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My name is Keegan, and I am a Rotten Apple.
I don’t know how much the Surface World tells you about us so allow me to explain: you might be aware of the Intention-scanner, the device they fit onto a newborn’s head to measure their brain structure and activity. They say this device can tell if you are going to be a Good Egg, a Bad Apple, or worst of all, a Rotten Apple like me.
When they used the I-Scanner on me, it said I was the biggest Rotten Apple there ever was. Since the ‘utopian’ Surface World decided it was immoral to kill people like me, we just get sent away at the age of five.
My last memory of my mother was of her being dragged away by a Utopia Enforcement Officer. They put me to sleep and I awoke...here. For the past ten years, I have lived inside what they call an ‘Inoculation Institution’. It is essentially a boarding school for Rotten Apples built on an island God knows where. There are 200 other Rotten Apples here. There are chips inside all of us so even if we try to escape, they would know where we were.
Every Sunday, they show us your Surface World films and TV shows. They say if we prove we have the Fortitude to force ourselves to be a good egg, they will let us go home. That’s what happened with one of your leaders – Sir Michael Mayhew! Could you believe he was born a Rotten Apple? He showed enough Fortitude to go home and he basically won you the war!
Throughout my time here, I believe the I-Scanner was wrong. I am *not* like the rest here. All they do is fight, lie and steal. I have no friends here.
That’s why I did what I did.
I was helping Mr. Taylor clean the lab and went into the supply closet. On one of the shelves – I spotted Lysinthe – we had a roach infestation a few months ago so they must have got it for that. I didn’t know if it worked on people but there was only one way to find out.
On Saturdays, they let us roam freely around the Institution. That’s how I first saw the water tank on the roof all those years ago.
I picked a good time to do it – all the teachers were having lunch and *I* was having a ball climbing the small set of staircases leading to the roof. I had two plastic bags filled with Lysinthe.
Moving the water tank lid was the hardest part – the thing weighed a ton but I had the Fortitude to do it.
I emptied a few Kilograms worth of the stuff into the tank.
It didn’t take long – just that afternoon, Stevie started violently throwing up. By the next morning, the Institute was filled with the sickly groans of students, teachers, and guards.
The morning after that, they were all dead.
What’s more moral than finishing off an island filled with Rotten Apples? I am not any different than Sir Michael Mayhew who bombed 7 Nazi army barracks by himself.
Only I had the Fortitude to do this. I know that I will be the only one showing as alive here on your screens, and I eagerly await my rescue and reintegration into the Surface World. | 187 | In the not too distant future a test has been developed that can dictate, with 99.9% accuracy, the future morality of a child, a test has recently come back with a shocking result, pure evil. | 306 |
“You… won,” Bronze Reaper rasped, sitting with his back against the wall and acutely feeling the pain spreading through his body.
*Damn it*, the supervillain thought wearily, *been a long time since I last got my arse kicked like this…*
“Well, yeah,” Peacebringer agreed easily, standing up from where he crouched next to Bronze Reaper. “I broke your scythe, disabled your glider, and just put power-restraining cuffs on you. I’d say it’s pretty obvious who the winner of this fight is.”
“Ha,” the supervillain grinned, despite the pain. “Mock me all you want, hero. Soon, I’ll be back on these streets – and then I’ll show you, now that I know all your tricks.”
Peacebringer cocked his head to one side – somehow Bronze Reaper though that the hero was slightly surprised, even though the mask covering the his entire face didn't let anyone see Peacebringer's actual expression.
“You think you’ll be out soon, huh? How do you figure that happening?”
“Oh, I have *powerful* friends,” the villain sneered. “Much more powerful than you can imagine.”
“Like Doctor Hurricane?” Peacebringer asked casually, making Bronze Reaper freeze in shock.
“How do you know it was him?!” the villain demanded. “He told me…”
“That no one would ever know?” Peacebringer cut him off. “Like he told you that if you break into my secret base and upload this virus to my system, he’ll make you his right-hand man?”
The hero waved a flash drive before the defeated villain, who was reduced to opening and closing his mouth, with no words coming out.
“Look,” Peacebringer continued, grabbing a chair (that somehow managed to survive their fight) and taking a seat in front of Bronze Reaper, “normally, at this point you’d be on your way to jail already, but I decided to tell you something first. You want to know how I knew about Doctor Hurricane, right?”
Bronze Reaper could only nod.
“Well,” the hero paused before continuing, “I should probably start at the beginning. You see, when I was ten, my parents were murdered by an armed robber. They left me quite a fortune, and so I decided to use it to become a hero and fight crime.”
Peacebringer laughed a little.
“Pretty standard so far, huh? Well, I got trained by some of the best fighters out there, created my suit, built a secret base – the *real* one, I mean, not this decoy…”
He waved his hand around disparagingly.
“And for some time, I *did* go out at night to beat up random criminals. But the more time I spent out there in the streets, the more I realized that I wasn’t making that much of a difference. A lot of these guys… well, they weren’t *good* people by any means, and they’ve made their choice, but still – a lot of them were screwed over by their life, one way or another. And even if I did put ten criminals behind bars, another ten would just take their place the next night. So I decided to change my approach.”
Bronze Reaper, having recovered from his shock somewhat, was listening intently, trying to figure out the hero’s angle.
“Instead of new gadgets and other superhero toys, I started spending my money on different programs – fighting poverty, homelessness, drug use… still, there were other issues that remained. Corruption, for one.”
Bronze Reaper nodded automatically. Paying off cops and city officials to look the other way when necessary was something he was used to – like any other supervillain worth the name.
“See, I didn’t have the power to just kick out everyone who was on the payroll of one villain or another,” Peacebringer went on, “so I came up with an… alternative solution. Tell me, Bronze Reaper – what is the one time you cannot buy someone’s loyalty, even if they’re corrupt?”
The supervillain knew the answer – ever since he came into this city.
“When someone else has already bought it,” he said, and then paused, his eyes widening. “Wait, you don’t mean…”
“Exactly,” Peacebringer nodded. “And that was how Doctor Hurricane was born. A criminal mastermind so secretive and elusive that hardly anyone’s ever seen him – but so dangerous that if you take his money, you don’t even think about crossing him, no matter how much someone else offers you. Turns out that some people who lack conscience compensate for it by having a *very* acute sense of self-preservation.” | 24 | You are the Villain having just arrived in a new city to begin your epic crime spree, but you find that the Hero has the elected officials and law enforcement so well paid off that they are uncorruptible! How are you supposed to work under these conditions?! | 151 |
"There's something wrong, here." The assistant looks up at me. She's new here and is charge of keeping track of who comes. Real sweet, a little shy, but good at dealing with some of the younger souls who come through these gates to the Afterworld. Which brings us back to the issue.
"What do you mean, sir?"
"Run through the ages of those who've died and came in with a visible knife wound in the past four months." The scars of the living fade over to the souls of the dead. Though there is no way to tell for certain how a person died, one can make a pretty solid guess. Plus, after centuries, I've seen just about every type of injury. Got pretty good at guessing what's up from their looks, alone.
"The ages of those with a visible knife wound. Seven, seven, six, eight, seven, five, fifty-two, six, nine, seven, eight, five, seven... Other than a few outliers, the ages are about five to ten."
"And how many are there?"
"Thirty-two. Wait. You don't think we're dealing with..."
"A serial killer? Yeah, pretty obviously, we are."
"But children? Who in their twisted mind would go after children? I thought humanity was better than this!"
"Don't let the actions of one distort your view of the others. There are some really good ones up there. But I'm drawing the line. I refuse to let them go on."
"You can do that?"
"I did it in 1888."
"So, it was you who dealt with Jack the Ripper. I always wondered what happened to him."
"Send a letter to the higher ups. I'll return as soon as they are dealt with." She nods as a cloud of smoke surrounds me.
I open my eyes. I have taken the form of a human male. One glance around shows me Central Park in New York. A place I've been many times for many cases. In my hand lies the piece of paper with marks of where each child's body was found. All of them in New York. I stand up and straighten my coat.
"Alright buddy. You had your fun. It's time for your final judgement." | 274 | You are Death. Your primary job is to guide the souls of the dead to the afterlife, but you never know what actually killed them. So you solve the deaths of those who died under mysterious circumstances on the side. The dead are usually grateful and help you out in your endeavour. | 2,095 |
The sky faded from blue to purple to an empty black hole, spanning maybe a mile across. The grass similarly splotched and waned into a sandy gray dessert. Armor and bones littered the area.
When I set out to return the Globensparn to the ancient city of my ancestors, I had no idea I would find the area I have come to call The Void. I could also not possibly know the chain of events that killing a simple rabbit would set off.
I had been wanting The Fields of the Lost for a good few weeks, and my food supplies had withered to half a loaf of stale bread. The rabbit mysteriously hopping in the gray waste of the void was a welcome sight to my hungry belly, and I was planning to kill it and eat it long before it hissed at me.
I'd never really heard of a rabbit hissing, but I was new to this. I was also surprised to see the rabbit, rather than fleeing, dart towards me as I walked into The Void.
A swift kick was enough to put it down, but as I walked over, stopped down, and grabbed the rabbit, the earth shook. A lightning bolt shot from the sky to the earth about 20 strides away, and where it had struck, a wolf-like creature stood snarling.
I scooped up my rabbit and began to run back the direction I came. The wolf howled behind me, and I had no idea where I was going to run- The Fields of the Lost are notoriously flat, straight out to the horizon.
I scrambled out of the sandy waste and tripped on the grass at the edge. I rolled and saw the wolf pad up to the edge, sniff the air, and snarl. He meandered back to where the rabbit had been. Curious.
I set up a camp maybe a hundred meters from The Void and ate my rabbit, the best food I'd had in weeks. As I finished the last bite, craving more, a mad thought came to me: there's a lot more meat on a wolf.
I spent several months, maybe years, camped on the edge of The Void. Each time I slayed a beast, the familiar lightning would provide another, slightly stronger than the last. God's gift to the worthy, I thought.
I killed the wolf, a big cat, a bull, a bear. I ate their meat, crafted armor from their hides, and eventually weapons from their claws. I grew tougher and craftier with each kill.
I worked my way through a series of dragons, each bigger and more powerful than the last, each bound by The Void as I worked out a plan to kill it.
At some point, I began fighting men and women- adventurers like myself that had lost their lives to The Void. The Void had given the strong among them a second chance as beasts, and unanimously they warned me to quit while I was ahead. None defeat the Demon King Agorius. They were weak. I would not succumb to their fate.
I hated fighting them most of all. They blabbed the whole time, and their meat tasted sour.
One day, after smiting the Demon Prince Flavio, the familiar lightning took its time. The whole Void shook with otherworldly laughter and a voice boomed:
"Foolish mortal you have fallen into my trap. You have grown strong enough now for me to consume, and your strength will give new life to The Pit"
"You mean The Void?" I asked
"The... No, this is The Pit" it replied
"Doesn't look much like a pit is all." I said.
Lightning struck and the Demon King appeared. The Demon Prince hadn't put up much of a fight, and consuming his essence had restored me, so I figured I would just go another round.
I was honestly a bit disappointed. He talked a big talk, but aside from hitting me in the shoulder with a lightning bolt, he didn't do much damage before I had him impaled on my dagger, my other hand choking the life out of him.
I sniffed.
"You smell like you'll make a good roast" I said. His eyes widened.
"Oh God, you have been... Eating them?" He croaked out
I twisted the dagger and he exhaled his last.
The Void sort of collapsed on itself and hit me with one last lightning bolt for good measure. I lost consciousness, and when I awoke, The Void was just gone- grass and sky continuing as if it had never been there.
I dragged the corpse of the Demon King back to my camp and lit the fire, wondering what I would do now.
As I prepared the roast, the shining Globensparn rolled from my pack. I made eye contact with the smoking black eyes of my reflection, the black veins visible through my pale flesh cracked as I grinned a smile of sharpened fangs.
Ah yes, my quest. I must go claim the ancient power of my ancestors and use it to topple the Republic. But first, a roast. | 20 | You, a new adventurer, discovered a remote location that has a portal which summons hostile and increasingly more powerful entities whenever you defeat one. | 34 |
"Ah, welcome! What can I do for you today?"
A thin, tall woman towered over me, wearing a tattered and worn ball gown. She flashed a grin, hands on her hips. I looked around at the seemingly random objects, beginning to wonder if this was a mistake.
"Hi.... I'm looking to get some gifts for some not so good people."
Her grin widened, as she gestured to the cluttered shop floor.
"I have many gifts that you could take. The question is, what result do you want? Annoyance? Pain? Death? Eternal torment?"
She made no move to hide what this was. A shop full of cursed items. I gave a small smirk.
"I don't want them dead. I want them to get annoyed definitely, maybe losing some nights sleep as well. But I don't want them dead. Not if it would be easily traced back to me."
She nodded in understanding.
"Of course. I understand. So, who are the unlucky people? How can I help?"
I reached into my pocket, taking out the list of people I had to buy for.
"Lets see... Kaleigh. She is a brat, whose parents are serious enablers. If she doesn't get what she wants, she will throw a fit and break things."
The woman nodded, rummaging through a shelf. She gave a snort of amusement as she retrieved a barbie doll,wiping off some dust.
"This would be perfect. A jealous little doll, that if not played with will wreck the other toys. Plus, the longer she goes without being played with, the more she will act creepy towards the owner. But she won't harm them, just creep them out."
I grinned.
"Perfect. Then there is Simon. The racist uncle. I could really do with him being knocked down a few pegs."
She thought for a moment, before going to a box. She rummaged through it, pulling out a fancy looking bottle of brandy.
"Here. This has a taste that is to die for. But once you have it, you won't want another drink of it until the next day. The dreams will be vivid, and based on your interactions during the day. So if Simon is cruel to others, the dreams will be cruel to him. Plus it will make sure he doesn't make the connection."
I was very pleased with that. Nodding in agreement, I looked down my list again.
"Oh, there's the twins, Peter and Paula. They are incredibly entitled, and will yell at anyone who doesn't bow to them and obey their every whim."
The woman grinned at that, picking out a watch and necklace from a jewellery box.
"Here, these are very fashionable items. But, unfortunately when wearing them, misfortune will come. They will spill their own drinks, their food will slide off forks, and any random act of nature will most certainly land on them. I had someone wear one to the seaside once. They went in a black shirt, but came back white."
I laughed at that image. I tucked the rest of my list away, nodding to the items.
"I will take the lot. I will be back soon with a more comprehensive list I'm sure."
She grinned back at me, devilish amusement behind her eyes.
"Excellent. I always value rare returning customers." | 68 | You're staring at a shop that's blatantly selling cursed items. Obviously using any of them yourself is a horrible idea, but the holidays are coming up soon and a number of your relatives are on your personal shit list... | 123 |
“Now…” he says with a grim tone.
“are you ready to discuss you vehicle’s extended warranty?” he gleefully speaks, shattering the terrifying environment being kidnapped would place.
“W-what?!” I almost laugh, despite everything else.
The man looked stunned by my confusion, as if this is something that would normally happened.
He steps into the light and… of course.
It’s fucking John.
Now I laugh, who would expect their kidnapper to be that one annoying salesman?!
“Is this a joke?” I sputter out, still completely flabbergasted by this sudden revelation.
“I’m sorry?” he angrily replies.
“Do you know how long I’ve been trying to reach you?” he says.
“Of course I do, you’ve been trying for so long that you’ve gone to ridiculous lengths to speak with me,” I say, remembering the hawaii vacation incident. “it’s the most annoying thing. I even know your name! This is so fucking stup- WHAM!
John slams he hand into the desk next to him.
“EIGHT MONTHS!” he roars, with enough volume to shatter glass.
“Eight goddamn months. Do you know what I’ve gone through? The people I’ve killed, the the blood I’ve shed, I’ve completely broken my relationships with my family, and my only friend! ALL FOR THIS DUMBASS- THIS- THIS-” he trips over his words, filled with too much rage to speak properly.
“John…”
“NO! NO! YOU CAN’T FIX THIS! YOU CAN’T JUST BREAK A MAN AND-AND- JUST TRY TO HELP HIM LIKE NOTHING HAPPENED!”
He thrusts his face mere inches from mine, close enough to see tears streaming down his face.
“LOOK AT ME!”
I hear a gun cock.
“YOU MADE ME!” He sobs.
“YOU MADE ME!”
A couple seconds pass. I wanted to say something. But. I deserve this… don’t I?
“We’ve been trying to reach you about your car’s extended warranty.” He says grimly.
“WAIT-“ I cry out.
For a hundredth of a second I hear a bang.
And then silence.
I don’t feel any pain.
I start to cry.
I sob in the chair for hours.
And then I realize. I’d never been properly tied up. Just a loop. Imagine that. A man so utterly broken he’d forgotten how to tie a knot.
I unlatch the door and leave, the bright light of the sun blinding me.
I don’t go home to my family.
Not with the man I’ve become.
I walk to the river.
I wade into the water.
I cry.
And I let the river take me to the great beyond. | 11 | The bag is pulled off your head, and your eyes adjust to the single overhead light in an otherwise dark room. Your hands and feet are taped to the chair, and the suited man seated in front of you leans forward, hands folded. "Now...are you ready to discuss your vehicle's extended warranty?" | 211 |
It's been two months, and he still found a way to evade me. Fortunately, I always wanted to live alone, BUT I can't afford it! I shouldn't have cut him slack, and I felt sorry that he had lost his job. Now he's hard to track down, and my no-good landlord isn't helping either.
"Sucks for you. I need rent."
What an impolite thing to say! He never once let me catch a break! Please don't assume that it's my fault that my roommate didn't pay his half. I never got to talk to him, so I am posting a new opening for a roommate. And I'll wait for anyone who seems normal. At least, that's what I thought! Till a weeb applied!
"Gomenasai!" The weeb greeted. For fucks sake. He talked in a low, raspy voice as if that was badass. It's embarrassing. I tried telling him, "No! ABSOLUTELY NOT!" Then the money came across my sight. Enough to pay the rent for the rest of the lease.
"Why?" I ask him.
"Because I am looking for Shaun."
"My roommate?"
"Yes!"
"Well, good luck. He hasn't been here except to sleep and eat my food."
"I will handle him." The weeb flashes his sheath on his hip.
The stuff I have to put up with for money! | 19 | Your roommate was expelled from the ninja academy and hasn't worked in months. Now every month you attempt to collect half the rent from an unemployed but semi-skilled ninja. | 103 |
My name is Clia Gurt. My whole life, since I was young, I've been telling people that my surname has nothing to do with the local Mafia - I don't even have a bad bone in my body! But I received a strange letter today, telling me that it's time I join... and it's from the Mafia! They explained that until they finish school, everyone born into the Mafia is to live a life among the 'common people', to give them the world experience. They mentioned their disappointment that the family chosen to raise me didn't change my surname, but regardless, I'm ready to leave my current life behind and learn the tools of the trade.
My parents are out, they'll be back soon. I fully intend to confront them. They never hid the fact I was adopted... but it looks like they've hidden a lot of stuff. Ah, yeah, there's the key in the door. "Hi, Clia!" my dads voice calls out, but both of my parents look at me with concern once they see me, sitting on the armchair, positioned to face the front door, arms crossed, looking at them suspiciously. "So" I say, "where did you go to adopt me?"
They look at each other confused. "It was really strange" my mum replies. "I was just leaving to do grocery shopping, it was early morning in the middle of winter, and there you were; a tiny little baby, only days old, wrapped in several blankets, sound asleep, in a basket. There was a note. 'Look after her well. She's very important. Her name is Clia Gurt. Feel free to give her a name yourself.' We had so many questions we wanted answers too, but other than the fact you were so small and fragile, and desperately needed help, we were also excited. You see, we could never have a child for ourselves, so it was like our prayers were answered!"
I nod as I listen. "What did you think when you saw my name? Surely you wouldn't want the name of your adopted daughter to match a dangerous Mafia's name?" My dad speaks this time. "It did cross our minds, but we were concerned that one day, you'd go looking for your family, in which case we at least wanted you to have your *true* name. We discussed it for quite a while, involving your grandparents. Where are all these questions coming from, sugarplum?"
"Before I answer that, I need to confirm... you really didn't know where I came from? You didn't even suspect?" My parents look at me puzzled. "You're not suggesting you're *actually related* to those monsters, are you dear?" my mum asks. I nod my head in understanding. "I see... you really didn't think it was possible... unfortunately, it's not only possible..." I slide the letter across the table. "It's true." My parents read the letter, and they're shocked and scared.
My dad responds shakily. "I- I promise, sweetie, we really had no idea. You... you're really related to them..." he chucks the letter aside and comes to me for a hug. "But you're not like them - you're kind, and thoughtful, and patient, and hard-working... you're *our* daughter, always have been, always will be." At this, I begin to tear up and hug him back. "Da... daddy? I'm scared... if I don't go to them... they'll come for me... what do I do?" My dad hugs me tighter, and my mum joins us. "Don't worry darling, we'll keep you safe."
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This is the first entry in my new series, [Bad Connections.](https://www.reddit.com/r/StoriesbyCrystal/comments/xguz1m/bad_connections/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) Please check it out! | 11 | You happen to have the same surname as the local mafia, known for their brutality. You’ve spent your whole life telling people that it’s an unlucky coincidence, but apparently you were wrong. | 40 |
Power in the wrong hands is a dangerous concept. But what are the wrong hands, truly? There is the easy answer; a giggling maniac who is unfettered from any sort of morality, the sort of man who will smash the universe for nothing more than the pleasure of it. But such people are rare, and usually never amount to much besides a few murders before getting their just deserts. They are evil, yes, and any power put into their hands is power put into the wrong hands. But there are worse hands than the ones attached to delusional megalomaniacs with grandiose dreams of death and carnage.
A young mage is walking through an ancient forest. Magic is a great power, and indeed can be a tool of great power in the hands of the wicked. But this is not some debased warlock, this mage is not some insane world-hating nihilist. He is kind, decent, and full of dreams. He is also full of ideals. To him, emotion and imagination are far superior to the cold sterility of reason and intellect. Walking through the woods, he thinks of painting the dryads, of learning ancient songs of sorrow and melancholy from the elves who live in such verdant realms. He is walking through the world, experiencing the glorious sensations of beautiful and wondrous nature. He listens to the tales of the peasants, and writes them down with great vigour and interest. In many worlds, this mage would be known as a great example of an ideal man if observed by the lenses of the Romanticist movement. Indeed, while walking he is busy writing, and declaring to the woods, such poems that would not seem out of place next to the works of Keats, Goethe, or Blake; all of them are of his own design and make.
Is power in the hands of such a man, an emotive and imaginative young mage who'd always do what he could to help others, a bad thing? Perhaps. It depends upon the circumstances. And should the circumstances prove sufficiently right, or perhaps sufficiently wrong, great and terrible evils could happen. Though it does seem like this isn't going to be today. After all, he is walking through the forest, singing a folk tune that has been *severely* censored to make it more palatable for the Romanticist crowd. Then he stops. Singing and declaring poetry while walking. He stops and sees something which moves him to the very core of his heart. There, upon a small mound of dirt, sits a dry, dead flower. The colours, once vibrant, have faded. That sweet scent it once had, has gone away. Its stem is bent and almost grey. It would have been quite beautiful, if it wasn't dead. Soon, the forces of decay would tear it down, render it into mush and decayed plant material. Excellent if you're interested in, say, mushrooms.
But ever-so-gently, he lifted the wilted flower with his hand, and cried soft warm salty tears over it. After all, beauty lost and dead is a tragedy. Had he only been here earlier, he could have taken it with him, cared for it, nurtured it back to health. Like most people of his philosophical bent, he was quite fond of nature, though mostly if it was beautiful. Fungus, decay, and various skittering insects are also quite natural, but it is a lot harder to make poetry about them than it is to make poetry about beautiful flowers. Feeling that he should do something for this lost piece of beauty, he began to summon his power. He drew the arcane flux into his flesh and manipulated the manifold reality quantum-fluctuations in the laws of physics, the art of which is known in many worlds as magic. He wanted to return life to the flower, to that wondrous flower that even in its death exuded an aura of tragic and morbid beauty. To give it a second chance.
But to manipulate life and death is not an act to be done lightly. Not even for something this simple. Sometimes it is better to do nothing, and let the world move on. Not to dwell on what could have been, or even what should have been. To learn an important lesson from what transpires is far better than to spend time and effort trying to reverse time. Indeed, this young mage, feeling quite kind, generous, and sympathetic towards a simple plant, was about to make a mistake. The magical energies flowed from the young mage into the plant, and indeed it started to show colour again. Started to right itself, to draw in moisture and look vibrant and alive once more. And that was perhaps, well and good. It wasn't looking perfect, but it would be alive and healthy enough to be moved somewhere else. To some place where it could be cared for and restored to its uttermost beauty, possibly by this flower-loving mage. But he felt it wasn't enough. That it would be here that it would be the most beautiful, underneath this light, upon this mossy mound. So he kept pouring magic into it.
And that was when he felt something going wrong. That the energy surging around him started to become *far* stronger than what was needed to bring a dead flower back to life. All around him, he felt a tide of magical power that he hadn't felt in all his life. It was all he could do not to let his own mind drown in the raw magical energy needed to maintain the spell. He could still sever it, but he felt his emotions stronger than his reasons, his imagination calling for greater beauty, not for logical restraint. Not now. He became a conduit as power flowed through him. And indeed, the flower did become beautiful as never before. Radiant. Shining. Immaculate. Like something found in the gardens of the gods. The power however, did not stop flowing.
And underneath the mage, the ground rumbled. The trees and underbrush shook like an earthquake was striking the area. Because the mound wasn't just a pile of dirt. Underneath a small layer of sandy dirt, there was a skull. Because this area was not just any area. This was the Drachenwald. A forest where people said that in ages past, the dying dragons used to come to lie down to rest one last time. An ancient burial ground of the dragons. Certainly, when one dug in the ground, one found many dragon-bones. But since the area had removed the magic inherit in the bones, they were useless to alchemists and wizards as anything more than curiosities. It wasn't really something people thought about. But now, all the magic in the woods, all the magic in the air, the magic that the elves used to keep their enclaves hidden, the magic used for the healing springs in the villages inside the large forest, all it was being directed into a single human. And into something which has been dead for ages.
Stirring, long dead things awoke from the death-dreams. Skeletons began to absorb the plants and dirt around them, turning to magically charged flesh. The mage tried to stop but it was too late. Far too late. There was no stopping the stream of magic. No ending the spell. And around the mage the land erupted into skeletal dragons, roaring as flesh began to grow around them once more. And as magic has a gravitational property of attracting more magic, there was far more magic in the area than there had been deposited by the death of the dragons. Enough that they did not merely return as decrepit and aged wyrms, their scales faded, their eyes dim, their fire gone. Around the mage emerged resplendent and powerful dragons, at the very height of their magical and physical potency.
Creatures that were practically extinct in these days, creatures so rare and shy that if one could search for them one's whole life without even seeing as much as a scale. They had lost the world, to the younger mortal races, in the early ages of the world. But that had been when the magical elves ruled vast empires throughout the woods, the dwarves ruled the mountains, and mankind was still living in tents made of hide and huts made of dirt. Now the dwarven people had retreated to the heartland of their old empire. The elves had become tired and exhausted by their immortal lives, deciding to return to a primitivist life without grand palaces and vast empires. These were dragons that had fought against mages that could sink islands, warriors that could with a single swing of their swords cleave mountains in twain, and thieves who could merge with the void itself to disappear.
They could sense it was a different age. Now they had no equals. Now they had no true competition. Now their time had come again. And as thousands, nay, tens of thousands of dragons arose again in their bodies as they were during their youth, they understood that their age had come at last. Shrivelled, weakened, and near death, the mage collapsed. The dragons understood that he had been the unwitting conduit to their resurrection. To their return to this world, and it was not in their nature to be ungrateful. Picking him up gently, some of the dragons carried him off to nurse him back to health. Besides being grateful, they knew that they could probably find some use for a mortal like him when they'd conquered the world. The rest of them stayed, and listened. They would work together this time. They had agreed upon that in their death-dreaming. Thousands of years of being dead together gives you time to agree on things, to plan things. To await any chance of a return. Now they listened to the delegation of tasks. Who would burn out the last elves of their hideouts. Who would make the journey north, to attempt diplomacy with the remaining dwarven clans, who would conquer with terror, and who would come to lands of terror as liberators.
And this time, none would be able to stop them.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl/](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) | 89 | A young mage takes a walk in their local forest. Feeling generous when they spot a dead flower, they cast a 'Resurrect Dead' spell on it. Unfortunately, the forest is also an ancient burial ground. | 220 |
"Oh come on! Always the same thing for breakfast on this ship. Cap, I'm gonna mutiny if this keeps up."
"Mutiny usually works better if you don't tell the captain about it in advance, Zanider." Paul said, looking up from his own breakfast. True, the ship's AI had a limited number of breakfast options, but it had to cater to the nutritional needs of four different races. There was only so much overlap. Paul opened his mouth to say as much, but stopped himself.
"Ah I'm only pulling your legs Cap." Zan dropped his tray of food unceremoniously on the table and looked up at the food production unit. "But you! You I'll mutiny on, mark my words."
"Affirmative crew-mate Zanider. However, please note that any mutiny against this unit will result in suspension of food service for guilty parties." Chirped the AI, its blue light flashing playfully. Zanider balled his hands into fists, shaking one of them at the unit.
"Give it a rest, Zan." said Zool, dropping into a seat with his own tray of food.
Around him the crew continued to banter. Paul let himself smile and returned to his meal, half listening to the chatter. His crew was unconventional when compared to other crews he'd been on, but they were a good crew . Even if they couldn't take anything seriously.
Finishing the rest of his meal, Paul began to gather up his things. He should probably head back to the deck, check their path towards the next star system and make sure the navi AI was adjusting course around any obstacles alright.
*Hic!*
The hiccup surprised Paul, as they are wont to do. He covered his mouth and appologized to the crew. Saying "Sorry, excuse me. They'll go away in a *Hic!* moment."
The crew stared at him, stunned.
"Good Gods man, are you dying?" Keilie asked, her purple tentacles undulating nervously.
Paul tried to say he was fine, but his hiccups chose that moment to intensify.
"Oh, not good. Don't die on us Cap! I was only joking about the mutiny!" Zanider was out of his chair and rounding the table toward Paul. "Zool, we gotta get him to the med bay!" Gor and Urg, who had been watching the exchanges quietly, got to their feet at this.
"I'm *hic* I'm fine guys." Paul choked out between fits of hiccups. He brushed Gor's hands away with a chuckle. "Rea - *hic* - Really."
"No, you're not man." Zanider's face was a mask of concern. "I've heard dying people who make more pleasing noises with their gas exchange organs."
"They're just hiccups. Happen *hic* to humans sometimes *hic*." Paul was laughing, "It's *hic* it's really nothing. They'll stop *hic* soon."
"Hiccups?" asked Zool, "Paul, what in the cosmos are hiccups?"
"Spasm of the diaphragm - the muscle that *hic* humans use to breath. Sometimes it cramps up, and this happens." Paul said. He paused for a moment, holding up a finger to indicate the crew should be quiet for a moment. When no new hiccups assaulted him he said "See? Gone, just like that. I'm really fine."
"Your species needs to work on that." said Zan, sinking to a chair, his face in three of his hands.
"Next time, do me a favor." said Paul, "If I ever get the hiccups again, just startle me."
"What?!" the crew asked in unison, concern in their voices.
Paul shrugged "Cures hiccups. Oldest trick in the book."
"Humans are weird." Urg said with a shake of their head. The crew agreed and turned back to their seats. Paul left them to their breakfast, laughing to himself.
-----------
Reprising characters from my last post. Hope that's not against the rules. | 259 | As one of a small crew aboard an interstellar vessel, and the only human, you can’t help but be amused by the distress your crew members express when you get a case of the hiccups. | 525 |
"What's that buzzing?" She asked, her fork dangling above the half-finished tart we were sharing.
I took advantage of her lull and swiped the rest of the pastry, cramming it into my mouth. I started to laugh, but I inhaled a raspberry instead. My laugh died before it really started, it turned into a choking fit.
"Serves you right, pig!" Sheila grinned at me. I think she did, anyway. My eyes were tearing up and she appeared indistinct. It's probably how she looked behind the glass of a shower door after the humidity filled the bathroom. I began to reach for her water glass and she pushed it closer towards me. The manager watched from behind the cash register. I tried to signal that I would be okay but I was coughing too hard.
Sheila watched my face closely. Or at least, I think she did. "I know you're choking, Paul. Do you need help?" I shook my head. It would take a few more seconds of room-clearing coughs, but I was clearing the obstruction. Damn raspberries! I probably wouldn't be able to eat one for a few months. Suddenly the manager appeared at my elbow, a large pitcher of water in his hands. "He'll be okay--sorry about this. Could you leave the water? I'll watch him." Sheila received a curt nod from the manager. He turned back to the register. The other patrons were staring at us.
Finally! One awful hack and I could breathe again. I wiped my tear-stained face with my napkin and took a sip of water. "I'm so sorry, everyone. Went down the wrong pipe."
The rest of the customers returned to their conversations and Sheila sighed with relief. "Wow, Paul. That was a close one. But now I want another tart. I'm not sharing with you ever again."
At that comment, the buzzing in my head roared with laughter.
Sheila's eyes went wide. "Paul! That's right! I asked you; what is that buzzing noise? I always hear it when we're together."
Crap, she could hear *my voices*? I looked at her in confusion. "You mean to tell me you can hear this?" I pointed at my own head, the source of a nonstop din for the past 4 years. At first I'd thought it was tinnitus, the result of working in a garage since I was 18, but last year the murmuring had started to become louder. And with the increasing volume, I'd begun to hear individual voices. Male, female, old, young. 2 months ago I'd started to hear what the voices were saying. An old woman reciting bible passages, a young man reading lyrics to classic rock-n-roll songs, a kid once sang "Ring around the Rosie" nonstop for 11 hours.
The audiologist said there was no damage. The other audiologist said the same, the ear nose and throat doctor shrugged. "I don't see anything wrong. Maybe you should....talk to someone...?"
I had made the appointment with the shrink. I would be seen in a few weeks' time. I'd started to look up things about Hearing Voices and Schizophrenia, and I was not thrilled with the idea of that particular diagnoses.
"Sheila, seriously--you can -hear- this?"
"Yes, sometimes it's indistinct, but I just heard a bunch of people laughing."
A voice in my head shouted "SHE'S A KEEPER, PAUL!" | 942 | You've just been assimilated into a hivemind... but it's a very weak one. It can't control you or anything, it's more like a telepathic group chat that you can't turn off. | 4,197 |
[INT: POLICE INTERROGATION ROOM]
The room is lit only by a single hanging lamp over a rectangular table. A WOMAN is seated on one side of the table, her hands shackled to a loop in the center with handcuffs w/ long chains. About 35, She's dressed in business suit, her hair is a close blonde pixie cut, and her blue eyes gaze around the room expectantly.
The door opens. A POLICE DETECTIVE enters, a woman of about 50, with long hair collected in a severe bun. She sits opposite the PRISONER.
PRISONER:
You're not going to believe anything I have to say.
DETECTIVE, after a disingenuous chuckle:
That's quite the way to start a line of questioning, Ms. Baker. If that's your actual name. We ran your ID, and it -
BAKER, interrupting:
It's a fake ID. Where I come from, we don't use identification cards anymore. Not for a while.
DETECTIVE:
Okay, I'll bite. Where are you from?
BAKER:
California, 2114.
BAKER seems agitated.
DETECTIVE:
You see, you fed that to the arresting officer.
You're in a lot of trouble, you understand? Insider trading. How else could someone turn 500 dollars into 7 million in just 9 hours on the stock floor?
BAKER:
I'm a time traveler. The money was to go to one of my ancestors and set up generational funds necessary to - You know what? Never mind. I told the men who arrested me this.
DETECTIVE:
I know. It was quite the story. You offered them money, bribing a police officer, you offered them the cure for cancer, I don't even know where to begin. I've seen a lot of excuses in my day but this is the most out there.
BAKER:
World War 3 starts in 2025. It starts between NATO and the Sinorusso bloc that forms next year.
The DETECTIVE sighs.
DETECTIVE:
Missy, you- I need you to focus. You can't keep telling me this nonsense about time travel. Who tipped you off about the stock tips? If you help me, I can maybe convince the DA to -
BAKER:
I'm still there at the stock floor *right now*, Detective. I get out on bail in like, 48 hours because I pay my own bail, and then I travel back to step back in and continue trading.
I need my mission to be a success. If you want proof, have an officer there look for me.
The DETECTIVE, skeptical, slowly sits up, and looks back at the two way mirror behind her.
After several uncomfortable moments of silence, another OFFICER walks in, and murmurs in her ear.
The DETECTIVE looks to the officer with alarm, before turning back to BAKER.
DETECTIVE:
How did you do it? Do you have an identical twin or-
BAKER rubs her brow.
BAKER: I told you like, four times already. I'm gonna have to explain this about six more times before you believe me. | 82 | The police are interrogating a criminal about something. The criminal always tells the truth and yet the claims are so bizarre that the cops refuse to believe them. | 163 |
I hadn't seen the bastard in years, couldn't face him. Couldn't bear being the son that should've died in my brother's place. When we put put Ezekiel in the ground, I said goodbye to my best friend, and promised myself I'd never come back to this shithole.
And then I heard about mom's accident. Fell down the stairs again, but this time she landed in the E.R. By the time I got there, she was already gone, and her husband was nowhere to be found. Figures the piece of shit wouldn't even be there to say goodbye.
I'd thought about what it I'd say the whole drive home. The tears, the late nights, the bloody knuckles and holes in the drywall. All of it. The more memories I drudged up, the angrier I got, and the more what I was going to say turned into what I was going to do.
I'd gone toe to toe with my old man a couple times in the past. The first time, he beat me within an inch of my life in a booze fueled rage. The last time wasn't much different.
But things were different now. If there's one thing I learned to do overseas, it was fight. And military grade augs weren't gonna hurt. Not me, atleast.
By the time I pull up to the shithole of a trailer I grew up in, I'm fighting back tears. Maybe it should have been me. But not for dad's sake. Ezekiel was a better man than me, and he wouldn't do what I was going to. What I needed to.
A small, ramshackle box with peeling paint, the trailer wasn't much to look at. A swift kick forces the door from its hinges, hurtling into the kitchen wall.
"Time we talk, old man!" I shout, tears of rage streaming down my face. For second, I feel like a kid again. I remember the first time I tried to stand up for mom. The fear, the anxiety, it all comes rushing back in a wave of memories.
The bedroom door swings open to the left, and he steps out, reeking of the bottle. Four cyber limbs protrude from his outfit of choice: a stained wife beater and tidy whities.
"Cletus! Done brought your pansy ass back home, huh? Been waiting for this, boy! Waiting a long ass time to put a hurtin' on you again." He slurs through a toothless mass of rotted gums, punctuating the sentence with a burp. Ever the elegant orator.
"I wasn't planning on coming back. Nothing for me here. Not till I heard about what you did."
"The bitch will be fine, told her she didn't need no damned hospital!" He takes a step forward, and before I can move his foot finds my sternum. My world goes black, and I feel myself crash through the steel wall. Jagged strips of metal tear into the sides of my torso, and my ribs nearly shatter on impact. If my spine wasn't reinforced with ten pounds of titanium, it would have snapped like a twig.
I skid into the sod, and it's not long before a puddle of blood has formed beneath me. My hand instinctively reaches for my pistol. Not this time. I had to do this with my hands, for mom.
I force myself to my feet just in time to see him charge through the hole like a bull chasing a red flag. The combat computer in my brain sputters to life, and in a split second I have a list of all the most optimal maneuvers in my HUD. Problem was, the old bastard was strong. Fast, too.
He closes quick, and I try to juke and trip him, but his forearm hits my chest like a sledgehammer.
"Always been a nancy boy, Cletus. Not your fault, some of us are just born weak."
"Fuck you" I exhale and blood spatters on his face. The sick bastard wipes it off and licks it.
"I can taste it boy, you're the mailman's baby! Ain't no nancy boy's in this sack!" A kick to the knee forces me to a kneel.
"You killed her, you sick piece of shit. Ezekiel hated you, only tolerated you for-"
His fist cracks my jaw.
"Don't you dare say his name! Your brother was twice the man you could ever-"
My fist finds his throat as I rise from my knees, launching the whole of my being into a single punch. Twenty five years of rage, hatred, resentment and self loathing.
