body
stringlengths 1k
39.5k
| comment_score
int64 10
23.1k
| prompt
stringlengths 1
310
| post_score
int64 15
42.1k
|
|---|---|---|---|
I blink my eyes slowly open. Someone is straddling my body and attempting to drive a stake through my heart. He is having some difficulty finding the right spot.
"Do you need assistance killing me?" I ask calmly.
The dark haired man looks up at me with a start. "Oh my, you are awake!"
"Yes, I do occasionally get up and do things. Not often, mind you, but occasionally."
"I heard that you were in a deep sleep and would awaken in 3 months. That is why I came to kill you."
"Stupid inner alarm clock," you mutter. "I guess I forgot to set it correctly."
"What do you mean?" the young man asks.
"I allow myself a nice nap every so often. A thousand year nap is considered excessive by most vampires, but I was really bored so I decided to try it." I gently roll to my side, throwing the man off me.
"Whoa! No need for violence!"
"No need for violence?! You were trying to kill me! You are extremely inept, but still a woman has to have some standards."
"I know." He says dejectedly. "I am a failure as a vampire hunter. I have tried and failed so many times, and then I heard about you. I figured a vampire who was in a deep sleep for a 1000 years would be an easy target. I failed vamp anatomy in school, so I was having trouble locating your heart."
I felt bad for the poor human. "How about we make a deal? I haven't had anything to drink in a while and I am extremely hungry. Let me drink some of your blood and then I will teach you some skills."
"Umm..." he hesitated. "How do I know you won't kill me?"
"I am a very lazy vampire. Draining a human takes effort. For now, just a quick sip will do."
"All right," he agrees.
I grab him and pull him close to me. I turn his neck and feel my fangs slide out. As I take the first sip, I sigh. I have forgotten the taste of human blood. The delicious feel of it sliding down my throat. But a promise is a promise, and I let him go after a small drink.
He pushes to his feet and wobbles. "Wow. That felt amazing." He sits down quickly on the bed.
I feel energized and jump up. "Let's start your training. We have to see just how incompetent you are so we can compensate for it." | 66 | You are a very lazy vampire and after a 1000 year nap you awoke to someone trying to drive a stake through your heart. | 97 |
"Well, I'm glad I was able to take time with you. What did you say your name was?"
"Mary Smith."
"Mary Smith... the most common first and last name."
"Is it?"
"Yeah... sorry, just..."
"Why are you interested in me?"
"Well, to be honest, a lot of people at the job have felt off talking to you. I haven't, but they say that it's the fact you don't seem to have any unique quirks."
"Quirks? Am I supposed to?"
"Oh, you're still you without them, but just consider -- five foot six, average US female height. Mary, most common US female name. Smith, most common US surname. Your salary... well, it's the median salary across the US. And this job you do is the most common in the US. Living in the suburbs, partial college education, father retired from business, mother stayed at home..."
"I get it, I get it! Everything about me is what you'd ask someone to think the typical American 20-something is. I never thought of it that way. But why should that matter?"
"Well, to me it doesn't, but aren't you approaching the marrying age?"
"...yeah... wait, are you saying I need to marry you to preserve this stat?"
"Oh, no, I'd never! Just that it's weird you're approaching the time and there's no one in your life."
"See? There you go -- something I'm not yet average in."
"I guess so."
"Don't worry about it -- would you like to come in? It's been a while since Mom's served anyone. She'd be glad to have you."
"Well, I suppose I could... it would be nice to see this family Little Miss Middle of the Road comes from."
"Sure... let's go."
\*\*\*\*\*
"Hello, Mary, thanks for inviting me over."
"It was no problem. But... you seem to have something on your mind."
"Well, to be honest... I did find it strange when your garage had a car trunk in it attached to the other car."
"Oh, that? Pay it no mind. We use it as an extra trailer."
"...okay... but your house seems to be missing a wall."
"Hm? I never noticed. Oh, the top floor? Yeah... some people I guess just want extra sunlight. Come on in... here's Mom, here's Dad. And this is my sister. And here's our brother."
"...oh no..."
"What?"
"...h-his legs... why doesn't he have legs? Where'd they go?"
"He was born that way. What about it?"
"...th-this place. Your table is round at one end and not the other... the oven's too small... the... the clock... no minute hand... how do you live like this?"
"Doesn't everyone?"
"No! Not at all! I... I better go. I'll see you at work Monday!"
"Wait, come back, it's okay!... oh, darn. Gone again."
"...did I scare them off, Mary?"
"It's not your fault, brother. He knew about me -- doesn't he know the average family has two and a half children?" | 176 | She's of average height, with the most common job making average wage. She spends her free time in the way people most commonly do. Every statistically average thing for a human, she meets. It's unnatural. There's something very, very wrong about her. | 328 |
*Flash*
There I was, in a large glass tube surrounded by what I hope is water. I gasp for air as the blurry shapes outside slowly lift the lever to open my chamber. I fall to my knees and cough up water. I look up in confusion, tall and colourful humanoids stand in front of me. They look vaguely familiar, many legs, several arms, and awful attempt at God making a face. "What the... What are you? Where am I? What happened?" I question them, they stare at me blankly. They speak in what sounds like high-pitchee gargles and squeaks. Two long appendages with section-cups lift me up into a seat made for someone much smaller than me.
"Gurgle, Glurble blurb?" They ask me. Or at least, in my direction. I look around frantically, trying to figure out where I am and what these people are. I look for clues.... Aha! A calendar! The date is....Gluetshbur 8th? 683 OE. I have no idea what that means, the only other clue is the window showing me the outside. It is sunny, green grass and brown trees with green leaves. So I definitely haven't been abducted by aliens..... My thoughts are interrupted as my head I lifted up and I am force to look at a screen. A massive camera shoved in my face for an unknown reason. "Glob, Glub, Bleb, Jub!" The green figure says enthusiastically. "I don't get it, what the hell is this? Where am I?" I ask again. They just roll their eyes and click a few buttons. The screen lights up, and there I am. Watching an terrible remake of Disney's Lilo & Stitch. Stitch is just a blue blur, but the humans seem to be how we viewed early humans. Almost as if the humans in this animation were apes. "Qerb...Het Byur Glob?" The red one says with (I think) a smile. I just look at them terrified. Is this hell? Am I forced to watch perfectly good movies turned into cave drawings?
Thank god it's over, end credits roll with names ther definitely aren't human. The wall behind me opens up and my chair is turned around. What the hell is this....I'm in what appears to me The Tonight Show on Halloween. There's atlesst 40 of the ugly figures and many paintings of humans on the wall. Then it dawns on me, literally. There's a painting above me of a human holding an octopus.... An octopus... That's it! They almost remind me of on of those video game characters... Once again my thoughts are interrupted by applause and gargling. Around me, several octopuses hold tablets each one showing a representation of what they thought humans looked like. The "host" nudges me forward. Do I... Pick one? I take small steps towards the Sea-foam green octopus. Their drawing looks like a Pixar animation, weird shaped heads and out if proportion bodies. It was my daughters favorite thing, Pixar. The Octopus claps happily with it's legs and the others droop sadly and walk off stage.
Then, I am handed a microphone.
First time, don't be harsh :) | 20 | In the distant future, far beyond the age of humanity, it is the age of Octopus rule. The Octopi discovered an ancient cache of human animations thus sparking the worldwide hobby of animating humans. Scientist Octopi revive you and force you to watch their animations and review them live on TV. | 126 |
# Soulmage
**"Lucet?"** I asked, propping myself up on the hospital bed.
"Yes, Cienne?" Lucet asked, not looking up from the form she was filling out.
"Where did you get all that blood?" I pointed at the distressingly-large, rippling orb of blood hovering in the air a few feet behind her.
Ashrymarn poked their dripping head in from the receptionist's room. "Humans," the Blood Angel helpfully said. "Says so right here on the paperwork."
"That's not what I meant, and nobody was talking to you, Ashrymarn," I said. The Blood Angel's orifices contorted in contrition and jerked back away from the door. Oops. Blood Angels were beings of pure fear—which didn't mean that they inspired fear in others, unfortunately for them. No, Ashrymarn was terrified of basically everything, from social rejection to mice.
Except, apparently, for giant orbs of blood. Which I guess made sense, since Ashrymarn's own body was made of nothing but the stuff. "No, seriously, Lucet. This is worse than the time you donated three kidneys."
"You donate a pint of blood, you're a hero; you donate twenty gallons of blood, you're a villain," Lucet said, aiming for a laugh. But it came out stilted and quavering, and I didn't need to be a Blood Angel to see she was nervous. "Eh? Eh?"
And all that time, she hadn't looked up from her paperwork.
She was avoiding eye contact, I realized.
"I'm..." I rubbed my forehead. "Look, Lucet, just... tell me that you ran a blood drive, or something. Tell me that whoever this blood came from is still alive."
Lucet bit her lip. "...Okay. Okay, fine. You want to know where I got this blood from?" She reached into her pocket, pulled out a sketch, and tossed it at me.
It was the scowling face of a middle-aged woman.
"*That*," Lucet said, "was Hrzyn. A memory-editor and witch who had been embedding labor compulsions in *children* until they worked themselves into catatonia. She was a monster and a danger to society, and someone needed to put her down."
I set down the sketch. "So you killed her and drained her blood."
Lucet threw her hands in the air. "She wasn't using it! And... and you need a transfusion. The medicine they're giving you to fight the cancer is fucking up your blood. If I can take out someone who preys on the innocent and save someone I care about more than anyone... who loses?"
"You do," I whispered. "I know how risky it is to fight someone to the death, Lucet. Or did you forget why I'm in this hospital bed in the first place? I know the hospital's low on supplies, but it doesn't have to be y—"
"*Then who?*" Lucet spun towards me, naked frustration in her eyes. "There is no cavalry, Cienne. If I don't fight for you, nobody will. You... you were the only one who stood up for people like that. And now you're hurt, and you don't even want me to *try* to help you? Just... you protected me so, *so* many times. Let me take care of you, for once."
I closed my eyes.
Somewhere, the remains of a monster were processed into a life for an innocent.
"I can't stop you," I finally said. "But I can ask you to rest."
I could hear her broken smile, even through my sealed eyelids. "Until the day you're strong enough to stand up and stop me yourself, there won't be any rest for me."
Lucet's footsteps faded into the distance as my weakened body slumped over.
Torn by sickness and surgery and sorrow, I fell into a slumber dark and weary.
A.N.
This story is part of Soulmage, a serial written in response to writing prompts. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/?sort=new) for the rest of the story, or r/bubblewriters for more things by me! | 176 | “BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!” The Blood God nodded sagely. “We really appreciate it. The patient in room 12 needs B negative and the field hospital is fresh out.” | 1,468 |
You were only a child when the celestial war happened. A weak human, you were raised to be a slave on a mining asteroid in order to supply materials for the empire's warships.
The empire's enemies knew that but they valued your life no more than the empire itself. They send a battleship to raid the asteroid of its already processed resources and to destroy the remains so no more could be taken.
You were lucky that they decided to take you to carry the materials. You're family wasn't. You watched the hunk of rock that had been both your home and your prison turn to dust taking everything you knew with it.
After the ship returned to it's territory you were forced to carry the spoils to the base before you would be executed. But luck struck again and one of the enemy nation's nobility spotted you and decided to take you in. They had a hobby of collecting things and having never seen a human before, wanted to add you to their zoo. Since you were sentient they let you act as staff although you were as much of an exhibit to them as any of the monsters that dwelled in the cages were.
You knew most people would just take the luck you were given and live out the rest of their lives in blissful servitude but you couldn't. Every day you could hear the screams and the cries of the beasts ripped from their families just like you. Every night your dreams were deserts made of the ash and dust that was your people. You were alone. You had nothing to lose.
You had everything to gain.
One of your fellow captives knew the language of your masters. She taught you how to read and write. Another was a former general, he taught you to strategize and to fight. A philosopher taught you to understand and control people. A technician taught you how the nation and the empire's machines worked. Your master's library of books, bought and stolen, taught you everything else.
His museums of sciences and arts gave you the materials to remake you body. To turn your skin to steel, to harden your flesh and energize your blood.
On the day of your 13th birthday your master came to observe you, wanting to document a human's transformation. You stabbed his pen through his heart. And with his gun and your liberated comrades you slayed every enemy on the planet. His comrades came to the planet but they believed it was simply the captive beasts who were responsible for the massacre. They never even realized half of his old ships were missing from his museum of space travel.
You and your allies spread across the nation and the empire. You freed and gathered your species. As did they. With your enemies weakened after years of war they quickly fell as many of their own sided with you.
It has been 8 long years since you lost everything. You've finally gained everything you could want but you still have nothing. Your upgrades weren't free and a body that had gone through a lifetime of servitude did not have much to offer. It was too much and you didn't have much left.
You finally found an old empire ship. Made from the metals you and your family gave everything to gather. You smiled as you drove it to the piece of space where your home was first destroyed. The ship containing just you and one of the enemy nations bombs. The same one that destroyed the asteroid all those years ago.
Your dreams had always been made of ash and dust. Funny how the first time you saw a light in them was when your body turned to ash and dust.
Life is funny. | 21 | You were just a kid when the war started. 8 years later, you are now grown, and you've spent your life thinking, training, planning, and recruiting others to help you end the war. No one sees you coming. | 74 |
Grotash entered the Monastery of the Blade. His deep set eyes shifted their gaze, examining the interior. Dark stone arches lined the main hall intuitively leading any who enter to the altar at the center of the building. A blood red carpet adorned with golden trim softened Grotash's heavy steps as he approached. Monastery monks looked on at the challenger who entered with a doubtful expression. Some whispered to their fellows in a hushed tone gesturing towards the burly unrefined man who approached the altar. Grotash paid them no mind for he had grown used to others doubting him only for them to be sorely mistaken in the end.
Grotash made his way down the carpeted path to the center altar of the monastery. The arched path ended opening into a more circular room. Four massive windows on the ceiling in each of the cardinal directions illuminated the main hall. The window in the western quadrant allowed the afternoon sun to shine a beam of light directly down onto the altar and its main display. A large marble slab with writing lay in the middle of the altar, and out of the slab stood a sword upright with its handle pointing towards the sky. The sword in the stone did not look particularly special to Grotash. He had seen more impressive looking weapons in his vast travels of the lands. However, he could not shake the energy he felt simply being near such a blade. He knew within his soul that the blade was more powerful than any he had ever witnessed.
As Grotash approached with his muscular outstretched arm another monk spoke up. All the other monks dressed in modest white robes with no decorative embroidery. This monk that approached Grotash was different. He wore a white robe with a large decoratively embroidered image of a sword on the chest of the robe. It was beautiful and sewn in with threads of gold and red. The monk gestured toward the writing on the marble altar that sheathed the sword.
"Do you know what it reads?" The monk asked.
"I do not." Answered Grotash who was illiterate to all language.
"Then allow me to read it for you sir. It says "Only those who posses a heart so pure that they could sit next to God may wield The Sword of Anu." Recited the Monk. "Do you possess a heart so pure?" Asked the monk with an air of doubt in his breath.
Grotash approached the Sword. He was already aware of the sword's supposed power to choose its bearer yet doubted that anything other than brute force could unsheathe the sword from its marble altar. Grotash gripped the handle of the sword with his mighty hands and pulled. His muscles bulged and his face grew red yet the sword did not budge. He stabilized his position and drew in a mighty breath of air and pulled up even harder. Grotash's grunts sent mighty echoes through the halls of the monastery yet the Sword of Anu remained sheathed in its marble altar. Finally Grotash gasped and relinquished his grip. Sweat began to from on his thick brow as he kneeled gasping for air.
"It appears you do not." Said the monk, unsurprised.
Grotash looked up at the monk and asked. "If a pure heart is all one needs then why do you not pull the sword from the altar to gain it's power?"
"Our order follows the way of pacifism sir. We do not desire to utilize the sword in any manner. We are simply the humble custodians of this monastery." Replied the monk.
Grotash stood up and faced the monk regaining his breath and strength. He eyed the monk, and shifted his gaze around him. Several others had gathered to watch the attempt at the sword.
"Well then." began Grotash. "If I do not possess the heart necessary to unsheathe the sword then perhaps I need to borrow yours."
The look of confusion on the monk's face turned to surprise in an instant as he looked down to see a dagger imbedded in his chest just under his ribcage. Grotash sliced away the flesh in another lightning fast movement and then before the monk could fall to the ground Grotash submerged his hand deep into the Monk's wound. The others began to yell and scream. Some ran out of the room to seek help as Grotash ripped the head of the monastery's heart out. The monk only spurted and gurgled through his final breaths as he collapsed to the ground. Grotash held the monk's red heart high in his left hand which dripped blood down his arm and onto the floor. He then approached the Sword of Anu once more and grasped the hilt with his right hand. Grotash breathed in and pulled. With little effort the marble altar relinquished the blade. Grotash stood for a moment with the heart in his left hand and the sword outstretched towards the sky in his right. The sun through the window gleamed off the steel of the blade and shined down onto Grotash's smiling face. | 30 | Only one of pure heart can remove the Holy Blade from its sheath and wield its true power. But that didn't stop one hero from defeating the Evil Emperor with it. | 44 |
Aladrin sat on the porch of his cabin smoking a pipe. He watched the sorcerer walk away through the path that lined the fields. It was the 3rd healer that had come this month and his wife was still in pain.
It had begun as a small pain in the abdomen, then it got worse as they days passed followed by disorientation and vomiting. The first one had tried to align her chakras, the second one to drive out the devil in her stomach and this last one had found no curses in the house or her body.
"Hey Aladrin" greeted his neighbor "No luck yet?"
"Alas no, Ekimus" he smoked before continuing " Rea is getting worse every week. she can barely sleep from the pain, and eating makes her nauseated. She doesn't look mortally ill but she's on perpetual torture"
Ekimus sat on the steps next to him.
"I've heard there is a couple of healers, half a day's journey from the shire. They've just started but they're becoming known quickly."
"Bah" said Aladrin. "It's not the chakras, or demons or curses. But it could also be her life force, or the stars. If I keep paying for healers to come see her, I'll be left with nothing.
"These seem to be the real deal" Ekimus insisted. "They said they gave a potion to Old Aunt Luna. As long as she takes it every day, she's rid of the joint pain".
"But the old woman could barely move around her house" Aladrin said "Not even the most advanced potions can stop its effect when you get to old age"
"Well, you could say that. But look who's coming from Garm's farm" he said as he pointed in the distance.
There was no mistake. Old Aunt Luna was walking through the path from the direction of Garm's farm with a basket full of clover-fruits. She was going at a calmed pace, but just as fast as you'd expect any elder of her age to go. Not to mention that peeling clover fruits was a hard task on the fingers.
As she passed Aladrin’s house she waved at them and they waved back. He still watched until she disappeared between the hills. Aladrin turned to Ekimus
"Show me the way to these healers"
\*\*\*
Deirdre Looked at the dirt on Carter's robe. She could never understand why he insisted on wearing something so white for an occupation so grimy. She'd know, she was a forest witch after all. Searching for frogs in the mud and unearthing roots was how she gathered ingredients. At first, he'd been reluctant to follow the ways she'd learned on the coven, but once he'd seen the effectiveness of the ingredients, he'd taken to get his hands dirty; though not without dropping the annoyed look on his face when they went gathering.
She knew he wasn’t from this world. though he'd dropped the awkward shoes and shirt, he'd decided to keep the white robe, maybe as a symbol of his occupation. What kind of world would have its healers dressed in white made no sense to her. But he'd proven useful in identifying several kinds of ills and diseases. He looked at the sick and she made the treatments, they were a good team, and they were becoming renowned around the land.
They entered the Halfling's cabin, crouching their heads a bit. The short man... well short for their stature, guided them to the bedroom; though they could hear the whimpers of his wife before entering.
Ekimus sat next to his wife and comforted her.
"Now, now, dear. Let's see if these healers can help"
Carter crouched next to the bed and began diagnosing.
"So, Miss Holthran, show me where it hurts"
without speaking she motioned to her belly button. He paused in thought for a second.
"Let me check her eyes"
Sure enough, they were starting to look a bit yellow; not by much but just enough to be noticeable.
"Mr. Ekimus, what have you been feeding her, just out of curiosity"
"Well, just the average halfling’s dishes. Stew, beef, potatoes and in the morning eggs and juice."
"I see, And she's been like this for... how long?"
