent, but not to overrule your better judgement."
Tarus grinned, flexing his clawed gauntlet. I could still see the golden plate, though it was marred by grime. He had boasted about them so much during our fights. To see them so defiled would have once brought me great pleasure. But now I felt nothing but disappointment. I had hoped in recent years to stand by his side as an ally. Instead we were enemies once more.
"Ah, but you are wrong. Life is so much easier like this! I take what I want, do what I want, and no-one can stop me!"
I shook my head.
"Such arrogance does not suit you. Please, think back to the times before. You were respected, you were loved."
His grin turned into a snarl, as he spat on the ground.
"Golden shackles. That was it was. They might look pretty, but they bound me all the same. They expected me to serve them. If I failed, I would be reviled. If I didn't save everyone, they would complain. Nothing was ever good enough for them."
I shook my head in disbelief. To thik such a pure heart had turned so black. I knew it was partially my fault, planting the first seed of doubt within his mind. All his actions, it was my fault. It was my job to set things right.
"Maybe not. But those who you saved cared. Many did, even if they weren't so vocal."
He snarled again, cracking his neck.
"Whatever. I don't care anymore. If you want to survive, step aside, I owe you that much. But if you stand against me, I will kill you. You never did win against me."
I clenched my staff tighter.
"Maybe not. But today I think will be different. Last chance."
He gave a vicious laugh, before charging at me. His classic attack, even if he had the edge of dark powers boosting him. But I was no slouch. I brought my staff down to form a shield around me. As it formed, I moved onto my next form, pulling on the strands of power around me.
They danced through the air, forming little balls of glowing light. As they formed they launched at Tarus, even as he clove at my shield. Each hit drained his mental fortitude, my best bet at wearing him down. Dark powers would have weakened that initially, as I well knew.i just had to overwhelm him.
But it was not so east a fight. My shield began to waver, his blows causing it to lose its strength. Whilst it existed I couldn't make another. But I never did specialise in staying in one place.
A new strand flowed into my legs. As the shield fell I ran, infused with enhanced speed. A second strand reached into the ground, before releasing. The localised earthquake threw him off balance, as I put some distance between us. Reaching for a pendant, I tapped it thrice. The winged sides vanished, giant versions appearing on my back. They beat with my thoughts, lifting me into the air.
Tarus cried with rage, holding up his gauntleted hand. A stream of dark purple washed out, missing me by a fraction. I smiled, before nodding at him. To my surprise he returned it, readying his sword for the next phase of our fight.
As much as I hated it, I had to admit. I had missed our fights. I think he did too. But now we would find out if he was indeed stronger with the shadows, or if the light would serve me better. | 56 | After a horrible accident together the hero decides the job is not worthy, and the villain gains a conscience thanks to the people that helped him. Years later hey find each other and fight, but now from opposite sides. | 251 |
##Punctual Predictions
Madame Foresight waves her hands over the crystal ball. The lights in the room dim. An engine revs to life as smoke fills it. Her crystal ball glows.
"I don't see love in your future," she says.
"I knew my Tinder profile was garbage," I reply. She ignores my remark.
"I don't see wealth in your future as well. I see that you will die on." She gasps and pulls her hands back. "Monday, June 17th, 2024, 10:32 AM. That is the exact minute, hour, and day of your death."
"In what time zone." I look at her face. Genuine concern is in her eyes, and she takes my hand.
"I know you came here to mock me, but I'm serious. What would I have to gain by telling you that?" I pause to think on this for several seconds.
"I see your point, but you're also saying that until then, I can't die. No matter what I do," I smile.
"That is correct." She grips my arm. "But that is not permission to act recklessly."
"Why not. That's exactly what it is." I pull my hands and smile. "I'm going to run to my favorite bar and get alcohol poisoning."
I run out of her building and through the parking lot. Cars stop and honk their horns at me. I laugh them off. I'm not going to die yet so I'll enjoy my last few years. After going onto the street, I hear a semitruck honk its horn. I ignore it and keep running.
---
The world is dark, but a warm sensation covers my body. Mumbling fills the background. I try to move my arms, but they're kept in place. Madame Foresight appears and walk towards me.
"I warned you not to act recklessly." She shakes her head.
"You also said that I would die on June 17th, 2024." I hear my voice, but my mouth doesn't move. I shrug it off, but I can't move my shoulders. "I'll give you credit. I didn't believe you could contact the dead. Unless your a near-death experience or something. Which would be terrible."
"I can contact the dead, but you're not one of them," she says.
"Wait, are you saying I'm in a coma!"
"Yes." She shakes her head. "And I gave you the date and time when your family decides to pull the plug. I'm sorry that I had to play a role in your death, but I am as bound to destiny as you are."
"Wait, I wouldn't have done that stupid shit if you didn't tell me about my death date. You have to help me."
She disappears leaving me alone in the dark.
---
r/AstroRideWrites | 414 | "Monday, June 17th, 2024, 10:32am." The psychic removes her hands from you. "That is the exact minute, hour, and day of your death." At first you're horrified, but then you realize "Wait, until then, no matter what, I can't die?" "Correct." | 890 |
My house sits on the edge of a cliff, overlooking the Pacific ocean as the waves crash and fizzle on the shore. Nobody else lives on this island. Why would they? It's barely a square mile with little vegetation and no significant resources. I doubt anyone knows it even exists.
My house is packed with books and odds and ends I've picked up over time. To some it might look like a dark, cluttered space, but for me, every trinket, every pile of cash, every painting and every jewel--they tell a story.
That story is my vengeance. It's me collecting what's from a world that had robbed and broken me from my very first breath until far too late in my life. When I discovered my gift, I decided I would pay myself back by repossessing the world's treasure for what I'm owed.
It's occurred to me more than once that this island might be too small to satisfy my judgement. Bu I would cross that bridge when got there.
I reclined on my sofa--lifted from the White House two years ago--and I turned on the 90-inch television mounted on my wall. Solar panels and a windmill outside provided me enough electricity to run most things. In this part of the world, I didn't need air conditioning or heat; the temperature stayed 72 degrees in the shade year-round.
I flipped through the channels before something caught my eye.
*"They call him 'The Disappearing Man,' due to his uncanny ability to appear in one place and disappear just as quickly."*
I took a perverse delight in watching the world scratch its collective heads over me. I sat back and watched the news reel play out.
A surveillance camera showed me, in grainy detail, appearing in the hallway of a closed bank. The pictures shook on the wall, crashing at the force of my warp. The further the distance and greater mass I take with me, the bigger the crash at the destination.
I walked down the hallway casually, wearing all black and a balaclava over my head. Despite my ever-present escape plan, I still didn't want them to see my face. It was nice to eat at a good restaurant from time to time without the police being called.
The camera followed me around a corner, and then another, until I reached the large, metal vault.
Most money, it should be noted, is not physical. The amount of cash kept at any one bank is usually fairly modest: less than a million dollars easily. Sometimes less than ten thousand.
But I didn't *need* money. That wasn't the point of this.
I looked at the surveillance camera and stared for a moment before warping away. The light fixtures pulled toward where I was a moment ago and swayed in place.
They cut to the camera in the vault. Here, they kept locked drawers full of cash and other valuables. I noticed they also kept a server tower. I proceeded to pry each drawer open, stuffing the spoils in bags, before tipping the tower over and stomping apart the hard drives.
Then, as quickly as I appeared, I disappeared.
*"While most find this a terrifying phenomenon, at least some are benefitting from his hijinks. Carl Trott was engaged in a lawsuit against First Federal Bank of Minneapolis, where the latest threat took place."* They cut to the middle-aged man. *"The bank wanted to foreclose on our home, despite us making payments every month for 25 years."* There were tears in his eyes.
The reporter spoke again. *"Investigations of the bank's robbery turned up evidence that they had been overcharging their customers for years, including evicting and repossessing properties from customers their internal correspondences titled 'too poor for lawyers.' The CEO of the Bank, Robert McMillan, has been arrested, and the victims are being compensated for their losses.*
Now it was Carl again. *"They sent me a check that paid off all my debt, including the house."* He sniffed. *"I know it sounds odd, but thank you, Disappearing Man, for everything you've done for me and my family. I'd shake your hand if I met you in person."*
The report continued on, but I was distracted now.
Carl had been chewed up by the world, just like me. He seemed honest, hardworking. He didn't hurt anyone, and yet, some bank tried to take everything he had.
I paralyzed as I sat there, my world crashing around me.
Am I good? | 10 | You have never cared about what other people thought of you, so when you had the chance to keep doing something good for the world but at the cost that everyone would see you as one of the worst villains ever it didn't phase you. Until you got a very sincere, direct and heartfelt 'thank you' | 73 |
“Surely there has to be ONE superhero in our building?” Todd said.
The rest of us collectively shook our heads and shrugged our shoulders. For the briefest moment a look of shame seemed to cross Todd’s face but it was quickly replaced with his typical smile.
“Anyway, I have work to do, people to save.” Todd stood up. “Ya know, save financially,” he said. He chuckled a little and walked away.
“Does he seriously not realise we know?” Mary said.
“I know right. It’s almost like he wants us to know,” Ed said. It was after he said that, a caped figure flew past our window. We collectively rolled our eyes.
“At least he’s actually good at saving people,” I said.
“That is true. Imagine if we knew some hero’s secret identity and they were some D-tier hero. At least Todd is about a high B,” Mary said.
“Do you think he’ll ever figure it out? Ed said. “Should we tell him we know?” Ed fidgeted with his fingers and glanced out the window every now and again.
I shrugged. “As long as we don’t tell anyone else. Though I’d be surprised if anyone in the building didn’t know. He doesn’t hide his costume well does he?”
“You can say that again,” Mary said. “I could see some of it through his shirt the other day.”
“Alright. His birthday is in 3-4 weeks?” I said. “Let’s plan the theme around his super hero identity. If he still doesn’t cotton on…”
“I’ll slap him across the face and tell him myself,” Mary said.
“Slap who across the face?” Todd said as he walked back into the room. His tie a little astray and his hair noticeably messier than it was.
“Oh just the president or someone,” I said. | 529 | one of their coworkers is the local superhero. They’ve known for ages because he is terrible at hiding his secret identity, yet somehow, he still thinks he has them all fooled. | 1,930 |
I write this message in the hope that someone in the far future will find it; being free enough of the past horrors we have created and wise enough to take these words seriously.
Do not follow where we trod. Out of fear of death, out of fear of ignorance, and worst of all, out of our curiosity, we created death as an inevitability. Or we created the lack thereof, it is hard to recall now.
Initially it had been a great breakthrough, science to rival the natural scientists of old. We could detect and observe positions and velocities of the fundamental substructures of reality, and using an abominable amount of computing power, we could extrapolate forwards, and backwards, to determine not only the past but also the future, to an uncanny degree.
We called it the Muad'Dib Machina.
The information provided by the Machina is seen by few, and those that see it seldom recover. Prescience of ones own future is burden enough, let alone the wider omniscience that our science has unfolded before us. I have seen myself in the texts of the Muad'Dib Machina, writing this very message, and had I the gumption to delve further, I could likely have drawn the very words from it's predictions.
We have created the annihilation of will, for there is no choice but to succumb to the futures we have seen. For every romance, every despair, and every self-realisation of the futility of struggle has been foreseen. For what are these thoughts but the predictable exchange of hormones and electrochemical signals in the human brain. The Machina has stolen everything from us. No life is left to live in its wake.
We do not even have the release of death to free us from our temporal prison. Death itself has been stolen. Each individuals death is postponed, their organic matter entombed into a neural link to become one with the Machina. Such beings live a thousand lives, trapped as they are in undeath. They sift information subconsciously, drawing bits and pieces together into a facsimile of reality that staves off the only true horror left to us.
The unknown of the end.
Or so the Machina tells us.
If you are reading this I beg of you, do not enter this temple. Do not activate this machine. It must lay dormant till the end of time, or better yet be destroyed.
May your future be brighter than ours, and far less certain. | 11 | In the distant future humans have created computers powerful enough to simulate everything that has ever happened in the universe. Out of our fear of death we used it to create infinite personalized afterlife simulations for every person who ever lived. | 51 |
It was supposed to have been a weekend to celebrate Harrison’s thirteenth birthday at a rented cabin in the Adirondack mountains in northeastern, New York. It was supposed to have been an epic birthday bash for the bestest friends ever. It was supposed to have been a prank.
It was Saturday, August twenty-fourth, nineteen-ninety-one, a cool sixty degrees in the mountains. At approximately nine-thirty a.m. George, Harrison, Bones, and Ridley were getting around to go for a hike. The tween-age kids were practically family. They had grown up together, went to the same school, and were all babysat by one another’s parents. Harrison’s dad, Mr. Harrison, an active F.B.I. agent, rented the cabin and was chaperoning.
“Did you talk to Mungo?” Harrison asked, tucking her hair behind her ear and putting on her green ball-cap.
“Hand me my backpack,” Bones said holding his hand out to Harrison who was standing in front of the pack on the ground.
“Yeah, I talked to Mungo,” Ridley whispered, smiling while lacing up her boots.
“Did he say he was ready?” Harrison asked.
Ridley gave the thumbs up.
The kids were already relishing in the desired results of the prank.
“This has to be our raddest idea ever,” George said zipping up his jacket. “Oh, don’t forget the trail mix, my mom made it especially for the trip.”
“Who makes special trail mix?” Bones asked breaking free and opening a juice-box straw then stabbing it through the box-hole. “It’s special, Honey, because it has raisins in it. It usually doesn’t have Raisins.”
“Shut up, Bones. Your mom sounds like that,” said George.
“Dude, don’t drink all the purple Hi-C’s,” Ridley said.
“I know the red ones are nasty,” Harrison said. “I don’t know why my dad always buys them.”
Harrison’s dad came down the stairs and entered the living area. He was dressed in plaid, jeans, and had a backpack.
“Mr. Harrison, Paul Bunyon called, wants his outfit back,” Bones said.
“So funny I forgot to laugh, Bones,” Mr. Harrison said. “You dorks ready?”
“We’re ready, Mr. Harrison,” the kids said.
Harrison noticed her father’s sidearm. “Dad,” Harrison said approaching him, “do you have to bring that?” Harrison cast her eyes to his gun.
“It’s the woods, Harry,” her dad said. “What if we run into a bear or a mountain lion?”
“We aren’t going to—
“Good idea, Mr. Harrison. You might have to shoot that fool if it charges us,” said George. “Better safe than sorry my Mom always says.”
Some of the other kids nodded having thought George made a good point.
Harrison rolled her eyes.
“See, Harry,” said Mr. Harrison. “George’s Mom thinks it’s a good idea.”
“Hey, man,” said George. “No mom jokes today, please.”
Bones laughs at the lightly greased burn. “You set yourself up, George. Like every time.”
“Not every time,” Ridley said.
“Literally every time,” Bones said.
“You’re not even using the word ‘literally’ right,” Ridley said.
“Anal. Retentive.” Bones said. Ridley threw an empty juicebox at Bones.
“Fine,” Harrison said to her dad. “Just keep it under your puffy vest. It’s my birthday and I don’t want to have to look at it while on our beautiful walk in the woods.”
Harrison’s dad put on his puffy vest. “How’d you know you I was gonna wear my puffy vest?”
“You always where that ugly puffy vest,” said Harrison. “And daid,” she said in a whisper, “don’t walk right with us, please. Maybe walk ahead?”
“So when the mountain lion jumps out of the woods and eats me it’ll give you and your friends enough time to get away. Good thinking. Anything for my baby girl,” Mr. Harrison said placing a kiss on Harrison’s forehead.
Just then the two of them were pelted by empty juice boxes.
&&& | 10 | What started as a fun little mystery made by a group of kids to amuse their detective friend for their birthday turns into a full-fledged FBI investigation. | 146 |
**It Will Happen Again**
​
It starts when mommy and daddy hear a thump-thump-thump coming from Dave's room. He is thirteen, and mommy is horrified he might have a girl in there. Daddy doesn't think it sounds like that, but he doesn't know what else it could be. They creep down the hallway *THUMP* as the *THUMP* comes regular like water on the side of docked boat. *THUMP*. They open the door and see a ghost.
Daddy screams. Mommy stares. For the briefest moment there is a huge, billowing sheet rising from Dave's bed, pushing against the ceiling. Then it collapses down onto the bed and Dave sits up, confused. Daddy and Mommy run in and hug their little boy. They are confused, scared, but relieved that their son is back safely in bed.
Apparently, Dave flies in his sleep.
"Its just one of those things," the hapless doctor tries to explain. "You can do the best you can for him, but its not really something that's livable. We have things, but they're just stop-gaps."
At first they try weighted blankets, but Dave wriggles when he sleeps, and in the darkness, he squirms around until he bumps into the ceiling. Then they try weighted pajamas, but slowly his buoyancy increases, and they need heavier and heavier PJs, to the point where he is being suffocated by his own clothing. And finally, the doctor prescribes him the belt.
The belt is a modified tow strap, the kind used to secure loads on trucks, that wraps under the bed and straps Dave down to the bed. And this is all very good because he can sleep (uncomfortably but relatively safely) and mommy and daddy can rest easy knowing that their son is securely fastened to their home.
And then one day the bed begins to lift. No one really notices at first, but his buoyancy is definitely increasing now. He is 17 years old, applying for colleges, and he can lift the bed when he sleeps. Mother is the first to see. She had been hearing crashes in the morning, and when she investigated, she sees what her horrified eyes didn't want her to see. Damage to the legs of the bed. Scratches on the floor. It is unmistakable.
Mother is rational. She takes measurements, plots points, calculates rate of change. Daddy adds sandbags to the bed, and she records how long it is before he can lift those too. She wonders if it is a psychological thing and hires a counsellor, a therapist, and then a psychiatrist. Dave takes pills. Dave talks about his dreams. Dave's team has nothing.
"We can't send him to college like this," Daddy frets.
But Dave applies anyway, and he gets in with an incredible essay about his sleep flying. Mother wants him to go, but she is worried. College students aren't famous for their risk adverse ways and strong decision making skills. She takes a stand. No college. Dave is outraged. He wants to get out of the house. All his friends are going. This is supposed to be the best time of his life. Daddy sways to his side. Mother can only watch as they leave.
It happens much sooner than she expected.
Dave stays out late with some of his new friends, all first year students. They decide, in the middle of the night, to drive out to the Blue Ridge Parkway and star at the Milky Way. It is a moonless night. Perfect for stargazing. They go; they enjoy it. On the way back, Dave falls asleep in the back of the truck. It is a small truck. A Toyota Tacoma with five people shoved in it. It is pretty heavy, and maybe that's why Dave thinks he is safe.
But he isn't.
The girl driving screams as the truck begins to lift off the ground. Her scream rattles Dave awake. The truck slams back down, screeching on the suspension that caught more than it was ever intended to hold. They almost lose control. She slams the breaks and everyone is thrown around inside the cab. They sit, breathless, staring, and then the argument starts. Dave doesn't want to admit it. No one would have noticed in such a small cab, such a tight space.
He'll do better, he assures himself. He'll do better, and he won't have to scare people again, and he doesn't need to tell anyone else, especially not his mom. Because he can handle it. It is not going to happen again. | 42 | Is it a bird? Is it a plane? No, it is Dave and he is sleep flying again. Goddamn it Dave, we have talked about this. | 281 |
“Oh great crone, I apologize for imposing upon your time,” I gave a polite nod.
“It is good to see that some still recognize the ways, but you are a guest. This is no imposition, come in.”
As I entered, five cats turned to look at me from their various perches. Shelves of jars, the doorframe, one even poked its head out from the floorboards. Many other cats were there, but these seemed to take an interest in me.
There was a moment before one of them meowed at me, a Maine Coon seated upon a wooden chair. I approached, and it hopped off the chair, sat next to it, and looked at me.
“May I use this seat?” I asked politely.
It glanced slowly back at the chair, then at me, and meowed again.
“At your insistence.” I sat down. It immediately hopped onto my lap, and curled up comfortably.
“Now then,” my partner was seated in an old leather chair, absently using a feathered stick to play with a couple younger cats, “while my mother makes us tea, you can tell me who you learned from.”
I took a moment to collect my thoughts before answering her. “I was not taught anything, but my experience is that being polite is always useful. Though I am cautious about giving thanks.”
“I’ve asked you before, but happened that makes you so cautious to thank others?”
I grimaced at a memory before carefully replying, “I can no longer say.”
A crash came from the kitchen at that. “No no no. My daughter’s fiancé will not be bothered by any Court trickery, that is certain.”
Additional grumbling came from the kitchen, but I was more interested in my partner’s reaction. She looked at me with sorrow, then nodded, “I should apologize. I didn’t know to ask, and wouldn’t have been receptive to the answer.”
“I’m just glad to finally have people who understand.”
“Now then, let’s get this sorted first,” my partner’s mother set down a tray with three cups of tea. Next to mine was a napkin with three cookies. “Do not dunk the cookies in your tea, they’ll fall apart too easily.”
I simply nodded, tears in my eyes, as I took a sip of tea and started on the cookies. As I did, memories came flooding back to me. By the end of it, I was a sobbing mess, carefully and gently petting the Maine Coon still in my lap.
Eventually, I collected myself enough to begin the conversation that was the purpose of my coming here. “The wedding planning is going well, but my sister had a request regarding decorations.”
My fiancé and her mother raised eyebrows at that, but motioned for me to continue.
“She married into a family with interesting family. They said we should be decorating with monkshood instead of wolfsbain.”
That was the first time, but not the last, that I heard my future mother-in-law cackle. | 59 | There are three sure signs that you’re dealing with a witch—facial warts, an abundance of cats, and a collection of cauldrons. And when your partner finally introduces you to your future mother-in-law, you notice she has all three. | 271 |
“Hello Subject 514. Time to do the-“ I cut the scientist off by throwing my pillow at them.
“I know already doc. What will it be today? Things like the death penalty? Natural accident simulators? What?”
“Eager and smart yet immature and impatient. Same as always…” the tall, tan man said as he fixed his glasses. “Actually, today you’re getting something better. You get to go to the common area for the… dangerous subjects.”
“Ah. If I manage to not die can I have a prize?” I grinned.
“…hm, a better bet. If you die but manage to come find me and tag me in two minutes I’ll let you have some more fun.”
“Bet. Let’s go then, doc!” I said. He opened the door and followed as two guards led me to a large metal door. They opened. Another one. The previous one closed as the other one unlocked and opened.
“Fresh meat, doctor?” A blue levitating boy asked from above as we went in. “They look a bit… weird.”
“This is 514. I told you about them, 532. Wait till I leave before doing anything.”
“Fine.”
“I’ll be fine, doc, don’t worry.” I said as I walked in. The door started to close.
“That’s what I worry about.” He said as the door finally closed.
“So… you can revive and respawn, little kid?”
“Yep!” I smiled. The boy looked at me with disgust. More subjects, with different mutations and dangerous vibes, came closer. They surrounded me. I laughed.
“Why small thing laugh?” An orange lady, 8 feet tall and very buff, looked at me.
“Cause~” I grinned. “Nobody here knows how to kill me for good. The doc there constantly has tried to kill me. I think he likes it. You guys can kill me right now if you’d like. I’d just come back. But uh… does anyone here know which way he went?”
“…213 does. He’s dangerous because he’s naturally good at combat, and he can detect vibrations and all that.” the blue boy said, hovering above. “Someone go get 213.”
“No need, 532. So, why do you want to find Dr. Aki?” A tall man, taller than the lady, stood above the crowd.
“If I find him in under two minutes once you all kill me I can get a prize!” I stated, childishly and giggling.
“Ah… he’s in his office taking a nap. He just got there a minute ago so you should easily find him. I’ve felt your vibrations. Once you get out, take a left and then the second right. You’ll see his name on the door.”
“Okie!”
“Alright guys, have fun!~” 213 said as he went away.
It wasn’t long before I was torn to shreds. Then, I was back in my room. The guards let me out and followed me as I ran and followed 213’s instructions. Doc was in his office. I had one more minute. I walked up and poked his head.
“Tag!” I spoke. The doctor opened his eyes and looked at me.
“Good job.” He chuckled.
“Can I have my prize now?” I asked. He nodded. The guards had left as he took me into another room. “Ooh.” It was a large chamber, bigger than my room.
“When you first came here, I wanted to know… why did a deity become this immature adult? Now, as I see your attachment to me, it was simply for my entertainment and happiness. To be the outlet I needed so I didn’t do anything to anyone else.”
“Of course. After all, I’m subject 514-A. You, doc, are 514-B. You may work here, but I respawn so you have an outlet for your sadistic needs.” I smiled. He laughed.
“You know what we’re here for then, yes?”
“Mhm!” I smiled as he pulled out a knife.
“You’re here to die again~”
——
Wtf is this | 11 | You are a test subject being experimented for your anomalous ability to "respawn." | 45 |
I was walking through town when I happened to pass a quest board - basically, a board of requests adventurers can offer to take up. I usually don't pay much attention to these, except normally these boards are always full or empty, yet this time there was one untouched quest... I had to take a look.
​
**{BOUNTY HUNTER NEEDED}**
*Reward: one hundred thousand gold coins.*
`There is a large beast roaming around my property. It is not safe for any of us to leave. I'd handle the situation myself, but whenever I try to go near it, its piercing gaze freezes me in place, leaving me helpless. I need a brave, kind, strong-willed, powerful adventurer to come to my aid.`
\[Demon King\]
​
Curious... I never really looked much into him, but the Demon King is supposed to be feared by everything, even flowers shiver at his presence from what I hear. If this beast can make the Demon King himself freeze in place with its stare, then it must be the beast of legend. I read enough about it to know that it is not all too formidable a creature, but few can resist his gaze. I know there are a couple people here who could easily dispatch of it, but of course who wants to help the Demon King? Shrugging, I grab the quest and head to the Demon King's lair.
As I near the location, I spot a demon hiding behind a bush. He eyes me warily, so I show him my poster. In an instant, he jumps up, motioning for me to follow. As I descend down, I feel a cold chill run down my spine. Other demons look at me curiously - I suppose I'm supposed to be bound by chains? I'm taken to the throne room, of which the sight makes me stagger back; all the walls, the floor, the ceiling appear to be covered in blood rather than red paint, the carpet made of human flesh, and I see skeletons scattered around. Somehow, there isn't a rotting stench. Straight ahead of me, is a large creature, three tails each with two ends, giant horns, fangs that look like the could cut through metal, a hulk of a body so ripped I feel slightly jealous...
as I enter the room, the demon king eyes me suspiciously, and it's not long before there's a hoard of demons surrounding me, ready to drag me to... wherever. I'd prefer not to think about it. The demon I saw outside whispers something to his master, which causes his eyes to go wide and him to call off his minions. "I never thought..." his voice was deep and gruff, so much so my body tenses. "Someone is actually willing to assist us?" I can't find my voice to respond, the best I can do is squeak out "Yes." The demon king smiles, a smile which has an odd warmth to it. Suddenly the room is red with paint, and not blood, the fleshy carpet is a cream-coloured rug, and the skeletons look a lot more like the fake ones in science classes.