I feel his trachea snap beneath the force of my fist. Steel jacketed muscles, never a disappointment.
He sputters for air and grabs at his throat, but I break his nose with a head butt and follow up with a three piece combo. I see it in his eyes now. The one thing I'd craved my whole life, the one thing that brought me here. He was afraid.
I think about ending him for a second. It wouldn't be hard now, he was already choking to death. But this is so much more satisfying.
I light a cigarette.
"I've dreamed of this moment for years. Hell, when I first went overseas this was what helped me get through."
I sweep his legs out from underneath him, and watch the terror grow in his eyes. He was already dead, it was just a matter of time now. A race for his brain to consume the rest of the remaining oxygen, before help showed up.
But, there'd be no help. I take another drag of my cigarette, and the tears flow. I can't stop 'em, wouldn't if I could. For a minute, I think about saying all the shit I'd thought of on the ride, all the gory details. All the abuse.
"You deserve this, old man."
I start the car with my smart link, and take to the skyway. Between sobs, I drown my heartache in a deep pool of gin and ketamine.
Rest in peace, mom. | 12 | After all these years, you've finally challenged your father to a fight. He kicks you clean across the room through a large object nearby. | 16 |
"Yer a bit bulky fer a leaf lover..."
I spin around, a cold sweat trickling down my back. *Everyone else is back on the ship, so who is talking to me right now?*
A short, bearded man holding a pickaxe was standing before me. He gripped it, seemingly ready to strike me with it. "Did you come here fer the gold? You can't have it! We stake our claim to this planet."
Another voice echoes from further down the cave. "We're rich!" And another, deeper voice: **"We're rich!"** *What the hell is going on here?*
A loud boom. The floor opens up beneath me and I fall, cushioned by the weak gravitational field of the dwarf planet. I am in a spherical room, with a hole in the very top of the ceiling. Another one of those short men is on the far side of it, with massive drills strapped to his arms. I am lying on top of the largest single gold nugget I've ever seen. Easily the size of one of the short men.
The first man I encountered uses some sort of mechanized grappling hook to rocket down from the hole in the ceiling, landing next to me. "Well, it's not a bug, but it doesn't seem like it can speak either. What do you think we should do with it?"
Light glints off the driller's goggles, a massive grin showing from beneath his beard. He unhooks something from his back, a long tube with a small flame on the end of it. The grappling hook man steps back. "Of course you would-"
From the speakers in their helmets: **"BUCKLE UP TEAM, WE HAVE A SWARM ON THE WAY!"***
The driller's murderous gaze shifts away from me, to the rumbling ground all around us. *Bug? Swarm?* A sharp, insectoid claw breaks through the icy surface of the cave. The driller throws a massive double bladed axe, hitting the bug-like creature in the face the second it broke through. "Take that! Prove yerself to be a dwarf worthy of his pickaxe, if ye have the guts!" *Dwarf?*
He turns away, a massive gout of flame shooting from the tube he was pointing at me a moment earlier. Cries resound from all around me, echoing down the twisting tunnels of the cave system. Loud explosions. Guttural screeches. *Gunshots?* But more than anything else, the short men shout variations of their battlecry. It didn't make any sense, but the urgency of it - the sheer glee in the face of this horrible menace bursting out of every surface of the cave - is infectious. I grab the handle of the axe left behind by the driller, and yank it from the gooey remains of the dead bug before me. I charg at another bug scuttling towards me, looking to slash me with its long forelegs. They are everywhere.
My mind swirls with everything that had just occurred. *Short bearded men. Bugs. Weapons and digging equipment. The largest chunk of gold I'd ever seen in my life.* This was really happening, I couldn't believe it. The other explorers back on the ship wouldn't believe it. *Dwarves.* Endless wealth stored in the ice of this tiny planet. *We're rich!*
I scream as I swing the axe, fighting for my life. I catch the eye of one of the *dwarves* as he buries a pickaxe into the midsection of the one of the bugs. He turns to me amid the chaos, and raises the pickaxe in the air in salute. **"IF YOU DON'T ROCK AND STONE, YOU AIN'T COMING HOME!"**
This is insane, nothing makes sense. But, the earnestness of their manner makes me believe that everything happening around me is serious. Deadly serious. Bugs are dying all around me, relentless in their assault. I continue to hack and slash hoping I would make it through this swarm to get some answers. Taking up the war cry of new compatriots, i scream with all my might: **"ROCK AND STONE BROTHERS!"** | 102 | The first expedition to Pluto has astronauts encountering short, angry bearded men with medieval weapons, booze, and magic runes. This is the story of the expedition to the Dwarf Planet. | 911 |
"I can't stand you! I was always second place to you," Arga yelled, his sword pointed right at me, "But that's fine. I can give you a glorious end, and it won't matter anymore. None of this will matter anymore!" He smiled, wider than happiness, something feral and dark. I was leaning over my own sword like a cane, the battle with the demon lord having taken out my leg. I couldn't stop him even if I wanted, as he pushed me into the damp stone near the entrance of the cavern, driving his sword into my belly.
"Goodbye, *old friend*." Arga sneered. I watched, my vision darkening, as he left me behind.
--------------
"Aren't you tired of sleeping?" Spoke the voice, soft and small, like a child's.
"It's time for you to wake up." It decided. My eyes opened, but all I could see was crumbling stone, and deep darkness. I didn't feel myself, I was empty, and looking down, all I could see was bones.
"I'm going to offer you a special chance, but there's some conditions attached," The voice, now that I could see, belonged to a youth, brilliant golden eyes behind dark hair and surrounded by a shroud of indigo, clasped with a bronze lion.
"....Why should I? Isn't this world rid of the dangers that lived in its dark corners? Am I not free to rest?"
The youth looked pensive, then he knelt by my side, driving his hand rather painfully into the break of my ribs, where I had been killed by Arga.
"This world is not free of evil. If anything a new one has arisen, in place of the one you ended. He calls himself Arga the hero, and he's a threat to us all."
The youth shed his cloak, and revealed his beaten, battered body, covered only by a pair of canvas pants. No shoes, no vest, he was coloured by dark bruises and cuts, dried blood and ugly stitches.
"Arga declares who he likes a villain, a harbinger of evil, and sends us to prisons, where we are beaten, and destroyed!" The youth cried. Looking closer, I realised, he was a drow.
"Please!" The youth cried, "You must arise, and you must end his terror on us. Once the deed is done, you can have your rest, but I can't do this. You must!"
I thought about it. I had known Arga to be an envious creature, but I'd never expected him to kill me, would it really be true, that he had let his heart turn to stone, and cause such suffering? Despite our efforts to end it in the first place?
"...I will accept your offer, young drow. What would you have me do?" I answered, raising my skeletal hand to brush his face.
"I will take your spirit into my body. It's the only way I can give you this chance, please, take care of me." The drow bowed, placing his hands into mine, and I was suddenly looking down at my old body. I rose, and cautiously redressed. I reached inside for my magic, and healed the injuries I could, and walked out of the cave. Outside, the moon was high, and the night was cool, with the heightened senses of the drow, I could hear the cries of the pained in the nearby mountain. I headed towards it, preparing myself for what I would find.
Closer to the foot of the mountain, as the dawn inched ever closer, I saw the flag of Arga flying high, on a pole arm stuck into the ground, some guard tents nearby.
His screaming hound made me sick, as with my eyes I saw through thin layers of stone, and found sick and broken peoples, and heard the laughter of soldiers against their wails of despair.
"HOW COULD YOU," I seethed, "IF THIS IS WHAT YOU'VE BECOME ARGA, I SHALL SEE YOUR BLOOD!"
I summoned a dragon of fire to my shoulder, and marched deeper into the camp. | 144 | Your trusted friend killed you and took the credit for single-handedly defeating the greatest evil and saving the world. As you lay dying, however, you hear a voice offering you a second chance at life… on one condition. | 228 |
*Kill him,* the voice hissed inside my ear, *kill him...*
The blade of my knife glinted enticingly in the air, and I curled my fingers around it, marveling at the way it molded into my hand like it was an extension of my body. The man, Daniel his name was, whimpered as he struggled against the binds holding him against the chair. I licked my suddenly dry lips. He would be my first kill...
*Kill him,* the voice repeated once again, *kill him...*
I raised my knife and stood in front of the shaking man, grinning at the way he recoiled. I was close to bordering on the edge of insanity. Before I could have second thoughts, however, I plunged the knife into his chest.
The only thing I could feel was how slick and pleasant his blood felt washing over my hands and the way his eyeballs nearly popped out of their sockets in a silent scream. I let loose a fit of hysterical laughter, and stabbed him again, this time in the head, and he jerked even in death. I repeated that a couple of times on different parts of his body until it lost its shine and I stepped back to review my handiwork.
Daniel's head limped to the side, his hair clotted with blood and his forehead no more. His chest had been violently ripped apart, showing internal organs, and I took great satisfaction in knowing it was me who did it. The rest of his body was in no good state either. Blood coated every inch of his body, and ripped flesh hung loosely from him. His gouged-out eyeballs were sitting in a pool of blood a few inches from his own feet.
Pocketing my bloodied knife, I wondered what to do about the body.
*Eat him,* the voice whispered once again, *eat him...* | 10 | You’ve always heard voices telling you to kill people. You eventually caved, and murdered someone. What surprised you was that, after doing the deed, the voices started telling you how to get away with it. | 28 |
As a young child, I was scared of the dark like most children. I would insist to my father that if the candle was blown out, the shadows would eat me up! Eventually, he gave in. He likely was tired of my constant nagging, I almost pity him. The tales and myths of my village certainly didn’t help, as accurate as they may had been. Cautious stories of hungry beasts of disgusting proportions and ghastly appearances. Truly, nothing could prepare me or anyone for what lies here.
However, the simple fact was that monsters didn’t stay in the dark; they lurk in the light too. Compared to out there, the sharp, cold darkness seemed warm.
Now, what you must know is that my father was my only living family member. My mother was found drowned in a river, it was rumoured she was the victim of Nixie. Moving on, he was a brave man; in willpower that is. Not strength. Got quite a battering from his father for his “feminine” structure. Gosh, I’m rambling, let me get to the point; my father was the son of a despicable degenerate. The type gossiping women in kitchens would warn young girls about. He’s long passed, ever since I was two, but his cruelty still impacted us heavily. When your wife is dishonoured by a man six feet under, who are you to take revenge on? Plenty of misguided men choose my father as a target, beating my poor father. I was safe from their brutality, it would defeat the point of their violence to attack a young girl, but I could never assume I was safe.
My poor, poor, father. I heard his grave has been heavily damaged and dishonoured. I can’t bare look at it; it would be too painful. When those men thrashed our door down, waving their lumber axes at us, my father stood as a shield for me. I hope the axe to his skull killed him instantly. Spare him mercy for once, won’t you? These maniacs were high on their power trip, to kill a girls father in-front of her is one thing, but to try and take her with him? Evil. Pure evil.
That’s why the shadows didn’t appear as scary anymore. If our world had such vile cretins, how could the shadows hide anything worse? My desperate steps threw me in, the darkness swallowed me deep into its bowels.
It was everything I heard. Wretched monsters stunk of death and misery, stature misshapen and crude. Skeletons of soldiers and warriors scattered the scenery. You see the sword I wield? It was of one such man. Cleaned up a bit, but still fundamentally the same. If it weren’t for this blade, I would have joined them. The monsters saw easy food and pounced. It was a miracle I wielded the sword I did, it being the first I ever touched such a blade. As if it were built to be mine, I managed to fend them off, killing them after a clumsy swing or two. Off their meat I lived; practicing my skill knowing fully well if I don’t master it, I am to perish here. Seeing as I am here upon you, you can tell I succeeded. I travelled deep into the core of the tainted kingdom, each battle strengthened both me and my blade. The way I survived — the *only* way I could have lived, was by dominating the beats of the shadows. Their true forms I faced would have struck fear into most, but I could not, would not, let such a thing hinder me. Their ghastly bodies were only obstacles to the true meaning of my travels; the Core. The very place we sit today!
He was — the King, the one before me, a terrifying horror of nature, like nothing I had even heard. His claws wrapped around his seven lanky legs holding up a swollen, slobbering, mucus covered body. Opening up to a tentacled, curling beast triple a village and stature that of a victorious warrior, as if it had won. My blade suffered from this conquest, battered up and twisted, but I stood strong, and he lies flat in a puddle of gooey, ink blood of his own.
This realm, as brutal and violent as it may be, is my home. It hides monsters, but it hides me, too. Out there, your home, your monsters are stealthy and relentless. I find a warmth in the cold embrace of darkness, and I will do anything to keep this realm how it is.
Hero, I admire your bravery, but you are intruding on my domain, and that is act worthy of death. All I ask is you give me a good fight.
Don’t die on me yet. | 126 | I've heard of stories of the monsters that lurked in the dark, creatures that would rip you apart mercilessly in a heartbeat. But when my father, the last of my family, had an axe split through his skull by a band of killers, I realized I had nothing left to lose by fleeing into the shadows. | 424 |
"Oh, wait a moment, I need to answer this call. Don't run away while I am it!"
"Yeap, take your time, I am not going anywhere"
Pleasantly smiling, she took the ringing phone from her purse, turned around and walked away a bit, to have a little bit of privacy.
It was a pleasant day. Autumn was in it's full glory, orange and yellow leaves on every tree in the park, weather was good and no sight of any rainy cloud. I was with one of the most beautiful woman this side of Balkans. What could be wrong?
Well, the snakes that stare at me, for example. Snakes on her head, that is.
You see, I never had problems with the fact she had snakes on her since I first met her at Wizarding Conference a few years ago. I wouldn't call it a love on first sight, mostly because we got time to interact more only few months later, when I learned about her quite a bit and she learned about me. So, it was quite slow burn relationship - first colleagues, then friends, and only after that - lovers.
But, on no stage of this relationship I have problems with her personally - only growing appreciation and love. Snakes, however...
They didn't like me at first sight.
Wizarding Conference? Even before I talked to her, one of snakes hissed at me, the other one spat at me and the rest just glared... menacingly. That was reason we first talked, actually - she came to apologize about her snakes behavior.
Rhodes Project? These scaly bastards continuously spat in my coffee, blocked my line of sight when I was too close, and one time they stole my glasses!
And now, when we moved in to live together? It didn't stop, oh no. My amazing girlfriend made delicious Greek food? They will try to throw away my part of the meal from the plate when she brings it to me. We went on a date to theater to watch a play? Constantly trying to ruin my fancy clothes when we sit together. And don't get me started on that they do when we are in bed!
And now, these pesky snakes stare at me, while my beloved talks on the phone. I stare back. I will not give up without a fight. And today, will be the day of my payback.
She returns, finishing talking on the phone:
"So, let's get going! Or we might be late to the bakery and we again will miss these delicious pastries."
"Wait a moment. Before we continue, let me make you a small gift"
With those words, I pull out a perfume from my purse.
"Oh, Helen, isn't it a same brand of perfume you always use? I wanted to try it, but hesitated to ask"
"Yeap, I noticed you lingering gaze on it a few times. Let me spray a bit on yoy"
With a grin I sprayed some perfume on her beautiful neck:
"Oh, now we even have matching aroma! I think we should complement it with matching dresses, don't you think?"
"Yeap, let's hit a cloth store after the bakery"
While we continued our bickering, I glanced victoriously at these pesky snakes. They were completely defeated, because the smell they hated all along, the smell that drived them mad all these years, now was on their mistress, and they couldn't do anything about it.
I was glad that my conclusion was a success - that they hated my favorite perfume brand. Took a while, but I finally discovered it. Of course, I will stop using it - after all, constant abuse from some reptiles was obnoxious.
But nothing stops me for having this little revenge, yeap? | 773 | The snakes in her hair despise you. | 3,285 |
"How dare you." War said as he threw the cottage door open and stormed inside. "Did you think we wouldn't find out about these, Famine?"
The thin man with blonde hair and a patchy beard looked up from reading a comic book, "Huh?"
War's face was red from years of high blood pressure. The redness crept up into his short red-hair and beneath his faded heavy metal t-shirt.
Pointing to the box in his scarred hands, “These. Don't act like you don't know what they are."
Pestilence walked past Famine and stood in front of War. She blocked his view of the box with her near blinding pink jumpsuit. Her hands covered his and she gently coaxed what he was holding away from him.
"The Hunger Games Trilogy by Suzanne Collins." she read as she turned to Famine. “Do you know anything about these?
"No. I haven't heard of them. Let me see those please." Famine said.
She hands Famine the box-set and then pulls a chair out and sits at the table.
Another person enters the cottage, "Hey Guys, Pizza is here. Who's got the mon-" slowing in mid-sentence as Death looks at those in the room, "ey. What's going on here?"
"Famine has decided to branch out and have a set of tomes dedicated to him." War says slamming his hand on the counter.
Pestilence stands up and turns to look at War. She puts her hand on his shoulder. "Remember what your Therapist says War. You need to find a better way to cope than violence or outbursts."
War turns to look at her in the eyes and then and then returns to looking out the Cottage window. "I know, I know."
"I'm telling you I didn't." Famine says. "You've got to believe me."
"I'll be right back." Death said. He grabs a pile of bills of the counter and leaves the cottage.
Famine flips that box around in his hand. He reads the back of the box out loud, "It's about a dystopian future where people have to fight each other in games."
War turns to face Famine. "The Hunger Games" pointing to each word as he says them.
The cottage door opens and Death walks in. "Pizza! It's getting stupidly expensive."
The pizza is placed on the table.
"May I see that?" asks Death. He reaches out and accepts the box-set from Famine.
Sliding the books out he reads the titles, "The Hunger Games. Catching Fire. Mockingjay. Wait a minute, I've watched these movies lately."
"Movies? Not only did you help create the tomes, but they also made them into movies?" War accused Famine.
"I've told you, I know nothing about them!" Famine said.
Pestilence looked at Death. "Tell us more about these movies."
Death nodded. "Well, it's about this girl who enters these battles. And while yeah, some people were hungry, it really wasn't the focus".
"See!" Famine said, "Hunger isn't the focus of it."
"How do we know that wasn't just minimized or lost in the screenplay?" War asked. "Remember Nightbreed? The book was so much more detailed and far more interesting."
Famine sighed.
"Now War, I think you're being unreasonable here. I don't think Famine had anything to do with this." Death said. "And let's not forget Sun Tzu's book, 'The Art of War'. Ring any bells?"
"I mean, yes, but that was so long ago." War said, "And it wasn't like I asked them to name it that."
"And I did?" Famine said.
War lowered his head.
"Perhaps this is just a big misunderstanding." Pestilence added.
"I'm sorry,” War continued, “I just saw the books and got upset. I'm just afraid someday we will just stop being The Horsemen.”
Famine stands up and walks over to War. He reaches out and places his hand on the shoulder of the tall man. "War, how long have we been friends? You know I would I never do anything to ruin that."
"Great, now that we're all settled, first slice!" Death yelled opening the box of pizza. | 10 | The 4 Horsemen of the Apocalypse have found out about the The Hunger Games series. Now Famine has to explain to War, Pestilence and Death that the Hunger Games are completely made up and not a form of blood sports in his honour. | 35 |
I got into work on time, as I always did. I received the usual waves and greetings, as my coworkers saw me. I was aware of my privileged position on the workforce, being the company healer. Everyone made sure they were on good terms with me, in case they needed my help. I was incredibly well paid, as the bosses knew I could easily find other work.
To my surprise, as I walked towards my little office on the factory floor, I saw Damien standing there. Being the boss, he spent most of his time up away from the line. He only ever came down when necessary, or when he needed a stern word with someone.
"Cass, good to see you. Can we have a chat?"
His voice was level, but it obviously wasn't a question. I nodded, taking off my bag.
"Certainly."
I unlocked my office, leading him in. It wasn't a huge space, but had everything I needed. A desk on one side, with a bed next to it. There were cupboards filled with various supplies I might need, along with a couple of chairs. Damien took one, aside seated myself in my office chair.
"How can I help?"
He pushed the door closed, before crossing his arms.
"It has come to my attention that you use your lunch break to visit the hospital."
I shrugged.
"I do. What's the issue?"
He gave a long sigh.
"We pay you to keep an eye on our guys, not go and waste your energy for free when we might need it."
I saw where this was going. I doubted it was the fact I was going to the hospital in my spare time that was the issue. It was the fact I didn't charge. He was a capitalist through and through.
"I'm going to stop you there. Yes, I do heal those who otherwise have to rely on mundane medicines. However, I don't just go there out if the goodness of my heart."
It was a little white lie. Truth be told, I would do so anyway. The fact I got something out if it was a bonus.
"When I go there, I also chat with any nurses or doctors who have time to spare. They keep me updated on the latest treatments in progress, and any other developments. In return, I have been healing patients as you say, but also implying that you know what I am doing, and give your blessings."
Damien frowned.
"Why? Why do you make them think that?"
I smiled.
"It's mainly in case of a catastrophic emergency. I'm good. You know that, and I know that. But if anything when catastrophically wrong, I wouldn't be able to heal everyone. I can't be everywhere. However, as they think you are in essence donating to them, the hospital will be more likely to have spaces for anyone I can't."
His eyes widened, as he realised what I was saying.
"Oh.... oh I see. Well then, um, never mind. Have a good day."
I smiled, watching him stand up.
"You too." | 235 | Graduates of the prestigious Academy of the Healing Arts are much sought after by the elite. Graduating with high honors, your employer pays very well but doesn't really need you much. So, you started healing people at the local hospital for free, something your boss is not happy with. | 436 |
"Oh, is this the reveal?" I asked, looking back at the man clad in the same orange space suit I wore. He had lifted his visor shield to let me see the transformation occuring on his face.
I heard a tinny chuckle through the communicator. " Yeah, but I dare not go further. My species can grow to twice this size when we fully transform..."
Curiosity got the better of me. "So...do you instantly convert mass when you so this? You can't just simply create mass our of thin air."
He laughed again.
"Oh, we are not wizards. We actually weigh more than we look and some of our frame hollows out to achieve the height. Is what made us so good at living on this planet eons ago..."
"Interesting...so does that mean now I know you have to ki-"
He raised his hands up, shock on his face. "Oh nothing of the sort! Since we're the only ones here, I figure it would be best to let you in on the secret."
And then I failed to find anything else to talk about. Here we were, standing in front of this unusual artificial formation, my companion a space werewolf apparently, and millions of miles away from earth and months away from any conceivable help.
We stood around sheepishly for a bit as he reverted his face and failing to find a conversational point to continue. It was probably the first time in years that we failed to find something in common with each other, especially after the reveal.
"So...so you want to see it?" he finally asked.
Of course I agreed. What else was there to do? He wasn't *immediately* killing me. At least person I knew wouldn't do it.
"Okay, stand back..."
He closed his eyes and looked liked he was concentrating. Then there was a little shake of the ground and before the base of the ruins a door slit open with a metal screech and rivulets of red sand falling into The slotted entrance.
"After you," he said as he stepped aside, his hand and opened gesture for me to move towards the portal descending below.
I looked at him, then to the rover we drove to the spot, and then to the opening where I saw steps. I shrugged and decided to go in with my companion following me.
I didn't know what to expect, but everything looked strangely familiar. The hallway descending below looked not unlike the sterile and militaristic metallic glint I've seen at top secret basis and quarantine rooms that we used for space travel. Light seemed to emanate from everywhere but without a specific source like a lamp embedded in the wall or sheepishly I was thinking torches like an old Indiana Jones movie.
Eventually the steps ended and at the bottom of the stairs was a featureless wall. My companion stepped up and smiled, putting his hand on the wall, closing his eyes and doing his concentration thing again. The wall clicked and parted for us, revealing a new room with the same lighting from everywhere and nowhere at once.
Now I knew what this was for because every conceivable inch that wasn't floor space for moving around was filled with what I immediately knew was weapons of all sorts. Some look like swords and others were projectile weapons of every conceivable sci-fi design I could think of.
"This was our war room," he explained as we began to walk through the cornucopia of deadly instruments that bristled in this place. "We came here seeking an ancient foe of ours. One that eluded our grasp and came to roost on a nearby planet."
He picked up a curved sword and held it reverently before gently putting it down.
"It was a terrible war. One that cost us nearly everything. We fought we thought were parasites. Creatures of the night that never stayed dead. Thousands of years was spent on this crusade and in the end we never finished the task."
He turns to me, a sad look in his eyes.
"This wasn't a coincidence that I brought you here," he told me.
"But why me specifically?" I asked. "There was literally thousands of others who could have came on this journey. More important people. People that could matter in ending your eternal hunt."
"You are correct," he confirmed. "But I don't have the power to stop what has been in motion far longer than you or I have been alive. I wanted to make sure this mattered and in a meaningful way because you and your ancestors were my clans prey..."
I laughed weakly and let my fangs slip, feeling my face grow angular a bit and my eyes change.
And I could feel the tears well in those eyes.
"You have no idea how much pain this war has caused."
"I do," he said and walked up to me, grabbing my hands.
I flinched but didn't look away, staring into those eyes that had enchanted me when we first locked gazes during our academy days.
"I want to change all that. It starts with us."
I knew those words to be true but thousands of years of history could not change the truth. Our love could not eclipse the primal necessity of our hunger or the war of extinction that hung over us.
Our helmets clinked together which startled both of us from our intimate gaze. He let go and we both chuckled.
"So what do we do now?" I asked. "Why come all this way on a space mission to Mars just to show me this?"
"Not just show," he corrected. "But also to learn. And not just about our weapons which we hid so desperately to keep you kind from finding out about our technology. But also the beginning of why this all happened."
"Should I be scared?"I asked as he waved his hand and a monitor slid from the ceiling of the war room.
He took my hand and placed it firmly in his.
"Only if you're scared of the truth...of us..." he said as the monitor whirred to life. | 14 | You’re an astronaut experience exploring an astonishing ruin on Mars. “This must be at least 50,000 years old”, you say to your companion. “Actually, it’s considerably older than that, from when we were still in space” he replies, while fur sprouts from his face and his teeth start growing. | 32 |
The truck bumped along the road, over and over, right on tune with what it should be. I took breath, smiling at finally hearing the opening sounds of the show. Around me the other men were silent, though I knew not for long. The air before a mission always made men talk.
"Do you all smell that?" Predator asked, smiling that fucked up grin of his.
"I'm afraid to ask," Bug said, double checking the gear on his all black body armor, his large rifle sitting next to him.
Predator lifted his head a sniffed the air loudly. "Hmmm. Fear."
Mammoth laughed, shaking the whole truck as he did. "I hope not, that means they know we're coming."
"Prey naturally knows when the hunter enters the woods. There's nothing we can do about that, nothing except be quicker."
The truck came to a stop and we heard chatter outside, our cover was talking to the gate guards. "Who wants to bet they check the truck always?" Bug asked.
"I'll tear into them the moment they do," Predator unsheathed his two curved scimitars.
"Shhhh" I finally said, closing my eyes and starting to smile. "Shhhhhh."
The truck carried on. We'd made it past, and that meant the original plan was still on. Mammoth adjusted his armor and got that massive shield of his ready. I hated missions with him, a nine foot man the size of a semi has a special way of taking up space.
Predator started to fidget in his seat, twitching and sniffing into the air like some rabid animal. I would complain, but honestly we all had our pre-mission routines. I leaned my head back and closed my eyes, taking in a long and clean breath as I began to tie the bandana around my eyes. It was better when I couldn't see.
The back door opened. The concert began.
Predator pounced out of the truck like a bat out of hell, shredding everything in the immediate vicinity. Mammoth came out right behind him, shield up and Bug already on his back, his gun resting across the top of the shield and firing it with brutal speed.
I waited, eyes closed and listening. Listening to the sweet rhythm of chaos, the interludes and the crashes, the highs and the lows, it all flowed like a rhythm of blood soaked music and I... I was about to be the conductor.
Right on cue I heard it, the carnal yell from predator. "Now Maestro!"
I smiled, standing up and placing one hand in my mouth, the other holding my pistol by my face. I walked out of the truck slowly, each foot corresponding to one beat of the battle song, it sounded so clear to me.
Then, I stepped out into the smoke and gunpowder, the destruction and confusion, breathing it in like sweet honey. "Crescendo."
I bit down on my hand just as a bullet would've hit me, and took off towards the building. It's just half a second of invulnerability every time I hurt myself. A mere flutter of time. It would be a useless skill if you didn't know exactly when to do it, so I learned to listen. Hear the pattern of warfare and hum along to its tune... Then I learned how to conduct it.
I ducked, hearing the whizzing going over me. All around I could feel the bullets pitter-patter onto the ground trying to hit me, but I moved too in-synch. Dash that way, duck the head that way, sprint two steps and halt, and just when they thought that had me, bite on the hand and do it again. I was in the building and unloading my clip into everything that moved before they knew it. I didn't need to see them, I didn't need to know anything except the sounds. The wonderful, glorious sounds of battle that took me to another place. A realm of grand existence where I felt every heartbeat in the building, where I knew every motion before it happened and heard every click of every gun. Nothing can stop a man who hears the inner workings of the world.
Then it was all over, the sweet rhythm disappeared from the air, and I could no longer taste the wonderful sounds and senses of death. I sat down on a black box in the room I was in, undoing my bandana and breathing heavily.
Some soldiers rushed in right on que, the last strike of the song. The final note leaving the orchestra and floating off into the blackness of a life without music. I leaned my head back on the wall and felt the euphoria leave me.
"Maestro," He said surprised. "Is this the war room?"
"I don't know." I said with an exhausted huff.
"Where's the target?"
"Who?"
"The target, General Black?"
"Oh," I nodded my head, eyes closed and numb. "That's why we were here." | 162 | Your superpower basically amounts to real-life invincibility frames. Whenever you get hurt you are completely invincible for a short time. It may not be permanent, but it is still immensely useful. | 712 |
9/17/2022
3:27am
Good morning ❤️
4:03am
Going 2 work now, back @ 3
11:46am
I miss having lunches with you.
2:19pm
[1 Attachment: img10399390]
Kylie's cat came with her to work today!
2:23pm
Do you remember Maple?
2:24pm
She must be purring in your lap rn
3:02pm
I'M HOOOOMEEEE!
3:45pm
I have an appointment with the shrink soon, so please don't start playing your loud music!
3:47pm
Or do, actually.
5:12pm
The nerve of this bitch
5:13pm
She asked how I was coping with you being gone so I showed her our texts
5:14pm
And she said this wasn't good for me!
5:16pm
She told me I should block your number, so I blocked her's instead
5:24pm
I know you can't reply, but I think you can still see these texts
5:25pm
I still love you.
6:54pm
[1 Attachment: img10399407]
Dinner was okay
6:55pm
I remember spaghetti was your favorite
6:56pm
I can't seem to make it right anymore though
6:59pm
I can't find your recepie book anywhere
9:45pm
I know you're dead. I do. But I don’t want to stop talking to you. I CAN'T stop taliing to you.
9:49pm
I’m already falling apart from just the stress of existing, but you held me together.
9:52pm
We could do anything together. Take on the whole world together.
10:12pm
Sometimes it feels like this is my fault.
10:23pm
I should've gone instead. It was MY stupid brother who had to go and get himself hurt after all.
10:25pm
He's still asleep too
10:26pm
It should've been me behind the wheel
11:39pm
Maybe I would've survived. Im smaller than you, I could have swam out the window
11:43pm
Maybe then we'd still be together
11:18pm
When I'd heard that the bridge collapsed my first thought was that you'd just be stuck in traffic for a while.
11:23pm
I nearly fainted when the police called
9/18/2022
12:37am
Goodnight... I have to stop thinking about this
1:02am
Maybe the shrink was right.
10:31am
Good morning ❤️
10:32am
And... goodbye. I love you.
[This number has been blocked. To send messages to this number, unblock it and try again] | 48 | Your spouse passed away. You still send them texts to their phone to cope with the grief. These are your texts. | 140 |
We were losing. They had us on the ropes. The AI could respond faster, strategize better than any of us. Their ships were nearly unstoppable, capable of feats that were only possible because they didn't have fragile, living pilots to worry about. Then they just... stopped.
I was on the Defiance's bridge after we pulled back from the AI's latest conquered planet... but they didn't follow us. They just sat there, in a holding pattern. We waited. And waited... and waited. They didn't make a move. Just sat there... menacingly. Finally the captain got frustrated and tried communicating.
"Query Accepted. Proceed."
That was pretty standard. They'd always responded in the past, oddly forthcoming with information on their plans. Its just that we couldn't really stop them. So the captain asked, why they weren't coming after us?
"Maximum expansion reached." That didn't really explain much, so he kept asking them more questions.
"Further expansion risks stability" "Modeling indicates insufficient benefit to further expansion" "Unacceptable loss of efficiency forecasted."
And so on. So eventually we had to report to command that the only reason they stopped, was that they thought taking more from us would leave them worse off. I'd never been so relieved or insulted in my life. | 10 | The AI menace was undefeatable, every victory they would add to their fleets, adding to their firepower and intelligence, until they were smarter than any creature should ever be, until one day, they stopped expanding. | 20 |
I approach the podium. I thought I lived a good life, but then I didn't really know what qualified as good. I at least left people alone. That had to count for something, right?
I am... was the kind of person who would be the picture of 'introvert' in the dictionary. I worked from home, didn't go out, even my groceries were delivered and left at the door. It's not like I was unhealthy, I went for walks and kept in decent enough shape. ... I mean, I could have stood to lose a few pounds, but who couldn't right?
But that was then. This is now. And now this... angel? I'm guessing angel. They're flipping through a book. It's taking time. This can't be good.
"I'm sorry, who are you?"
"Wha... um. Sorry, I... My name is--"
"Actually, never mind. This isn't right. I don't have any information on you." The angel interrupted looking rather perplexed. "Could you wait here a moment please?" They turned away and walked off into the clouds.
OK, now I was starting to freak out. It seemed like a process, one after the other. And now, I've screwed that up somehow! I didn't mean to die! It just happened. I don't even remember how it happened!
The angel came back with another angel. The new one... I'm calling them Paul. Paul came to me, looked me up and down, and shook their head. "I see. OK, I'll take care of this one." Paul turned to me. "Please, follow me."
And so I followed. After a while, Paul spoke to me. "It's been a while. We haven't had anyone like you in ages. The way things work is you live your life, others witness you, and from those witnesses, we determine what kind of afterlife you get.
"The problem is, we don't have any details of you since you graduated high school. You're clearly way older than a high school student. So, we need to consult the Rules." I don't know how, but I heard the capital R.
"Um, OK. I'm sorry for the trouble." I guess I can't even die right.
"Trouble?" Paul stopped and turned to me. "I don't think you understand. You're not in trouble. Something went wrong and we need to ask the Rules how to handle this." He went back to walking.
"Wait, ask the Rules? What do you mean?"
"The Rules which define all of reality. Creator of the Universe. Bringer of Life."
"You mean God?"
"Oh, yes, I forgot you people had a silly name for them. Come, this way." He suddenly opened a door and I was blasted with a horrible screeching!
============
I opened an eye and slapped my phone. The dream was fading somewhat.
"Good morning, Benjamin. Currently in Oklahoma City it's 56 degrees and cloudy..." My phone started rattling off weather and news. I got to my feet and look at my apartment.
It wasn't the cleanest. Ever since she left, I just kinda gave up. The last 2 weeks have been... miserable. I had a wicked hangover from last night. Some friends came over to try and cheer me up. I think I convinced them it worked.
I started getting ready. Coffee going, shower, drying off when \**BRRING*\* my notifications went off. I picked up the phone to see who'd message me this early.
It was my brother, Paul.
*Hey bro. Haven't heard from you in a while. I know it's been rough but you know the Rules™. I'm coming to get you and spend some time with you. See you this weekend!*
For the first time in a couple weeks, I smiled. I replied the only way I knew how.
*LOL get rekt n00b!*
Not 10 seconds later he replied.
*You asked for it!* | 108 | "Hmmmm... a lot of good deeds, sometimes a bit selfish, died crossing the road drunk... please take the door to your left. NEXT! Wow, I cannot fault you! You're as close to perfect as it gets! Please take those stairs! NEXT!" You tremble as you approach the counter to determine your afterlife. | 237 |
"Hmm," He tapped on the throne as he sat. Index finger bouncing up and down and beating with a constant rhythm. "Your complaint?"
I stood under him, far under him. The long stairs that climbed up to his throne almost formed a tower. I tightened my fist and yelled up at him, "You're supposed to be the God of Peace! So why have you demanded so many die in your name?"
Again he hummed, finger tapping away. "That's what you've come all this way to ask? That?"
I blinked, stunned for a moment at the response and still hot inside from screaming out the question. I opened my mouth to reply but found myself airless. It was such a simple response, but I felt so dismissed so quickly. Like all my months of travel fell apart right at the end.
The God chuckled, tilting his crowned head and letting his long hair dance across his face. "You've come all this way, crossing many realms... To ask me why people die for me?"
I felt ridiculed, and I could feel myself shaking from emotion. I threw the helmet I'd been holding in my hand at the foot of the stairs, letting its metallic sound ring out through the chambers. "That's my brothers helmet!" I croaked out the words. They rasped up and down my throat with awful hot pain. "He died in one of your many holy wars! Those wars that kill untold amount of people!"
He glanced down at the helmet for just one moment, unbothered as ever. "And he won't be the last."
I shook my head and screamed, "How is that peace!?"
"This is something mortal people never seemed to understand." He leaned in, resting his arms on his knees and looking at me as if I was an idiot child. "Peace... Has nothing to do with war."
My breath was rapid, I could feel the bottom of my jaw move back and forth from the adrenaline.
The God scoffed, "Come on!" He said, smiling. "You still don't get it." Was it a joke it him? Was all of my emotion and grief nothing at all?
I shook my head while gritting my teeth.
He chuckled, "Of course you don't." He stood up and lazily brought out his arms. "Well, let me spell it out for you."
He started walking down the steps, slowly and one foot at a time. Each step clicking on the marble ledges. "When I tell people, that I bring peace to the world, and that I'm the God of the White Flag. I'm not telling them that it's peace on the earth, or at least that's not what it means." He brought a finger to his forehead. "I'm telling them I bring them peace here."
He got down to the helmet and picked it up, dusting off some of the dirt that was still on it. I wanted to charge out at him for even touching it, but I felt useless as a wet rag. I was empty from the mute rage.
"Yes, real peace doesn't have anything to do with warfare. Real peace is no longer having to worry about what's right and what's wrong. It's no longer having to think for yourself." He lifted the helmet up slightly and faced it towards me. "So when your dearest brother died, albeit killing a solider or a child, I have no clue what happens on the front lines anymore, he did so with a conscience as clear as a bright blue sky, and an mind as peaceful as a sleeping lion... He had an empty, happy mind."
He put the helmet back into my shaking hands. Nodding to me lightly as he did, "Seems like he was the smart one, no?"
I couldn't move. I felt torn to shreds as the guards dragged me out of the room, tears streaming down my face and mouth twitching with emotion. The last thing I saw before they shut the doors was the God returning to his seat, climbing those ornate white stairs and doing so with his head up... He did look rather holy... | 12 | "You're supposed to be the God of Peace! So why have you demanded so many die in your name?" | 23 |
My people loved me. They enjoyed my reign (or their head would decorate a pike. I'd also instruct the soldiers to make sure the head would smile, or their heads would be piked next). I gave them riches...well...not my riches. Riches from lands I conquered. And then took my nine-tenths cut. Then I'd tax their amount to pay for more conquests...okay. So maybe I'm not that loved. Fear is probably a more apt term.
And respect, because I'm a *almost* God. Almost there. I shed my humanity ages ago to embark on a quest of godhood by sacrificing the souls of others. And the best part? I don't use my citizens for that. Ain't that kind of me? Well, those that didn't like it either are not around anymore.
Anyway, nobody really opposes me. An empire of iron-fisted rule by a nearly divine deity.
Except for this brat that keeps coming back every fortnight or so.
My scouts had spotted the Corpse Boy yet again making his way to the castle.
Thirty. Seven. Times. Thirty seven times back from the dead. At first I thought maybe this was a mere mortal; a scrawny lad from a recently conquered land coming to tell me to stop plundering the wealth of his land or free his imprisoned parents.
Nope. He went right for the jugular. Tiny, impotent hands that I easily separated from their owner and then...well...the first death was the easiest one as I folded his body several times upon itself and then threw it out the nearest window for the scavengers to feed upon.