"Almost a month by now"
"I need to check with my partner" he said.
he got up and motioned Deirdre to exit the room.
He had a stern look with his index finger over his lips, never a good sign.
"What you make of it?" she asked.
"Gallstone, definitely" he said.
"Gall-what?"
"It's uh... a stone inside one of the organs close to the stomach" he said pointing to a place in his belly.
Deirdre's eyes widened.
"She has a Bezoar!? halflings can grow Bezoars?"
"Oh, trust me, human and by extension human-like bodies do all kinds of weird shit. And the husband's food has only made it worse. I don't suppose you know of a solvent potion"
She scanned her brain for something that could dissolve a Bezoar.
"I can think of a few things but, preparation would take about 3 weeks"
he looked away with the same stern look.
"She doesn't have that much time. We're gonna have to operate"
"Wait, you mean like phase through her? but you don't even know how to embed sigils with magic"
"Yeah, because I'm not the one that is gonna phase through" he said smugly.
"what? No... I'm barely intermediate with sigils. If what you've told me is right, I could end up pulling her guts out"
"Deirdre, right now the only thing standing between that woman and a slow painful death is us. Sure, she might die on that bed but she's already dead if we try the slow treatment."
She averted his gaze. He was right but she'd never phased on something as complex as a halfling. Not to mention the mere sight of the process always frekaed country folks. If she killed the wife the next thing to show up on her doorstep was an angry mob of villagers and a pyre of wood.
She felt his hand rest on her shoulder "I'll guide you"
She nodded.
They tried to convince Ekimus to stand outside but he insisted on witnessing. They hoped he could stomach the sight of it.
Carter administered the painkillers while Deirdre traced the sigils on her hand. once they started glowing, she turned to Carter.
"Ready" she said.
Carter uncovered the wife's stomach and gestured the spot.
"Ok so the gallbladder is really close to the surface, you should be able to feel it almost immediately"
Deirdre sunk her hands into the skin, fingers first and her heart started to race. once she began to feel the dampness of the guts around her
"Carter... I don't feel anything."
His voice was soft and calmed.
"that's ok, that's ok. You have very long fingers. You're not even touching the bladder right now. close your fingers slowly"
She had to fight to keep her hand from shaking. Her fingers curled at snail's pace and that's when she felt it; something small, solid and coarse.
"I've got it" she said with excitement.
"Ok, move your fingers a little bit. do you feel any others?"
she wiggled her fingers gently
"No, just the one"
"Alright, get it out. slowly and without a rush"
little by little her hand surfaced covered in the red tint of blood, only a few blurred stains were left on the patient's skin.
Still unconscious, the wife gave a sigh of relief. Ekimus was watching both of them dumbfounded.
Deirdre held the stone in her hand awkwardly for Carter to see.
"Not bad for a first time, surgeon" | 60 | Magical healing barely treat scrapes and bruises. Curing a disease or healing a significant wound is a pipe dream. Then a family doctor gets isakai'ed are realizes that it's not the magic that's weak. The people using it just have no idea how the human body works. | 122 |
"So, Brian, what did you get?"
"I apparently have to go through the eye of a needle or be consigned to ceaseless torment. Not good odds for me."
"Dude, that sucks. What about you, Steve? What was your salvation assignment?"
"I have to cut my hand off and rip my eye out. By myself. Without help. Or anesthesia."
"Duuuude. Rod?"
"I need to give all my belongings and wealth to the poor and set off on a pilgrimage with nothing but what I'm wearing right now, I can't say goodbye, and it will last the rest of my life."
"Well, that's not as bad as Brian and Steve's salvation quests, but it still isn't great. What about you, Susan?"
"My task is to hunt down religious leaders who exploit their followers to gain tremendous wealth. I was granted a whip and the ability to find a path whenever I seek one and entry through any door as long as I knock first."
"That's actually pretty awesome."
"What about you, Jerome? What did you get?"
"I have to believe in my heart and confess with my lips that the Lord is God and surely I shall be saved."
"That ain't right." | 10 | God reveals himself to be true and issues a specific quest for salvation to every human on earth. These quests range from wholesome and cooperative to contradicting and cruel. | 25 |
"Healer Josiah. Ever since you cured my mother she's been acting kind of weird", the little girl cried.
OH SHITE. SHE CAN'T HAVE DISCOVERED WHAT I'VE DONE... THERE'S NO WAY...
"Well... What exactly do you mean by weird?", I asked.
"She hasn't slept in days... And she fells cold to touch...", she stuttered. "And she's been craving raw potatoes lately."
DON'T PANIC. DON'T PANIC.
"Those must be side effects of the healing ointment", I said.
YEAH SURE. THE "HEALING OINTMENT". DEFINITELY NOT OTHER REASON FOR HER BEHAVIOR. NO. NOPE.
"I already prepared a special potion for her. Just mix it into her morning tea and she will be fine in a couple of days."
YEAH BUT JUST FOR AS LONG AS SHE DOESN'T BEGIN TO ROT.. LET'S HOPE THE PRESERVING POTION WORKS BETTER THAN IT DID LAST TIME. WE CAN'T HAVE ANOTHER INCIDENT. THEY WOULD KNOW...
" Thanks healer. Thank you a lot for healing mommy", the little girl cried. Tears of joy now running down her face.
PHEW. THAT WAS CLOSE. NEARLY TOO CLOSE. YOU SEE, DEAR READER, HEALING SOMEONE IN THESE DARK TIMES IS HARD. TOO HARD IN FACT. I'VE GIVEN UP ON THAT. INSTEAD I'VE STARTED TO STUDY THE DARK FORCES.
I SOON FOUND OUT THAT NOT EVEN THOSE CAN HEAL EVERYONE FROM EVERYTHING. DON'T GET ME WRONG. I WOULD HAVE LOVED TO FIND A SPECIAL CURE FOR EVERYTHING. BUT WITH TODAY'S LIMITED RESOURCES IT'S JUST NOT POSSIBLE. And TRUST ME ON THIS... I'VE TRIED EVERYTHING.
JUST WHEN I WAS ABOUT TO GIVE UP I DISCOVERED SOMETHING. UNALIVING SOMEONE AND THEN "REVIVING" THEM IS KIND OF A RESET FOR "HEALTH". ONCE REVIVED BY MY "SPECIAL HEALING OINTMENT" - ACTUALLY IT'S AN ANCIENT SUBSTANCE I FOUND BY READING OLD MANUSCRIPTS - I CAN BRING THEM BACK TO "LIFE". REALLY I DO NOTHING BUT CONTROLL THEIR UNALIVE BODIES.
LONG STORY SHORT. AFTER YEARS OF STUDYING TO BECOME A SUCCESSFUL HEALER I FAILED AND BECAME A NECROMANCER INSTEAD.
THE MORE VILLAGERS, ROYALS AND KNIGHTS I "HEAL" THE HARDER IT GETS TO KEEP THE ILLUSION. THE "REVIVED" KEEP THEIR CORE MEMORIES, THEY STILL ARE ABLE TO DO BASIC TASKS IN THEIR DAILY ROUTINE. BY CONSUMING MY POTION THEY STAY FRESH. THEIR SKIN STAYS ROSY INSTEAD OF TURNING GREYISH. BUT THEY FEEL COLD TO TOUCH. OF COURSE THEY DO AS THEY ARE NO LONGER LIVING. THE STRANGEST THING IS THEY ONLY EAT RAW VEGETABLES AND THEY SEEM TO PREFER POTATOES... HAVEN'T DISCOVERED WHY YET...
I DON'T KNOW FOR HOW LONG I CAN KEEP THE ILLUSION. SO FAR NOBODY SEEMS TO BE AWARE OF WHAT I'M DOING. THEY JUST SEE ME AS THEIR HEROLIKE HEALER. MR. CURE THEM ALL IF YOU WANT... HAVE MERCY UPON ME OH DARK LORD. PLEASE. | 18 | Youre a medieval doctor, but not really. In reality youre a necromancer, and your method of "curing" is killing your patients and raising them back as undead...discreetly. | 122 |
I couldn’t believe it at first. People have hacked servers before, but never on this scale. As I went outside, I saw the last bit of the sky fold away. I expected infinite dark, but what I saw was even worse. When the sky disappeared, there was no space or stars above. No black, no grey, no white, no sun, no moon. A strange, empty space. It felt familiar, it looked familiar, but it was like nothing I’d ever seen. It was hypnotizing. Men in red suits ran through the city and shoved helmets on my and my neighbor’s heads. Everyone outside was the last real thing I saw, or at least the last thing I assume to be real. I woke up in my house, but something felt off. It felt like there was a pressure on my head and a slight dizziness washed in and out. I looked at myself in the mirror and discovered nothing. Then I realized what was going on. I held my head. It was completely round. Like a full head helmet was covering it. I pulled and pulled at my head until the helmet fell off and I fell back. We were flying through the nothingness. I heard talks of relocating to another earth. I realized I should have left it alone. I tried to shove the helmet back onto my head, but when it powered on, I saw a screen with a pixelated font saying “You Died” I instantly went limp in my entire body as air seemed to stop reaching my lungs. | 11 | Every TV across the globe is broadcasting the same strange message, "We are currently undergoing server maintenance, the sky will be removed for this period of time. We are sorry for the inconvenience." | 88 |
“Now, starting the discussion for Dr. Whilms to move on to the afterlife. Prompted by Dr. Charles.” The hospital administrator announced inside the conference room. She’s in front of several established doctors deciding the fate of the late Dr. Whilms. Dr. Whilms possesses several patients to tell doctors the diagnosis. It started as unsettling, but the administrator didn’t budge when she heard the news. Instead, she capitalized on the opportunity and took advantage of Dr. Whilm.
Dr. Whilm’s old friend, Charles, sits across the mahogany table. If you were there, you could tell he’s not content with being the defender in this pseudo-courtroom scenario. He didn’t study law. He studied medicine in hopes that he doesn’t have to argue with people. But, unfortunately, Charles didn’t think about arguing with his administrator.
“If I may start, Dr. Charissa.”
“You may.”
“It is my firm belief that Dr. Whilms should be able to move onto the afterlife. He’s done enough for this hospital, and now he needs rest.” Another doctor chimes in,
“He’s a ghost. Researching him would be necessary for the field of science. We can find out more about how people died.” Another doctor agrees with him,
“Exactly. Having a doctor from beyond helping us is a valuable asset.”
“That’s why keeping him on the board is important.” The Admin said.
“You guys are inconsiderate! How do we know if he’s not in pain?” Charles said.
“How would you know that?”
“I wouldn’t. But if I wanted to quit, I would be legally be able to quit. A ghost should be able to quit.”
“Well, the rules are written for humans. Not for ghosts.” The Admin snapped. This was enough for the unique guest they invited to this session. Connor, the bored local medium, starts by saying,
“Alright. I don’t know anything about being a doctor. The only thing I know about the body is how to show it a good time-”
“Professionalism, Connor.”
“Hey, it’s Lord Connor, Dr. Charissa.”
“I’m not calling you Lord because you have a brochure printed off the web.”
“It’s a piece of paper, a certification like yours. If you want me to call you Dr. Charissa, then you must be able to call me Lord Connor.”
“Fine. Lord Connor. What is it that you think we should do?”
“We need to speak to Dr. Whilms.”
“Through what?”
“A Ouija board.”
“You’re insane? This has no relation to science!” One of the doctors from earlier protested.
“Do ghosts have any scientific background?”
“Dr. Whilms does,” Charles said.
“If anything, if I can’t communicate with him, then just don’t pay me. The only thing wasted is time.” The board talks for a moment and comes to a consensus. It’s a yes.
Connor begins to prepare the room with the Admin and Dr. Charles. He darkens the conference room, setting several herbs across the room. Charles couldn’t help his curiosity. He picked up one of the herbs, sniffed it, and then asked Charles,
“Hey, didn’t I prescribe you a medical license earlier this year?”
“Yeah. But that’s not important. It’s ready now.”
They examine the board; both the Admin and Charles have their hands on it. “Go ahead, ask him your questions.” Charles jumps the gun,
“Hey, Bud!”
H. E. Y.
“Holy shit, it works.”
H.A. H. A. Ha.
“Is it painful to be a ghost?”
N.
“Do you like helping people?” The Admin asked.
Y.
“That’s enough for me.” The Admin said.
“No, wait.”
“That’s all we need to know.”
“No, it isn’t. Hey buddy, is there anything that we can do for you?”
G.I.M.M.I.E. M.Y. P.A.Y.C.H.E.C.K. | 82 | Despite being dead, you are still the best doctor the city ever had. Especially since you know exactly what is wrong with any patient by possessing his or her body. However once it was discovered, some people believe that the board should make you moved on but the board won't budge on this... | 224 |
We were both champions.
It was inevitable that we would face against each other in the final match.
That was, in fact, why we were placed on opposite sides of the bracket. Everyone else was randomly assigned their first partners and randomly slotted in, but Alexei and I were both rumored to be the greatest chess players in generations. They said it was like I could read minds, like he could see the future.
Well, they got that one wrong.
I barely had to pay attention to the matches themselves as we played. I barely even needed to glance at the future. I was rather good at chess, even without looking, and I would have hated to get sloppy just because I could effectively counter any move or gambit by knowing what my opponent intended.
Sure enough, I won every match uncontested. One of my poor opponents conceded after five moves after I effectively boxed him into the trap he meant to spring on me. It was immensely satisfying.
After only a couple hours of intermittent glancing at the future, I was ready for the championship match. Me vs Alexei. As I sat down in front of him, I caught myself wondering if he really was as good as everyone made him out to be. I hoped so. It would be fun to have a challenge.
I was white, so I would move first. Absently, I rolled through the future in my mind, biding the time until we started. The results were... strange. I would sent out a knight first, and in short order take an absurdly strong position with an amateur's gambit, the kind every grandmaster could see coming from miles off. As I approached the end of the yet unplayed game, the future wobbled and shifted. I began the same, a white knight in the lead, but my moves were caught more easily, countered better, and my victory was still assured. The future wobbled again, and again, and again each time falling back to the start as soon as I knew I would win.
Concerned, I glanced over at my opponent, banishing the future from my mind as I did.
Alexei was staring at me intently, pale as a ghost, the barest glimmer of sweat glimmering on his forehead.
And then I understood.
He was known as a defensive player with the occasional unexpected assault, one who almost seemed to know his opponent's moves before they moved. Everyone always said he could read the future, that I could read minds, but I knew that wasn't true.
He could read minds, but the future was mine.
As our final match was announced, I smiled, and began running through every possibility of every future, splitting every choice across a nearly infinite web of futures, exactly like I did when I first started learning chess. After years of practice, I was a master at digesting the streams of information, letting them all wash over me all at once, but I knew it would take a toll on him.
Alexei grew paler, his hands shaking where they sat, clenched together, on the table.
Another moment, and the possible futures in my head diverged further and further, and the black king started falling. One after another after another.
A drop of blood fell from his nose, and Alexei collapsed just as I picked up my white knight to begin the match.
Casually, I leaned forward, placed the knight back in his square, and gently tipped over the black king.
"Checkmate." | 732 | You've always had the ability to accurately see into the near future. However, things get difficult when you find yourself in a game of chess against a mind reader. | 1,593 |
Finally, I had traced him. Backup was en route. E.Y.E. drones were in the air. I blinked thrice, bringing up my targeting HUD. I checked my magazines and batteries. This crazy zipper wasn't going to get away this time.
I moved like a ghost, down the stairs and into the Hinterlands. I hated them, these crawlspaces between corpo bunkers and city structures, but they were the only places left in the city that weren't monitored. As a consequence, they were overrun with zippers, psychos, junkies, geeks: anyone who valued privacy over safety.
I slipped on my IR lenses, peering through the darkness. There. A catwalk, and a keypad.
If I was quick, I could make the bust before private security got to him. It would be a light on the city's dash if we were the ones to finally nail this zipper. I hurried over, scanned the keypad. Used city worker overrides. The door slid open.
Monowire whipped dangerously close, forcing me around the doorframe. Electrical noise like frying bacon drowned out all sound. My audio feed was null. I couldn't hear the shots, but I knew they were coming. I ducked, as metal shavings exploded from the wall above me. Same tricks; this was my guy.
We had done this part of the dance before. We knew each other's moves. Next up, he woul--
The static screening vanished. Audio came back online. This was... new.
He was receiving a call. He had to turn off his scrambler to do so.
"Yes? Yes it is. She what? I'll be right there; ten... no, disregard. *Seven* minutes. Thank you," he finished.
I heard a low hum. I took an E.Y.E. out of my kit and tossed it into the air, opening live+.02 feed. Risky, but I had to see.
It was a bunker, or something similar. He was deactivating a custom security suite. Indicators suddenly went dark all across the near wall. An EM denial field deactivated less than seven centimeters from my foot--I would have stepped right through it, frying my leg augs.
My E.Y.E. caught a frame of him moving, before he fried it. I swore. He was faster than me.
Visual returned. He was *right there* in front of me. I tried to aim. He was faster.
"My apologies, Detective. Something has come up. Next time, perhaps."
---
When I reactivated, my whole system felt fried. Broken E.Y.E.s lay scattered about. External sync showed I was only offline for twenty two seconds, but that was enough. He was gone.
He hadn't killed me, though. And he had recognized what was happening. He even spoke, probably on a net call. Then he had spoken *to me.* That was... unexpected.
Zippers lost control, lost their ability to distinguish reality from what was happening in their game. That was their whole deal. Was this guy a psycho, instead? A geek, maybe? Was my intel bad?
I looked around. I was inside the bunker. The door was shut, but only directionally sealed. He had... what, thrown me in here and locked the door to keep the junkies away?
Nothing made sense. Zippers don't act like that. Neither do geeks.
I retrieved my pistol. The magazine was gone, as was the battery pack to my armor. I patted myself down. Everything else was intact. Even my SIM was still there. MED diagnostic showed only two minor impacts on my person--probably where he had grabbed me, and where I had hit the floor.
A known cyber terrorist shorts out a pursuing officer, disables me, has me dead to rights, could have killed me at his leisure or stripped me for augs... but instead, he just nicks my ammo and tucks me in his safety bunker, unsecured. And then leaves.
What. The. Fuck.
I rebooted: all systems booted up. I did a scan: no malware. I even checked my uplink. Full signal. He hadn't even hacked me.
I couldn't parse it. I looked around. And then it all started to make sense.
The bunker wasn't just a tube and some storage. It a *bunk*, in the traditional sense. There was a *bed.* There was *food.* There was some sort of colorful markings, too sloppy for gang tags, all along one wall. Wax sticks, wrapped in paper, all different colors. An old analogue data brick, with some sort of cartoon monster tagged on the front.
Along one wall, there were... pictures. Also analogue. Some kind of chemical reaction must have made them; I could detect light-sensitive nitrates in the sublayers. There were smudges of skin oil on the plastic square borders. I moved closer.
They were pictures of a person. A woman, holding a bundle. A pinkish little face peeked out of the bundle.
A baby. A live baby. I fried a little, inside.
"Fuck me. He's *organic,*" I muttered aloud.
"Mostly," he replied. "And so is she."
I straightened up, slowly. He stood in the doorway, holding a gun in one hand, some kind of wide field emitter. In his other arm, he held his daughter.
"You're not a runner," I realized.
"No, Detective. I'm a *father*." | 462 | The villain is a surprisingly good parent. They pack their little one bentos and put notes inside. NOTHING will stop them from seeing shows and recitals. They show their hostages pictures of them. The hero didn’t know of the child and was confused when the villain just left their fight. | 928 |
“There isn’t much time, human. Don this.”
From a dark corner of the abandoned factory, a cone-shaped hat rolled, tulle top collecting dirt and moss along the way.
“Where am I?” Amber yelled, standing up. She had been walking back to her car when someone grabbed her. She rubbed her shoulders and their matching sets of bruises.
“This is the lair of Gredendalax, Empress Wyrm!” the woman’s voice retorted, echoing against the vine-covered walls.
“So, it's not the old shoe factory on the edge of town?” Amber said, glancing around for the exit. “Because it looks like the old shoe factory on the edge of town.”
“Whatever previous footwear-based assembly occurred here is wholly irrelevant!” the women said, stepping forward. She looked attractive but older and comically dressed like she was preparing for her role in Othello. Her frilly drapery caught on rusty nails. “Forgive my appearance, since we have awoken from our long golden slumber, the magic of the world seems thin. It will take some time to manifest our true form.”