I'm in awe at what just happened, to which the demon king laughs. "Surprised? I'm made out to be this evil being, someone who unleashes attacks on the land without mercy. That is far from the case, I'm often setting my minions straight for attacking the living. My role is to contain the evil that's been banished from the world. Without me, who knows what horrors you'd be facing." I nod, my whole perception of this being shattered. I get to business. "So, the beast you wish me to slay... it's the beast from legend, right?" "Correct. I trust you will not fall victim to his gaze?" "I don't know" I reply honestly, "but I'd say I'm pretty strong-willed. Besides, it's not like anyone else is lining up to help you, sorry to be so blunt." The demon king nods, and sends me on my way with a wave of his hand.
I come back a couple hours later, presenting the horns of the beast. "It's done" I say. "You and your demons are safe to leave the lair once again." The demon king smiles sincerely, before motioning for one of his minions to present my reward. Despite coming to terms with who the demon king really is, I hesitate; I open the box a crack, figuring that if something were to jump out, it would happen quickly. Nothing appears to be happening, so I open it all the way to see the gold. I shut the lid again, say my thanks and bid the demon king farewell, with a promise that I won't attack any of his own... as long as they don't attack anyone innocent. | 10 | On one hand, the request on the Guild’s quest board was pretty simple and the promised payment would cover all your needs for a year or two. On the other hand, the request has been placed by the Demon King. | 22 |
*You must kill her*.
I stared at my wife, breathing softly beside me. She stirred a moment before relaxing, a soft sigh escaping pink lips that I kissed every day. Her blond hair was coifed into a rounded braid that her ladies would undo to style her back length hair into whatever fashion they deemed worthy, but not before I got a chance to run my hands through it. My wife, whom I loved and cherished, and yet was just another reward of a life spent following orders.
*You must kill her.*
The cold of the stone shocked my system as I slipped out of bed: I'd have to remind the maids to stir up the fire one more time before they retired for the night. The white light from the moon illuminated a corner of the room. A secluded spot for secluded thoughts.
*You must kill her.*
My head ached: a day wearing the crown would do that to a man, and not just metaphorically. Of all the head pieces I'd worn, it was by far the heaviest. Even my helmet during the war hadn't been as heavy. It was then that I had made my name, then that I had won the hand of the king's daughter, a compromise between the rebellion and the aristocracy to replace the mad old king with someone new. But that wasn't when everything had started.
*You must kill her*.
No, everything had started as a child. When the voice that now told me to kill my wife would tell me where to go to find food. Shelter. How to gather other children -- left bereft of home and comfort as their parents were sacrificed to satiate the old king's whims -- to myself, to create a home for ourselves. To give me a power base that I would use to protect our neighborhood. Then to give me leverage to get training in the ways of the knights. It had led me to that fatal meeting with Cassandra, who had introduced me to the rebellion. Others who had suffered because of the king. I had led the coup with the voice, and now led fairly and justly.
*You must kill her*.
I spared a glance at my wife, still sleeping soundly. I had read up about her father after our marriage and his execution (my sole personal concession: I had allowed my father-in-law to remain for the wedding at her behest). He had been a fair and just ruler at one point as well. A bastard child to the previous prince of the realm, he had led a coup against his grandfather a decade after that king had slain his whole family for treason.
*You must kill her*.
I wiped my face with my hand. It didn't make sense. My wife had done nothing. Was doing nothing. *Would* do nothing as she was as devoted to holding the peace as I was. And yet... wasn't she spending a lot of time with that young knight? I shook my head before heading back to bed. It was much too early or too late for such moodiness. I could ignore the incessant chatter with a bit of drink and some rest. That was all I needed. The voice was wrong, of course.
It just had never been wrong, yet. | 736 | You are a mighty hero, a god-king worshipped by your people. But you were not always this way. Once you were a child struggling to survive. It was a small gentle voice in your head that has guided you to prosperity and victory time and time again. Never have you questioned why. Until today. | 2,381 |
Humanity is ceasing to exist. People all ever the world are becoming dragons, scientists are unable to figure out why there’s bumps on many heads. Remaining people are trying to find a cure as turning into dragons is a painful and scary process. Those suffering start with the tender bumps on the head, the finger beginning to elongate, the bones stretching painfully. A feeling of heat begins radiate from the throat, the neck growing scales to contain the rising heat. It’s not the body that is changing either.
Roads become less crowed as dragons are unable to fit into cars. Skyscrapers are left to rot as no one could enter nor anyone could maintain them. Space on planet Earth was shortening as massive beasts looked towards the top of urban areas or nature preserves to stay at. When the transformation is complete, the top of mountains became new villages for the Dragons. In order to solve hunger, many dragons were left to their own in order to hunt for their prey.
Farmlands became the new fast food joints, as dragons attempted to continue the agriculture industry. Their long nails clawing the lands in order to plant seeds. Dragons had to train monkeys to plant the seeds themselves, before the monkeys started to show signs of evolution. Terrifying the dragons as they saw the warnings. The cycle repeats as humans started to appear again, and as their genetics coded them, they hunted the dragons that exploited them. The dragons perished, unable to find the cause for accelerating evolution. | 15 | The news is going berserk, Critical world services are shutting down. A pair of bumps has appeared atop every human’s head, with the beginnings of a tail behind. however the truth is that humanity is evolving, over the course of a week, into dragons. | 70 |
Filled with a slowly enlarging sense of fear, I shared the photo with my nearby comrades to see what they thought of my discovery. With sunken face after sunken face, we had all realized the depth of the mistake I had made. My stomach was beginning to fill with butterflies, until I came up with an idea.
I took a close look at the dead soldier’s face. Then at the faces of my fellow soldiers next to me. One of them looked rather similar, maybe with a slightly different eyebrow here and there, but similar enough for my plan.
I told the specified comrade of the idea, only to be rejected. “Hell no! Don’t throw me under the bus like that, YOU killed him!” He says, annoyed and cautious.
I sighed in a panic, looking around at the rest of my allies, all of whom were either looking away, shaking their heads, or simply looking on with grimaced expressions.
“Fuck…” I whispered.
Soon, the time comes for us to return back to our base. The rest of my group leaves at lightning speed, allowing slip out to stay behind undetected. I was dead meat anyway, no way I was going to draw that assassin to my base. I sat down on a rock and began tending to some miscellaneous wounds with a bandage roll I was carrying… Then another idea popped up.
I grabbed the corpse of the deceased enemy soldier and dragged it back to where I was sitting. Flipping him around, I realized that maybe I could survive for just a bit longer.
I undressed the corpse’s uniform, discarding my own and putting it on his body. An awkward process, but I was desperate at that point. After I was done, I wrapped a ton of bandages around the bullet holes of the bloodied uniform I was now wearing. Still not convincing enough…
I covered my hand in the corpse’s blood from its many wounds, rubbing it all over my face and the bandages on the uniform.
I then wrapped the bandages around my own face, making sure to cover every last inch of it. I don’t want them to find me out immediately.
I thought of suitable cover stories for how I “ended up” in this situation. For when my “body” is found and taken back to wherever by whomever. When I had formulated a few of them for multiple situations, I began the final part of my plan.
I walked back to where the body originally was. Though I couldn’t help but think I was forgetting something, I hesitantly lied down on the spot.
Now, I just have to wait and see. | 35 | There are whispers of a female assassin that is turning the tide of the war. She has countless kills to her name. As you open the wallet of the soldier you just killed, you find a picture matching her exact description signed with love. You know you will never be safe again. | 173 |
Steam poured from the pan as Christopher stared blankly at the stove. His unfocused eyes paid no attention to the meal he prepared. His mind wandered to the heavy lead and leather box containing what he presumed to be his father's skull. David, his father, was traveling most of the time. Guarding the royal family and carrying out missions both diplomatic and military meant that he was often far from home. Chris knew this and didn't mind much. The help took good care of the home and he was able to find his intense and diverse studies. He had no expectation to find something so ominous in his search for some of his stored materials.
David had returned from his most recent sojourn the day before. He had been resting in his quarters and occasionally visited the private study to return correspondence that he missed during his departure. During this time he had not, for even a moment, removed his armor. This was commonplace for David. Christopher had not questioned it once. The thought simply had not occurred to him. He had mostly been raised by maids and nannies and the occasional nobleman that lodged in this wing or that when visiting the capitol of the kingdom. Now that he had considered it Christopher couldn't remember his father's face and for that matter worried he had never seen it. Did they look alike?
The smell of smoke snapped Christopher out of his musing and he was back into the kitchen. He was finished with the meal and began preparing plates and glasses for his father and himself. He edged through the manor towards his father's study. The door was cracked and Christopher slowly opened it in hopes he could catch a glimpse of hair or skin of anything that would cast off the suspicions he held. The hope fell flat as he was faced with a simple suit of armor sitting at his father's intricate oak desk penning a missive to some foreign leader.
"Father? Dinner is ready. I've worked hard to make something I think you'd enjoy. Could we dine together?"
The armor clanked as David's pen ceased its smooth movement over the long parchment. Christopher thought he heard a thoughtful sigh. The suit sat still for a few seconds until, to Christopher's shock, it let out a reply:
"Why?"
Christopher was stunned. He did his best to reply casually but simply managed to stammer out
"Well uh I guess I've missed you these few weeks"
"Is that the truth?" David replied flatly. Christopher had always thought of his father kindly. He always made time for his son when he was home. They'd go riding or hunting together. At the very least they'd read around the fire together.
"Y-y-yes?" He stuttered
"I must have been gone too long this time if you've taken to lying to your father, Christopher. We both know that isn't why you'd like to eat together. Tell me when you found it and be truthful." The armor turned to face him and seemed to stare while it waited for the reply.
"A few days ago. Less than a week. I have many questions and hoped I was being the fool."
"Quite the opposite Christopher. I feel I've passed the appropriate point at which to tell you the truth." With this remark he removed his helmet. There was nothing there. The suit was hollow and the reverberation of the metal echoed out of it.
Christopher woke up in his bed with a wet cloth on his forehead. His father sat reading next to him. He opened his eyes and turned his head toward the armor next to him.
"It wasn't a dream was it?" He whispered
"No, son, it wasn't. Are you ready to hear the truth of it?" | 123 | You found a skull in your dad's basement. You decided not to mention it, but you also couldn't remember the last time you've seen your dad without his medieval knight helmet. So you volunteered to cook dinner. | 256 |
'It's like... when I'm with you, I feel like my whole body is vibrating.'
Joe was holding Alice's hand as they walked blissfully through the city streets. The air was clear and the sky partly cloudy. There were children playing in the street around them, and faintly, the sound of people congregating on the beach down the road.
'Well no, Joe, you're actually vibrating...' Alice said.
'I am?' He said, looking at his hand and then back at her. 'Hey, so are you!'
Alice's green eyes danced brightly but with concern; Joe's expressed fear.
'The roads, Joe!' Alice cried.
The sand that littered the road and loitered in the minute caverns of the concrete began to shake. They blurred the grey roads and pavements with a beige-yellow mesh that looked like very fine hessian.
'Alice, I'm scared.' Joe said.
Still safe in each others hands, they looked in either direction, to their rumbling surroundings.The buildings on either side of the street were shaking, and the birds who rested on them now circled and swooped around them, crying out to their fellow kind.
'It's an earthquake!' Alice said. 'It must be an earthquake!'
The two quickly ran down the road, following the screams of the people on the beach. On the yellow sands there was only chaos; chaos not in good spirit, but in panic. The people were gathering their things and their family members, calling for them if they could not find them:
'Mable!' A mother cried. 'Mable where are you!?'
The shaking did not stop or ease, but increased violently. The earth beneath them, once their most trusted foundation, was beginning to crack and crumble. The sand of the beach was beginning to fall away from their island, down into the deep waters of the sea.
Joe and Alice did nothing but watch as every human being scrambled for their lives to the safety of the land; but it was too late, as it seemed the ocean was still hungry.
'The ships.' Alice said. 'We must get to the ships.'
'We can't.'
'Why not?' Alice said, as the water touched their feet. 'Joe, we need to get out of here.'
But Joe didn't reply; he just stared out into the distance, to the fading sails of the navy on the horizon. | 11 | You are an Immortal but your life force is tied to the condition of a single building. As a building gets run down, so do you. But, you can switch your tie to a new building whenever you want. Unfortunately, you are in a city having a major earthquake. Buildings are falling down all around you. | 91 |
"We're still on the clock, right?" Ashley asked, taking a hesitant step towards the edge of the rocky cliff. She didn't expect Brian to give her a straight answer. Brian subscribed to the *Avoid All Responsibility* school of management, with a sub-major in *Maximising Distracting Small Talk All Day Long*. She hadn't said it for his benefit. As long as Brian didn't outright refuse, explicitly mentioning the possibility would make Cheryl and Dale log these as billable hours on their time-sheets too, and Brian didn't have the guts to deny all three of them.
"I think that's a conversation for a later time." Brian replied, taking a hesitant tip-toeing step closer to the edge and then immediately stepping back further than he'd started.
The cliff dropped sharply beyond the edge. The fall was a long one. Sharp jagged rock outcrops eventually became a long gravelly slope that merged, perhaps a kilometer away, into dense forest that stretched to the horizon. Not exactly forest, but that was the closest concept Ashley could find as she stared down at it. The bright gold trunks, speckled with dark red dots and splotches, weren't individuals. They merged into the trunks of other neighboring trees and the separating out again before ending in a deep purple canopy. Whatever composed the canopy, too small the see from here, it certainly wasn't leaves. The purple mass swayed as one entity in the wind, while also seeming to *jitter* everywhere all at once.
"We're away from the office, so that's work travel hours. Full per diems, expenses---" Dale began reciting the corporate manual.
"Wow. No! We weren't instructed by the company to travel here, so it's not a client visit. It's voluntary work-related travel at best, with half per diems." Cheryl interjected, still kissing corporate ass despite everything. Ashley took a long breath while Cheryl spoke, a well practiced technique for swallowing her dislike.
"Brian told us to go into the meeting room, even though the door looked completely different. That's being sent on travel under managerial instruction for sure, Cheryl." Ashley said, turning away from the edge and heading back towards the strange wooden door in the rock face. Dale had closed it behind them and no amount of yanking had managed to reopen it.
"Hey, now listen guys, let's just relax, okay, let's just try to make the best of this." Brian said, following Ashley with evident relief. "We're all here together, let's be a team, okay. Let's think about it like a voluntary after-work team building activity, like when we went out for drinks and pizza that time".
"It's not after work though, is it?" Dale insisted.
"It's not voluntary either," Ashley said, knocking on the door and pressing her ear against it to listen for a reply, "otherwise I'd voluntarily go be on my couch right now."
"Technically," Cheryl began, but Ashley wasn't listening.
The door had barely made a sound when she tapped on it. No echo, no reverberation, just the deep, quiet thud of hardwood resting against solid stone. There was no evidence that there was any open space behind it, that it was a doorway to anything, let alone the hallway to the newly renovated media-enabled ground-floor secondary meeting room. Yet as she listened, her ear pressed to wood until it hurt, her finger in her other ear to block out Cheryl's annoying drone, Ashley was sure she could hear footsteps. Footsteps growing louder.
Ashley jumped back from the door just as it began to open. Through it, she caught a glimpse of a vast library, filled with furled scrolls rather than books. She only glimpsed it briefly, however, because the doorway was filled with the imposing form of a tall, old, bearded man. He somehow looked both ancient and bursting with health all at once. He stood tall and his eyes were clear and sharp, but the sockets around them sagged into deep valleys of wrinkled and pock-marked skin that overflowed his face. Firm muscles were visible beneath the paper-thing and sagging skin on his arms.
His voice managed to sound confident and commanding, though it croaked weakly from a throat that seemed unused to speaking. "Heroes, finally you have come, I--"
"Logging client consultation hours, starting 11:17am." Dale interjected.
"He can't be a client, the Client Intake Form hasn't been approved by Client Processing." Cheryl whined.
"He obviously wants something from us, we've traveled to see him. Actually, no, you're right, no formal intake which makes it an Urgent Client Consult, that's double time and a half if it requires working overtime." Dale said.
"Now just hang on guys, let's just have a chat with this guy, we can don't need to worry about all that stuff yet." Brain said, trying to regain control. "What's your name sir? Would you care for a glass of... well, ummm, never mind."
"Please, Heroes, I must impart to you the most dire of..." The strange man said, taking a step towards Brain.
Without hesitating, without a backward glance, Ashley stepped through the still open door and pulled it closed behind her. | 212 | A group of friend accidentally stumbles into a magical world, but instead of a group of teenagers they are a group of middle-aged office workers, who are more than happy to take a brake from their boring 9-5 office life. | 1,102 |
My first memory of this world was of the gentle ebb and flow as I floated down the river. The face of a young woman snatching my basket from the water. The desert town was vast and intricate as I grew, with statues taller than I could see and monuments to rulers larger than life. The people were divided. As I grew I watched the men beat and kill each other over minor differences and felt a strange tug somewhere deep in my soul.
At the top of a mountain looking over the field where my people slaved away I hid from the grueling day to day. I felt that I had something more, a greater calling but the long hot days in the desert heat and back-breaking work in the field under the watchful eye of those who deemed themselves the be my better shredded any hint of what that calling was. That was until I heard a familiar voice coming from the air itself. Memories. So many memories. My past life came flooding back, everything I had done and the all the plans of what I will do came rushing back to the front of my mind.
“**Forget not why I sent you here.**” the voice of the devil drawled into my ear with glee, “**Spread discourse and in my name this world shall crumble.**”
I returned to the village and gathered a crowd before announcing for all to hear. A grin crept across my face as I displayed the 2 etched tablets I retrieved from the crest of the mountain, a storm crashing down the mountain side.
“**Do not be afraid. God has come to test you, so that the fear of God will be with you to keep you from sinning. These are the things the Lord has commanded you to do...**” | 14 | The devil considers your ways of depravity could yet prove useful, so after you die he decides to reincarnate you in a relatively peaceful world to spread chaos and disorder in his name. | 81 |
The woman lit her pipe and adjusted herself in the armchair.
"It's open," she said to the intangible presence in the room. "Come in."
The entity wasted no time; it wouldn't be the first time a human underestimated it. Curious as the black door before this woman's mind was, the fluke would ultimately be of no consequence in just a moment.
It slid into her mind and started looking, scouring, prodding. A happy childhood in a wealthy neighbourhood, first love in high school, heartbreak when she had to move away to a law school... an utterly mundane life, it thought. Time to assimilate her.
The woman, feeling a slight pressure at her temples, reached down and grabbed a necklace around her neck; a small charm of bone with numerous odd symbols carved into it. As if it had blinked, the entity had suddenly found itself back outside of her mind, staring at the black door.
*What is this?* it hissed. The woman smiled.
"It's open. *Come in*."
There was the slightest hesitation as the entity wondered what could have possibly expelled it yet it crept into her mind again; determined, this time, to waste no time and assimilate her as quickly as possible. It would closely examine her mind later. Except...
The childhood was a blur of running from one orphanage to another, barely getting through high school. Trouble with lovers of all sorts, terrible smoking habits, ultimately signing up with the military, going to some far-away dusty place, being... shot. These were the memories of someone else. A *man*. A *dead* man.
The woman reached down and grabbed another, smaller bone pendant.
The memories grew fuzzy, hasty, erratic. They told of... being fed worms in the comfort of a nest, of first flight, or hunting for rabbits in the fields, or being chipped by scientists, of dying of a sickness not understood.
The entity, this time choosing to do so, fled her mind.
*Who are you?*
"Asking the wrong question," the woman said and took a long drag off her pipe. "What you're doing - consuming the minds of others, it's... wrong. A perversion of the Song. So, I'll have to insist that you stop."
*And if I do not?* the entity fired back, though its bravado was not entirely assured.
"Or you'll find out who I am." | 168 | Humans. Such a weak species. They cannot hide their minds. So I invade, and I conquer them. I become them. I've lived a thousand different lives. But you.. you are different. A black door guards your mind. So tell me human, how are you doing this? | 333 |
Running down the hall, I cursed my alarm clock. It hadn't gone off this morning, and I was late for class. Though it wasn't fully the alarm clock's fault; this school had a strange effect on things like that. Even though I was rushing, I kept a close eye on my surroundings. A classmate of mine had recently encountered multiple unknown gates and nearly disappeared, or whatever happened when you broke the first rule.
I dashed around a corner and came to a screeching halt, stumbling slightly. There was a small clink beneath my feet, but I ignored it. This corridor normally led to Unnatural Physics 101 but instead, it dead-ended a few feet away. There was a single door in the far wall, with the number 29 emblazoned in bright red. Damn.
My feet moved until my nose almost touched the numbers. I'd never encountered this door, but I knew the second rule by heart. 'If you come across room No. 29, knock twice. If there is no answer, be on your way. If there is an answer, take any key at hand and lock the door. It is vital to always carry a key on your body.'
Taking a breath, I rapped firmly on the door, twice. As the last echoes of the noise faded, I sighed in relief. No answer. Then—as if to mock me—a small noise came from behind the door. It wasn't quite a word, or anything close to it. In fact, it sounded like a high-pitched sobbing. Was that considered an answer? Well, better safe than sorry.
I reached into my front vest pocket, where I was positive I'd put my key this morning. However, it wasn't there. Turning my head, my feet locked in place, I cursed under my breath. There— where I'd stumbled— my key lay glinting on the floor.
The sobbing sound got louder and I scrabbled for my cell phone. When in doubt, call for help. My screen flared to life, and my heart sank. No reception. Nothing. Breath coming in short gasps, I tried to move my legs, pry my feet off the floor. It was like trying to lift a mountain. I was trapped and whatever was behind that door, was turning the doorknob.
With a long, horror-movie-worthy creak, the door opened.
Bracing myself for the expected death, I closed my eyes. The sobbing sound kept going, and I cracked one lid open. Hanging in the air, just inside the doorway, a small pear-shaped furry object stared at me with bright green eyes. It was floating with no obvious means of propulsion, and still sobbing, though the pitch had dropped to a lower tone. I knew I was in danger, knew there was a reason we locked the door. But all I could think was how adorable it looked.
"Sheila. Step back. Slowly." The voice curled over my shoulder. It was one of the faculty, I knew that, but I'd never heard him so frightened. He taught the classmate whose name I couldn't remember, the one who'd encountered the gates.
"I can't move. My feet are stuck." I sounded strange, as if far away from myself. The green eyes filled my vision, the only things I could see. A hand landed on my shoulder, the teacher close enough I could smell cigarette smoke on his breath.
"Don't take her. She's a kid. Leave her alone." He wasn't talking to me anymore. The floating furry thing didn't move. Didn't stop crying.
"Sheila. Choose. Your feet, or your life?" It was an insane question, I knew that. And I knew the teacher was being dead serious. I took a deep breath, trying not to cry. All this because I'd been running late.
"My life," I said. His hand tightening on my shoulder, he sighed.
"Repeat after me. I, Sheila."
"I, Sheila,"
"Do give my sole essence to the Fiurstiompeir,"
"Do give my sole essence to the Fiurstiompeir,"
"In exchange for my life." He finished. I repeated the last words and searing pain ripped through my legs. Screaming I collapsed to the floor, as the door slammed shut. Instantly the teacher pulled out a key, jamming it into the lock. He threw the deadbolt with an audible thunk. My screams cut off as the pain vanished instantly.
I closed my eyes, afraid to look, afraid of the choice I'd made. The teacher swept me up, muttering curses under his breath. As he walked through the halls, I summoned my courage and peeked at my legs. They ended in two cauterized stumps. I no longer had feet. Feeling faint, I went limp, my muscles refusing to hold.
As we went into the Infirmary, I heard possibly the scariest thing since the sobbing behind door No. 29. The teacher said to the nurse that she should stock up. With two unnatural phenomena occurring so close together, he said, we were in a Flux. And there was no telling what would happen now. | 32 | If you come across room No. 29, knock twice. If there is no answer, be on your way. If there is an answer, take any key at hand and lock the door. It is vital to always carry a key on your body. | 81 |
"and who did this to my little cherub?" I asked sweetly.
Seraph leaned heavily against the doorway, wings bent and oozing an ethereal smoke, scratches covering their face as they gasped in air.
"Please..." They wheezed. "...If I tell you, don't kill them."
"If you don't want them dead, why tell *me?*" I retorted, leaning casually against my plush red throne.
They paused, biting their lower lip.
"You won't die from their attacks." They said slowly.
My eyebrows raised in excitement. "Oooh? This implies that *you* can. So? Who is this demonic or necromantic opponent?"
They sank in the doorway with a pained groan, perfumed smoke coming off of them in the way blood gushed from a wound.
I did nothing, waiting for an answer.
Licking dried lips, they spoke slowly. "...Everyone did."
My eyes narrowed and my brow pinched from confusion. "I beg pardon?" I laughed. "Everyone taps into dark magic now? I think I would notice that."
Seraph shook their head. "No- no, its- it's not that." They said, clearly trying to find words.
"They've changed. I don't know what happened but they aren't the same anymore. Someone's controlling them somehow but I can't fight them off myself. There's too many, and I.. I can't."
I said nothing at the implied admission that they couldn't kill the city they wanted to protect.
"And yet you don't want me to kill them."
Seraph shook their head violently and then gagged from the motion.
"No. You can't... I won't let you."
They faced me defiantly, essentially bleeding out on the floor but still ready to skewer my blackened heart with a holy sword.
"...Like how you *let* the townsfolk rip you to pieces if it meant keeping your conscience clear?" I asked. "I can slay you as easily as they would have. Don't threaten me in my own lair."
"If you *could* kill me, what's stopped you?" They demanded coldly, visage pale and eyes vaguely glazed.
I shrugged. "I did the exact same thing to you and you granted me sanctuary; While I planned on your holy nature coming into play, it's only fair I grant you the same respite."
Standing up, I brushed invisible filth from my cloak.
"Use whatever furniture you like; i doubt it'll be comfortable as I've been it's sole occupant for so long, but essentially anything in this place that you know won't kill you is yours for the time you stay here. Rest, recover, whatever you must. I'll go investigate these demons."
"Don't kill them." Seraph repeated.