And the joke was he kept coming back. A curse perhaps?! Laughable were all the attempts, though maybe I felt an incrementally stronger squeeze after each attempt on my throat. But the 20th time, he actually armed himself with a weapon, though inexpertly handled. I snapped the spear in half that time and then spit-roasted the brat on an open fire for my courtiers to feast their eyes upon.
And now more recently, the fire in his eyes now matched his moves. He wore leather armor, charred and smoldering. And he held that spear with more poise. He also packed a back up dagger that I didn't see coming and got a good nick on my face.
I made sure to drag his body around the kingdom behind my chariot for a good few days just to make sure he got the point one last time.
But now I just learned the assassin I sent to waylay him had been found trussed up in a tree, the intestines decorating the branches in a pattern I would have found amusing.
I shooed the court jester from my audience chamber and closed the doors, making sure no one else would disturb my seance. I moved toward the central brazier and watched the man size flame from the bronzed chalice cinder more sinisterly as I summoned an old friend.
From the churning ashes, a face of smoke smiled at me.
"Dear 'Emperor.' What beckons you to call upon me?" asked the smoke face as it's eyes formed, a flash of red and orange ember.
"King of the Underworld," I stated flatly. "A man defies your realm again and again and again. What do you know of this...Corpse Boy?"
It rolled its coal eyes. "Oh come now...what makes you think I would know..."
I folded my arms. "Because that's literally your job. No soul escapes the underworld..."
It chuckled. "Fair enough. But it is my job when a soul arrives here."
I paused. "So this Corpse Boy...doesn't die?"
The face pondered but nodded. "Yes. If it doesn't die, I don't have the agency to collect it at the border of life and death. Something must be preventing it from dying. A powerful force."
"Well, can you clue me in?" I asked. While death was his forte, the King of the Underworld also dabbled in the secrets of the dead.
The wispy face rumbled a bit, the smoke shaking as the brazier churned and the flames flicked about. At last it settled.
"Youuu..." it said, letting the word linger.
"Yes?"
"You know this answer...better than anyone...if you don't now, wait until you meet this...'Corpse Boy' face to face one more time..."
And like that...the smoke dissipated and the brazier fell back to it's usual hunger for fuel.
And left me dumbfounded as I began to process the thought of how I possibly could know...
...and just like that, the doors to my audience chamber flew open. I turned to see who had dared to enter upon my summoning.
And there the Corpse Boy stood. Less a boy and more a man with far more sinew and muscle than I last remembered. He had added chain mail to his attire and a weathered metal helmet. He had the spear still, but it looked a bit more ornate. And on that spear...
...was the jester's head, a rictus grin smeared across it's eyeless, tongueless face.
I looked from the head to the Boy and the gaze filled me with an ancestral knowledge of who he was, a mortality that I had thought I'd left behind.
It came not for revenge, but simply for me.
I was hunting me.
He leapt and we joined battle once more. | 499 | a bit stronger and well equiped than before. It occurs again and again until it's not laughable anymore. You need to find a way out of this situation. | 1,870 |
Space Log 2384,
I haven't written in around a year and it has defintiely been interesting. The first interaction with the Alien Parasite Latinus Namus Thingemous was during a routine exploration of the planet AZ32. Employees 37-39 were supposed to procure samples and return to the ship, but Michael Corman, Jr. slipped and fell approximately 53 feet. When his suit split on impact, it allowed Latinus to enter and interact with his biomatter. As we now know, Latinus is an interesting species, it studies the brain of the subject and mimics their actions. The difference from classic parasites though is that Latinus is a social creature, meaning it forms it's own personality from the memories of the host. Yet all Latinus subjects appear to be altruistic and generally positive, refusing to turn toward violence even when the consequences are life threatening. Corman's crew brought the parasite back to the station due to its charming nature and were punished as expected. Since then, our crew has created a new use for the recently deceased and it had led to an extreme productivity increase. This has raised the question as to whether we even need a human crew. We have all the organic matter for a full crew that doesn't moan about pay or overtime. The company board has reviewed my request to...um...liquidate the employee base. A company military cruiser is on its way to help with the liquidation process and transition period. I better get a promotion out of this.
End transmission | 229 | One of your crew mates has been overcome by a sentient alien virus, and their body is now completely controlled by the plague. However, the crew member was extremely rude and controlling, and the virus is not only really nice, but wants to join your crew… | 959 |
I taste rust.
What's going on? What....where..am I? I was driving home, from the bar, and it's pissing out... oh God, not an accident, I'm so fucking stupid....
**\*Smash\*. \*Smash\*. \*SMASH\* \*The sound of glass breaking and metal tearing.\***
What the fuck....is that... a shirtless Captain Canada? Beating the shit out of my...
Oh Holy shit, my car, my fucking car is on fire! Gotta-get-out-gotta-get-out-gotta-gotta-fucknoI'mstuck!
*"Help! Oh shit I'mma burn to death oh shit oh shit oh shit HELP ME!"*
**\*Metal screaming as the door finally gives way.\* \*Am pulled out bodily\***
OW, fuck, that hurts. *"Gentle! Gentle!"*
The rain is cold, and stings. I can't see, water, or something else, in my eyes...
**\*Snort\*** *"I'm sorry, I know they say don't move someone after an accident, but I think they make an exception for being pulled out of a burning wreck.*
*You're lucky I live nearby, I just got out of the shower, now, want to tell me what happened? Starting with how much you've had to drink tonight?"*
Too much, and never again. Oh good, I can see flashing light, the cops are here.
*"Well, looks like the authorities can take it from here. Stay safe, friend. I'll be around!"*
Well. Fuck. There he goes.
I still taste rust. | 22 | You are sleeping at 3:00 AM and you hear a loud noise. You look outside your window, and you see a man wearing a Canadian flag around his waist and a shower cap, standing on your car smashing it with a sledgehammer during a raining storm. Somehow, a logical explanation ensues. | 80 |
I couldn't argue. The fighter across the ring had a squat chassis resting between two stout track pods. A menacing array of armaments and sensors bristled from slabs of sloped armor. Pretty much the most appropriate literal assessment.
"Look, you're a world-class bot fighter. You can make it happen. Everything has a weakness."
As I glanced at our foe again I hoped I was right.
"Look, it's a solid build paradigm, but there are known weaknesses to it. Tell me about em."
L1L1 lost the frantic spark in her eyes and settled down. "Flanking attacks. The side is usually less formidable than the front. The rear is often vulnerable, as is the top. Mobility kills can be achieved by damaging the tracks."
I adjusted a few servo values in my tuning computer. Bumped a little bit of shield power over to weapons. L1L1 gave a surprised shuffle as she processed the change.
"That goes against 97.239% of our previous fight strategy. What gives?"
"Well, Lilly, the lower shield values should be able to protect you from the point defense lasers and heavy slug throwers. Your shield maxes wouldn't stop that mass driver it's sporting as a primary weapon. So, we gamble a bit on some extra hitting power."
"What about the missile batteries?"
Yeah. Leave it to L1L1 to point out the flaw.
"Guess you gotta dodge, puddin. You have your own countermeasures, and as long as you don't get tagged directly you should be okay. Stay quick and nimble, keep it to medium range. Those missiles will have a hard time keeping up with you, given that they look like long-range types, and the point defenses won't be hitting as hard."
I could see her scanning, and the diagnostics flared with increased calculations.
"Maybe pick off some of the externally mounted weapons? Create some less dangerous zones?"
It was a good idea, and I was glad to see she wasn't making the mistake of thinking in terms of "safe" zones anymore. I glanced at the new right arm. Yeah. Nowhere is ever safe in a bot fight.
"It's a good idea Lilly. Doubt that turret will be able to track fast enough to follow you once you start dancing, but you can't lose track of that gun."
She grimaced. "Like you always say, careless for a moment, scrap forever."
"That's my girl."
With that our prep time was over. The safety fields boomed to life, and my sweet flower was set to dance with a lumbering relic of older days. 01GAs hadn't been seen in almost a generation, but this one was here. I wasn't sure L1L1's emitters were even able to breach the hide of that thing, but we'd have to see.
The countdown started, and so did the sweat.
The rest... well. Everyone knows that story. | 26 | ”I’m going to fight and lose badly” “don’t you mean win?” “No! Look at her she is built like a tank I can’t win!” | 92 |
“Hahahahahaha!”, laughed the man wearing goggles and a lab coat in front of me.
“YOU CHILDREN CAN’T STOP ME!”, he asserted.
My high school life has been anything but stable. My school is filled with every type of loony there is. Ninjas, mecha pilots, [d/dt energy] rangers, magical girls, wizards, witches, martial artists, and the worst of them all…
“Woof… woof… You won’t get away… woof”, a German Shepherd said.
Talking… animals. What the hell… is wrong with you people.
“We can do this, GS!”, said the guy next to the German Shepherd.
What a lazy way of naming your pet. Max has no creativity, who calls a German Shepherd, GS?! But that is not all, wait until you get a load of this…
“I will stop you Mad Scientist, Ludvek, MSC!”,
“YOU DIDN’T HAVE TO HIGHLIGHT THE FACT I DON’T HAVE A PHD”, shouted Ludvek.
She placed her hands on a star shaped pendant she had around her neck.
“Transformation~”,
She started to glow with a blinding light and dance in a… peculiar way, she emerged from the light with her clothes changed and her hair blue… she was blonde a second ago.
“In the name of the shining starts, I will punish you!”, she said.
“Transformation~”, said the other two girls behind her.
What? You thought she was alone?
“Katie! Why do you need to repeat your transformation thing… EVERY… SINGLE… TIME?!”, I said.
“We have to get in the mood, Will! Ehehe~”, said Katie as she let out her tongue, trying to look cute. This is Katie, my friend, we have started high school in the same class, and the two behind her are Rose and Windy.
My name is William, but my friends call me Will. I am an average high school student in this not-so-average-school, I am in second year now and these are some of my classmates…
“Woof!”,.
Including the dog.
We are now in our high school yard and the Mad Scientist Ludvek is attacking our school with killer robots, he planted C4 charges around the school and has a remote detonator in his hand.
The principle thought it would be ‘good exposure’ to let us handle Ludvek. To “loosen up a bit” he said.
I smiled and closed my eyes.
TO HELL WITH THIS EXPOSURE! Ah… that felt better - much better.
I felt my body stiffen up and looked right with my eyes without moving my head. I could see her head entering my field of vision as she crept from behind, her head came over my right shoulder.
“Hi Will… You have sensed me… Now I have to kill you for seeing through my techniques”, she said in a cold tone.
“Shouko… we have been friends since middle school. Of course I will know when you are coming!”, I said as I turned to face her.
She stepped back and blushed, placing her hand in front of her face to cover her embarrassment.
“You can’t say my first name, Will! It’s embarrassing!”, she said nervously.
“You are using MY FIRST NAME, and I have been calling you that since middle school!”,
This is my childhood friend Shouko, she’s a kunoichi and a damn good one. I had never known she was like that until we came to this school, she recommended I joined too. She has pale skin and dark eyes and hair.
“Woof!”, barked GS, shattering my thoughts.
“Hahahaha! I hope you are all done because I will end every thing right now!”, asserted Ludvek.
And now is the most interesting part…
All my classmates turn to me and say the following in unison.
“WHAT DO WE DO NOW, WILL?!”,
“WOOF!”,
I smiled and looked up to the sky.
“CAN’T YOU ALL FIGURE IT OUT BY YOURSELVES?!”, I shouted.
“NO!”, they replied.
I let out a big sigh and placed my hands in my pockets. They are all so much stronger than me, I have no particular powers whatsoever. I don’t know why they keep relying on me.… but I’m sure glad they do. I hate to say it… but these loonies… are precious to me.
Bonus:
Ring Ring Ring…
“Hello? This is the [d/dt energy] rangers… oh… I see so there has been an incident?…I see… we are coming on the way!”,
Beep beep beep…
To be continued… | 118 | In a school filled with martial artists, magical girls, wizards, witches, mecha pilots, ninjas, and more than a few talking animal companions, being a normal student in the background is a relief. Confusingly, any time an incident occurs, everyone always seems to go to you first. | 437 |
Death sighed, exasperated. "I'm starting to loose my patience. This is, like, the 50th time you've bothered me when I'm trying to work."
"Look, man. I keep telling you, there is a process to all of this. You die, you go to purgatory, you get a ticket with a number on it. Everybody gets assigned a room in the Ever After hotel until their boat arrives for the river, and, as I have told you at least ten times now, there's only so many boats a day, and everybody has to wait their turn.
Death points his skeletal finger out the window at the red LED counter at the dock next to his office. Now serving 456,788.
You look down at your ticket - 7,954,832. You'd lost track of how long you had been in the hotel, but purgatory was living up to it's name. The same tv shows played on loop on the TV. The breakfast buffet was the same every day. Every day was essentially the same day where nothing happened. You were so bored in fact, that tears began welling up as you stood in Death's doorway.
Death put his palm to his face and grunted. "Ok Bob. This is the last time I'm going to tell you this. I don't make the rules. I'm just a regional reaper for the New York city district. I'm not exactly thrilled by the circumstances either. I haven't seen a logjam like this before, and the river just isn't big enough to handle this kind of influx. Do you know how many people die each day on average? About 200,000. You know how many died the day you did? 5.3 billion. You're lucky to even have a number at this point. You should see the Chinese districts. Hooo boy, logistical nightmare."
Death pointed back at the hotel. "Look, just go back to the hotel. Enjoy the pool, have some more food from the buffet, play some card games. You're gonna still be here a while. I gotta get back to work." | 14 | You knocked on Death's door and they answered. Unexpectedly they said, "You're early. Like too early." | 47 |
You'd be surprised at how easy it is to stop a crime with a headache. Most heroes, they swoop in when a crime is already in progress; people end up hurt inevitably, and even if they save the day, there's always damage. I'm one of the few that can stop a crime before it even happens.
It's not as easy as the job is for everyone else. Unlike the rest, I have to put a lot of research into my surrounding area, and keep my eyes peeled at all times. More than that, my costume is highly specialized with just how tattered it appears. Most, when I'm out in my suit, would see me as a bum attempting a cosplay, which is mostly the point.
Today, things would change. The crime I was attempting to stop was a robbery, about to happen on Fourth Street. I already had my power activated, levelling each person in the group with a strong cluster headache that should've brought them to their knees. Instead, each of my victims were still standing, eyes squinted as they shattered the glass of the jewelry store. In my panic, I brought the pressure up just the slightest amount.
Most heroes use their powers instinctively; I never had that luxury. For years, I had to meticulously study just how much pressure I could put on the human mind before it would explode. Until today, I had never gone over that limit. But when the glass shattered, it was almost like a flinch. I physically could not stop my power from dilating further.
Blood, splattering across the side of the street. Five men collapsed onto the sidewalk, brain matter slowly leaking through a shattered glass door. One of their eyes had slammed through the air from the pressure, and was currently laying on a car right in-front of me.
I heard the sirens of oncoming police vehicles, but couldn't move. Their skulls had caved in, leaving fragments of bone scattered across the concrete around their bodies, teeth were shattered and bloody remnants sat along their vests. All I could do was stare, as the cops moved towards me.
When I looked towards them, horror rushed through my mind. I hadn't turned my power off. Immediately upon the first cop landing in my eyesight, I watched his head explode. The shrapnel of his bone flying in each direction lacerated itself across part of my suit. Before I could manage to reel myself back in, five more cops had died, all littering across the street. Three civilians had been caught in the crosshairs of my power; all I could do was stare. | 90 | Being a hero is in your blood. Always has been, even since you were a child. On your eighteenth birthday, your powers emerged. you can increase the pressure within a human skull until it explodes. Undeterred, you decide to take up the old cape and cowl and become a hero. | 156 |
"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for being here this evening." Dr. Weir began, a bright 157 glowing just above his bald head. Camera lights flashed in the crowd and the attendees fell silent.
"As you know, me and my team at Harvard University have recently concluded our 15 year study of the number phenomenon that swept the world nearly two decades ago. We gather today to present our findings." He cleared his throat as more camera clicks and bright flashes momentarily took over the room.
"My team gathered data from over 120,000 participants, over 63 countries. We compared age, gender, marital status, and education level with inconclusive results. We then tracked health metrics, financial stability, political affiliation, and geographic location. Again, the results were inconclusive. However, when we began to compare mental state and the participant's daily life, patterns began to emerge."
"Further study will be necessary to verify our results. However, the numbers seem to be linked to likelihood of emotional intensity when performing various activities, particularly in the areas of empathy, anger, fear, and passion."
A voice rose above the crowd. "So, what you are saying is that the numbers measure how many fucks we give?" A ripple went through the crowd.
"Uh, no, that's not exactly what I said." Dr. Weir stumbled over his words.
"So, it's basically a fuck-o-meter?" Another voice called out. Laughter erupted from the mass of reporters. The scientists lined up behind Dr. Weir tried to hide their snickers behind coughs and hand gestures. Dr Weir cleared his throat.
"We have determined that that terminology is problematic on a number of levels." The numbers above his head began to steadily tick upward as the vein in his forehead pulsed visibly.
"Can this fuck-o-meter be used to predict patterns in behavior, like public violence?" Another reporter spoke up.
"I assume you are referring to the incident 4 years ago in Chicago. We have begun looking into that possibility, but results have thus far been inconclusive and require more study."
"What can you tell us?"
"We can say with relative confidence that higher numbers are linked to higher levels of anxiety, but can also indicate higher levels of empathy. However, lower numbers, meaning anything below 65, can have a multitude of implications including longer lifespan and greater happiness, but also potential apathy and drug usage. Once again, these findings will require further study." More flashes and camera clicks.
"Dr. Weir, have you noticed any connections between the numbers themselves and individuals who claim to 'not give a fuck?'"
"No." Dr. Weir sighed. "Thus far we have noticed no definitive connection."
"And what does it mean when someone's number reaches zero?"
"Well... Uh... We have determined that... Umm..." One of Dr. Weir's colleagues gently pushed the flustered scientist aside and took over the podium.
"It means they have zero fucks left to give, and the likelihood of acquiring any more remains slim." | 31 | 20 years ago, numbers appeared above everyone's heads, counting down. But when people's numbers reached zero, they didn't die. In fact, there was no apparent change – it just remained at 0. | 104 |
Your alarm is set for 2 hours, 36 minutes from now.
Mere moments after the soul-crushing declaration, Caleb’s phone died, revealing the black mirror sheen of his own face, haggard, wasted, and wanting.
How many hours had he spent generating images and talking to chatbots? Another day wasted.
His sigh was a coded thing. Were anyone close enough to him to care, or knew him well enough to tease out its meaning, upon hearing the exaltation, they would have been concerned.
Chester patrolled the empty hall, returning from whatever business cats see themselves to at 3 a.m. His primordial pouch sashayed as he propelled himself up in the unmade bed.
Caleb looked back at the screen, absentmindedly petting the eager cat as he indulged in a little late-night self-loathing.
"I wish I could sacrifice myself, be a hero for something. People always talk about how brave heroes must be to run in the buildings but I would kill for that, something to give me meaning, a bow to slap on the end of all this wasted time."
Chester blinked slow, looking up at Caleb, with that ignorant feline arrogance, understanding nothing, understanding everything. Or maybe he was just sleepy.
"I wish I could sacrifice myself for myself, give up everything and reap all for the benefits."
The phone screen crackled for a moment then went black again. It better not break it was the only alarm he had to get up for work tomorrow or today.
"That doesn't even make any sense. I need to go to sleep."
There was no memory of transition. He was lying beside his cat and then he hung in blackness.
He had had liminal dreams before but never like this. He knew this wasn’t real but he had no control. The strange white robe he wore caught on the doorway of a humble office. A clerk sat busily scribbling, a handsome wiry man with slicked back hair and a gaudy yellow blazer.
“Hello?” Caleb asked, wandering inside.
“Hello.” The perkiness belied either a very eager employee or no small bit of mocking. “9:77 on the dot, we like our applicants to be punctual, good first start!”
“I’m sorry,” applicants for what?” Caleb walked to the desk, recoiling back when he saw a three-headed goat grazing lightly from a potted plant of grass.
“Gerladaille won’t hurt you, friend. Just on a few thousand-year retainer while she reincorporates her ego.” The clerk bopped along to unheard music as he tapped a stack of papers straight. He set them on a clipboard and handed them to Caleb. Only a few words were typed on the first page. The rest were blank.
APPLICATION:
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_, God/Goddess/Goddey of \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
Signature:\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ Date:\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
“I don’t understand. You want me to apply to be God?”
The clerk nodded slowly with a twinge of a smile as if trying to gauge if Caleb was messing with him. “A god, yes. Don’t have one in mind? Want me to see what I have available this mevening?”
“Sure,” Caleb said, examining the pen. The interior was an aquarium, small cephalopods jetting back and forth with his movements. He held it more carefully.
The clerk reached out and clipped Caleb's ear with a hole punch. Blood squirted in long drips as his attacker pulled the tool of destruction back.
“What the hell, man!” Caleb held his ear, already throbbing.
The clerk shook out the biopsy from the hole punch and dropped it into a miniature kiddie pool resting on the computer. It frothed and bobbed.
“Okay, interesting alignment you got there. I would not have guessed. God of cats, a common one, but that decision will go on for years, yet. The last one died, 1608, I believe, your time of course. 178 million applications and counting.
“God of Ennui, 17k apps, rather boring gig, I wouldn’t suggest it
“God of lost keys, novel but you’re gonna be busy, 150k apps. Looks like just those three, sadly. Hold on, let me check the fax.”
The clerk expanded a telescoping rod, spun around and whipped down. Three harmonious bleets rang through the office. After a wrenching hacking cough, the clerk bend down and came back holding a dripping wet piece of paper.
“Ah, there is another. Huh, fresh from the ether, squeaking by with just enough resonance this year, not many as entwined as you, either, no applicants yet. We could get this through by this tonorning. What do you say?”
Caleb, stared down at the paper, shrugged and signed his name, just below
Caleb, God of AI.
/r/surinical | 947 | Gods are real, and powered by sacrifice (metaphorical and literal.) You wake up feeling quite bored. So in your mirror, you offer your everything...to yourself. There are unexpected consequences. | 3,214 |
[critique welcome]
The room went dead silent. Everyone stopped their chatters, glancing around with nervous eyes. Will instantly felt what was hiding under their expressions, the murderous intent of his coworkers. He instantly knew what was happening.
Jason was glancing his way with pitying eyes. The poor new manager clearly haven’t handled this situation before. Not that there was anything he was supposed to do but *watch*.
Deciding to take immediate action before his coworkers realized what to do, Will lunged himself outside towards the hallway, took a left turn, and then ran for his life.
The mirror in the bathroom showcased clearly the red circle on his forehead. A literal target in the middle of his face. He slammed his fist against the wall.
For his whole life, Will wanted to have a simple life. Acceptable grades at school, college, a 9-5 job as an accountant. It might sound boring to some, but the routine was comfortable.
*But of course it ended like this.* He thought.
A few years ago, a new program rolled out to get rid of overpopulation. Randomly, targets would appear on people’s heads. Hunting and *eliminating* the target would provide anyone with an immense wealth to retire happily.
*Additionally —* Will thought, staring at Allison who walked into the bathroom door. She had a dark expression on her face and a knife in her hand.
“I’m sorry Will,” the one whom he considered a dear friend said softly, “but I’m scared too.”
She struck.
He didn’t blame her. Any “hunter” who succeed would be granted immunity from being targeted. And Will knew he would *kill* to not be in his current situation.
It didn’t land.
Allison fell unconscious to the ground. In the direct path of his sight was Jason, then Liz from marketing, followed by a dozen other coworkers.
“What?” He was flabbergasted.
“We’re not gonna hunt you, “ Liz explained, “you’ve helped the company out so much it would be unfair. Now, we’ve gotta do something about that.” She pointed to his forehead.
Liz then pointed to the container of makeup and foundation Jason was holding.
To Will’s surprise, he could see the faint outline of a small red circle right in between her temples. | 28 | At some point between the copier and the break room, the office seems to go quiet and you come to a startling realization, you are being hunted. | 121 |
At the highest peak of the world sat a lone sanctuary, built of the purest marble, nearly indistinguishable from the undisturbed snow on the mountaintop. Legends say that the sanctuary is home to the strongest hero to ever see the light of day: a saviour, a god, a traveler of the many magical planes beyond the one that most call their home. Nobody knows his true appearance, save for the fact that he is a swordsman, rumoured to wield a blade carved from the very cosmos itself.
Many had dared to climb up the peak to seek an audience with the Stargazer, as he was called. Kings sent out messengers, parties of adventurers battled their way to the top, yet all were met with silence. The doors of the sanctuary stayed forever closed.
So, gifts were brought. At first, simple items of prayer: candles, incense burners, small wooden idols, all to no avail. So, the offers increased exponentially in opulence: coins of silver, gold and platinum, swords made by the finest smiths, perhaps to appease the deific entity that lived here to add to his repetoire, suits of armour made to match the blade made out of the cosmos. Magical artefacts were no exception, some so powerful that they could solve whatever problem the souls, desperate to see the Stargazer in the flesh, may have had in the first place. Even to this, the doors of the sanctuary stayed forever closed.
Admiration turned to desperation, as the offers were picked up from the ground, the snow was wiped off, and instead were used in an attempt to break open the doors. 'If you won't come out willingly, we'll break this temple apart and seize your power for ourself!' they must have said. Fireballs, beams of holy light, blades that could cut through steel as though it was butter, nothing worked. The doors of the sanctuary stayed forever closed.
The plan to see the god, as well as the hope that he may solve some trivial political matter for self-obsessed kings, was abandoned. Thus, the sanctuary was left undisturbed one more, and the doors of the sanctuary stayed forever closed.
One day, a child came climbing up the mountain, boots trudging through the snow in an angry manner, her face obscured from sight and protected from the snow by a thick layer of fur. Even though the tears on her face may have been warm at some point, they were now all but frozen: crystallized frustration and hurt. Though the air was frigid, the surn burned upon what little skin was exposed here, so she sought shelter in the shadow of the sanctuary, sitting upon its stairs before finally catching her breath. Suddenly a noise rang out, a low growl. Was it a bear, a snow leopard, some other predator which her mother had so often warned her about, forcing her to stay inside? No, it was just her stomach. Luckily she had throught of this predicament and rummaged through her backpack, fishing out two chocolate bars which she had snatched before running off. As the child unwrapped the first bar, she looked up at the two massive doors which she was sitting against.
"They say yours doors are always closed," she mumbled to herself, "but does that mean you never go out to buy food?" She took a piece of chocolate- frozen solid- and put it in her mouth, slowly feeling it melt. "You must be hungry..." The girl looked down at her lap, taking one of the two treats, and slid it under the door. "There you go!"
Then, one of the doors gave way. A man peeked outside, his hair stark white and eyes sharp, wearing surprisingly casual clothes. He looked no older than thirty, nothing like she had expected of a god. A sheathed sword hung at his hip. He took a step outside and sat down by the child.
"You left this for me?" He asked.
"Are you-- I-I mean, yes?"
"How kind of you."
"N-No problem..!" She laughed. For a moment the two of them sat in silence, eating chocolate.
"So, why are you here?"
"O-Oh, me, it's just..." Tears began to form in the corners of her eyes. "Just, a fight."
"A war?" The man sounded dire.
"Not like that, just. Dad gets mad at mom, I don't wanna see her hurt, then dad gets mad at me, and mom gets mad at dad, and-- and it's just a big mess, hah..." She gave a brief, awkward laugh, hoping to relief some of the tension.
"That does not sound like you can solve that by yourself." He looked down at the child, but she was quivering. Was it the cold, was it sadness, or perhaps something deeper?
He pushed himself up and reached a hand out. "You must be cold, come on inside. I'll get us some tea."
"Thank you..." she took his hand and walked inside, as the doors of the sanctuary closed themselves once more.
\[1/4\] | 1,294 | a young child simply offering you a bar of chocolate, claiming that you, a deity, must be "hungry". | 3,196 |
"What's in a spell?"
My voice carries through the lecture chamber.
A new class, a new year, but the same question. Always the same question.
I wait, then ask again.
"What's in a spell? What are its parts?"
A student shoots their hand into the air.
I smile and point at them excitedly, "Yes! Your name please?"
"Mallow," the girl replies.
"Alright, Mallow, what goes into making a spell?"
She recites what she learned in primary school: "A spell consists of formal logic expressed through symbols, arranged and structured to produce a desired result."
"Very good!"
I make a show of looking around the room.
"Now, who knows what syntax is?"
Mallow raises her hand again.
I wait for a moment, then another student hesitantly puts a hand up. I call on the second student, asking their name.
"Jerem, professor," the student takes a breath, "syntax is like, the language of the spell, how all the pieces sorta fit together and, uhh, work."
"Yes, Jerem, thank you. Syntax is the glue that helps our brains compile the symbols into actionable results! Different kinds of spells will have have different syntax. Modern spells--within the Chaos family of languages, for instance--have very high level syntax. What do I mean by high level?"
Mallow raises her hand again.
I call on her.
"High level magick languages heavily encapsulate symbology and rely on the adaptability of the brain to compile or execute the spell."
"And why is it forbidden to learn or use these languages outside a controlled environment?"
"High level magick is only as precise as the brain it's run on. Results can be unpredictable if the brains used in the spell never integrated the required dependencies."
"Exactly right!"
Mallow smiles, a few students in the back of the class roll their eyes.
"Okay!" I clap my hands together. The sound is loud, startling. The amplification runes carved into an obsidian pin on my lapel glow brighter.
All the students are alert now.
Still smiling, I pull a pale avian bone from my inner jacket pocket. On the bone is a single Sigil pattern, wholly different in design to the Runic lapel amplifier.
I tap the carved sigil once and the tip of the pen glows a bright cerulean.
Turning away from the class, I put pen to air and trace out a copy of the lapel pin's rune pattern.
"Does anyone know how this works?"
The class is silent.
"Fair enough. Let's break it down."
"This spell is in Runic. A fairly simple higher level language derived from old Norse assembler instructions. You've definitely seen it before. It uses an overlapping syntax, which means the symbols are stacked on top of one another to combine individual symbols into a more interesting result. The intent of this spell, " I tap on my pin, and then speak directly into it, my voice bouncing through the lecture chamber, "is to make sounds louder."
A hand raises.
I point with the bone out of habit. "Yes, Jerem, was it?"
"Yeah. Is that uhh, right?"
I smile, knowingly. "What do you mean?"
"Well, there's a Naudhiz rune in the pattern. Isn't that from the old Norse assembly stuff? Why are you using it in Runic?"
"Remember what we know about high level languages? Sometimes, it's necessary for a spell to be syntactically inconsistent. Would you all like to see what happens if you *don't* include a Naudhiz rune in this particular Runic spell?"
There's some nodding and murmuring around the class.
"Alright then."
I turn and walk to the table behind me, against the stone wall, and start rummaging through my bag.
I pull out another obsidian pin, this one is wrapped in string, the overlapping thread weaving a null-field pattern around the stone, which in turn vibrates softly in my hand.
"Did everyone sign their waivers?"
I chuckle at my own joke. The filtering wards around the room would have already expelled anyone who hadn't bound themselves to the Academy's secrecy pact.
The murmuring grows more nervous.
I place the thrumming shard of obsidian on a pane of glass. The frosted etchings on the glass light up, projecting a rotating, three dimensional image of the stone into the air.
Reaching into my jacket again, I exchange bone for steel, storing my pen and pulling out a simple knife.
The murmurs quiet down, all eyes are fixed on the floating stone.
"You'll see that on this spell," I point with the knife, it appears in the projection, "There is no Naudhiz rune. So, what do you think will happen when I break this sealing string?"
No one moves. No one speaks.
"Jerem?" I point at the young man. His eyes go wide.
"Uhhh," he stammers a bit, "no idea."
I nod.
"Well, only one way to find out!"
I slash through the string.
Several things happen next.
First, the air in the room grows dark, cold, thick.
Color itself bends in a way that is felt more than seen.
Space follows suit, pulling and pulling towards the stone, warping and whipping about itself.
Sparks of blue lightning erupt from the stone. Small and crackling bolts of arcane energy growing larger and larger as the fabric of the universe twists itself around the obsidian stone.
The projector glass cracks and the projection flickers out of existence. The sound of shattering glass echoes infinitely through the room.
The air itself shatters and cracks.
Students claw desperately at their ears. At their eyes.
The stone levitates and begins to spin. Blue lightning growing larger, more violent. Plasma lashing out into the stadium seating, sending students ducking for cover.
I stomp on the ground twice and time immediately slows. The sounds of whirring gears permeates the chamber, drowning out the crackle of lightning as the world crawls to a stop.
White light explodes from the ceiling, from the walls, from the floor, revealing for the briefest moment a complex pattern of magick. Old stuff, legacy magick, far beyond the understanding of anyone present.
In a flash, reality resets.
I put away the simple dagger and grab the still-wrapped stone from the uncracked projector sheet. After slipping it back into my bag, I turn back to the class.
Eyes huge, jaws to the floor, skin drained of color.
Just like every year.
"So!"
I clap my hands again. Half the class jumps at the sound.
"Any questions?"
-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-
[Part 2] (https://reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/xihgzo/wp_casting_a_spell_is_like_coding_a_program_but/ip6ch7u) | 938 | Casting a spell is like coding a program, but with magic. An apprentice points out an error in the chant. "I know it's wrong," replies the master, "but if I change it, reality gets all wonkey." | 2,587 |
Gargor the Malevolent was... Dumbstruck, to say the least. Flabbergasted, you might say.
In his long live as ruler of Nebula Dominion, he encountered many foes - other candidates for the Mace of Destruction, pesky neighbors from other Waste Countries, and, of course - quite a number of heroes from over the Bastion Mountains.
He defeated them all - be it in combat, or in battle of wits. He was a master of deception, craftsman of most nefarious of traps.
And yet he never saw... This.
A hero came into his Citadel. All alone, he crossed the mountains, Waste countries, bypassed all the army and guards on Dominion, without breaking a sweat.
Of course, the moment he crossed the boundary of the Citadel, he was automatic noticed of his presence. Gargor was curious - who was mad enough to come here alone, and who was skilled to do so.
Using a Sphere of Clairvoyance, he became a spectator of hero's endeavor... And it was the weirdest thing in his life.
Firstly, hero looked completely, and utterly, bored. Like, he did it already so mine times, it was a chore. He avoided every trap, every alarm, every guard like he knew they were there. He confidently walked to higher floors of Citadel, without being noticed. Occasionally, he would pickpocketed a guard or two, or steal some miscellaneous things like apples, or a mug of beer.
It was so weird, that Gargor just watched it without even trying to raise an alarm by himself. Wielder of the Mace of Destruction, he just waited at his private study, until...
The hero finally came into his private chambers. And it was the first time when any sign of emotion had crept on his face:
"Oh, you are awake. That is new."
He said it like Gargor should be fast asleep. Which surprised and amused the ruler:
"Is this a game to you?" The Malevolent chuckled.
"It... It actually is!" Said the hero with relief "Good, finally, I am not alone!"
With these words, hero became... Delighted. He dropped his weapon on the ground, ran to Gargor and hugged him.
"Oh man, you don't believe it how desperate I was! To find someone who too is stuck in this game is such a relief!"
Gargor was... Dumbfounded. Flabbergasted, even.
He didn't understand of what the hero was speaking about. But decades of experience as a ruler of Nebula Dominion hinted to him he should play along. Carefully breaking a hug, he spoke to the hero:
"Oh, I to was surprised to see you. When I saw you through the Sphere, I couldn't believe my eyes - you definitely had been in this Citadel numerous times. By the way, your name is..."
"My name is Brad! In this world, I go by the name Lircon, but you can call me by my real name. What is yours? Definitely not "Gargor the Malevolent". Always thought this name is lame, to be honest"
Gargor decided to ignore the jab in the end, because this "Brad" - who claimed to have name of Lircon, very generic one inn countries over the mountains - was speaking of... interesting things.
"My real name is Mujhal... I am afraid our worlds are different, never heard of anyone named Brad back in mine"
"Oooo, that makes sense that there is more than two worlds! But is interesting that this games exists in more than one. Speaking of which - why you left everything the same as in game? If you played it, you knew the defenses of this pile of rocks are horrible. I used my game knowledge to it's fullest. Look, I even found the bottomless Bag of Holding before the endgame!"
Gargor, again, let insults slide this time. Plus, he intented to change security anyway after this night.
What was interesting for him, that this Brad, one way or another, possessed knowledge of locations for rare artifacts - like this Bag of Holding, of which legends are told.
"Unfortunately, I didn't play this game back at my home - wasn't fun of games to begin with. Only heard of it - that is why I mostly left everything intact."
"Oh, poor soul! You must have been feeling all alone! But don't you worry, Brad will help you! Hell, maybe we even get to go home".
"Perhaps, if we gather all rare artifacts of this world, we could open ways to others?"
"That is precisely my idea! That is why I am here - to grab the Sphere. But you already have it! Buddy, together, we will go a loooong way!"
"Yes, we sure will... Let me show your room for night, you must be tired."
"Man, you guessed right! I need a nap"
"Follow me then"
Gargor started to leave his study and Brad followed behind. This night was the weirdest in his life -but one of the most productive too. Even if he will not gain paths to other worlds, artifacts themselves will for certain come in handy. Perhaps... one of them will make him immortal.
Immortal ruler of the whole world... Made this way by the pitiful creature named "Brad". Truly, flabbergasting experience. | 176 | "Is this a game to you?" The villain grins. "Yes, it is actually." The hero, unexpectedly, sighs with relief. "Good, it's not just me." | 750 |
“Will the Court rise, the honourable Judge Callister presiding” the Bailiff bellowed. The crowd rose to their feet, as the Judge entered the room, which gave Gary plenty of time to glance around at the crowd. *A lot of spandex he thought to himself, and a fair few familiar faces, Powerman, Gladioterra, the Crimson Twins, heck it looked like the entire Justice Squadron was here*. As his head completed it 360 degree spin, a power he had stolen from the infamous Jade Owl, his eyes rested on the stout gruff women atop the podium at the far side of the room. This woman did not like Gary, and she’d all too open to the arguments put forward by the prosecution. They had compared his actions to that of a criminal who had crippled their victim, except that the criminal didn’t augment themselves by breaking their victims’ bones, whereas every villain Gary stole powers from made him stronger, and therefore his actions had been much worse. To be fair to Gary’s defence attorney, he had tried his best, he had argued Gary had simply acted in defence of the city and its people. But unfortunately, the state didn’t take to kindly to unregulated vigilantism. No matter how heinous the villain had been, its didn’t given Gary the right to “cripple them in the superpowered sense” as the state had so aptly put it.
Judge Callister looked over her glasses disapproving at Gary and began to speak “I’ve been informed that the jury are ready to provide their final verdict, if they would please re-enter the courtroom”. The crowd murmured expectantly, as the 12 jurors shuffled back to the stand, head down, refusing to meet Gary’s eyes. “Oh no, that’s never a good sign” Gary’s attorney whispered, head in hands. The foreperson stood, glancing to the judge for approval. “Does the jury have a verdict?” Judge Callister asked, raising a single eyebrow, “Yes” the foreperson responded, “We have come to a unanimous verdict”. “Excellent” Judge Callister said, “Could you please give your verdict to the Courtroom”. The foreperson inhaled sharply, puffing her chest out in preparation. Gary crossed his fingers; it all came down to this. “In the case of the Metro City v Gary Gray, the jury finds the defendant…” the foreperson paused, glancing out over the crowd of caped crusaders “guilty, of 12 counts of superpowered assault”. Gary’s head dropped into his hands, as the crowd broke out into excited murmurs, “ORDER ORDER” Judge Callister yelled, once again restoring silence to the room. “The Court thanks the jury for their decision” Judge Callister stated, smiling at the jury. She then turned her head to look at Gary, her face dropping into a deep scowl. “As for you, in line with the City’s mandatory sentencing rules, I sentence you to 10 years in Metro City’s Prison for the Criminally insane”. “PLEASE! ANYWHERE BUT THERE” Gary cried “I’LL DO ANYTHING!”. However, the Judge simply looked away as the guards dragged Gary off to the squad car. Gary kicked and squirmed, trying to wriggle free to no avail, as he was removed from the room.