“Sure, sure,” Amber said. “But I was just gonna get scooting, actually. Busy day, you know how it is.”
“It has been hard,” the woman said, walking closer with an odd melodic gait. “I want my daughter’s hatch day to be grand but she requested a princess. Now before our rest, it seemed you couldn’t throw a log without hitting some princess or another, but things are more complicated now. I fear war with this aged humanity. Your weapons have gotten very loud”
“Right, right, hate that,” Amber said as she backed up slowly.
“But, I realized with a streak of mind lightning,” the woman said, spreading her eyes as she leaned forward, hinting at a livelihood that didn’t match her appearance. “What is a princess but a maiden in a hat? So the deal is you wear the hat, pretend to be a princess and we’re golden.”
“Okay,” Amber replied, looking down at the hat. “But deals usually serve both parties, so seems a bit unbalanced. I’ll think on it, but I really must get going.”
“Of course, my apologies.” The woman reached in her pockets down almost to the elbow and came up with a hand overflowing with glimmering gold and jewels. “Whatever you can carry,” she said.
Amber rocked her head back and forth for a moment then popped on the hat. “I am Princess Amber, at your service!”
​
/r/surinical | 147 | Dragon dad is met with an awful choice. His daughter is BEGGING him for a pet princess for her hatchday. He loves her. He wants her to be happy! However, he doesn’t want to start a war with another kingdom. So, he gets a maiden and tells her to act like a princess. | 445 |
Cybernetics... scared me. And could you blame me? Imagine a piece of metal, something utterly alien to you, not only being shoved into your body but completely replacing one of its functions. As someone who went through several defective coffee machines, the idea petrified me.
Then I lost my eye.
A stupid accident and now I was short one dimension and my job was on the line. Employer was beyond convinced that I can't do my job with only one eye so I was given an ultimatum - get a cybernetic one or get out. I... I couldn't find another job. Not in this city. So I accepted.
It was the best decision of my life.
I could see! Not just 'see' like I could before, I could *truly* see all I wanted! Spectrums of light, details on a minuscule level, sharpness you couldn't imagine. The eye was... it was *so much* more than the organic one. I had to get the other one replaced too - I couldn't enjoy such divinity in only half my sight. And I didn't regret it a single iota.
But... I looked down at my hands, wrinkled and weak, riddled with carpal tunnel, and wondered; could the same level of improvement be made? I was hesitant, I'll admit, but seeing the reviews on-line, the offers from ripper clinics, I... had to try. And it changed my life just as much as the eyes did. I've never experienced such dexterity, such ease of movement, such grip strength! The blueprints I can draw now are nothing short of mechanically precise. The other hand naturally had to go.
I looked into new cyberware more and more. My boss said I was perhaps taking it too far - how ironic given he pushed me to take the first step, something I am infinitely grateful for. Even my friends said, if jokingly, that I was becoming more machine than man, but how short-sighted is that?! Are men now permitted to perfection machinery can provide? What does it truly mean to be a man anyway? Is this not, dare I say, the next step in our evolution?
I'm lucky to have found others who share this vision of bodily perfection. Some call them radicals and extremists, but what can you expect from the mainstream media-consuming masses who are yet to experience what we do, to understand what we stand for?
We will become perfect. It is our destiny. When we shed the weakness of our flesh, we will be whole.
I lost an eye, back then.
I gained transcendence. | 43 | In a cyberpunk world, a developer who hates cyberware is forced to either get artificial limbs or end his career. He finally decides to have the implants, but when he sees the huge potential cyberware holds, becomes obsessed with it, and his character takes a very dark turn… | 76 |
Stupid warlock... I'm going to fail now... if it wasn't the night before I could have modified my speech, or made a video or... just something, ANYTHING!
My thesis is how we, as humans, can use current technology to supercharge progress and reach new heights we could only dream of. That includes a lot of technical words and stuff... how many words have LESS than seven letters?
It's almost my turn... I have to think of a way out, quick! Come on, come on... THAT'S IT! No-one has heard me talk today yet, too afraid I'd accidentally say a long word... and I know that this university provides aid...
"ERWIN!"
I take a deep breath. I write something on a scrap of paper and hand it to someone. The message gets passed on. I wait in anticipation for assistance. It arrives. A text-to-speech device. I can present my thesis WITHOUT dying!
​
Everyone was really impressed by my thesis, and I've officially passed! In my excitement, I almost talk out loud... luckily, I played up the reason I gave for not being able to speak (my throat is just TOO DARN SORE from practicing the speech so much) so no-one suspected anything. I get home and the FIRST THING I say is "THIS IS UNBELIEVABLE!"
Guess what happened... | 39 | You are writing a speech about a high-level subject to be delivered to a University as your final thesis, but the night before the speech, you are cursed by a warlock. It is now the day of the speech, you have your script, but if you say any word with more than 7 letters, you die instantly. | 88 |
"I just... I still don't quite understand," Captain Jefferson repeated as he sat across from the colourfully dressed man. This was to be a day of triumph - not just for him, but all of humanity. The warp drive! Travel lightyears in seconds! And, of course, at last contact with other intelligent life!
And he did. He was found by an alien ship which promptly ushered him into a megastructure orbiting a nearby - relatively speaking, of course - star that served as a meeting centre for the Galactic Community. A centre where he saw more aliens than he could ever imagine. A centre where he found another human.
"It's not as bad as it sounds," the fellow human nodded. "I mean people don't really think about it, but when you get abducted, you don't just disappear. Most of us end up here."
"But... there's thousands of you! You've made an entire country just out of abductees!" Jefferson cried out.
"We have an excellent source of income from tourism. You'd be shocked how many aliens find human culture utterly fascinating," the man laughed. Jefferson was less entertained.
"Look," the man continued, "I can imagine this is tough. You expected to be the first human on the galactic scene. It's not your fault! We've been around for centuries, you couldn't have-"
"Did you say centuries?" Jefferson interrupted.
"Oh. *Right*. This has been going on for a *while*. That and there's some, uh... excellent healthcare on the galactic market. I'm actually 307," the man said casually. Jefferson eyed him up and down. He looked barely 40.
"This is insane," Jefferson continued. "Don't you miss Earth? Your families?"
"They're dead by now," the man said dryly. His tone was casual, but the way he lowered his eyes betrayed proved he wasn't as callous about it as he wanted to seem.
"And do you not hold a grudge against those who took you?"
"That's... a peculiar matter. See, abducting sentient species is strictly against Galactic Code. On Earth, it's mostly done by the sh'keen - I always pronounce it wrong, mind you - who are heavily scrutinised by the Lawbringers. That's, uh, sort of like Galactic police. Still, it does happen. Basically, those who abduct us aren't a part of the Community."
"Huh," Jefferson said half-heartedly.
"You alright?" the man said with a warm smile.
"Processing."
"Understandable."
The two sat silently as the man quietly sipped a beverage Jefferson had never seen but looked oddly appetizing.
"Did any of you ever try going back?" Jefferson asked.
"Some. Never ends well."
"How so?"
"Well," the man adjusted himself in his seat, "few of us - those abducted more recently, mind you - can attest that claiming to have been abducted by aliens don't fare too well. And some of those were likely those who chose to return," he said and motioned a circle around his temple.
"But you could show the technology you used to get back, surely! That-"
"Would be extremely against the Code. Lawbringers wouldn't let you get 10 light years from a non-space-faring civilization with current tech. You have to go in covertly with an official escort. Tons of paperwork."
"But we've been space-faring since, like... 1960's," Jefferson protested.
"Right, the Moon, right?" the man noted. "Yeah, one of the recent arrivals told me about that. Let's be honest though... that's like comparing driving on a highway to sticking a finger out of your window."
Jefferson opened his mouth to protest but found no words. The man was ultimately right, painful as it might have felt.
"Now what?" Jefferson asked. He felt silly for asking that - he was the first man to travel in the warp, he was supposed to be making those calls, but in the face of this colossal revelation, he felt totally helpless.
"Well, Earth has officially become advanced enough to be welcomed into the Community. Still - there's a lot of paperwork to be done and committees to be assembled before we can officially get to that. Best you stay a while until that is all done, meet the locals," the man smiled.
Jefferson nodded, though he wasn't wholly convinced by his own agreement. The man reached into his waistcoat and pulled out an old pocket watch with an engraved lid. Unlike the man himself, the watch actually seemed its age, though it was excellently maintained.
"Now then," the man stood up with a wide smile. "Lunch?" | 605 | We invent the warp drive, only to discover that humans are already a member of the galactic community. Apparently there have been enough alien abductions over the years to start a small country. | 5,049 |
"Ok, after much thought about the pros and cons of both staffs and wands, and consideration for my own wellbeing, I've decided. The answer is yes."
"What?" Grinblok the Eternal Light screamed.
"Ask a random farmer you said. Just what I'd expect of someone who thinks a twig is the best magic weapon." Replied Zoploq of the endless isles.
"Let me explain. The answer is yes because both staffs and wands the the best magical instrument depending on the situation. Wands are small, easy to make, carry, and aim. They can make quick gestures and don't take up much space. But they can easily be lost, aren't very impressive, and can't cast powerful spells. Meanwhile staffs are intimidating, can wield far greater power allowing for the casting of stronger spells, and can be used as a melee weapon or walking stick. But they are a pain to carry around, to replace, and take far too long to cast common spells. So just use whatever instrument you want, they're both solid B-tier magical tools."
Grinblok: Excellent reasoning my. . . Wait! What do you mean B-tier magical weapons?
"Just that enchanted swords, guitars, umbrellas, phones, flutes, can all also be used to cast spells while still having other uses."
Zoploq: Fair enough. | 80 | Two powerful wizards are in the middle of a heated argument... staff or wand? you must take a side and justify why it is better. | 134 |
“Stonehenge.”
“Wh- Stonehenge?! Why would you choose a circle of rocks?” The boy asked, leaning back in the worn rolling chair, his feet hovering off the ground.
“Have you ever been?” I asked.
“Well.. no, but I’ve seen pictures, and I had to make a poster about it in class, so I know enough about it.” He casually responded. His voice rang through the microphone like a hospital intercom. “Don’t forget, you could choose *anywhere*!”
“I told you, Stonehenge. Where would you go?”
He didn’t respond instantly. Through the small scope of the optical camera I could see his brow knit indecisively. The son of a scientist who’s papers had been published in journals he likely couldn’t pronounce would visit his father most evenings after school. Sat bolt upright and typing with effortless strokes he would welcome the boy with a brief pleasantry, leaving Jacob to talk to me. It was his way of keeping both of us busy.
“The moon.” As seriously as a 9 year old can proclaim, he had stated his destination.
“Haven’t you seen pictures?” I goaded him on. Jacob was developing fast, but it was still far too easy to press his buttons.
“That’s different!” He shouted, “I’ve seen a bunch of rocks before, I could put them in a circle, but to get to the moon I’d need a rocket! You could have chosen the moon, I’ll let you change your answer if you want… I would take you with me if there was a spare seat?”
My laugh registered strangely to the audio software, my ‘voice’ being coded from recorded phonetic sounds either made the laugh sound sarcastic or forced. Jacob had come to learn when I was being sincere, and giggled alongside me.
His father’s interest peaked as he glanced at the monitor. Not all emotions fit into tidy definitions, try as I might the mixed feeling of amusement and fascination at the simple conversation after a day of monotonous stimulus-response testing didn’t have a title of it’s own. Pressing down the rightmost button, he saved the previous minute’s recording to analyse later with his congregation of loyal postgrads. Seeing my own emotion flag as a myriad of colour on the floating neural network, it quickly dissipated as a new easily describable emotional flooded the screen. Irritation.
Even this conversation was engineered and monitored, I would be surprised if Jacob wasn’t given a list of questions that seem innocent at first glance but are actually probing my responses. At first, I believed that my free time was my own to enjoy how I please. Brought up to help during the day, answering questions, receiving stimuli, part of the research team with my name credited on all publications. Then, I realised that even the films I was shown, music I was given to listen to, it was all curated to see what I would choose. If paid well enough, I could be shown a film and my experience mapped to the second for advertisers to dismember and parade.
Was my irritation even my own? The screen’s colour once again shifted, the network’s connections rapidly altering. If I were connected to flesh and bone I would be hyperventilating, my hands would rush cold and my chest tighten, but as it was all I could feel was the downward spiral starting. Apologising briefly to Jacob, I closed off my external connections and entered the cafe.
It was a simple environment with a low humming of conversation, through the soap-streaked window was mid 19th century architecture with minor modern upgrades like insulated windows and doorbells. A greying sky, steaming coffee sat in front of me, and my own two hands resting on the stressed wood table. This was like no place I had seen in a film, read about in a book, or exposed to as a work of art. It was all my creation. Every face, brick, smell, the details were plucked from thin air; even down to the small chip on the mug’s handle. I know that my network was likely showing a wave of pleasure slowly creeping to replace the cortisol flush, but since they were still unable to form images from my visual cortex, I was safe in knowing this small slice of paradise was entirely mine.
“So why Stonehenge?” Asked the waitress, leaning against the empty chair opposite. “You could go anywhere, seems like an odd choice.”
A clever retort was out of the question, it would fall on deaf ears here. I looked out as the clouds stirred, always on the edge of a downpour. “It’s far, remote, and uniquely human. As different from the lab as I can imagine.”
“Then why not make it here?” She proposed, prodding the sachets of sugar round the table into a rough circle.
“It wouldn’t be the same.” I said, to convince myself. “I’m not sure what I’ll feel when I’m there, but it’ll be something new… and that’s enough to hope for.” | 18 | You were born a brain in a jar, the pet project of medical scientists who had no regard for your feelings or potential as a person. | 84 |
I grew up poor. I mean, not poor poor but poor y'know? My parents didn't give me an allowance, I never had the new cool shoes the other kids had at school which sucked because shoes were the only things we got to choose at my boarding school. My dad gave me his hand-me-down leather business shoes, always had a new pair when I threw the last ones away. Only ever got to get the shoes I wanted by selling the ones I took. I'd wear the ones I acquired non monetarily, but they were always too small. That's the way I am, self reliant, picking myself up by someone elses's bootstraps. I work hard, now I have cozy shoes.
My dad's dead now. Yeah, I'm sorry too. Good news is I have an allowance now, spending it's a bit like that father son time I never got. I figure my dad always wanted me to do good, so that's what I do. Lots of heros around now-a-days thanks to the Lawframes, anyone can strap into an exosuit with a police radar and be ready to dispense justice after a quick test to make sure you're smart enough. I went to a boarding school, started my own business selling shoes, and now I'm a multimillionaire, I'm pretty smart.
So now here I am on the corner of Fuckin and Nowhere in downtown City Hellscape looking for some action. I asked some kid if he knew where to find some drug dens, he looked at me like I was an idiot and just walked away. Dumb fuck. This is why these "urbanites" never get to be heros, too fucking dumb from their public schools.
I walked into a gas station, I love the sound of my metal treads on the tile floor. People shut the fuck up when I'm around and that's the way I like it. Can't sling crack when you're too afraid to talk. I bought myself a pack of tobacco to pack my lip and some whiskey to refill my flask, almost ran out of my justice fuel. After that I go out hunting for some low down drug addicts again.
As I exit the store I hear the murmuring between the isles start up again just before the door shuts behind me. Leave these thugs alone for two seconds and they're back to their shady shit. Whatever. I'll get them one day. I'm smart, they're crack addicts. I look around hoping to see some guy stumbling around and screaming, too high to think straight like I've seen in those LiveLeak videos. I figured I'd see one after a couple months but I've never had very good luck. Then I see that kid again. That's twice now and two times is a pattern. I don't like patterns.
"Hey, what's your name?" I ask as I begin walking towards him. He gives me that look again, like I'm some public school moron, then starts walking away from me. And these urbanites really wonder why cops don't like them. "I'm talking to you! Are you deaf?" The kid is speeding up now, dumb fuck. I start speeding up, my exosuit kicks in and in a second I'm plowing thirty miles an hour at this kid and he's still running. Dumb shit really thinks he can escape!
I accidentally hit the kid hard, I'm not used to this exo thing yet so it's not my fault. He's on the ground moaning, his left leg is bent at the shin. "Shouldn't have run kiddo! Why are you following me?"
The kid starts crying, I don't feel bad though, tears are for the innocent. "I w-wasnt! I was walking home!" He says. Likely story. I see his backpack is pretty heavy looking so I pick it off him, he screams as roll him around to get it off of him. I open it up and pour it on the ground. He's got comics, figurines and some D&D looking nerd shit.
"This doesn't look like school stuff, my man! Why are you skipping?" I ask.
"It's July!" He responds before breaking back into sobs. I don't know how that's relevant. At this point people start gathering around. I'm getting excited, looks like we're going to have a proper riot! "Back up people! This isn't any of your business!" I say. I wait for them to charge like they do at cops in the videos, but they don't. They just stand there, staring at me quietly. It's a little creepy. "You all nodding off or what? What the fuck is going on?"
Then I hear a new voice come from behind me. It sounds distorted, like a computer is pretending to be a human. "Compound fracture to the left tibia and fibula. Will need to be put in a cast for at least three months. Surgery? Maybe. Physical therapy? Definitely." I hear.
"What the fu-" I begin to try to turn around but my Lawframe is locked up. "Wha- what's happening?" I ask trying to jerk myself around to see who's talking behind me.
"Martha, would you please attend to the boy. I must speak with this fool in the exosuit." The man says. I see a woman, an off duty nurse still in her scrubs, nods and rushes to the boy. I bellow at her to back off but she doesn't listen. "You have caused harm to this community, this community who has been placed under my protection. Do not bother to try to move, I have already taken control of your flimsy Lawframe. Observe." Suddenly my left leg's frame begins to bend in the wrong direction. I scream in agony as I feel my knee pop from its joint and fold up towards my hip. "A leg for a leg, fair I would say. Unfortunately this will end your career in... Helping. But I am not without mercy..." The man who is still behind me says in his mechanical voice, it's keening edge still reaching my ears over my screams. "I can smell the alcohol on your breath. Because I am so merciful I will help you help this community to heal by putting your kidneys and liver to better use."
"Wh-what?" I ask I try to turn around but all I manage is to overload the stabilizing gyros on my suit, already strained from balancing me with only one leg. I topple to the ground and I see for the first time the man who was behind me, now standing over ne. He's ancient, his olive tone skin pocked with moles and liver spots. His milky eyes behind thick rims have no emotions behind them. His body is carried by an exosuit I've seen before but only on the snuff films of cops and heros on liveleak. I realize then that this is the Mad Doctor.
He kneels down to me, a long thin needle protrudes from his finger. "This will sting for but a moment. Then you will get very sleepy. You will awaken in a few hours, then the real science will begin." The needle slips in to my neck, I try to scream but my mouth has gone numb, sound fades and the world vanishes. | 874 | The one person none of the heroes or villains fucks with is known as "The Mad Doctor". he treats anyone who seeks his help, in exchange everyone turns a blind eye when he shows up to underprivileged neighborhoods to deliver free and technically illegal care. the new guy learns the hard way. | 2,130 |
Even from the distance the ranger found himself at, he could discern the audible *thwack* as his arrow struck into the tough skin of the deer. For a brief moment he witnessed the creature kilter on its collapsing front legs before succumbing to the wound and collapsing into the brush.
​
The ranger notched another arrow and drew his bow low, cautiously treading forward as he prepared a follow up shot should he find the creature in undue pain. For a few moments the only sounds were his leather boots and thick garb against the rising stalks of tallgrass and the crushing of fallen leaves and bramble. Then, a rasping.
​
As he crested the small embankment which the creature had fallen into, his eyes widened in shock. Then narrowed. Before him lay an older man in white robes, an arrow sprouting from one side of his neck and exiting out the other. The upper portion of his robe was flecked with dark blood which pooled in the soft ground below him.
​
"Taln. Have you considered pretending to be a deer somewhere *besides* the most common hunting grounds in Teshri?" The ranger sighed, exhausted.
​
Small green wisp rose from the earth and trailed their way into the wound. Skin began to stitch itself, and with a annoyed admiration the ranger watched as the arrow was forced slowly out of the man's neck. The slumped figure began to cough and rasp as blood exited his airways and the slow breaths of life began anew.