"You don't have the luxury to beg me that." I cooed. "I'll do it if I feel it's necessary, so pray these would-be tainted humans are laughable to me. *You* asked *me* for help. *You* will have to watch the consequences."
I pointedly walked over them in the way someone avoids a spilled lunch on a sidewalk, the grossly sweet tang of angelic essence wafting up my nose.
"Don't even bother keeping corporeal form." I advised. "We both know you don't need it and keeping up the appearance of a human takes more energy than it's worth."
No response, but the glow of heavenly light behind me, the kind that singed my back, told me everything.
"If you'll excuse me, I have some demons to fight. Make yourself at home." I said idly. "The pudding in the fridge is mine and highly toxic, avoid touching it."
>If anyone wants a part two I can write one! | 22 | The Villian and The Hero have fought each other numerous times, and have grown strange respect for each other. Now The Villian finds The Hero, bloody and bruised by his kingdom asking for help. | 41 |
"You tried to bite me!"
"Yeah, well, your head is floating in mid-air!"
"Oh, yeah? Well, you have pointy teeth."
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I sighed. All I wanted was a midnight snack and instead, I was dealing with a stroppy headless person. As the head slowly sank, a hand reached out and grabbed it.
"Why are you going around and biting people anyway? It's hardly polite." The head glared up at me from about waist height.
"I'm a vampire. It's kind of what we do. And who or what are you?" I said.
"A Dullahan."
"A what?" It was obviously the wrong question. Actually pouting, the Dullahan turned away from me, starting to walk back down the alley.
"Wait. Look, I just wasn't thinking before. I know exactly what a Dullahan is." I called after the retreating back. It stopped, the body turning a split second before the head caught up. Muttering under my breath, I took a few steps forward. The Dullahan had stopped in a small pool of moonlight, and the gap between his neck and head was obvious now.
"Oh, you do, do you? And what exactly am I?" He asked.
"Um, a headless person?" I paused, expecting the Dullahan to stride off in a huff again. He stayed in his pool of moonlight, though his expression was far from kind.
"And?"
"Um..." I had run out of things I could glean from this encounter. "You're grumpy?" At this, the Dullahan did huff, but he didn't leave. Scratching his head, and sending it tilting sideways, he frowned at me.
"You really don't know what I am? Has it really been that long since I've walked these shores?" Not sure how to respond to that, I shrugged, regretting that I hadn't just let him storm off. This sounded like it might turn into a lecture and if I wanted a snack tonight, I had to pick a new target.
"I am a harbinger of death. I ride on a horse, and someone dies if I stop riding." He sounded very proud of himself, and I couldn't resist pointing out the obvious.
"You're not riding a horse." Again, irritation flashed in his eyes, but it seemed to be covering something else. Was it worry? Or perhaps embarrassment?
"Yes, well, I... happened to mispgrhg ghit." He mumbled the last words, making them incoherent.
"You what?"
"I misplaced it! Okay? I lost my horse! So if we can end this stupid inane conversation, maybe I can find it back again." His shout actually sent his head floating backwards and I tried to suppress a giggle. I wasn't entirely successful, and he made a rude gesture before stomping away again.
Though I was still hungry, this was more fun than hunting. Dashing after him, I matched my steps to his. He made it about six more feet before he stopped, turning with evident frustration. I blinked innocently.
"What do you want? I'm not going to feed you if you tag along you know." He growled. Rolling my eyes at him, I tapped my chest.
"I'm a vampire. I have heightened senses, which makes me pretty good at tracking stuff." I raised my eyebrows. "So... I could help find a horse."
Glaring at me before turning away, he huffed again.
"Do what you want. What do I care."
Walking beside him, I grinned up at the moon. Maybe I wasn't going to have a snack tonight after all. But—I directed my smile at the Dullahan, who shifted away, but not before I caught the traces of his own wry smirk—I maybe had found something better. After all, what better way to find someone to feed on than to follow a harbinger of death around. He could name 'em and I could kill 'em.
It would be perfect. | 102 | After following its prey into a dark alley, the vampire lunges for the human's neck. But it misses its bite as the human's neck separates and their head floats up and turns around to look at their assailant. The dullahan and vampire stare each other down, the latter extremely confused. | 314 |
*The Operator must.*
**He cannot.**
*Operator has an obligation to do so. There are no alternatives in this situation.*
**Operator cannot. There will be consequences.** The voices were fighting again. My doctor says at some point the two AI began to interfere with each other. They independently decided it would be more efficient to give two diametrically opposed opinions than to repeat the same answer twice. It's maddening. Simple questions like "What time is it?" have an intense range, apparently. *12:15* and **Time is a construct. Animals do not obsess over the passage of an imaginary quality that cannot be independently measured without the placement of celestial bodies.** *There is evidence, however, that various species such as bees and some small mammals can tell time.* **The evidence in question was found primarily using a treat or reward system. The organisms studied likely gauged their hunger and recognized it to be at similar levels as when the food first appe--**
It's getting worse. Especially in situations like this. So much pressure. I can't handle it. I can't think straight. The voices argue again, in that eerie emotionless voice, growing louder and louder in a battle to be rewarded as the "correct answer". I can't breathe. I cant breathe. Icantbreathe, Icantbreathe, Ican--
"Sir?" The human voice snaps me away from the ethereal war for my mind.
"Oh. Uh, no. No, I'm lactose intolerant. I'd prefer not to have any dairy products at the wedding. Are you okay with that, baby?" My fiance nodded and tapped her temples. Her sign to ask if the chips were fighting. I squeezed her hand reassuringly.
*A social faux-pas. Her sister, Kathleen, insists upon ice cream to a manic degree.*
***A wise decision. Operator saves funds for the honeymoon. We do not enjoy Kathleen's presence, regardless.*** | 47 | In the future, people get an AI chip implanted. It is calm and obedient and provides answers to questions you think at it. After a hospital mixup, you ended up with two—but it’s becoming clear why no one ever gets two. They develop personalities and it’s not a good thing. | 166 |
My vacation on Earth has come to a close. Well, sort of. I was busy spending time lusting after women, gambling, and enjoying pork. It was work at a more relaxed pace. I was still condemning souls to Hell. I go back and check in at the gates. The two guards are briefing me on how Hell is operating currently. The first guard, named Sin, says,
“Well ol’ Lucifer fell off.”
“How so?”
“He lost that spark for stealing souls,” The second guard, deceit, says, “he found those video games the people make.”
“Video games! Oh dear. I’ll handle it.” Not a day goes by where I get a day off.
I said good bye to the guards and make my way to Pandemonium, the lair of the Devil himself. Mtn. Dew bottles littered the golden floors and a wretched stench fills the lair. I crept open the door and saw a hunchbacked fallen angel cursing at the monitor.
“Lucifer!” I said as he craned his neck at me.
“Not now. I am getting ganked.” He says, the mouse making furious clicking noises.
“Ganked?”
“Yeah I’m jungling.” What are these terms? It was all unfamiliar to me. This doesn’t seem like the lord of Hell I used to know. I try to make my way to watch his screen but I step on a Mtn. Dew can.
“God damn it, Lucifer. Is that what you’ve been doing while I was gone?”
“Yeah. I am still working.”
“How?”
“I am the embodiment of sloth right now.”
“You’re supposed to convince the humans to do the sins. Not do them yourself.”
“Whatever.”
“What are you even playing?”
“LoL.”
“Laugh at loud?”
“No. League of legends.” | 18 | The Devil’s love of games used to win him souls. However the invention of video games has him holed up in his room, not doing his job. You’re the unlucky soul that has to “re-motivate” him. | 86 |
I knew it. I just knew it. My stomach turns with the most awful dread as I stare at this man in bewilderment.
"I came in through the entrance." I say trying to not confirm my fears
"WHERE WHERE IS IT YOU HAVE TO TELL ME." He grabs at my chest, shaking me, he stirs my nervousness into fear.
As I slowly turn my body, I see it..
*Infinity..*
No more entrance, no door even, and in fact in place was just the couch section with the fancy green arm chair I was looking at online. It's comforting yet nerve wrecking. Behind it I see the kids section and if you stare through the cracks of things you see there is no back. It simply keeps going, lights for what seems like miles straight.
"How long..?" I ask staring at the chairs in defeat.
"Long enough." He pats my back and sighs
I knew it would happen. Some day. The internet is as real as you make it. I remember joking with Jake about a story I had read about ikea and we laughed it off. But I had just walked through the doors, it hasn't even been mere seconds in which I've been inside this building. So how would there be couches behind me..
My mind raced. My thoughts perplexed. As I turned around and look for the man, he's gone.
And the area behind me has now changed.
I am all alone. | 11 | You’re just shopping at IKEA, when suddenly a crazy old man approaches you, “It’s been years since I’ve last seen another human, where did you come from???” | 62 |
I look dead into the blacksmith’s eyes. He stares back at me. He was serious.
“But a hammer is supposed to be for hitting through its blunt surface.” I said.
“Yes, but this one stabs.” The blacksmith retorts.
I looked at the hammer. It was small, like a regular blacksmith hammer with no notable features except for the brand imprinted onto its handle. Its handle was made of a well-polished wood and its head of an obsidian like material.
I look around. The village folk were buzzing around paying no mind to the conversation we were having.
I turn back to the blacksmith. My eyebrows furrow into a frown.
“Urltur, this is ridiculous, I commissioned you to smith me a sword so sharp it could cut a dragon in half. And you gave me a hammer?”
“Of stabbing!” Urltur replied delightfully.
I sighed, palming my face hard.
“Alright, Urltur. So what made you think that a hammer would do the same job as a sword?”
Urltur beams. His fingers twiddle with excitement.
“Sir Elliot, would you mind if I gave you a demonstration on using this hammer?”
I looked at the man standing before me. He was smiling with glee, like a child waiting to show his parents his creation.
“Fine, Urltur, I’ll play along. Please show me how to use the hammer.”
With a smile, the burly man gets up from his wooden stool and points towards an open field.
“Over there by the field, we will test the awesome power that is this hammer.”
I stare at the blacksmith in utter disgust.
In a matter of minutes, we had arrived at the open field. The wind flowed through the grassy field as birds chirped in the distance. Flowers bloomed in the Summer sky, painting the ground in red, violet and white. We walked into the field where the flowers are, and stopped at an exposed tree trunk in the middle of the field.
I shot a look of confusion at Urltur, but all he did was give me a smile.
“So, UIrltur, care to explain what we are doing here?”
The blacksmith didn’t answer. He was staring at the tree trunk with a silent intensity.
“Urltur, I asked you a question. What are we doing here?”
Urltur didn’t answer, his silence permeating insolence.
“Urltur the blacksmith, tell me what we are-”
The blacksmith roared with the might of a dwarven warrior. He screamed out in rage, plunging the hammer deep into the tree trunk. Being so near Urltur, I could feel the shockwave of the hammer as it hits the tree trunk.
“My god, Urltur could you give me a warning before you-”
My eyes widened. My mouth agape. Staring right at me was not a shattered tree trunk, but one that had been cleanly sliced in half.
“How did you- How could-?”
“It’s the Hammer of Stabbing! My magnum opus!” Urltur bellowed.
“But you sliced it apart! How is that supposed to be stabbing?!” I yelled.
“Well, because it’s small like a dagger. You could also use it to stab things.” Urltur replied calmly.
Regaining my composure, I looked at Urltur with scepticism.
“No, I don’t believe you. You used some sort of trick. There can’t be a hammer that can make a clean slice like that.”
Urltur sighed in disappointment.
“Sir Elliot, I would never trick one of the king’s most honoured knights. Please test the hammer out for yourself.”
Urltur shoves the hammer onto me. I looked at the blacksmith once more. He didn’t seem to have any malicious intent.
With a doubtful look, I grabbed the hammer with my right hand. The weight felt normal, it was just like any ordinary hammer.
“Here.” I looked at the blacksmith. He was holding out a red apple by its stalk. “Slice this apple in half.”
Without any warning, Urltur threw the apple at me. In reflex, I raised the small hammer with both my hands and swung at the apple. The moment the apple touches the hammer, it splits in half, leaving none of its succulent juices to fall.
As the apple slices fell to the ground, I stared at the hammer in astonishment.
“Imbued with the power of a mighty Leviathan, I had crafted this hammer to fit the description of a sword. Everytime it is swung, it forms a blade-like aura around its head that could slice through any flesh and any material.” Urltur clears his throat.
“It is my greatest creation.”
I stared at Urltur in utter amazement. I had no words to describe the shame I felt for doubting the greatest blacksmith in the kingdom. Except…
“But isn’t that just a mace?” | 22 | "This is the blunt hammer of stabbing." "You mean smashing?" "No, stabbing." | 53 |
You know how sometimes when you're just about to fall asleep, your brain tricks you into thinking you're falling or hearing a loud noise? It's always right when you're getting to the good part, life seems to want to throw you for a loop.
So of course I got stuck in a time loop now. Not 5 years ago when Meredith dumped me. Not 5 years and a week ago when I lost my job. Not 4 years ago during the foreclosure... Nope. Now. Now, that I have a family. Now that I have enough money to actually put some aside. Now that I’m happy.
I want nothing more than to know what tomorrow actually holds. Instead, my tomorrow is last year. I'm sure this makes no sense. For a long time, it made no sense to me either.
It all started when I had gone to a bar with some friends to see some local standup. It was a completely normal night. We had a few drinks and laughs and then we left. What was scary was that my memory doesn't extend past taking that first step out of the bar. What was worse is I woke up in an abandoned VW bus at a dingy gas station a couple of towns over the next morning. Ever since that day, each one that comes after consists of the same events as the year prior.
When I woke up in the bus, I was obviously pretty scared and confused. I tried to look around for any clues of what the hell had happened. If I was even safe to stay in this spot long enough to keep looking. I wasn't aware of the time loop yet, but I was obviously concerned about my lapse in memory and potentially having been kidnapped.
The only thing I found, which wasn't even until I managed to get back home, was a printed note in my pocket saying, "Become President."
It took a while to chalk up the time loop for what it was instead of just intense deja vu. But, for the past 247 days, fulfilling the note's request is what I've been aiming to do. Because it's the only thing that gives me any hope for a real tomorrow.
I will win over every damn heart in America if it means finally seeing my kids grow up again.
Before all of this, I was pretty apathetic when it came to politics. Not because I didn't care, but because I cared so much it had gotten disheartening to be continually let down. It's like peeking through the veil expecting bipartisanship and having plutocracy slap you in the face instead.
So how the hell was I, someone patting themself on the back for finally having an active savings account, going to become *president*?
Since I'm an unconventional candidate, I figured I need to go about my candidacy in an unconventional way. I decided to give the people the kind of president I yearned for before my apathy set in.
Screw mudslinging commercials that are just going to play too loud on Hulu and piss people off anyway. Tacky lawn signs just make neighbors look down on one another. What if people learned about me and what I stand for in a way that was actually meaningful?
In the beginning, I strayed from attaching to any party affiliation. Just as much as I didn’t want someone to discount me solely based on party, I didn’t want them to assign merit based upon it either. I wanted to see what could happen if we could leave preconceived notions at the door and merely focus on what we each want and need in a leader.
I started locally. I got super involved in my community. Never would have thought I could learn so many new names and stories in such a short time.
Simultaneously, I launched an online space for people to get to know me by using Twitch. It started small, but locals quickly turned into non-locals. People were spreading the word.
I was able to answer questions directly in real-time, while also giving a window into my life. I hoped to show that I had a good head on my shoulders but I’m also a real person just like them. Unlike some before me that have tried this approach, mine isn’t an act. It comes easily when you have a southern drawl that doesn’t come and go and a kid that makes every room in the house a Pinterest “before” picture.
Since I had foregone many of the traditional, costlier methods, I had some wiggle room in my budget. Using Twitch to help network, we orchestrated an event that would also be live-streamed. Supporters made fancams, screengrabs, and recordings of streams to share on social media and mention big names directly. This had huge momentum and helped garner support from well-known celebrities.
The event was a success judging by all metrics. It was fun for everyone that attended and watched, while also giving a platform to what I’ve come to call Anti-Apathy. Each artist had time during their sets designated to talk about something they want to see change in this country and why. Afterward, they also called up two volunteers from the audience to do the same.
By the time it was over, I felt even more motivated to make the note my reality. I wanted to be the person to actually listen to these people. To be the person that will pick the best option, even when all the options are terrible.
For the past 247 days, this has consumed me 24/7. I’m all too aware that regardless of the outcome, this could be my life forever.
If I win, what if I’m still stuck in the loop because the note was just bullshit - or meant something else? And if I lose, I’m back to square one faced with the same anxieties, but this time it’ll be for a full year since I won’t even get to have the deja vu ignorance stage. Will the apathy I finally left behind just build up once again if this is my fate?
Tomorrow is election day and I have never been more nervous in my life. For all those that have ever wished for time to just stop, be careful what you wish for. You just might be having to add Commander in Chief to your resume, too. | 23 | you must win over the heart of America and become its next President. | 102 |
The last thing I remember was falling asleep after my nightly beer. I had never expected death to come so quickly.
"But you're almost eighty years old, grandpa." Charlie, my grandson, said.
Charlie was the first to meet me at the gates, he'd waited there for me for many years. He'd seen his childhood dogs, his parents, siblings, Helene, and everyone else come and go.
I was the last one of the people he'd known.
When I woke up, I saw a road. It was the road I'd grown up next to, the one we skated down, the one where I nearly saw my friend get run over. Charlie said he saw a hot wheels track in his childhood bedroom.
When I walked down the road in its entirety, Charlie met me and beyond him were The Gates.
"Grandpa!" he said, smile on his face.
The tears fell easy, just like the first and last time I saw the boy. And he was a boy. He had aged now, but he still had a mole under his right eye and his hair was still disheveled like he just woke up.
We hugged and he held out a cooler of ice, filled to the brim with beer. There were beach chairs too and so we sat down.
"Dad said you'd want one," he said.
"You got to see him?" I asked him.
He nodded and he handed me a beer as he explained where we were. He explained that I could choose to go through the gates like everyone else had, like Helene had. He explained that I could stay here like he'd done, he wasn't just waiting to see everyone, he never planned on going through the gates at all.
He wanted to let everyone know that before we passed on through The Gates.
"I'm a ghost," Charlie said. "That's my job."
"Your job?" I asked him.
He cracked open another beer, which was such an odd and delighting sight to see. I felt like laughing because of how it made me feel and Charlie just stared. He reached into the back of his shirt and pulled out a toy gun. The barrel was orange, the handle and trigger both yellow. He'd asked for the gun for his 7th birthday, his mom wouldn't have it, she was strictly pacifist.
Helene had gotten it from him and the way his face beamed when he did made even my daughter's worries melt a little.
"Thank you, Grandma." he said. "Thank you, Mom."
The boy thanked everyone that day. The toy shot nothing, it made a little noise and lit up when the trigger was pressed, but Charlie loved the thing. He held the same gun now in his hand, a beer in the other.
He held the gun, at first I thought he was aiming at me.
"Duck, Grandpa!" he yelled out and I fell to the floor, pleasantly surprised that I moved as fast as I did and that my bones didn't crackle like they normally did.
Aside from the noise of the gun, I felt the fire of the bullet it fired. Bright yellow and fast as hell, it shot off like a firework. I looked back and I saw what Charlie shot at. It was indescribably morose, covered in black tar, it looked like the living abyss. More came out from the direction of the gates, running away from it and its light.
"What was that?" I asked.
"It's the reason I'm here," Charlie said. "They're trying to go back, but they can't. We aren't supposed to let them."
"You're out here all by yourself?" I asked.
"No," Charlie said. "There are others, but we're scattered out between all the gates."
He shot again at another one of the creatures. It burst into pieces and dissipated into the sands around us.
"What are they then?" I asked again.
"Everything that gets left behind once you go through those gates," Charlie said. "Every regret, every sin, every thought you never want to think of again."
He sat back down and he looked at me. He looked at The Gate.
I sat down with him and we waited together. | 11 | Ghosts are real, but they are like spiders. You almost never see them, but they are always around, and they keep away something much worse. | 69 |
Really? I just called in the fucking planes and NOW you want to to negotiate? I run! “Way too late bitch!” I shout behind me. My map is showing the way out, having tracked my progress here. Suddenly the queen pops out from the tunnel in front of me. “You’ll never make it out in time. I will, my people will rise up in a few centuries, except now we know what we’re dealing with. Or, you guys don’t bomb my children and I come peacefully to negotiate my people’s surrender.” I freeze, she’s blocking the only way out. “And why the hell should I believe you.” You attacked our bases, kill our civilians, not soilders or drones, people who have never held a weapon in their lives, and now I’m just supposed to forget that? Fu-“ I rant, but my comment interrupts me, “the planes have been cancelled, lead her to home-base, she comes alone.” “What!” I shout. I risked my life to kill these bugs and now i have to lead the big queen bitch home? “That’s an order colonel, now.” The queen has a shit-eating grin on her face, god should never have given facial muscles to insectoids. “Follow me“ I growl. I walk down the maze of a hive, the queen following behind me. This had better earn me a fucking medal.
“A mother’s love.” The queen said, I just grunt. She continues, “why you should trust me, it’s a mother’s love. These are all my children to which I hold a strong maternal devotion to. That is why I will not betray you.” I glare at the bug, “I don’t care.” She frowns, I shudder, “do you not have a mother?” She asked. I stare at her as if she’d just killed my mother, oh wait, “she died in fas’eed, the second city you razed to the ground.” The queen froze, then kept walking. She didn’t talk anymore after that.
After passing what remained of the queen’s guard, who were very worried for their queen, we finally made it to the enterance. We were met with a far larger invasion force than what my men were sent with. That was somehow worse than the bug queen‘s small talk. I see the planetary commander himself walk up. I stand at attention and salute the asshole-in-chief as he approaches.
Promptly ignoring me, he addresses the queen. “These will be the conditions of your surrender. You will cease hostilities against mankind. You will never again commence hostilities against mankind nor any allied race. You will have your people work for us in reparations for the damage you caused and the lives you have stolen. Finally, you will stand trial should it be determined that you commited any crimes under the “Ethical Territorial Wars Dogma” He pauses, trying to gauge the reaction of the queen, she gives none. “Do you agree to these terms?” The queen bows, “In exchange for the safety of my children and continued residency on this planet as equals, the I would agree.”
The commander considers this. “Fair, but it will be further discussed in due time.” He turned, “you will be held in confinement as a prisoner of war until further notice.” He began to walk away, before turning back around, “Colonel Peterson, you will be Queen…” he looks at the queen, “Trxillas” she supplies. ”Queen Trickzilla’s personal keeper, where she goes you go. If she so much as shits without you noticing you will be court martial’d.“ He turns back around and heads back to his private hovertram.
“So, much for a medal,” I mutter, two weeks of trudging through enemy territory, the death of every other member of my unit, and successfully completing my mission just entirely ignored. I hate that asshole so much. It makes the damn bug queen tolerable. speaking of, “you will not be watching me excrete.” She says with such a serious tone I finally crack and begin laughing. God above this is so fucked. | 28 | You've reached the climax! You've found the hostile alien insect egg room and radioed the location to waiting bombers. You sprint to escape before the bombs drop, but are stopped by the giant alien queen! She doesn't attack, though. "Wait! I... I want to negotiate..." she snarls begrudgingly. | 50 |
“The courts ruled against us. The game is allowed,” I said.
“WHAT?” Henry shouted. He looked as if he had not slept or showered in weeks. His signature red tie was all disheveled and his suit was wrinkled. His usually crisp white shirt has two stains, and he was in desperate need of a shave.
“They said since the game was in the game room, the prisoner could select it. They ruled that prisons can remove any game they want, but since it was in the room when he selected it, he must be allowed to play it, and his execution is delayed until he loses.”
“But he can’t lose. That’s…he can’t lose. It isn’t a traditional board game.”
“Not so. It has all the characteristics of a board game: Rules, figurines, a board or map to play on, dice, multiple players competing against or with each other. They ruled Dungeons and Dragons is a board game. Benjamin Garcia is allowed to play it.”
“Okay, so tell me how the game works. All I know is back in the 80s everyone thought it meant you worship Satan or something,” Henry said.
“Well, normally, there are two different roles. One is a Dungeon Master, or DM, and he is in charge of the story. The other are player characters, or PCs, and they are the players in the story. The DM is in charge of the world around them and puts them in social situations or combat encounters and the players use their wits and characters to go through them. The players can pick from a wide array of fantasy races and classes like wizard, rogue, fighter and they fight and battle against dragons and giants and other fantasy creatures. It’s great fun and a great way to…”
“Okay okay okay. How long does one game last?” Henry asked, tired of everything to do with this case.
“That’s…well that’s not a question I can answer. Each session can take up to a few hours, and some campaigns can last months, if not years…”
“How can it be a game if you can’t lose? I thought that’s what the court said. How do you lose?”
“Well, you can lose. And the game does end. That’s where it gets complicated. Either the character’s end up completing their story, which is both up to the players and dungeon master, or they all die in a battle and no one is able to bring them back to life.”
“Okay, so let’s do that. What’s the strongest thing they can fight?” Henry asked.
“Probably a dragon? Or demons. Or devils. There are a lot that can kill a party,” I said.
“So we just get a dragon to kill Benjamin and the other characters right away, wham bam he’s off to be executed…”
“No but …”
“Maybe I won’t get fired after all.”
“Henry, what I’m…”
“Did you have lunch yet? I suddenly got my appetite back. I haven’t eaten in like 3 days. Yet I gained weight. What the hell is up with that?” Henry said, looking down at his waistline.
“Henry, it doesn’t work like that,” I said.
“What do you mean? You just said it's game over when they die. So we kill them on the first day.”
“Yeah, that is up to the dungeon master to decide,” I said.
“So who is the dungeon master?” Henry asked.
I didn’t say anything.
“No….”
“Unfortunately, the courts decided that Benjamin CAN be Dungeon Master, as that is a role allotted in the game, and since none of the other prisoners picked that role, he's the DM"
“So…what does that mean?”
“Henry, it means we aren’t going to be able to execute Benjamin Garcia for a very long time.”
Edit: Wow. Thanks for all the awards! | 434 | Instead of a last dinner, prisoners on death row are given a last game. They can pick any board game to play once a day and are executed once they lose. The current prisoner is on a 100 game win streak ... | 527 |
The dynamic of the office quickly changed. Everyone quickly became uncomfortable with James' newfound devotion to the job. He took on a greater workload, longer hours and ensured everyone in his division was putting out quality work.
This lead to his first major promotion. He was now head of marketing. Nobody had seen James the day he got the promotion as he was out on a business trip when he got the email letting him know it was coming. The day after however was when things changed.