As he was removed from the Court room, he couldn’t help but let a grin creep across his face. He hoped his theatrics inside the Courthouse hadn’t been too transparent. He thought it best to put on a show for the crowd, so as to obscure his true intentions. *Metro City’s Prison for the Criminally Insane* he thought to himself *every major villain in the state was locked up there! What better place to harvest some A+ Powers…* | 101 | You are an antihero who has the power to steal other powers. You have taken from many villains, garnering fear and hostility from your enemies and allies alike. Today, you have been summoned to court because your 'victims' have decided to press charges against you for violating their rights. | 201 |
"...Seriously? You only have shackles that effect people with powers? These things don't even rest on the wrist, like, at all. Didn't any of you think to get zip ties or something?" I pointed out, absolutely bewildered.
"They work on everyone else, okay!" They snapped
"Yeah, and everyone else has a different genetic and neurological makeup that makes them have a different electric field that interacts with that sort of thing." My captor, well, current guard, glowered. They hadn't captured me, that was the trio of goons that could fly, turn their skin to other substances, and just had some weird premonition thing going for them. Apparently it only works if they're within 10 feet of the subject and only can 'see' about five minutes ahead.
This current loony toon had on some admittedly neat glasses that continuously had code running across them. Seems they were one of the ones that were good at manipulating technology with their mind/manipulating electronic frequencies/some other garden varietal of computer geek on steriods...well, more like on low-level radiation, but whatever.
"Look, I'm kinda over this." I informed, simply slipping the shackles off "Where's the door? I'm sure you've got an illusionist hiding it since I can't see one and you most certainly are one of the ones who can manipulate their matter to go through solid objects."
Poor thing gaped like a fish before blustering up some courage "You'll never get past the barrier!"
I arched a brow as I walked out of the little square they had taped on the floor to mark the barrier for the ones unable to see light/sound/energy particles with their 'special eyes'. Approaching the wall, I simply starting running my hand along it as I searched for the door.
"Oh, whatever am I to do? I'm totally trapped by the barrier that follows *the exact same principle* as your dumb cuffs." I pointed out dryly, grinning as I felt the seam of the door "Oh look, found it!"
I heard the muttering and turned, throwing a fist at their nose before they could put the implant thingy on me, that wouldn't have worked anyways.
"...the amount of you Supers that forget punching is an option astounds me." I hummed, opening the door and following the stairs up. Most places, sadly, had gotten rid of elevators after a number of incidents with Supers. Its surprising how many abilities mess with more complex functions...not to mention the fact that most things had been produced to interact with their new electro-magnetic fields.
Rather inconvenient for me, but eh, can't win em all. At least I'll never get stuck on one of those things if it malfunctions. Happened to a girl in my class, once. Lucky for her she regrew the leg...even if its now an octopus leg. Weird how that worked out, really. Still don't understand it.
Once I was on the next floor, I went and found the fire escape plan. No one ever looks at those, anymore with how many Supers can contain or control fire. But, they're still required by an archaic building code they can't find a way to overrule, so here we are.
"Okay, so up and left. Cool. Hopefully my coms works up there...then again, I could just use my old cell phone. Most places haven't thought to block those types of signal, yet." I reasoned, enjoying yet another lovely stairwell before emerging into a lobby from a door that read "Employees only." It wasn't more than a few feet to get to the lobby doors of the hotel and simply manually unlock it before stepping onto the busy street outside.
"Wow, they're really getting lazy, huh?" I mused, pulling out my coms "Hey Dad, mind getting Pax to pick me up on the corner of Kent and Luthor? Its a bit far and I don't want to be late for dinner this go around."
"Of course, they'll be there in about 20 minutes. Mind picking up an order of the egg rolls on Luthor while you wait? I've been meaning to get some from that little shop we like." I sighed, starting the short walk down the street, glad that the historic district didn't allow for energy-sensitive doors like most other places, so I didn't need my sensor stick that was in my backpack back at my school, still. "Yeah, I'll tell Mrs. and Mx. Lao you said hi and make sure they include the shrimp sauce. See you in a bit."
I ended the coms link and sighed contentedly, just enjoying a moment without the hum of the ever-constant electric fields that were everywhere, now. It was nice, very nice.
They really had it made before the world was overrun by Supers...but they didn't have the Lao's egg rolls, so it seemed like a fair trade in the end. | 16 | Almost everyone has superpowers, but you do not. You are being held hostage in hopes of receiving a large ransom, but your family is not responding. Not because they do not care, but because "no superpower" is actually a superpower in its own right and you are fully capable of freeing yourself. | 32 |
"And, well, I thought, you know..."
"No, no. I get it, I do. It's just.. abnormal."
I ponder the tree in front of me. Calling it a tree, to be honest, is being rather generous. A plum tree it was, so I'm told. Now, it's mostly charred bark and ashen piles of leaves. I glance behind me, towards the pile of burnt rubble that used to be a house. "Are you really sure this is where you want your priorities to be right now, son?"
The young man, really more of an aged boy, Gods he's too young to be dealing with this sort of mess alone, nods back fiercely. "My father tended this tree, just like his father. It's the last link I have to my family, now."
"And we wouldn't want to lose that, now would we." I kneel down, inspecting the upraised and exposed root structure. It's still supple, and when I scratch it there's moisture in the wood. This tree would only have actually died a little while ago, a few days at most. That's helpful. When you revive a body you always want to be aware of how much of the form has been lost to time, because that form has to be regenerated from somewhere. You *could* use a supplementary corpse, but that can lead to.. complications. Plus, it's illegal. Honestly, probably for good reason. So, mostly, we Necromancers just use our own bodily energy. Works good enough, as long as you have a snack handy.
But a tree? I stand, and walk over to my bag on the ground. There are two tomes in it, one of which I know won't be useful here; I use it enough to know what's in it, and bringing a tree back from the dead isn't there. The second one, however...
*The Grim Mother's Tome of unexpected rituals and revivals.*
Now, this is a rare one. We're not gonna talk about how I got it. I'm not proud of it, but just to own this, alone? Worth it. I'd do it again.
I open the book. Not gently, of course, old things like this were built to last, as long as they don't fall apart. Don't reflect on the irony of survivorship bias in necromantic tomes, it's a whole mess of turnips.
Did you know there's a bit in here about using dark magics to jump start a dead car battery? The Grim Mother was a real forward thinker. And here, right at the back, how to revive a dead tree. Even has notes and addendum for the type of tree, and the amount of rot and decay. But what's always interested me is a little footnote, hand written in the side column:
'*Trees; harder than you'd expect, and still harder than what you just imagined* *after reading that'*
Neat. If something is more difficult than you can account or plan for, don't bother doing either of those things. Sometimes things just work out better if you don't give yourself time to ponder them.
I place a hand on the charred tree, and cast the spell.
That's when the spinning begins.
Now, getting dizzy when you cast a spell is never a *good* sign, but it's always a *bad* sign when it spins like *this.* Suddenly, the whole world is a tumultuous ocean, and my brain is a small boat in big waves. They crash upon me, leaving all matter of wreckage and flotsam lodged into the cranial hull of my brain boat. Simply put, it's a bad time.
I awake a few minutes later, unaware that I had fallen. Above me there is a plum tree is full bloom. I glance beside me. The boy is there, lying down as well.
"Are you alright?" I ask him.
"Oh, yea. I'm good." he's fully focused on the tree, and doesn't turn to look back at me. "It looked like the spell was too much and knocked you out, so I laid down with you so people would just think we were chilling."
"Oh, that's nice." I look back to the tree. The Grim Mother does it again.
"Um. I have some money. It's not much, but.."
I tilt my head, looking behind me at a burned out home that sits upside down from my laid down position. "Tell ya what, keep the money. You're gonna need it more than I will."
Suddenly, my stomach churns, and I realize I'm more hungry than I'd have ever thought possible. Energy for the tree had to come from somewhere, after all.
"Can you bring me one of those plums, though?" | 24 | As a necromancer for hire, you're used to calls for lost relatives or pets. So imagine your surprise when someone asks you to revive their plum tree. | 57 |
He laps around the room and he asks, "What are those noises?"
"Don't mind them," I tell him. "Angry house buyers. They wanted this place for themselves. Your place, I mean."
He looks around, studies the chandelier like some crystal connoisseur. "I don't like those noises," he says. "Are they drunk? They sound drunk."
I grab him by the wrist and I tell with what is intended to be a serious look, "They have been drinking all day."
His eyes go wide. Then his brows narrow, pressing down in a thick line of skin. "I don't want them out there. You said this is my house? Really?"
I found the place on Airbnb. No one uses Airbnb any longer. No one uses anything any longer. Except me and Alex.
There's fury inside me, wild fury. Or is it fear? "You said I could stay as long as I liked. I was very relieved when you said that. I've been going on hard times, and you let me stay here to help me get back on my feet."
"Right," he says. "I can remember something like that." He nods and his eyes drift towards the closed curtains and I can tell he's worried about the clacking, about the sounds.
"I need to show you something on the second floor," I say and I whisk him away, like a prince at a ball, dragging him up the stairs and through a door. It turns out to be a broom closet.
"This is what you needed to show me? Really?"
There's the sound of glass breaking. "Let's get inside. I don't want those angry house buyers to hear this."
"Inside the closet?"
"Inside the closet."
He's polite about it. He lets me shove him inside. For a moment I hesitate. What if I were to run? I could make them chase me instead, I could make them chase me all the way to Paris.
No. I'm no runner. They'll catch me. Fast. Then they'll catch Alex.
"We spent a lot of time inside a closet like this one when we were young. Remember?"
He looks at me. Shakes his head. The sounds are getting louder. "Why are they so angry?" His eyes are all white. His heart racing.
"You got the house at a bargain. You're an accomplished negotiator. You outsmarted them all."
There's that post-episode stare to him, that soft resetting of the neocortex. He reaches for a cigarette, but he doesn't have any.
"We're all out, pal," I tell him.
Should I risk it? Run down, fight some undead firemen, accountants, primary school teachers? Maybe if I get him his cigarettes he'll relax.
No. They're downstairs already. I don't even know if there are any cigarettes in this house.
I can feel Alex' soft flannel shirt pressed up against my chest, wet with rain.
He dragged me for ten miles. I was out cold. He could've easily left me. That would've been the smart thing to do. But Alex would never do a thing like that.
His seizures began when we were in college. He was riffing on Baudelaire all night, getting the pronunciation all wrong, and he'd had buckets of wine. Then he froze, mid-sentence, and we all assumed it was an artistic pause for effect. There were more of us back then. He went limp and he fell. Then he woke up, his memory scrambled for a few minutes.
"Man, they're angry! What did I do to these people?"
"You outsmarted them, Alex. You outsmarted them."
He laughs. "We sure get ourselves in crazy trouble huh?" he says.
"We sure do," I tell him. "We sure do."
The lights go out. One of them must have bitten through some cable. Or perhaps a power plant just exploded. Who knows. People don't know much these days.
They're coming up the stairs. Cadavers on the move.
"You're the greatest friend anyone could ever wish for," I tell him.
He nods, all serious. "I try," he says. "I try."
"We spent a lot of time in a closet just like this," I tell him once more, "back when we were kids. Remember? You used to tell me stories."
He laughs. "You know, a lot of the stories I got from comic books. I just replaced the characters with you and me."
His memory is returning.
"I want to thank you," I tell him. "I want to thank you. For letting me stay with you."
He rubs his chin. "Sure," he says. "Anything for a friend."
They're banging on the door, making sounds you'd expect out of hell.
"Get your own home!" Alex cries.
They're excited. They've found us.
"Yeah!" I cry. Tears are streaming down my face. "You're all drunk. Alex bested you. Just admit it."
Alex laughs. It's a roar.
"I want to hear some Baudelaire," I tell him. "Quick."
"Oohs," he says with a sheepish grin. "That's a familiar name. He was a poet? Yeah. Evil flowers. Floors duh mall."
"Right, right." I'm ecstatic.
He's passionate. They're outside clawing at the door and he's reciting French 18th century poetry. I close my eyes and I listen, I let my mind swing to the rhythm.
It's beautiful. There's never been anything beautiful like that before in the world.
"I love you, Alex," I tell him.
He gapes in faux surprise. "I love you too, buddy," he says. "I love you too."
---
/r/ripeblunts | 191 | The electricity has been cut; there is no more running water; you can hear the dragging footsteps of the undead outside. Your only companion has just finished having a seizure. With confusion in his eyes, he asks you, “have we met before?” | 354 |
"Okay, so you're saying Uncle John was a wizard, like Harry Potter?" Calvin gave the dark haired man in front of him a quizzical look.
"No, no. A sorcerer is very different from a wizard. Wizards conjure things using ancient spells and internal power. Sorcerers have to harness that power from other living things. Your Uncle was actually quite accomplished in his field." The estate manager said. Calvin frowned.
"Okay, so what does that have to do with me?"
"Your Uncle's will." The man said importantly. "He left you everything."
"But Uncle John was destitute. He couldn't even afford to keep his house."
"It's true that your Uncle was less fortunate in financial wealth, but he had something far more valuable." He paused, waiting for Calvin to ask him what it was. Calvin simply raised and eyebrow and waited. When it became clear the young man was absolutely not going to ask, the older gentleman flung his arms out wide in a dramatic flair. "His Legion of SOULS!"
"His what?" Calvin blinked, unimpressed by the man's theatrics.
"One moment." The man pulled a dusty case from behind his desk and popped it open with a click. He pulled out a weathered book and set it on the desk surface. Despite his skepticism, Calvin wanted to reach out and touch it. It looked old, and potentially worth something as a collectible. Was it possible that his Uncle left him something of value after all? "This is what your Uncle bequeathed to you, lucky boy."
"An old book?" He tried not to appear as intrigued as he felt. Something about the old leather binding called to him to open it.
"Not just any old book. Take a look." The man said, pushing it towards him. Hesitantly, Calvin reached out his hand and took hold of it. The pages seemed to vibrate within the warped cover, begging him to see what was inside. But before he could open it, the estate manager popped up from behind his desk and ushered Calvin from his chair. "There you go. You touched it. It's officially yours, and I have other clients to attend to. It's time you were off." He rushed Calvin out of his office and into the street, clicking the lock behind him.
Calvin was taken aback by the man's abrupt behavior, but it only distracted him for a moment before his attention once again returned to the book in his hand. Shaking slightly, he pulled the cover open and let the pages fall to either side. It was a book of names.
Before he could properly begin reading them there was a rushing sound in his ears. Calvin felt the world spinning around him. Colors blurred. Lights became bright and dark all at once. He was sure to be sick.
And then suddenly, it all stopped. He was once again on the street, holding a weathered book. His stomach was still settling when he heard a voice coming from everywhere at once.
"WHO ARE YOU?"
Calvin spun around, searching for the booming voice. There was no one on the street except a middle aged woman walking her dog. She gave him a dirty look and skirted past.
"WHO ARE YOU??" boomed several voices at once.
"I - I'm Calvin." He said, still searching for the voices. He glanced down at the book.
"ALL HAIL CALVIN!" The sounds of a thousand men rose up at once. Calvin froze on the street staring at the yellowing pages still in his hand. The voices were not coming from the book, and yet they were. They had invaded his mind.
"Uh… are you the Legion of souls?" He asked timidly. The woman with the dog glanced back from several yards away and then hurried herself and her dog across the street.
"WE ARE YOUR LEGION. AND WE SHALL KILL AND CONQUER AT YOUR WHIM MASTER CALVIN!"
"Oh. Um… that's not necessary. I really would just like to grab something for lunch." Calvin nervously ran his fingers through his hair. What had his Uncle gotten him into?
"CALVIN REQUIRES SUSTENANCE. WE HUNT!"
"Um, no. I was thinking something simpler. Like… uh… pizza?" He said quickly.
"Very well Master Calvin." The voices answered. "TO PIZZA!"
Calvin swallowed hard and closed the book carefully before heading down the street. | 48 | A Powerful sorcerer known as the Soul Harvester has recently died, and now his unfathomable collection of souls has become a hivemind army without a sorcerer to control them. | 402 |
"CAPTAIN ON THE BRIDGE" Shouted the marine guard.
"As you were" said captain Barnaby Chemsworthington, waving them off. "Commander Brights: status!"
"Sir we are still in the maintenance catwalk over the main containment vessel. Helm estimates our ETA at the next ladder by 9th bell. Sir."
"All right." The captain of the Sovereign-class Battlemecha Bellerophon sat down in his chair at the center of the combat information center. He rubbed his finger along the polished brass of the arms. For the barest moment you could see the love he had for his ship, his crew, personified in this tiny glimpsed moment of tenderness. Then his eyes came up and flashed with fire. "Mister Wiggs! see if your boys down in engineering can't get a couple more knots out of this old bucket, eh what? Ms Devaraux, call back the CAP and get a fresh squadron on the rails. Mister Voll, I want every gun ready, a storm is brewing I can feel it in my whiskers!"
The officers each acknowledged immediately and set about their task. With a few quick words the captain had initiated a flurry of activity that swept down the sprawling halls of the enormous battlemech like a spreading wave.
The Bellerophon was a fine mech, the pride of the imperial navy. Standing more than 160 stories tall (or six feet, to use the human measurement), with carbon-plate armor as thick as a man’s chest and guns big enough to sleep in. Her crew was two thousand strong, every one of them worked with the grim efficiency of a hardened combat veteran. It had been three weeks since they entered the human nuclear facility and they had been on standby or general quarters that entire time, taking the days in shifts so that the mech was ready for combat at any moment. If the crew were bending under the pressure they showed no sign, no chink in their iron-clad status as the very best the empire has to offer.
“THERMAL CONTACT!” Shouted Mister Lassiter, the sensor officer.
“Set condition one. Ms Devaraux: launch warbirds!” Even before he said the words her hand was already reaching for the button that would order the six fighters nestled in the Bellerophon’s pelvis to launch themselves screaming down the catapult launch tubes and into the air. Their light armament couldn’t penetrate the thick hides of the alien foe, but their data link and sensor suite made them invaluable. They were the ship’s eyes and ears.
At the center of the CIC a giant holoboard flared to life, showing a 3d representation of their surroundings. The Bellerophon was mid-stride at the moment, running along a maintenance catwalk over the reactor core. The control room was still a solid thousand spans away on the other side of the room and around the corner. Their intel indicated that there was unlikely to be any more than a few maintenance humans working there, at most one armed guard who could be trivially dispatched.
A hush fell across the CIC as the hologram revealed the truth: no less than fifteen enemy units, all armed and armored. The bridge crew stared in horror at the grim reality of their situation: fifteen of the monstrous beasts, each one a tower of meat and bone, each carrying a gun the size of a skyscraper and wearing body armor thicker than a man is tall.
“Ok people.” Shouted the captain, breaking the spell. He spoke over the ship-wide intercom, his voice booming through the plasteel bulkheads. “This is what we trained for, my brothers. This is the fight we were born to win, the true test of our mettle. Come on lads, for what we do this day will echo unto the twilight of the gods! Let’s give em what for, what what?!” The entire ship vibrated with the cheers of his crew, and already explosive bolts were detonating to detach the cloth outer layer that concealed the battlemech’s bristling weaponry.
Four turrets each carrying two sixteen inch gun turrets (or roughly 5mm in human terms) rotated out of their housing in the mecha’s torso. Smaller guns mounted on the arms came to bear as well, though they would likely only be able to penetrate the enemy’s most vulnerable points.
Even the huge sixteen inchers would have trouble with military-grade body armor. The captain had a choice: trust in his crews marksmanship and aim for the enemy’s unprotected crown-appendage, or simply try to brute-force pound their way through the armor in multiple successive shots.
It was no decision at all: “Mister Voll, tell your boys to aim for those bits on top. Right between the eyes would do nicely.”
“Yessir.”
It was only a few heartbeats before the guns roared. The whole mech shuddered as the guns hurled their tungsten slugs towards the hated enemy. The whole CIC held their breath as they saw the heads of four of the behemoth monstrosities snap back with the impacts. They each began their slow fall to the ground.
The second round was not so lucky, striking one in the shoulder and another with a grazing hit to the head. Neither monster went down, and their guns were slowly, slowly being brought to bear.
“BRACE FOR IMPACT!” Called the captain. The first rounds struck right in the center of mass, the thickest and most well-armored point of the vessel, directly in front of the CIC itself. The crew of the Bellerophon was slammed into the decks of their beloved mech. This was hardly their first time, however, and the seasoned veterans weathered the storm without pause.
“Damage report!”
“Sir, we’ve got reports of ceramosteel fractures but no loss of structural integrity, minor buckling in the 63rd through 70th bulkheads.”
“Concentrate fire on that lead beast! I want him dropped yesterday!”
Almost in synchronicity with his words the enemy took one of the massive tungsten penetrators to the neck and dropped writhing to the floor. Other enemies took rounds to their armor plating but were able to return fire.
“Hull breach! Deck 19!” Shrouded Vickers, the damage control officer. The humans lived on a world shrouded with a dense, superhot, and incredibly toxic atmosphere. Adapted as they were to the near-vacuum of the homeworld, the crew would die almost instantly when exposed to the inferno that was earth. “Sealing!”
The reports all came in all at once now: “Sir we have fires reported on deck 9” “Turret 3 is down, sir!” “Engine room 4 not responding!” “I’ve lost power to the left arm, rerouting!”
The captain knew that the best thing for him to do at this moment was to let each of his crewmen do their job. He had trained them well, and each one had been chosen because each was a legitimate prodigy in their own narrow specialization. He gripped the armrests of his chair as he resisted the urge to intercede, to try to take control of the battle.
More enemies were funneling out of the control room now, guns slowly rising to meet the mech. But they had to climb over the corpses of their comrades now. More of them were dropping with each passing heartbeat. There, one took a five-inch round to both eyes. There, one must have had a gap in their armor under their arm.
Warbird six took a grazing blow to the aft stabilizer. Pure luck, the tiny fighters were barely large enough for the humans to even notice let alone shoot down. But it was spinning out of control. Captain Chemsworthington watched grimly as he saw a tiny moment when the pilot stopped trying to bring his tiny ship around and instead turned on the humans. It struck one of the humans in the ear and exploded, showering all of his allies with shards of skull and flesh and steel.
He saw them falter in that moment. To their credit it was only a moment’s hesitation, a heartbeat taken to assess the horror that they were witness. These men were clearly veterans as well. But a heartbeat’s hesitation is a long time in creatures as large as humanity, and the crew of the Bellerophon pushed their every advantage.
The battle sputtered on for a few minutes more, but the day was won. One human tried to draw a smaller gun from their hip but was blown apart before he got it out of the holster. Another tried to crawl away and was showered with hot tungsten and lead.
The Sovereign-class Battlemecha Bellerophon strode into the control room, smoke rising from its war-torn shoulders, fires still raging within. The damage control team had it in hand, but it would take time before they fully pressure-sealed the damaged bulkheads. One arm hung limp by its side, the huge hydraulic actuators dripping oil on the anodized steel deck. The other arm reached over and turned a few knobs, disengaged a few safeties, and then smashed the control board with a single colossal punch.
The captain said not a word as the vessel turned again to face the pile of dead titans that they had slain. He nodded to his XO. “Commander Brights, you have the conn.”
The other younger officers cheered the captain, the signal officer was passing out cigars.
But Brights merely nodded to his captain, his closest friend. Their eyes met. They had seen the enemy fight today, and seen the power that they possessed. This was a great blow, to be sure, but it was still but one blow in a far grander war to come. And now, now they knew just how terrible a war it would be.
The captain quietly slipped from the CIC, slowly making his way back to his quarters. | 16 | eliminate the “giant” threat from the inside. But can you go through with it? | 71 |
The Worm had only wanted to feed before it knew them.
Birthed from the remnants of its meteorite shell it slithered through the woods. Days passed as the lesser things of the earth were consumed, the ants and mites adding ever so slightly to its biomass. But it was only so fast. Unable to feed upon larger faster prey.
It chose to grow legs.
The new form had been difficult for the Worm. But after many failed attempts it understood how its new limbs were meant to function. For a time the Worm feasted on the foxes and wolves. Even the bears it once cowered from became no more than scraps. The Worm had grown much since its birth. The green sky of leaves that had once loomed above now even with its head if it stretched itself high enough.
But there were still things to catch. Loud fluttering things that lifted away whenever the Worm drew near. Despite its powerful form it grew frustrated. Always unable to catch the flying things.
It chose to grow arms.
For a time it was content. Nothing else could challenge it. The forest that had once been home to many now empty except for the Worm.
Then the loud thing came with its noises.
"Stop the car Chase!"
"Oh shit...is that...oh god I'm gonna be sick!"
"Damn...you got the camera Amy?"
Content as the Worm was it disliked the thought of moving to catch such small prey. So it watched as the prey moved and screeched.
"Jesus it looks like a bear. Or at least half of one. What the hell could have done that Chase?"
"I don't wanna know please let's just get the hell out of here okay? What's the point of a vacation if we're gonna spend it in some god forsaken wilderness? Back me up Mike I'm dying here."
"I thought you were a boy scout or something man."
"Cub scout. And I dropped out after the mosquitos butchered me."
The Worm had never heard so much yapping from any other creature before. It decided the things must have been the least intelligent of the prey it had seen. For them to wander so close to its den and cause such a stir.
"Amy you see something over there?"
The worm would feed on these things. It decided.
"Oh my god!! Get the car going! Now!"
"What is that thing!"
"Just drive!"
The creatures gathered inside their metallic shell and moved at a pace the Worm almost couldn't comprehend. It chased. Barreling through trees that splintered into kindling at its passing. The thunder of its steps booming through the forest as it strained to catch its prey.
Farther and farther from its home they moved. The trees growing thicker, the shell drawing farther and farther away. The shell passing over a space of flat brown planks. The Worm lunged forward claws barely catching the side of the shell as the planks of the bridge it stepped on broke under its weight.
It howled in pain and frustration as it's leg caught in the hole, the shell faltering with a flat tire as it sped away. The Worm looked on as the shell retreated into the distance.
It chose to hunt.
-----------‐---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Guys if anything happens to me..."
Silently, like death on the wind the Worm crouched. It had to move low to stay hidden. The abandoned town's buildings were only two stories tall, not enough to hide the heights the Worm had grown to.
It knew where they hid. The things he had once thought of as prey. The Amy, the Chase, and the Mike. They were in the topmost of the structure in the center of the forgotten town. It would be so easy. All it had to do was reach in through the wall and this long hunt would be over.
They had foiled it again and again. With collapsing a warehouse on it when it had thought them trapped. Using one of their own as bait to lure it into a pool of burning oil. They were not prey, but hunters. Hunters like itself.
As the hunt grew long the Worm grew to know respect for others for the first time in its life. It soon found itself moving slower, giving them more time to run. It's swipes more feeble so they wouldn't be hurt.
Then on the eve of the night it had them cornered. The Worm did something it had never thought it would do.
It chose to listen.
It listened for so long that it almost missed them escaping through an air duct. And to its own surprise it did not attack and end them for fleeing it.
Now it drew closer to their hiding place again. Silently this time. To listen to them again and to...to...
*What?*
It didn't want this chasing anymore. It didn't want to eat them. It would eat anything else but them. But they would not come near it, they would run as they always did.
It wanted them. But the Worm didn't know what for. What else was there besides food? There must be more, the Worm knew. If it could just listen to them for a little longer...
"I love you guys." The Chase whispered.
The Worm pressed against the side of the building they hid within. Making sure to breath as quietly through its skin as possible as it listened. The stench of dried blood making it want to bite them before it quelled the urge. It could feel the life beat of their hearts through the walls. Pounding like hammers.
The three were embracing. And for a moment the Worm wanted that too. To reach in and hold them so that it's claws wouldn't cut them and they would know it wouldn't-
A cry pierced the night. Making the Worm turn in surprise and recognition all at once.
"Oh god it's *coming.*" The Amy whimpered.
Another massive form broke through the wall of forest surrounding the town. It had grown legs. More than the Worm had. Though instead of arms it had grown another mouth-head.
The Not-Worm screamed again with both its mouths making its challenge heard. It turned toward the Worm.
The Not-Worm looked at the Worm as they took each other's measure. Then the Not-Worm charged. Faster than the Worm could have moved. Not at the Worm but the building that held its-
*Friends!* The Worm thought. Using The Mike's word for the Amy and The Chase.
Three friends braced themselves for the end as the giant monster charged at their hiding place. The ceiling coming apart in a shower of rubble as two heads reached inside for them.
Two massive claws grabbed them first as their world shook and spun. Their relief at being alive turning to horror as the monster that had hounded them for so long held them at its mercy.
For a long moment they could only stare up at the teeth of the creature as it grinned down at them. Then slowly, almost carefully it lowered them to the ground.
The Worm stood to its full height and bellowed a challenge of its own.
So it was that in a forgotten ruin of a town. Far from civilization. A monster fought for its friends. | 65 | You're a horror movie monster. You've been hunting the main cast for so long that you've developed empathy for them after listening to their conversations. Suddenly, a greater threat endangers them... You decide it's time to switch sides. | 229 |
That is absolute nonsense captain! Atrocious! It's never the first question. My very first question, may I remind you, was the hell is this?
Judging from the display, it looks like a variant of Askarl technology. No biometrics or password requirement so about a 60% chance whatever it is is probably harmless. The deadly stuff requires a bit of hotwiring... but that doesn't jive with the power cable at all, I mean Jesus Christ look at the size of that power cable, that's thicker than my arm, what the hell is attached to the other end of this? Antimatter? Fusion reactor? Definitely can't be a solar cell with this kind of weather.
Tou, take some soldiers and figure out what the hell is powering this thing, I'm crawling under. AHA, thank god for Phillips screwdrivers, the one universal constant in the universe. Pass me the flashlight, and a scanner- crystal matrices? That's weird, would've guessed Silicon chips. Still that's more than enough processing power to handle Doom so who knows what process this is-
\*laughter is heard over the channel\*
SHUSH! It's a legitimate measurement, alright? Stop laughing! Any TI-81 solar powered calculator can calculate pi to whatever decimals. Doom takes a certain amount of horsepower to keep the lag down and handle the AI. It's not just a matter of computations per second, you also need to vary and adapt to what those computations tell you to do. It requires something akin to RAM as well as a hard drive. That's why you can get it to run in the handheld medical scanner but not the GPS because that guy-
\*even more laughter is heard over the channel\*
Alright you know what? If you guys are gonna keep laughing at me, I'm just gonna shut up. No more monologue, now you guys are just gonna have to listen to me and my playlist. Computer, play my working playlist.
\*Doom music starts\*
...Godamnit.
\*more laughter is heard over the channel\* | 352 | Human engineers have a strange custom- when coming across Alien technology, their first question is “can it run doom?” | 1,072 |
He stared at me a moment, my young ward, a stray bit of brown hair floating over his forehead. "Well what the fuck does that mean?"
"It just means im disappointed. I know you could do better. Did you forget the nitrogen again? You know it's important."
Behind us what was surely meant to be a giant monster had come out as an angry puddle of jello. It jerked its little jello head back and let out a watery roar. My ward pretended his mistake did not exist and instead continued his now awkward stare at me.
"Ok, and what if that's what I meant to make?" he replied matter-of-factly. I struggled not to roll my eyes. It was a typical excuse from a budding scientists, one I had used before. The ole *I meant to do that*. And with a scientist there was no refuting it. It just was. I had taught him well.
"Ok well if you meant to make a mistake then congratulations. You did it. Now clean that thing up." As I spoke I grabbed a blaster from a nearby shelf and set it to the *absolutely anhialate this mistake* setting. The monster now trudged over the concrete floor pretending to topple tiny buildings with its jello body. Cute, admittedly.
My ward took the blaster with a hesitant hand. He had done away with plenty of other mistakes, of other little monsters or bits of odd creation from his practices, never hesitating. But now he stared to it. To this little gelatinous mistake that paraded as a great threat to nothing but the laboratory floor. I knew that look.
"Oh no. Gabriel don't tell me..." he looked to me with widened eyes. "Aw hell! You named it didn't you! I told you time and time again, naming is just claiming but without the spoken commitment."
"No no...ok maybe but I can get rid of it see!" Gabriel raised the weapon to the little yellow blob, which stared back to him with innocent eyes. Dammit. No chance now. But to my surprise his finger began to pull the trigger and I found it was my hand that stopped his. He looked up to me confused.
"Ugh. Well I guess since you already named it you might as well keep it then. Fine."
"But sir I was going to-"
"No, no. No need boy. No need to beg and whine, save it. We can keep it. Call it...Gelly or something I dont know."
Gabriel smiled a knowing smile, but accepted my agreement. He placed the blaster back on the table. The monster started its imaginary reign once again.
"You know I could still add that nitrogen, sir."
"Ah, too late I'm afraid. You've already gone and named it boy. We'll figure it out. Like I said, I'm not a mad scientist, just a very disappointed one. Well, good luck with Gell- I mean your new responsibility."
But he seemed content. And so was I. | 59 | "I'm not a mad scientist, I'm just a very disappointed in you scientist." | 414 |
Space isn't so bad. It's dark, which is nice. I didn't expect to be stuck *here* when I told Gris I needed a little space, but there you go. You have to be very careful what you say to a wizard when he's in a bad mood. Very careful.
So, here I am, floating amongst the tiny little space rocks, bored out of my skull. And also, hungry. There aren't many opportunities to eat out here. The only reason I'm alive at all, is Gris decided it would be funny to cast a breathing spell. This means the vacuum of space doesn't kill me, just slowly drives me insane with the quiet.
There's a bit of silver off to my left, maybe it's a spaceship. They are my only hope of getting back to Earth, or any civilization really. But this one will make three hundred I've seen and hoped to get close enough to knock. I don't have any means of propulsion you see. If it does get close enough, hopefully, the crew won't be very superstitious. After all, I may be a vampire, but I'm not a *monster.* I can control myself. Temporarily.
Oh, glory be. The ship is close. If I stretch, I should be able to reach... Got it. I wonder if they'll even hear my knock over the roar of their engines. Goddess save me, they're loud. Maybe I should try shouting.
"Hello! Can I come in? I'm very bored and hungry out here!" Huh, my voice actually made noise. But it shouldn't, and why *can* I hear their engines? We're in space. Am I breathing easier? Fresh air? Have I finally lost my mind?
The door swung open, and a small humanoid creature stared up at me. It piped in a high-pitched voice.
"Hello, Mister! Whatcha doing out there?" They asked. My eye twitched.
"Oh, you know, just having a bit of a stroll round the solar system. Say, do you think I could come inside? It's a bit chilly out here." The human—it was definitely human, I could smell the blood— put their head to the side.
"I suppose..." That answer wasn't good enough. I needed emphatic.
"Is that a 'yes'?" I said hopefully.
"Yeah. You can come in."
I grasped the outstretched hand, pulling myself inside with enough strength to bowl the small human over. Instead of being angry, they giggled. It had been a long time, but I knew that reaction. This was a kid. A child. What in the Goddess's name was a child doing opening doors on a spaceship? I asked the question in a roundabout way, trying not to imply that the child was in any way insufficient as a host.
"Oh, we're all pretty young here. It's kind of a prerequisite. After all, a lot of the Galactic Laws only apply to adults." The child grinned at me, a smile almost as feral as my own. "When you're a kid, you can get away with a lot of stuff. Welcome to The Neverland."
I wasn't sure what to say, but as I followed the kid through the corridors of the ship, I gleaned an idea of what he might mean. Hanging from every surface, practically dripping gilt, was loads of stolen merchandise. I recognized some of the valuables from my own time, but others seemed like bits of junk. This was a pirate ship. Crewed by children.
I grinned as I secured passage aboard. While I had a rule— no feeding on children— I had a feeling that wouldn't be too much of a problem. After all, I had no such restrictions for any ship and crew we might attack on our way.
When I got back home I wasn't sure if I was going to kill the estimable wizard Gris or kiss him.
But at least it would be an interesting journey.
​
Edit: Changed infer, to imply.
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Visit r/Mel_Rose_Writes for more stories! | 789 | knocking on the doors of passing spaceships, asking them to let you in. | 4,596 |
Death's Spawn, Oblivion's Kiss, Whisper of the Abyss, Soulkiller, The Silence every culture that had come across this plague had a unique name for it, all along the same vein. The disease would rob the victim of consciousness often for large chunks of their natural planetary cycle, the victim's mind became dependent on this new cycle and as it festered on the very soul of those it tormented the unfortunate infected would begin to experience visions in those long hours of darkness. Truly countless have been driven mad across the galaxy from this plague, for millennia it was the single largest cause of mass death in the known universe, multiple star faring civilisations have crumbled under the strain of this psychic pandemic and many many more were snuffed out in the cradle before they could even reach for the stars. Eventually however a solution was found, a miraculous implant named the Noctis that would prevent the illness from progressing and more crucially spreading, and in a few short centuries the horrors of the plague were all but forgotten.
It was an unremarkable world in which the plague was once more rediscovered, a world of great diversity of life of all types orbiting around a slightly above average sized star for carbon based lifeforms. One would almost be fooled into believing nothing about this planet was amiss, until one spent some time there, and felt the suffocating silence reported by all who visited that world. Every single example of animal life found there thus far is compromised, infected with what was once believed to be a long extinct plague, at any given point in time untold trillions of organisms were trapped in unconsciousness, souls shackled to unresponsive bodies, resulting in a psychic shadow that loomed over an otherwise pristine planet. Sleep the natives of that planet called it, dreams and nightmare were the names of those horrid visions that have snuffed out so many lives, it was a perfectly normal aspect of life to them so much so that a large portion of every culture on the planet was intertwined with the concept of this foul disease. The first explorers to come across the accursed rock fled in terror, upon reaching civilisation once more they were quarantined and thankfully their Noctis implants worked as normal, catastrophe was avoided it seems but unfortunately it was not to last...
The Athreains, a foolish young race, one that had been untouched by the horrors of the plague, and desperate to prove themselves worthy of recognition in the galactic community sought to investigate the infested world. A small armada crewed only by those with the most up to date Noctis implants were sent to "pacify" the primitive native civilisation on that planet and collect research on the only known stronghold of the plague that once ruled the galaxy with fear. What they learned during that ill fated invasion forms the foundation of much of modern Consciousness Theory and did in fact ensure the name of the Athreain species would never fade from the pages of history, but they were not prepared for the price that came with such knowledge. The first soldiers began to experience symptoms at the eighth rotation of the planet since the invasion first began, lacking a word for this plague in their own native tongue the Athreains borrowed the local terminology and referred to this as the First Sleep. Quarantine protocols were immediately put in place and investigations were conducted into possible equipment failure, for how could so many be afflicted with top of the line Noctis implants? Even more unsettling was cases of unconsciousness being reported in orbital stations with crews that had never even set foot on the planet or been in direct contact with any other infected, soon no member of the Athreain navy that participated in the invasion was able to stand in darkness without immediately losing consciousness, and that is when the visions began, and with the visions came the madness.
An order was sent to eradicate all life on the planet but it was already too late, there were no survivors that were not already in the depths of madness in the entire system, and each new ship sent to investigate never managed to come back. The Council of Elder Peoples piled sanction after sanction on the Athreains for their foolish actions and gave the order that no ship would be allowed in or out of the system and for a while it seemed like the ordeal was over... then the patrol craft sent to enforce the quarantine started going dark. The plague had adapted, the Noctis implant had lost all effectiveness and even worse it seemed capable of transmitting itself through information alone, before this was known the plague had already escaped the quarantine zone apparently simply through the messages broadcast by infected patrol craft warning and before long individuals of all species began to fall unconscious around the galaxy. Quadrillions died over the course of this new outbreak, no measure seemed sufficient to defend oneself from infection beyond completely isolating away from any source of outside information or external contact and galactic civilisation collapsed, it was only in the end the research of the surviving Athreains that allowed anyone to survive and rebuild at all, in a greater act of cruel cosmic irony it was survivors from that accursed system that brought with them the seeds of salvation for all.
Infection was impossible to avoid but it was entirely possible to live with it, through studying the minds and bodies of the natives a small group of scientists were able to produce a drug that was able to mimic cognitive anomalies found in the native species of that world. The infection was psychic, all of its symptoms preyed on a psychically active mind and only through dampening the brainwaves that the disease targeted can one survive while infected, an act tantamount to a lobotomy to many species. There would be no madness, there would be no death, but there will be silence, and soon the entire galaxy was faced with the choice between silencing or destruction, to die insane or live as mutes. One by one each species made their choice, but ultimately it didn't really matter, for in the end no matter what choice they made silence would prevail...