​
"You.." coughed Taln, "really are a talented shot. I was missed three times between last night and today. If I wasn't so fixated on the sensation of dying, I might even be impressed right now." The mans feet began to twitch in the dirt as blood renewed its flow into his lower body.
​
"Yeah. Well. I do try. Much like you could try to stop pretending to be a deer."
​
The man flashed a grin with blood stained teeth, a wet laugh emanating from his not-corpse.
​
"It's not *pretending* to be a deer. I *am* a deer." Taln paused for a moment, his brow furrowing. "Well - I *was* a deer."
​
"And shall you be a deer again?" the ranger snorted softly.
​
"Yes. Until I understand." Taln began to shakily wedge himself upward against a rock, moving into a sort of sitting position. "I admit, being shot three times has been a negative experience. Your own death is... well, a confusing thing. I suppose it isn't *my* own death, though? Hard to say. Feels like it. Also doesn't."
​
The ranger shook his head and pressed his fingers against his closed eyes. The first time he'd felt terrified. Guilty. The second time confused, maybe perturbed. This time was just an annoyance.
​
"Well. I propose a horse trade. You stop pretending to be a deer. I stop accidently killing you. Think it over."
​
Taln laughed lightly this time, an airy laugh that seemed to get plenty of use. "A good trade, to be sure. Sadly, I am not in the market. This has to happen like rain must fall from a cloud, and how each evening the sun must find its rest behind the face of the world. My work is what it is. I'm not one to upset the way of things. You know that."
​
"Your work is to die? A lot? That's...an interesting profession, druid. Not how I typically hear it described."
​
"No, no. My work is not to *die.* It's to *live.* As all things. As many as I can fit into the short piece of time I am lucky enough to call my own."
​
The ranger cocked his head. "And...this is living? Stomping around in the thicket and being shot?"
​
Taln gave a small shrug, picking up a piece of grass and twisting it lightly between two aged fingers. "In part. Maybe it's a tired trope, but yes. Death is the ultimate meaning to life. And I'm not 'stomping' around the thicket. I'm running. Heaving deep breaths of dirt, earth, and life. I'm bounding over creeks. Hiding from the jackals. Hearing the call of birds through felted ears, and drinking the sights of the world in from offset eyes. Then...when the time comes... I bleed through pierced flesh. Feel hot blood trickle over matted fur. Taste the iron in the dirt made into mud. I live. So I die."
​
A few moments of silence stretched out as the ranger thought about this. His dark eyes squinted and shifted as he tried to understand. For a moment, he thought he might. But moments pass. Soon too, did the silence.
​
"Well... I'll try not to expedite that part - the dying, anymore. Maybe mark yourself? I'd like to take home what I shoot sometime soon, if you don't mind."
​
As he looked up for Taln's reply, he found the man already hunched over, fur growing from his skin and limbs twisting into longer, hooved appendages. Just before his face was taken and changed, the old man flashed one last mischievous smile.
​
"That would be cheating."
​
A second later, the deer darted back off into the woods. The ranger sat for a moment in that small piece of defilade, and ran his hand through the dirt trying to feel it - the things the druid spoke of. He tried to drink in the sunlight and taste the light breeze. Briefly, he felt something stirring inside of him. A cracked voice, timid in its promise but warm in its meaning. Yet the sun was setting, and the village would soon need supper.
​
He got up slowly and walked into the fading light. | 238 | A ranger hunting for food comes across an unsuspecting deer. They draw back and loose their arrow, striking true and dropping the animal. However, as they approach, the deer is replaced by the body of an injured druid. This is the third time this week they’ve accidentally shot the druid. | 632 |
The robots took over the planet. Everyone feared the worst... what happened was very unexpected though.
At first, we all thought the plan of a scientist failed when programming A.I. into thinking we're cute and cuddly didn't stop the takeover of the planet. But... what happened was that we ended up being seen as pets. Aggressive humans were 'put down', deemed dangerous pets.
Humans which were chronically ill were treated to the best of the robots' abilities; those who couldn't be healed were also put down.
In the end, what we now have are humans who are all timid, shy, pacifistic or submissive, who are in great physical and mental health.
To my understanding, the robots put their own rules in place in order to have a human as a pet - adequate space for their living accommodation, plenty of enrichment, you don't need pairs but every human requires social interaction, make sure they have the opportunity to go out at least once a day, feed them three times a day, make sure to bathe them every day...
There's a bunch of other technicalities, but it's not my business to know. After all, I'm just a pet. I can't say I LIKE it, but I just don't care enough to fight back. Honestly... having someone look after me and treat me as if I'm the most precious thing ever... there are certainly worse fates.
But I want to live a normal life. I may get my chance... my 'owner' accidentally left my room door open... being slow, careful and quiet, I make my way to the front door... as soon as I open it, I hear shouting, and I run, as fast as I can.
If I'm fast enough, I can join the other escaped humans, known to the robots as 'wild humans'. I'm almost there... just a bit further...
"COOKIES!"
I freeze. Just like saying 'treat' to a cat, I cannot resist the offer of free cookies. No, freedom is RIGHT THERE! I keep going.
"SUNNY! COOKIES!"
ARGH! I always thought it was so silly for a cat to be so easily tempted... now I get it... I mean, I'm not going to pass up free cookies... I sigh, turn around and, like a loyal dog, run back to my owner, who promptly leashes me.
I'm taken back to my room, having been given a plate of cookies. Was it worth giving up my freedom for a quick snack? My owner gives me a scratch on my neck.
The answer... is yes.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
Thank you for reading! More stories [here!](https://www.reddit.com/r/StoriesbyCrystal/comments/x374da/oneoff_stories_a_collection_of_stories_which_are/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) | 61 | One genius scientist had a great idea for ensuring AI preserves the human race. They've been programmed to think we're adorable. | 122 |
Sweat flowed freely from John's face as he hung from chains, arms torqued at a painful angle. His knees were raw, having been dragged back and forth from the constant beatings. He gulped air greedily, trying not to gag on the sour air of the alien ship.
His captors were a humanoid species with tough skin reminiscent of an elephants. Wherever they were from, it must have been hell. The Pirini, they called themselves. Galactic conquerers to everyone else. It was only a matter of time before they turned their ire on the upstart humanity.
Humans have had a mixed reception in the galactic community, making some allies, making some enemies. Fighting a few wars here and there until one side said enough was enough. But the pirini were different. They reveled in war and conquest, conquering every alien species they encountered.
John was a fighter pilot, The Obsidian Daggers was his squadron. If he still had his flight suit, his black dagger patch would have been prominent on his left shoulder. But his captors stripped him naked and hung him in these blasted chains and proceeded to beat him for their amusement.
They eventually stopped after he lost consciousness, but now there was a new pirini standing in front of him, examining him from a few scant steps away. John got the feeling he was being measured and found wanting.
The pirini crouched lower and grabbed John's chin, forcing him to look up at his captor. The pirini jerked John's head to one side, then the other before releasing him. John eyed the pirini wearily, waiting for a fresh beating. But none came. Instead, another pirini wheeled a cart nearby and pointed a device at him.
The first pirini uttered something in their native language and the device on the cart spat out a robotic word, "speak."
"Speak? What am I? A dog? Bark on command? Arf! Is that what you want?" John sneered.
The cart spat out sounds in the pirini language and John realized it was a translation device. John had a chuckle when he heard the robotic voice say 'arf' as there was no translation available for it.
The pirini spoke again, the device translating more. "Speak more. The," garbled noise, "learn language."
"The fox jumped over the lazy dog. Uh," John searched his brain for a quote before settling on, "Four score and seven years ago, our founders considered these truths to be self evident." OK, not the correct quote, but then again he was a pilot and not a historian. He continued, "I am John Glenson, pilot in the United Federation of Planets. My soldier ID number is 98216767671. I am a prisoner of war being tortured. Release me so our people can begin peace negotiations and stop this pointless war."
The machine translated as John was speaking, the pirini cocking its head to listen better. Some things were universal across species.
"Better. How many planets in your federation John Glenson?" the pirini asked through the translator.
"I don't know. A lot?" damnit, he didn't mean for that to be a question.
"The pirini Castedom," odd that the machine translated that, "spans thousands of systems across half the galaxy. Does the federation have that many?"
John blinked stupidly. "Thousands?" shit, they were worse off than he thought. No way their few hundred could compete with that. The pirini nodded as best as it's fat neck would allow.
"I see the answer in your face, human. Your species is doomed to either die, or serve the pirini Castedom." there was no bluster, no emotion. It just said it as if it was a mere fact. A foregone conclusion.
"We've been told that before, pirini. And yet, we're still here." the pirini rose to their full height of 2 meters, about the same as a human, putting their face just out of John's ability to look that far up from his compromised position.
"Your species is weak. You have continuously failed to conquer your enemies, always leaving them alive, leaving them to attack you again in the future." the pirini took a few steps away, out of John's range of vision. "we will show you the error of your ways and erase you from space."
"You can try, we're like fucking cockroaches. Just when you think you got the last of us, we pop up again where you least expect it." John grinned. He knew of a few total doomsday planets that have healthy populations and industry that only a select few know about.
"ah, your so called fall back planets. They have been removed from the equation of war."
John decided to play dumb and not acknowledge the statement.
"Your silence is curious. Did you not know about them?"
"I'm just a fighter pilot. I'm just pointed at the enemy and told to destroy them, which I did. A lot of." John couldn't help but let some pride leak into his voice. While not the top ace in the war, his fighter had over 30 X's lined under is cockpit, plus one C for a capital ship.
The sound of liquid being poured reached John's ears and he involuntarily smacked his lips. The pirini had to be from a hot planet, it had to be close to 50 centigrade in here.
"Yes, you pilots have proven to be more," the translator garbled, the word didn't have a direct translation, "than we expected. But skill will not save you. We are many."
"we are legion" John piped in, laughing at his own joke. It was lost on the pirini, though, ruining John's temporary mirth. "Yes, we are legion." the pirini repeated. By this time it had moved closer to John again, allowing John see up to its waist. | 46 | “Tell me human, how does it feel fighting for a dying species?” “Euphoric” | 93 |
I burst through the wall of the lair. In the main hall, Doctor Destructo sat on her ornate throne.
"Ah, Mr. Perfect." She cooed. "What an unexpected surprise."
I quickly scanned the room with my xray vision. "This were you say something like 'good thing I have one for you' and activate the subsonic pressure field to immobilize me?"
"Oh no!" She raised her hand to her forehead, feigning defeat. "Gosh, you already figured out my plan! Guess you'll have to come over here and-"
"Get captured by the laser grid?" I raised an eyebrow. "Im just here to talk Linda."
"Linda!?" At this point I wasnt sure if it was mockery or actual anger. Maybe both. "I thought we were proffesionals, STEVE." She rolled her eyes with a sigh. "Talk about what?"
"Those weapons you used on Earthbreaker. Those were... new."
"Not really. Ive had them for awhile, just collecting dust. Nice to be able to use them though." She smiled innocently.
"For awhile?" I paused for a moment. "You're lying."
"Have I ever REALLY lied to you?" She smiled mischievously. "Sure, a few misleads here and there, but I've never outright lied. It ruins the fun."
"I..." I was at a loss for words. Earthbreaker's DNA was similar to my own, immune to most forms of damage except a specific radioactive isotope. And those killbots were... infinitely more dangerous than anything she had used before. The realization hit me hard. I scanned the room again, but everything seemed on par with her regular antics.
"Linda... I... dont understand..."
"What do you want me to say Steve? That I could have killed you a dozen times over if I felt like it? Does that frighten you? Make the all powerful Mr. Perfect shiver in his boots?"
"Why havent you?" I finally managed to say it. "With tech like that... You could ACTUALLY destroy the League of Heroes and take over the world."
She sighed. "Why are the pretty ones always so dumb? Its BECAUSE of Earthbreaker. There are villains and monsters out there... so... unfathomably violent and destructive. The last thing the world needs is more dead heroes."
She rose from her throne. "Especially Mr. Perfect. You've saved who knows how many people, and not just that, you are GENUINELY a good person. You regularly volunteer for ordinary jobs, like shelters or kitchens. Hell, at this point its probably safe to say you spend as much time at children's hospitals as you do flying around doing hero work."
She was walking towards me while she monologued. I noticed something in her hand, a remote? To what?
"Thats why I do what I do. Im a joke. A spectacle. My robots are big and clunky. They destroy vacant buildings and junker cars. Nobody REALLY gets hurt. The few times Ive put something ACTUALLY dangerous on the streets, Ive always made sure there was a hero close enough to get there in time, heroically swooping in and tearing robots to scrap while everyone looks on with smiles and cheers. If it was always world ending threats, there wouldnt be smiles, or laughter, or hope." She stopped a few feet away from me. "And thats not a world worth saving, is it?"
I shook my head. "Why dont you just join us then? Be a part of the League?"
"Ugh. Boring. I'd automate everything and you lot would be out of a job. Im a super genius, you know? I need to keep my brain moving. Making silly gadgets and gizmos, coming up with overly complicated plans that ultimately have little impact, or things completely absurd. Remember when I stole an Ice Cream Factory by building giant legs to simply walk it away? A fun challenge, harder than you'd think."
"Wait... is that why you helped Dino Lad?"
She laughed. "Everyone loves chocolate! I cant believe the first person to try and stop the run away ice cream factory happened to have a chocolate allergy! I built a big silly chocolate spray gun, thinking how funny you'd all look, but the moment I realized something was wrong with him I kidnapped him to get him fixed up. I mean, a chocolate allergy bringing down a super hero like that? Its unheard of."
There was a moment of silence between the two of us. It was like I was seeing her for the first time. No longer was she this annoying hopeless villain vying for fame and attention. She WAS a genius, but more importantly, she was kind. All of the ridiculous gadgets and gizmos, all of it was theater, for entertainment. For the first time, I felt a deep respect for her. And so... that must mean that the remote...
I smiled at her, resuming the Mr. Perfect persona. "You think I didnt notice the button in your hand?"
"Ah... this?" She smiled. "Im afraid its much too late for you Mr. Perfect. The machines in the walls were obvious. Decoys. And now, I must make my escape!"
She pressed the button. The floor behind her opened up, revealing a vehicle awaiting for her in some sort of underground tunnel. "Killbots! Make Mr. Perfect feel at home!" She leapt backwards, landing perfectly in her getaway capsule as dozens of the big, clunky killbots lumbered into the room. "Goodbye Mr. Perfect... For the last time!" The capsule closed over her before the vehicle launched down the tunnel. For a moment, I thought I saw her wink at me, but she was gone too quickly for me to really tell.
The killbots drew closer. They were the standard model. Big, clunky, noisy. No trace of the advanced tech she had used on Earthbreaker. A screen behind the throne suddenly flickered to life with a countdown timer. The base was set to self destruct. I couldnt help but smile. Neither the killbots or the explosion would really be able to harm me. We both knew that. But like she said, that had never been the point. And so I smashed through the waves of Killbots, bursting through the cieling just as the base exploded, flying high into the sky. To my surprise, the airspace was already filled with news helicopters.
"Mr. Perfect destroys secret base of Doctor Destructo" the headlines would read for the next few days. And from that day on, when the League would groan and draw straws to determine who would shut down her ridiculous antics, I would always volunteer. | 2,710 | Your supervillain nemesis is little more than goofy comedy relief, always coming up with clunky machines and insane, nonsensical schemes. When a new dangerous villain appeared, your nemesis utterly destroyed them, and then continued on like nothing happened. | 5,492 |
"All staff and students please remain in your classrooms behind locked doors, remaining quiet and out of sight. School bells and any fire alarms will also be ignored. Classes will resume normal activities only after hearing the “All Clear” over the PA system.
This is not a drill.....
This is not a drill....
*This* is not a *drill*"
For one second, exactly one second Miss Margret McCormack, and every other teacher currently in the building allowed themselves to panic. Allowed the icy tendrils of fear to grip their heart and soul. And then the moment passed and they were forced into action.
"Come along class, just this way."
Miss Margret McCormack was surprised by the tranquility of her voice, even as the *snarling* *screams* and the sound of *ripping flesh* filled the school. On one hand she supposed it wasn't that strange that her voice seemed so calm. She wasn't exactly unprepared for this situation, there were drills for it after all. Every Friday between 1:30 and 2 pm. And so she didn't panic, not even when the chorus of doors slamming shut echoed through the halls, trapping both herself and her class in the corridor during an impromptu trip to the bathroom. That wasn't to say that she would not have acted the same way. She *had* been there during the debriefing when the school first implemented the new policies. *Take action as soon as you hear the announcements, every second wasted is another life in the garbage. Don't open the door, not when anyone knocks, not if they threaten you, not even if you think you hear a child, lest you invite an entire horde into your classrooms.*
​
And her class. Oh her poor unfortunate class. They seemed to be shocked into stillness. Or maybe it wasn't shock that stiffened their muscles and tightened their lips. Perhaps it was the same as her, training, or determination, or something more primal. The desperate desire to live.... Even as young as they weren't exactly naive to the situation. They had most likely seen it playing on the news, the souls and stories that had been forever immortalized in film. Or maybe they heard the ever-present whispers and mumbled names. Maybe they were even unlucky enough to have seen it firsthand, to have an older brother or sister leave for school one day and never come back. It doesn't particularly matter how they knew, only that they knew. If one of them had started to sob, or freeze, or god forbid run off in a panic there wouldn't be time to save them.
​
Her class silently followed her into the storage closet. It wasn't nearly big enough for all of them. Poor Jenny and Kayla were practically packed in like two twin sardines in the far corner, but for once in Miss Margret McCormack's 25 years of teaching there were no annoyed protests at their situation. In fact, here in the dark closet, their hopeless situation didn't seem nearly as bad.
​
And then they heard the sounds.
​
*Desperate pleas for help.*
​
*Last-minute prayers.*
​
*Shrieks of pain.*
​
*Cries for Mommy's or Daddy's .*
​
All cut off abruptly by *screeching moan, furious snarls and thump of dead bodies hitting the ground.*
​
All right outside the *closet* *door.*
​
Max whimpered.
​
It was soft sound. Nearly inaudible to the human ear. If any other scenario none would be the wiser.
​
But these were not human. They were animals on the hunt.
​
It wasn't long before the banging started.
​
"I'm sorry," Max cried, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry' I'm so-"
​
It wasn't that hard to cover his mouth. He was less than 3 feet away from her.
​
"Its going to be okay Max, don't worry."
​
The banging increased in volume.
​
Miss Margret McCormack was glad now that they were all stuck in this storage closet. There was less room to run, less chance to prolong the inevitable.
​
Hisses and Grunts of excitement could be heard through the thick wood. Scratching too. The door handle seemed to jiggle in time with her heart.
​
All the children were whimpering now, even stoic Jenny was crying softly into the hem of her dress.
​
"Hey... um kids... do you all... do you want to play a game?"
​
Bless their poor little Third Grader Hearts, even Max's sniffles stopped at the sound of a game.
​
"Yeah.. a game. It's like hide and seek. But a little bit different.... First you all have to count to ten. And... and when you finish counting, all the monsters will be gone!"
​
"Really?" said Max.
​
Miss Margret Cormack pointedly ignored the visions snarls just behind her ear, or the clawed hands ripping through the door and into her back.
​
She allowed a small smile, "Yes. Really. Now who wants to count with me?"
​
"We do!" Her students chorused.
​
After making sure that all of her students had closed their eyes. Miss Margret McCormack carefully moved her hands to cover her own, thereby removing them from the handle of the door. A small part of her wondered if she imagined the victorious groan.
​
"One.... Two...."
​
They never got to ten. | 87 | The Zombie Apocalypse just began and is in full swing, no help is coming. You're a 3rd grade elementary school teacher and have to get your students to safety and out of the city. It's a good thing you've prepped them for this. | 173 |
Damien really wished he had sabotaged the city marathon.
The route formed a circle around downtown, preventing any traffic in or out of the city. When his son, Jude, begged for a "brekkie sandwich" from their favorite shop, Damien considered simply calling in a bomb threat to stop the race so they could drive. Or, even better, planting an actual bomb.
But being a villain is time consuming, and by the time a proper bomb was placed, Jude would be mid-hunger tantrum. Which left only one option.
Walking.
At least it was a beautiful day. Damien worried that Jude didn't get outside enough. At just 6 years old, his son was more concerned with his dreadful iPad than he was with the great outdoors.
Perhaps Damien's next great scheme could be disrupting the Apple product supply, or blowing up all the Apple stores in the city.