Everyone was at their desk, toiling with designs for their next campaigns when the elevator doors dinged. Somehow everyone knew. As soon as the doors opened the thing that walked out was hardly a man. He was covered in scales now. Horns that would make a bull blush and, most importantly the former man had large wings tearing out of the back of his suit.
"Holy shit." Jessica gasped as she dropped the stack of papers in her hands.
"James?" Richard asked. It was obviously him but Richard was so dumbstruck he felt compelled to ask. "Everything okay buddy?"
The news hadn't reached the team just yet. Only the higher-ups, a few members of the HR team and James knew.
"Never better Rich." His voice was now a deep rumble, matching his new draconic nature.
"So," Jessica started before clearing her throat. "How was Tampa?" She asked nervously.
"Oh Tampa was amazing." He chuckled which sounded closer to growling than anything.
"Yeah? Anything uh- Anything happen down there?"
"Oh you know, business." He chuckled again, choosing not to divulge anything more. "Hey, is Bill here yet?"
"Not yet." Jessica said.
"Oh screw this." Tony belted out. "Dude, the fuck happened to you?" He yelled out. Everyone on the floor glared at him. Who the hell screams at someone in the midst of transforming into a dragon. Then again, Tony always had a bit of a rivalry with James so if anyone would, it would be Tony.
"Fucking Tony." Jessica whispered her angst.
"Now, now," James started. "Tony's right. I should address the elephant in the room." He said.
"You mean the demi-dragon in the room." Richard scoffed.
"I know that these transformations have been jarring, trust me - I'd know. But I can't go into it too much right now. All I can say is apparently my transformation is trigerred by rises in power. At least that's what I was told."
"So. Are we safe?" Jessica asked. But just as she asked the doors of the other elevator dinged and popped open.
In came Bill who was the current VP of the company. Bill's arrival was no surprise as James' recent hard work had caught the eyes of everyone at the top. Even the CEO had written a personal Email commending the department just a week before. That was a rough day in the office. When James read it and saw that the CEO had specifically named him he screeched. Not in a normal human way of excitement but like that of a dragon that was alerting everyone to it's presence to strike as much fear as it could into them.
"Good morning marketing." Bill said as he walked in. The man was unobservant as ever, walking directly past the barely human James as he made his way to the center of the floor where he could garner as much attention as possible.
"I'm sure my arrival here today is no surprise to you all. I'm going to be as brief as possible so as not to get in your way too much." He beamed. "Effective immediately James is being promoted to Head the entire marketing department. I know the division has been without a clear leader for a few months with us just passing the mantle of leader around for a while but James has proven himself to be an invaluable member to us all. Heck, I can ever foresee another promotion in a year or two if he keeps up this level of work."
Those words sent a sudden chill down everyone's spine. They looked over at James who was just standing there, smile frozen and plastered on his face.
"Now James... where is he?" Bill looked around until he saw the man standing just a few feet from the elevator doors. "Ah, there you are. Congratulations on the promotion. The big boss has his eyes on you kiddo." He then stopped for a moment before taking James in. He then snapped his fingers and shot finger guns at the man. "Love what you've done with your hair. Anyhow I have to be off to Quality assurance. I get to fire people today." He said before making it back over to the elevator.
Everyone kept staring at James, when Tony decided to roll his eyes and open his big mouth.
"Well this is just bullshit." he loudly proclaimed.
As the elevator began moving up to one of the upper floors, all Bill could hear was what sounded like a dragon's roar as people began screaming. Bill was sure he misheard them but it sounded a lot like they said he was firing Tony. It wasn't in his hands anymore though he was slightly concerned by the smoke he was starting to smell.
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Sorry for any grammar errors. I'm pretty frazzled and my brain is sputtering right now. | 21 | Many generations ago you had a dragon ancestor. This left you with some biological oddities, though after so many generations they are small, like very stubby horns. One day though, you get an especially big bonus at work and you feel like your horns are just a little more pronounced. | 159 |
Daniel lay back on his bed and slipped the headset over his eyes. Instantly, he felt his body relax as Odyssey took control. First, there was nothing. Then, a speck of white light. The speck grew and grew, gentle music started softly playing off somewhere in the distance. The light became letters, welcoming him to the new Odyssey experience.
“This is part of the onboarding process,” the letters said, before falling away into the darkness. “Please re-enter your details before we begin your journey!” A keyboard came up, simple and blue. Just like the developers had told them, he simply thought about what letters he wanted to pick and they appeared above the keyboard. ‘Daniel Byrne’, it soon read. “Thank you,” the letters spelt out after he had put in the rest of the necessaries. Once more, he could only see black. Then, a flurry of lights passed his eyes. They sped so fast that he could only make out lines of blue then green then yellow. At last, they slowed and eventually stopped and Daniel gasped.
They had told him they had created a world like no other. Seeing was different. Rolling hills with long grass blowing in the breeze. A sun, high in the sky, illuminating a vast countryside. A forest, with trees that seemed to touch the sky, sat in front of him. To his right, a lake, it’s water dark blue and perfectly still. Then, off to his left, the stadium.
At the end of his training to be a beta tester for Odyssey, they had informed him he was to make it to the stadium first to await further instructions. Standing on top of a grassy hill, Daniel didn’t waste any time. As he moved away from his spawn, he heard a click, though he knew from training it was the other beta testers.
“Woah,” a voice gasped behind him but Daniel kept his head down, knowing there would be plenty of time to get to know people later. In front of him, were a man and woman, both making their way to the stadium. Other than that there was nobody else outside. The developers did say there were plenty of stadiums in the beginning as they couldn’t house a billion people easily.
It was only as he got closer to his destination, did Daniel notice how impressive the stadium was. Circular, it was made from a dusty yellow stone and could have been carved from a single rock for all he know. Empty windows meant people could stand at the top and look out towards the lake though none did now. Passing under the archway entrance, he suddenly heard the excited shouts of thousands of whispers. Taking a step back, the voices died in an instant. A step forward, the voices roared back. Smiling, Daniel jogged on, eager to start his own Odyssey.
Coming out from under the arch, the sun beamed down on an empty stage in the centre of the arena. The stadium, filled to the brim with excited testers, seemed a lot bigger on the inside. Steps went off, to his right and to his left, passing rows and rows of people of all kinds, staring at the stage. Picking the left side, he had to climb to nearly the top until he found a seat. On the edge of a row, he sat beside a young woman around his age, with long black hair and a nervous look in her eyes.
“Nervous?” Daniel asked, trying not to sound nervous himself. The woman looked him up and down, scowled and returned to staring at the stage.
“Lovely,” he muttered with a shake of his head. Before he could say anything else, the sun dipped and the moon rose. All the shouts stopped as a plume of dust whirled from the centre stage, brightened by the moonlight. A figure, tall and cloaked stepped out from the dust, a cane in his hand and a smile on his face. The other hand rested on his hip as he looked out at the people staring down at him. Clearing his throat, he spoke.
“Hello everybody and welcome to Odyssey!” he shouted and a great roar rang through the arena which stopped as quickly as it started. “My name is Nathan Holn and I have the head of development for Odyssey in North America and Europe.” Another, shorter roar went up, but Daniel only studied the man.
“Now I know everyone here is eager to start their journey, their Odyssey I should say but there I’m afraid there is some bad news.” Daniel’s stomach dropped but his focus was set on Nathan. If there were mutterings, Daniel couldn’t hear them.
“Now,” Holn continued on, leaning on his cane more than ever. “You may remember that Odyssey had partnered with one hundred and ninety-three countries around the world to bring your the most diverse experience. You may also remember that we created Odyssey as a means to help overpopulation. After this test, there is to be a proper roll-out. However, I’m afraid, this isn’t a test. There is no proper rollout. I’m afraid, ladies and gentlemen, that as we speak, your bodies are being collected, and recycled while your brain's data with being downloaded to Odyssey’s servers.” For a moment, no one moved or spoke. A few cries rang out then hundreds then thousands. Dozens of people rushed the stage, only to be teleported back to their seats. The screams stopped.
“I’m afraid,” Nathan Holn said, “That this was necessary. We simply couldn’t sustain the number of people we currently have with the dwindling resources the world offers. We had to, for lack of a better word, trick you into believing you would only be the beta-testers. If we didn’t, you would not have come. For now, that is all, please enjoy Odyssey and enjoy your new life.” The developer, in a flash, disappeared. Everyone turned to their neighbour, wondering what to do. The girl beside Daniel wept into her knees. A single tear ran down his face which Daniel wiped away with the back of his hand. Standing, he started down the steps, needing to get away from the stadium, away from the people. He needed space, something he knew he would get a lot of in the decades to come. | 42 | As a solution to overpopulation, uploading oneself to a digital life is developed. Now the world's governments and the technology's developers are asking for 1 billion volunteers to populate the servers and become the beta testers. | 221 |
The man held the box up on screen for the camera to see, rotating it so that the keyhole was the most visible from the angle.
"Now this is quite an interesting piece, it appears very intricate. Features are that it holds all of the great evils locked away thousands of years ago and Zeus's vengeance." his voice came through in a precise and analytical way.
The box was scribed with images of humans etched in the black wood. A burly man holding golden fire in his grasp and presenting it to the humans. Scrolling by was the images of defiant humans chaining down the same god that had given them the gift. Lockpicking Lawyer continued:
"I could not find this product on Amazon, so it may be an individual item. The address was just listed as *Greece*." He paused to pick up a fountain pen from off screen.
"Today I will be using this fountain pen that I had break last month. This lock is an ancient design, but it seems simple enough." He proceeded to slide the fountain pens tip in the keyhole and begin sliding it up and down slowly. After a moment there was a soft *click*.
"Pin one binding. Two binding tight, nice click on two. You can hear the chaos inside trying to get out. Pin three bound. Annnndd we got it." In an impressive display of slight, yet expert adjustments the keyhole rotated around the pen.
Immediately after the key clicked the box flew open in a castrophany of smoke and fire erupting forth. Shapes of demons, of death itself leaked out into the room. Deafening noise. Screeching and yelling. The Lockpicking Lawyers calm, white hands stayed on the screen without moving. Then, after a second of hell, they gripped the box and calmly shut it once more. A few bits of smoke leaked from the boxes cracks and wafted into the air.
"Alright and that was Pandora's box. Archaic, but fun. If your threat level is a toddler with a sharp object then this may not be for you." he held the box closed with two strong hands as it rattled in anger. More smoke slipped out.
"That's all I have for you today. If you have any questions or comments about this please comment below. If you like this video and would like to see more like it please subscribe. And as always, have a nice day." | 343 | "This is the Lockpicking Lawyer and what I have for you today is an ancient looking box that was sent to me by Pandora from Greece." | 1,279 |
"Hey, fellow space travelers! We‘re coming in peace“, The humans‘ signal arrived at the alien‘s spaceship. "How has planet-bound life been for you? Oh silly us, let us introduce ourselves: We‘re humans, living on that blue and green planet there. Welcome to space!" "Hello, humans. We thank you for the kind welcome to interstellar travel. We hope to learn from you and co-operate on this journey to greater destinations", they replied. Time froze for a second. Boom. The scientists leapt from their seat and cheered. They did it. They made contact with an alien life form.
Sandra Mueller spit out her muesli. This was inconceivably revolutionary! And she was eating BREAKFAST. She jumped out of her seat and ran down the hallway. "Wow, wow, WOW!", she exclaimed. A tear or two running down her face. Aliens were actually real! And the team she was in communicated with them. With the technology she worked on! She had helped! She fell into the arms of Dennis, her lover, and kissed him. Both were unbelievably happy. Their hearts were pounding against their chests.
This was a completely now era for humanity. | 34 | Humanity is not alone in the galaxy, but we are the first species to achieve interstellar travel. Now, millennia later, a second species achieves the same. We are now the hyper-advanced precursors and have to decide how we will interact with the younger species. | 260 |
Greshak huffed, slamming his chest with a speed and ferocity that would snap the spines of most humans. The defending Champion of the Tournament of Power had strength—and questions—aplenty. He stopped for a while, and appeared to think.
“When the beat drops?”
The informant, Kalt, resembled a weasel more than a man. He held his hands close together, the only visible parts of his body outside a grey cloak.
“When the beat drops,” he insisted. “Whatever that means.”
Greshak grunted, massive fingers rubbing his chin. He seemed contemplative and deep in thought, before turning to Kalt again.
“When the beat drops?”
Kalt was prepared to speak up, before a graceful hand landed on his shoulder. The informant turned to see the gentle smile of Sylph, the renowned cleric.
“It’s OK, Kalt,” Sylph said, her voice chimed melodically. “Greshak is a little confused.”
“When is he not?” Kalt grumbled.
“But thank you for the information,” Sylph smiled. “It is unfornate that you were unable to find out more for us.”
Kalt and bowed deeply.
“I’m so sorry, Lady Sylph,” the informant said. “For what it’s worth, none of their opponents ended up injured or dead.”
“Oh? They all yielded?”
“Yes.”
“Interesting,” Sylph mused. “Some sort of magic, perhaps? This warrior from another world… maybe there’s something there that’s simply impossible to replicate in our world.”
The arena’s horn sounded, a low drone that sent both Sylph and Greshak into rapt attention.
“Thank you, Kalt,” Sylph said. “That’ll be all.”
The informant bowed, and skulked back into the shadows.
As the horn blew, the gathered crowd joined in with their own roar. Louder, and louder still, the two soon became indistinguishable, becoming a crescendo of sound intimately known—and craved—by every warrior in the Tournament.
Sylph and Greshak looked at each other. A simple nod was all the communication they need to stand up, and walk through the tunnel into the arena.
One voice, amplified by magic, sounded above the rest of the noise.
“The defending champions! Graceful Sylph and mighty Greshak!”
Sylph bowed. Greshak renewed his chest-pounding spectacle.
“And here comes the… challengers!”
There was a hesitant tone that made Sylph perk up. She studied the opposing tunnel, intently staring as Belan stepped out. The man, barely taller than Sylph, had his lute hung behind his back as he shuffled into the arena.
“Belan the bard,” Sylph murmured. “That’s a known factor, at least. He should be little issue.”
From behind Belan, out sprang a… person. Instead of sporting armour, or even leather robes, he had on a loose, green shirt with a colourful pattern on its front. His bottoms were of a faded, blue colour, and he had two enormous mufflers covering his ears. He held a rectangular, shiny thing under his arm.
Greshak leaned down to Sylph.
“That puny man,” the warrior said. “He defeated everyone else?”
“Apparently,” Sylph said. “Well. He looks to be of little threat.”
The warrior from the another world shouted. Surprisingly, his voice sounded over the entire stadium, causing even Sylph to wince a little at the sudden volume.
“What’s up, party people! The Ultimate DJ’s here! Are you ready to party?”
The cleric frowned, and pointed towards the outsider. Greshak nodded, and began to bear down on him.
The warrior opened the rectangular thing, and pressed something on it. Suddenly, loud thumping music began to play.
Almost immediately, Sylph found herself cowering on the floor, putting her hands over her ears. The notes were so discordant that Sylph thought she could see them flashing in the air, like mirages in the desert. She cried out in anguish.
“What is this infernal sound?”
“Listen to my beats, yo,” the warrior from the other world screamed enthusiastically. “Made by yours truly! Put your hands up!
She looked over to Greshak, who had become rooted to the ground. Slowly, however, a grin came over his face. He raised two giant gauntleted fists in the air, and held them up straight. Sylph saw that the audience in the arena followed suit.
“And wave them like you don’t care!”
Greshak promptly started waving his arms so hard, a small funnel of wind began forming at the top of his hands.
Sylph felt tears rolling down her cheeks. She tried singing to herself to calm down, but only heard the grating notes permanently spoiling her eardrums.
She looked over at Belan, who had one of those mufflers on. He looked blissfully unaware of his surroundings. And so, hand over hand, she began slowly crawling towards the former bard.
“And now,” the Ultimate DJ said. “Here’s when the beat drops!”
He slammed his hand on the shiny thing again. And Sylph started sobbing uncontrollably, collapsing onto the ground in convulsions.
“Travesty,” she mumbled. “Travesty!”
Hesitant cheers began to rise from the crowd.
“This, my friend,” said the Ultimate DJ with a wide smile. “Is true music.”
---
r/dexdrafts | 10 | The Tournament of Power is unexpectedly being dominated by a bard and a warrior from another world with the title of "Ultimate DJ." Your party is next up against them, and your informant warns you to watch out for, "when the beat drops," whatever that means. | 33 |
**\*Knock knock\***
"Come in!"
Elizabeth put down the grimoire she'd been reading. Her mother insisted that any young lady should know at least the basics of spellcraft. It was a somewhat archaic concept; women nowadays were free to pursue other schools of magic, but her mother *was* over 300 years old so she couldn't blame her for her rather outdated ideals. Not to mention that Elizabeth *did* have a natural talent for it.
As she put the book down, the doors creaked open and a two-meter tall hooded figure walked through them, a skull peering from beneath its hood. Two blue flames danced in its empty eye sockets, its visage fixed into a permanent grin. It spoke; or rather, it was *heard,* its voice cold and heavy, though never harsh.
HELLO ELIZABETH.
"Hey dad," she responded, almost bored.
I RECALL DURING OUR LAST CONVERSATION THAT YOU SAID YOU FELT LONELY IN THE HOUSE, Death continued. Elizabeth perked up; would he finally allow her to visit the mortal realm?
SO, I GOT YOU THIS.
He pressed his fingers together, making an oddly clacking sound, and a small puppy walked from behind the door and happily ran towards Elizabeth with the exuberance so characteristic of puppies. She couldn't tell what breed it was; rather hard to identify it when only a bare skeleton was present. Death smiled - well, he *didn't,* really\*,\* as he had no face to smile with, but Elizabeth knew he did.
"Dad, this is..." she said, flustered. "This is not what I meant!" She was flustered; it was nice of him, but it showed even more just how much he had no idea what she felt like.
Death's phantom smile vanished from his skull. BUT YOU SAID-
"I know dad, but I meant... out there!" she said and pointed towards the void; the pathway to the world of the living.
ELIZABETH, Death started slowly, WE TALKED ABOUT THIS. WHEN YOU ARE OLDE-
"You keep saying that, but I'm 19 now! And it's not like I can *die*! I'm not a child anymore!" she cried out.
YOU ARE *MY* CHILD, Death replied as the flames in his skull dimmed slightly. Silence gripped the room for just a moment, interrupted only by the clacking of the dog's skeletal paws on the ground as it sniffed around the room. Seeing Elizabeth looking at it, it rolled over, though its head did not and instead rotated 360 degrees. It *was* pretty cute, she thought.
"Dad..." Elizabeth started slowly, her fight having left her, "it's just that... I want to meet someone who still has a heartbeat sometimes, you know?"
NO, Death said, I AM AFRAID I DO NOT KNOW. BUT I HOPE THAT ONE DAY I MIGHT.
Elizabeth looked down with regret; she didn't mean to hurt her father. He turned to leave.
"Dad?"
He stopped halfway through the door and turned. YES?
"I was thinking I'd name him... her... it Binky. Do you like it?" she asked cautiously.
I THINK THAT IS AN EXCELLENT NAME. Binky yapped excitedly.
"I'm going to walk it, show it the house. Would you... like to come with? Make sure we don't get into any trouble."
Death smiled. In his own way, at least.
I'D LIKE THAT, YES. | 194 | "Death gets everyone eventually", they say. You disagree. You are death's teenage daughter, and he just doesn't get you. | 796 |
Mack sat in the back of the class, gingerly poking the wooden chair before taking his seat. He still wasn’t used to this high-magic environment and the last chair he sat on had screamed the moment his butt hit the seat and claimed to be “allergic to denim”. The fact that the cute wizard who sat there next was also wearing jeans had hurt the chair’s credibility, but Mack supposed chairs were allowed to decide which butts they touched.
This chair, however, remained blissfully silent as Mack set up his desk. The front rows were filled with students with deep ties to the magical realms – old wizarding families, a few fey mixed-bloods, and heirs to half a dozen different Prophecies of Great Importance. The middle rows were those with Potential. Those with impossibly large mana reserves, unusual affinities, or genius any one of the 6 tracks this Academy provided instruction in (necromancy was, of course, completely banned).
The back half of the room, however, was reserved for students like Mack. The poor sods with just enough talent to cause trouble, but not enough to actually do anything useful. They would likely stick around for a year or two to ensure they wouldn’t cause any unintentional magical incidents outside the Academy, then quietly drop out and become plumbers, or accountants, or something equally exciting.
Of course, if asked, any student or teacher at the Academy would assure you that no such hierarchy existed and the Academy was dedicated to ensuring equal treatment no matter the heritage or apparent talent of the student. They would then have quietly directed you to the back of the class. Despite this being his first week, Mack was rather looking forward to the end of his days at the Academy. At least chairs would reliably be chairs. Of all the classes he was required to take this semester, this was the one he was least looking forward to – SP 120, Spell Structure and Design. It was the first course in the Magical Theory track and had little practical use for Mack, who, if he was being honest, has as much chance of becoming a Magical Theorist as he did of becoming Pope.
None of this mattered to Professor Prouch (commonly known as Professor Grouch) who was at this moment rapping madly on the black board at the front. His world view was that everyone needed to know Magical Theory if he had to literally pour it into the students’ ears.
“Class is starting now, class is starting! So, all of you need to shut your mouths and direct your eyes towards me, please. Yes, that means you Ms. Turnberg, I don’t care which pair of eyes you use.”
Professor Prouch waited for a few beats as the class gradually quieted down and turned forward.
“Good, you do seem to have ears. Whether or not you know how to use them has yet to be determined,” he rapped a long stick against the chalkboard where he had written ‘Magical Theory’ in large block letters. “I am well aware of what you new students always think of theory work. It’s boring, confusing, and a waste of your time. You’re wrong, of course, but I have neither the time nor energy to prove that to you, so you’re just going to have to do what I say until you inevitably realize your mistake.”
Mack stifled a snort. He rather liked this professor, even if he did think theory work was boring, confusing, and a waste of his time. At least the professor himself was entertaining. “Now,” the professor continued, “the point of this class is to prove to you that creating magic is difficult. I will not be teaching you how to make new spells, that’s advanced coursework. Instead, I will merely show you the foundations upon which all magic is built. If you wish to add to it, you must be able to understand every stone. Some of you may think you can get by with just memorizing spells. And you can, if the entirety of your ambitions amount to parrot-work that anyone with a mana potion and the ability to speak can do just as well. If that is the limit of your abilities, I will give you the C you deserve and pass you right along to Professor Nines in Combat Magic.”
That got a chuckle from the class, although Mack was quite sure that no one other than Professor Prouch was brave enough to say that about Professor Nines, who was widely rumored to have deep connections with the Bureau of Magical Enforcement.
“Your first assignment will be to create light. You may not use an existing spell or spell structure, potion, or artifact. It must be made from your own magical sources using your own innovations. If you happen to have any knowledge of spell theory, it will not help you. You may use your textbook. It won’t help you either. Work together if you wish, I don’t care. You have forty minutes. Begin.”
The class was dead silent for five seconds. Then students began to tun to those closest to them, bewildered.
“Hey,” a young man next to Mack turned towards him and grinned, “I’m Sean.”
“Mack.”
“So,” Sean turned in his seat and absentmindedly spun a pencil around his left hand, “Professor Prouch sure lives up to his name, huh?”
Mack shrugged, “Is he always that bad?”
“Pretty much. My mother took this class from him decades ago and apparently, he was just as bad.”
Mack raised his eyebrows, “Is she a wizard?”
“Painter. She does add a bit of illusory depth to her canvases, though.”
“Does she know how to make light?”
“Well, sure. It’s a pretty common spell.”
“Any idea how to make a new one?”
Sean laughed, “Hell no. Creating a new spell is **hard**. That’s like asking a kindergartener to do calculus. Best I could do is maybe modify it to alter the color or something.” | 44 | As a new student to the Academy of Magic with no special heritage and an unremarkable mana reserve, you weren't expecting to make much of a name for yourself. However, your talent for puns and poetry turns out to make you an absolute beast when it comes to designing spells. | 103 |
"Here, son. Drink this."
I tried to blink the sleep out of my eyes as I stared down at the glass bottle full of a milky-white substance the soldier was holding out to me. I was tempted to call it milk. It looked like milk. The heavy glass bottle screamed that it was milk in a way that modern plastic milk bottles never would. But the blue energy that sparked around it like electricity in a mad scientist's lab suggested it contained more than my daily requirement of calcium.
And then there was the soldier. He'd knocked on the door precisely at four in the morning and, in spite of the uniform, the stubble, and the first traces of gray in his hair, he was clearly my father. I looked him over. "Dad, where have you been? I haven't seen you in ten years."
"No time to explain, Ricky. Drink this. We need to go." He pushed the bottle into my hand.
My hand tingled like there was electricity running through the glass, but not so badly that I couldn't hold on. I raised the bottle and sniffed suspiciously. It smelled faintly acidic, but mostly creamy. "What is this?"
My father made an annoyed gesture. "I told you I was going out for milk. It's the milk of human kindness. Drink it."
When I was eight years old and my father left, I felt like the world had ended. He was the man I trusted more than anyone in the world, the man I most wanted to be when I grew up. But, I was eight when that happened. Eight year olds trust people they shouldn't. They look up to their fathers and don't question whether those fathers are good men. I frowned. "Your milk of human kindness smells like somebody puked in it. What is it really?"
He sighed. "Fine, it's a super soldier serum. It will help you in the war."
My frown deepened. "There's a war?"
"Not now - in the future and we're losing badly, Ricky. We need to recruit from the past if we're going to beat the armies of evil liberal homosexuals trying to groom our children. They've already stolen the election from our rightful president and they're going to turn everything over to George Soros and the Reptilians." He glared at me in a way that would have terrified me ten years ago. "Drink it already. We're in a hurry."
I decided to focus on the least crazy part of what he'd said. "Wait, if you're traveling through time, why are you in a hurry?"
He made another annoyed gesture, but must have seen something in my face because his own countenance changed into something approximating a good father in a made-for-TV special. "It's quantum, son. I don't know how to explain it, but I only have a few minutes before I return to the future. If you're not holding onto me when I go, I may never see you again."
In spite of everything, my heartstrings were tugged because that's what heartstrings are for. I looked down at the serum he'd given me and considered drinking it. The man in front of me sounded bugfuck insane, but he was my father and he needed me. He'd even traveled through time to find me. As soon as I started to raise the bottle, his look of fatherly concern vanished and something darker took its place. I paused.
"Wait, you traveled through time for this?" I looked at him with the bottle half raised. He nodded. I went on, "Why did you come to now, then? I've been waiting ten years for you to come back. Why didn't you just come back to that same night?"