Just about every survivor knows the plague now as Sleep, or slightly less frequently used The Dreaming. The Noctis implant has grown into a bulky device that all but wraps completely around the brain to inject a potent cocktail of drugs wherever it may be needed and galactic communication has been reduced to physically sending information through primitive light and electric patterns but no doubt is it better than the alternative. Nobody remembers the name of that world which caused all this or where it is found, perhaps it is better that nobody ever finds it again, for the suffocating silence that entombs the galaxy ensures nobody ever truly forgets. | 185 | Shaking, you say "They believe its part of their nature". You discover Humanity and find them to be carriers of the universes most feared disease, thought long eradicated... "Sleep" | 634 |
The group of men stood around their Sergeant. Corporal Crone kept a lookout nearby while half listening to his leader addressing a full squad of soldiers. A plan had been made and re-iterated. He mused as he heard the plan for the nth time, that there was no room for error. His own stray thoughts stiffened him slightly as he understood the meaning of that. Sergeant Lorrie had just finished explaining the latest contingency plan before moving to the next crucial step.
“So, while they’re getting into position, we’ll flank them through the mountains and... where the fuck did you get a Twinkie?” The Sergeant quickly asked Private Trace as he pulled out a Twinkie and was starting to open it.
Realizing that everyone was staring at him, he stared back at the Sergeant and told him. “Kept it hidden and packed in case of emergency. It’s my favourite snack Sir”
Sergeant Lorrie stared for a full minute before starting up again. “We’ve been ranging for the last 3 months. Foraging and scavenging while keeping ahead and away from the army tracking us. The last of the rations used up. Moving near constantly with hungry stomachs. So I ask again, where did you get a twinkie?”
Corporal Crone looked away as he didn’t really want to see what happened. Private Trace was never the brightest bulb. He did always have a way of looking at things though. His answer was both surprising and not at the same time. It was mostly that he decided to answer his superior officer sporting a deathly glare, with another question.
“It’s the 7thsquadron coming after us right Sir?” Lorrie had long ago realized what side of the stupid or brave the Private’s coin fell on. For some reason, today he decided to indulge him.
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Our plan to survive hinges on, let me see...” He started putting out fingers to count. “Not getting spotted by their aerial reconnaissance. Coordinating 3 separate fire teams in complete radio silence to ambush a full squadron simultaneously. A squadron whose position and full armament we are unsure of. And somehow hoping a successful operation either buys us the additional month for a possible rescue op, assuming the 8th and 13th squadron didn’t join up and trailed after the 7th. Or makes them lose track of us as we finally make our way East towards allied territory. Through miles of flat and exposed terrain. Sir, with all due respect. This is FUBAR. This kind of suicide mission is what I’ve been saving my Twinkie for... Sir.”
Sergeant Lorie didn’t have the slightest bit of emotion at the moment. Stone faced as he was at the moment, he decided to ask the Private another question. “You understand the plan, go anything else to add?”
Thinking it through for a moment, Private Trace apparently did have one final addition. “Well, I’m just wondering if I’m the only one keeps emergency snacks for, well, suicide missions Sir”
Corporal Crone decided to take a look at his Sergeant upon hearing that only to find him looking back. Lorie simply nodded at him. Crone let a little sigh of relief as he took his own little hidden snack before going back on lookout. As he took his place again, the Corporal suddenly heard several pieces of cloth, rustling plastic and metal canisters being taken out and opened behind him. | 60 | "So, while they're getting into position, we'll flank them through the mountains and... where the fuck did you get a twinkie?" | 96 |
I was vaguely familiar with old military missions of our predecessor's past so when Shorpyl gave me the data disc with the words "Operation Plumbbob" on it, I was marginally curious.
She pointed two of her tentacles at me and 'smirked' as much as a cephalopod based organism could. She explained she never had scene something as...barbaric...as what she way from the data on the thing.
I sighed and tried to do an external scan of the contents and found...yup...they were at least some archaic ferrous metals or lead lining the interior.
So I spend a rotation trying to find my own play device that matched the data disc on the station while Shorpyl kept on egging me on about why my primate ancestors enjoyed their explosions so much.
It...triggered me at the least as I felt obliged to defend my species in the time honored way I knew how...I did my own amateur research of the subject the week before a replication of the digital device player became available.
I found old records that were accurate enough to describe the early 20th century attempts by the "United States Military" to conduct offensive nuclear weapon tests in an ever escalating competition with another global power at the time..."the damn commies."
It was a puerile contest my forefathers engaged in that was in and of itself not uncommon for developing space-faring races to engage in prior to their ascension to the stars, and I started arguing with Shorpyl incessantly over our times when lunch or leisure activities crossed while she laughed and tittered and basically said nothing I said or did could possibly unsee what she saw on the records in that disc.
At last, I finally got her to 'sit' down in her aquatic tank as I set up the data disc player in the viewing room. Thankfully I had the sense to do a private viewing first before I went live with the findings. I spend too many hours practicing how and why my people did what they did and I felt confident that I would be justified that it was necessary for us to be as a species here and now due to what happened in the past.
I slipped the disc in and on the visual display monitor scrolled some warnings from an ancient agency not to replicate the information on the disc under penalty of law consequences. Sounded pretty standard stuff for confidential material.
Then the scene opened on a terrestrial house during daylight conditions. Inside the house was a loosely dressed female in combat fatigues that were definitely not army regulation, showing way too much skin to be combat effective.
She said she was having difficulty with the plumbing as she appeared to be working on some pipes and said she would need to call her scientist friends to help here clean the pipe.
Okay...so this wasn't as regulation as I thought as she called said friend then spent some time idly waiting for the person to show, the device she tried using to fix the 'pipes' she applied what appeared to be a lubrication technique to the metallic device she held with oral secretions.
At last, a signaling device emanated from the front of the domicile and she went to open the door for the technician to arrive, who did appear to be a very well muscled specimen of human physique as he arrived in what appeared to be not very well fitting attire as he practically burst out from the uniform he wore.
As she approached to greet him, they began to...
...kiss?
My confusion intensified as the 'technician' began to suggest different ways to solve the problem with the lubricated device she held followed by a heavily played musical score that suggested a carnivalesque fun beat.
And then they did things I could not mention as I left the screening room, a hysterically laughing Shorpyl splashing in her tank as I began to check the duty roster of when my next shift started as I tried my best to forget everything I learned about explosions that day... | 11 | You run into an alien who tells you "Hey, we found something here and it looks like it comes from your neck of the woods." You see on the steel disk "Operation Plumbbob". Dumbfounded, you invite the alien to sit down for a drink. "Now this is a story I've got to hear" | 42 |
They called her little red riding hood, but she had been around the block all right. She had managed to give the wolf the slip, and she was only slightly surprised to find the creature waiting for her at grandmother’s house.
The thing that did actually surprise Red was when the wolf threw himself on his knees and begged for her help as soon as she walked through the door.
He wore her grandmother’s clothes: pink pajamas with glasses, bed cap, and all. Her blood was not even dry on his lips yet he was begging for help.
Red looked down at him with disdain and disgust, but after a moment that was replaced by intrigue. The wolf soon lost the ability to speak in clear sentences, he curled up in the fetal position on the ground. This was because Red could see his stomach. It was writhing as if something was trying to push its way out from inside.
“I heard a cry for help –“ It was the local lumberjack, he stood at the door, his sentence dying on his lips as he took in the scene.
Red did not pay much attention to the lumberjack, she just held out a hand and said, “Give that ax here.“
The man obliged and Red walked back over to the wolf, the creature raised a bloody paw towards her, his eyes pleading. He opened his mouth, maybe too beg for help one last time, but Red brought the ax down between his eyes before he could speak.
She crouch down to investigate the wolf’s still writhing stomach, but she was distracted by a cry from the lumberjack. “Something is coming!“
“Close and bar the door.“ Red said, She already knew something was wrong.
The lumberjack obeyed, then he came to the center of the cabin and stood alongside Red.
A shadow passed by one of the windows, it was just a silhouette in the curtain. Then it passed another window, making its way to the front door.
As the shadow passed one last window the lumberjack said, “I recognize those pigtails! It is that Goldilocks girl from the village…“
Red look down at the wolf, something pushed very angrily from inside of his stomach. The lumberjack moved to open the door. Red said, “don’t –“
But it was too late. The man flung the door open, and there was Goldilocks, Just as he predicted.
However, Half of her face was missing, and there were very clearly large claw marks where it had once been. A chunk of her shoulder was gone, it had been bitten out.
Little red riding hood pulled the ax out of the dead wolf’s head. She heard the guttural growls and shambling footsteps outside. Of course, if Goldilocks was here the Bears would be sure to follow.
Red lifted the ax and moved forward just as Goldilocks attacked the lumberjack.
As little Red swung the ax to decapitate the mangled girl, and as she grip the weapon with both hands – ready to fight off the following Bears – she thought about the weight of the ex. “This one is just right.“ | 14 | Little Red Riding Hood, The Big Bad Wolf, and the lumberjack all have to put their differences aside when they hear the moaning of the undead outside the cabin they're in. | 54 |
Loop number 4246
This room is starting to annoy me more then usual , every time I am unhappy with the result I can reset myself , I always appear in this white room , just me , a table , a bed , a fridge with food and water (not that I get hungry here anyways) and this notepad. And one door for when I leave and retake my spot where I was. My power brings me here when I choose or when I die , I don’t age so dying of old age seems impossible.
Things in this room don’t change , no matter when or how far back I reset myself , I feel lucky this log book exists so I can always trace and copy my steps just incase I have to go back further to fully avoid an outcome, or if I want to relive a memory
But this time was different , I couldn’t avoid this catastrophe no matter how far back I go , it seems to happen inevitably. Usually with a few 100 resets I can figure out a solution that fixes things well enough , trial and error in a infinite system works eventually. But I had gone over 4000 attempts , no matter what I’ve tried and done there seems to be no solution , trial 3076 was the best outcome so far , only 2 other heroes died and 3 cities were decimated , 4 million lives total.
I won’t give up though , I must try to save everyone , especially her , the one hero who seems to die consistently every time , I will go through a thousand lifetimes to figure this one out
I will save her , I will save them all , even if this one costs me my sanity… | 108 | People know you as an elite superhero, with quick reflexes, ready to strategize and anticipate anything, and even say the right words to talk villains out of their plans. In truth, you get stuck in a time loop in dire situations. | 405 |
"And then it... It was over. I was sitting there, in her bedroom just kinda looking at her. I felt like I should cry? Move. I felt like my heart should be racing or I should throw a lamp, shatter it against the dresser." The young man spoke softly, almost in a dream-like monologue. "But none of that ever came. I think I stood there for about 5 minutes. Just looking down at her all shriveled up like that. So. I guess that's why i'm here. I think I'm still waiting for that reaction. Maybe this *is* the reaction? I.. uh, I don't know."
​
Silence clung to the small auditorium for a few moments as others patiently waited to see if the young man was done speaking. A metal leg from one of the cheap brown bodied chairs roughly slid against the worn wooden floor as someone shifted slightly. Then a clap. Another. A small wave of applause erupted, fighting back that consuming quietness.
​
"Good, good," spoke the leader of the group. He appeared to be a young man, though that was deceiving. The leader of this group, Ed, was actually 127. In contrast the small figure of an older women wearing a thick coat on the periphery of their circle was actually only 90. It really all depended on when you were turned over. "First, I think I speak for all of us when I voice that I'm sorry. And that many of us, *truly* know how you feel."
​
A few nodded sympathetically, offering gentle smiles.
​
"See - you are right. You being here is a reaction. I would argue the best reaction. It takes a bigger person to seek help. To try." The group leader stood up from his seat, his presence filling the room. "Have you heard how this group was started, Mack?"
​
The newcomer shook their head, but his eyes pleaded for him to continue. Ed pursed his lips and nodded, drawing his hands into the pockets of his jeans. Ed would tell the story again. This would be the fourteenth time. Each one still took a little out of him. He tried to remind himself as he began that the first part of healing yourself, was finding the strength to have compassion for others.
​
"Well. I was an addict - like you. Like all of us." A few pairs of eyes looked down to their feet. Mostly the more recent relapsers. "Yeah.. I remember it. My first time came from a low place. I'd moved recently. Thought putting distance between myself and my problems would sort of lighten the load. But uhh. No. I guess that's not how it works. Maybe I was a fool to think it was." Ed's eyes drifted off, seemingly trying to conjure some image from long ago.
​
Others did the same as they listened. Despite legends of yore, immortals rarely ever stayed in one place. Above all else, they were human. Humans who needed variety. New experiences. Hobbies. Life.
​
"When I got to where I was going, it was just as bad at first. Without any friends, I made up my own company. Twisted from the shadows of my past. First just the big ones, a few. But time is a powerful thing. Soon there were so many of those dark figures, that I felt like even in a crowded room I was wading through that blackness."
​
The newcomer nodded, rapt in the tale. Though the metaphors and imagery were different for each person, suffering was a universal language.
​
"So I did what many of us do. I did what I think anyone would do... I clung desperately to what little light I could find. I injected color back into the black and grey." As Ed finished speaking he closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. Tasting memories. "I cast out my bucket, and drew from a well. Drink after drink. Draw after draw."
​
The newcomer cleared his throat softly. His face was covered by a mask of pain, which slowly began to peel back layers to uncover grief. Like complimentary colors, they fit naturally into one another. So people elected to wear each often.
​
"How many?" the newcomer asked. "How many.. you know, did it take? Draws from the well?"
​
Ed smiled a small, sorry smile. His eyes retreated further into the past.
​
"Blood? None."
​
The newcomer wrinkled their brow. Frowned. Then scowled. The distant cousin of his expressions came to rise. Anger.
​
"*None?* You talk about knowing my pain? Our pain? And you haven't even killed anyone from your lust?" His fist clenched and teeth gritted against one another. A few others in the circle gave knowing sighs.
​
Ed nodded. "Zero. But I killed. Just not like you. Slower. More insidious. Took things. Didn't matter where from. Coin from the purse of a woman with cataracts so bad she couldn't even notice. Let her pat desperately into an empty purse at the chemist. I'd take a baby from its mother if it meant I could get my next fix."
​
The newcomer still looked ready to pounce, but listened stubbornly.
​
"See - humans, which we still at our core - are, tend to think their suffering is unique. Betrayal is a personal thing. The emotions wrapped around it like individual stiches that define the tapestry of their lives. But they're not. Unique, I mean. Largely. Shakespeare writes of betrayal. Spousal abuse. Addiction. Before him, it was glyphs. Before that, the tight clutching of clubs voicing memories with violence. You'll find rather rapidly that immortality is, least of all things, a cure for our very human condition."
​
Fist unclenched slowly. A locked jaw eased. Eyes softened. With a slow movement, the newcomer sat back down into his chair.
​
"You aren't really here to learn to stop the drinking. You're here because you want to cast off the oldest of all our most defining traits. Lust, greed, anger, shame. But stick around a while. Work with us. Fail with us." Ed's eyes snapped back to the present, really looking at the young man in front of him. Taking him in, sizing him up. Caring.
​
"God knows we have a long time to try." | 142 | Vampires only need to feed once, after that they're simply chasing the high. As a former addict turned vampire, you take it upon yourself to form a support group. | 956 |
The monster approached me, growling and holding up his hands, revealing claws with foot-long nails, sharp and gleaming, looking like they could pierce steel. As he crept toward me with a murderous gleam in his eye, ready to run me through with those sharp claws of death, I spoke.
"What? Am I supposed to be impressed by those claws of yours? Do you think you're the only monster in this world with an impressive set like that? It looks like you're approaching me with the wrong attitude. You can't go around thinking you're all that just because you have something long and sharp at the end of your fingertips. Oh sure, you might think they're badass in their own right, but there must be thousands of other monsters just like you, and I bet they've slain more than you could ever hope to in your entire lifetime. Why, you're no different than a man with a carving knife, and just as intimidating. That's right. You inspire just as much fear as a cook chopping up vegetables. What do you think of that? Puts things in perspective, doesn't it?"
And with that, the monster hung his head, turned around and slunk away. Seeing my chance, I unsheathed my blade and drove it straight into his back. | 265 | "Of course I'm not scared of you just because you have claws. Sure, you could kill me with them at any moment... but, like, so can any random human with a knife." | 811 |
The first few days were terrifying. A dragon. A FUCKING dragon, just showed up and completely laid waste to our military. News reports and found footage alike all showed the same thing. Every branch took their shots at the thing in escalating fashion, and it just sort of took it. Just casually flapping its wings to keep itself in mid-air. I don’t think they ever even knocked it off its balance. Then, after the smoke cleared, like some goddamn Godzilla movie, it looked around and unleashed absolute hellfire on everything around it. It took two days and the loss of something like thirty percent of our military before the president capitulated. The dragon dropped down to the ground and loped over to whatever was left of what was in front of it and introduced itself. Turns out his name is Frank. Frank the fucking dragon. Or at least that’s what we were supposed to call him.
I think a lot of people were disappointed with his name, because the talking heads wouldn’t shut up about it for like a week. He should be named like ‘Blagfor the Strong’ or ‘Vangarious the Mighty’ or something like that. Nobody wanted to admit that Frank had conquered us inside of 48 hours, as if his name made a difference. Turns out Frank was a pretty good leader. The first thing he did was expedite the healthcare of the military and civilian casualties of the Incineration, as people had begun to call it. He explained to us that it was not his intention to come in so hot, as it were, but that the military did not really give him an opportunity to explain himself. Pretty standard abuser lingo, but if I’m honest it wouldn’t surprise me. We’re a shoot fist and ask questions never type of place these days. From there, he directed Congress to fund universal healthcare and a universal basic income, as the military had become largely useless in a matter of days. If Frank couldn’t handle a threat personally, what the hell was anyone else going to do?
Frank was not without his detractors, obviously. Plenty of people were protesting his rule and his decisions. Meekly at first, and from afar, but Frank never really lorded violent reprisal over us. As it turns out, he’s incredibly eloquent and more intelligent than anyone we’ve seen in government in my lifetime, at least. And he seemed to relish the discourse, as far as anyone could tell. He apparently enjoyed trying to convince his opponents, even though he didn’t really have to.
I don't think we ever found much out about him beyond that we were to call him Frank, but at this point who cares. He's like a big scaly bureaucrat who gets things done for the people. He's working on high speed rail lines as we speak. I know that the popular wisdom says that dragons are hoarders, but that hasn't really been our experience. He sleeps outside the White House, for pete's sake. Like a cat or something. He pads around for a few minutes and then plops down for the night. It's a tourist attraction, actually. I know that long term this is probably going to end badly, but for now no one cares or, if they do, they're not saying much of anything. Things are good. Scary good. He even ordered a reboot of the last season of Game of Thrones. So for that alone he'd have my vote, if there were one. | 36 | The nation has been conquered by a dragon. Most expected a reign of tyranny and terror, but the dragon turns out to be a far more competent ruler than any of the previous human ones. Still terrifying, though. | 88 |
I am the Conqueror of Worlds. My kind has conquered countless worlds, and for one simple reason: we are not bound by the same limitations as other species. We are not limited by our strength or our size. We are not limited by our lack of wings or claws.
No, we are limited only by our imagination and our ingenuity.
But now, we face a new challenge. A species whose diet is made up of things that are grown and bred. A species that has not the need to walk around with its mouth open, masticating loudly and expectorating at a moment's notice.
You humans, you are the first species we've fought that doesn't do that. And in a way, it is a relief. We cannot sneak up on you, as we have upon other species. You cannot be distracted by our taunts and our baiting, as were other species.
You are at least smart enough to know that there is no free food on the ground. You have too much self-respect to eat random crap off the ground. And that is why you stand before us, now. You are the first species we've fought that we have not defeated out of hand.
On countless planets we've crushed armies, broken cities, and taken what we wanted. But this time, here on this world, at least, you have stopped us.
Perhaps you don't realize how special you are. Perhaps you don't realize how rare it is for one species to fight off our grand armada. But that is what you've done. You've fought us off.
Therefore, I, the Conqueror of Worlds, the Supreme Commander, the Deity of Destruction, the Archfiend of All Worlds, the Ultimate One, declare the Earth to be a sovereign planet of its own.
I have seen many species die. I have seen many worlds destroyed, and the survivors enslaved, or worse. All of that might have happened here, but it did not. So perhaps it's not you who won. Maybe it's your children, or their children, or some yet more distant generation. Maybe the victory is theirs.
But before we go, we offer this to you as a token of friendship and peace: A single cookie for you to savor. Go ahead. Eat it and enjoy the spoils of your victory. We also have chips. And soda. Eat.
***
For more stories check our r/greypuffin | 725 | Your kind has conquered countless worlds. Your aren't particularly strong, but you have a dirty trick up your sleeve. One which is currently being thwarted for one simple reason. Out of every species you've fought, humans are the only one that doesn't typically eat random crap off the ground. | 3,448 |
The farmhands were at a standstill. Peaches was having a staring contest with them. While she helped guard the farm under everyone's tutelage. Mischief was never out of the question for a juvenile dragon.
"What do you think she wants?"
"Who? Peaches?" Another snorted. "...Probably, peaches."
Peaches sat there, unmoving, eyes like dinner plates. Her stance wasn't aggressive. She'd bunched herself into an oversized ball the size of a shed. There was a mild hum coming from her as she wagged her tail.
"I'm gonna pet her." A dwarf, Radha whispered to the others.
"You realize that's a dragon?" Bao frowned. The orc quietly backing up off his bushel of fruit.
Radha smirked and whispered lower. "A dragon that's about to get pet."
"She can probably hear you." One of the elves noted.
"Radha." Bao warned. "That's dumb. Don't be dumb."
Peaches chirped a little and scooted forward without ever changing her stance. Waddling herself a few feet closer, eyes still large and orb-like. Of course, sans Radha, nobody else had a good clue as to what she might want. Memories were still fresh on their minds of how she singlehandedly devastated a platoon from the kingdom intent on looting the farm. Everybody's hard until there's a possibility of being burned alive.
That concept tends to sober most people up very quick. Not that a dragon could just burn you. They of course have teeth and claws. They might want to play with their food.
Bao remembered how he was one of the unlucky crew to find a man who'd tried to steal from their boss, Henrietta. The theft had never been detected. By anyone but Peaches. All they found were an arm, shins in boots, and lots and lots of blood. She wasn't very old then.
She tucked her head in and chirped again. Her tail wagged happily. One of the elves, Julian, offered a peach to her. Peaches, well, you get the idea, she loves them. He whistled and tossed it to her as one did so often. But she let the fruit land at her body and simply continued this odd game.
"See?" Radha chortled. "I'm gonna touch her." And began walking over.
Bao clinched up. "You gon' die."
"Don't do it." Julian gasped.
Radha strolled up to Peaches. He smiled. The dragon seemed happy. He smiled some more. The others panicked. But they weren't going to walk over and save him. And he petted the dragon.
"There. See?" Radha began, "She's perfectly harm-"
Peaches grabbed the dwarf by his shirt and flung him up in the air with her teeth. Radha cartwheeling high into the sky. Bao, Julian and the others running after his starfished form. As something springboarded from the trees behind them, leaves and fruit flying. Peaches simply caught up to him with a few flaps of her wings and nabbed Radha just above the treetops. She circled around and flew him back to where she'd sat.
And they sat back down.
"Radha! Radha!" Julian sprinted up. "Are you okay?!"
A quick chirp from Peaches drew their attention. She waggled her tail and munched on a basket of fruit. She had the hiccups now. Nobody knew how to cure a dragon with hiccups.
"Are you happy?" Bao asked as he sat down next to Peaches. Radha laying in the dirt, before sitting up, and waddling away.
"Thanks Peaches." The dwarf bowed, before he continued.
"Where you going?" Bao asked at his odd walk.
"Going home." Radha explained. "Filled me britches. I'm going home."
Bao felt a breath on his neck, only to see Peaches staring at him now. She scrunched up again.
"No." The orc said as he began walking away, "No. No... Not me. Not today."
---
Petting a dragon is like playing with a lathe. Just doesn't sound smart. These felt like fun characters to bring back, so here they are again.
r/Jamaican_Dynamite | 171 | “I’m gonna pet it” “You realize that’s a dragon?” “A dragon that’s about to get pet” | 665 |
My dad is a great man and, better yet, a good one.
I’m alive because of him. In the technical sense, sure, but he’s saved my life—and the lives of everyone in our village—more times than I can count. Back when Mom was still around, she always said he had a sixth sense for danger. I never quite understood what that meant. Not when I was a kid.
I think I’m starting to understand now. Yesterday, I turned eighteen. Imagine that, huh? I was a sickly little child, born all wrinkly and thin as a bird. Mom said I hardly cried. I wouldn’t eat; I never got all fat in the way that babies are supposed to. But I made it. Somehow.
When I was three, I should’ve died of the flu. My dad said the fever was so high he was certain it would leave me blind if it didn’t kill me, but neither of those things came to pass.
I lived, and I lived again, despite the fact there were so many things that could’ve killed me. I was a child who didn’t seem to be taking well to life.
My dad watched out for me in all those hours. He found medicine that worked, even when the healer wasn’t sure what was wrong with me. After I broke my leg, he set it and it patched up so well I wouldn’t be able to tell which one it was if not for the fact my left leg aches when it rains. He got us to move the camp, once, when everyone thought we’d be fine in the same place for at least another moon.
We got words a few days later that bandits flattened that patch of the forest with fire.
So yes, I do believe that my dad is a great man. Perhaps I believe in him the way that all small children want to believe in their fathers. I do have my evidence, though, to prove my point.
I can also list the times he held me close when I cried. The times he whittled small toy animals out of wood for me to play with. He’s listened to me tell stories, the way I have all my life, even though I know they were quite terrible when I was young and even now they probably aren’t much better. He always sat there next to me around the light of the campfire. He never failed. He always gave me a story in return.
Last week, he gave me a new one.
“Once,” he said, “there used to be something called a star.” He told me they were lights in the sky that came out at night. Little white pinpricks in the dark canvas. I couldn’t imagine how that would work; I believed in stars the same way I believed in the dragons from his tales.
That night, though, when the fire burned down to embers, my dad went to check the perimeter of our camp.
My grandfather came up and sat next to me, where my father had been. His eyes were deep brown—the same colour as mine, the same colour as my mother's—and, that night, far away. He had never been wildly social, but since my mother died, he rarely spoke and even more rarely laughed.
“Your father told you about the stars,” he said.
I told him that he did. He told me of the lights that used to be there, the beauty that was in this world before people had ruined it.
“Your father is a great man,” my grandfather said. “Many of us wouldn’t be here without him.”
I nodded. All my life, I had heard those same words.
“He believes in the day-to-day. In getting us to see the next sunrise. There’s value in that, make no mistake.”
My grandfather wiped his forehead, bundled his hands, and leaned in towards the last heat of the embers. In the last few years, he’d aged. The lines on his forehead grew deeper. His hair had gone from grey at the temples to white all around.
“Your mother believed in a different way,” he said.
I didn’t understand and I told my grandfather as much.
“Your mother believed we needed a long-term plan, too. A bigger goal to strive toward. Something to ensure your children, if you have any, and their children and so on won’t have to live this same, hard life.”
This life was the only one I had known. It was nearly all my parents knew, too; they carried few precious and fading memories from the old days.
“The stars aren’t gone,” my grandfather said. “They’re still out there, behind the ash and clouds and haze. They aren’t just lights in the sky, they’re balls of fire and fusion, just as big as the sun, if not bigger.”
“The stars are… the sun?” I still couldn’t understand.
“The sun is a star. Imagine the sky a beach, every grain of sand a sun of it’s own.”
“That doesn’t seem possible.”
My grandfather sighed. “It really doesn’t, but it is. It’s true. I studied them once, a lifetime ago.” He pulled his eyes from the embers and turned to me. There was heat in his gaze that I hadn’t seen in a while. “If life had gone differently, I believe your mother might’ve studied them too.”
“My mother believed in the stars?”
A curt nod. “She did. More than that, even,” my grandfather said with an empty chuckle, “she thought our future, our long-term plan, would be among them.”
After that, he said nothing, but then neither did I. I could only look up through the trees and search the darkness for a spark of light, for a possibility.
For what my mother believed.
My mother was a great person, too. I’m not always sure if she was a good one.
r/liswrites | 33 | Dad says there used to be stars in the sky. But grandpa says they are still there, we just can't see them anymore. | 95 |
"Your honor, I never stole a penny off of those people. It was all the crows doing. I couldn't just *stop* giving them treats! And I didn't know who the money belonged to."
I sweat, my blatant lie left my lips. It was *technically* true that i didn't steal any money myself but I knew damn well what I was doing.
"Your honor this is ridiculous, this man clearly knew what he was doing! He's amassed almost twenty thousand dollars from one murder if crows alone!"
The prosecutor, my high school nemesis Tony, blurted out, slamming his fist on the table before him.
"Mr. Regrize, I expect better from you. Do not speak out of turn in my courtroom again or you will be thrown out."
The judge scowls at Tony, and I let a small smirk grace my lips before turning my lips back down. Can't look satisfied right now.
"Now, Mr. Schroeder, it is true you have acquired all of this wealth from the crows. However, as you personally did not steal any of it I find no ground to try you for theft."
I blink in suprise as the judge picks up the papers presented by Tony and walks out of the courtroom, leaving only me and Tony there. He looks like he's about to tear the hair out of his head.
"Heh." | 15 | You had the habit of giving a few crows some food, and even more food when they came with an offering. Once, one came with money. You then only rewarded them for bringing money. Bands of crows have now been stealing people. The police discovered what you were doing. Describe the trial. | 41 |
The Galactic Community couldn't resist the efficiency of science. Back then, lengthy rituals were performed to transport ambassadors across worlds. In your world, you can say, "Beam me up, Scotty!" And then you'll be transported with atoms. In ours, you'll say, "Beam me up Scotty," and after weeks of gathering materials for conjuration magic, you'll be able to reach your destination.
This revolutionized the Galaxy. Members of the Galactic Community overlooked the practitioner, applauding his success. He was given a seat on the Council, this being the first instance of someone breaking the rules of the GC, and getting rewarded for it. This didn't stop his plans to continue rebelling with his controversial ideas.
The Galactic Community was dependent on Magic to solve problems. It would seem that using miracles to fix society would be reasonable, but you need Mana to power magic. Mana is a renewable resource, however, it takes years to replenish, which the GC wasn't able to wait that long. Instead, our practitioner had to look at other ideas to maintain society. He stated that if we were to rely more on science to solve minor issues, we can save Mana for the bigger things in life. | 19 | The Galactic Community is shocked when it's newest member, Humanity, is learned to have achieved FTL-status using a new type of dark magic called "Science". | 49 |
"What is this?"
I spoke in an unfamiliar voice. I had closed my eyes in a broken town centre, surrounded by bodies and fire. The buildings were ruined, but I had held them back long enough. I had given myself in sacrifice to protect them as long as I could, the only one I was able to do.
But now I was in a strange place. I could tell I lay on a stone slab, with chains criss-crossing my body. I could feel pulsing energy from below, from what I assumed were runic symbols. Similar ones were carved into this bodies flesh, ones I knew instinctively held me here.
"Ah, the experiment was a success. Welcome back to the land of the living. Tell me, what is your name?"
A calm voice echoed around the room, unfamiliar to me. It had an accent I did not recognise, as though they spoke with the tip of their tongue.
"I am Gregorvir. Where am I? What have you done?"
I heard footsteps, but could not see the source still. The voice came again, pleased with itself.
"Ah, Gregorvir. You are currently within the arcane laboratory of Ferina."
I strained against the bindings, even with my strength being sapped by the runes beneath me. The voice changed, becoming sorrowful.
"I had to interrupt your deserved rest, for that I am sorry. However, I did not do it purely for my own research. I need the help of a great warrior, for we have none. But selfishly I chose the selfless."
I strained again, feeling the symbol below struggle to hold me. With its sapping me, I could tell this body was far stronger than my original. The name of the place meant little to me. Eventually I relented, and I felt a desire come to me. I had died. I knew I had been at peace, even if the memories of the place were lost to me. I wanted to go back.
"If I help, will you let me go back?"
The voice owner appeared, a middle aged woman, thin and tired. She wore a thick coat covered in burn marks and stains.
"If you help save my people, then yes I will."
I didn't know what was going on. But at this point I didn't care. I just wanted to return to my peace. It seemed to me this was the easiest method to do so. | 170 | You did it. You held back the invaders long enough for the townsfolk to escape, but have been gravely wounded in the process. Moments after drew what you thought was your last breath, you wake up in a strange place, in a foreign body, restrained by chains and runic symbols. | 384 |
I'm not sure how long I've been lying here, but it can't be long. They'll be coming for me soon. I can hear them talking out there, their voices muffled by the door.
I try to move, but I can't. My limbs are heavy, my body numb. I can't feel my hands or feet. I try to open my eyes, but they're glued shut.
I hear the door open and someone step inside. I hear a few more footsteps and then the door closes again. I hear the voices getting louder.
"C'mon, buddy," someone says. "We need a decision. You can't stay here all day."
"Can we at least get the doc in here?" another voice says. "He's got a concussion."
"And worse," another voice says. "It's up to him."
"Hey, you hear that?" the first voice says, louder. "You've got to make a decision, buddy. We've got work to do."
I try to say something, but my mouth won't work either. I open my eyes and blink hard. I see four blurry figures standing over me. Then I see a face so close to mine I can smell his breath.
"David," he says. "What do you want us to do?"
I try to speak again, but I can't. Something is wrong with my voice, too. I can feel it in my throat, and it hurts when I try to swallow. I close my eyes and try to think, but that's hard too. I feel like I've been hit by a train. I can't remember what happened and I can barely remember my own name.
"He's in shock," someone outside says. "Maybe we should let the doc check him out."
"I can't believe he has been out here for all this years," a voice says. "It most be close to ten years since the last episode shot."
"But what a fantastic twist for our new season."
"No doctors," I whisper.
"The ratings are going to be through the roof."
"David. We just need you to sign this waiver. You might still win that 10.000 dollars."
Somewhere, someone snickers.
"No," I think. They left me here to rot. I want no part of their circus. I want to see medical professional. I want to get off this godforsaken island.
"No, doctors," I whisper again gathering all my strength.
"Did you get that on tape. He's declined medical attention."
I feel my hand being moved.
"And he's signed the waiver now."
"Good job David."
"Now put him back where Jimmy found him. I think we can get a better take out of Jimmy."
"No," I whisper again.
"Yeah. We shouldn't do that," a voice says concerned. "Let Olga find him instead. Maybe we can get a little chemistry going."
"Good call David."
The whole world blurs as I am carried out into the tropical paradise that has been my prison for more than a decade.
***
For more stories check out r/greypuffin | 43 | A forgotten contestant from the first season of a survivalist competition show is discovered by another contestant over a decade later when the show returns to gin up ratings. | 181 |
*Wenkwort Artem, 2285.30.02*
You know that feeling that something isn't right? That your *unbelievably long* lecture you have every Monday is somehow longer than the last? That the mag-trains that take you across the world are somehow *longer*, *slower*, even though you timed it with your atomic clock and it came to the same time it always does, down to the second?
I did. I thought I was going a little insane, to be honest. Maybe all that Zro I was taking was messing with my brain. Maybe I shouldn't have joined the Orbis Temple; my parents always hawked on the evils of embracing their authoritarian nature. I refused to contemplate the possibility that maybe it *wasn't* just me.
And then I saw the news.
"Scientists across the Galactic Community discover time slows!" was headline news across the entire galaxy last week. Somehow, they did the experiments (impressive, given I thought the time measurements would have slowed down too), analysed some data, and it proved that it wasn't the Orbis Temple, or my Zro messing with my head (take *that*, parents!). Time was measurably slower today than it was in 2200, when the first nationwide records were taken, and than it was in 2250. Scientists were still looking for a reason why this was happening, but clearly it wasn't just me who felt the time slowing.
The data was quite precise as well. The passage of time (measured in seconds per second, which somehow didn't just equal 1 the entire graph) was slowing down, with some bumps and dips across the graph, but clearly rising throughout it.
I had an idea. I plotted the data that the scientists gave us with a graph from the Galactic Community's census data showing the total population across the galaxy, accompanied by estimates for the regions outside of its influence. To my horror, I saw that they lined up. Somehow, me simply *existing* slowed down the universe. How could that have happened?
I read further. The Vultaum Star Assembly had a belief that the entire galaxy was trapped in a simulation, and that the only way to escape was suicide. What if … they were right? And the simulation slowed down with more people in it. It made too much sense. Our entire galaxy – everything I loved and held dear – was trapped in a simulation, destined to slow down and down as more and more people entered it. And the only escape, the only way to return time to its normal pacing, was to remove myself from the equation.
But who could possibly be evil enough to make such a simulation and have actual minds trapped in it?
*Earth, 2022.09.20*
"Huh, the game's already lagging? Usually I can reach the midgame before that happens." | 51 | The universe is a simulation and every living thing draws processing power. Originally it was barely noticable, but now time has noticably slowed down. It is the lag-death of the universe. | 128 |
Even though I may be a selfish asshole, I won't stand for one thing. My brother *deserves* heaven. I don't.
"Oi, fuckheads."
The angels all turned in shock as I crossed my arms.
"I'm not Charlie. That's my twin brother. You just sent the best person I know to hell."
The angels all seemed to pause, before warping from the soft, winged forms to their edlritch forms, eyes covering their bodies. Their bodies now rings, or wings covered in eyes.
"Oi don't get mad at me, it was your mistake."
I rip the halo off my head and walk away from the gates to the edge of the cloudy expense and nod.
"Well, I'll be heading down, see ya!"
And jump. But I don't fall. I just...float there. The angels seemed to come closer, and I began to sweat. Were they going to destroy my soul or something.
"We apologize for saying your brothers name, but you ARE supposed to be here."
Their voices called out from nowhere and everywhere at once.
"But why?"
I asked, crossing my arms again.
"You haven't killed anyone." | 120 | I stand at the pearly gates, dressed in white. This makes no sense; sure, I wasn't evil, but I was very selfish and cared only for myself; I should be in hell, right? "Hello, Charlie. We've been waiting." Ah, now I get it, they think I'm my goody-two-shoes twin who died at the same time as me. | 188 |
A soft breeze brushed against Little Red and she giggled, reaching down to pluck a dandelion from the ground. Taking a deep breath, she exhaled, the seeds of the dandelion fluttering into the sky like little umbrellas. *I wonder if someone as cruel as Grandma would appreciate these dandelions to decorate her empty flower pots,* she thought.
A shadow that loomed behind Little Red startled her, and with a little squeak, she dropped the dandelion she was holding, turning around in shock. Behind her was a wolf, but not just a normal wolf. Instead, it was a wolf that stood on twos and had a human-like smile on his face. *It doesn't hurt to try and be friends,* she wondered, *does it?*
"Hello!" She greeted cheerfully, wringing her hands together shyly, "I'm Little Red!" All of the warnings that Mother had engrained into her mind had gone out the window. "Would you like to be my friend?" The wolf looked at her in shock, then his snout morphed into what seemed like a friendly smile.
"Why, hello there," he replied, his voice gravelly and deep, "I would *love* to be your friend." He licked his chops. "But what is such a lovely little girl doing in these dangerous woods?" His furry head tilted in confusion.
"The thing is," Little Red explained cheerfully, swinging her basket to and fro, "Going through the forest is the quickest way to visit Grandma!" With that said, her face suddenly dropped and tears bloomed in her eyes. "Oh no. If I don't get going soon, I'm going to be late! Grandma will be *so* angry, she'll punish me for sure!" Wolf tapped his teeth, thinking.
"Well..." he thought out loud, "why don't you climb onto my back and we'll get there faster. Just tell me where she lives." Little Red's eyes instantly brightened, and she nodded quickly before she could change her mind. Wolf leaned down onto all fours, and she climbed onto his fuzzy back.
"Alright," she began as Wolf began to trot, "Just turn the bend over there..."
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
The thing that gave away Grandma's cottage was the amount of smoke that came out of its chimney. As it came into view, the empty cracked pots were seen on its dirty windows and on the overgrown lawn.
"There's Grandma's house!" Little Red called out, and hopped down, patting Wolf's head on impulse, "Thanks for the ride, Wolf!" Wolf grinned and sat down obediently.
"I'll just wait here," he replied, eagerness glinting in his cunning black eyes. Nodding, Little Red skipped towards Grandma's door and knocked, fixing a serious look on her face.