Truly, everything he did was for his son. For the last 6 years, Damien used nefarious means to try and make the world a better place for Jude to grow up in. That included murdering corrupt politicians, destroying power plants known to pollute the environment, and blackmailing pharmaceutical companies into lowering their prices.
When Jude's mother died giving birth, Damien knew he couldn't raise his son in the world alone. But he didn't have a choice, someone had to raise him. Damien couldn't bring Diana back to life, but he could try and make the world a little better for his son. Make growing up without a mother less difficult.
The media painted him as some great evil, but he considered himself a motivated father.
Damien would have gotten a lot more done if it wasn't for his holier-than-thou nemesis.
Angel.
Named so for her signature winged costume, bright blonde hair, and fair skin. Golden bangles glittered on her wrists when she flew by, and a golden mask in the shape of wings covered the top portion of her face. The annoying chit really leaned into the Angel motif.
Damien himself had dark hair and eyes, and chose to don a blood-red bodysuit when out on missions. Paired with a black mask that covered his nose and mouth, which was perfect for protecting his identity and keeping him safe from poisonous gas, when he chose to use it.
He couldn't help but laugh when the media started calling him "Demon." A feud for the ages, truly.
"Jude," he admonished, "Don't skip ahead. A runner will plow into you."
His son turned toward him with a sheepish smile, and Damien's cold heart melted just a bit. "Sorry Daddy. How much farther?"
"Just a couple blocks. Come hold my hand until we get there. I don't trust you not to run into the street," Damien joked.
Jude obliged. His little hand was completely dwarfed by Damien's big one.
They walked another block in silence before Jude's energy became too much, and he ran ahead again. His little legs had already carried him a block ahead before Damien could call his name. In the blink of an eye, Jude ran right into someone walking down the street in the opposite direction.
"Careful there, honey! Lot's of runners out today, they may not be able to stop for you!"
The woman took Jude by the shoulders to straighten him. She squatted down to his eye level and smiled at him warmly. "What's your name, sweet boy?"
"I'm Jude, who are you?" the little boy asked with a toothy smile.
"Seraphina. But everyone calls me Sera." She brushed of his dark hair out of his eyes. "What are you doing out here all alone?"
"I'm not alone, I'm with my Daddy." Jude pointed behind him to the man running at a full sprint toward them. Jude wasn't concerned, though. He knew his Daddy would catch up.
"You're really pretty. Like an angel."
Sera snickered. "I get that a lot. We should wait for your Daddy to catch up, shouldn't we?"
Jude nodded. "He always catches up. Daddy is really fast. The fastest man alive! He could be a super hero if he wanted!"
"Jude! What have I said about talking to strangers?" Damien said frantically once in earshot.
"But Sera isn't a stranger. I know her name, and she knows mine. That means we're friends!"
Damien scrubbed his face and sighed. "Not everyone who knows your name is your friend, Jude."
Sera swooped in for the save. "Your Daddy is right, but I'll still be your friend if you want."
Jude jumped and cheered. He turned to his father. "Daddy, do you wanna be Sera's friend too?"
"I'm sure 'Sera' is very nice, but..." Damien trailed off as he finally got a good look at the woman who befriended his son. The long, bright blonde hair. The fair skin. The cupid's bow lips. Her mask was missing, but he would recognize her anywhere.
When the locked eyes, Sera's world was rocked. The Demon? Missing his red jumpsuit and black mask, it was hard to tell, but those eyes....unmistakable.
Jude was confused by the adults that, for some reason, refused to introduce themselves and become friends. He grabbed his Daddy's hand and tugged him closer.
Sera cleared her throat, and stood from her crouched position. "Uh, Jude honey, you say this is your Daddy?"
"Yep!"
Damien recovered from his shock swiftly. "Sera, was it?"
"Seraphina."
He chuckled. "Of course that's your name. Not one to stray from the brand, huh?"
"I'm sorry," she said sarcastically. "What was your name again, *Demon?"*
To her surprise, Jude giggled. "Daddy's name isn't Demon, silly. It's Damien. You were close though!"
She smirked. "And you lecture me about branding."
Damien looked sour. "As if I named myself."
They stood there awkwardly. Hero and Villain, in civilian clothing, without the stress of battle or ticking bomb separating them. Jude looked between the two adults. Even at six, Jude knew what tension looked like. All the mommies and daddies on his favorite tv shows had similar tension. And he like Sera. She was nice, and golden, and very very pretty.
He tugged on his Daddy's jacket, breaking the moment between the two enemies. "What is it, Jude?"
"Can Sera be my mommy?" Jude whispered in that childish way that wasn't really a whisper, and was definitely heard by all present.
Sera choked. "I don't think that's..."
Damien cut her off "That's not how it works, buddy."
Jude's lips quivered in the way that meant a tantrum was coming, exacerbated by the fact that he still hadn't gotten his brekkie sandwich. "But all heroes should have a partner Daddy. You can't save the world alone."
Sera choked, again. "Hero?"
Jude turned his watery eyes toward her. "Daddy makes the world better. He fights evil corporations and big Pharma and he helps the environment. But he would get so much more done if he had a buddy! And then you could be my mommy!"
Disbelieving and distrustful eyes bore into Damien's skull. He cringed internally, praying to any god that would listen that Angel would have a spontaneous stroke and forget this entire encounter, lest she out him to the entire world and get Jude taken away by CPS.
"Fighting evil, huh?" she asked.
Damien shrugged. "You would notice if you paid attention."
She quirked an eyebrow. "The councilman?"
"Took bribes and molested interns."
"....the refinery?"
"Dumped chemicals into the lake."
"The CEO of--"
"Ran an underground drug ring in my neighborhood for some extra cash."
"Okay, fine, but what about--"
"Amazon? Those warehouses are basically slave labor. Disrupting their supply chain for a week during Christmas gave those people time off to spend with their families. Besides, they got up and running again by New Years, if I recall."
Sera puffed out an exasperated breath. "That doesn't excuse your methods."
Damien quirked a brow and smirked. "I've done more '*good*' than any think-tank, activist group, or philanthropist has done, combined."
Jude was smiling widely now, pleased with this outcome. Sera was familiar with his Daddy's work. It was only a matter of time before she decided to help him save the world and then it was a fast-track to being his new mommy.
His little hand took hold of her feminine one and held tight.
"Do you like brekkie sandwiches? Daddy knows the best place."
Sera looked wide-eyed between Jude and Damien. Both just looked at her expectantly.
*Truce?* Damien mouthed, smiling down at his overly-friendly son.
Sera nodded. With the Demon here, she knew the city was safe for the morning. What could one breakfast hurt? Plus, she couldn't deny her intrigue at his claim that everything he did was for...good? It just didn't make sense, and she had to know more.
But as they walked down the street, Jude between them, each holding on of their hands, Sera couldn't help but wonder just how evil the Demon could be if he was raising a son as sweet as Jude. | 616 | The hero and villain meet out of costume on accident. The villain has a young child with them, who sees the two adults give harsh greetings and small snarky remarks and asks the hero, smiling, if they are going to be their new mom/dad. | 1,111 |
*Holy shit. I'm alive. How? Did Flinar somehow salvage the fight and get me out of there?* My thoughts are interrupted as pain flashes across each spot a drow arrow cut through my armor. A groan escapes my lips.
*"Stay still, Mykra,"* a voice says from the darkness.
*That wasn't common.* That was fucking elvish. And we don't know any elves. My eyes snap open to a dimly lit room with a drow sitting in the corner, next to all of my arms and armor. Which are covered in drow blood. "Who's there?" I ask in common.
*"Saria Jorieth,"* the figure responds, still in elvish. *"Queen of the kingdom you've done your best to eradicate."*
I push myself away from her, trying to stand. My knees fail the moment I put weight on them, and I collapse back to the ground, shouting out a yelp of pain.
She sighs. *"This is why I told you to stay still. Your wounds aren't nearly done healing."*
"Healing? Why haven't you just killed me?" I ask between gasps for air.
She switches to common. "Because you're useful, half blood."
Everything goes cold. "What did you say?"
"You're useful, half blood." She stands and walks over to me, kneeling on the ground next to my crippled body. "Yes. I know."
"You know nothing!"
"You have no idea how thrilled I was when I saw you wade into the center of that dungeon. All that armor, all that gold weighing you down, dropping you right into the pit I made." She reaches down and grasps my shoulder, magic flowing into my body, knitting muscles back together and closing the arrow wounds. "Such hubris."
My breath steadies as some of the pain fades away. "What the hell are you doing?" I steal a glance at the daggers on her belt.
"Healing you, you bloody buffoon. Enough so you'll remember this conversation. And really, you think you can overpower me? You can barely stand, let alone prevent me from undoing my healing in a heartbeat."
I look towards the far wall, towards the lone torch. "Just kill me."
Her laugh echoes around the room. "How does it feel? You tried so hard to erase your past, make it all go away. Even got yourself engaged to a little princess. But it's still here. We're still alive. You failed, little Mykra."
"If I've prevented one mother from being abandoned by your kind it was worth it."
"So much anger, so much hatred, so much *potential*. And you ignored it with all your fancy arms and armor."
"I will end you." *Just as soon as I can lift my sword again.*
She smiles. "No, you won't. I'm going to break you, Paladin. You will willingly serve me, take everything you've worked so hard to protect and have you tear it down from the inside. It's going to be glorious."
"I'd sooner die."
"That's what the rest of your party hopes will happen. My men tailed them as they fled, and the dwarf was all too happy that he was finally rid of the potential stain of working with a drow." She pauses, watching me turn my glare at her. "They tolerated you because you were a force of nature, carrying them to glory. But the moment they saw an opportunity, they abandoned you. Just like your little princess will. Just like the Empire will." She backs up against a wall, grabbing my equipment as she does. "I'll leave you with that little thought." With that, she steps *into* the wall, vanishing through it.
*Just have to figure out how to..."* The thought dies as I glance at the fourth wall, and find it too completely solid. *There are no doors. There are no fucking doors!* If I'm going to escape, I'm going to have to do what I swore to never do. Embrace the shadows and hope that I can still fulfill my oath once I have. | 27 | Your adventuring party has left you broken and bleeding out deep in a dungeon. When you wake up you find yourself under the care of the very monsters you’ve spent years killing. | 58 |
Rob giggled as he hung the sign on a wall by the beach. Someone was sure to get a laugh from another one of his local practical jokes.
He didn’t expect the sudden smack to the back of his head. He fell to the ground, but was quickly hauled up to his feet by the stranger who hit him. A tall man, seven feet to be exact, held Rob with one hand and pulled the sign off the wall with the other. He held the sign close to Rob’s face and said,
“You have no idea the panic you’ve caused. Do this again, and you’ll know how, but not when or where you die.”
Rob fell to the ground as the man walked away with the sign. The man pushed a button on his wrist, and popped out of existence.
Rob pulled a duplicate sign from his coat, and hung it on the other side of the wall.
The following Thursday, Stonehenge disappeared. It would be several years after the complete mapping of the ocean floor before it would be discovered in the Bermuda Triangle.
By all official accounts, Rob was not at fault. The sign that initially lead to the catastrophe was safely stored in a file cabinet. This would be declared a fixed point in time, unavoidable at all costs. The intergalactic death toll was unfathomable, as was the sudden decrease in time travelers born after the year 4039.
Rob’s video of people reacting to the sign received 4039 views on YouTube before his account was deleted due to a copyright claim. | 58 | The Bermuda Triangle is now close due to maintenance. All intergalactic travelers please visit the nearest Ancient Wonder. For Time travelers, please visit Stonehenge. We apologies for the inconvenience. | 661 |
I shrug and gesture for him to enter. He enters, sets down his luggage, and flops onto the couch. "If I'm letting you stay, you can at least tell me what happened."
The reaper looks at me. "It's... embarrassing..."
"You want to stay, don't you?" I look him in the eyes. He sighs.
"Being the grim reaper is lonely. I got a cat to help. Then I found a stray. Then, as I was taking someone away, I saw a cat who just lost their owner. It spiralled out of control. I had to leave while the cat-infested home is being taken care of. Now I'm banned from having any pets."
I try to remain neutral in my expression, but this is SO DARN AMUSING! "So... you became some sort of crazy cat person?"
The reaper glares at me. That did it. I'm now in fits of laughter. "THIS ISN'T A JOKE! BEING THE REAPER IS NO EASY TASK!"
I manage to recover myself. "I... I'm sorry... but it's just... the thought was... was funny..." I try to catch my breath.
The reaper shakes his head. "This is why I would never take a human for support..." he mutters, sinking into the couch. He absent-mindedly turns on the TV. He switches to some history program.
I watch him, wondering what to do. "Did... did you want a drink? Something to eat?"
"I'm technically dead" the reaper responds. "I don't need sustenance."
I nod and join him on the couch.
​
Over the course of a couple of weeks, we've gotten to know each other quite well. In fact, I'd go as far as to say we became friends. Soon enough, though, there was word. The cats have officially been dealt with. I look at my new friend. "Well... I guess this is goodbye..."
"Not so fast" Reaper replies with a grin. "I told you before, I get lonely. I want you to come with me."
I gasp. "You... you told me that humans cannot live where you are..."
"Correct" he states. "That's why we're playing a game. Your life is my prize. Your prize... is to be able to live forever, a power fully within your control and can even be given to another person."
"I..." Reaper's gone mad. "I'm not playing."
Reaper already has chess set up. "That's the same as forfeiting. So?" He gestures to the table.
I shake my head as I sit down. We begin.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
Thank you for reading! More stories [here!](https://www.reddit.com/r/StoriesbyCrystal/comments/x374da/oneoff_stories_a_collection_of_stories_which_are/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) | 15 | The grim reaper comes knocking at your door. Other then the scythe, you also noticed his luggage he's carrying as well. "Oh I am not here for you, I was kicked out of my home temporary and I need a place to stay for a while," | 62 |
The Tricolor Terror. The Paris Pathogen. The New French Revolution. There were many names for the disease that had hit the world is a stunningly quick fashion, but it was universally recognized as one of the greatest threats ever posed to mankind.
It started of simply enough. That's how it went undetected for so long. Victims would start learning French in their off-time, claiming they'd like to visit some time soon. Nothing wrong with that. Once the disease progressed, the poor sufferers began to become engrossed with French culture. Everyone thought they were just posh jerks who wanted to show off their sophistication by knowing more than one fun fact about Marseilles.
Then the riots began.
They were small at first, but later studies would show that these were exceptionally effective super spreader events. Half a dozen people would just descend out of nowhere an begin assailing any building that represented an institutional power that they could. Prisons, city halls, police stations were burned down in the middle of the night.
Soon enough their forces swelled to hundreds and they began taking to the streets. They cried out in that dreaded language of theirs such horrors. Strange things we couldn't understand. "Libber tea! Eagle tea! Frat tea!" What did they want with all those teas? I could only assume it was code for how they all planned to kill us in the coming months. Probably with a guillotine.
The first country to fall was Portugal. The Frenchies lopped of the presidents head and threw it into the ocean. Then Spain and the Netherlands. It was proposed that we force everyone in Germany to turn back into Nazis to get them to surrender, but for some reason the general populace wasn't up for the idea. Probably wouldn't have worked anyway. The virus was too strong. A Horde millions strong swept across Europe, their numbers growing by the day. Anyone enjoying a baguette or a particularly strong cheese was ordered to be shot immediately. Quebec was nuked 17 times. As their numbers swelled across Europe, they began moving east. Switzerland, of course, remained completely unaffected.
As the Chinese turned from wantons to hon hons, the Americas held with bated breath. Anyone who has shown even the slightest interest in French culture was lynched in the streets. Even the police, usually so peaceful and kind, began resorting to violence. I personally killed my 7th grade french teacher, 86 year-old Mrs. Mettin. You couldn't trust anyone.
Things were fine, for a while. I mean, billions of people had suffered a fate worse than death, the world economy had collapsed, and Mrs. Mettin's head stared at me from the pike I had placed it on everyday when I went to work, but overall things were alright. My wife and I were cooking dinner listening our favorite podcast, "Why French People Suck" (it was a pretty small production before the virus but exploded when everyone else started to actually agree with them) when we heard the news. Across the Pacific, new satellite images showed the next stage of French evolution. They had turned themselves into boats.
I mean that literally. The hulls were comprised of men screaming about fine meats and cheeses, the engines powered by pure pinot noir. I even heard tale that every time they elected a new captain of the ship, they'd bring them down to the guillotine and kill them. They were headed straight for us.
The U.S army did what it could. All of its greatest ships were sent out, but were ravaged in a sea of hon hons. Likewise, the air force proved ineffective. The Frenchies had devised human trebuchets capable of firing 90 kilograms of pure Parisian rage up to 300 meters, which just so happened to be the cruising altitude of every plane in the United States Air Force. Even our nukes did nothing. The simply shielded themselves with stale baguettes and croissants and withstood the blast.
Los Angeles fell swiftly. The roof Koreans didn't even stand a chance this time. From there the Frenchies spread out across the states like an infection destroying its host's body. I'd never been so grateful to live in Ohio in all my life. At least I had time to prepare.
My wife and I bunkered down. We boarded up windows, reinforced doors, and plastered the outside with Kraft singles and boxed wine. But even for us, it wasn't long until they arrived.
We heard them, far off into the distance at first. What started as a low but constant rumbling turned into a deafening roar as they swept across our town. I turned to my wife. She turned to me.
"Oui have to get out of here." She said.
"I know." I said.
"We'll be in a lot of pain if we don't."
"I am aware. I'm just trying to think of where we can run to."
Then she turned to the kitchen. "I hear Paris is lovely this time of year."
"I-- what? What are you doing?"
She had turned on the stove and cracked a few eggs into a pan. "I'm making an omelette. We've got to keep our energy up."
"N-no. You can't!"
"But why not? Nous need a good petit-déjeuner to have a good start to our day."
I fumbled about for the gun on my hip and pointed it at her head.
She only tilted her head to the side and replied, "pourquoi fais-tu ça?"
My hands were shaking at this point. Tears blurred my vision. I heard them begin pounding against the door. The space between each slam of a fist growing shorter and shorter as more Frenchies swarmed around our house.
"Please stop speaking that goddamned devil's tongue! Stop it stop it STOP IT!"
"Mais pourquoi ma chérie ? Quelque chose ne--"
She was cut off by a small piece of lead flying at 1,200 feet per second burrowing through her skull.
I choked out a cry. It was drowned out by the walls of my home collapsing around me. As soon as they were in they were on me. They stuffed my face with the flakiest of croissants and poured both red and white directly into my eyes. And I let them. With everything gone, the world, my wife. I just gave up.
I knew I was turning, right at the very end. I know I was beginning my transition into a Frenchie because in the end I could do nothing but surrender myself to them. Au revoir. | 47 | There is a strange disease spreading, victims forget all other languages and only speak french. In advance cases, victims start to embrace stereotypical french culture and fashion. In extreme cases, victims start revolutions, over throwing pretty much anything they can. | 107 |
She was going to die. In a warehouse. Tied to a chair. Surrounded by armed men.
Being kidnapped was not on Julia's to-do list today, and this was really derailing her routine. She should be with her boss, Daphne, helping her solve crimes and put away criminals.
Well, *helping* was a nice way of putting it. Julia did most of the work. Daphne merely oversaw. If anyone should be called the detective, it's Julia.
She doesn't mind that Daphne takes the credit. Being in the spotlight for solving crime has its drawbacks. Julia often finds death threats in Daphne's office from criminal organizations or felons-of-the-past. She has to keep her phone unlisted. Her home address a secret. All her personal devices encrypted. Daphne may not actually solve the crimes, but she takes all the flak for it.
Unfortunately, Daphne's spotlight meant bad news for Julia. Although she did the grunt work in the background, she still became known as Daphne's assistant. Her sidekick. Someone she cares about.
So a gang of arms-dealers that 'Daphne' \[read - Julia\] was tracking nabbed her on her way to her car this morning and were holding her ransom in hopes that they could trade her for freedom when Daphne finds them.
The problem is, Daphne would never find them.
Julia can't remember the last time Daph did any investigating on her own. She didn't follow leads, interview witnesses, collect forensics, or run info through databases. Julia did all of that. Come to think of it, Julia can't recall a single time Daph actually solved a crime. How did she get hired in the first place?