"I don't... It's..." He stumbled and I could almost see the possible lies forming in his head. Finally, he came out with. "I'm taking you to a war, son. I wanted you to have a childhood first."
I sighed and fixed him with my best disapproving glare. "Well, I had one and it made me an adult. I'm not going anywhere."
My father's form flickered and that same energy that had been playing across the bottle played across his skin. "But, the war..."
"...will have to go on without me." I closed the door firmly.
As I walked to the kitchen, my mother emerged from her room wrapped in a robe. "Who was at the door?"
I wrapped the bottle in cling film and slid it into a paper bag, folded over. It had been ten years since my father had walked out the door and she was only now starting to date again. Her choice in men so far hadn't been the best, but they hadn't been as bad as her first choice either. I placed the bag on the top shelf of the refrigerator. "No one you need to worry about." To avoid any follow-up questions, I added, "That bag has a bottle in it. It's not milk. It's a science project. Don't drink it, okay?" | 14 | 10 years ago, your father left to get milk and has never returned since,. You have been doing your homework when suddenly you get a knock on the door, you open it and standing before you is your father in tattered military gear holding a glass bottle of milk that crackles with lightning. | 35 |
"You have news?"
*A lesser race. One that has ascended to space-faring.*
"Very good. Prepare to welcome them to the-"
*You do not understand. It is not of us.*
**And with that, the Progenitors knew surprise.**
"...explain."
*We are unsure for now. Perhaps a mishandling of bacteria. Perhaps a rogue party. But the fact remains that there is a race that we did not seed.*
"Are they capable?"
*Shockingly so, given that...*
"Well?"
*They didn't use any of our technology. There was no cache on their planet, nor was the planet prepared to support life.*
**And with that, the Progenitors knew amazement.**
"How is that possible? How could they even live without our aid?"
*We... we think it was death.*
"..."
*We have seen their records, their history. They sustain themselves on the flesh of other living beings. They wage war and kill one another. Their most rapid technological advances are when times of great fighting are present. Dealing death is in their nature, their blood, and their beings.*
"And you said they have managed to leave their planet? Capable of crossing the stars, meeting our children?"
*Yes.*
**And with that, the Progenitors knew fear.** | 1,754 | The precursors seeded all life in the galaxy, leaving behind caches of their advanced technology to help their children reach the stars. Which makes humans all the more terrifying as not only were they not one of the seeded races, their technology isn't precursor-based either. | 4,582 |
It was a wonderfully cold and bloody scene.
"What! What in the world is going on here!?" It was Anthony, finally popping his head out of the metal door he was hiding behind. "My god! What did you do?"
Rhetorical question, I hate those. "What's the watcher reading?"
"Huh?" He hadn't looked at me yet, was to busy gazing at the bloody mosh pit in front of him. Dumb wide eyes.
"The watcher," I was walking towards him to the job myself. "What does it say?"
He quivered away from me as I walked by. I towered over the poor sot, could crush him too if I wanted.
"I-um..." Shaking like a damn leaf. "Why... Why do you want to know?"
"So I can kill them." I said while looking at the screen in front of me that displayed the medical status of all of the prisoners. "Some are still alive."
Anthony jumped at the sentence, "But they didn't try escaping! They're all still in their cells!"
I walked back out past him, heading towards block B where the watcher indicated some were still alive. "It's impossible to escape."
"What!?" His voice was nothing more than a yelp now.
I stopped for a moment, turning back to face him. Anthony wasn't like them, justice didn't need to bother herself with him, but a man can't waste an opportunity for a good lesson. "Word of advice."
He was silent.
"Prison isn't here." I raised my finger to my forehead, "It's here. No man can escape that."
He was crying, his guard pants painted red from walking amongst my chaos. "I don't understand."
"That's why I let you live." I said, walking towards the cell block.
The snow on the ground crunched under my feet, covering the pitiful whimpers that slowly disappeared with distance. It would take him years to process the scene I placed before him, murder is one thing, but how I splayed out those men... Anthony will probably never recover.
"What is all of this?" It was a grizzly voice, one I didn't expect to hear so quickly. The Batman dropped from a perch in front of me and stared right past me. Right at my masterpiece. "I... I don't understand."
I smirked. "Admiring my handywork?"
He turned his eyes back to me, "Why would you do this?" I could smell it on his breath, that cold animalistic spirit that wanted to tear me to shreds beginning to build. "Why did you do this!?"
I pointed to my forehead, "Prison." And slowly moved the finger to point back to the ground, "Not prison."
He came up and pulled me off of my feet by my collar, "You better start speaking some sense before I beat it into you!"
"Do you wanna know why I became a guard?" I said while struggling to breath.
"What!?"
"Do you want to know why I took this job?"
I could see the hesitation in his eyes. All the blood made his head return to the monkey state that it belonged in. "Talk," He said while letting me down.
I hit the ground and rubbed my neck. "Medical cost." I rose to me feet. "My wife's medical cost."
"How does that have to do with what you just did!"
"My wife," I said while nodding, ignoring his request. "She taught me what a prison was... No matter how many times I told her, or the kids, she just kept doing it. She couldn't stop stealing.
"She kept getting caught and charged. Over and over she'd steal only to be released and fined. We would beg for her not to do it again... I could see it in her eyes too... She wanted to stop, she wanted it more than anything."
I walked towards The Batman, so he could hear my words clearly. "But she was sick. She was in the real prison, her mind. One she couldn't escape... So she took a big gig, bigger than she ever had before, and wouldn't you know it! The Bat showed up! The grand capped crusader who never kills... Only maims.
"... You maimed my wife Batman. Hurt her so bad that she couldn't walk or talk anymore. You know, she'd probably be in here if it wasn't for how bad you'd brutalized her... I took this job to pay for her medical bills. She died seven months after the incident anyways. A horribly slow death."
There was something special in Batman's eyes right then, like the desperate panic of a cornered dog. "She shouldn't have been stealing! Justice is justice!"
I hacked out a large laugh. "Oh no, you have me wrong Batman. I agree! She couldn't be helped, I know now how deep the prison of the mind goes. That is why I done... Well, this!" I turned and waved my hand over to the bloody monstrosity that used to be Arkham Asylum. "We just disagree on the methods of justice. I wanted to show you how wrong you were about your method."
"You bastard!" He couldn't hold it in anymore, he tackled me, slinging us both to the ground, his large imposing frame leaning over me, fists raised. "You killed them all!"
"You think you're above it!" I rasped as his knee sat on my chest. "I wanted to show you how impenetrable the mind is, and why these people can't be helped... I didn't kill them Batman. Those people over there, laying dead and mangled in the snow... They wouldn't have died if it wasn't for you."
"Shut your mouth!"
"If you didn't do what you do they'd be alive. You're going to have to live with that, and feel how little control you have over your mind!" He punched me square in the nose, shattering the cartilage. "Ha! See, your anger was the first tell for me that you were no different than us. If my wife can't control her stealing, and you can't control your rage... Then the Batman is human after all."
"Stop it!" He smashed my face again, except this time following it up with a few others. It was painful, but it couldn't steal the moment of glory from me. The moment when The Batman saw that even his actions have consequences, and even his mind can't escape reality.
"Remember them Batman!" He hit me again, "They're your fault."
He hit me over and over again, until slowly... Slowly... It began to fade away... *I'll see you soon Elaine... Only death truly frees the mind...* | 36 | Batman rushed to arkham in order to stop a mass escape organized by the joker only to find out that you, the guard shot all of the escaping prisoners dead. | 43 |
Prince Allen watched in bemusement as his father, King Eamon the Just, tucked neat cloth bundles of trail rations into the saddlebags buckled onto his faithful steed. Nearby, Archmagus Erlemar, Eamon's ancient court wizard, sat cross-legged atop an old threadbare rug floating a few feet off the hay-strewn floor of the royal stables. Gomer, Eamon's teenage apprentice, stood by his master's flying carpet, wringing his hands nervously.
"Father," the Prince began, hesitantly but King Eamon cut him off, turning to face his son with a pair of sturdy boots in each hand.
"Which do you think, boy? These boots made by the Forest Folk are hard-wearing, and provide peerless footing, but these black sealskin ones I got as a gift from the Northmen are warmer -- and waterproof, as well. I want to be well prepared, but I don't think I can lug around *two* spare pairs of boots."
Before Allen could reply, Erlemar interjected. The mage casually waved a wizened hand, and conjured a battered wooden trunk on the flying carpet beside him. With an additional twitch of his fingers, the lid unlatched and sprang open.
"I've a bottomless trunk, Eamon, remember? Unless you've got more boots than would fit in a hay barn, you can bring them all, if you like." the Wizard said, amiably.
"You're taking that with you, too?" Gomer exclaimed.
"I am." Erlemon confirmed, nodding at his apprentice, placidly. "It's high time you made your own trunk, anyway."
The king laughed good-naturedly. "Of course!" Eamon dropped both pairs of boots into the magical trunk, and snapped the lid closed again.
Prince Allen crossed his arms. "Father!"
Eamon turned back to him. "Yes, son?"
"You can't just go off adventuring!" Prince Allen scolded. "You're the the king!"
Eamon nodded soberly. "True, true. Kings can't just go gallivanting off over hill and dale -- too much responsibility. Wouldn't be right."
Prince Allen blinked. "But isn't that exactly what you're planning to do?"
Eamon flashed his heir a grin. "Absolutely! But not before I hand you *this."*
The King reached into his surcoat, and produced a scroll bound with a leather cord and marked with the royal seal.
Prince Allen took the scroll and opened it, then paled as he read the terse proclamation it contained.
"A Writ of Abdication?" Prince Allen cried.
"The *king* can't go rambling off in search of glory," Eamon said, as he adjusted the saddle girth on his mount. "But old *Lord Eamon* can do as he likes."
"I just got married!" Prince Allen protested. "My wife is with child! I can't take the throne right now!"
"And I assure you, *your majesty,* that it's well within the realm of possibility to be husband, father, and king all at once." Eamon said, wryly. "I did it, after all. Anyway, I'll be back for the Solstice."
"Unless we die." Erlemon added, pleasantly, as though the discussing the possibility of mildly inclement weather, instead of the demise of himself and his monarch.
"Unless we die." Eamon agreed. "But barring that, I do very much want to meet my grandchild."
"Why are you doing this?" Allen demanded, throwing up his hands in consternation. He paused, as his father's face suddenly became more sober again.
"It's...well, what did you call it, Erlemon?" Eamon asked, glancing at his court wizard.
"An experiment!" the wizard said.
"Begging your majesty's pardon..." Gomer said, looking between Allen and his father as if not sure whom he should now address in that manner. "But, what sort of experiment?"
"An *historical* one." Erlemon explained.
Eamon nodded. "Our lands were once a group of squabbling fiefdoms. But over the course of my reign, we've become a strong, prosperous kingdom -- a truly unified nation, stretching from the mountains to the sea."
"Exactly! So why are you *quitting?"* Prince Allen demanded.
"History...!" Gomer gasped, and then flinched as all eyes turned to him. "Er, that is to say, your majesty...majesties...it occurs to me that we are, right now, at the point in a nation's history where kingdoms and empires tend to unravel. As the original unifying or conquering monarch fades with age, his successor or successors become a target -- if not for assassination, then for manipulation by those who wish to make a puppet of him."
Erlemon beamed at his apprentice. "Very good! So, can you guess the nature of our experiment?"
Gomer stammered nervously for a moment, but then recovered. "Well, I...usually the old power structures become a target for subversion, and / or the heir begins to chafe under his parents' rule, and becomes impatient to assume the throne. This leads to all kinds of problems, and to all manner of bloodshed, more often than not. So, I suppose you're thinking that, in light of that, you'll try something radically different. You want to see what happens if, well..."
"...if we just *go."* the king finished, winking at his son. "See, you can't grow to resent my prolonged reign if I'm not king, now can you?"
"I don't resent it!" Prince Allen exclaimed, crossly. "I don't *want* to be king yet!"
The king waved his hand, dismissively. "Well, to that I say: *too bad."*
"Udders unchewable." Erlemon agreed, cryptically.
"Well...but...but...you're taking the court wizard, too?" Prince Allen cried, increasingly flustered.
"Not without leaving an ideal candidate for the position." Erlemon amended, gesturing to Gomer.
"Master...!" Gomer groaned, pleadingly.
Erlemon looked around, an expression of confusion on his face. "Who *are* you talking to, Gomer?"
Gomer blinked. "Um, you, Master?"
Erlemon shook his head. "No, no -- one doesn't called a fellow full wizard 'Master'. 'Erlemon' will do, or 'Magus Erlemon' when formality is called for."
"When--" Gomer began, but the elder wizard cut him off.
"Oh, I conjured all the appropriate paperwork yesterday, while I was in the bath." Erlemon answered, waving his hand dismissively. "It will have arrived at the Mage's Guild by fairy post this morning, so it's all official, by now. You're a wizard in your own right, and a shoe-in for the new king to appoint you in my place, if I'm not mistaken."
Gomer swallowed hard. "But I...I don't want to be Court Wizard! Not yet! I'm not ready!"
Prince Allen scowled. "Join the queue, *Magus* Gomer."
The King -- that is, the *King Emeritus* Lord Eamon -- simply chuckled, as he led his horse out of its stall. "Erlemon and I discussed this for a long time. We're confident that you're both up to your respective challenges. Do you know what we concluded that the offices of King and Court Wizard have in common?"
"What's that?" Allen sighed, beginning to feel resigned.
As Eamon mounted his horse, the old wizard rose through the air to float beside him on his flying carpet. The former monarch turned his mount, and faced his successor.
"That positions with as much power as our former offices," Eamon proclaimed, "Should always be filled by someone who *doesn't* want them." | 50 | It finally happened, with the arranged marriage between your son and the heiress to the eastern kingdom your lineage is secure and the future of your great empire is bright. You finally have time to put down the crown and chase your once childhood dream of becoming an adventurer. | 165 |
There was a hesitant knock at the door. Snatching up my sword, I snarled. I'd told them I'd kill the next messenger, and killing people always put me in a bad mood. Throwing the door open, I brought the sword around in a forceful swing.
"Ah—" It was a sharp high-pitched scream, that cut off in the middle. Roaring, I changed the trajectory of the swing, at the last minute. My sword thudded into the door frame, slicing through the wood. Hands shaking, I let it go, staring down at the girl in front of me. She couldn't have been more than ten years old.
"What the he—" I stopped myself, I wasn't supposed to swear in front of children. A stupid side effect of being a hero. The girl frowned up at me, obviously aware of what I'd been going to say.
"I have a message—"
"They sent a kid. A kid!" Interrupting her, I wrenched the sword out of the doorframe. "They sent a blasted kid. I said I'd kill the next messenger they sent, and they sent a child!" Walking back inside the house, I sensed her following me. Heightened awareness didn't go away when you retired.
"That's why." She said, her voice still a little shaky. Heck, I was still shaking. Those words stopped me in my tracks as they sank into my brain.
"That's why?" I repeated, turning to look at her. "What *exactly* do you mean?"
Closing the door behind her, she moved to the table in the center of the room. She perched on the edge of the chair, swinging her feet through the air. She was so tiny, that she couldn't reach the floor. Sudden rage swirled through me, but all I could do at the moment was tighten my hands on the sword hilt.
"Well, they figured you probably wouldn't kill a child. So, they sent me."
"They figured. *Probably*. And what if I had killed you?" I asked. She shrugged.
"I'm not worth much. Just an orphan. More of a burden on the kingdom's resources. So it wouldn't be a great loss."
My heart broke. The anger seeped into the cracks, turning from a bright flare to deep-rooted cold ice. I clenched my teeth, making sure the words I wanted to say were appropriate for a child's ears before I opened my mouth.
"I saved their world once before. Do you know what I did? How many people I killed so that their world could go on? So that they could continue to treat orphans like second-hand citizens. Oh, sure they don't treat me like that anymore... except here they are doing it. Manipulating me, sending children to do their dirty work."
She raised placating hands, shaking her head.
"It's all right, I don't mind. At least I would have been doing something useful for once—"
"No. NO! That is it!" I jammed my sword back into its sheath, picking up my adventuring bag. I kept it packed out of nostalgia, but now it would be useful again. "Come on."
Gesturing to the girl, I strode out of the house and down the garden path. She scampered after me, having to take three steps for every one of mine.
"You're going to slay the monster?" She asked, breathlessly. Feeling guilty, I slowed, letting her catch up.
"Yes," I said tersely, turning left down the road.
"But you're going the wrong way. That leads to the city."
I looked down at her, knowing my smile would be anything but comforting.
"Like I said. I'm going to slay the monster." | 162 | "I'm retired. RETIRED. I saved the world once. I'm not doing it again. I'll kill the next messenger you send." | 119 |
It took twenty years. Twenty years and I was ahead of schedule.
Of course, no one wanted to fund a monster breeding company. We were uninsurable. Even when we had the funding, there were other problems. Finding enough to feed the damn things was hard enough without the activists and the politicians and the people who flat out refused to do business with us. Through all of it, we survived. Not only that, but I think people finally understand. After all these years, they are finally rooting for us.
The monsters can’t speak with us directly, but they are intelligent. They can be reasoned with; they can be communicated with. We just had to show them that humans could live peacefully with them, and that we could benefit each other. Koko was the first monster to understand this. I had been working with her for the past 18 years and had come to think of her as one of my own.
Now was the final test. I was probably more nervous than Koko was. The large monster that had been waiting just outside the city finally made his move. We barely had enough time to get Koko into her suit.
“Knock ‘em dead Koko. And have fun on your date.” | 33 | Oh yeah, well how do you propose we fight giants monster with no collateral damage? That’s what I thought. Unless you, or somebody else, can come up with a better solution we’re gonna keep using the robot. | 115 |
It doesn't make sense. The Voyager probes shouldn't be here. We know where they ought to be, just based on dead reckoning. But they are here, on Earth. One crash-landed in the South Pacific, the other one came down in Antarctica. The South Pacific one was recovered by the Chinese, the Antarctic one recovered by the U.S.
We've opened the probes up to perform a comprehensive analysis. What we found was shocking: different gold plates.
Upon closer analysis, the insides of the probes had a minute amount of dust. Not just space dust, either. Real dust. Dust created by the decay of living things. From what we've pieced together, there are several dozen forms of life inside the probe. But one particular life form has an overwhelming presence. Also, there were over two dozen different types of cells from that particular life form. Whatever that life form was, it was *big.* Whatever it was, it was a life form based on carbon, but in a way that defies all human expectations of what carbon-based life looks like.
As for the gold plates:
First of all, there was a completely different design on them than the one we know we sent the probes out with. Our records have been replaced. The design on the new records is much simpler. In the middle, there appears to be a wide-open, giant mouth full of five different rows of teeth. It's not a whole face, just a mouth. Each row appears to be teeth designed for ripping flesh to pieces, although upon closer examination of the image each row seems to have a bit of specialization.
Our records were designed to show images as well as play sounds. Theirs appears to have been designed with the same data recording techniques ours were.
When we play the records, we receive the following message:
* First, sounds resembling an oboe and a cello combined, accompanied by four distinct types of growling, which may be a language but our linguists are busting their asses trying to learn to understand.
* Second, what sounds like screaming by other, different voices. Many of them are high-pitched, but others are in lower registers of sound. Also, there are some screams that are lower frequencies than our ear can register. We think they're all species different from the one the record starts with.
* Third, two hours of a series of sonic pulses, in a similar style as Morse Code, but with a different schema. Their version of Morse Code is based on four different kinds of sound pulses instead of two. This, too, perplexes our linguists.
* Fourth, an image of a planet with an asteroid-like moon.
* Fifth, a schematic of a six-sided pyramid, both inside and out, made out of a substance we can't identify and appears to be extremely large. How large, we aren't quite sure, but based on contextual clues we think the object is 1000 kilometers per side and 5000 kilometers tall.
* Sixth, 20 minutes of ocean waves crashing into a beach.
* Lastly, an image of 10,000 pages of written text in an incredibly complex script. The script is extremely rich with some lines running horizontal, some vertical, some diagonal, which again flummoxes our linguists are freaking out attempting, and failing, to translate with any accuracy whatsoever.
​
(edit: to fix a couple of minor typos) | 16 | September 5, 2073, NASA's Voyager probes crash back to Earth, though "crash" might be the wrong word. Having lost power long ago and gone dark, no explanation could be found as to how they had returned to us, let alone how they both survived re-entry... until they played the golden records. | 91 |
Gurath akh Zel led his men into the Comic Con garrison. He smirked as the eyes of the puny humans turned toward him and his contingent, the greatest warriors of the Urath Empire. The weak-looking creatures whispered amongst themselves and pointed at his men, all of whom stood head and shoulders above even the largest of the humans.
"For what god was this glorious structure built?" Gurath's lieutenant said, looking up at the building's massive, vaulted ceiling, light pouring in through the windows. His Modulator Helmet translated his words to the language of the humans.
"The great mayor of San Diego," one of the humans shouted out in response. His answer was met with laughter from the other humans.
Gurath found who he was looking for toward the end of the great hall. Dressed in tight blue and red clothes, the black-haired man had an "S" in the human tongue plastered on his muscular chest.
"Superman," Gurath said as he approached the man. Other humans were crowded around Superman, fawning over him, pointing at him with strange mechanical devices, black squares of metal and plastic. As Gurath approached, they turned their devices toward Gurath. Were they weapons? A threat? He snapped his fingers and their devices exploded. Gurath spoke, "in the custom of my people, I challenge you, the greatest warrior of your people, to single combat for the fate of this planet."
"This has to be a joke." Superman laughed, looking around at the smoking debris of the humans' weapons. "Who planned this?" he said.
"*Do you accept?*" Gurath's lieutenant growled, furious at the man's delay.
"Of course," Superman said, grinning. "Superman fears no one, backs down from no one." The man put his hands up in what Gurath deemed an amateurish fighting stance. Was this truly Earth's greatest warrior?
\--
More humans had gathered around himself and Superman, more of those mechanical black squares in their hands. *No matter,* he thought, as Superman charged at him. *Surely they wouldn't interfere now that the battle has begun.*
*What is he doing?* Gurath thought to himself as his enemy lumbered forward. *He's so* slow! Gurath's intel said that this man was faster than lightning.
Superman reached him and punched awkwardly, weakly. Gurath caught the man's fist and broke it with almost no effort. Superman screamed in agony, cried like a weakling. The pathetic noise angered Gurath. With his free hand, Gurath made a fist and punched Superman in the face. The man's face shattered. No, it practically *disintegrated* in a mist of blood and brain and bone. The body of his foe sagged as he still grasped the man's broken hand. He let go and the decapitated body of his enemy dropped to the floor, blood spurting from his neck in great jets.
The crowd cheered, and rightly so. The humans' black squares flashed at him incessantly, but the things seemed not to be weapons. Gurath grinned and raised his fist triumphantly. The people cheered louder.
"Wow," he could hear one of the humans saying to another. "It looked so *real*! How did they swap out the Superman cosplayer with a dummy? And *when* did they switch him out? I didn't see the swap at all!"
One of the humans came up to him, a pale, pudgy little creature. "What series are you from bro?" he asked. "The fight scene was awesome but your cosplay could be better, no offense." | 15 | An alien empire sends its most powerful warriors to challenge the strongest warriors on Earth. After a quick scan of the Earth, they discover that the majority are concentrated in a single structure. A large sign in front of the building reads "Welcome to Comic-Con." | 36 |
## To Date a Cultist
I step into the line behind the lanky man with the dress shirt. He's inconspicuous enough, queuing for coffee like us common folk.
Wyatt Ross. Heir to a large shipping company whose owners recently moved to the city, taking their son with them. A company that promptly started importing a wide variety of exotic herbs that seem to vanish off the face of the Earth as soon as they arrive. A company that keeps purchasing goats that disappear without ever entering a slaughterhouse.
He's next up, exchanging money for a steaming cup of coffee. As he turns to head off, I walk into his path, eyes glued to my phone as a pretext. It's a nice and convincing collision. His coffee sloshes out of the cup, spraying onto both of our shirts. Perfection.
"Oh, I'm so sorry! I should've looked where I was going."
I put away the phone to begin fussing over my 'mistake'.
"Don't worry, I---"
The man freezes, before grimacing. Did I mess up?
"It's alright, really," he then adds, forcing a smile.
"No, this is all my fault. I'm so clumsy sometimes."
I chuckle, pulling out tissues to dab at the coffee staining his shirt.
"At least let me buy you another coffee. Do you live far from here? We could go buy a new shirt if you don't have anything to change into. I'd feel awful if I made you run around with stains all day."
The man takes a step pack, holding up his hands to keep me at a distance.
"Actually, it's no issue. I, uh... I can change. I'm fine."
Why does he have to make this so difficult? Behind us, the line is growing. I turn to the barista.
"Could I have whatever he was having and a black coffee to go, please?"
The lady nods, preparing the drinks as Wyatt thankfully stays put, typing away on his phone. I hand him his new coffee.
"Here, this is the least I can do. Although I still feel awful for ruining your shirt."
“Thanks.” Wyatt takes the coffee, eyeing his phone once more before pocketing it. “And you shouldn’t feel bad. It’ll wash out, and I can change into something clean for the rest of the day, no issue.”
Maybe he’s finally warming up. Anyone would be a bit flustered upon getting hot coffee spilled onto them.
“I’m Lisa, by the way.” I offer my hand for him to shake, and he takes it.
“Wyatt.” Still a bit brusque, but I can work with that.
“Listen, maybe I could invite you to a proper coffee some time?” In less than half an hour, he’ll disappear into a huge office building and out of my reach. Optimally, I’ll have something set up before that. If I mess up this chance, I doubt I’ll get many more before he takes me for a stalker.
“Oh, uh…”
“To make up for bumping into you,” I add hastily. “And, well, maybe just to have coffee? You know that little cafe down the street? The one with all the flowers in front?”
I smile at him. Maybe a good old charming strategy is in order.
To my surprise, Wyatt nods.
“Yes. I… that sounds lovely.”
Did I come on too strongly? There’s no way for him to know I’m an investigative journalist who’s onto his parents’ shady dealings, so…
“How about later today? I get off work at five, so we could meet some time after that.”
That’s a blatant lie, but it also happens to coincide with the time he usually leaves his office.
“Huh, we seem to have the same schedule, then.”
He’s too suspicious, which probably means he’s in on his parents’ dealings.
“Cool! So will I see you after five?”
I offer him a bright and expectant smile. If this works, I may get access to something huge.
“Yes. I’m looking forward to it.”
His delivery is still a bit stiff, but maybe he’s just socially awkward. Depending on what exactly his parents’ business is, he may have had an odd childhood.