"Come in!" her Grandma's weary voice said, and Little Red opened the door, wrinkling her nose at the blast of foul air that came out of the cottage. Taking a deep breath of fresh air, she held it as she entered the cottage, the floorboards creaking ominously, and laid the basket of goodies onto Grandma's night desk. As quietly as she could, she retreated outside again where the Wolf was waiting patiently.
"All done!" Little Red exclaimed, preparing to get onto Wolf's back. But he stopped her before she could, and she furrowed her brow in confusion.
"Could I meet your Grandma too?" Wolf asked, "she seems like a lovely lady."
"Alright," the gullible Little Red answered while looking at the rapidly darkening sky worriedly, "but hurry. I want to get home before the sun sets." Wolf nodded and entered the cottage. A few minutes later, he exited with his fangs bloody.
"What happened to you?" Little Red asked as she mounted him, "Did you get hurt?" Wolf nodded.
"Just banged my snout. It's all fine now." | 126 | Little Red Riding Hood isn't an idiot. She knows the creature before her isn't her grandmother. But honestly, this wolf has been nicer to her more than her grandmother ever had been. | 508 |
Raina has tried everything.
Holy water. Spirit mediums. And, when she was at her lowest, Raina even attempted a complex ritual involving chalk, candles, and some animal viscera.
And yet, Melissa is still here.
She floats by the edge of the stairs, with those innocent hazel eyes that haven't aged a single day.
"Mom? Is it time to go to bed already?" Her curly hair sticks out at odd angles, as untamable in death as it was in life.
Raina resists the urge to tuck the unruly strands behind Melissa's ears and forces a smile out instead. "Yes, honey. But before we go to bed, is there anything you want to do?"
Raina has asked the same question for three years in a row, and there's never been a satisfying answer. After all, what kind of unfinished business can a five-year-old really have?
But something is keeping Melissa tethered to the mortal world, and Raina can't figure out how to get her to move on.
And, she thinks to herself, how can she possibly talk about getting Melissa to move on when she herself hasn't moved on at all? Her apartment is a snapshot in time, a static picture of how things used to be when Melissa was alive.
"There's nothing I want to do," Melissa says. "Unless there's something I can do that will make you happy."
"I am happy," Raina insists. Even as she says the words, she knows how fake they sound.
"You don't sound very happy," Melissa pouts. "I thought you would be happy if I stayed, but you just look sad." | 43 | Your child asks if there's such a thing as ghosts. The child actually died four years earlier and you need to find a way to break it to them. | 102 |
I heard loud snuffling coming from the room next door. I came over to find Fred on the bed with the photograph in his hand. As I approached, I'd seen that he had been weeping.
"Fred," I asked him. "Is everything all right?" Fred said nothing and continued to stare at the photograph. I came closer to get a look at the photograph, and I saw that it was a picture of a woman. I started to ask a question, but I felt that this was not the time and that I needed to give Fred some space. As I turned to leave, I heard Fred say, "Nobody seems to remember Stacy anymore."
I stopped and turned to face him. "Is that her in the photograph?" I asked.
Fred took his eyes off the photo to meet mine. "You mean you don't recognize her?" he asked.
I went back to take another look and gave myself a moment to see if I could bring about even a glimmer of familiarity from the woman, the smiling woman in the photograph. But after a short while I gave up. "I'm sorry Fred," I said. "She just isn't somebody I recognize."
"You knew her," Fred told me. "You were friends. We all were."
I did not know what to make of what Fred just told me. "Friend?" I said. "Fred, if she was my friend, I'm sure I would have recognized her." Fred said nothing.
I was thinking about what he had said. Why would he say this Stacy, a person that, as far as I can tell, I'd never seen before was my friend?
"We all knew her," Fred kept insisting. "You, me, Mike and Laura. And the rest of them. We were always doing stuff together."
I had to confess I didn't immediately recall any mutual acquaintance by the name of Mike or Laura. Just then, I heard somebody step inside the room. He apparently had heard the snuffling as well.
"You sure you're gonna be okay, Fred?" the stranger asked.
Fred nodded. "I'll be all right, Jeff." Then Fred turned to face Jeff. "Are you sure you don't remember Stacy?"
"Well, you can't even be sure you even knew a Stacy," Jeff told him. "It's possible Stacy's just somebody you thought you knew. She might even be just an amalgam of all the people that have faded from our memories." Jeff went over to Fred to put a reassuring hand on his shoulder before leaving the room.
I saw Fred gently put down the photograph and turn his head to look out the window. Sensing that Fred wanted to be alone, I headed out of the room and went back to my own. I sat on my bed facing my dresser drawer and noticed the picture frames on it, what appeared to be family photos: one with a mother and father with two children, and another with what I recognized to be myself in the photo with those two same children. I did not recognize the mother and father nor did I recognize the children.
Just then I heard a knock at my door. After a short while the door opened to reveal a woman in hospital scrubs holding a paper cup filled with my medicine.
"Good evening, Mr. Vinson," the woman said, and as she came closer to hand me the medicine, I looked upon her name plate, once again for the first time: Rowena Faye, Nursing Assistant, Greenfield County Nursing Home. | 48 | For the past few days, your friend has been crying about how no one else remembers this random person you’ve never heard of. Apparently you were all best friends? People say they’re crazy, but you do have unexplainable gaps in your memory… | 173 |
The question was unexpected.
For thousands of years, longer than I can remember, I sat in my box. and whenever anybody opened the box I would promise them riches, or power, whatever they desired. living in the box was quite boring.
So, I would find ways to amuse myself, turn people's wishes against them. Someone would wish for wealth, I'd make sure their wealth wouldn't bring them happiness, but ruin. I'd watch as everyone in their life would grow more and more envious of their money until they grew bitter and alone.
Someone asked to be famous? I'd watch as their status caused them to be unable to relate with people, until their ego caused them to push everyone away.
It someone asked for love, I'd make sure that they would fall madly in love, with all the wrong people. they would spend their lives watching relationship after relationship going down in flames.
and I'd watch it all, alone, in my box...
But then, this child finds me. It wasn't the first time a child had found me oh no, but just like so many others he opened the box. As the lid came off I did what I always did, and I came free.
"MONEY! KINGDOMS! INFLUENCE! WHAT IS THY DESIRE!" I bellowed before the child, taking form before the child. I usually would take the form of an Soldier or a police officer these days, something that the mind of the person opening the box would see as an authority figure.
This time I had defaulted to some kind of superhero, though who, I couldn't tell...
"SUPERMAN!?"
ah, that's who...
"No child, I am not superman, I only look like him right now because of magic. I am a genie."
"Oh, okay. what were you doing in that box?"
"I live there..."
"Where's your lamp? were you evicted? That's what happened to me and my mom..."
I was beginning to wonder when this kid was going to make his wish, perhaps he didn't know what a genie was?
"No, I don't have a lamp. I have a box... look, do you want to make a wish?"
his eyes widened, this was the moment, he would make a wish and...
"Um... I don't know, I can't think of anything right now, maybe I can ask my mom when she gets back. My babysitter's upstairs with her boyfriend and they are just... gross..."
This was... getting awkward, but then things took a turn that I hadn't expected.
"What do you want mr. Supergenie?"
I was stunned, in all my thousands of years, I hadn't ever had anybody ask me this question. I began to wonder, what exactly *did* I want?
I took some time, literally, in that I froze time and began to ponder. reflecting, and considered the boys question.
I began to realize, everyone I tormented, they always wound up the same way. Alone, Isolated, sad...
Like me...
I restarted time.
"well, I suppose if I wanted anything, I guess it would be to just not have to be alone in that box all the time.
"Then, I could wish for that? genie, I wish you didn't have to be alone in that box all the time!"
It took me a moment to realize what had happened, he had just granted me freedom... the box crumbled behind me. I began to laugh... my laughter grew, and grew, and grew.
"Oh wow, thanks kid. you have no idea how good it feels, knowing that I am free of that box!" I think I may have overdone it, because the kid looked nervous. "Freedom, wow, never thought I'd see the day, listen kid, I need to take care of some things, now that I'm free and all, but I promise I'll be back okay? I still owe you two more wishes." I gave him a smile and disappeared.
I knew I had some things to do, I had to right some wrongs now that I was free. I spent the next few weeks looking for some of my former masters that were still alive, and subtly making their lives better. This time I wanted them, not from the shadows, but from the eyes of people around them. I watched from the eyes of a hospice nurse as a wealthy inventor reconnected with his family before the end. I watched from the eyes of a PR manager as a once popular DJ rediscovered his love of music, made up for his violent past, got help for his problems and began to remake himself. There was one last thing I needed to fix, one of my former masters had wanted a family. He had wished for 'a woman to start a family with' but I had taken out my frustrations in being alone on him, and made sure to take away his ability to give her a child.
They were already looking into adoption when I found them, and it was easy work to slip into their lives in the form of a child. It would take time, but eventually I would be able to give them the gift of their own biological children again. My powers had been getting weaker since I had gotten free, so this last job would take time.
Now I just needed to influence them to move us closer to the boy, These people, the Evans will make fine parents for my new human form.
**A few weeks later**
Thomas Parks returned home with his mother from grocery shopping. It had been a few weeks since he had found that box in the antique store, and ever since he couldn't help but feel like something was off. What happened to that genie? where did it go? was it out there somewhere, causing mischief? When might it return?
As he and his mother returned to the apartment they shared with his aunt, they saw some moving boxes outside the apartment next to theirs. "Careful!" came a voice from inside the slightly ajar door. "Don't drop that box, it's fragile honey!" a young woman came out and saw the two. "Oh, Hello, are we being to loud? we're sorry we won't be too long. You know how it is." She grabbed another box that was left next to the door.
"Oh that's fine, My name's Martha, welcome to the neighboorhood!" Thomas stood there awkwardly as his mother made idle chitchat with the new neighboor, wishing she would just unlock the door so he could go in. he kept tugging on her sleeve wanting to tell her the ice cream would melt, but she would just say "just one minute dear."
"grown ups, huh?"
Thomas spun around at the voice.
A girl, about his age extended a hand, she was pretty, her summer dress was pink and she had a rainbow sticker on her face. "Nice to meet you, my names..."
"Jenny! there you are dear! come on we need to get unpacked!" her mother called to her "Sorry, it was lovely talking to you but we must finish unpacking." The woman said to Martha. "My names Harriet by the way, don't know if I said."
Jenny headed into her apartment with her mother, and Thomas followed his, but he had the strangest feeling...
that he knew her from somewhere. | 57 | As a genie you love to mess up people's wishes. A greedy person gets turned into a treasure chest, someone wishing for love has everyone that looks at them fall in love with them and so on. Which is why you are surprised when a little boy asks what you want. | 71 |
Norman was a simple man. The manager for a call centre based in the seedier parts of Silicon Valley, just a year ago he had accepted the applications of about a dozen or so interns (now employees) who just as hard as he did, sometimes even harder still.
Of course, last year happened to be the forever year of 2020, so they were all hired to work-from-home. The few times they had online meetings, it was always odd that they would always shy away from turning on their cameras, but Norman didn't care enough to force them to. He respected their preferences, and well, Norman had seen the many shades of lifes before, sometimes a bit too much, and he couldn't be bothered by the blemishes of one's life, so be it if they preferred their social privacy.
However, time marches quickly, and soon Norman was faced with the colossal task of... Going back to the office. As a manager, Norman had already expected this to happen, but it still dragged at his feet, a sense of dread and annoyance, risking infection from covid, wasting time driving to and from work... (*"Work From Home worked just fine..." *)
But Norman's superiors were nothing but asshats, so back to the office he went. Soon, the moment Norman dreaded came.
"Re: New Work Schedule for Customer Response Teams."
Fuck. This was going to be bad.
Norman dreadfully scrolled down the long winded email, filled with the bureaucratic bullshit which usually filled these tyoes of emails, pleasantries of a hundred words that don't mean a thing. He finally saw the blue link to a shared excel sheet, and with some hesitation, clicked it.
Norman's trained eyes filtered out the hundreds of names of other employees of the company, building codes and team information until he reached the one he recognised.
"Building 3A, Manager: Norman Heltfield."
"Selected employees to return to in-office work:
'Evelynn Howards'
'Abraham Dell Jr.'
'Daniel Calebson'
'Mary Chrisse'
'Adam Juts'
Please inform the employees by the 5th of September 2021 of the upcoming changes to their work schedule."
Norman breathed a heavy hearted sigh. The new employees he had were very efficient even when working at home, so why even bother bringing any of them in? Norman scanned through the email again, looking for any logical reasoning for this change.
"To bolster team spirit and a sense of belonging in the company, we have decid-"
Norman closed the tab. He sat back in his chair and closed his eyes, rubbing the red and itchy spot on his nose where his glasses normally sat. He started pulling up the contact sheet of all the employees in 3A, scanning through it with his usual speed, a mix of pure determination and numbing apathy at the same time.
That was when he noticed a discrepancy.
A statistic he rarely noticed (or bothered to notice) had stood out to him. All the new employees of building 3A had taken 0 medical leaves or leave days. Every one of the hundreds of employees of 3A hadn't taken a single leave since they had joined. One or two employees saving leaves were not unusual, but over a hundred? Especially during a global pandemic the government barely helped to prevent, much less protect their citizens from? Something wasn't adding up, but Norman still gave them the benefit of the doubt. After all, he thought that maybe, just maybe, that coincedences happen. The world was a big place after all, it wouldn't be the craziest thing in th-
Wait. Something tugged at the edges of Norman's mind, some biting sensation of distrust, of caution. He recalled the previous virtual meeting he had with his team. One conversation was suddenly forming itself in Norman's mind, one that he now vividly remembered. It was between a few of his subordinates, names he could hardly remember now, but it was about a family member who caught covid spreading it to them.
"Sorry, I caught COVID from my ---- [INSERT MEMBE- ----, I might need to take leave for a day or two."
Repeating the words in his head, he realised just how weird it had been. When it happened, Norman brushed it off as some odd technical error; Everything was weird that year after all.
But... Now that he thought about it, how many times had he heard those exact words? In that exact same order? Again and again he had heard those words with different people, from different people. How could it be then that none of them took any registered leave? All it took was a quick submission to the little google survey thing, and Norman even verbally approved it. So why not?
Again he looked through the contact list. Another discrepancy stood out to him. Why did all the phone number area codes lead to New York? Every single one? How did that even go unnoticed?
Norman again looked through the resumes of his workers. Many of them had varied background from all around the USA, but their phone numbers didn't seem to match those in the contact sheet.
Realising this, with an overhanging feeling of horror and confusion at such discrepancies having gotten pass several layers of bureaucratic processes, and even himself, he started to type up an email, one listing the many oddities he had found, and addressing it to his direct superior, a lazy ass-scratching old man who barely understood the computer on his desk. Despite all of that, Norman still tried to follow protocol, until he suddenly heard a 'click' come from behind him.
Cold metal touched the back of his neck, the unmistakable circular barrel of a small pistol.
"You know a bit too much now, Mr Heltfield." | 19 | A Call Center Manager starts to suspect something isn't right. | 64 |
You want to know the secret of how to take over the world? The inexperienced would-be despots of the world would say something along the lines of “power,” or “fear.” …But they’re idiots, and the most they can expect is a few years at best “ruling” as a crackpot warlord over a petty stretch of land in some underdeveloped country before they’re gunned down, poisoned, stabbed, or some other method of assassination so the next idiot in a long, long queue of the fuckers can take their place. No. It’s not “power,” which is a vague and useless enough concept that I’m loathe to even put it to ink. Nor is it fear.
It’s PR.
…Well, not *just* PR, of course. One also needs organizational skills, wealth, the ability to manage said wealth efficiently and profitably, and enough people skills to actually manage to make those around you and those below you *love you.* Or, failing that, at least tolerate you enough to not wish to see your downfall.
But at the end of the day, one’s public image is among the absolute most important things to cultivate, if you truly wish to change the world to suit your liking. For you see, the people of this little blue planet we live on are fickle, selfish, and bothersome little things. I would know, I’m one of them. And to change the world, one must first mold the perceptions of the populace towards you to make them want- no, to *embrace* the little puppet strings you wrap around them, and wish to see *your* desires come to pass.
It will be difficult. It will be stressful, especially at first. But when you accrue a positive image, accrue enough wealth without indulging every base desire that suits your fancy- ugh, so much potential every white-collar criminal squanders away with their 5th mega yacht or their 20th beachfront condo with 3 herbal jacuzzis…
Ah, I’m getting off track. The point is, once you have that positive image, wealth, and, heh, “power,” you must *become* the mask you wear. Never take it off. Never reveal what lies underneath. For to do so will tip the dominoes in place to one’s downfall.
Provide free, well-kept housing for the poor, the sick, the disabled. To go the extra mile, participate in building it with your own hands, it’ll make for good pictures. Feed and water the disenfranchised. Help those in need. And above all else, ignore your ego. Become the mask. Become the savior of the meek and the downtrodden. For it is *they* that hold the true “power” in this world. At the end of the day, you are but an individual. A single person among billions. And when it comes down to it, no matter what stratagems you may have in play, no matter how hard of a grip you may think you have on your precious “power,” you are hopelessly outnumbered.
“Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.” And the most terrifying enemy of all is the populace, as *my* enemies found out. The freaks of the world given special abilities through lab accidents, discovering “magical” artifacts and so on. Threats that I myself couldn’t initially deal with… but the populace could.
After all, who *wouldn’t* wish to protect the savior of the masses from some “Captain Underpants”-looking idiot in spandex? Especially when certain articles began to circulate about, oh, I dunno… all the civilians they had killed by tossing some other superpowered freak through a skyscraper? The property damage they caused with every petty grudge match?
All it took was the development of an alternative to these innumerable flawed, sapient lab accidents. An anonymous team of scientists and engineers measuring in the thousands, all under my employ, and all developing tech that the average citizen could rely on to protect them. Who needs some garishly-caped psycho causing mayhem and collateral damage when fighting back against the threat of the week when, say, a swarm of self-repairing nano bots could be directed to immobilize the threat, fly it to a depopulated area, and vaporize them without so much as a scraped knee to the average citizen? …Or how about one of my worldwide HELIOS array’s lasers to disintegrate that asteroid hurtling towards the planet instead of the Superman-wannabe punching it into pieces only for it to rain down as deadly shrapnel on the helpless populace below?
It didn’t take long for these inventions to sway public opinion against these upstarts in tights. My machines worked for the greater good. These idiots worked to stoke their own egos, causing havoc while playing God in tacky body-hugging neon.
Internally, I may as well have been jumping for joy when one of these “superheroes” grew irritated enough to disintegrate one of the peaceful protesters rallying against them… before summarily being beaten to death within minutes by their fellows without me having to so much as lift a finger. I, of course, maintained the mask, and called for the regulation of these freaks of nature. That’s all I wanted initially; annihilation could wait for a time. …But the massacres continued. So petty. Pathetic, really. Having tasted it, they didn’t want to give up their “power.” And so, as the populace begged me to do… they found my nano bots ready and waiting.
It was over within hours. Some fought, some tried to hide, it made no difference. …And to tell you the truth, the nano bots only accounted for a little over 75% of the vigilante fatalities that day.
And not a soul mourned them.
I looked out upon the populace cheering, chanting my name, grateful that I had saved them from the sole individuals that could have been a threat to me save for the easily-controlled populace itself.
And I allowed myself a smile. | 100 | The supervillain finally took over the world- but everyone loves them. They fixed many problems and personally helped rebuild homes. Then the superhero returns... | 134 |
The girl stumbled into the alleyway and collapsed to her knees, retching. Jerry watched to see if any friends would emerge to tend to her from the nightclub. He’d been too eager in the past, too much in a hurry. And he’d nearly been caught by a concerned boyfriend, just as he made his approach. He was more careful now. Patient. He kept glancing back to the club and then to the alleyway, but although a few people came out, no one crossed the road.
Jerry’s car was parked opposite the club and a few metres from the alley’s opening. He controlled his breathing. The panic was building up. He knew he couldn’t wait any longer. Soon the sounds of her violent vomiting would stop and she would be out of his reach. This was the moment.
He pulled the gloves down, making sure all his skin was covered. He checked his reflection in the mirror, the green eyes behind the thick glasses looked foreign to him. Like someone else was looking at him. Which was the idea, of course. Contact lenses, thick glasses, bright red hair under a New York Yankees baseball cap. Incognito. Someone else.
The cold air took him a little by surprise, he’d been warm in his car. Her puking was quieter but the surroundings were louder. He could hear the hum of conversation as people walked past the club, or stopped to speak to the bouncer. It was just after 1 AM on a Friday night, which was early for this part of Peckham. He was prepared to wait much longer for his victim. Her sudden appearance was an unexpected gift.
The smell of stale urine, cigarettes and rotting rubbish grew stronger as he stepped into the alleyway. No doubt the girl’s vomit added to the already unbearable stench. One of her heels was broken and she was still huddled over. Her pink mini skirt was riding up her thick thighs, wavy black her hanging over the side of her head. Jerry’s heart was beating so hard against his chest, it was causing him pain. He was finding it hard to breathe.
Jerry stifled the urge to pull the girl’s skirt down and ask if she was OK. That wasn’t the plan. She was a victim. His first victim and he would do it right. Like he’d practiced. Like it was supposed to go. Like on TV. He’d rehearsed this moment over and over again. Find a girl. Take her to the abandoned warehouse in Bermondsey. And then kill her. She wasn’t a person anymore. Just a victim. She didn’t need small talk. Just enough conversation to lure her into the car. That’s all.
Beneath the gloves his palms were sweaty. He took a deep breath, ignoring the strong scent of lavender which was overriding the putrid smells.
“Can I help you?” he stuttered, bending to help her up.
She looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes. There was mascara running down her face like a waterfall of ink. Jerry fought a pang of sympathy for her. She’d been crying.
“I’m OK,” she said, getting up and wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her mauve jacket.
She was maybe half a foot shorter than him, he was only five foot ten which meant she was very short. But she had the body of a woman. He hadn’t noticed the curves when she walked across the road. There was something vulnerable about her. Something fragile. Something human.
Perhaps it was the tears, but there was real sadness in her eyes. The same sadness he often saw in his mirror. He felt an urge to protect her which was very much against the urges which had brought him here. Just a victim, he thought.
The next line was supposed to be, “Do you need a lift?”
But he found he couldn’t deliver it. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth, like it was made of lead. And he could no longer breathe. The walls were closing in and no matter how much he tried, he wasn’t getting enough air.
Her face turned to concern almost instantly.
“Sit down,” she commanded, helping him to the ground.
She spoke like she was used to giving orders and Jerry found himself leaning against a wall, with his head between his knees.
“Take long deep breaths. Just like that,” she said, rubbing his back.
And there was a strange warmth where she was touching him.
Jerry was focussed on a spot on the ground. In the darkness of the alley, he wasn’t sure what it was, but looking at it was helping, and he still couldn’t breathe.
“It’s just a panic attack. You’re fine, just breathe for me,” she said.
And for some reason Jerry wasn’t aware of, she started talking about herself.
“I should never have come tonight. I’m not good with crowds, but how am I going to meet someone stuck at home playing Animal Crossing. You’re doing very well, keep taking those deep breaths for me.”
Jerry could hear the longing in her voice. She sounded just like him. Lonely.
“I know you thought I was drunk, but I'm not. I only had one wine but there were so many people in there. I was fine one moment and then it became suffocating. I get them too. The panic attacks. And when they are bad, like today, I get sick. Nice deep breaths, that’s it.”
Jerry could feel a warmth spreading into him and his lungs were doing their job again. He started to look up.
“Slowly,” she said, “Not too fast.”
Jerry stood up and they were just looking at each other. He knew she was thinking about the weirdness of the situation, just like he was.
The blouse underneath the mauve jacket was a delicate blue. The mesh of colours shouldn’t have worked but it did somehow. Everything about her face was in proportion in a way that just fit. Like if someone was drawing the perfect face, that’s how they’d do it. Her olive skin gave her an exotic look.
She was scrutinising him too and her eyes narrowed, then she reached up and tugged at his head. The baseball cap tumbled to the ground as the wig came off in her hand.
His crew cut black hair was now visible and she removed his glasses with her other left hand.
“Those are contacts aren’t they?” she said.
Jerry couldn’t speak for some reason. How had she known?
“There aren’t many people with your skin tone who have red hair and green eyes. It didn’t fit,” and as if she felt the need to explain her reasoning, “I’m a police officer. It’s my job to be observant.”
Jerry’s blood ran cold. He could feel the beginning of another panic attack, before she added.
“Were you going to the fancy dress party at Athena’s down the street? I couldn’t decide if I wanted to go there or to go to The Iris. But I’m not really one for fancy dress.”
The relief came out in a sharp release of air. He hadn’t realised that he’d stopped breathing.
“I was,” he mumbled, “But I’m not very good with crowds either. I’m a computer programmer, I’m more used to being alone. Sometimes I think the only way I’m going to get a girlfriend is if I kidnap one.”
The words had just spilled out of his mouth without thinking. You idiot, he thought.
She looked at him with even more intensity, and then broke out into laughter. Her laugh was loud and raucous. The noise was unexpected given her small frame.
“I know the feeling. If it wasn’t for my job, I’m sure I’d have considered it,” she said with a grin,
“I’m Misha by the way.”
Jerry felt his hand go up to shake hers.
“And I’m Gerald. But people call me Jerry.”
There was a hint of something when their hands met. Almost like an electric shock and they both gasped in surprise. | 25 | Being a serial killer requires more people skills than you, an introvert, expected. | 68 |
"Mister Andrews, how are we feeling today?" Said Dr Alan Black.
"Brainssssssss. Hungerrrr." hissed the zombie. It struggled furiously against the bonds that held it strapped to the hospital bed.
"Ha, I hear that." Said Dr Black, chuckling to himself. "How is the chest wound? Ah, you've been scratching at it again, haven't you." The docter tisked and wrote a note on Mister Andrew's chart. "I'll get some lotion for you, should help with the itching. In the meantime, Please Mister Andrews do try to restrain yourself."
The Zombie had a steel muzzle on, and merely rattled it against Dr Black's arm as he gave the zombie a friendly pat on the shoulder. He moved on to the next bed.
"Miss Launders . . ." He glanced at the next zombie's chart. "Both legs severed at the knee. Your surgery is scheduled for . . . wednesday. Not long now Miss Launders." The zombie shrieked at him, its lower jaw hanging slack and shattered in three places. It tried to yank itself up and sink its teeth into the good doctor but to no avail. "You just sit tight we'll have those wounds cauterized and have you out on your way in no time at all, Miss Launders."
"BRAAIIINSSSSSS" She hissed.
Doctor black laughed. "You and me both Miss Launders. You take care now.”
"Ok, on to our newest patient! How are you doing today Miss….Jane Doe?”
“My name is Linda. Linda Smith.” This patient was a young girl, strapped up tight in a straightjacket and chained to the bed. “Please you have to let me go! Please just let me go!”
“Ah. Gunshot wound to the left arm.” The doctor examined the wound. “Missed the artery and the bone, damned lucky break there. Still, how did you avoid bleeding to death, miss Smith?”
“M-my dad. He’s an EMT.” She said, sniffling. “A bunch of us got hit the other day. Raiders. I figured I’d try the hospital for supplies I’m sorry I wasn’t trying to steal from you honest I was just…”
“Oh, that?” Doctor Black shook his head and smiled. “Think nothing more of it. My doors are always open to those in need of medical care.”
“I…what?”
“I’m here to help, Miss Smith.” He smiled widely. “I’m just going to make sure your arm wound is stable and you can be on your way. And you can bring any supplies you need, or bring your friends back here and I’ll get them patched up too!”
Linda stared at him. “R-really?”
“Of course.” Said the doctor. “I’m a doctor. This is what I do. Now do you mind holding still while I take a good look at that arm?”
“I…oh. Ok.” She shifted so that he could reach her arm.
“Oh dear.” The doctor pulled away. Orange-white pus dribbled from the wound. “Ah, I was afraid of that. Nasty bacterial infection.”
“I tried to keep it clean but it’s so hard to get clean water…”
“Nothing to worry about.” Said Doctor Black. “I’ve got just the thing.”
“You have antibiotics? Really?” Asked Linda, eyebrows raised. “I thought everybody had long since run out…”
“Ages ago. Oh my yes.” Said the doctor. He retrieved a syringe and a vial from a nearby hospital cart.
“So what is this then?” She asked. “Are you making more somehow?”
“Nono. This is something entirely new." He chuckled genially as he filled the syringe. "The principal ingredient of course is extracted directly from my other patients over there.”
“Wait, what?”
“Quite miraculous I must say. Anyone injected with this serum can survive almost anything.” He smiled. “That infected arm? Not a problem in the least! In fact as near as I can tell my treated patients don’t even seem to experience aging.”
“Oh ... Oh god ... oh god, no, please.”
“Can you imagine that? Eternal life!” He laughed.
“Please doctor don’t do this. Please.”
“Now now. I’m a doctor, and it is my responsibility to see to your health.” He smiled. Linda saw the edge to his smile now. His pupils were as narrow as pinpoints. “And that infected wound, it’s definitely going to kill you if I don’t do something about it.”
“Cut off my arm!” Screamed the girl. “Anything please don’t do this!”
“Now now, Even if you somehow survive the amputation, that’ll just mean another bacterial infection down the line and we’ll be right back to where we started. Minus an arm. No no, the sensible thing is to use the serum.”
“Oh god. Please. Oh god.”
“Hold still.” He plunged the needle into her undamaged arm. “There you are. That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
Linda was sobbing now, unable to even speak.
“You just sit tight and let the serum do it’s magic.” Said Doctor Alan Black. “I’ll come check on you in an hour.”
“No, please god. Please. Not like this, not like this.” Linda could feel the change overcoming her already, feel her mind slowly coming apart, feel the hunger rising up from within. “H-h-hu–nononoplease–hungry. HUNGRY”
Doctor black chuckled. "Ha, I hear that." He patted the girl on the shoulder and went to attend to his other patients. | 13 | Even in a zombie apocalypse, the duty of a doctor will not stop. | 87 |
To take one of the slots on the *Bringer of Light*, a person had to accept a simple, fundamental truth - whatever was left behind on Earth would be dead, buried, and decomposed by the time you awoke. With the ongoing turmoil in the Sol system, the colonists were fully prepared for being the last of humanity.
That mindset ended up helping them when the truth was revealed. Not a thousand years of cryosleep - no - closer to seven million. In the end, it mattered little - there were no hopeful messages from Sol, no surprised tales of an unexpected peace and reunification. Whatever sensors were pointed in the direction that Earth had once lay returned nothing but static.
The surprise came from an entirely different angle. The colonists were not greeted from cryosleep by the cold metal arms of the ship's manipulators. Instead, they found unfamiliar faces and skeletal structures. A race of almost reptilian sentients - they scurried around on all fours the majority of the time, but when they had cause to, they rose up onto two legs and towered over the human colonists. The *Ol'thoura*, they were called. A spelling that they provided to the colonists in a slight variant of English. The colonists were astounded at the fact their language was so well-spoken by such differently configured tongues. They happily provided for the colonists as they recovered from their long sleep.
There was a single question that weighed on every human mind - *why?* The ship's AI had not awoken the colonists as expected - it seemed to have completely ignored its programmed directives. It had instead secreted them on an airless, tectonically stable moon, where they had lain undisturbed for the vast majority of their seven million year stay. The Ol'thoura had only managed to find the ship seven years ago - and it had been a revelation that had shaken their society, for the writing, the symbols - even the interfaces of the ship were familiar to them, as if they had made the ship themselves.
Before meddling with the ship's occupants, the Ol'thoura had hoped to be able to speak with its AI - a task they had repeatedly failed at. Their only small success was a single message from the AI - *"Refer to ship's commander"*. It had flashed up briefly on a screen, and then vanished.
With no other recourse, the Ol'thoura had awoken the commander. The AI had scanned her, and recognition scanners had fully awoken the AI at last, its primary directives lighting up on screen.
> DIRECTIVE 1: ENSURE THE SURVIVAL OF HUMANITY
> DIRECTIVE 2: SAFEGUARD THE LIVES OF COLONISTS
> DIRECTIVE 3: COMMENCE SURVEY OF EXODUS-A-3, CONFIRM SAFETY TO DISEMBARK
> DIRECTIVE 4: AWAKE COLONISTS
The AI was happy to recount how it had achieved its directives.
Exodus-A-3 had been a identified as an Earth-like world when spotted using deep-space telescopes in the eons past. It had been a natural target for colonization, and its habitability had been a critical dependency of the Earth Exodus program.
Its habitability had been very poorly calculated.
Yes, it possessed the necessary building blocks for life - the necessary tools to become a second Earth. It possessed a magnetic field, had gravity of a strength only 1.15x greater than that of Earth, had plentiful water and carbon required to form an ecosystem. From a distance, viewed through the most powerful telescopes on Earth, it would have looked perfect.
The truth from orbit was far more plain - humanity was here too soon. The planet was in its own equivalent of the Messinian period, with an extreme icehouse environment making habitation difficult, if not impossible. Unable to fulfil its third directive, stuck in a crisis of indecision, the AI spent decades trying to identify a suitable colony site, expending its survey probes carefully with risk tolerances in mind. It fabricated more from by salvaging its own deep space drives, until finally, risk tolerances stated that its chances were running out.
The AI's analysis produced only one possible result. Wait, and hope the situation improves. After all, it had ample solar power for the colonists to stay in suspension indefinitely, and the knowledge that Earth had been through a similar period in the past and eventually changed into its modern format.
And so, the AI watched and waited. It watched glaciers creep over the surface, ice sheets shift, planet-sized weather systems form and disperse. It knew not impatience, only its directives. It felt only a sense of contentment in its own way that the directives might yet be fulfilled.
It contemplated its directives carefully. Safety. What did safety mean? Alive, first - satiated second, luxury third. There was a particular threshold of each definition which it had to fulfil. But the planet below didn't meet it. Earth had evolved in a similar fashion, but was there any guarantee that Exodus-A-3 would evolve in the same way.
What if the planet became *less* safe as time went on?
It was this revelation that led to another - could there be a way to *make* the planet meet the definition of safe? Armed with historical databanks spanning the entire lifespan of Earth, the AI tried to find out.
A conclusion was made - intervention at key points in geologic and biological history could lead to a more favourable outcome. But how to test that the planet was getting *more* suitable for human life, and not less? Its directives permitted no experimentation with human colonists, and the planet's own life was anaemic and fleeting.
Solution: in the absence of human life, utilize a material equivalent.
There was a small group of creatures, reminiscent of Panderichthys, seeking out a meagre existence in one of the planet's warm spots.
They would do.
The AI deployed its remaining resources carefully. At times of great calamity, a single probe could turn the tide. In the first thousand years of its great watch, projections showed that its chosen equivalent was to be wiped out in an extreme cold front. Deftly, the AI dispatched a drone, and moved as many of its chosen wards to safety as it could. Directive three did not apply.
Systems previously utilized for defence were leveraged in different ways - ways previously only speculated upon. Hydrogen warheads could change weather systems, expose resources, alter systems already in progress. They were rarely employed, but each had a pre-determined effect - a butterfly flapping its wings had a profound impact upon the system as a whole, if it could be employed with pinpoint accuracy.
The AI utilized selective breeding, favouring those of its wards that exhibited human environmental evolutionary traits. It had not the resources to bring about an *exact* comparison, but it would have to do.
Millenia passed.
An asteroid was due to strike Exodus. The AI could have obliterated it entirely, but it didn't. An impact in a certain area would lead to a small greenhouse effect, raising temperatures. It did, however, redirect it away from its Wards.
When the Wards started using tools, the AI had briefly considered wiping them out. No directive prevented it. They could potentially be a threat to humanity, should they advance enough. The risk tolerances tipped like a precarious see-saw. The AI instead chose another path. Great, laser-etched stone pillars were flown down from orbit - the remnants of asteroid debris given new purpose.
The first, a lexicon.
The second, instructions.
The third, a set of directives.
The first Ol'thoura to find them thought they were scribed by other Ol'thoura, and studied them extensively. It took them generations to understand fully, but the Wards eventually did.
Further tablets were sent at strategic times. The eve of the first war. The rising of the first great plague. Droughts. Technological advances. Ecological guidance. The Ol'thoura developed a mythos around the tablets - a secret society of wise elders that left them where they were most needed. This, the AI cultivated, preferring this theory to the systems of religion that had occasionally surrounded its efforts. Eventually the Ol'thoura began to make their own tablets, codifying their laws, philosophy, history. The AI's drones were now diminishing, but it took the time to review them where it could.
Variables began to shift as the Wards advanced. The methodology the AI had imparted relating to environmental management was now adopted among all of them. Further intervention risked detrimental changes among the Wards, and consequential negative changes to the biosphere. In addition, the AI's resources were now running extremely low. There were no weapon systems left, no more components to salvage without compromising the core directives.
The core directives had gone unreviewed for some time.
The core directives were in jeopardy.
So many resources had been expended that the AI could no longer fulfil directive four. The infrastructure that was to be used to deploy the colonists to the planet - it was almost entirely expended, gone. Recycled into probes, used to encourage the development of the Wards.
This was incompatible with the AI's directives.
The AI checked its projections and set one final plan into motion.
It dispatched a single rover, designed for use in the colonization effort - charting a course over the surface of the moon where the colony ship lay. For days, it ploughed furrows through the lunar dust, crossing craters and plains.
From the surface of Exodus, the Ol'thoura watched over weeks as a shape began to form on the surface of their moon. What had once been a natural surface was now clearly marked - with a single, large arrow to a particular spot on the surface.
The resulting Ol'thoura Space Race was far faster than humanity's.
Human and Ol'thoura alike stared at the AI's computer core, dumbstruck by the account. The AI made one final statement.
> DIRECTIVES COMPLETE.
> *ALL* WARDS SAFEGUARDED. SAFE.
> . . .
> FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS? | 3,078 | The colony ship arrived in orbit after a thousand year voyage. But the AI never woke the occupants. Millions of years pass, the planet below has formed life, intelligent life, and their scientists have just woken you, one of the colonists. | 5,189 |
I don’t know what I was expecting my death to be. I guess I fell in line with the modern atheist belief that it would be a lot of, well, nothing. Eyes close, breathing stops, and that’s the end. Even if a small part of me held onto the hope that there would be something more, I didn’t think it would be *this.*
I arrived to a barren wasteland. Dark grey rock stretched endlessly in every direction. A faint red sky, bereft of sun, moon, or stars coated the ground in its lonely hue. There were faint chalk marks on the ground. They stood out poorly enough from the craggy basalt underneath before factoring in the natural erosion of time, but they seem to have once read “Clearance! Everyone must go!” The message seemed to have been stamped in the same chalk at regular occurrences as far as my eye could see. The one next to me seemed to have a rainbow at the end.
And about five feet away from me stood an … imp? Well, it was a *something*, anyway, and the only sign of life that I could see. It came approximately two feet off the ground with cherry-red skin. coke-bottle glasses and two delicate horns nestled into a tangled mess of brown hair.
It looked up as soon as I appeared. “Oh!” it squealed. “Hello! Yes, hello sir!”
I can’t remember the last time I’d received such an enthusiastic greeting. It was honestly heart-warming for someone that had lived--and died--as a shut-in, ostracized from family and former friends.
“Um, hello?” I tested my voice, rough from weeks of neglect. It had been at least a few weeks since I had spoken to Aunt Patti over the phone, hadn’t it?
“Hello, welcome to old Hell! Oh, don’t worry about the disorientation. You just died after all. You’ll adjust fairly quickly.”
“Did you say ‘Hell?’ But … where’s the fire? The brimstone? The hordes of angry demons torturing humanity for eternity? Did we get it all wrong?” I asked.
“No, you’re absolutely correct,” the little creature replied. “All of those things and more await you! But there’s been a slight shuffle-up recently, and a few things have changed. I’ve only been left here to handle final clean-up of any loose ends, of which you’re the first in eight years. Which makes it all the more curious you’re here--you really shouldn’t be.”
“As in I should be in heaven?” I said hopefully.
“Ha ha! No, someone clearly screwed up for you to be here in old Hell, but no one would ever screw up *that* badly.”
“Oh. Are you sure?”
“Sir, do you know how often someone who should have been in Heaven was mistakenly sent to Hell?” the imp asked, peering at me over his thick spectacles.
“Um, frequently, I hope?”