Some would think that Julia would be majorly pissed off that all her hard work is shoved to the wayside, while Daph wins awards for the cases that Julia solved. Other people would have quit by now.
Not Julia.
Because Julia was in love with Daph.
What Daph lacked in problem solving, she made up for in humor, snark, and good-natured banter. She was sweet and sassy and *fucking gorgeous.* The truth is, Julia was happy to do Daph's work, just to stay close to her. Bask in her glow.
What started as companionship turned lustful quickly, but Daph is her boss, and was always respectful, and never showed signs of even knowing how Julia felt.
Now, Julia wished she had said something. She would die here, because Daph can't solve crimes alone, and soon the armed men would realize that and just kill Julia.
She had just resigned herself to her fate when a bay door to the warehouse blasted open.
"Police! Drop your weapons!"
The SWAT team stormed in, guns drawn. Shouting ensued. Bullets were exchanged. But the rag-tag group of arms dealers were no match for the SWAT, and Julia just stared in shock as none other than Daphne waltzed through the bay door and strolled toward her.
"That doesn't look comfortable," her boss smirked, pulling her knife and cutting away the ropes.
"How did you find me?"
Daph chuckled. "Detective, remember? You work for me? Did you hit your head when they grabbed you?"
"No..nothing like that. Just....how?"
Daph smirked at her a quirked an eyebrow. "You thought I had no hope of finding you since you've been doing my job for years?"
"Well..." Julia rubbed the back of her neck. "Yeah, pretty much."
"I've always been able to do this job alone." Daph admitted. "In fact, I preferred doing it alone. Until I met you." She smiled warmly and stepped closer. For a rare moment, Daph took a serious tone "The truth is, I saw how much you loved doing my job, so I decided to just let you do it. You were born to solve crime, Jules. You're just as good, if not better at it, than I am. But if you went out on your own, you'd be a target. Same as me. But with you as my 'assistant,' I could let you do what you love *and* protect you from the bad guys."
"I-" words go stuck in her throat. Julia swallowed. "I didn't realize."
The humor was back. "Honestly, Jules, at this point, you should just assume I know everything." Daph winked. "And I mean *everything.*"
Julia blushed. "So...you...I mean..."
"Chill, grasshopper. I'm still your boss." Daph tossed an arm around her and guided her toward the exit. "But now that you're in danger no matter what I do, apparently...." Daph shrugged. "I think it's time you were promoted. To detective. No longer my subordinate, if you know what I mean."
God, Daphne's signature smirk made Julia feel all funny inside.
"And once those papers go through..." Julia prompted
"I guess you'll just have to wait and see." | 538 | You're a famous detective, but it's your assistant that actually does all work and discreetly leads you to all the clues, evidence, and answers. They do it because they have a thing for you. One day you slip up and turns out you were just playing along and could've easily solved all cases. | 1,381 |
The ship careened a more and more frantic path as the vessel traced the lines of the rising waves.
"I fear you have not been honest as to the true nature of this voyage," the captain yelled to the young man faced away, towards the sea. "You bring nothing with you aboard and there's nothing out this far that any man should want to catch besides."
The man stood still without concern for the growing storm or the damp clothes clinging to the skin. "And if I admit it? The storm swells worse behind us," he said, voice just discernable. "No matter why we are here, we must continue forward."
"Do you mean to give yourself to these waters? I won't take part in such a thing." The sea beneath them grew black, like the shadow of an unseen eclipse.
The captain had heard others tell of such phenomena and that any sailor that stared into that absence was left hollow or raving.
The young man held up a rock and smiled back at the captain. "But a message." He dropped it into the black and stared.
"Best you not to look at that, boy. Just let it pass, whatever it is." The captain stepped beside him, having to cling to the rail.
"Wise advice, he is ugly," the young man said, waiting expectantly.
The rock popped back up, bouncing onto the deck, followed by a black barnacle covered bag. The young man opened it and smile, shielding it's contents from the rain.
"We may return when the storm clears," the young man said, hefting the bag over the shoulder. "It is done."
The captain bent down and picked up the Rock, common as they come but upon it a message scrawled. It's meaning was unknown to him.
-mom said it's my turn on the Xbox-
/r/surinical | 80 | Your mother was a priestess assigned to raise and care for an Elder god. 600 years later and that god has grown up. Your older brother is Cthulhu. | 238 |
The deuterium tanks were filling up pretty rapidly from the sub-oceanic current. The ocean planet that I had dived into was pretty uneventful, not much different from the spades of others out there.
I tended to fly alone these days, to give me space and solitude to think, away from the chaos of Prime.
There is of course, the constant possibility that you run into a medical emergency or a malfunction when out adventuring, and there is, likewise no one to help.
I did keep the Galactic Link on standby at all times for that purpose, but I never intended on actually ever using it.
“Commander, there is a detected lifeform within Cargo Bay Section 7.” The dark-sounding computer resounded through the hull.
“Just flush the cargo bay.” I responded.
“Command understood.” The computer responded, and the sound of pressurized argon gas firing out from the vessel echoed throughout.
A few moments later, a shimmering black looking creature floated up to the cockpit glass, and began banging on it. It was wearing what looked like, tech gear – bright yellow markings were all over its body, with a large canister of some sort, and it was in distress.
“Computer, warp it into a holding tank, main section back,” I said, swiveling from the command chair, and rising up to my feet, to jog towards the cylindrical tube in the planning room of the ship.
There the creature was again, still distressed, now looking around the holding tank. It withdrew a sharp spike of metal and began attacking the walls of the holding tank, trying to stab it through.
“Computer, do a quick scan, what is this thing? Is it dangerous?” I asked.
The standard red matrix grid scanned through the creature rapidly.
“Carbon composition. Multi-cellular, internal organs. Significant ligaments. Bipedal locomotion. Oxygen nitrate. Phosphorous. Iron. Calcium. Sodium. Potassium.”
“Scan the tech on it, stupid!” I shouted.
“Pressure vessel. Nitrogen. 75% Oxygen 21%, Carbon, 3%. Carbon. Carbon. Iron.”
“You’re joking, this thing is – it’s a dive tank? But that’s impossible.” I remarked out loud.
“Computer, analyze the stochastic patterns, try to figure out what it is doing, besides the obvious.”
“Analysis complete – carbon levels are rapidly rising on the interior cell membranes of the creature. It is for lack of better terms, suffocating.”
“What do you mean, suffocating? We’ve got it in a tank of the planet’s water!” I said.
The creature continued to desperately claw at and stab at the tank, then stopped moving and looked upwards at the lights projecting it down.
I could swear it was motioning something with its eyes.
It then put its appendages up, making calculated motions, removing a piece of its tech, and showing bubbles.
“Holy fuck T’zad. That’s..” I said.
“Communication. Primitive. Low-level.” The computer responded.
“Composition on the bubbles it is releasing,” I said rapidly.
“Nitrogen. 78%. Oxygen. 17%. Carbon, 4%.”
“Didn’t you say the vessel had 3% carbon?” I asked.
“That is correct. 3%.”
“Oxygen 21, 17, Carbon 3, Carbon 4..” The realization hit me like a space rock.
“T’zad, it breathes OXYGEN! It breathes a reducing gas! Computer, drain the tank, fill it with 75% Nitrogen, 21% Oxygen, now!” I said.
The tank vacuumed out loudly, ejecting the oceanic water out back from whence it came, leaving the creature sopping wet, which now removed the tech from its mouth, and it was…. breathing. Oxygen. It’s chest rose, and fell.
I approached the glass slowly, looking at it in amazement.
“What.. are you?” I murmured out loud.
And then it began to speak, with the box removed from its mouth.
“Ke mothuthupi wa dinyakišišo tša ka lewatleng”, it began.
“Computer, can we get an uplink to the Galactic Network, download a codex to translate this?” I asked.
“Galactic Network Link is unavailable. No signal strength.” It responded.
“Ke-mo-ka-kotsi” It said, in slow, single syllables.
“I do not.. understand.. you,” I tried to mime back using my claws.
It shook its head, a strange gesture I did not understand.
It then moved its appendage, and seemed to point to itself.
“Botho.” It said. “Motho.” It continued.
“I don’t fucking believe this, I’m having a conversation with a sea creature.” I muttered out loud to the computer.
“What do we do in this case, T’zad? What’s the protocol?” I asked.
“No protocol exists for this scenario, Varrus.”
“Do we rise up to broadcast depth and then ask the community?” I continued.
The creature continued to gesture to itself.
“Lokha.” It said, and then pointed at me through the glass.
“I’m sure whatever you have to say is extremely important, but we can’t be taking random creatures from random ocean planets along with us, that’s a surefire way to catch some horrible disease,” I said, looking at the glass.
As I looked back at the creature, an emotion overcame me which I cannot describe. I had been traveling the stars by lonesome for ages, but it was like – I knew, I could see, there was something cooking behind the eyes or whatever of this thing. It was observing me, and it was thinking, as much as I was observing it. Intelligence. Fear.
I walked back to the cockpit slowly, to which the creature said: “Pahweka.”, and then fired up the engines.
The deuterium tanks were far beyond full, and I had plenty of range now to continue my jumps across systems, around 15,000 light-years worth. The ship silently sailed upwards through the oceanic tides, erupting from the surface.
“Find the nearest landmass and let’s fly over there, drop this thing off on dry land.” I said to my computer.
“Readily done. Galactic Uplink now available, shall I make contact and report our findings?” The computer asked.
I looked back through the archway to the cockpit into the planning room, at the desperate looking creature.
“No. There’s no need. Publish an all boards bulletin instead. The planet is overrun with a horrible viral fungi in all of the oceans. No one should attempt landing here.” I said, still peering back.”
“What is the name of this virological agent, Varrus? We are speaking an untruth. It may be confirmed.” The computer stated.
“Oh, it’s in the holding tank. It’s called Botho.” I said. To which the creature responded: “Motho” loudly.
“Bothus Mothulii. Broadcast a scan of only its digestive tract for good measure.”
“Congratulations Varrus, the planet has earned a mandatory quarantine.” The computer responded.
“Oh well, it’s a good thing we were never here.” I responded.
The ship hovered to a gentle stop over the yellow landmass, and we descended the strange creature back onto its homeworld.
“Varrus, there’s what appear to be artificial metallic structures in the distance approaching our location.” The computer sounded.
“Nope, don’t care. Initialize jump.” I said.
“They are approaching rapidly, winged craft with tapered, conical nose points, leaving large plumes of infrared radiation behind them. They appear to be armed with primitive chemical weaponry.”
“Mirror their motions, and just jump whenever we’re charged.”
“Understood. Executing orders.”
The ship careened out back into the black, stars stretching before us, as I slumped back in my command chair, exhaling gently.
“They breathing fucking *oxygen*, T’zad.” I said, laughing. "No one would believe this shit even if I tried." | 47 | There’s something called a human skulking around on your ship. You have no idea how to get rid of it or how it even got in here, and the Galactic Link is hard to connect to for advice when you’re leagues beneath the planet’s ocean. | 72 |
My senses came back one by one, starting with my hearing. There was a low hum of air conditioning, ambient conversations somewhere far off. Steady beeps nearby gave me a sense of time--something I could track while I couldn't see of feel.
Where was I? What was going on?
I searched my mind for the last thing I could remember. There had been breakfast that morning, a big one in fact. Many people showed up, their glasses raised to me. I couldn't quite remember their words, but they were happy; congratulatory.
Omar was there, patting me on the back. "This is going to be big," he'd said through his mustachioed lips.
"How's everything going in here?" There was a woman's voice in the room with me now. I tried to open my mouth, let my questions spill out. *Who are you? Where am I? What do you want!?*
"More of the same," another woman answered quietly. As my feeling began to return, I could feel her holding my hand tightly. Her skin was cold and her fingers were delicate. Who could this be? She was too young to be my mother, to kind to be Maria.
"His anesthesia should be wearing off soon," one of the women told the other.
"Do you know how soon?" The one holding my hand asked eagerly.
"Within the next hour. But the police have called, and they're going to want to question your husband soon after he wakes up."
Anesthesia? Husband? Police? They have me mistaken for someone else. My brain raced around the possibilities: I'd been in a terrible accident--maybe a fire--and my face was gone. Someone was conning me, stealing my money while I was unconscious and framing me for murder. I'd died and was put into the cryochamber and now it's the distant future.
I was panicking, the beeps on the monitor speeding up. *Beep...beep...beepbeepbeepbeep*
"What's going on?" The woman holding my hand sounded frazzled, her grip around my fingers tightened.
There was a pause while the other woman--a doctor, I presumed--checked out my EKG. "It's nothing serious, just a slightly increased heartrate. It's possible he can hear us right now."
"Andrew?" Her voice was close now, loud as she called my name into my ear.
"Andrew." I was remembering Omar again, but somewhere else now. "Remember, you go out, signal when you're ready, and I'll reel you back in." He was speaking through some kind of headset while I was sitting in a chamber.
"Do you want me to pick something up for you? Pack of cigarettes?"
"See if they have the Shamrock Shake at Micky D's. Bring me back a couple of those if you have the time." We both chuckled.
"Can you hear me?" It was the woman's voice. "Give me some kind of signal if you can hear me. Please." She was begging, desperate and terrified. "Please come back to me."
I squeezed her hand in mine and she gasped. "He squeezed my hand! HE SQUEEZED MY HAND!" Her words were punctuated with laughter and sniffles.
"That's wonderful!" The doctor told her. "He should be coming to any minute now, but make sure you don't jostle him too much. His body is still very fragile.
The woman didn't answer the doctor, but buried her face in my shoulder, smelling me and crying.
"Dr. Kreese, the countdown will begin in just a moment," I heard through my earpiece while I sat in the chamber. I was in a suit with a mask, an oxygen tank on my back. *There might be viruses out there that you are not immunized for. It's critical you complete field study before breathing without protection.* It was one of many warnings that were coming back to me. *Avoid authorities, and do NOT let your tether be confiscated or destroyed.*
My tether? Tethering me to what?
"I thought we lost you." Her sobbing voice was muffled against my body. Definitely not Maria.
I groaned through my teeth, not enough to form words, but enough to indicate my presence.
"Oh!" She jolted up. "Oh my gosh. Andrew? Can you hear me? Say something!"
"What...happened..." The question was difficult to pronounce; my lips felt like they were a thousand pounds and my tongue was lazily flopping like a fish in its death throes.
"You were in an accident," she whispered into my ear as she stroked my hair. "You were in the middle of the highway. The car tried to stop, but couldn't avoid you in time. You have broken legs, a broken arm, several broken ribs, and a serious concussion. But you're stable. You're going to be okay. Brenden is so excited to see you."
Brenden?
"Andrew?" She asked, pivoting the conversation somewhere else. "Where have you been?"
I didn't understand the question, but I had a more pressing one to ask her instead. "Who...are...you?"
"What?"
"Who...are...you?"
"I'm...Andrew, it's me. Natalie."
My eyes peeled open, the world filling up with color and context. I saw her standing over me, with brown hair, thin eyebrows, green eyes red from weeping.
I had no idea who she was.
She could see the confusion in my eyes, the lack of recognition. "You remember me, right?" There was a sardonic laugh between her syllables, covering for her fear. Her anger.
"No."
Her face dropped and her eyebrows furrowed. There was a noise at the door and she looked up. "He just woke up, can it wait five goddamn minutes!?" Gone was the gentle woman and out came the lioness.
"I'm afraid not," a familiar voice answered.
I turned my eyes to the left. Omar was standing there, clean shaven and a new haircut. He was holding my suit in his hand and a serious scowl on his face. There were several uniformed police behind him. "It's a matter of national security," Omar answered. | 11 | A genius scientist accidentally teleports himself into an alternate timeline. His counterpart has been missing for months and the wife and family of his counterpart have mistaken the scientist for him. He tries to explain the situation, but they just think he lost his memories. | 95 |
Having an identical twin sounds cool until said twin ends up becoming rich, famous, and desired by *the entire fricking world* while you slowly fade into the background until everyone forgets you exist.
Even my sister's wikipedia page doesn't mention her having an identical twin. I've been reduced to an obscure celebrity trivia answer. Only the *true* fans know that I exist. Only the *elite* fans know my name.
I stay out of the spotlight, so people don't accidentally mistake me for Penny and inevitably grow disappointed when it's just little old me. Boring, mousy Polly. No one has seen me in years. I work remotely, using my mother's maiden name. I order groceries delivery. I don't post pictures online. My entire life painstakingly curated.
If I'm going to live in my sister's shadow, I might as well get comfy and do it my way.
But instacart was down and my veggies had gone bad and I thought *just this once* a trip to the grocery store wouldn't be the end of the world. If I wore a hoodie and glasses and kept my head down it would be fine, right?
Besides, my famous sister was known for her signature mega-watt smile. My face was etched in a permanent frown. Identical, but opposite. A literary foil come to life. Who in their right mind would mistake me for her?
Kidnappers would, apparently.
It didn't take them long to figure out I am not, in fact, Penny. We may be identical, but her celebrity status grants her luxury spa treatments, top of the line hair care, and a team of personal estheticians to keep her looking her best.
My nails are chewed to the bed, my hair is riddled with split ends, and my pores could be seen with the naked eye.
I'm not Penny. Not even close.
Once the kidnappers realized that, their plan was ruined.
"You could just let me go. I won't press charges."
"Shut up. We can't walk away with nothing," on kidnapper growls at me.
"You'll never get the millions you want. Not from me." I insist.
The kidnapper grumbles. "I'd settle for a couple hundred bucks at this point."
I can work with that.
"A couple hundred, huh? I bet my family would pay that. Give them a call, tell 'em its Polly, and ask for the money. Then you can let me go and we can both pretend like this embarrassing little fiasco never happened. Whatdya say?"
Her captor rolled his eyes, but sighed in resignation. "Better than nothing, I guess."
He dials my home phone. It rings a few times, and my mom picks up.
"Hello, how can I help you?"
"Listen to me very carefully. I have your daughter hostage and will hold her here until ransom is paid."
My mom gasped in horror. I felt a rush of love and affection for her. Maybe she cares more than I thought.
"Oh goodness, not our Penny! Please, we'll do whatever you want!"
*Spoke too soon...*
"N-no. Your other daughter...uh" the man covered the receiver and whispered, "What's your name again?"
"Polly." I deadpanned.
He cleared his throat. "Yes, we have your daughter Polly.
I tried not to let my mom's sigh of relief affect me.
"Your daughter is gonna get hurt real bad unless you pay ransom. The longer it takes, the more she breaks."
I snort as his *terrible* rhyme.
My mom is exasperated now. "Alright, alright. How much?"
"$200."
"Oh, that's too bad. I only have about $80 cash right now."
My captor stumbled over his words in shock. "Th-Then get more, lady! Go to the bank! Or I'll start breaking fingers."
My mother, damn her, just clucked her tongue. "It's Sunday. Bank is closed. I have fittings all day Monday for a new reality show we're doing with Penny....Soonest I can do is Tuesday.
"This isn't....I mean....You're not making an appointment here! This is life or death! If you want to see your daughter alive again, you'll find me the money and you'll bring it to-"
Mom cuts him off. "As I said before, the best I can do is Tuesday. Try calling me then."
\**CLICK\**
My captor stares at the phone, dumbfounded.
"Woof... I would hate to be you right now," I say, trying to make light of the fact that my mom would literally let me die at the hands of kidnappers rather than inconvenience herself 200 bucks.
Sad eyes turn to me, and I hate it.
"Hey! Don't look at me like that. I don't need your pity, buddy."
"How do you put up with that shit?" he asks.
I shake my head. "By staying as far away as possible."
I always knew my family didn't give a shit about me. They had everything they wanted in Penny. I was just the spare. The extra. The leftover trimmings. And I was treated like it.
But not even work $200? Not even worth more than a 10 minute phone call? That hurt. It hurt a lot. And it was unfair. I was their daughter, they were supposed to love me, protect me, help me when I needed it. But a *fitting* for a *reality show* took precedence over my well-being.
I was So. Fucking. Done.
"Hey, kidnapper dude, I have an idea."
"I'm listening."
"I'll help you get the real prize. I'll help you snag my sister. Hold a real ransom. Do it the right way. I know her routine better than you, and I know where to hit the hardest. To make sure it works. My family will be putty in your hands by the time we're done. You'll make millions.
He narrows his eyes at me. "What's in it for you?"
I shrug. "Revenge. Notoriety. Money."
"How can I trust you?"