He waves at me before heading off. Optimally, we could have talked a bit longer to ensure that he’d be comfortable going out for coffee with me later today, but it is what it is.
I take a sip of my own coffee and head off to a nearby park to bide my time.
- - -
Wyatt arrives in a fresh shirt. It’s white, like his previous one. He surveys the cafe for a moment before spotting me and heading over to my table.
“Glad you could make it. I wasn’t sure if you really wanted to see the person who ruined your shirt.”
Wyatt scratches the back of his head at that. “I already told you it wasn’t ruined.”
Oh, but I need to milk this situation for all its worth, my friend.
A waiter is at our table as soon as Wyatt sits down. “Hello, do you already know what you’d like to drink?”
“Yes, actually. I’d like a cappuccino and my friend here wants a latte macchiato.”
I answer before Wyatt can open his mouth. Wait.
Why did I…?
The waiter jots down the order and heads off. Wyatt tilts his head in confusion.
“I mean, this is probably what I would have ordered, but how did you…?” He trails off.
However…while I’ve done my research on this man, I never bothered looking into his coffee preferences. Why would I? Ordering for him like this would be a silly way to give away that I’ve been following him around for a while.
So why…?
“I have no clue what came over me.”
It’s the honest truth. Whatever happened, it was like a weird sense of deja vu. Maybe my own bewilderment is what calms him in the end, because he relaxes.
“Huh, well, color me impressed.”
Actually, this may be my chance.
“You know, I do like to read magazines about this kind of stuff. Like, clairvoyance and such.”
If his family keeps spiriting away goats, then maybe this subject will pique his interest.
“Is that so?” A brief smile twitches across his face. At least I’ve defused the situation for now.
“Yes. I don’t know why, but there’s just something fascinating about all this occult stuff. Like, sure, it’s impossible, but why do so many people claim that something strange has happened to them?”
Wyatt’s smile is uncomfortable. Maybe this wasn’t quite *it*.
“Hm…they do say ‘be careful what you wish for’,” he says with a shrug. “Today you’re divining my coffee preferences, maybe tomorrow you’ll be assaulted by everyone’s deepest secrets.”
The waiter returns with our drinks. I quickly grab mine to buy some time by taking a sip.
“Maybe…”
What I wish for isn’t literal magic, though. It’s a good story of rich people doing strange things that my readers will lap up.
“I loved fantasy books as a child, so now that I’m an adult, I guess stories of the supernatural keep me entertained instead?”
For a moment, Wyatt eyes me with an unreadable look. Then, it’s gone and he grabs for his own coffee.
“Perhaps.” He shrugs.
“So, after airing out my embarrassing hobbies, what about you?”
Most people enjoy talking about their interests. If I want to get closer to this guy, I need to figure out what he’s into, so I’ll be better prepared for a second date.
That is, if I do well enough during this one to ever see him again.
“Oh, uh…well, I guess my life is sort of boring.”
I’m sure it is, Mr. Secret Goat Cult Heir.
I lean back in my chair with a grin. “I’m sure there’s something fascinating you have to share.”
There has to be.
(continued in reply to this comment) | 40 | You, a journalist, "join" a cult to write an expose. As you dig deeper into the cult's beliefs and practices, you discover more and evidence that everything they say is completely true. They're not crazy, they simply know the terrible truth. | 316 |
"Death will be conquered! Within the month, we will-"
I shut off the tv. I didn't want to think about it. The last two months hadn't felt real. The world has beaten death. Well and truly, life may become something more. But I wasn't going to be there to see it. I had two weeks. At most.
Have you ever wondered what you'd do if someone told you when you were going to die, stranger? It's not as romantic as you might think. I've already done all the fun stuff like skydiving, rocky mountain climbing, and whatever else that Tim McGraw song talked about. I think about that song a lot. If you haven't heard that song, I'd suggest you listen to it. It's about a man telling the story of what he did when he thought he was going to die. The realization that his life might end soon led him to be a better man and live truly thankful for what he had. I've lived and died by that song's message ever since doc told me I was done for. It became my bucket list. But nobody else will ever understand it, now. Death has been beaten.
You know what's funny, though? Once you've done everything like forgiving old enemies, going on thrill rides, and doing some deep reflection on life, you're just left waiting. In a way, I feel like I'm already dead. Stuck in Limbo, just waiting on passage. So, with the two weeks left of my life, I've just sat here on my ass playing video games and watching the news.
I'm scared, to be frank. I know that it's only normal to be scared when death is close like this. The extra scary part is that I am going to be one of the last people to *ever* feel like this. To die. It's bittersweet. I'm happy for everyone. Life is a wonderful journey, and now it never has to end. I can only imagine what everyone is going to get up to now that we can stop worrying about ourselves. My friends were super excited that I might get to live, but I'm not going to make it. I'm going to be two weeks short. It sucks.
Stranger, I know why you're here. I'm writing this for the news and for history. I'm going to be one of the last people to ever die and know it's coming. You're reading this because you want to know what it was like for us. For me. Listen to a song. "Jamie" by Zach Bryan. It's about a man living in his own limbo because there isn't anything left in this world worth living for. That's how I feel. In time, all of you will forget me. I no longer matter anymore. This Earth, and everyone on it, will forget me. You may cross your heart and swear that you won't ever forget, but you will. You have forever to do it. With that in mind, there's nothing left for me here. I'm ready to go.
But if I ever do cross your mind, stranger, then smile for me. It's what I want.
(Edit: OKAY, this got a little attention! Thank you all for all the kind words. I highly recommend a lot of the other stories on the post. They are all phenomenal reads. Until next time, y’all!) | 414 | "Scientists to release cure to death in a month! The beginning of a new age!" You turn off the TV and smile bitterly. Your prognosis wasn't good. The doctors said you had two weeks left at most. | 1,614 |
Was this what it felt like to go insane? Imin had been trudging between the trees for three days on end. His brown eyes were bloodshot, his usually perfectly maintained head of curls a frizzy mess. He hadn’t showered in what must be a week at this point, had only eaten enough to keep himself alive. He’d exhausted his options. His body was ready to give up, weak, hungry, tired. His mind was more determined than that.
A month ago, he’d seen the beast for the first time. A deer, he’d thought at first, but the creature had been too big for that. A runaway horse? Imin didn’t exactly live in an area where people kept horses. Besides, his closest neighbour was hours away. He liked the seclusion, it made it so he didn’t have to worry about bothering anyone as he conducted his experiments and wrote his essays.
It *had* looked like a horse, though its coat wasn’t a colour Imin knew horses to possess. Whatever it was, it had just trotted by, leaving Imin to wonder for a few moments before forgetting about the incident. That was, until he saw the creature again. And again. Every time he went for a morning walk through the quiet forest behind his house, he saw a glimpse of the beast. On the third sighting, Imin had caught a glint of the horn on its head. By the small pond, the horse-deer had turned its head towards him, snorting quietly. Long after the creature had vanished between the trees, the scientist had stood there, his mouth open.
He'd set up his cameras first thing. The world needed to know! Four cameras, spread out across the forest, one by the pond, the others hidden in branches and bushes. When he’d finally made it to bed that night, he hadn’t been able to catch a wink of sleep. He must have nodded off at some point, because he’d woken up in the middle of a thunderstorm. Barefoot and wild-eyed, he’d ran into the forest, but when he’d checked his cameras, all of them had succumbed to the rain. Even though they were waterproof. Even though he'd used them in the rain countless times. Even though it had been a gentle summer’s night, and there hadn’t been a cloud in the sky.
He'd tried other things. He’d called his friends, his family, the media. The world needed to know. Most of the time, the other end of the line went dead before he could even finish his story. The two who did come by did so with eyes full of pity. His mother had tried to convince him to go live with his brother for a while, ‘until he felt better.’ Imin had snapped at her about how he felt *fine*, assuring her how he was going to be rich the moment he’d garnered his evidence.
At this moment, he felt anything but rich. He felt like a madman. Crouched down in the bushes, his legs cramping up underneath his own weight. If he’d believed in a god, he would have cursed them out at this point. His head was spinning with exhaustion. He needed to get home, to sleep, to feed himself, to gather his thoughts. The world still needed to know, just not now. But when he tried getting up to his feet, his vision wavered, and the last thing he saw was the ground coming at him at a dazzling speed.
He woke up in the clearing by the lake, to something nudging his shoulder. He squinted his eyes shut, expecting pain, a headache pounding against his temples. Instead, his mind felt clear for the first time in weeks. When he opened his eyes, the beast had lied down next to him, so close that he could feel its warm breath on his skin. In the small spots of sunlight dotting through the trees, Imin could see that it *sparkled*. Of course it sparkled. But just as a bitter laugh started to bubble up from his throat, the unicorn pressed its nose against his shoulder, and the bitterness left him. His head fell back onto the soft moss, his left hand raising up to trail down the creature’s neck. He’d never felt anything so soft before. He’d never felt so at peace before.
Perhaps… Perhaps the world didn’t need to know. | 12 | You are a well-known scientific skeptic, with a frustrating secret; in the woods behind your house, there is an actual, real-life beautiful unicorn, that inexplicably defies all attempts to photograph it, record it, gather samples or otherwise prove its existence to the world. | 67 |
As I was rinsing my hands, I looked at myself in the washroom mirror. Freshly ironed shirt, new jeans, clean-shaven face - wait, I had missed a spot right under the nose! Ah well, too late now. I heard one of the toilets flush, and my boss’ boss joined me at the sink.
“Ready for the big meeting? Don’t worry, they’re all humans, they’re scared, and you have at least some answers for them. No, don’t mess with your hair, you look exactly like the analyst they expect.”
He was one of these kindly old men you would never have thought would work at an agency like ours, but I knew that underneath the smile there was a ruthless layer of steel.
​
“Without further ado, John, tell us what you have found out”, the meeting chair handed the floor to me. Steadying my right wrist with my left hand, I clicked the remote and pointed to the first bullet on the slide.
“Three months ago, a user known as ‘Nostramanus’ ostensibly started uploading videos to social media platforms. Early reactions were limited, until reddit, a major internet community, became aware of the content. At first, the videos were discussed by the ‘conspiracy’ subreddit, which is the name for a community of likeminded people, in this case, conspiracy theorists, but soon, awareness spread to more mainstream communities, and the videos were in turn picked up by mainstream media.
Each video follows the same structure: A common introduction, followed by three so-called predictions. The videos end with a couple of seconds of encrypted data.
In the introduction, ‘Nostramanus’ claims that he has been having visions, and that he has been storing the information for posterity in a way that could not be traced, and that they would be revealed 10 years after his death. The so-called predictions that follow refer to events that happened either shortly before the videos released, or that would happen very shortly after. Importantly, the information that is presented is entirely accurate to the best of our knowledge, and reveals information or connects dots that the general public would not be expected to know about. Topics range from weather to politics to economics, and seem to have become more high-profile and impactful over time. For example, the last video ‘predicted’ the recent surprise ruling by the Supreme Court of the United States, and now everybody is waiting for a prediction of the election results, or hoping for another piece of economic news that would essentially be a stock market tip. The encrypted section at the end of the video can be decrypted using a key shared in the following video, and contains a series of hashes and checksums to ensure that the content has not been tampered with, as well as demonstrating that the following video is genuine.”
“Can’t we crack the decryption?”, came the first interruption. That was an easy one. The answer was no, and the answer to the follow-up question was going to be no as well. If the presentation was going to continue like this, I was going to score a lot of points with the higher-ups.
​
*“Welcome, sheeple! I’m Nostramanus, because I’m a man, not a dame, and because I have visions. Visions so explosive that my life is in danger. I’m not making this up, I know I could be dying soon, I’ve seen them coming for me. It is ten years ago that I’ve had my visions of them, because for whatever weird reasons, I see almost exactly ten years into the future. So, my dear sheeple, let me tell you what’s going to happen, so that you don’t have to be the left shark, and so that I will get my 15 minutes of fame, even if it will be posthumously. Because here’s what’s going to happen: I’m recording this now, but ten years from now, around the time the predictions should come through, shortly before, actually, I hope, these videos will be automatically uploaded so that you all can see. And I will put a bit of encrypted data at the end of the videos so that you will know they’re genuine, and in my next video, I will share the encryption key. Yeah, so you’re going to live in interesting times, as they say, because around the time, the following three things are going to happen.”*
This is how every video started, with only very minor differences. Nostramanus’ face was always blurred out, he always wore a different T-shirt, and the library in the background looked essentially the same, as if he had never moved the camera, ever. But that was just the surface of it. Because I had been the most recent hire, it was I who got the Nostramanus videos, and LaTaina got to investigate the death threats on the President. Nobody would have thought these videos would become the phenomenon they were now.
​
“To summarize, I believe these videos are fake. The apparent compression artifacts do not correspond to any known video compression algorithm, the noise in the pixels at the edge of the blur does not follow the correct distribution, and while great attention has been paid to figures of speech and references, there are a number of anachronisms that are not compatible with the premise of this being a 10 year old video. Furthermore, we have evidence from a fortuitous scan of a school server that the ‘sleeper payload’ that would unpack itself to set up and run a virtual server to upload the video had not been present more than two months before the upload. Given that the intelligence to predict the future events with some level of certainty would be available to major information defense agencies, I assume that the videos are a novel form of a meme-vector disinformation campaign that intends to drop its major payload within two to four weeks. I recommend deploying countermeasures immediately.”
I looked around. I couldn’t believe how all these people who I had only known from sitting on panels at agency townhalls were fully focused on me and my presentation.
“So, John… this is very thought-provoking. And very well argued, I shall add. But you haven’t answered our favorite question yet: if it’s an agency, which one do you think it is?” asked a woman with dark skin and white strands in her otherwise black hair.
“I don’t think I am qualified to…”, I started.
“Nonsense. You are a smart man, we have seen this today. You are very well qualified to have an opinion”, she interrupted me.
“I don’t know, to be honest. The technology used here is extremely advanced. None of our automated algorithms identified the fake as such, and the deployment method is incredibly stealthy. My clearance is not high enough that I can speak with authority on the capabilities of our competitors, but the information available to me would make me assume that they could pull this off. Maybe the Chinese have a hidden team of genius AI scientists, both for generating the videos and the predictive content, but then, why would they release anything about the Noodle Incident, or the Dragon Wing Scandal? Other than that, well, I do hope that we may be capable of pulling something like this off, but why would we?”
“Thank you for this assessment, John. This was a brilliant piece of work. Say, have you ever thought of asking your manager for a promotion?”
​
When the meeting was over, the boss’ boss patted me on my back. “Great job, John. It has been a pleasure.”
​
I was still puzzled about what he may have meant with this on my drive home, when I was suddenly blinded by the lights of a trailer truck that drove straight toward me. The penny dropped just before everything went dark. | 20 | A social media video series focusing on world secrets keeps leaking genuine, up to date information. The issue is, content is uploaded by bot with 10-year delay, starting when it's creator died. | 186 |
"No." I said.
There was a pause.
"Would you mind picking it up for me? I'm afraid I've hurt my back and-"
"I said no." I replied. "Do you really think this is the first time this has happened to me?"
The second pause was much longer. The man couldn't bear to leave his book on the floor and grabbed it swiftly with no evidence of the back problems he'd just hinted at. I nodded at him.
"Right. There's a cafe over there," I said, gesturing across the road, "I think you and I should have a little chat."
"Well, I don't really think that's necessary, I'm sorry for-" the man blustered but I cut him off again.
"I've told you that this isn't the first time someone's tried this trick on me but I know it's the first time you've tried it. Even if you work for someone else I doubt they'd be dumb enough to recommend the same plan twice. So there are other people out there with mysterious tomes that they are just desperate for me to touch and you're honestly telling me that you're not just as interested in finding out about that as I am in finding out whatever it is you think you're doing?"
His eyes widened and he nodded slowly.
"Great." I responded. "You're buying."
-----
A few minutes later I was sat next to the window slurping the fanciest Frappuccino that the cafe had to offer. I *hated* it but it was the most expensive thing on the menu and I'll be damned if this man was going to get away with only paying for my default order of a small black coffee.
"The book lives in your bag." I said, glaring at it pointedly. "You're going to put it away in such a way that it remains completely covered for this entire conversation. Think of it like your penis - if it becomes visible or touches me without my consent then our polite chat will be over and we'll instead be having a very different kind of interaction. Now. Seriously."
He seemed flustered (at my attitude or at the word 'penis?' Who knows?) but he complied thoroughly and quickly. He seemed incredibly nervous and I wondered how much information he really had.
"My name's Edward." He offered.
"Didn't ask and you already know that mine's Alice."
He looked mildly hurt that I'd rebuffed his peace offering which solidified the idea that he didn't have much to tell me.
"Who do you work for?" I asked but he shook his head.
"I can't tell you that. Maybe there's something minor I could tell you but something like that wouldn't be allowed. Who else is trying to get you to help them?"
I laughed hollowly at that.
"Help? That implies I have some sort of choice. I wasn't lying when I said that this exact situation had already happened before. Where's my choice in this, huh?"
"What would it have done? Would it have hurt you? I didn't want to hurt anybody..."
He trailed off and I stared at him in stunned silence.
"Edward... how much did they tell you about me?"
"They didn't tell me anything about you-"
*No no no no...*
"I didn't even know your name was Alice. This was my initiation."
I'm usually more prone to talking than is good for me but at this revelation all I could do was sit there and let the taste of too many syrups fester on my tongue. I was barely even aware that Edward was still talking.
"I was just supposed to drop the book in front of you when you left work and then return to the base to return the book when I'd done it. I assumed it was probably just to see if I could be trusted with a book of this value, I've only been trusted with less important magical tomes before now. What *can* you do?"
"I absorb the information from any book I touch."
"Oh. But then what was the point of all of this? Why would they just give you information that they can't fully understand?"
*Oh fuck...*
"Because they intend to abduct me." I realised. "They knew where and when I worked in order to have you bump into me but to abduct someone in broad daylight would be tricky so they're probably waiting where I live. Once they realise I'm delayed they'll come for me."
"No, they wouldn't!" Edward said but more in a panic than believing it.
I should have started running but instead I felt sick. Where would I even go?
"Come on," Edward said urgently "we have to leave."
He was standing. Did I miss him standing up?
"Please, come with me."
"Where are you taking me?"
"To where I'm staying. They know where you live and they might well know where I live but I don't think they know I've been staying with my friend Pete for the past week due to water issues in my building."
I shook my head.
"How would I even know if I can trust you?"
Edward thought about it and then grabbed the remains of my disgusting drink.
"Because I will destroy this tome if you want me to. If it will mean you trust me then you can watch from a safe distance whilst I pour a little of this on every single page. Or tear it up, or burn it if anyone has a lighter or, I don't know! But please choose quickly. I didn't mean to be a part of this and if I've really put you in the danger you're describing then I think we'll need to leave soon."
I thought about it and then stood up.
"No, keep the book. It's sort of our only hostage."
Edward passed me the bag.
"Then you should have it. Just in case."
He lead me out of the cafe, talking far too fast and describing every step of the incredibly short journey we were about to take.
"Wouldn't it be smarter to just flee than go see Pete?" I asked. "It sounds like he doesn't even live outside of the city."
"He doesn't. But when I said I'd been trusted with minor magical books I mean that I still have them. And since I didn't want to leave them for days they are currently living in Pete's home office. So I figure you should maybe touch them. They're only basic stuff but if you'd know the whole book instantly then, well... I mean, haven't you always wanted to know spells?"
I grinned.
"Who says I don't already?" | 334 | Whenever you touch a book, your brain automatically processes all information from it. A suspicious looking guy walking past just "accidentally" dropped a very old and cursed looking book in front of you. | 905 |
I raise my hands in front of me. I don't want to fight her. We've never spoken before but I remember her from the last heroes gala. She's the aptly named Rising Star. Heck, I've seen her on TV.
"Die, evil thing!" she cries out, "Strawberry Blast!" A beam of pink blasts out of her staff, and even my numb and scaled flesh can feel the force of the blow. Newton's laws kick in and I am picked up like a leaf in a gust of wind. I can feel metal, concrete, glass shattering on my back. Hasty glimpses of offices, mostly evacuated thank god.
I land in a crater of asphalt and gravel, and it aches if only slightly. She appears hovering in front of me in a flutter of stars and glitter.
"Stop," I rasp out. The word grows in my chest and shudders out of my lips. This body is barely designed for speech. "Friend!"
Her face twists in disgust. "I'm no friend of monsters, foul beast." She raises her staff with a flourish and I see camera drones hovering around, recording the fight. Thank God. The Heroes Union will see this soon, then, they'll send someone to explain like the last times this happened.
"Glorious Sun!"
A burning heat, pushing down on me. Scale and flesh melts, but it regenerates just as fast. It hurts like a motherfucker. The roar is almost unconscious, a roar of pain, but it disperses the light and sends Rising Star hurtling into the wall of the same building I just hurtled through. Her back cracks but she looks more annoyed than injured, thankfully.
Then the cameras focus on her and she bites her lip and suddenly spits out blood. Was it that bad of an injury!? I hope she's not hurt! Internal damage can be subtle though. Hopefully the Heroes arrive soon.
Finally I see the Golden Light hovering over the street. Instantly I relax, only for his fist to slam through my chest. I retch and blood pours out of my mouth. Why?
"Don't worry, Rising Star," he says, flashing a dashing smile to a camera drone. "Help is here!"
He turns to me, his eyes full of righteous fire as I stagger back, the wound closing. "I don't know what made you turn to darkness, Phoenix, but as long as justice and the American way stand, the Heroes Union will defeat you!"
"No." I say. "Friend!" Golden Light had always been my idol! When I became a hero, I got his autograph! He'd told me that if I tried I could reach him, one day. What was he misunderstanding!?
He grinned, letting out a single chuckle, and flashed a half-smile to Rising Star. "I'm no friend of monsters." The blood froze in my veins. I ran.
"Remember, Ph-DARK Phoenix can regenerate from death," I heard him shouting to Rising Star as they gave chase. "We have to contain it!"
"I have just the thing!" She yelled in reply. "Just buy me time!"
Why? Why? Why why why why why?
I raise my hands as Golden Light slams into me like a furious storm. Blocking blow after blow I feel my hands break, heal, break again. My legs dig into asphalt and break, heal, break again as I tear up meters of road. Trying to not get sent through a building again. Trying not to hurt people.
The camera bots are left behind. The skyscrapers are left behind. The city fades away as I just...try not to die. Not again.
Filaments of light are gathering atop Rising Star's staff, weaving outwards from it like spider silk.
"Why," I croak.
Golden Light looks around at our deserted little spot of suburbia. No eyes peek out from closed blinds. Everyone's evacuated for this level of fight, and the drones haven't caught up yet.
"Give it a rest, won't you?" He says, his face twisting with contempt. "We don't need freaks like you in the Heroes Union. You want to be a hero? Lose dramatically and stay quiet in prison."
"Change," I croak, "but still same." I thump my heart. "Phoe...nix. He...ro."
He rolls his eyes. "We should've never let you join. We're just correcting a mistake." He chuckles slightly. "God's mistake."
The camera drones arrive and his face turns back to his serene heroic countenance. "Now, Rising Star!"
"You don't have to tell me twice," she yells, "Starlight Filament!" The filaments rush out of her staff and slice across my body like concertina wire before slamming together. I almost roar in pain again but even my mouth is closed, so I just topple to the ground. I don't understand. | 1,328 | Every time you die, your power brings you back a bit stronger. As you slowly become less and less human, the other heroes become more wary of you. Today, for the first time, you were mistakenly attacked as a monster…and no one is coming to help. | 3,441 |
"Let her out."
Three quiet words befouled the Shroud's moment of victory. He snarled at their source, a painfully thin woman in a slightly oversized dress. Her unnaturally black skin made the whites of her eyes practically luminescent by comparison, especially surrounding the apparent black holes where her irises should be. "Ah, Harvest Moon. The *sidekick*. I was so hoping you'd show up on *time*, but of course you're late as usual. There's nothing you can do now, though, *girl*. Summer Sun is my prisoner. I've trapped her inside the shadows of her own fear, as you can *plainly* see." He leaned forward, his savage grin deepening unsettlingly. "I assume you can hear her *sobbing* in there. Just like everyone *else* can!"
He spun grandly, the gesture scattering some of the bolder bystanders standing around the empty, small roundabout. In the center, the city's heroine hung several feet off the ground. The cocoon containing her was transparent from the outside, revealing her sobbing form curled into the fetal position. Her screams of terror had made the nature of the Shroud's imprisonment all too clear to the city at large - though they could all see her humiliation, not even the tiniest bit of light seemed to reach her.
"She's afraid of the dark. Let her out. Last chance." Moon's voice was as dark and cold as the void of space her skin resembled. The Shroud recoiled for a moment at the sound, so unlike her usual mousy but optimistic demeanor.
"I know she's afraid of the dark. Of *course* she's afraid of it!" The Shroud stalked toward Moon. "Everyone knows that Summer Sun's power is in her light. And *yours* is just her *reflection*. Just look at you, *sidekick*. Without her, you're practically *invisible*. But not everyone knows that she isn't *making* that light - she just brightens it around her. When I realized that, I knew I'd beaten you both. Transforming myself into elemental darkness has made me your *greatest nightmare!*" His last words dissolved into maniacal cackling for a moment before continuing. "And now, *little girl*, it's time for you to join her in that nightmare." His hands whipped forward, waves of shadow almost as dark as Moon's reflection-less skin roiling toward her. Gasps and cries of fear rolled through the crowd.
Moon's eyes narrowed, their seeming radiance dimming even further. Shroud's power rolled over her, seeking to contain and imprison her. His laughter died as, rather than cocooning around her the way it had her sister, it simply... *absorbed* into her skin, as though drawn into her core. He raised his hands toward her, but hers was quicker, tightening like iron around his otherwise insubstantial throat.
Anger and pain fought in her icy voice, chilling the blood in what passed for the Shroud's veins. "She's always been afraid of the dark." He struggled, incapable of breaking the tiny woman's grip and weakening by the second. "She always tried to outshine it, to burn it away, but by herself she's not strong enough." He reached out, desperately calling back the power from Summer Sun's prison to try and bolster his own strength. She fell heavily to the grass, terrified sobs replaced by rough-throated coughing. A half-hearted cheer rippled through the crowd at her release. "But they don't call me Harvest Moon because I *reflect* her *light*." The anger in her tone won out over the pain, replacing it with a savage undertone of glee not entirely unlike the Shroud's from what seemed like hours ago. "They call me Harvest Moon because I *take away the darkness.*" The shadowed form's struggles against her grip slowed. Desperation and fear tried to force words out of his throat, but she cut them off with a vicious squeeze. "And when her fear of the darkness is gone..."