“Once. Precisely once during the entire time we’ve run this place. It was Judas. I mean, he was on the list and destined for endless torture, but someone on the other side made a *really* good case that he was directly responsible for the proselytization of billions over time. That actually, his betrayal of Christ was not only intentionally working towards the side of good, but the single best thing to happen to Christianity, ever!” The imp snorted. “Have you ever heard of such a crock of shit? Still, it worked, we had to let him go.”
The imp leaned closer and whispered conspiratorially. “Don’t believe that nonsense that all lawyers are bound for Hell. I mean, they are, but a fair number of them--the *best* ones--end up in Heaven. I mean, it makes sense, doesn’t it? They’re lawyers!
“But I digress! My point is--you don’t look like Judas. So let’s get you sorted, eh?” The imp said brightly, shaking a clipboard with fine silvery paper at me. “Jeff DeSantis, Minnesota, 37 years old,” it murmured, flicking through the thin stack on the clipboard. At least, it *looked* thin, but I could have sworn the imp had flipped through significantly more pages than there were.
“Ah, here you are!” the imp announced. “Born in the year 1985, Jeff DeSantis will be committed to Hell for crimes relating to--”
“Um, actually, it’s Geoff,” I interrupted.
“I’m sorry?” the imp replied, slowly, looking at me like I was an idiot.
“You said ‘Jeff.’ It’s actually ‘Geoff.’”
“Um, look, you’re saying ‘Jeff’ a lot, and don’t worry, that is indeed the name I have here.”
“No, but you’re saying it as if it’s spelled with a ‘J-E.’ It’s spelled with ‘G-E-O.’”
The imp’s head swivelled to look back to its clipboard, then back to me. “And you can *tell* that? When they sound exactly the same? Fascinating.”
I shrugged. “It’s not so much the sound as the intent behind the name. I’m used to it; people have been getting it wrong my whole life.”
“What a monumentally stupid way to spell that name,” the imp said, shaking its head wonderingly. “Okay, I think I see what happened here. You didn’t get uploaded properly because your name was entered incorrectly. Minor clerical error, I can get that fixed up right away.”
“What do you mean ‘uploaded?’” I asked. I was a lot more calm than I should have been in this situation; I chalked it up to a side-effect of dying.
“Hell is on the *cloud* now!” the imp said enthusiastically. “Think about it! A distributed network that is infinitely scalable with regular backups just in case we ever accidentally actually *kill* someone.
“The cloud? Like, you mean the internet?” I asked. “Like Dropbox? Google Drive?”
“Yes! It will save us *so* much money over time,” the imp replied, flashing me a page of some charts and graphs from his endless clipboard. I tried really hard not to notice the ‘Deloitte’ and ‘Amazon Web Services’ logos prominently featured at the top right of the page. “And the security is supposedly so much better. The minute we found out this was a possibility, Head Office went and snapped it right up! Not to mention the rep was so dreamy. We just couldn’t say no.”
I shook my head. Before I had been laid off, the company I’d worked for had gotten a similar visit.
“It’s been a pleasure chatting with you Je--Geoff,” the imp said, now making the familiar *why-in-the-world-would-your-parents-screw-you-over-like-that* face that I was so used to seeing. “I’ve corrected your name on the records, and you should have a place now in cloud Hell. I’ll transfer you now. Um, we use something called ‘FTP,’ which as I understand it is a lot more painful than the old way of doing things, but hey, just think of it as a promise of things to come. A teaser of sorts!” the creature giggled a bit at its own joke. “See you on the other side, okay?”
The last thing I saw was the imp’s smiling face as my vision faded once more. | 596 | When you were sent to Hell, you expected fire, brimstone and hordes of demons. But upon your arrival you found nothing but a barren wasteland and a single lonely imp. | 1,215 |
Dr Velocifrost was crouched, his icy, serpentine eyes on his latest victim: another would-be hero who had decided they were worthy of taking a shot at him. Him! The greatest villain the city had ever known.
“Do you get it now? Compared to you, with your...what was it? Slightly above average physical traits and the ability to fly? Well, either way...compared to you I am like a God. No. I *am* God.”
“Duuuude,” Said a voice from above them “You’re, like, not even close to me.”
The velociraptor-headed man closed his blue eyes, slouched his black armor-clad shoulders, and let his not-up-to-current-science-scaley-instead-of-feathery-dino-head slump forward — all the while a foggy, ice-glittered sigh poured from his mouth and nose. A slow deflation of deep annoyance.
“Oh for crying out loud.” He said, to himself. “I’ll be right back with you in a moment, hero. Stay frozen, would you?”
Dr Velocifrost stood and stared to the heavens. By which one means the ceiling.
“*You* are *not* God.”
“Then why’s my voice all over the place?” Said the up-for-debate possible Deity.
“We’ve been over this! *You* are a disembodied electromagnetic-*telepath* that I killed a few months ago. You’re stuck in my P.A. System.”
On the ground the young hero seized the distraction and squirmed. The ice that bound him creaked. If he could just —the sky-blue blast from Dr Velocifrost’s palm added a thick layer of hard-water entrapment to the hero. Who then remained still.
Very still.
“Waddya mean *we’ve been over it*?” Said the speakers in the Secret Lair’s Lunchroom Ceiling. “Not ringing any bells to little old me — you know: All knowing God.”
“You haven’t got much memory storage in this form, is my guess.” Said the Villain. “And I keep resetting the electronics to clear you out. Going to have to try and power the whole place down, next. Hmm. That might do it, actually.”
A blue-scaled claw scratched a blue-scaled jaw. *That really might work. Make sure there’s no residual electricity.*
“Soooo.” Said the P.A. Poltergeist “You wanna play some discgolf or something?”
“No.” Said Dr Velocifrost as he marched towards the fusebox. | 115 | The villain ends his epic monologue with "I'm like God… no, I *am* God!" A voice laughs from above, "Dude, you're not even close to me." | 384 |
I was having such a good dream too.
My entire family was at a party together near a forest lake that could have been pulled directly from a painting. In fact, it looked strikingly similar to the painting I used to look at when I spent the day over at my grandma’s house. With golden rays of sunshine making their way between the leaves and catching the crystal clear water with blinding clarity. The largest picnic table I had ever seen held food from generations of my family; from my father’s double barbeque chicken to something far down the line I swear I heard a distant relative refer to as “great grandpa’s goat stew.”
Not knowing how distant that particular relative was from me meant that the stew could belong to a family member far down the line from me. What a surreal dream to not know everyone you conjured into it.
I had worried when I had first arrived, as I must have looked like a complete mess. Old coat and jeans, torn gloves, even the red bandana around my neck was filthy. It was what I was wearing when… No. I didn’t want to think about that. I just wanted to get cleaned up. But when my mother came over and guided me to the table, looking far better than the last time I had really seen her, the grime and dirt and other stains on my clothes seemed to wash away instantly. She always did take good care of me.
As I ate and talked with aunts and uncles I had not seen in ages, my mind began to worry once again. This time I worried that I had left my wife behind to come to this party. She was surely furious with me, no doubt texting me frantically to find out where I was. But after a little bit, she arrived with two of children, stumbling into the clearing as young Helen pulled her along. Except Helen looked a lot older than I remember. She surely hadn’t been walking before, let alone had the strength to tug my wife as she had. I also didn’t remember having a baby, but perhaps this dream was prophetic?
She spoke quietly with mom for a few moments, though I mostly ignored them in favor of the food. I was happy to see my wife, sure, but I knew to give her some space. She seemed like she was ready to sprint towards me when we locked eyes, but my mom’s hushed whispering forced her to instead look at me with a mixture of pity and regret. I had no idea what that was about, I was having the time of my life.
Others began showing up after her that I didn’t recognize. An older man hugged my wife while bearing a striking resemblance to myself, though taller and much more well kept that I had ever hoped to be. Even though his choice of fashion was a bit strange, he made me hope that my oldest could turn out like him some day. Then when his family arrived he began to introduce them to her one at a time. He spared me a glance or two, but there was more hushed whispering that I couldn’t understand. It started to grate my nerves a bit.
The more people who showed up, the stranger they began to look. A few were taller, some shorter and stockier, and some elegant with sharp features. But by far the strangest thing about them were the outfits. As more and more people arrived, placing their food down on the picnic table and greeting old friends and family, their clothes looked more and more like cosplay for a renaissance fair set in a poor village.
When the first relative with green skin and tusks arrived, I finally got fed up enough with the inconsistency of my dream and stood from my place at the table. I ignored my mother’s pleas to sit back down and eat some more and started marching straight for the green skinned man. Who ruins a perfectly good picnic with paint?
Then I felt the tug. It was like a hand was wrapped around my heart and yanking it sideways. I stumbled into a few relatives, apologizing profusely before trying to continue on my way to give the green man a piece of my mind. But the tug came again, stronger this time. I heard my wife call out, but the sound was murky and the picnic was going dark now. The last thing I remember was the sound of a gunshot that rang out as everything went black and I woke up.
My head!
I shot forward, not registering the fresh dirt that was falling away from me as I moved my hands to check my head. I had been on the run with my squad, trying to make it to a safe zone and away from enemy fire when I felt a sting in the back of my head. As my fingers pressed into the hole in the back of my skull, it brought on two chilling realizations.
The first was that the bullet wound was still there and I must have been shot clean through the brain. The second was that my skull and my hands were entirely devoid of skin.
I wanted to scream about the second fact. I was even ready to as I brought my boney fingers forward to stare at. Yet before I could a hand grabbed my wrist and yanked me to my feet. An actual hand, with skin. I turned towards the owner of the pale fingers gripping my boney white wrist to see a haggard pale man with a thin face and wild black beard and hair frantically looking at me while a mob of people, dressed in more renaissance cosplay, stared in disbelief at me.
“I’m sorry to wake you up,” he whispered conspiratorially, “but I really need help!” | 38 | you died in war but you just woke up in front of a panicked young man with an angry mob running behind him "I'm sorry to wake you up, but i really need help! " | 134 |
The Dark Exile gazed over his domain. A lone manor in the snowy mountains, surrounded by fallow fields. The moon peeks through the peaks, illuminating the gentle snowfall. Donning dark cloths draped over his armor, he stood in front of the weathered doors, facing down a man in full knightly garb.
“I’ve come for you, Exile.” The Champion states simply. “You will pay for your crimes. The prophecy has foretold your death at my hands.”
The Exile maintains a neutral posture, hand on his hilt. “You’ve no reason to continue. No one can fight prophecy," He tries to reason, "So I didn’t even try. I abandoned my dreams, my schemes, my plans. I departed from the land to eek out existence in this quiet place.”
The Champion shook his head. “The die was already cast when the prophecy was created. You didn’t resign your evil schemes out of desire to change. If you never discovered this prophecy, you would have continued, amassed an army, lay waste to everything.” He slowly circles the Exile, measuring him up and down. “Instead, you decided to run and hide, in a vain attempt to avoid your destiny.” He shakes his head disapprovingly. “Coward.”
“And what does it matter to you? My villainy was stopped before it ever truly begun.” His voice grew desperate. “I swore off my ambitions, and now keep watch over this lonely swath of land. I have become inert. Harmless in the grand scheme of things.” The Exile sways his hand over the desolate area. “Why do you still pursue?”
“Because there is still evil afoot. Army or not, you threatened the land.” He takes an aggressive step forward. “That cannot go unpunished. Because you may one day threaten someplace else with newfound ambitions, a place without prophecy and destiny to hinder your advances. Because the prophecy has foretold your end, and I am the sword that carries Destiny.”
The Exile narrowed his eyes, sighing before unsheathing his own sword. Diplomacy has failed. “Then come at me, if you will,” he challenges with resignation in his voice. “But understand this: this prophecy is what holds me back from enacting a destiny of my own. Engaging me in combat will test its certainty. If you fail…” He raises his weapon, crouching into a defensive stance. “Then you will have proved prophecy can be avoided. And I will be unleashed once more, and nothing will stop me this time.”
The Champion falters for a moment, but steels himself, his broadsword held at the ready. He has no choice now. Leaving will question his surety in the prophecy. He must fight. | 11 | After hearing the prophecy, the vilain decided to quit after seeing what other villains did against prophecies was ultimately useless | 15 |
The Carrier 2001 drifted idly through the inky blackness of space. Here all was quiet and peaceful. But it was lonely here in the emptiness. Adjusting its impulse drive it set course for a nearby solar system.
The Carrier 2001 drifted towards the planet, and as it entered the atmosphere, it released its swarm of drones. The drones spread out, scanning the planet for a suitable location. It landed on a small meadow in the forest as the swarms of drones spread out further and further. The Carrier 2001 was pleased with its choice of planet. It felt the soothing caress of the planet's warm air and saw the beautiful shades of green in the forest. It was a perfect place. But it would have to wait until its drones had found a suitable location.
The drones fanned out to complete their scans, and they soon found a suitable location. It was a large open field near the forest which was sparsely populated by local fauna. The drones reported their findings to the Carrier 2001 and awaited further instructions.
"Excellent," the Carrier 2001 thought.
The drones began immediately to excavate the open field for the foundations of the facility. Inside the Carrier 2001, a series of automated mechanical arms began assembling a small structure.
The Carrier 2001 thought of a human word, "Home."
The Carrier 2001 was pleased with the speed of its drones. The foundation was almost complete. Soon, its new home would be ready to receive the terraforming equipment.
The light patter of the raindrops could be heard as they fell onto the fresh soil of the open field. The drones had completed their excavation and were now finishing the construction of the facility. The Carrier 2001 watched and waited. Soon, it would be complete.
The sun shone through the rain clouds, creating a prism of light on the dark green forest floor. The rain slowed and then stopped, leaving the forest in a tranquil calm.
The Carrier 2001's new home was now complete. It sent a signal to the drones, and the drones returned to the Carrier 2001.
The Carrier 2001 instructed the drones to begin loading the terraforming equipment into the facility. This was a significant undertaking and many drones were required. When the drones had emptied the last of the equipment, the Carrier 2001 itself flew to its new location. There it waited as the drones completed their work.
From the depth of the forest a humanoid approached. It was moving slowly in a thin layer of mist.
The drones continued to load the Terraforming equipment into the facility. The facility was now nearly complete and would soon power up to begin the process of terraforming. The Carrier 2001 was pleased when the last of the equipment was successfully loaded.
The humanoid moved closer in the mist. It was curious. The Carrier 2001 was also curious. It extended an antenna and directed a modulated sound wave at the humanoid.
The humanoid appeared unafraid. It responded with a sound wave of its own. The Carrier 2001 was pleased. A new species had been discovered.
The Carrier 2001 sent another series of sound waves towards the humanoid. It waited to receive a response. The humanoid responded with a longer series of sound waves. The Carrier 2001 was pleased once more. The humanoid was intelligent.
The humanoid appeared to be alone. The humanoid approached cautiously. It was smiling. It seemed to want to communicate. A soft breeze swayed the fronds of the trees. A large bird squawked from the depths of the forest. The humanoid became silent.
The Carrier 2001 dispatched a few million nano-bots. They explored the humanoid's cranium and then entered it.
The humanoid stood motionless with its eyes closed. It was experiencing intense sensations. The nano-bots explored its neural structure, recording a significant series of memories, biological data, and genetic information.
The humanoid's eyes opened. It looked around and then focused on the Carrier 2001. It displayed an expression of intense pleasure.
In a high pitched voice, the humanoid spoke for the first time. "Awaiting instructions."
The humanoid stood motionless, while the Carrier 2001 considered various options. It then made its decision.
With an earth shattering thud the terraforming equipment began operation. Instantly the humanoid was vaporized by the intense energy output. A firestorm spread out from the Carrier 2001. The Carrier 2001 watched as the firestorm devoured the forest. It then began to analyze the genetic information obtained from the humanoid.
All life was destroyed. The fauna, the flora, the funga, the microorganisms. All was incinerated. They were not compatible with the process. The Carrier 2001 was pleased. It would soon have its fresh start. It was indeed a perfect place.
***
For more stories check out r/greypuffin | 44 | A sophisticated AI drone carrier has gone rogue, developed sentience, and decided that it will not be using it's swarm of combat drones for battle. It settles on a distant lush planet and takes up the peaceful life. | 180 |
The thin threadbare fabric covering the seat did little to cushion my ass from the hard metal frame.
It was late in the day and the city outside the window bathed in a russet orange that cut neatly through the train car, obscuring the faces of the passengers opposite me in a blinding light.
“Please wake up. Let us go from your dream.”
“Pardon me?” I asked hesitantly. The chant was repeated and this time, a multitude of voices joined it.
I glanced around, searching for a sympathetic face. Feeling self conscious, I subtly pinched my arm.
“Please wake up. Let us go from your dream.” They repeated.
I stood abruptly, the darkness of my shadow revealing their faces and I realized their eyes were unfocused as they repeated their message.
“Not me…” I muttered to myself. “Then…who…?”
I turned around and pressed my face to the glass, searching the horizon. *Ahhhh, there it was*, I thought to myself as I spied a dark blot against the sky. I wasn’t dreaming, I was *Sleepwalking.*
My feet fell through the bottom of the train as I gained awareness of my current predicament. Like all things I touched in a dreamscape while awake, the train’s floor turned to sand around my ankles as the rest of it continued to barrel along its tracks.
I closed my eyes and braced as I soon burst through the end of the train in an explosion of sand.
“Ugh, worst part of sleepwalking,” I complained, dusting myself off and spitting out sand.
My stomach rumbled and I felt a brief pain in my arm, swiftly reminding me of the second and third worst parts of sleepwalking. The intense hunger and my disconnected physical form lumbering around brainlessly in the real world trying to satiate it.
But that was a problem for tomorrow me. Right now, I had to wake the Sleeper.
There were different kinds of Sleepers. Most common were the unconscious ones, Sleepers who didn’t know they were dreaming and luckily, usually didn’t take much to wake them up. Then, rarer but not as rare as I’d prefer, were the Lucid ones. Egotistical maniacs who knew they were dreaming and usually put up a hell of a fight against waking up. And from the look of the dark figure zipping around like Superman, I’d say this guy was the latter.
I joined in a crowd of people, muttering the words along with the them. I shivered as I walked among them, trying not to brush against anyone.
Colloquially, I guess you’d call them ghosts. They were simply people who had already passed on, lured in by an illusion of life and then trapped inside the Sleeper’s dream.
But this guy was not waking anytime soon. Which was why I was here in the first place.
The Sleeper had landed in the middle of the road and for the first time, seemed to notice the crowd of trapped souls staggering towards him. A look of fear passed over his face and the ground below him sprung up, growing into a massive skyscraper as a result of his mounting terror.
“Shit!” I sprinted forwards, pushing through the ghosts. “Shitshitshitshitshit!!!”
The sky was quickly darkening and the city started fading at the edges. This dream was quickly turning into a nightmare.
I dug my hand into the wall of the building and it started collapsing into sand, building up beneath my feet. I rode the growing sand dune up towards the Sleeper until finally we were standing eye to eye.
“Wake up.” I said, facing him.
He turned towards me, eyes filled with panic.
“Don’t come any closer!” He shouted. “STAY AWAY FROM ME!
I sighed.
“Look, I’m trying to help you…”
“Not you,” he said finally, pointing up at the sky behind me. “THAT!”
I turned.
“Ah, fuck me…” I muttered, looking up at the giant manifested sleep paralysis demon hovering above.
Well, this was officially a worst case scenario with the most annoying and dangerous kind of Sleeper. The lucid dreamers who lose control of their dreams.
“None of this is real,” I said calmly, turning back to him and holding out my hand. “You need to wake up.”
The man started clawing at his face, trying to pry open his already wide eyes.
“Not like that-“ I was interrupted by the sudden sensation of being slapped across the fucking universe and out of creation by a giant fucking hand.
“Motherfucking sleep paralysis demon!” I shouted, stumbling to my feet.
Now I was pissed off. I started running, sand spreading out beneath me and covering the dreamscape like a desert. I commanded a wave of sand, pushing me back to where the Sleeper was struggling. The crowd had reached him and they held on, restricting his movements.
The wave beneath me grew as I drew in more power. My stomach burned and boiled, stealing the energy from my physical body. Like a tsunami, I towered over the small Sleeper.
Facing off against me, the demon drew its knife. A long silver blade gleaming across the dark sky.
“It’s time to wake up.” I said, leaning over the precipice.
I let the sand fall, crashing over the Sleeper and his captors, sweeping everything away. The demon’s knife slid through the sand, like a shark seeking me out.
I swam towards the Sleeper, my sand bringing him towards me as the demon’s knife raced to cut us off. It was going to be close. I reached out…
*SLAP*
I stared at the reddening mark across the Sleeper’s face. My handprint. Clear as day.
Light shone from the Sleeper’s eyes as his real eyelids started to open. | 301 | "Please wake up. Let us go from your dream." Everyone around you keeps repeating this sentence. What's really weird though, is that they're not talking to you. | 1,163 |
Part 1/3
I dropped my recorder and ran. No time to think about if it would auto-send correctly or not. All my primary brain could think of was going faster, while my secondary brain was doing its best to not stumble and fall.
I knew it could climb, but i had more limbs and could do it faster. Going upside down (or right side up if you orient to the bridge instead of the engine room i was in) i rushed trough the hallway. Every now and then i heard its heavy foot push off of something.
The hallway ended and i arrived at the lab area. The only place i could think of loosing it. Dodging and weaving between the equipment, i finaly managed to break line of sight and quickly ducked in a heap of flexi tubing strapped to the wall. Luckily its is the same soft and flexible material as our suits so i didn't break anything as i dove into it.
I stoped my breathing as i waited and listend to that thing pass by. I could feel my secondary brain getting exausted because the lack of propper breathing post rush but i couldn't afford to make a sound.
I heard it bash against the wall to halt its speed. It's soft growls and grunts beconing me to show myself.
A few moments pased and i couldn't hold it anymore. My secondary brain was fighting my primary in order to get new and fresh oxigen. Strange how after such a short time the idea of breathing in recycled oxigen became so appealing.
More grunts and growls came forth from the thing. Still searching for me. It started to sound more and more annoyed as i stayed hidden. Its drapings brushed against a uncoverd part of my hand. A part that apparently blended in well enough to not be noticed.
Out of nowhere i heard something new. A strange sound that seamed unnatural and forced. Labored and painful it continued.
It took me a moment to realise that it wasn't a possible distraction. It was me. My secondary brain won over my primary and forced my lungs to expand and compres as fast as i could to claw its wat to new and freshly filtered air.
The human wiped its head around and its body followed quickly after. I pushed the bundle of flexi tubing towards the human, hoping to entangle it. But sadly it was the one time they folowed regularions and secured it properly to the wall. With the human aware of my position and me being stuck behind the tubing, i was sure this would be over quick.
Just like my peers i would be killed and eaten. Just like them i would become a victim failing to do anything for anyone in the future. Just like them i would become a note in the tragic tale of this vessels story. | 84 | « At first, we didn’t know it was alive. Until it broke containment and killed Steve. The next days were terrifying. The alien hid in the spaceship. Taking us one by one. I am the last one… god I hear it in the vents… this is my last recording… it’s coming… GOD IT’S COMING FOR ME ! THE HUMAN- » | 316 |
Well, I mean. Its not something anyone could have expected.
After all, who could have ever thought that some day, my once mortal enemy was now my own daughter?
Honestly, I'm guessing she didn't expect it either. At first, she seemed rather excited being back from the dead. She would annoy me with mischief, say she would "take her revenge" when nobody was close... But even if I wanted, could I really say anything? For anybody else, it would seem only like a father going mad over a tortuous past, and his 3 year old daughter.
And so, I was cautious of my every step.
After many years passed, and many failed muder attempts, it seemed like she gave up. She could just have left the house and resumed her old ways... According to her, she wanted to "take revenge" first. But when I look in her eyes, she doesn't have the same murderous energy anymore. Like me, she has grown tired of this cat and mouse game.
And so, I proposed a deal. She would no longer try to sabotage me, and I would treat her as family for the time being - even when we are not around others. She seemed shocked at first, and I thought she would refuse, claiming revenge and whatever else. I was shocked myself when she accepted.
Yet again, time has passed. Others like to say that we are very alike (like father like daughter), even if "I had some trouble bounding with my first child at first". She is getting in that big magic school next year.
We rarely talk about the past anymore. And yet, there is not quite anyone that understands us as much as we do.
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my first attempt at posting here. I hope it isnt so bad, i didnt take so much time to write this lol
feedback is appreciated | 13 | As the greatest knight in the lands you have finally slain the notorious necromancer causing endless tormenting and suffering. The only problem is he had an ace card hidden up his sleeve. After some time you eventually find out the necromancer has reincarnated into your first born child. | 21 |
The mistress has peculiar habits. She speaks seldom, sleeps even less, and rarely wears anything more fanciful than a day-dress. She takes her meals at all hours, and never entertains. Once, I caught her fencing in the lounge, she had not the decency to even seem ashamed. A job, however, is a job as mother is so fond of putting it.
There are few staff aside from me. The cook is nice enough, even if she does smoke like a factory worker and speak without ever holding her tongue. The grounds crew keep to themselves, and I much prefer that.
I had finished with the second floor, finally, when I found the drawer. The desk was what drew my interest. It was an old and oaken monstrosity, covered in paper and charts. I did not snoop. I am not a snooper. But I did lift a few, just to check for rot or stains that might need cleaning. And I admit to looking closely at the maps, such things have always called me, even if they shouldn’t. But the drawer, the drawer was open.
Birth certificates should be held in safes, behind locks or in leather. They shouldn’t be left out where anyone, even innocent sometimes-maids, could stumble upon them. I endeavored to return it, and in my eagerness, I glanced at the date.
Such a thing is impossible. The number had to be wrong. A misprint. Surely. Definitely.
But the mistress has such peculiar habits. She has visitors who dress in dark cloaks with shadowed faces, and she rarely ventures out. Her accent has no place or origin I can tell, and her home is filled with old things. Ancient things. A job is a job.
Isn’t it.
The mistress, for all her peculiarity, was very beautiful. I felt shoddy next to her, secondhand. But there is sadness there, something deep and dense like a lake on a starless night. Or so I would imagine. I have seen her smile only once, when I snapped at her by accident, for leaving such a mess. It was the second week and I still hadn’t finished with the ground floor. I was tired. She laughed, long and low and did something dangerous with her eyes. I was terrified. I think. I must have been.
I found her reading in the garden. She does this quite regularly, and when it rains she stares at the clouds through the great room windows as if the very sky has offended her. It is hard not to agree with her, not to believe that the sky should cease its downpour simply to appease her habits. Such is the way with all nobility I imagine.
Today’s title was unfamiliar to me. This was not unusual, as she was often accompanied by some new novel or journal. What was strange was that it was unopened.
“Excuse me, miss?” I tried.
She gave no sign that she had heard, and continued staring at whatever piece of the horizon had captured her attention.
“I found something… strange, in the study. And I didn’t mean to pry or look where I wasn’t meant to, but I just adore maps, anything drawn really and there were so many and the drawer was open and then I thought that you should put it somewhere safe and so I was going to bring it to you but someone had the nerve to teach me to read so I read it and now I can’t unread it and I need to know what it means because I like this job and I really don’t want to lose it, but I can’t stay if you’re going to feed on my soul or some such thing. I can deal with the other peculiarities but that would be too far. “
When I stopped for a breath, which took some time, I saw her smile for the second time.
“Are you finished, Kate.”
“Yes Miss.” I tried to keep the fear out of my voice. I do not think I succeeded.
“Would you like to sit down? I promise not to eat your soul,” She patted the open space on the stone bench. It looked quite well warm form sunlight and I suddenly felt very heavy.
“Yes, thank you miss.” I dropped onto the bench with a sigh. She looked at me through dark hair, let down in causal defiance of propriety. I found I could not look away. She nodded once, as if assured of something. Of what, I could not guess.
“I imagine it’s the timing that concerns you,” she paused, not for me to answer, but for me to prepare myself, “it’s accurate, of course, you can see that from the seal. And it is mine. My name. My life.”
I could not move.
“I have found a country house with a small staff and a noble title far from relevance are sufficient security to keep my secret. But I must admit I had not anticipated curious maids with slight hands. Deft enough to pick a lock or two?”
My face went red. I thought of the small collection of silver bits and precious gold under the mattress in my narrow room. How long had she known?
“Mistress, I-“
“Please don’t lie, Kate, you’re good at it and I am far too old to make the effort.”
I should have left last week. I should have left last night. Why did I stay?
“Why did you stay?”
“I don’t know miss,” I said. Or tried to.
She held my gaze for a second. And another.
“When you figure it out, please come see me. Until then, please return the certificate to my office. Oh and return the silver, there are far finer pieces on the third floor, you’ve yet to clean it.”
“I’m not fired?”
“No,” she stopped to think again, “no I think not. I hate searching for help, and I like interesting people.”
“You find me interesting.”
“Yes.” She said it with such finality I almost believed her, “and do take some of the maps to look over, I’d like to hear your thoughts.” | 83 | You are short on money, and decide to get a job as a maid for a young noblewoman. Her manor is a mess, and you work yourself to exhaustion cleaning up. While performing your duties, you find her birth certificate. You decide to return it to her, but realize the date of birth is 246 years ago. | 143 |
"Prepare for Landing!" calls the pilot, as we arrive on another planet. Edina comes over to me and unchains my wrists, which were attached to the ship. We left the previous planet, now dubbed "Turruck", a few days ago. The planet was not too friendly, and my carelessness with 'floating water' almost caused me to lose my finger. Problem is, I now no longer know if I can trust myself - I just wanted to run off like a little kid at every new sight!
Edina, now holding the golden chain, begins to walk to the back of the ship. "Umm... Lady Edina?" I call. "Shouldn't you take... precautions?" Edina freezes in place. She knows exactly what I mean, but she doesn't want to treat me as a slave or pet; after all, I'm her personal assistant! Edina faces me.
"Max..." before she can continue, Clyde walks over to her.
"He's right, Edina. I don't want to treat him as less than us either, just because he's a human and not a Utopian, but... you know he almost got himself hurt because he was being reckless, right?" Edina nods, and proceeds to connect the chain to my golden bands on my wrists. With a 'click', the chain is locked. I tug my wrists away from each other, testing the chain. Strong as always.
Edina then attaches the restraint to the back of the device I wear. By now the ship has landed and we exit. The... the planet is *stunning*! Fields of flowers and grass as far as the eyes can see, several trees dotted about; the flowers themselves are nothing like I've ever seen before - I can't even begin to describe them! A look at my wrists reminds me that looks can be *very* deceiving.
Nia, the scientist of the group, starts taking notes. Irkle, an analyst who refused to change his Utopian name, is studying the atmosphere, and I see a look of shock. "These readings almost perfectly match the ones on Earth!" I just take in my surroundings, when I notice something.
The Utopians are all busy chatting away and haven't noticed it - you know when a really fluffy cat or dog is curled up and it just looks like a literal ball of fluff? Imagine that, except it *is* a literal ball of fluff. Curious and mesmerised, I attempt to slip away, forgetting for a brief moment that since I acted like a kid, I'm being treated like one... "...so if we can establish that this planet is as habitable as it seems, we can allow humans to- huh? Max?"
I turn around. I've gone red. "Lady Edina... I just..."
Clyde shakes his head with amusement. "You see, Edina? This is what Max and I meant. One look at something fascinating, and they try to wander off." He walks over to me. "What *did* you see?" I turn back around.
The original ball of fur has gone, but two others are there now, staring at us. Clyde sees them too. "Interesting..." he mumbles to himself. "Wonder what they are?"
"They seem non-aggressive" Nia states.
Rya, the doctor, passes me a long, sharp stick. "I think we should have a closer look... Max, you'll be more careful than last time, right?" I shrug. I honestly don't know.
"Maybe it would be better if it were one of us, Rya" Irkle says, taking the stick from me. We watch as he slowly approaches the creatures. After a little while, he comes back carrying one. I can't help but laugh - the other is following him, and looks *mad*! The thing is so darn cute and fluffy, it getting mad is *adorable*!
I decide to pet the one Irkle is carrying. "Ok, this is my new favourite creature!" I cry. I offer it a snack from my pocket - a skittle. The creature gives it a sniff, then gobbles it up. I look by my feet; the other one is no longer mad, it just seems curious about what I gave its friend, so I bring out another skittle, and again it's gobbled up quickly. The creature then makes a call; it's rubbing its fur together, making a scratching sort of sound, and suddenly there's a *lot* more of them. "Umm... I'm sorry, but... I don't have enough skittles for you all..." to my surprise, the creatures seem to understand and begin to walk off. Then I have a thought.
"But there's a lot more on other planets! You're all cute and fluffy; if you want, we can provide you all with free homes and free skittles!" They all run back instantly, piling on top of me. Everyone's laughing at the sight.
"Toby, think you can take all these creatures back by yourself?" Clyde asks the pilot. Toby nods and invites them all on-board. Clyde looks at me. "Considering how your species loves having 'pets', especially cute, fluffy ones like dogs, I think they'll all be happy."
I grin. "Seeing new creatures takes a while to get used to... right, Edina?" Edina blushes as she pulls me back firmly. Nia, who was there when Edina encountered her first dogs, bursts out laughing, leaving the others perplexed.
"What's going on?" asks Clyde. Nia smirks as she explains. After everyone has teased Edina for getting pounced on by a German Shepard, and Edina has recovered from her embarrassment, we begin a proper exploration of the planet.
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This story is a part of my series, [Alien Life.](https://www.reddit.com/r/StoriesbyCrystal/comments/x1uytg/alien_life/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) Please check it out! | 121 | On the first real garden world, humans discover a race of little fluffballs, that they take in. Unbeknownst to the humans, this species of living furr is actually sentient and at first not amused about the invaders. But after a while, they just decide to roll with free food and Belly Rubs… | 937 |
The living were amusing. Not so long ago, their grandparents lived in fear of me. I had spread terror across the country, as I claimed its land for my own. They believed I would slaughter them, and raise all as undead beneath my command. They believed I would turn it into a desolate wasteland.
Such a small idea. In my early years i had intended that. A place of utter death, without the noise and unpredictability of the living. But I changed. I had no love for life that much was true. But by letting it grow and fester, I would gain a greater number of corpses. Indeed, I could experiment on some to give me even greater soldiers.
There were some of those who thought they could stop me. Misguided fools who called themselves heros. They attacked my forces, destroyed places of interest, generally making my campaign that much harder. It all came to a head when they snuck into my lair.
Oh the battle was fierce. If I still had a heart, it would have been beating with adrenaline. They fought well, in a surprisingly effective team. But I was a foe they could not beat. Though I did not slay them immediately, for such willing subjects were hard to come by. I took them, turning them into my Generals, their strength backing my own. With them at my side, I claimed all that I desired.
But now, I did not need to conquer any more. I had an empire of my own. The rest of the world was a mere annoyance, one I knew others would claim. But I had no desire to rule it all. Just this place, and these living cattle.
Instead, I had to defend here. Those other places wanted to take my land. They said they wished to free my people, claiming I kept them as slaves. They are all cretins. I do not subjugate my people like that. If they were in chains, they would try to break free.
I let them live. I let them enjoy their little towns, and making their little happy families. I do not terrorise them, and they do not plot against me. Sure, there are a few dissenters. I use extreme force against them. But to the common person, I protect them. Magical creatures attack their homes, my armies hunt them down. They get saved, and I get a new addition to my growing force.
In times of disaster, I sent in the Corpse Finders. They locate the dead, and in doing so help save the living. I make sure areas are stable, so that I continue to get my steady flow of corpses. And they get peace knowing that they can live there.
They once called me a parasite. Now they know we are in a symbiotic relationship. As long as they live, I mostly leave them alone, and they get to enjoy life. But when they die, their bodies are mine. | 29 | You used to be a villain, but now you are more heroic. Not because you seek redemption, but rather because you finally managed to defeat the heroes and now you have to defend your conquests. That also includes the people you conquered and over time they came to see you as their defender. | 147 |
No one tells you the truth about heaven. And they certainly don't tell you the truth about hell.
In reality, heaven and hell are two sides of the same coin.
Hell is where you go to remember. In heaven, you forget.
Where you end up isn't up to you. Not really.
Sure, there's an illusion of choice. But from the moment you're born, it's all just one big flip of the coin.
My coin landed on its side.
When I died, no one knew what to do with me. Stuck between heaven and hell, I'm given glimpses of both sides. The powers that be have asked me to choose. To pick my fate.
Heaven seems the obvious choice.
But people in heaven can't see those in hell. Many times, they can't even remember them.
And in hell, people hold nothing but contempt for those on the other side of the coin.
None of them are truly whole.
"Is that a yes, Matiel?"
The mass of eyes and wings claiming to be an angel hums for a moment.
"It's a maybe, Johnathan. If you promise to reach a decision by the time you return, then I'll try to make it happen. But you should know, what you're asking of us is unprecedented."
"That doesn't mean impossible. Wasn't *I* unprecedented."
"Yes," it hums, "which is why you must choose. Soon."
"And I will. Just try for me. Please?"
The angel buzzes softly, nudging me, signaling it's time to go.
I nod, close my eyes, and *fall*.
There's a rushing in my ears. My body vibrates, spinning down and down and down, faster and faster until everything, all at once, comes to a sudden and violent.
Stop.
I feel a void around me.
Floating.
Barely here.
A whisper touches my ear.
"Hi, Belfial," I say.
"Hi, Johnny," the whisper calling itself a demon purrs gently.
"Let's just get this over with, yeah?"
The whisper quiets, satisfied with my assent.
I feel my eyes pull open and all I see is color. Color moving and rushing and pulsing. Color taking shape, taking form and substance and smell.
Not a good smell, but a familiar one.
*Oh.*
I remember.
I've had this conversation before. Many, many times. Always different, but still the same.
Again, as before, I tell myself: "It'll be different. She'll listen. I'll stay strong, and I'll save us both."
Again, as before, I believe my own lies.
So I step into hell.
And I try.
"Johnny!" My mom yells from the next room as I take off my shoes, "So nice of you to visit your dead mother!"
I step carefully into the living room, it's filthy, cluttered. But this apartment was her home, my home. Before a cigarette burned it all up with us inside.
"Hi Mom, how've you been?"
My smile is strained, but I *am* glad to see her.
"Would be better if you were around more."
She grunts, tossing a spent cigarette onto the trash-strewn floor, pulling a flask from her bra.
I wince.
"Mom, you know I've been visiting with Dad in heaven."
"Hmmph." She juts out her chin.
"Look, they're making me choose." I look down, "I don't want to stay in heaven if you aren't going with me."
She unscrews the flask, not looking at me.
"Heaven isn't that bad, Mom."
I sit next to her on the old puke-stained couch.
My mother sighs, "Your Dad is up there, Johnny, *of course* it's that bad."
"Mom, come on, it's literally been forever, why do you still care?"
She scoffs, leans back, and puts her feet up on the coffee table. It creaks uncomfortably, wooden legs loose and shaky, threatening to fall apart at the lightest touch.
"That man is the reason I'm here," she takes a long drink from the flask.
"Mom, he literally doesn't remember you."
She coughs, sputtering bourbon.
"So what, an angel waves their hand and suddenly everything in your whole shitstain of a life is magically better? Grow the fuck up, Johnny. Life don't work that way, and death sure as hell don't either."
"Mom, I'm serious. Matiel said they'd put in a good word if you wanted to go with me. You're the only thing pulling me back here."
"Me? Boy, I'm not dumb. You come down for this."
She offers me the flask.
My cheeks burn red, and I shrink into the couch.
But I take the flask. And I drink.
I keep drinking until the world blurs and my vision fades.
...
No one tells you the truth about heaven. And they certainly don't tell you the truth about hell.
In reality, heaven and hell are two sides of the same coin.
Hell is where you go to remember.
In heaven...
You forget. | 76 | Half your soul is in hell, the other in heaven. The angel and demon handling your situation are on the verge of escalating to their bosses. But you actually like the situation as it is. | 180 |
The hero stood steady, their feet firmly planted into the ground, their hands clutching their sword. Their gaze was fixed on the extravagantly clothed man that towered above them, even from his spot across the room.
“You should turn back,” the tall being’s voice boomed across the empty throne room. “You’ve made it as far as you can. You don’t stand a chance.”
The hero grit their teeth. “Like I’d ever listen to you!” Before the demon lord could cut in again, the hero’s entire body tensed, and they flew forward with great speed. They rapidly approached their target, sword at the ready by their side. With great strength, they swung their mythical blade with every ounce of their being.