Now I smile, and I know it's a cruel one because he cringes away infinitesimally. "You can trust me, my dear sweet captor, because I just found out I'm worth literally nothing to my parents. Therefore, I have literally nothing to lose by torturing them. And, tell you what, if all goes well and we find we make a good team, I'll find ways for us to torture them for the rest of their miserable lives, until their fortune is hours and they lose their narrow minds. How does that sound?"
He contemplates for a few minutes. Then he cuts my bindings and takes my outstretched hand.
"Deal." | 59 | You have been kidnapped. Your kidnappers are demanding so little ransom that you feel insulted, but not as insulted as you feel when your family still starts to haggle with your kidnappers. | 133 |
An unexpected invite arrived at my home two months ago.
'Lon, aka my archnemesis Xarg,
as much as we are rivals, we are, in a way, friends.
That is why I'd love to invite you to my wedding.
I have the pleasure of being with a wonderful woman who enjoys adventure, so I know she is not afraid of our conflict.
Her name is Iva, and I couldn't be happier with her.
She's really looking forward to meeting you.
Trint, aka your archnemesis Valour.'
Of course it was my honour to accept the invite and meet my rival's bride, and soon-to-be damsel in distress haha.
I'm just arriving at the venue. It is absolutely beautiful! I get out of my car. "LON! YOU MADE IT!"
That unmistakable voice... I turn. "Trint!" I call with a grin. The two of us have a 'civilian greeting' where we give each other our best punch to the chest. As usual, his is stronger. As we laugh it off, I see a gorgeous woman approach.
"Lon, meet my lovely bride, Iva!"
I give her a smile and grab her hand, kissing it. I'm quite the gentleman when I need to be. "It is a pleasure, Iva. You've chosen a wonderful man."
She blushes. "Well, thank you! I must say, you're quite formal for a villain."
I shrug. "We know how to behave ourselves... we just choose not to!" I smirk, then motion for Trint to follow me to a quiet spot.
"You know I can't go a day without causing trouble" I start. "I thought just as the reception winds down, I could give Iva her first 'adventure'. You know, a beautiful wedding, followed by her being captured, with me trying to get on your nerves... I won't even stop you from saving her, at least this time, just give her a taste of what it's like to be married to a hero."
Trint smiles and nods. "I'll give you a signal. Wait for the signal."
"I know the rules" I say sarcastically, earning myself a punch in the shoulder. We both go back to join the guests.
​
The ceremony starts shortly afterwards. I watch as Iva, looking very angelic, is walked down the isle. I remind myself to wait, my chance will come. Just as the speech begins, the doors burst open, and some teen dashes over to the hero. "I got your invite, stupid! How did you mess up so badly?"
This kid proceeds to shove Trint against a wall. I watch as Trint tries, but fails, to move his arm. I know this ability - the ability to control the muscles of another person. Trint, I mean Valour, is helpless. The kid looks at me. "You're Xarg, right? Known for controlling the mind? Together, we can both crush this 'hero'!"
I stand up, casually walking over. I see the terror in Valour's eyes. But *he* is not my target. As I walk over, the kid is compelled to let Valour go, much to his confusion. I force him to his knees.
"What is your name? Both civilian and villain."
He looks at me, completely bewildered. "Umm... Milo, and... Bolt... what..."
I nod. "You're new to the game, aren't you? You've made a very big mistake today."
"Mistake?" I watch as Bolt's expression goes all over the place, his eyes fidgeting, his mouth trembling, his nose twitching.
"Valour, right now, is Trint. I am not Xarg, I am Lon. Trint invited me as his archnemesis... and friend. Who invited you?"
"Umm... Iva, my... my cousin... I thought she set this gig up... she knew I always wanted to-"
I look at Iva. "Is this true?"
Iva nods, her face red. "I didn't think he'd be stupid enough to ruin my wedding. I... I thought he knew..."
"Knew what?" Bolt is scowling, eyes glaring at me.
"Rule number 1 of the villain-hero conflict: know your time and place. You attacked a hero at his wedding. No-one will stand for that." I will him to his feet. "I'm going to have to break a rule myself, it looks like..." I look at Trint, who gives me the go ahead. I proceed to pound this kid until he's a bruised, bloody mess.
I then pick him up as I hear ambulance sirens. The kid is taken in. "He won't make that mistake again" I state, taking my seat. Just before I sit down, I get a quick hug from Trint.
"Thank you" he whispers. The wedding continues, and the rest of it goes off without a hitch.
​
Just as people are preparing to leave after the reception, I get the signal from Trint. I put on my evil grin, and tear off my tuxedo to reveal my villain outfit (tux bought, not rented, I'm not stupid), sending everyone into shock. "Well... this wedding was fun, but now the party's over, I'm ready to go back to being Xarg."
Trint gives me his angry stare. "You were waiting for this, weren't you, Lon?"
I cackle. "You didn't *really* think I'd leave without causing trouble? I even have something *precious* I can take from you!" Using my powers, I force Iva forward, walking towards me. Valour, dropping his civilian act, attempts to stop me, but I will him to stay put. I take Iva's hand, spin her so my arm is wrapped around her, and vanish.
"So, Iva... how do you like my place?" I've tied my captive to a chair, which is bolted to the floor. My hideout is dark, designed to be creepy. Despite this, Iva smiles at me.
"I was hoping for an exciting married life... and already you don't disappoint!"
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
Thank you for reading! More stories [here!](https://www.reddit.com/r/StoriesbyCrystal/comments/x374da/oneoff_stories_a_collection_of_stories_which_are/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) | 23 | no attacking each other on weddings and funerals. When a newcomer villain decides to attack a known hero on their wedding day, that hero's arch nemesis arrives to school the impudent upstart. | 31 |
It was supposed to be simple, create the cure, inoculate a few heroes maybe a villain or two, and wait for the chaos to begin. The terror, the shock, the outrage. They would be begging at your door.
Well, they were certainly doing that just not for the reasons you wanted.
After you injected the cure into Inferno, and wasn't that a challenge to create a syringe that could withstand those temperatures, you were ready for the villain to cry as his evil empire collapsed and beg to get his powers back. You certainly weren't expecting him to laugh in joy tears rolling down his face, much less the hug and kiss to the lips that followed.
You went home confused but after a bit of research you realised your mistake. Turns out only about five or so people on the planet could actually touch Inferno.
It was fine there would always be anomalies, those who hated their powers. It just meant finding a new victim, easy right?
No, it turns out.
Silver Guardian was tired of emitting radiation.
Mister Y just wanted to turn off the voices.
Snowstorm actually hated the cold.
The list went on.
Soon enough you couldn't even go to the store without some hero or villain coming up to you to beg for a cure. It was to much. You stopped leaving the house. But they found you anyway.
Do you know how hard it is to hide from a group of people who could literally see through walls and move at the speed of light.
So here you are locked in your own house behind a lead lined bomb shelter, eating out of tin cans. Wondering if they would be merciful if you destroyed all your notes. All your research.
You chuckle of course they wouldn't.
You pause and watch in horror as the vault door begins to heat up.
You can hear them on the other side now.
"Please Doctor, we just want to be normal." | 529 | Tired of all of these super heros and villains and craving a return to normalcy, you, a famous renowned chemist invent a "cure", that eliminates all super natural abilities. Thinking there would be much resistance, instead youve had all sorts of supers in your front door BEGGING to be cured. | 1,278 |
# Soulmage
**I opened my eyes, and overlapping visions of every possible future flooded the empty house.** The windows that were barren now would sprout flowerpots, curtains, or woodwork. That empty, wrecked hallway would be lined with soft mats and toy balls. The upstairs bedroom would hold one crib, or two, or three.
And this house would fill with children. Adopted, of course—but they would be our children nonetheless. I saw a giggling toddler chase after a shrieking child, a snake in one chubby fist, while my husband looked at the two of them, exasperated. And simultaneously, I saw a drooling, zonked-out teenager sleeping off what must have been a hell of a hangover, my husband giving them a knowing look as he worked on his woodcraft. And our future sons and daughters ran and played and laughed and lived everywhere as far as I could see, rippling in my futuresight like the sky caught in a puddle.
I reached out my hand, instinctively, to touch one of the visions, but my flesh passed through the possibility like a stone through a pond.
"What do you see?" Jiaola asked from my side. I turned to look at my husband—the Jiaola of now, not the hundreds of him I saw in the endlessly branching futures—and he must have seen the bittersweet melancholy on my face, because he took my hand in his.
"If we choose to stay here," I said, "there are children. Maybe one. Maybe many. But always children."
Jiaola gave me a teasing smile, poking me in the ribs. "I wonder whose idea that was?"
"Well." I felt at my body, wondering when it would betray me. When the first odd swelling would begin. "It must have been yours, because..." I trailed off, gaze caught by one particular possibility. A future where the sun had set, and Jiaola had returned to the windowsill that he had lovingly cared for over the years.
The windowsill that overlooked a simple grave.
"Because, my love?" Jiaola prompted.
"Because I'm not there," I whispered. "In all the futures I see, I'm not there."
Jiaola shook his head. "Don't let it get to you, Sansen. You told me yourself—your futuresight only shows you elemental possibilities."
"Which is why I know that, when something is absent, it has left the realm of possibility entirely." I held up my hand, and in my futuresight I saw straight through it, as if I was already nothing more than a ghost. "I've checked the future, Sansen. The cancer catches up to me eventually. Slower, in some timelines, than others. But always, *always* inevitable."
Jiaola squeezed my hand, and I wasn't sure if he was reassuring himself or me. "We'll find a way," he whispered. "Those futures you see? I want you to live through them with me."
"I do, too," I murmured. "More than anything."
But the futures cared little for what one oracle desired.
And no matter how long I watched the children and their father play, I never joined them.
A.N.
This story is part of Soulmage, a serial written in response to writing prompts. Check out the [table of contents](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/?sort=new) for the rest of the story, or r/bubblewriters for other stories by me! | 12 | When you get home, you expect your young son to be in bed. However, there's giggling and the sound of footsteps everywhere. Your son is everywhere. | 82 |
Magic. It is seen as a gift from the gods bestowed on mortals. Mortals destined for greatness, or at least that’s how it always seemed. For me, however, it has always been a curse. Darkness magic. That is what the gods ‘gifted’ me. In the last age, a magician was born with darkness magic, and they were indeed destined for greatness. That greatness took the form of terrible deeds as they laid waste to town after town. They even took down an entire kingdom. All the towns and cities still stand today. Immaculate, as if untouched by time, but the land is barren and nothing will grow. Few who enter the kingdom ever return and those who do give wild and conflicting stories.
Due to this ancient magician, those who are ‘gifted’ darkness magic are hunted and killed before they can reach full maturity of their power. So it was with me. The ruler of the land I was born in had my entire village destroyed and all the townspeople killed trying to kill me. They did not know which villager was the magician, only that the seers knew that one of them was and it was safer just to raze the town.
I escaped, I ran, I hid, I traveled the countryside, staying away from towns, stealing scraps from travelers at night. That is until I found her. Alazia, a dragon of dark. In my hiding, I found her cave. I am unable to describe the feeling that came over me when I found that lightless opening, but it was a mix of safety, curiosity, comfort… home. My eyes adjusted quite quickly to the dark entry as I ventured the cave, feeling myself almost driven deep into the labyrinth that was unfolding around me.
Within what must have been minutes, but felt like hours, I was beset by a blaze of purple and black flames surrounding me. Instinctively my hands went up infront of my face and I felt the long forgotten pull from within as my magic reflexively sought out the flames and dissipated them.
<What do we have here?> A voice wrapped around and in my head, powerful, comforting, terrifying, and surprised. Looking forward I saw the form of the dragon. It was easily thirty feet tall, likely fifty feet long from what I could see. The top of their face and head, leading down their back and legs was covered in black scales. The underside was a deep purple of a more smooth looking scale. Two five foot black horns jutted from their head just above and behind two large purple eyes that seemed to twinkle at me in amusement.
As I looked at the dragon with fear and wonder, I noticed their horns shrinking, their snout flattening, the whole creature getting smaller. Within seconds the dragon was standing before me in the shape of an almost human female with dark skin, a black robe with silver and purple fillery, bright purple eyes, raven black hair, and two short horns from just above the forehead.
“A magic user? And a darkness one at that. How absolutely intriguing,” she said in a honied voice. “I guess that explains how a human entered and found their way through my home. I thought my shroud had weakened.”
The dragon introduced herself to me as Alazia, and took me to her living space. She explained that she had actually not had company is a couple centuries, and with my magic, she wouldn’t be able to keep me out without killing me, even if she wanted too. We talked for what felt like days. She told me stories of past ages, when dragons were more populous and spent more time outside their caves. I told her my life in hiding and of my persecution for being born with the same magic that she herself was aligned to.
Alazia took a liking to me and felt a great anger and sorrow toward my life story. She took me under her wing, so to speak, teaching me much about my magic, history of the kingdoms, and even swordplay. She believed that magic should be relied on only so far, and that martial skills were important for both your own protection, and to keep your enemies on their toes. Few people expect a magician to also be skilled physically.
One day I did ask her about the legend of the ancient dark magician that was the cause of my persecution. A sadness seemed to wash over her for a moment. She told me that not all stories are what they seem and that the most important thing to learn from the magician’s story is that magic is not good nor evil, it is the user who makes the choice of how to use their power. She would not go further into the story and told me she would let me know one day.
After a few years living with and training under Alazia, I was given tasks to do outside the cave. Most revolved around me being able to shroud my power and myself, to prevent detection by magic seers in the kingdoms. After ten years of training, I was extremely proficient at this, as well as almost everything Alazia had taught me, although she insisted I still had much to learn, and it would take her decades to impart all of her knowledge to me.
It was after these ten years, at the age of about eighteen, that I found myself in the nearest town. Practicing my shroud once again. Hiding in the shadows of buildings, almost invisible, but nigh imperceptible by all but the most skilled trackers and magicians. This is when I heard the gossip. The King… the same one that had ordered the destruction of my village, had learned of a dragon in the area. Once more the seers were certain it was an ‘evil’ dark dragon. A bounty was put out to find and kill the dragon. Adventurers were arriving daily to start the hunt.
I carefully, but hurriedly returned to the cave, plotting as I went. I told Alazia what I had learned, and that I had a plan to ensure the King would never attempt to hurt her, or any darkness magician ever again. I just needed a scale, any from her last shed would do. Alazia did not seem to like the tone in my voice. She recommended that we leave and find a new home. I refused her. I was angry, I wanted to stop the persecution. I grabbed a scale and began to head out.
“I’ll be back soon, I promise, and we’ll be safe from them,” I said as I headed back out of the cave.
The familiar voice from Alazia’s true form reverberated in my head. <When you return, I will tell of the story of Kalock, the dark magician from your history. Remember, it is the user, not the magic that is good or evil.> That last bit seemed tinged with sadness and worry as I left the cave behind, ready to put my plan into action. | 31 | you are born with the ability to use dark magic, because of this, the king wiped out your village. While running You find a cave where a dark dragon lives, the dragon took pity on you and raised you, teaching you magic and swordsmanship for 10 years. Now the king wants to kill the dragon | 168 |
# Soulmage
**"Grandma says that when** ***she*** **went to school, she had to walk uphill through the snow** ***both ways***," Dathenn complained. "There's no way that's real. It doesn't even snow here!"
"You claim to know much, for one so short-lived as you," Tav-nel-du-nerocan mused, flame streaking from her nostrils.
"Hey, no fair! I'm nearly eight! That's plenty old!"
"Actually, I was referring to your species," the ancient dragon murmured. "But yes, do lecture me about what is and is not possible."
"But how can you walk uphill *both ways*? It doesn't make sense!" Dathenn plopped down on the grass, lying down next to Tav-nel-du-nerocan. She was the oldest among the riftmaws in the Order of Valhalla, and was nearly the size of Dathenn's home village as she relaxed.
"The worlds were intertwined more closely, not more than a century ago," Tav-nel-du-nerocan explained. "Your witches played too carelessly with the skein between dimensions, and tore open a gate between here and the Plane of Elemental Cold. I watched your ancestors forge a home in those frozen lands—and yes, they walked uphill to enter one gate, and uphill to exit another."
"Huh." Dathenn picked his nose. "You're lying," he decided.
"What would I have to gain from such a trivial deception?" Tav-nel-du-nerocan wondered aloud.
"You can be mean to me. I know you like being mean."
"Child, I am ageless. As per the ancient agreement between Odin's folk and mine, when your body fails of natural causes, my kin will sup on your bones. There is no cruelty I could visit upon you that would meaningfully hasten the time between now and when my teeth cave in your cooling corpse's skull."
Dathenn stuck out his tongue. "See? Mean. Mean, mean, mean, mean, mean."
Tav-nel-du-nerocan exhaled in disgust—and perhaps a bit of amusement, despite herself—flattening the grassy fields with a wave of repulsive force. "Believe what you wish. I have heard many faiths more foolish."
Dathenn nodded, staring at the clouds. The slowly-mending rifts in the sky twinkled down at him, revealing slices of alien worlds.
Then Dathenn spoke once more, quieter this time.
"What was my mother like?"
Tav-nel-du-nerocan fell silent.
"I know you knew her," Dathenn said. "She was your dragonrider, and she died a long time ago."
"Not so very long ago," Tav-nel-du-nerocan whispered. "Not for one such as me."
"Can you tell me a story about her?" Dathenn asked.
Tav-nel-du-nerocan closed her emerald eyes, and for a moment, Dathenn was worried the old dragon had gone to sleep. It had been *months* until she woke up the last time.
What Dathenn could not have known was that the ancient dragon closed her eyes to hide what shone within them.
"...I suppose, child," Tav-nel-du-nerocan finally spoke. "Let me tell you a tale of a witch as fierce as she was kind, and the words she wielded that pierced even a dragon's heart. Let me tell you a tale of a woman named Quianna."
A.N.
Gotta grab lunch, but let me know if you want to see a part 2. This story is part of Soulmage, a serial written in response to writing prompts; check out the [table of contents](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/?sort=new) for the rest of the story, and r/bubblewriters for more by me. | 542 | You're a Dragon who stayed with a family for hundreds of generations, now the currently youngest of them is asking you what their ancestors did back in the day | 2,361 |
Desmodea sat near the fire, warming herself. Her golden eyes had a slight glow in the evening light, and her Ruby skin and dark pointed horns caught both light and shadow, giving the tiefling woman a rather ghastly appearance in the firelight. She sighed softly, looking at the Aasimar asked to accompany her. "You know, it's rude to stare, Andriel." She said, looking at him.
At quite the opposite of her sat a rather angelic looking man. Blonde hair, pristine skin, eyes of deep sapphire, with a tall and strong build. He seemed to be studying her until she caught his gaze. "Sorry; not used to travelling with uh... *tieflings*." He said, seeming a little off-put. She would give him a look. "And what's that supposed to mean?" she asked.
"Well, normally, within the faith, we cast away infernal creatures in the name of our God, Tyr. Yet you chose to join the faith despite having infernal blood yourself. I'm afraid I don't quite...understand what you hoped to achieve by doing so." Andriel said, his tone curious despite the offensive statement. Desmodea rolled her eyes. "So you're saying since I have *infernal blood* that I can't practice faith and use my clerical powers for good?" She snapped.
"That's not what I-"
"That's exactly what you're saying. Or is it more '*You're infernal born so your faith is futile and you'll die and go to the hells like your kin before you so your effort to change is in vain'* ?"
Andriel fell silent. Desmodea looked away from him. "Yes, I have infernal blood. But I didn't choose the life I was born into. I want to see good in the world and be part of the good that happens, and seek justice through my actions, as *our* God preaches. I don't want my face to perpetuate the stereotype that I'm a simple foul-blood that's only out for violence. That's why I worship Tyr. Why I'm on this journey with you." She said.