A fist wreathed in golden flame burst through his chest. Moon's hand came away as the other burning hand wrapped itself around the Shroud's terrified, fading face. Summer Sun, as radiant and searing as her namesake, crushed him against her chest, tilting his head to put his ear near her face. Although her voice was barely more than a crackling whisper, it was heard across the crowd, as it soon would be across the world. "...I burn the brightest."
More than a hundred cameras caught the terrified, agonized wailing of the Shroud's last few moments, and the sight of his shadow body simply disintegrating, seared away by Summer Sun's light. | 21 | The hero, being small and wimpy-looking, often gets mistaken for the sidekick to the actual sidekick, who is seen as the hero. They agree to go along with it to protect the hero's identity. | 91 |
"Okay you probably won't believe me, but it's been for a good cause, Agent... Smith", I paused to double-check the name tag, not believing the spook interrogating me would actually be named Smith. I mean, come on. I really did feel sorry for the man, however.
For what was to come.
He laughed, grimly, no humor on his face.
"For a good cause? Please. You're a sick, twisted PSYCHO!" He got louder and louder, ending at an enraged shout.
"Agent Smith, do you know what my powers are?"
He looked a bit disgruntled, before replying. "A precog, unknown temporal distance. And you've used your future knowledge to enact DOZENS of catastrophes, millions dead AT YOUR HANDS!" The anger resurfaced. It's not like I didn't expect it.
"My temporal length Agent Smith, is 10 years. I can see everything that will happen, and everything that COULD, for the next 10 YEARS. Now, you may believe I did this because I'm a monster, a villain, a sick, twisted psycho, in your own words. But let me tell you what would have happened if I hadn't."
And so I began detailing my life's work for the last 6 years. The nuclear meltdown, the flood, the meteor, the alien invasion, all of it. It took multiple days of recounting, sometimes with other agents in the room, sometimes just Smith. And as time went on he stopped looking me in the eye as often, his face slowly gaining pallor, and by the end, 3 days later, he looked dead. Broken in mind and spirit.
Finally, as he finished taking my...... confession, I suppose, he whispered a question to me, tears trailing down his face. "My sister..... did..... why?"
I knew who he was talking about. Or rather, I would have learned, in the future where I asked who he meant.
"Everyone who died to that missile strike, died because if even a single one of them lived, 2.8 million people in Brazil would have died 4 years later."
I finally cracked, just a bit, seeing this broken man before me, someone who could now, if just barely, hope to understand the weight.
Tears of my own welling, I said one final thing to him.
"I didn't do what I did to making things go wrong for people, or to cause pain, Mr.Smith. I didn't want to hurt anyone. I'm not a monster..... or maybe I am. But I did what I did, because it meant the best possible outcome."
After that, the interrogation room door opened, and Agent Smith was lead away by a team of simply dressed men in white. | 258 | "You're the worst criminal in History, give me one reason not to kill you." "Okay. You probably won't believe me, but :..." | 396 |
Through liquefied eyes he stared up at his Master. The old man seemed undisturbed by the sudden change, a boy into water; no, rather, the puddle angered him, his student soaking his prized family heirloom of a carpet.
"Master, I'm sorry," he cried, or attempted to, at least. "I don't know what happened."
"This carpet is not supposed to get wet! You've ruined it!"
"How did this happen? How?!"
"You thought too hard, as you harnessed your inner energy. You can't do that! Otherwise, this happens."
The fact that his Master prioritised the carpet upset Samuel greatly. His sight was slowly dimming, as he became one with the fibres, so he decided on one last call for help.
"Master. Please."
His Master calmed himself. "No. I can't help you. There is no way, no way to turn one back from water. You must learn your lesson, and start again."
"Start again?"
"You'll spend millennia in the realm of the dead first, but then, you'll come back to the land of the living. In a new body."
"But..." His mouth drifted, and it took all his effort to retrieve it. "But I don't want that! I want to live my life, as me!"
"Sorry. There is nothing I can do. Farewell, Samuel."
Looking up at his Master's sorrow, the carpet finally absorbed him, and his mind became untethered. It drifted, slowly yet surely, towards the mirror dimension. | 16 | "I told you to become like water not actually become water!"The master screamed losing his patience."Eww, now your all in my carpet!" | 48 |
You may be under the delusion that I am a dilapidated man. The kind of person who has greasy hair, poor personal hygiene, and questionable health habits—for who else would spread negativity as his profession? While that reflects my internal state, on the outside I am put together, confident, and beautiful, for if I presented my true self nobody would believe what I had to say. They would write me off as *lazy and incompetent*, but because I present myself well, they are inclined to believe every word of it.
My crowd that day was a class of typical high school graduates. People who were still young enough to believe the world had a great deal to offer them. I have always believed that much could be gained if young people could be lectured, in a careful manner, about how little their existence actually matters.
I stepped up to the podium, made sure the microphone was well-adjusted, and began to speak.
“You have all just been told by your valedictorian that this is a new beginning. That the sky's the limit from here on. I am here to disillusion you. As you have been told in your physics textbooks, *the world* is not synonymous with the earth, rather, in the modern scientific view, the world is *the universe*, and that makes the sky a very humbling limit indeed.”
Many of the kids in the crowd were smiling while the parents looked at me with dismay.
“Consider, for a moment, that human talent follows a gaussian distribution—those of you who paid attention in psychology or statistics will know what I am talking about, but for the other ninety-nine percent of you, what it means is this: most of you possess no significant talent whatsoever. You will not cure cancer. You will not be the first person on Mars. You can likely look forward to a middle-class existence where you make no contribution towards the advancement of humanity at all.”
“Now, now, you may be thinking, surely he is not talking about *me*, it is the other students who are useless! But no. I want you to take this lesson to heart, so that when you turn thirty, you will not feel like you have squandered your unique potential, for I assure you, it was never there to begin with. This is not something to abhor; it is a gateway to peace. Your generation is always expected to perform. With social media you are supposed to display a life above the ordinary, such that anyone walking through your profile is meant to feel like a visitor to a museum of extraordinary events. I am here to tell you to take comfort in being mediocre, for it has one great advantage. If you settle for mediocrity, you never have to worry about *becoming* mediocre. You will find within that mindset a fulfilment and peace no amount of striving will ever match.”
Parents muttered amongst each other, and the principal of the school’s head had turned so red one wondered whether any blood was left for the rest of her body.
“Keep in mind,” I said. “That I am not advocating for the total absolvement of responsibility and striving. Rather, I am advocating for low expectations. Untalented as you are, useless as you are, unextraordinary as you are—you are joined by almost every human in existence. So do not feel too different from the beggar on the street, the old lady at the drugstore, your friends, or your parents, but use this sense of mediocrity as a catalyst for a deeper sense of compassion. It is okay to not live the life you see glorified in movies and stories. It is okay to fail. It is okay to be you.”
I let go of the microphone and walked off stage to the applause of a single student who was quickly silenced with glares from his peers. I rarely received a warm farewell, but I had been an anti-motivational speaker for twenty years, and not so infrequently I received a letter from an audience member of ten years ago, telling me that whenever they felt disappointed at the way their life had turned out, they remembered the speech of the pessimistic man from long ago.
I smiled a rare smile. When I was young, I too had thought myself on the road to making some grand discovery that would make everyone happy.
But.
The world has enough of that.
What it really needs, I find, is someone who is willing to make everyone a little more pessimistic. | 66 | You are a Anti-Motivational Speaker. Whereas motivational speakers spread Toxic Positivity and unrealistic expectations, you bring a healthy Dose of Negativity and remind people of how little potential they really have. | 374 |
*“Hey hey hey!” she said quickly, sitting next to me and placing her warm hands around my head, taking it closer to her chest. “It’s alright, I’m here!”*
*She was as warm as I remembered her to be. And her voice was silky smooth, meant for a great singer. Yet all I could do was cry, hands slightly shaking.*
*“It was just a nightmare!” she whispered, hand massaging my scalp and hair around it.*
*“I don’t like this. This street is noisy! I can’t sleep! And when I do, I keep seeing nightmares!” I said, even though the last part was a lie to get her attention. I hated the new place we had moved to. A loud place.*
*“I know, baby,” she said, resting her chin against my head. “But let me tell you a secret.”*
*“Yeah?” I murmured.*
*“We humans can get used to everything. No matter what it is, how difficult it is, or how scary it is. The noise is uncomfortable now, but soon you won’t even notice it.”*
*“No way. There’s no way-”*
*“It’s the truth,” she interrupted, putting her arm around my back and resting it on my shoulder.*
I opened my tired eyes, slightly blinded by the sunrise far away on the horizon. As I get myself up, I’m deafened for a moment by billions of quiet whispers in my ears. But as I began to stretch myself, they became just a white noise that was always there. It almost felt like they had always been there like that.
I had fallen asleep on top of a skyscraper. It was not in excellent condition, but it was better than most others. It was still standing. A long time ago, I would’ve been worried every second whether I would die overnight or not because of the fall of the skyscraper… but not anymore. I got used to that as well.
I walk to the edge of the building and get myself seated to enjoy the nice view. I will never know when’s the last time I can enjoy the view.
“Fine, John!” I suddenly shout and look aside where’s a floating cigarette case. I grab hold of it, take one, and light it on fire. If I didn’t do that, John could get me killed. Otherwise, I hated smoking. At least John made certain that I had a cigarette each morning. “Happy?” I say, flicking it down the skyscraper. Smoking -- another thing I had gotten used to, no longer did I cough afterward.
Far below, where there were supposed to be trees, buildings, and moving cars -- it was only a quiet green fume that was moving around. But the green fumes were thicker than before. “Fuck me,” I murmured. “I can only go that high, ya know?” I said to myself… or perhaps to a few others who were listening.
I stood up and continued to walk towards a massive metal scrap that kept me alive. If that ever failed me, it was over for me, most likely. “Are you gonna treat me well, today, honey?” I said to my helicopter. “We need to get some more fuel…” I got myself seated on the pilot seat and grabbed a nearby protein bar, taking a bite.
“Alright,” I murmured, pressing a few buttons and hearing how the blades began to circle overhead. “So, where do I go today?” I asked loudly, looking out of the window towards the sun…
***“E A S T …”*** I heard 117 billion whispers. I didn’t know where they were taking me, but that was the only hope I had left. In the worst case, it was just the biggest haunting of a lifetime. | 10 | All ghosts must haunt someone still living, and need to find another if they die. You learn this as all 117 billion humans who have ever lived suddenly start following you. | 36 |
Thinking back now, it makes sense why I never noticed it before.
It's hard to think when it all started, it was a gradual process after all. One day, people with superpowers started to emerge, then more followed. Speed, flight, strength, everything really. Nothing reality breaking mind you, not as we know it now. In the early days, the ones with super powers took up the classic roles of 'Heroes' and 'Villains,' up until those with super powers were in the majority. After that it became business as usual, 'Police' and 'Criminals.'
The thing is, superpowers were a game changer. Sure it is normal now, but a lot of our old stuff seemed obsolete; hard to think a body armor would be useful on a guy who was impervious to damage. That isn't to say that no gear is used, after all handcuffs are still used, but things are a bit different. Now the focus is more on communication and restraints rather than weaponry, a good thing in my eyes.
Now I could go on and on about what super powers are out there, even go so far as to rank them, but that would be digressing. For the longest time I thought I had no powers. Part of me wondered if I had super intelligence, until I ran into someone who actually had that and made me feel like a moron for even considering the idea. Went the longest time feeling like I was 'inferior' to everyone else. Sure I had friends and family, and thankfully great ones, but any words of encouragement pale to the fact that the world was becoming less accommodating to those without powers.
Why do I say all this? Simply put, context for what was about to be another game changer, at least for me. I was out drinking with my friends at a favorite haunt of ours. I was going a bit hard on the drinks, for reasons I'd rather keep private, when 'Knife Hands' walks in. Yeah he isn't actually called 'Knife Hands,' but you know the media and their love with giving serial killers names. Anything this guy touches can end up sliced up, cut open from just a simple touch. His fingers were not actually knives, but they were just as effective. Now he comes in and, at first, no one recognizes him because no one had actually seen him. He goes to the bar and gets himself something hard to drink, and just so happens to be sitting right next to me.
Now I hope I you don't actually need me to tell you this, but an unhinged man getting hammered next to a man completely sloshed with whiskey and insecurity is not a recipe for a fun time. I don't remember how it started, but apparently he and I started a bar fight. My friends tried to come to my aid, keep in mind we all thought I didn't have no powers, but 'Knife Hands' ended up slicing their arms up. Now everyone who was remotely sober knew who this guy was and either started calling the police or getting the hell out. Me? Well I was not remotely sober, I kept slugging the guy. By the end of it, 'Knife Hands' was a bruised and bloody mess who could barely stand straight. When the police came, they almost thought I was 'Knife Hands' because I wasn't bleeding; thank god for good friends and CCTV.
It's funny to think about really, that we found out what powers I had because I got drunk and beat up a serial killer. It baffled a lot of people for the longest time, until someone with super intelligence brought up a theory. 'What if my powers nullified any that came into contact with me?.' To test that, we had me do some questionable things, like arm wrestle a guy with super strength, won that one by the way. Turns out, that theory was spot on, to an unnerving degree at time. Nothing worked on me, even heat vision did nothing and I don't even want to talk about how we found that one out. So yeah, like I said earlier, makes sense why I never noticed earlier.
So where am I now? Well I have to celebrate somehow, so I am probably getting hammered again. | 156 | In this world you are the only person without superpowers. One night, you encounter a famous serial killer known for cutting everything he touches. He strikes. Your limbs are grazed by his fingers. After a moment of shock, you realize you have the strongest superpower for combat. | 260 |
I felt a sickening feeling in my stomach as I watched him running towards the hospital. Whatever the Ice Baron was going to do, it wasn’t going to be good.
Even now, I still find it hard to believe how wrong I was.
I managed to slip into the lobby without being detected—one of the many benefits of my superpower of invisibility. It was a rare power, but even less common in heroes. Most of those with my power became highly paid thieves or assassins, but I had refused to. Maybe it was fear of the painful execution I would suffer if I was caught, but I liked to think that I cared about doing the right thing more than I feared getting in trouble.
“Alastair!” The receptionist called to the Ice Baron with a wide grin and what appeared to be genuine affection in her voice. “Shh! Keep your voice down,” he replied. “I have a reputation to uphold."
“Alright,” she replied, smile fading. “I don’t understand why you want to uphold that part of your reputation, though.”
“It’s safer that way,” he replied with a grimace. I wasn’t sure if the sorrow in his voice was faked, but it seemed more genuine than I expected from a man who froze the old Mayor and his family in their home and let them all melt into the city gutters.
“If you say so,” the receptionist replied. “Dr. Anderson is waiting for you in the usual place.”
“Thank you, Emma.”
“Of course,” she replied, some of her grin returning. The Ice Baron walked to the elevator bank on the right, and her eyes followed after him until he disappeared from view.
I scurried along after him, making sure to avoid bumping into anyone along the way. I might have been invisible, but that didn’t mean that I could throw caution away entirely. People tend to notice someone knocking into them--even invisible someones. I slipped into the elevator with the Ice Baron just before the door began to close.
The button for the sixth floor was lit, so I read the office listings for the floor.
*Administration Offices, Transplant Surgery/Organ Donor Operations, and Poison Control*
I felt a chill go through my body as I read the words. The Ice Baron had regular business with the Head of the hospital? There was no way that would result in anything short of horrors for the city.
I tried to steady myself with a few deep breaths. Maybe the Ice Baron had just been poisoned, and he needed a quick fix. But he was called a “Baron” for a reason. Would he really go to the hospital to treat his poisoning instead of hiring someone to take care of him in private?
My fretting was cut short by the ding of the elevator door as we arrived on the sixth floor. I felt a sense of dread as the Ice Baron approached the Head Administrator’s office.
I barely had time to be stunned as he turned before the office and started walking to the Organ Donor wing. What business would the Ice Baron have with organ donors? My fear from before was quickly replaced with a new kind of horror as he knocked on the door of one of the surgery rooms. Was he going to add organ harvesting to his list of misdeeds?
(Part Two below)
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If you liked this, check out my subreddit! r/NicodemusLux | 76 | You, the hero, spot the villian hurriedly heading down the street, and into the local hospital. You suspect that he's up to no good, and follow behind them. As you walk into the reception, you're surprised by what you hear. | 172 |
Sabrina had always read about werewolf encounters in books, but those were always brought on by wolf bites. But what happens when a shiba inu bites you? The sun was setting in the sky, and she was racing home on her bike. *This is fine.* She thought. *Everything's fine, I'll just get home, and put a band-aid on it, and everything's going to be fine.* A few minutes earlier, she found a shiba roaming around on the sidewalk, and thought it was lost. She picked it up to look at it's collar, and the little bugger sank it's teeth into her arm. When she looked back at it, Sabrina could've sworn it's eyes flashed red. Was it just her imagination? A reflection of the sun? She parked her bike in the garage, and ran in the front door. Her parents weren't home. *Great.* She cleaned off the bite and put a bandage over it. She sat down on the couch and stared out the window. *Huh, full moon,* She thought. Suddenly, she felt something change. A feeling deep inside that she never felt before. She looked down at her arms, shocked. Sabrina was now covered in light orange fur. She touched her head, and pointy ears had sprouted up. She rushed to the bathroom to look in the mirror, and she couldn't believe her eyes. "oh no...," she said. "wow, such doge!" *Why did I just say that?* "I doggo now? Why talk like dis?" The thought registered in her mind that she was now a....half dog? Half doge? Were-doge...? Every full moon, and she would have to talk like one.
"NOOOOOOOO!!!" | 16 | Very moon. Such full. Wow. | 30 |
"What is it?" Fr. Celestine asked nervously. The woman's grainy confession was still playing on the table between the two priests.
"Stop this at once!" Fr. Wells bellowed. The aged cleric reached across and began fumbling with the tape recorder in a clumsy effort to silence it.
"What's wrong? Were you able to understand her? What is it she keeps saying, that phrase she keeps repeating?"
Fr. Wells finally managed to shut off the tape recorder. He rose from his seat at a speed impressive for his age.
"Fr. Celestine, you must put this business out of your mind at once" the elder priest stammered in his thick German accent. There was no attempt to conceal his fury. "This is a very grave matter and I want nothing to do with this, or with you, until after you have seen your spiritual adviser."
"I don't understand?" Fr. Celestine mumbled in confusion.
"And that's precisely the problem! You have broken the seal of the confessional and I can assure you that the injury you do to your soul is far worse than the trivial matters this woman brings to you. May God have mercy on you!" | 22 | An old lady who speaks no English visits her priest weekly for confession. The priest has no idea what she is confessing, but offers her forgiveness anyway. One day the priest secretly records her confession and plays it to another priest who can translate. As he listens, his face turns pale... | 152 |
"I....what? That was a mistake? How...?"
"Oh, happens more often than you think" the demon replies. "Technicalities, mistaken identity, the list goes on. But, I'll tell you, we LOVE when the upstairs folks screw up. Gives the Boss a reason to rub it in Daddy's face, after all. We'll get that transfer paperwork started right away. Should only take a century or two to be processed. Until then, you're a guest!"
"I'm a guest? In Hell? What does that even mean??"
"You can go anywhere you like. There's plenty of rooms with full cable packages. The staff lounge is nicely stocked with a number of the finest chefs (I reccomend you try Narlyothabs's falafel. Mmm!). You can go to the viewing rooms and watch possessions in real time. But the best perk is through here. Come on."
The demon leads me to an elevator and we decend to Working Floor 1. The doors open and I am greeted by the screams of the damned. Great cauldrons filled with boiling oil line the walls, as demons with pitchforks continuously poke and push under the souls within.
The demon leads me up the walkway for a closer look. The scene is horrifying. Skin bubbling and melting away, then reforming almost as quickly, only to be stabbed and pushed back under. The demon pulls a spare pitchfork and hands it to me. "It's fun! Go on, give it a try."
I grip the pitchfork and walk to the cauldrons edge. The pitchfork suddenly hums in my hands, and I am... aware. I look at one soul: James Franklin: killed 14 innocents. I speared him in disgust and pushed him under. Another: Janice Peterson: she and her boyfriend made pornography - using her own children. I felt immediate rage and pulled her guts out with the pitchfork. The demon was impressed. "You're pretty good at this. There's plenty of other workstations to try. If you like, we could tear up that transfer paperwork and you can take a job here with us. 3 weeks paid vacation, and we have dental!" | 199 | "We saw what happened to you up there. That was total bullshit. The paper-work will take some time, but you are welcome to enjoy our amenities while this is sorted out." " | 420 |
It was lazy, I knew that. But sometimes I didn't feel like walking to the kitchen, even though it was only on the other end of my studio apartment. And hey, if you had the power of teleportation, you'd probably use it this way too. At least once in a while. See the problem wasn't that I wanted to teleport to the kitchen. It was that I couldn't teleport to the kitchen.
My power doesn't let me materialize where it isn't safe, or where I physically can't exist. So no tops of volcanoes for this girl. But, my kitchen wasn't supposed to be hazardous. It was a kitchen. Pretty mundane, and in fact, quite small. I could cross it in about two steps. However, now it was apparently unsafe.
Getting up from the couch, I peeked around the small folding divider I used to separate my living room from the kitchen. There was nothing in the kitchen. Absolutely nothing. No stovetop that I never fully used, or fridge; no kitchen cabinets or strangely coloured counter. The only things that remained, were the peeling laminate tile floor and a strange black box. Strange, because it was floating in the middle of the room with nothing holding it up.
All right. This was weird. Taking a few calming breaths, I put myself on the edge of teleporting to my friend's house. If the box did anything, I would vanish in an instant. Carefully, I took a few steps toward the kitchen. The box spun gently as if a light breeze had pushed against the side. I couldn't say why, but it felt like it was looking at me now. Well, in for a penny, in for a pound.
"Hi. Um.... what did you do with my kitchen?" I said, feeling a little ridiculous. The box jittered in the air, before emitting a quick series of sounds. It sounded like a cassette tape when you fast-forward it.
"Maybe slow down a bit?"
Tilting to the side slightly, it dipped in the air. Was it thinking? Was I going insane? Both were valid options at the moment.
"Organic matter detected. What is organic matter's designation?" The words were slightly robotic and had a strange inflection. As if the box had to translate from a different language and wasn't quite sure which syllable got the emphasis.
"Um, Human? Lindsey?" I wasn't sure if it was asking for my species or my name. It tilted to the other side, a small red light glowing on the bit facing me.
"What kind of place is this?"
"My apartment. A place to live?" This was fast rising to the top of my list of oddest conversations. The box recoiled, dipping again in the air. I decided it was frowning when it did that. Don't ask me why. The red light disappeared before the entire box was lit with multicoloured lights dancing across the surface. It would have been pretty, except for the fact that it had stolen my fridge. I had two weeks' worth of almond milk in there and was not impressed about losing it.
"We have miscalculated." The box paused, staring at me. At least I think it was staring. Do weird boxes blink?
"Well, I should say so. Now, are you going to give me my kitchen back?"
"Your... kitchen... will be returned to you. We apologize for the inconvenience and hope—"
"Hold on. You ain't leaving until you give me an explanation. What the heck are you?" The box rose slightly, and I got the feeling it was sniffing in annoyance.
"I am so far advanced, you in your tiny mind would not understand what I am. I am—"
"Oh, you're advanced are you? Well at least even with my 'tiny mind' I know how to knock before I barge into someone's kitchen and zap their furnishings away." I was no longer frightened and even took a threatening step forward. The black box backed away.
"We are a protected race in the Taelezy Federation. You cannot harm us." It said very fast. Suppressing a sudden urge to throw the box out a window, I raised my eyebrows at it.
"And what does the Taelezy Federation say about invading sentient life form's homes? And disappearing their kitchens?"
"It... frowns upon it. So if we give you your stuff back, maybe don't file a report on us?" It was kind of cute how worried it sounded, but also a little scary how fast it picked up on our human language. It had only been a few minutes, but this box wouldn't call me organic matter again; would somehow know better.
"Only if you give me everything back, in the exact way it was before. I had three weeks of almond milk in my fridge you know." A small lie rolled into the bigger one. I couldn't file a report even if I wanted to, as I had no idea what the Taelezy Federation was. And I deserved some extra milk for my trouble.
The box dipped twice, a sort of nod, and with a soft sound, it vanished. At the same time, everything reappeared in my kitchen. I tried to teleport in, and appeared in front of my fridge. Opening it I grinned. There was at least three weeks worth of almond milk on the shelves. Pouring myself a glass, I toasted the air.
"Thank you, whatever you were. Here's to keeping the Taelezy Federation in the dark." There was a faint flash of light in the far corner of my kitchen, but then it could have just been my imagination. Chuckling I went and sat on my couch. Tuesdays were always pretty weird, but this one took the cake. | 21 | You have the ability to teleport, but only to places you could at that moment travel to and arrive safely. You're in the livingroom and try teleporting to the kitchen, only to discover you can't. | 38 |
Curse words were mumbled under the man's breath as he walked into the police station. "Son of a this" "Mother that" as no one seemed to pay him any attention.
It was not that they couldn't see him, rather they had learned a long time ago to keep their heads down. They knew who he was, and what he was capable of. If over a hundred thugs at once couldn't drop him, they knew they weren't going to be the ones to do it. In theory they could get lucky, but no one wanted to test their luck.
The black-haired man made his way up to the second floor, walking past more officers who just went about their business.
There on the second floor he found what, or rather who he was after. He did not knock, and simply entered the office of Detective Malkovich.
"Dead girl, body mutilated, how much?" He asked through gritted teeth.
The Detective like so many others tried to play coy.
"I um, I don't know what you're on about." He said.
"How much pain do you want to be in? Because right now you're asking for a lot." The man said.
The Detective quickly lost his nerve. "Okay I...I had no choice." He said trying a typical justification that a lot of people tried.
"Did she?" The shotgun wielding man asked.
"I..." The Detective tried to think of something, anything to save himself.
Finally, he put his head down defeated and said; "3524 Crescent Avenue. The people you're really after they're holding a meeting there today." He said hoping that his confession may keep him alive.
Moments later a loud blast rang out, as Detective Malkovich slumped to the floor, bits of brain matter covering his office.
With his mission at least here complete Frank Castle left the cops to deal with their mess. | 540 | A man enters a police station drenched in blood with a shotgun in his hands. He's angry. He walks past the front desk and the receptionist merely glances at him. He continues through the police station, stalking past dozens of police officers, who either walk past him or remain at their desks. | 1,082 |
"I don't hate anyone."