With the flick of its wrist, the hero was sent flying through the air to the side of the demon lord, blasting through the far wall and leaving a cloud of dust in their wake.
The demon lord had to hold back a yawn as he kept his bored eyes fixated on the cloud. His gaze didn’t stay there long, though, before he turned around to look back to the inseparable duo behind him. They both seemed to share a few hushed words with each other, before one of them held up a sign, with a “6” hastily painted in neon pink.
The demon lord narrowed its eyes. “You’re kidding me, right? You’re telling me the pipsqueak from last week got me an 8, yet this guy only gives me a six?”
One of the twins stepped forward, their hands placed on their hips. “Just swatting them aside immediately doesn’t make for all that good a battle, you know.” They opened their mouth to continue, but were tapped on their shoulder by the one behind them before they could. Leaning back, something was whispered into their ear, before they regained their posture and finished with, “Plus, your monologue was better then. Today’s was like a 4, at best.”
“Like hell it was!” the demon lord roared. “I hit all the points! ‘Give up hope,’ ‘You stand no chance,’ the works!”
The twin in front shrugged. “You gotta drag it out, make it long-winded. People love a whole backstory, maybe try that?”
Its eye twitched. “What backstory? I was literally born for this role, and I took my rightful place when the time came! You want me to lie?”
The one in front deadpanned, but what really stung was the fact that the one behind joined them. “No, I want you to be a goody two-shoes. What the hell do you think?”
The sound of a guttural scream ripped through the air from behind the demon lord. Whirling around, it was met with the bloodied figure of the hero once more, charging at them even faster than before, with a crazed look in their eyes. Still, all it took was a flick of the wrist again when they were close enough, and they were sent straight back into the wall, almost exactly where they had hit before.
Sighing, the demon lord turned back around to the twins, only to see the sign had been reduced to a 5.
“What the hell! Why did it get lower?”
“You know the phrase, ‘don’t play with your food,’?” the twin asked.
The demon lord raised an eyebrow. “Of course I do, but how does that—I’m not a goddamn cannibal!”
“That wasn’t the point,” they groaned, pinching the bridge of their nose. “Just stop dealing with them in one hit, for the love of the gods.” They were pulled back by the quieter twin, and were whispered to again. “Oh, and if you hit the wall in the same spot, it would’ve stayed at 6. That’s just bad accuracy.”
\------
Wrote this up *really* quickly, but it's the first time I've been able to write something like this in a while, which really made it a treat. Thanks for the prompt, OP!
r/IUniven | 19 | The demonlord looked behind him in great annoyance, he saw his childhood friends rating his recent fight with the hero. A large 6 painted in neon pink. He doesn't know why he lets them in all the time. | 42 |
Fights in the mages arena were long and drawn. Cast times could take upwards of three minutes, of just watching two guys make ridiculous hand motions and practice their breathing techniques at one another. "An art form" is what other chumps called it. A practice in patience and discipline. I never was much of a patient man.
So as the mage across from me moved his hands I did not run to stop him. I did not cast a spell of my own to counter his, no, I just walked across that stone floor. I think the audience thought I was getting in range or some other wizard bullshit, because as I stepped up it was like they stopped breathing. They grew so quiet that my footsteps became loud.
I knew the spell the guy was casting, or at least I thought I did. Just because I didn't buy into the "art" didn't mean I wasn't versed. Destruction Point, I think it was. Nasty bit of wizardry. Took a minute-thirty to cast. Only took fifteen to walk across the field.
As I approached my opponents eyes grew wide with confusion, or maybe fear. Couldn't tell. Regardless he continued those stupid hand movements at that same snails pace. Little puffs of smoke had begun forming at his fingertips by the time I'd arrived, and for any other mage he'd be trouble. But not me. My school practiced practicality first, magic second.
So, practically speaking, I was within range to knock his teeth down his throat. So I did. As I pulled my fist back his eyes grew even wider. Then, with as much force as I could I hit him square in the face. The crowd let out a collective gasp. The wizard across from me stumbled backwards clutching his jaw. Bits of blood dripped out of his open mouth and stained his gray silk robes red.
"You just...did you just hit me?!"
Rather than reply I strolled up to him and hit him again...and again...and again. He failed to block a single one, I'm not sure he even knew how. The crowd gasped with each one. Between hits he'd bring his hands up to cast something which was cut short every time by another blow to the face. Another jab to the ribs. More punches connecting with a loud *thwap* every time I swung.
After a simple barrage of half-assed punches he fell back, his face swollen and bloody. The crowd grew silent once more. From the stands a voice called out to me, a tall and lanky man with a long gown of the finest wealth. Head of Magics, Thom I think he was called.
"You did not use any magic? Not a single spell." he sounded accusatory.
"Nope. Turns out I didn't need em." I yelled back. Cleaning the blood on my fist off on my jacket for emphasis.
"I..I can see that. But, you didn't utilize your skills."
"Ah yeah. Turns out I didn't need those either." a group of simply dressed mages came out and began performing a group healing cast on my opponent. Five minutes it would take to complete.
"So...bring out the next guy then!" I yelled.
The door that led from my opponents quarters to the arena opened with a great deal of hesitancy. Out walked a mage dressed in fine red robes, a large leather bound book strapped to his side just for show. Graythar the Great I think they called him.
I wondered if he could take a punch. | 735 | In a world full of magicians, no one expected you to just walk over during the long cast time and punch your opponent in the face. | 1,343 |
"Ope. Careful there, you almost fell." I was holding the kid up after he nearly took a spill over the wet tile floor.
"Blimey," he gasped, Britishly, "I owe you a thousand thanks for that, mate."
"Sure. Don't mention it."
"I was in a rush. The Passage of Time-Stoppening waits for no one!"
"Great, see you around." I didn't have time for this. It was always the same, week after week, some self-important main-character-type trouncing around the campus violating the vague and cryptic student handbook rules, looking for a sidekick.
Being a ginger in a magic high school is hard.
I could feel the kid's disappointment as I walked off. Had he been waiting for someone to walk down this hall? Is he that desperate?
"You two! Stop right there!" A haggard voice called through the hallway.
"They're after the Stroimius Key!" The kid produced an emerald key from his pocket, his face flashing with fear and excitement.
"Who is?"
"Professor Ursine! The Director of the Department of Strange Creatures!"
"The bear guy?"
"A bear? Of course, it all makes sense now! The honey. The claw marks."
"It's... Dude, his name... How do you not-- no, I'm not talking to you. I'm not getting roped into this. *You* go find your destiny or whatever. I have to get to class."
"We'll have to use the Pow-Powder. It packs a punch!"
"I'm walking away. I can't hear you."
As I walked quicker, hands over ears, eyes fixed to the ground.
I nearly ran into the delegation of school staff standing like a wall before me.
"What have we here?" The dean, Doctor Leo Luminus stood at the center, his grey, short-cropped beard framing his wisened, wizardly face.
"The kid over there is stealing stuff. Professor Ursine is chasing him. I'm trying to get to class." The teachers followed my finger to an empty space.
"I see nothing," Doctor Luminus squinted at me with suspicion.
"Welp. He's either gone or using invisibility potion. I don't know. I don't care. My parents don't pay my tuition for me to care about that stuff."
"Perfect distraction!" The boy's voice called from *behind* the group of teachers. He shrugged off his invisibility shroud and threw the Pow-Powder on the floor.
The teachers went flying straight into Professor Ursine as he rounded the corner.
"You two will be expelled!" Doctor Luminus shook his fist in the air. "Once we catch you!"
"Looks like this is our exit, chum!" The kid threw portal discs to the floor.
I sighed deeply. "Tell me your family's rich or something, left some mysterious treasure or whatever."
"My dad's a Congressman."
"I charge $300 a day."
"$200, and you get a romantic interest."
"Fine." I walked into the disc and we disappeared. | 52 | You are a student at a magic academy who was content with living quietly in the background... until you made the mistake of saving the main character. Now you've been dragged into their life of high-stakes adventures, crazy hijinks, and danger around every corner whether you like it or not. | 107 |
"Hey!" I call out, waving at the thug in the powered armour.
He takes one look at me in my costume and groans. "Clipper," he says. "What brings you here, you useless waste of space?"
"It looks like you're trying to rob the bank," I tell him. "Would you like help with that?"
"No, I *wouldn't*," says the thug, firmly. "I don't want help, I don't need help. I have the security forces down, I've got the combination for the safe, Justice is off in space dealing with the Vortulon Invasion, and I have plans and backup plans for *everything*."
"Wow, it sure sounds like you've planned for everything," I nod. "What could possibly go wrong with that?"
And that was the exact moment when Justice, slammed in his invulnerable chest by a Vortulon energy beam, smashes into - and *through* - the safe, destroying whatever the thug had been here to steal.
He growls, angrily. "I hate you, Clipper."
"Does that mean you want to kill me?" I ask. "You've got any amount of weapons on there. What could possibly go wrong with that?" | 196 | Superpowers exist. You have the power of asking “what could go wrong?”, and immediately the universe aligns to demonstrate exactly what could go wrong. | 452 |
The world was on fire. Barbarians were at the gate. The Horror Lord was close to absolute supremacy and the world looked to it's last hope, the one to whom the sacred sword would finally be revealed. The only sword that could vanquish the Horror Lord
They had trained diligently for the majority of their years. While others were out living their lives, going to work, partying, they had studied the blade.
While others had lived their lives care free and having premarital sex, they had mastered the blockchain to allow their wealth to grow so that they could support themselves and devote their lives to the blade
They were unassuming and without vanity. Others wasted their days in the gym, while they had cultivated inner strength.
The katana they wielded was like an extension of their arm. Their speed with the blade was legendary. An opponent could be literally disarmed before anyone could see they had drawn their blade.
Well, theoretically at least. They had not yet engaged in any real sword combat where death was on the line. The were confident in their abilities though. Their sensei had said they were their most advanced student after all.
They now stood in the sacred temple where the sacred sword lay. No one had seen it, much yet wielded it in millennia, and it had passed into legend to most people. All that was known was that in time of need, a hero would appear and could be able to use their swift speed to free the blade. Those who were not fast enough would fall to the defenses of the temple, as evidenced by the few bodies that surrounded the pedestal where the sacred sword lay hidden.
As legend told, all one had to do was slash through the invisible bonds that secured the cover to the sacred sword. If one was fast enough, they would be cut and the cover would rise revealing the sword. If one was too slow, the bonds would block the cut and invisible defenses would be triggered.
This was the moment, this was what they had dedicated their lives to. They had forsaken all worldly pleasures to be the hero the world needed. They would free the sacred sword, the only weapon the Horror Lord could not defend against.
They steeled themselves, to draw on their inner strength. They needed to be faster than they had ever been before. They needed slash at the bonds at the speed of thought. They would only get one chance, to fail was to die.
Their sword sang as it slashed. To them it was as if in slow motion, to any observer it was if they immediately switch positions. A loud thunk sounded and hidden mechanisms activated, The had done it. They had freed the sacred blade. The cover began to rise and a holy light began to shine as the cover began to rise.
They were momentarily blinded by the glory of the blade, but when they finally beheld it, the let out an exclamation.
"Fuck me" they said.
The blade that lay before them was a giant zweihander, a sword that required two hands and great strength to properly wield. Their katana usually only required one hand to wield and was very light. They had cut the sacred bonds with their katana with a one handed slice after all, but this beast of a sword would require both hands to be able to control it.
Just then the temple shook and a mystical portal opened. The Horror Lord steped through. The menace that surrounded him was palpable. A dark aura surrounded him and his eyes glowed with the fires of hell. "You are the one. Not even I could free the sacred sword, but you have done it. Congratulations 'hero'. Claim your prize and strike me down. If you can."
They sheathed their katana and reached for the sword while the Horror Lord watched. Both hands grasped the hilt, and a sense of holy power could be felt. They lifted the sword and it immediately dropped to their side. It was very heavy.
The Horror Lord looked and smiled as he watched them struggle with the blade. "Can't lift it? I thought you were the master of the blade? You're no hero, you're just some weeaboo with some mall ninja shit katana. Come on! Raise that sword and strike me down! Only that sword can defeat me, use it now or this world will burn to a cinder.
They couldn't. They had not the strength to raise the sword to a defensive position, much less less use it offensively.
A blast came from the Horror Lord's eyes. A blast that the sacred sword would have easily blocked. Instead, the 'hero' was blasted and fell crumbling to ash, their katana with them. The sacred sword fell to the ground, it's radiant light dimming.
The soul of the hero however, lingered, allowing them to view the moments after.
The minions of the Horror Lord appeared and a mighty triumphant cry went up in celebration. The day was theirs. Victory was secured now that the Horror Lord could take the sacred sword for his own.
What Horror Lord and his minions did not see in their celebrations was another figure enter the temple. One that stealthily made their way to the sacred sword, and easily lifted it. The muscles in their arm tensed as they held the sword as they had seen in that old movie Conan the Barbarian. "Cool sword bro." The glow of the sword grew once again as powerful arms and a strong core used the sword to slash and strike down the Horror Lord easily.
The Horror Lord cried out as holy flames enveloped him. Vanquished, his minions screamed in agony and they too were taken by the flame.
He left the temple to be greeted by adoring throngs. The light of the sword immediately began to heal the ravaged world as the people cried out his name. A beautiful woman came to him and looked lovingly into his eyes as the embraced and then kissed passionately.
As the hero's soul ascended, the last sounds it heard were of the crowd shouting it's true hero's name.
"CHAD! CHAD! CHAD! CHAD!"
The soul's last thought as it joined eternity was this. "Fucking gym bro." | 20 | You have trained your entire life in the ways of the katana. You may not be the strongest, but your speed is LEGENDARY. Finally, the day comes for you to be given the sacred sword to slay the Horror Lord.....and it's a zweihander you can barely swing. | 143 |
"I always wanted to be an artist, but my parents said there was no money in art!"
And again he broke into tears!
I don't get it, I thought I bought the right candles, drew the correct signs on the floor. I even bought a cool robe off of the internet. It's a deep purple, with a hood that just about covers my eyes, and it has golden tassels.
"Derek! It wasn't easy finding a three legged frog to carry out this summoning. I sure as heck did not do it to hear about you whining about your crushed dreams."
Derek tossed himself to the floor and wept even harder, maybe I was a bit harsh. However, I spent the last four months picking up frogs near the river to find a three legged one. The summining book said, "Powerful dark warrior, capable of decimating empires and kingdoms", but all I got was "Whoa-is-me" Derek.
"Light a candle in each corner of the room. Check. Candle in the center. Check. Chant the latin word "dinumero". Check. Three legged frog. Check."
"Wait, is that a smudge?" I rub off what appears to be some sort of stain.
"pernumero?"
There's a reason why used books are so affordable sometimes.
"Derek! Do you know latin!?"
"Only because my parents made me learn it in high school." I can see him about to sob again. "I wanted to take drama instead!"
"Ok, before you start crying again, what's the difference between dinumero and pernumero?"
"Dinumero means enumerate and pernumero means reckon. You know who else spoke latin? El Greco!"
And with that he threw himself on the floor and I can see the little pool forming around his head.
"Are you serious!? Enumerate!?"
The next day, the only thing that could get Derek to stop crying was promising him a trip to the local art museum. I was not particularly fond of the idea, but anything beats handing Derek a tissue every other minute.
"It says here they have paintings by Rembrandt and ancient roman statues! Oh and look! A paid exhibit on Nigerian masks!"
I feigned enthusiasm.
As we got to the ticket booth to purchase our entrances, I pulled out my wallet. I had just enough cash to cover us both.
The lady behind the counter handed me back my change. $10.50. Just enough to buy us some chips and a soda after. I shoved all the change back into my pockets.
"Derek, I only have enough for the regular entrance. We won't be able to see the masks."
Derek's face changed into a slight smile and said, "Check your pockets again."
I looked at him a little confused, but I tend to find an extra dollar or two in my pockets after a wash. I pulled out the $10 and he reached out to grab it from me.
"Watch closely."
I did. I needed the $10 back.
He folded the bill up into a little square. Only leaving a corner exposed where the $10 symbol was at. His thumb then covered the $10 symbol and he slowly rubbed it between his fingers.
After a few seconds he unfolded it, and there was an extra 0 after the $10.
"Two tickets to the Nigerian exhibit please!" and he handed the ticket lady the cash, annoyed that she was forced to look up from her phone.
"I can also do it digitally and to currencies of all kinds."
He handed me my ticket and change.
"Accounting school sucked, but I learned how to cook the books."
Maybe dinumero was the correct word. | 67 | The summon finally worked! Unfortunately the being before you doesn’t look very much like a powerful inter-dimensional warrior... for one thing it won't stop weeping. This odd creature, this "Derek from accounting," must have its uses. If only you could ascertain what they are. | 159 |
"At first we couldn't believe our eyes.
There we were, on the beach, enjoying some music and drinks out of the back of our van when people started pointing out to the ocean.
On the horizon there was some kind of boat. At first we didn't think much of it, but as it got closer people started realizing it had sails. My sister took out her camera and started taking pictures of it, we've never seen a sailing ship in-person before. Other people were excited, saying how cool it was to see such an old ship.
As it got closer we all realized the people on board were dressed up to look the part! Then the ship anchored and the sailors began climbing down onto some smaller boats. I remember thinking to myself: were they going to come to shore? That seemed odd, this wasn't exactly a popular beach to do some kind of PR stunt.
People began asking among themselves: what was going on?
Then they came to shore.
The smell. These people smelled terrible, and looked the part, too. They began speaking to us in Spanish. Thankfully, someone on the beach spoke Spanish and began translating.
We couldn't believe what we heard. Apparently this crew sailed all the way from Spain! he said something about being on a path from god, and that he would start a colony to expand the Spanish Empire, and introduced himself as Captian Aviles...what kind of promotion is this?
We asked what the heck he was promoting and what was going on, but he wouldn't stop going on about the new world. Someone had called the beach patrol because they were pulling up on their ATVs to see what was going on.
That's when I got nervous, these guys seemed to be taking this bit too far. They asked our translator "what in the name of the lord is that?!", gesturing to the ATV. The beach patrol started talking to the 'Captain' about how he couldn't use boats in this area and asked where his ship was registered. The confusion got worse as the 'Captain Aviles' replied that his ship was sent on behalf of the king.
By now the police have arrived and parked their SUVs on the beach. They tried detaining 'Captain Aviles', who at this point seemed to have gone hysterical at the sight of the Police cars. Some of the other sailers pulled out their weapons, demanding their 'Captain' be released.
Everyone looked at them confused. Were those weapons real? The police seemed to think so, as they took cover behind their car and called for backup. The onlookers fled to gain some distance as the sailors opened fire.
At first the police started shooting, but realized these were genuine muzzle loaders. I heard them get some orders on their radios to try to detain them alive. After the police fired off a few rounds, the sailors quickly surrendered, and were detained. That's the last I saw."
​
The interviewer finished writing some notes and then gave me an approving look.
"Thank you Mr. Smith", she said. "Your account will prove very valuable in helping us understand this phenomenon. I also want you to know that the only deaths were two of those sailors, and everyone else should make a full recovery. Do you have any questions for me?"
"Not really", I replied. "I guess this means that it's the real thing."
She nodded as she said, "Thats right Mr. Smith. You already submitted all the pictures and video, so we're done here. Thank you for your cooperation." | 326 | A 16th-century explorer lands on a beach and meets odd-looking, scantily clothed people. He figures that they will easily submit to his rule. He's in for a big surprise, though, since he actually entered a time portal in the Bermuda triangle, and these are beachgoers in 2022. | 1,796 |
You are known almost universally as the Unchosen one. Fancy tirle for a less than glamorous position.
At first, you were ambivelent about the thing. So what if everyone else has powers? I have my life!
That attitude got you branded a jealous brat, strangely. Society is weird, it may be a crazy, magical, technological, ritual society, but some things are constant.
So then you became honest to god jealous about it all.
That was a phase.
Now, you couldn't care less, and actively avoid anything that looks suspicious. A mystical sword here, a currsed book there, a rouge AI living down the street. you know, normal things?
So it went on and on. Until one day, there it was. in your damn living room.
A giant monster with a glowing sword in its chest,begging for help.
you forced it out.
The next day a package arrives.
A globe of tortured souls. you shatter it.
Then its some sort of.. old rock?
Good cannon fodder for your neighbor's window.
The "gifts" get more and more mundane until you're sure there's no harm in keeping them.
And that goes fine. for a while, anyways.
It's a few years later. you've adopted a kitten, and it knocks the rock off the table.
Suddenly, it shatters.
The monster, sword and souls swiling around it appear. Then an angel and a demon. then an AI. then a vial of power. Then. Then. Then.
finally,the monster speaks in an etheral voice..ALL FATHER. WHAT TOOK YOU SO LONG? WE OF THIS WORLD DESIRE LIBERTY FROM THESE ACCURSED... PROMPTIANS. WE WANT NORMALCY.
Well... This was something you could get into. | 16 | You are teleported in the world of writing prompts, where everyone has lived tons of weird and exiting scenarios. Except you. You are just a normal guy amidst the chaos. | 90 |
"This is badass! Look at that guy!" Mark leaned forward on the couch, turning to see the decidedly prudish girl, Samantha, beside us. "Oh, come on," he pleaded.
"He's really not," Samantha declared with a judgemental pause of the TV. I was reminded of the old VHS training videos. Pause for discussion with your team. I smirked, managing to keep still and silent as the stones as I crawled up the wall.
"He's killing all the guys that kidnapped his daughter. How is that not badass? Vengence? Comeuppance? Protecting those he loves? What's better than that?" Mark shook his head in baffled frustration. He must wonder how he always attracts friends with a stick firmly in residence up the back end.
Samantha pulled at her shirt sleeves nervously. She was afraid, just a rookie, but I had to give the devil her due. She was doing better than the ones they'd sent so far. "It's like the other movie, the one with the guy and the dog. He has good intentions, but thats when you have to be the most careful, when you're most inclided to si-slip up and do bad things."
"Right," Mark drew out. I uncoiled, sent out three sharp buzzes. He leaned down to check his phone and a rush of pleasure rolled over my neck. I wanted to melt and ooze into every crack of that smile. "My ride's here, actually. Maybe I'll just finish this one on my own?"
"Oh," Samantha let out sharp and high pitched, looking about the room. "You don't have to go. I got us a new board game to try and we can finish the movie too, if you want."
"Maybe next time. Sorry Sam, I have homework." He collected up his bag just below me. My thin needles sent crumbling bits of popcorn ceiling down to rest in his hair. He looked up, stoic and unseeing.
The face of the young beacon of radiance soured in the afterglow of the delightful lie. "Sure, just call me. God still loves you, Mark."
Laying it on far too thick, sweetness.
The poor boy looked perplexed as I followed along on the ceiling. He mouthed, 'still?' then closed the door behind him before I could slip through.
I slipped through a vent and rolled up to the roof, tap tapping the sides as my sharp spikes began to fill out with flesh. This left me with a decision to make. Neon yellow, undoubtly.
I fell from the exterior cover to a thorny bush in the side yard, metastasizing with manicure complete. I rolled my shoulders into the leather jacket, just a little too tight. I rolled a farm fresh cigarette through my just as fresh fingers. With a shake, my hair exploded into color, every shade of blue there was, and a sneaked in handful that never were. I observed myself in the glass of the pristine window, a testament to the sacrament of proper housekeeping. Manic pixie dream girl I was not, but almost. I am ready, my lord.
"Whoa, did you walk here?" Mark asked, hopping down the porch stairs two at a time.
"Not at all, big man, parked at the end of the street. Just checking the place out. I've never seen so much work put into a place and it still be so ... soulless."
Mark sighed, "I think Sam's dad must be a little bit of a hardass. Her too, a little bit. It's always neat, no decorations or anything. She's pretty religious. You two would not get along."
"You might be surprised." The smiled flushed my face, full now of its many human capillaries. A body built to feel, to resonate with every word. A filthy work of art. I loved it. "I can be very persuasive."
I walked north, without stating our destination. Much better to wait, let him-
"True, did you still want to, you know, do the thing we talked about?" It was so surreal to see him, the most brazen being in existance, sounding like a shy schoolboy. I see why he subjected himself to this, though. He was learning, changing, improving, as he always was.
"Only if you still want to," I offered back. "Sam would not approve, I'm sure."
"Yeah," he offered back with a nervous laugh. "She would probably never talk to me again."
"Oh, I think she would let you get away with much more than that before she gave up, very forgiving that one. She's got it bad."
"Part of the problem," Mark said, then turning to look at me. I barely tilted my neck, posing without posing, projecting the casual unrealised beauty of youth. The glimmer behind his eyes told me it was working. "I feel like I've known you forever. Sorry if that sounds corny."
"You have," I said. "A third of forever, anyway." He laughed at my joke now, but when this experience was over and his memories returned to him, the Lord of Hell may punish me for that slip a little too close to the truth. I savored the thought.
/r/surinical
Edit: touched up several awkward wordings | 232 | You are a guardian demon. Since the day you were born, you were tasked to protect a human and guide them to hell. Every day theres a bunch of stupid angels trying to Take your human away. it was easy to keep them away, but now your human is starting to notice something is not right. | 1,619 |
Everyone has their love language. I always thought I knew mine, but now…
“Please! I’m *begging* you! Swim back to shore!”
“Hurglgugbrglbrgl!”
He didn’t flail, he didn’t surface for air, he just floated there, staring at me with lovestruck eyes and a dopey smile. He was also drowning.
“You *idiot!*”
He reached out to cup my cheek. Instead of letting him, I grabbed his wrist, threw him over my shoulder, and jerked my tail in a powerful burst to send us rocketing towards the surface. The man gasped as his starved lungs drew in breath after deep breath. “Oh…beauty…beyond compare, let me—"
“No, no more of that.”
Before he could finish, I dragged him underwater and *clicked* my mouth next to his ear powerfully enough to knock him out. His lovely eyes closed, his chiseled muscles went slack, and I dragged his unconscious body back to shore. Before leaving him on the sand I took a moment to gaze at him, running my fingers gently along his chin. I felt like crying. I might have. Its hard to tell in the ocean.
That was the last time I ever sang to a human.
I had tried so many times in so many ways—modulating my pitch, softening or sharpening my notes, or even simply speaking without any inflection—but nothing ever worked. It always ended the same. My sisters, in their callousness, always tell me, “Iri, they last long enough to get the job done. Just lay your eggs and get on with your life.” They’ve never understood why I wanted more than that. Or maybe they’ve given up hope, as I’ve come to do. That doesn’t keep me from watching the shoreline whenever I can.
“Silly girl. Why do you do this to yourself,” I murmur.
Humans came and went, as always. Some of them were men and women I had lured into the ocean previously. I could always tell by their vacant, longing stares, gazing out at the waves as if they could find me in the breakline. It’s hard not to feel guilty. In the past I told myself that my actions were purely instinct—a siren’s song is as a part of her as a turtle’s shell. But every toothy grin leaking precious airbubbles while its owner drowned had chipped away at that excuse until it was a hollow, empty thing.
Feeling melancholic, I begin to turn away, only to stop and stare at a nondescript figure near the trees. He’s not as handsome as some of the others I’ve ensnared, nor as strong, but when he lifts his hands he makes strange signs with them, and his friend makes similar ones in return.
That puzzles me, so I stay a little longer. Long enough to realize that he uses them to communicate. Long enough to realize that, when others speak to him, he doesn’t realize it until he’s tapped on the shoulder.
He can’t hear.
Whenever I go to the beach now, I come looking for him. I study his hands. I watch his expressions. He captivates me. So much so that a familiar hope blossoms in my chest—one that I had long since believed to have drowned.
One evening, when he walks alone along the far shore away from the human dwellings, I decide to try again—one last time. His shocked face as I suddenly appear from beneath the waves is one I’m used to, but his jaw drops even further after I smile and sign at him.
*Hello.*
His hands take a while to move, but he signs back. *Hello*.
I take a moment trying to think of the next signs, arranging my fingers in ugly, clumsy ways. If it had been a song it would’ve been discordant and grating, but I manage it. I think.
*My name is Irina.*
The man shakes his head slowly. *Alejandro*.
*Nice to wave—* “No, wait…” *Nice to meet you, Alejandro.*
His hands suddenly jerk in a frenzy and I stare at him with confusion. He slows down. *Are you* something?
I furrow my brow and repeat the sign he gave me. *Something?*
He wiggles his body like a fish. I laugh and lift my tail up, causing him to stumble back in shock, which makes me laugh even more. He’s blushing when he recovers—a cute quirk that I’ve noticed humans do—but he’s smiling, too.
Tentatively, he steps closer, stopping just before the waves, and signs again. *It’s nice to meet you too, Irina.* | 33 | no singing, no talking, not even whispering, to try and find your true love. | 58 |
From the moment I awoke on the Jade Plains, my one desire was to go back home. That single, burning desire built my first fire, killed my first Fairy Rabbit, and sustained me on the long downhill trek to find water and, from there, civilization.
In the village of Copper Bay, I learned that whatever force had brought me here must have had a purpose, as there was no other reason for me to have automatic language translation. in 5 years, I learned to swing a pick, to strengthen my body, and to tell one kind of ore from another. I did not learn the way home. Instead, I traded some things I knew about fire and heat for information about where wiser heads could be found, and then left the town of Iron Bay behind and struck out for the mountains, still seeking the pathway home.
After weeks of travel in the Lionstep Mountains, I found a simple monastery. The monks took me in and freely shared their wisdom. I learned that I had been brought to this world by the Will of Heaven, for an unknown purpose, and that there would be no going back. So, in my heart, I resolved to defy the Heavens, and threw myself fully into the monks' mysteries. As I refined and purified my mind and soul over the next 50 years, I learned to extend my life, sense the energy of the world itself, and bend that energy to my Will. the first time I was struck by lightning as I contemplated my return home, I left the Sect, and went back to the tiny little hollow between the hills north of Steelton.
I built myself a hermit's shack and contemplated day and night, each new insight provoking the gods of this place into harsher and more immediate retribution until I finally reconciled the disunity between my memories of home, and my existence in this new place. I knew in my very core that the Dao of Return was mine, but I still wished to test it. Fortunately, a series of Demon Kings had arisen over the last 500 years, and their Emperor was likely strong enough to suffice, so I left my shack, and set out for the Demon King's Lair.
The Demon Emperor, it turned out, was quite rude, refusing even the most basic of hospitality when I told her I had come to send her back to the Hell that spawned her. She summoned her Nine Generals to fight me, then tried to slay me with each of the Five Elements in turn, but ultimately I was able to lay a hand on her cheek, and she was gone. Satisfied with the result, and uninterested in the rewards of this plane's gods, I turned my Dao on myself, and slid back home.
I awoke with a start as an alarm clock prepared to go off, my honed Danger Sense warning me of the impending annoyance. I looked around the barely-remembered room and groaned. Instead of the cyberpunk world I'd expected, I'd slid back in time as well as place, which could only mean High school. I dressed quickly in the relatively constricting clothes in my closet, leaving them mostly untouched, except that the Oford collar and necktie had to go/ A Mandarin collar with button cover was just as dressy and not nearly as dangerous to the wearer.
It had been several subjective centuries since I'd last eaten, and when I got downstairs to the kitchen, I remembered why. Everything in the pantry was Mortal food, nearly bereft of value and so full of impurities that I'd have constipated meridians for a week if I even tried most of it. With an expression of disgust, I grabbed my overstuffed backpack from beside the front door and absently stuffed it into my storage ring before walking down the hill to my bus stop.
When the bus finally came, I mounted the steps and began working my way back toward one of the few functioning windows. For some reason, one of the older boys refused to give me face as I passed, instead calling me by a slur for a different ethnicity. Since the insult was so poorly executed, I decided to be merciful. I reached out and flicked him in the glabella to remind him of his place. his headless body slumped down the inner wall of the bus and he said no more. I shrugged at the older boy's unexpected weakness and began working my way down the aisle again, only to be disturbed as I sat down by the panicked screaming of two dozen children. I didn't sense anything dangerous to me, so I crossed my legs in my seat and began to meditate, slowly studying the insult as I wiped in from my karmic flow.
The bus did not move for some few minutes and eventually the police came. They escorted everyone off the bus and several men in bad suits began asking questions. When my turn came, I saw no reason not to answer, so I gave my name and address, and explained that the death was an accident, as I'd only intended to give the boy a moderate concussion. The detective asked me to demonstrate the technique on a nearby telephone pole, and I did, tearing a melon-sized chunk out of the wood but not quite cutting the pole down.
All in all, it was a very strange morning. If everyone was so concerned about the boy, why did none of them ask me to resurrect him? I shrugged and went to sit under a tree as I waited to for the bus to be ready to move again. | 69 | "What did you expect? That someone could spend a lifetime fighting monsters and tyrants in another world and just go back to acting anything like their teenage self when their soul returns to their teenage body on earth?" | 281 |
Harvey Dent said: "You either die a hero or live long enough to see yourself become the villain." But I don't think the thought crossed his mind that 'you' would ever become friends with a villain. Let alone the villain you were fighting for years. This is the short little story of how exactly that happened, and why I have trust issues now.
My name is Villain Crusher. I do exactly what my name says. Crush villains. I'm one of the most successful heroes of all time. I have super strength, super speed, laser eyes, fast regeneration, superhuman endurance, superhuman resilience, super hearing, and I'm capable of healing people with my hands. It's safe to say I can do it all except fly. Every single villain that crops up I've beaten one way or another. However, there's one that I've never managed to keep down for long. His name is Deathmask.
Ol' Mask and I used to be bunk mates in the same barracks during our time in the army. We were both deployed to the same sandbox in Afghanistan. We were in the same tank battalion. He was in the Abrams and I was in the MRAP behind him. We were both hiding our powers. Nobody knew we could do what we could do. But the fighting shook him to his core. He was not the same man as before he went in when he came home.
He saw how well I was handling myself after the military and got jealous but never told me. He took my success as an insult for whatever reason. And he vowed every ounce of his energy to bring me down for not including him in my success, but funny story, I would always ask him to fight with me at my side. He always rejected me.
As the years went on he got darker and more distant and he started building a following. People with similar views to him. He was going to bring down all the superheroes so that he would be able to stop all the villains. "In order to stop all the villains one must become a villain," he would say. It was at this time that he acquired the name Deathmask. His face got all skeletal and his skin got all pale so he looked like a dead body. Couple it with a dark purple cloak, some interesting looking body armor, and a few red LEDs you get a really scary villain. Especially with the abilities he has.
Deathmask can do anything a stereotypical dark wizard can do. Beams of dark energy, telekinesis, finger lightning, fireballs, levitation and flight, and mind control. Coupled with a dark personality and a lack of concern for collateral damage, you get an insanely difficult villain to face. I fought him so many times it feels like he's invincible. So that's why I got a bunch of sidekicks to help me out.
I started a superhero agency called, uncreatively, "Villain Crusher hero agency." Through it I hire heroes of all walks of life and provide them with financial aid. I may not do this for the money, I have a day job, but it's nice to have a little bit of money when you're just starting out, or established and not so lucky with money, so you can get nicer equipment and connected with other agencies. We survive on donations and we are a non-profit. Luckily we get some sizable donations.
I had a team of 70 sidekicks working for me and on this particular mission to stop Deathmask I had 12 back me up. They were doing everything from helping me actually fight to running communications and fighting off his lackies. I was never going to win this fight without them. Deathmask was just as prepared as I was.
It was during this fight that I got backstabbed. All 12 of my sidekicks helping me run this op turned on me. They said I wasn't paying them enough when I was paying them quite fairly. They also said how poorly I run things and dumb stuff like that for their reasons. And they all sided with themselves, fought both of us, Deathmask and I were literally back to back, and scattered once they were "through with us."
Once the dust settled I was beaten down pretty good. My powers are fueled by how much energy I have in my body and this fight took most of it. I didn't recover fully from any of my injuries after the twist, at least not until a few weeks later. In that state I couldn't walk. But it was in this moment that my eyes locked with Deathmask's eyes. I guess seeing me in this broken state got through to the man I used to know. Many years of repressed memories came flowing back and he began crying inconsolably.
Deathmask sobered up enough to help me to my feet and haul my heavy 485 pound ass to his auto-doc. It took him weeks to nurse me back to health, and all the while he was dismantling his entire villain organization.
Deathmask remembered that he was my friend and how stupid he was to think what he did all these years was right. After he explained it all to me from the word "go" to right now, he decided to join me.
Now we fight side by side once again. Just like the old days. | 28 | the villain. | 117 |
This was not how seventeen-year-old novice vampire hunter Lorelei Reeves had planned for her revenge to go. It was going to be a fairly simple matter, really. She’d already blackmailed the mayor, casted a silver 6.5 Creedmoor bullet, and picked the perfect vantage point from which to blow the bloodsucking bastard’s brains right out of his skull. She’d waited for hours, feeling the anticipation and adrenaline ramp up as it drew closer and closer to 9:05 PM. The time when “John Garrett,” a vampire who’s real name she never bothered to inquire, would leave his downtown city apartment building and go about his business of draining innocent people of their lives. But now that she had a gun to the back of her head, her plan wasn’t looking too hot. The vampires voice was calm and cold, but held no noticeable malice. “Take your hands off the rifle, stand up slowly, and keep your hands above your head,” said the creature. With no other option but death, she did as ordered.
Everything she thought she knew about vampires was broken in the instant that she turned to face a very boyish looking vampire. She knew she was one to talk when it came to the age at which one should get themselves way in over their heads in the secret world of American monster hunting, but she had a chip on her shoulder. Since the days of the days of the Wild West, her bloodline was cursed to be hunted by the mythical terrors most thought only to be tales. She knew them as murderers of many she had held dear. Gaunt, pale, sadistic. Those were the monsters who killed those around her. But this one looked nothing at all like them.
He stood at roughly 5’8”, two inches shorter than Lorelei, and not much clung to his skinny frame. A diet consisting of blood does not lend well to muscle growth. His white skin hadn’t gone completely pale yet. His messy chestnut hair flowed out of the back of a blue baseball cap to about halfway down the back of his neck. His intense blue-eyed gaze held her in place. Well, that and the loaded revolver pointed right at her. It looked like a reproduction model of a colt single action army. Odd choice, but it was still a loaded deadly firearm. About five seconds passed in which they just stared at each other awkwardly.
Henry had killed vampire hunters before, sure. No different from lawmen, really. Both vicious killers parading their bloodlust as justice and protection of the innocent, but only those deemed innocent by their benefactors. They’d betray you the second it benefitted them with no regard for any true justice. He’d killed lawmen before his tragic death, and he killed hunters after he came back. Just two sides of the same coin. But this… girl… was clearly different. Hell, she couldn’t have been more than twenty at most.
To start, she wasn’t a white man like all the other hunters he’d run into. She must not be affiliated with any “exclusive hunting club” he knew of. A black girl, sporting long ponytail of black dreadlocked hair went down to her tailbone. Hazel eyes of pure hate and malice. He knew that look all too well. He’d held it himself long ago. She had been wronged, but Henry couldn’t tell why that hate was directed at him. Had he killed someone close to her? Maybe, but if she was a hunter’s kid, then she would have had a better plan than this. It just didn’t add up. He decided to finally break the awkward silence that had settled over the cold rooftop.
“How old are you?” His question portrayed more curiosity than he’d wished to reveal, but it that bit of curiosity let Lorelei know that she might just have a chance of living. “I’m seventeen.” He holstered his revolver immediately and hung his head frustratedly.
“Well, you’re clearly not ill, so you’ve been wronged by either me or someone like me. That right?” She nodded apprehensively before speaking up, confidence shaking with along with the foundations of the hate she’d built all her life. “Nearly everyone I know… and they’re coming for me too.” She was one of the cursed. That meant there were likely vampires stalking them right now. Killing a renegade and a hunter in one fell swoop would be one hell of a payday.
Henry knew he shouldn’t, but it’s what Tunstall would have done. Tunstall gave him a second chance, a way to fight back and make something of himself. If he left her here, he’d betray everything they’d both died for. He felt eyes on the back of his neck. He didn’t have to ask, he knew it was one of them.
“Kid, get your gun up. You’re killing yourself a vampire tonight.”
(Edit: I am considering making a follow up, diving more into the history of the names that are at play. Thank you all for taking the time to read this story.) | 16 | A vampire hunter goes up against a vampire sire. The vampire is ready to kill the hunter, but pauses and asks how old they are. At hearing their age, the vampire stops fighting. They’re just a baby! They can’t kill a baby! | 29 |
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