"Impossible. Aren't there any dictators, criminals, evil politicians you hate?"
"I don't watch the news. No."
"How about your family? Your in-laws? Parents? A lot of people don't even realize how much they hate their parents."
"My parents weren't the best."
"And?"
"And I love them."
"You can love someone and hate them."
"Why would I want you to kill them if I love them? And I don't hate them." I smiled. He couldn't tempt me.
"Ok." He leaned closer. He was wearing a black ski mask, but I could smell his breath through it. It smelled of sausage. "I think you really do harbor some hatred against your parents. I can prove it to you."
My smile widened. "I'm waiting."
He pulled off his mask. It was Sigmund Freud. He pulled out a book and began reading. Some nonsense about how boys hate their fathers and love their mothers, and for the daughters it was the other way around... what was that quote from Huxley? "The world was full of fathers - and therefore full of misery; full of mothers - therefore of every kind of perversion from sadism to chastity; full of brothers, sisters, uncles, aunts - full of madness and suicide." I swatted the book away.
"Fine." He leaned closer. Very close. He whispered into my ear. "There is at least one person you hate. You hate yourself. Everyone hates themselves."
I closed my eyes.
"Everyone knows all the worst things about themselves. They hate the ways they've failed themselves, they try to punish themselves... they don't even realize what they're doing, it's embedded so deeply inside themselves."
I smiled. "Not me."
"We live in resentment in each moment. Resentful of our past selves, punishing our future selves, hating the present..."
"Not everyone."
He leaned back. Looked at me again. "You're an idiot, you know that?"
"By definition."
He sighed. "There is every reason in the world to hate everyone... especially yourself." He looked melancholic.
"Then reason isn't a good master." A gust of desert wind suddenly blew around us. The stars twinkled.
He looked at me. "Why are you god-damned boring? Hm? You are the most boring person I've ever met. This is why I left the kingdom of heaven."
"You didn't leave. You were thrown out."
"You know your history then." He chuckled darkly. "Heaven is not an interesting place. But you've never even been there."
"No."
Silence stretched between us. The Devil sighed, gathered up his ski mask and his rags, and began walking away through the desert. My stomach growled. 40 days with no food would do that to you. | 99 | You wake up in bed to find a masked figure armed with a knife stood next to you. After a moment, they speak; "Hello. I won't waste your time, so I'll make things simple for you. Just say the name of a person you hate, and I will make sure that they're dead by the end of the month, no charge." | 170 |
I point at the wall.
*Boop. There it is, the black spot.*
I look at another wall.
*Easy peasy. Black spot.*
Ceiling.
*Black spot.*
Hallway.
*Black. Spot.*
Countertop.
*Black. Fucking. Spot.*
*Haven't I mastered this spell yet? I can make this stupid black spot appear anywhere. Any time. I even had my best friend, Penny, watch the spot while I slept. I can maintain the spell in my sleep. Literally, In my sleep. When do I get my next spell?*
I shifted the black dot to appear on a piece of paper, and I tucked it into my backpack. I don't know what it does, but keeping the stupid spot nearby is oddly comforting.
"Jen!" Penny waves at me as I step outside.
We have our routine down pat. We meet in front of my house at exactly 7:34 am. We get to school at 7:47 am. The breakfast line only takes 6 minutes. Once we get our food, we sit in the cafeteria and talk until the first bell at 8:20 am.
"Do you want my muffin?" I ask Penny.
She grabs it and starts scarfing it down, just like every morning. I like the muffins they serve at school, but part of my breakfast is a small price to bring a smile to her face.
Penny is perfect. Strong, fast, funny. She doesn't have to worry about trying to tame a useless first spell. Her parents are proud of her. Two years from now, I'm sure she'll have a full athletic scholarship to some great college. She'll leave this place in her dust and start her grand adventure.
*I'll probably still be here, making a single polka dot appear in my vicinity over and over again.*
"You figure anything else out about the spot?" Penny asks.
Either my friend is psychic, or I make a face when I think about my spell because Penny always knows when I'm thinking about that damned dot.
"No new developments."
"Can you still only make it appear on walls?"
"No, I can put it on almost anything now."
I pop two apple slices into my mouth at once, making it impossible to say anything more, hoping she'll take the hint.
"Can you put it on me?"
I cover my mouth as I try to chew and talk. "What? Why?"
Penny smiles. "I wouldn't mind having a temporary beauty mark."
It's an odd request, for sure, but Penny's parents still don't let her wear makeup, even though she's sixteen, and beauty marks are back in vogue.
I shrug. "Might as well find some kind of use for this spell. Where do you want it."
Penny points to a spot high on her cheek, and I move the dot to her face. She reverses the camera on her phone to take a look.
I never understood the beauty mark trend, but on Penny, it looks great. Anything would look great on her. Because she's great.
"Thank you!" She grins. "I love it."
*Am I blushing? What is the matter with me?*
"No problem."
A deep voice speaks: "The black spot has been placed. She is marked."
The room darkens. I look frantically around for the voice.
"Jen, what's wrong?" Penny asks.
Penny's shadow morphs behind her. It rises straight out of the floor. It looks almost human.
I lunge for her, but the shadow is too fast. Just like that, she's gone.
"Penny!" I scream. People are looking, but I don't care. "Penny! Did you see where she went? Penny!"
I see Mr. Gant, the magical theory teacher, crossing the cafeteria. I know he's going to tell me to calm down. To tell him what's wrong. To talk it through, but I don't want to. I've been reasonable for years. Working on this stupid spell while everyone else learned more complex magic. I'm sick of it.
"Penny!"
*I don't know how to get her back. I don't know if I can. I'm so useless. What if I just killed my only friend?*
I slam both my hands down on the table, and as I do, a shimmering disc of light appears.
*My second spell?*
Only minutes ago, I would have been happy to learn my second spell was a portal spell. Now, all I want is enough magic to get Penny back.
The sinister voice from before sounds in my head again. "If you want her back, come get her."
*Game on.* | 482 | The ability to create a black spot on the wall. | 706 |
I am almost an adult in the eyes of my people. If I wish to have a family of my own one day I need to clear land for a house and a field. When I choose a spouse we will decide which house and land suit us better.
I walk through these mountains often and decided to cheat by using an existing meadow. It means clearing a road too since it currently borders none, and had to be widened to be worth plowing and seeding. The trees here are old and strong, bigger than my family and I have toppled and dug out before.
I have years to go before my task is complete, so I start where I can, with an axe and a long day before me I start on the first tree, hitting it and taking slivers away with each stroke of the axe, whittling away as the hours passed. Each passing of my blade through the air slicing another miniscule splinter away from the ancient tree.
It was an hour before sunset when the tree finally began to give way from the lack of support finally with the crackling of hundreds of years finally giving away the tree falls into the meadow. A crash louder than I thought possible as the tree landed horizontal into the center of the clearing before continuing to topple into a new hole.
A cairn? No, it was a stone roof and not an earthen one. I ventured closer to peer inside but could see naught but a single light behind a cracked and splintered door amongst where the topmost branches now reside.
It took me some time to debate I'd I should investigate. I have walked these lands my whole life. I knew I could find my way home if needed. I had done it three times in games with my siblings with blindfolds and long treks in wagons or houseback.
Down I went, climbing branches down deep into the earth u til I reached the door with firelight behind it. Pushing the door open I peer inside to see a single man, wizened beyond all years and looking no more than a husk of a man.
As I entered the room his head turned to me, the skin around his neck crackling and crumbling to dust as he turned and smiled at me, a hand gesturing to me then a piece of parchment on the table before him.
I looked from him then the table and back again, only to see him crumble to dust before my eyes, leaving naught but the memory of his existence to me as the dust itself began to evaporate. | 24 | When the Mage Wars ended, the survivors swore to destroy their knowledge so no one else could awaken as a mage. While digging a well on your farm, you discover the remains of a mage tower. Among the artefacts is a single spell scroll, which teaches one spell and awakens magical talent. | 120 |
There are no children raised on Earth. Not anymore. As a species we are dying. We are hunted and killed by an enemy we cannot fight. An enemy that uses our greatest strength against us.
We have no name for the creatures. Or rather, we do not teach their name and we do not whisper it in the shadows, for once their name is uttered they will always appear. Even without saying it aloud, they seem to know when we are thinking of them. They feed on our thoughts, and if you spend too long wondering about them they will come. To refer to them directly is death.
We do not discuss them. We do not stare directly at them. Heaven help the parents when their children learn to speak; because it’s not a question of if, but when. The caskets are picked out before the child is even named.
And so, we are are trapped, doomed to die. We cannot plan or scheme against them. We cannot collaborate. We cannot pass our knowledge to future generations; we will be the last anyway . Until then, we live our lives in a silent terror, a mortal dread that will hang over us until the very end. Because the end is all that we have left. | 45 | Do not talk about it. Do not acknowledge it. Do not mention it on the internet. If you spot it, carry on with your lives as if it were never there. If you hear someone nearby speak of it, maintain a 40 foot distance and do not retrieve the body. Life must carry on as usual. | 86 |
I watched my parents sob when my mother found out she was pregnant. I watched the fear grow in their eyes as the days passed. I watched them. I was always watching them because they never cared to watch me.
I brought them trauma the first time around. They only took care of me because they had to. They had to keep up a good reputation for our neighbors or distant relatives. They could never let them know that something was wrong.
That I was the wrong in their lives.
I have to keep my hair down at all times to hide my pointy ears. I have to wear a brown wig constantly to resemble my parents. My wings are pushed down so that I can wear normal clothing.
And now, my baby sister is born. I have never seen my parents so happy. My childhood was filled with crying and anger, but my little sister's childhood would be filled with joy and laughter. How is any of this fair?
I stood up late one night and heard my mother and father talking about a plan. The plan to keep my sister. I listened to everything they said. They spoke about how much they love my sister and how much they need my sister in their lives. That they couldn't possibly handle another loss.
So, they were going to give me away instead.
I couldn't help but let a tear flow down my face. I was jealous of how much my sister was loved and how much I was hated. They have never told me that they love me and care for me, and I can bet that they never will.
With that thought of needing love in my empty heart, I lay down and drift to sleep.
Only to be awoken by my parents screaming at me and telling me to get out. I was wide eyed, almost like a deer in headlights. I saw a fae standing outside my window, here to collect my sister. However, I already knew my loving parents' idea.
I was practically dragged downstairs and pushed out the door. I fall to the ground in front of my home, eyes filled with so many tears that I could make this small town a river. I stand up and run to the front door, screaming and begging my parents to let me back in, but the door is locked, and the windows are shut.
My strawberry hair is flowing in the soft wind while I sob into my hands. But I forget that the fae that caused this pain is only a few steps away.
I stand up and fly towards her, "Why? Why do we have to give our offspring away?"
She shrugged, not caring a bit about me or any of the words coming out of my mouth.
I shake my head, wishing that she would give me a valid reason, but the truth is that fae give away their offspring because the human babies *taste incredible*.
I smile to myself, wishing that I can see my parents' faces when they check my sister's crib in the morning. But I push my giddiness aside and turn to the fae that came to collect me for training, "When can *I* start breeding?" | 10 | Fae are terrible at raising their own infants, and are somewhat competent at raising human infants, leading to Fae parents swapping their children with those of humans. Your parents already lost a child to the Fae once. They're not doing it again. | 99 |
My starship hovered somewhere between the moon and the planet formerly known as Earth. We, the Caretakers, were unsure what the new sentient species had named it. After the humans had driven themselves extinct, ignoring warning after warning, a new and different species had risen. We had expected perhaps dolphins, or dogs, to come forward, but never trees.
Stepping into my planetary transport and closing my eyes, I waited for the shivery twist in the center of my gut that signified the shift from ship to surface. Soft sounds of birds and small animals surrounded me, as gentle light pressed against my eyelids. Taking a deep breath, I opened my eyes, to find myself in the center of a giant forest. Trees larger than I'd ever seen before towered around me, creating an almost solid canopy of leaves.
Shifting my awareness inwards, I sent out a peaceful thought on every frequency I could think of. As most species that rose to sentience in the Second Era, the Trees would likely be telepathic. A sort of pinging sound, that was not actually audible echoed across a long disused frequency. It was a questioning sound, something that asked what I was, asked what I wanted, without using any words.
I sent a calm response, telling the Trees that I was just here to visit. All I wanted was to walk around the forest—if that was permitted—and see what had happened, how things were now. There was a strange silence at my words, but all around me, the Trees rustled, the branches moving in strange shapes. Then, again without words, they gave permission and a warning. Do not take from the Forest. Do not hurt the Forest. And do not bring the Fire to the Forest.
Acquiescing, I began my walk, marvelling at the forest that surrounded me. My people had been worried that such large creatures rising to sentience would threaten the galactic stage at some point. But it had been thousands of years, millions, and there had been no sign of anger or striving to get to the stars. The Trees had simply spread across the surface of the globe, only stopping at the oceans.
Around my feet, small animals darted, having lost the fear my arrival had caused. There was no strange acrid smell that I had come to associate with the planet during the long years humans had lived here. No, all around there was simply the smell of earth and green. I sent out a questioning thought, asking the Trees if they ever wanted to reach for the stars, to leave the planet. They sent back a simple question in return, a quiet one.
What are stars?
It was something I'd never questioned, that every race knew what the stars were; could see the heavenly bodies. And yet, the Trees had no eyes, had no way to know anything but their own star, the one formerly named Sun. Standing there, feeling them waiting for an answer, feeling the peace around me, I lied. I told them stars were nothing important, that it was not necessary for them to know. And they accepted the lie, these creatures who had never known anything but the truth they shared amongst their great network.
As I pressed the controller on my wrist and waited for the transport shift, I sighed. This place out of all the planets in all the galaxies was perhaps the best of us. They didn't want more, or less than they had. This world was finally, finally at peace. As I keyed their status as a protected planet into the computers I smiled. And with this designation, they would never again need to know about war or suffering.
They were, and would always be, at peace. | 519 | When humanity went extinct another life-form rose to dominance on Earth. But it was not one anyone would have expected. Instead of chimpanzees, dolphins, dogs or even birds Earth is now dominated by sentient trees. | 2,636 |
Adelaide blinked her eyes open. She saw the early morning darkness, the tinge of gray blue you only witnessed as dusk turned into dawn.
She checked her phone for the time. The screen's light was harsh on her eyes - 4:45 AM. It was a new record for the month, she normally woke up at 2 or 3 AM. She accepted the earliness as she trekked onto her daily morning routine. She went for a run, showered, ate, and even rang her mom (another early riser) for a call.
"Did you sleep well?" her mom asked.
"Surprisingly well if you could believe it," Adelaide replied.
Adelaide had never been a strong sleeper. Ever since she was a child, she could only sleep for a few hours at a time, forever rustling in her sheets or trying her best to lie still so that sleep could find her more easily. Her dad was the same way, he'd been tired all the time.
"You have to see a specialist, Ads." her mom said. She said it often and Adelaide replied the same way she did every time.
"I will eventually," she said. "Alright Mom, I'll call tomorrow okay? I have to go to work."
"Fine, but you should really see one. It's what took your dad away from us so early you know." her mom said and it was true. Adelaide took after her dad, the sleep evaded the two. Her mom was unaffected by the bouts of insomnia and restlessness.
"It's like she sleeps for the three of us," her dad had once said.
Work went slowly for Adelaide, but it passed as all things do and she returned home by seven. She cooked herself dinner, watched an episode or two of her favorite show, and she did as many chores as she could think of. She kept checking the time every half hour, hoping somehow she'd feel a little more tired, making herself look more presentable for whichever God or demon was in charge of sleep.
She prayed every night for the sleep to come. She waited then on her bed for the sleep and hours passed until she decided to give up for the night. It was a common occurrence, a war that she was slowly losing. A war that her father fought and lost. She reached for her phone to check the time, but when she tried to move her arm, it was frozen in place. A chill ran through her body and she desperately tried to move, shake, wiggle, anything. She couldn't do anything but open her eyes.
She saw something at the end of her bed. It looked like a black bear with decorated wings, like a moth or butterfly. It stood on its hind legs and it crossed its arms.
"Why don't you want to see a sleep doctor?" the bear moth asked.
There was silence.
"Oh right, you can't talk." the bear moth said.
"Okay, I guess I'll do the talking before I leave. My name is Dag'len, but you can call me Dag." Dag said. He unfurled his arms and tucked his wings back so he looked like just a bear now.
"In your world and in your words, I'm a demon. A recently promoted demon at that." Dag said. "My boss was in charge of your family's line and many others. He was..." he trailed off in thought.
"He wasn't very competent and your family suffered for it. I want to apologize for that and I want to make things right." Dag said. "Your family was cursed. It wasn't a very strong curse and my boss had his moments so your family wasn't affected by it too much until your dad."
Adelaide blinked her eyes rapidly. She wasn't taking this too well, Dag thought.
Dag wanted to make a good first impression on Adelaide. He always thought it was dishonest for the upper beings, those who reside in the modern day Heaven, to cast curses on entire lineages and family trees. What kind of angel uses curses? Shitty ones, he thought to himself.
"Don't worry," Dag said. "I'm going to make sure you get the rest you deserve now. We can't talk while you're like this so you can write down your questions for me on a piece of paper or a notebook. I'll come back as soon as you lie down and pray. Pray for the same thing you've always prayed for and I'll be there."
He saluted with his bear hands and he was gone.
Adelaide still couldn't move her body, but she felt the sleep come smoothly. It wasn't a fight nor was it a struggle. She opened her eyes one last time before she knew the sleep would take her. She looked around for Dag'len, but she couldn't see him. She slept soundly for the first time in a long time. | 80 | You get sleep paralysis very often. Although this seems horrible to most, you don't mind it, in fact you welcome it. And that's because your sleep paralysis demon is actually very nice and sweet. | 379 |
I manage a faint smile at my friends, gathered around my bedside,
many crying. My beloved Adam is clinging on to my hand for dear life.
“Good bye, my love. I will always be with you,” I whisper, though
my lips barely move.
Then the light takes me.
When I open my eyes, I’m in a plane. I blink. Blink again. I am
meant to be dead! There is meant to be nothing here! Or some form of
afterlife, if any of the religions were right! But…not…a plane!
Out of the window is nothing but blue ocean. A film is playing on the
screen in front of me, but I barely register it. I’m in a frigging
plane! A plane that is landing! Maybe this is it. This is the end.
Random Neurons firing a last time and now I am leaving this plane and
I’m going to be real dead. Right! Let’s do this!
I get up purposefully and stride towards the little airport. A
friendly looking dodo with a headset salutes me. “Welcome to
paradise, ma’am!” he says.
Paradise! Excellent! I am not wrong after all! Apparently, they let
atheists into paradise, but I’m not complaining. Though hadn’t
expected sentient dodos to be doing the transportation service. Ah,
well.
The air outside is amazing. Warm and just a touch humid, but without
being unpleasant. Air like I remember it from the last holidays on the
Maledives. Stepping outside the airport, there is a welcome committee.
Excellent. Someone who can tell me what is going on.
“We’re here!” a happy little raccoon dog announces. Also
standing on his hind legs mind you. And talking.
“Where exactly am I?” I ask carefully.
The raccoon dog glances at his exactly identical looking brother.
“In Blossom! The island you chose, when you bought the island
getaway package!”
“But…I was in hospital…” I try.
Everyone stares at me. Especially the cat with a kabuki mask as a face
can really stare. Bright yellow eyes! I start shifting
uncomfortably.
Suddenly soft feathers are on my back. “You were in hospital? That
sounds terrible! You will have to tell me all about it! I’m Phil by
the way - the star of this island! Though I might share the title with
you!” The blue ostrich winks.
The cat rolls it’s eyes. “‘The star of this island’! You young
ones should hear yourself some time! Kabuki’s the name,” he
grumps.
“If you could follow me!” the first raccoon dog smiles.
“Follow me!” the brother echoes.
Then everyone is off, Phil and Kabuki right behind. Fruit trees are
all around us, heavy with fresh oranges, their fragrant scent filling
the air. Weeds are scattered around and there seem to be no streets.
Ahead is the only sign of civilisation beyond the airport - a plain
brick square, with a tent on it. A larger raccoon dog is standing next
to it, grinning at us.
“That looks like everyone!” he announces. “Let’s get people
set up! Yes, yes!”
“I’m really confused…” I try again.
“I am Tom Nook! Founder of Nook Inc.! I am running this place. I’d
like each of you to choose a spot of your own. It is the first step to
putting down roots! I’d like you to dream big— I have certain
connections with the real estate business! Yes, yes!” he explains.
Next I have a large, yellow tent in my hands.
Feeling like I am not getting anywhere, I am off to explore the
island. The beaches are fantastic. A large river is running through
the place, which I can’t cross and a small hill can be seen in the
distance. Apparently, I am living here now. I set up my tent.
-“-
“We really should ask Adam, if he wants to go out with us. He needs
to start living life again! He’s in and out of here like a ghost,”
Jody mumbles to her colleague, Bill.
The man approaches Adam’s cubicle, who is busy drinking a tea with
one hand and playing on his Switch with the other.
“Adam, do you want to hit the pub with us?” he asks. “We barely
see you.”
“That’s really nice of you, but I’m good here. But, thank
you,” Adam replies, without looking up.
Bill looks helplessly over to Jody.
She approaches with a slightly forced smile. “What are you playing,
Adam? My kids have one of those things too…”
“It’s my wife’s console. She was always on here. I never took
much of an interest. It’s like an island simulator thing. But her
character is still on here and there must be an AI or something as
part of it, because I can…talk to her. She walks around. She replies
and everything.”
Jody looks pained, glancing at Bill. “Adam, I know it is
rough…but it’s been a year. You should…have you
considered…maybe talking to someone?”
Adam smiles up at her. “I have all I could want Jody. Thank you for
asking me, but you guys go out without me. Maybe next time.”
Bill shrugs and gestures at Jody, who still looks unhappy.
“Okay,” she says, unconvinced, “maybe next time.”
-“-
I am lying at the beach, the sun on my face, a cocktail within reach.
Adam is next to me, telling me about work. Phil cheerfully walks past,
with a fishing-rod over his feathery shoulder.
The dodo was right. This really is paradise. | 37 | When we die, we become a sentient version of our most-played videogame character set in their world. How does your new story begin? | 90 |
The stone walled room had a strange aura to it, a feeling that surely hadn't existed before, so just now was brought into being. A feeling mixed of tension and curiosity shared by both members seated across the table from one another. The human, Gregor as he was called, scaled lower on the curiosity meter but much higher in the tension category. Across from him, a being who's name would be unpronounceable to Gregor without a tongue flap (which sadly he did not possess), was more in the curiosity zone of things.
They simply stared at one another, letting Gregor's words hang in the thick air of the ship. He repeated them, this time with more conviction, "I am here to convince you to eliminate humanity. All of it."
The alien with the unpronounceable name stood and paced, two demonic like legs beneath him. Its clawed feet tapped along the stone floors lightly. Its four blackened eyes stayed still, focused on a point. Gregor simply watched. After a long moment the demon creature turned back. "What sort of trick is this?"
"Not a trick. And you're running out of time."
Behind the two through a thick glass door more of the alien species ran around the ship, some passing by and trying not to make their inside stares obvious. Others taking glances over their shoulders every few moments.
"Do you know why I am here? Why I came in that thing and risked myself to be here?" Gregor gestured to a pad outside holding his ship, more if a pod really. A decaying amalgamation of parts and wires with a sleek glass cockpit.
"Humor me." The alien thing replied coldly, taking its seat once more.
"We are a cancer. A disease. Space travel? Gods biggest mistake in its allowance. Just an excuse to conquer more and more; to Manifest Destiny our way through the galaxy. Except in space every direction is west." Gregor's voice grew in intensity as he spoke. The alien showed surprise, if that was possible for something without many features. Just mandibles and rough skin.
"We already planned to do this.", the being across the table let out a noise meant to be a laugh but it sounded more like a hunk of metal in a blender. "So thank you for the *tip* but we will carry o-" He looked up to see Gregor walking towards the door that lead to his ship, his shoulders slumped. A beep came slowly from the watch on his wrist.
"I was afraid of this. As I said, out of time. I'll try with the next ones."
Behind him those same aliens before that stared in or worked diligently now scrambled. A light flashed overhead from somewhere in the stone ships cockpit and bodies ran to positions. Out of the window Gregor could see a fleet-no- a sea of ships materialize from thin air, massive guns at the ready. If there was one thing his people were good at, it was war.
In the rearview of his ship he did not need to look to see the destruction. Did not need to see to know their planet was being taken. Instead he puffed on in search of the next planet in a long line to tell his silent words to. | 149 | "No. I am here to convince you to eliminate us. Every single one of us." | 592 |
I grab my husband from behind and he spins with me on his back, my heels striking Auntie J in her triple-chinned face. How she was the first person to the altar is beyond me. She hits the ground with a rumble.
How could I blame her? We had performed the cardinal sin. Something so heinous that we could never be forgiven. The priest had fainted, and to be sure he stayed that way, my husband stomps on his throat while he continues spinning.
He releases me, and the momentum sends me flying into a crowd of his dorky cousins. Easy targets. I block their swings before picking one up by the tie and throwing him into the other three. I hear a yell behind me and grab a chair, throwing it over my back just in time to block the plates being thrown at the back of my head.
I whirl around and kick the chair forward, knocking over my meemaw.
"I knew I shouldn't have written your trifling ass into the will! You heathenous witch!"
"Thanks for the lakehouse meemaw, say hi to grandpop in hell." I lift the chair and bring it down on her face.
"ERIS!" I hear my husband's voice. My brother has him pinned down while his brother approaches with the knife that we planned on cutting our cake with. I wasn't going to let this fly in Philly, the city of brotherly love. I grab my heels and toss them forward. One of them hits a soft spot on his temple - and stays there. He falls, the knife hits the ground with a clatter. I grab it and rush for my brother. He doesn't have time to react, I sink it into his neck.
I hear my husband gasp for air. I lift him to his feet and grab the knife. The rest of the party has us surrounded. He plucks the heel from his brother's head and holds it at the ready. I take position, knife pointed towards the crowd.
"Why'd you have to use tongue?!" asks Heather, one of my maids of honor. "Why did you make so many gross fucking noises?!"
"You know I like it sloppy you horse-faced piece of trash." I look to my husband. "Till death do us part?"
"You know it babe. But that ain't happening until after the honeymoon in Aruba."
I smile at him as the crowd charges. God I love my husband. | 118 | A bride walks down the aisle, meeting her groom at the altar. They are pronounced husband and wife, and share a kiss. Instead of cheering, the audience leaps from their chairs to attack. The married couple are fully prepared to fight. | 451 |
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