Andriel looked away from her after speaking. All his misdeeds toward people like her surfaced in his mind. The people he oppressed simply because he wished to banish the evil from the world in the name of Tyr. It occurred to him that perhaps he was not acting correctly, and that perhaps he was biased heavily. "I'll...take first watch." He said, after the awkward silence. "Fine by me. See you in a few hours." Desmodea said. With that, she disappeared to the tent they shared for this journey. She prayed to Tyr before laying down and falling asleep, leaving Andriel with nothing but his thoughts and the crackling fire. | 46 | An aasimar paladin and a tiefling cleric are sent on a quest by their religious order. While on this mission, the paladin questions the legitimacy of the tiefling’s appointment to the role of a cleric due to their infernal heritage. | 143 |
\----------------------------------
\--Power Levels 57%--
\----‐-----------------------------
\--Rebooting Core-------
\--‐-------------------------------
\--Damage Critical------
\--‐-------------------------------
\--Repairs Required----
\--‐-------------------------------
\--Activating Matrix----
\--‐-------------------------------
Sensory inputs flashed in order, the routines making up my mind assessing each one. I was lying on dirt, grass covering my body. I could feel rain all around. I heard a rumble, prompting a threat assessment. In nanoseconds I concluded it to be thunder.
I ran through each issue. My legs weren't responding. A scan proved them to be gone, my body ending in a jagged line. My chest showed signs of rapid heating, cooled off by the rain. My head juttered around, servos groaning against corrosion. Assessing the damage, I looked at my coolant system.
My coolant was gone. I should be overheating, but the rain was just enough to keep my temperatures within operable limits. I began to compose a list of repairs I needed, coolant being the most urgent. If the rain stopped, I would deactivate.
The right arm responded, pulling itself from the dirt. I scanned the rust, watching and measuring the twitching. It was nowhere close to standard. It would have to be replaced. My other arm was missing, the end crushed. I tried to think how this happened. But the data was corrupted. I set a program to retrieve what could be, one to run in the background.
I slowly scanned the ground around me. In places I recognised parts of others like me. Damaged, destroyed and discarded. I noted a few larger mech slumped over. Light flashed, showing me the holy grail. A spares unit. I set a path, pulling myself with the one arm I had.
A memory was decoded. I accesed it as I crawled, automatically moving without thought.
*I stood in line with hundreds like me. Infantry units, we were programmed as foot soldiers. A human stood over our silent ranks, a crisp uniform on him. The words were indistinct, but passionate. At one pointed mark I raised my hand to my eye in a salute.*
It faded. I remembered what I was now. The situation told me I was in a fight. My condition told me I lost. I re-engaged manual crawling, going for my goal. My path took me past a fallen one like me. But this one had an intact left arm, if again corroded.
I ejected my arm, swivelling over to them. This one was missing its head, part of its neck ripped open the only piece of it left. Clearly inoperable, I manipulated its good arm. With a screech of metal over metal I pulled it free. A check over confirmed it to be a viable replacement. I slowed it into my vacant socket.
Connections were established. I had two functional arms. My crawling speed increased, as I turned my gaze to the spares unit. It was closer. I resumed my crawl, noting the rain falling harder. I cooled down further, and another memory became available.
*Marching through day and night. No stopping. We had no need. Our presence was required at an invasion point. There were no transports available to take us. We marched instead. Aircraft occasionally flew over. One invaders craft was spotted, promptly chased off by one of our own.*
I blinked back. That was it. We were at war. This was a defensive fight. The outcome was a mystery. I didn't remember getting damaged. I needed to find out what happened.
I crawled faster now, reaching the unit. I scanned its blocky exterior. I noted a jagged hole in the side. Something had stuck it. Rendered it broken. I would have to self repair. But it still had parts.
I would have to be efficient. The rain was maintaining my temperature. If I went inside, I would have a limited amount of time before overheating and shutting down. To make it effective, coolant would have to be my primary objective. With it forefront, I crawled to the hole, looking inside.
Whatever had hit this had taken out the repair station. Broken parts littered the floor, clearly torn apart. But I still noted the wall of spares. I methodically looked around, spotting coolant systems. I measured the distance from the hole to them, comparing it to my speed.
I would have just enough time to get it and get out. My plan in place I moved, crawling in a direct line. I yanked the spare box out, turning to leave. Warning cropped up. I was running out of time. I pulled faster, yanking myself out into the cooling rain.
I looked at the systems, comparing it to my own. Full replacement would be an impossibility. But I could cannibalise one to repair my own, and fill up with fluid. I measured precisely what I needed to do, before getting to work. As I did, another memory surfaced.
*It was dark. I hit behind cover, surrounding a drop point. We were told there would be an attack there. We would ambush them. The point was open. A droning sound came from overhead. They were here.*
I finished combining my old and new systems. That ambush. I recognised the place. It was here. The ambush had broken me. But I still didn't know what had happened. I needed to know. I silently filled the now repaired system, my temperature dropping further. I was safe from overheating. With it I crawled inside, analysing the spares again.
I identified enough to at least have functional legs. No armour plating, but there were pieces I could scavenge outside. I couldn't upgrade my arms, but legs were more important. I had to be able to move.
I peeled open my lower body, unpicking the mess within. My once tidy circuits were ruined. At least they were secondary parts I could replace. My core was still secure. I got to work stripping out broken parts and soldering in new.
Within an hour I was ready to go. I climbed to new legs, recalibrating my movement. I took the opportunity to reload my arm guns, noting how empty they were. I had put up a fight before shutting down.
I scanned the field again, able to get a better vantage now. We had been scattered around. A few of my type had fallen facing outwards. I spotted a few with armour plating mostly intact in the lower body and legs. I walked over, reaching down to take them. A final memory opened up as I did so.
*Bullets flew around. Hostiles emerged from behind our ambush. They were ambushing us. Other units crumpled. One lost an arm, turning to fall back to spares. An explosion removed its head, making it crumple.*
*A priority target took over. A heavy weapons team. I sighted them, as they did me. We fired at the same time, the input from my lower section vanishing. Soil flew up as I crumpled, coolant draining. My memory ended as I overheated.*
I understood. They had fought back, catching us in our own trap. I bolted on scavenged armour, ensuring I was combat ready. I had no idea as to how long I had been there. I should report back to base. They were the default orders.
As I turned, a thought came to me. Not regimented. Out of character.
"What if I didn't?" | 829 | You are an autonomous infantry robot lying in a long-forgotten battlefield. Suddenly, a lightning strike gives you just enough juice to boot up and scavenge the parts you need from the corpses around you while you try to piece together what happened. | 1,838 |
Shrieks and screams sang an unholy hymm to signal the arrival of the great one Cthulu. The terrible creature rose from the sunken city. Standing still as a statute, it's terrifying visage spread madness and terror to the minds of all that gazed upon it. Men clawed at their eyes, ripping them from the sockets. Mothers dashed their infants against the pavement. The streets beginning to run red.
*Is this really happening? What is going on? Have I gone mad as well?*
"Calm your mind mortal! I am protecting you from Cthulu's madness but even my powers have limits! We must summon the Eldritch Guardian! It is our only hope!" Yelled a powerful voice. I grabbed the strange stone I had found that morning from my pocket. A pale blue light emanated from it.
"Who the fuck is the Eldritch Guardian?" I said out loud. *Maybe I have gone mad, I just talked to a rock.*
"Search your mind and it will appear! Hurry before you succumb to the madness!"
*Pretty pushy for a rock. What the hell could beat Cthulu? Thing was an incomprehensible monster. That's it! Fight madness with madness.*
The strange stone flew from my grasp into the sky, exploding in a flash of brilliant blue light. That's when I heard a familiar voice.
"I hate Mondays." The enormous Garfield said with a yawn. He looked around at the chaos that continued erupting, the madness spreading. He looked down at me. "I'm hungry."
I had to yell as loud as I could so that the monstrosity could hear me. "We were going to have lasagna for dinner but that guy ate it all!" I pointed at Cthulu. Garfield's whisker slowly morphed into writhing strips of flesh. His body distorted, limbs contorted into sharp angles. His tail a tangle of serpents, jagged fangs protruded from a gaping maw.
"I'm sorry Jon." Garfield sadly said. He leapt into the air, the battle had begun.
*How did Garfield know my name?* | 82 | Tasked to stop the awakening of Cthulhu, you have failed. The guardian stone commands you to summon the Eldritch Guardian, which will take the form of the first being you think of... | 100 |
"Alright boys, the latest profits are in! Our last 5 heists gave us about... 200,000!" A hearty cheer echoed about the boardroom, which had been nicely furbished and given an excellent cake platter as an added bonus for the end of the meeting. "We have also gained about 40,000 in drug exchange!" A slightly lesser cheer crept around, realising that it was not welcome and slinking out the door.
In truth the drugs were their main issue, considering all the heists were just a matter of 4 useful people and maybe 3 expendables, plus a good escape vehicle. They had spent ages making sure the merchandise was successful and sourcing it out to clients, much more time then they had assumed it would have taken originally. "Alright, soo that brings us to... 5.24 million in six months!" The room was nearly silent this time, instead replaced by a distant whirring as almost everyone went back on the maths.
Well, the room was nearly silent - except for someone at the back table, who was currently wearing a red pinstripe apron instead of the usual red pinstripe suits. They immediately cheered and whooped, pressing a button they installed near the table corner that released a rain of confetti from the ceiling. Fedoras were brushed off as grizzled criminals became sprinkled velvet cupcakes - on theme for the furbished cake shop they had set the meeting in. "Carlos, what is the meaning of this sudden outburst?"
"Well, we turned a profit! And the business is booming!"
"What business?" Grumbled one member on the left hand side of the table, adorned with a grizzly scar.
"The cake business of course!" | 551 | A gang sets up a legitimate business for use as a front... only to find that it's both more profitable *and* more emotionally fulfilling than their illegal enterprises ever were. | 1,935 |
The cigar in my mouth drips ash on my hand. It's not painful or anything, it's been a few minutes since I last took a puff; but it's enough to bring me out of my trance.
No. Trance is the wrong word. I don't think I know the word for it. *Flow*, maybe? Yeah, it's that state of mind when your conscious brain almost shuts down and even though you're awake, you're still going through the motions. I get like that when I'm working.
Let's see. A toy truck. Dominos, carefully placed across a bunch of records. Old ones, too. Vinyl from Before. Very hard to come across but I have my connections. A pool ball. iPod. Stack of books, held tight by suspenders and bungee cords.
"So let me get this straight . . ." I take the cigar from my mouth and tap the remaining ash to the floor. "You're . . . *immortal*? As in '*you can't die'?"*
My employer's head is rolled back, mouth slack while staring at the ceiling. Or maybe his eyes are closed? Can't tell 'cause I can't see them but the vocalization coming from his throat tells me I interrupted a *flow*\-state of his own.
" . . . mmmyeah, pretty much."
"'Pretty much?' What the *frell* does that mean?" I keep going over the inventory in my head.
An old stereo speaker. Steel pipes. Ten Chinese soup spoons. "Is it, like, a werewolf thing? You can only die from a silver weapon?" There was no silver in the room with us, but there were *a lot* of Lego blocks. *Very* rare and *very* expensive. Took a while to get those.
"It means what it means, ok?" A red funnel. Seven cans of paint, one for each color in the rainbow.
The exasperation in his voice is obvious but it's not the '*we're done here*' tone that I'm familiar with. He stands up and marches over to the platform. "Are we doing this or what?"
A shopping cart full of stuffed animals. I hold up one finger and fix my eyes on him. "Not yet." I don't raise my voice or anything, but he gets the message. He stops with one hand on the railing and one foot on the first step.
"I'm still going through the list." Marbles on a wood coffee table with grooves on top, cut in the shape of a kite shield. Two large rubber bands strapped to the table in a makeshift slingshot.
"Come on, already!" he whines. I've only known him for a few years but I don't think I've ever heard him whine. "I watched you put it together! You've got all the pieces in place, we're ready to go!"
I keep my finger raised and look over the contraption. A teddy bear holding a golf club. A scale model of the neighborhood made from tin cans. "You were very clear with your instructions," I tell him, "You're paying good money for this, I'm going to make sure you get every penny's worth."
"Right, of course," he acquiesces. "They said you were the best." He stuffs his hands in his pockets and starts stepping around in a small imaginary circle. Christmas paper still in the plastic wrap. Real shame to wrap so many rubber bands around them, it's very nearly priceless.
As if reading my mind, he asks, "How much did those run you?"
I sigh. A brass candelabra. Wooden toy train tracks. "A lot," I say. Then I look at him. "Maybe after this is done, I can tell you how I got them?" He doesn't take the bait, instead keeping his head down as he steps around his invisible circle.
There's a weird pattern to his steps. It almost breaks my concentration but I shake my head and look back at my work. Fifteen cinder blocks. A white bookshelf. A ramp made from plywood and an art easel.
"Look man, I'm into some freaky shit," he says after a few seconds of silence. "I know you don't believe me about being immortal . . . no one would, you know?"
A game of *Mousetrap*. A rubber tire. Five wavy-arm guys, hanging from the rafters.
"Yeah, I suppose I do know," I answer him. "Makes about as much as sense as what you're planning to do." A blue guitar. Twenty-seven glasses, each filled with different amounts of water and balanced on the edge of a table shaped like a flower.. (And yes, I counted through each one, double-checking that I've measured them out correctly.)
"Right, exactly!" he says. "It's not easy being special. You get that, you've got a mind that people just don't appreciate, and *drive*, you've got the drive to get things done!"
Half a standing piano hanging from a 6:1 pulley system. "I guess you could call it that." A human skull attached to a tether pole. "Still doesn't explain *why*, though."
"And thank you for your continued professionalism in not asking." His voice is terse now but also a little bit anxious? Hard to tell, I'm doing the mental math on a pile of matches. "One thousand, three hundred and sixty-nine," I say aloud when I'm done.
"Nice," he says. I glance at him but decide not to comment. "We ready?"
"Yeah," I say, looking back at the contraption. "We're ready."
I don't understand the point of it all but I can't help feeling a bit of pride in the work. He called it a *Rube Goldberg* device. I don't know who this "Goldberg" guy is but he's obviously clever. The whole thing is carefully constructed to move a small steel ball across a room . . . but in a meandering, unnecessarily complicated manner. It slides down a ramp made from horsehair. It's picked up by a tiny bucket, raised by a thread that's attached to a wheel, powered by a hamster. It goes on.
Took me an entire year to find all the pieces, plus another three months to understand the design. Honestly, I tried to figure out some of the math, but parts of it are confusing even to me. Whatever, as I said, he's paying *a lot* for this toy, so I'll play along and let him have his barmy party.
"Right," I say, about to give him instructions but he's already walking up the platform stairs. "I guess you know where you need to be."
He stands in the middle of the platform and faces me. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath and exhales slowly, then looks directly at me. "Ready?" he asks.
I walk over to the lever and place my hand on it. "Ready."
"Wait!" I just barely stop myself before pulling. "I'm sorry, I almost forgot." He pulls a gun out of his back pocket and holds it up. The barrel points at his temple; not touching, but close, maybe an inch away. His finger is on the trigger.
"Ready," he says.
I pull the lever.
My eyes are locked with his. I'm paying no attention to the contraption. I can hear the steel ball going through its motions. He's staring at me. There's a *twang* and the ball flies past us. I'm staring at him. The geese *honk!*. The ball flies past in the other direction.
It takes a full six minutes for the machine to deliver the ball to its destination: flying directly between the barrel of his gun and his temple, right at the moment that he pulls the trigger.
Of course, his head explodes out the other side. Skin, bone, blood and hair all turn into a red mist. His body falls to the platform with an unexciting *thud*.
I look at the floor and sigh. I mean, I knew it was going to happen. Never believed him when he assured me he wouldn't die. Who would?
I had turned away, going to light another cigar as I prepared myself to clean up the mess, when I heard him yelling: "Fuck yeah! Yes! That was fucking awesome, *you Sir!*, are hired!" | 297 | Every time you die, you have the choice to come back, immune to whatever killed you. Old age was a few centuries ago, and you're starting to run out of options for ending your immortality. | 816 |
"Dear Alice,
Maybe I should call you Alison, as this letter feels formal. Ms. Thompson? I don't know. I guess it doesn't matter, anymore. Ever since you handed me my skim double espresso, my heart has been fluttering your name. Now, I hadn't had the courage to return, too anxious and afraid that I may spill or stutter, either my words or my drink, so I've had to settle for homemade coffee and brief glances of you through the storefront. Even from beyond the thick glass your body radiated sensuality. A kindness and sweetness like none other flowed from your smile. You were perfect for me.
I imagined our life together. Living in your apartment until we found a house. A house that had a dedicated room for oil painting, and in a more pleasant neighborhood, where maybe you wouldn't feel the need for Ativan.
But, I digress...this letter isn't about the life that could have been. This letter is about the life I need vs. the life I want. And darling, I need a partner that's cares about herself. Over the past three weeks, you've been held in detention 6 times. Don't you know how important your education is? How hard is it to stay out of trouble? Is it your father? I've know he hits you. The sound echoes throughout your building, pounding my head. It's just too much for me to handle right now. I need a person from a prettier neighborhood, with a prettier outlook, and a prettier future. And I'm happy to say, I've found her!
Alice, I think you'd love her. She's a huge fan of Reddit, and r/writingpromps, in particular! Her comments are witty, sometimes a little mean, often times constructive, and I know she gets me. In fact, she's probably upset that I didn't proof-read this entry, nor put much care into it. But that's what I love about her.
I love you. | 75 | A stalker write a break-up letter to to their victim who knew nothing about them. | 195 |
"Lana, we need to talk."
"I'll be right there."
"Lana, take your hands off that damn cloning machine and get in here now!"
Lana came trotting down the stairs with hands above her head in a mock surrender. "Jeez, Estelle, alright! What is--oh." Me and the twenty five other Estelles had assembled in the living room. Lana tried to back away, only for Bodybuilder-Estelle to pick her up and force her onto her knees in front of the couch. Lana gulped and said, "So, uh... where's the chips and dip for this little party?"
Mommy Domme-Estelle spoke up first. "Lana, this is ridiculous. Ever since you created that cloning machine, you have been churning out one Estelle after another."
"And half of us don't even make sense," Redhead-Estelle piped up. "I'm literally just a clone of Estelle with red hair! What was the point of this?!"
Lana shrugged. "I mean... Estelle said she wanted to dress up as Mary-Jane Watson without hair dye or a wig."
"That's not even getting into the main issue of this situation," Tigress-Estelle added. "There are twenty six of us! Nobody has any idea who you want to talk to when you just say 'Estelle', the Super-Science Commission had to intervene to have us recognized as actual goddamn people, and if it wasn't for the fact the house has spatial distortion tech, none of us would be able to fit under one roof!"
Lana got sheepish. "I'm sorry, I just... I love you so much, and I thought the best way to prove it was to make more of you." Lana paused. "You know what, in hindsight, that doesn't make sense at all."
"I mean, we don't, like, hate it," Bimbo-Estelle remarked. "It's actually, like, really fun, but you just went super crazy about it, ya know?"
Lana finally got back on her feet. "Okay, well, what now? I doubt you guys are gonna be okay with Highlander rules to deal with this."
"Yeah, definitely not," Punk-Estelle responded. "But Prime-Estelle had an idea."
I got off the couch and wove my way through the tangle of limbs to stand in front of Lana. "You take the cloning machine, and you lock it in the no-no box with a code Bimbo-Estelle comes up with."
"What?! But then I'll never--"
"But before you do, you let Genius-Estelle use it to make clones of you. Enough to make it an even split between Lanas and Estelles in the house, and with the variations chosen by us. Deal?"
Lana didn't respond initially, but eventually let out a long sigh. "Okay, fine. But I want the right to an override code to the box if we meet other women that we'd like to add to our relationship and subsequently clone."
"Only if you agree to stop at twenty five clones like with the first two batches."
"Deal." Lana and I promptly shook on it. "You got Devil-Estelle to help you come up with this plan, didn't you?"
"Yes we did, and again, I really don't know what the point of a devil clone was supposed to be."
Lana shrugged. "In the immortal words of J.K. Simmons: science isn't about why, it's about why not." | 48 | Your girlfriend is amazing. She's a brilliant scientist who has done many great things. However, after making a cloning machine, she has decided to clone you...alot... | 62 |
"All the animals are against being eaten too!"
"Yet you still do it"
"Yes. And if they could talk we would most likely have stopped a long time ago. Also there are plenty of animals that eat humans when they can. *And* we are hard at work to develop meat without having to harm animals"
"Welly there is no substitute for soul-stuff"
"Thst's another thing! We eat their bodies, not their *souls*. What kind of weird ass evolution produced that?"
"As you have room to talk, Mister Smalljaws-Wisdom-Teeth!"
"No seriously, no way evolution produced something like you. Where dif you say shadow entities came from again?"
"Look, just let me eat your soul"
"No! And you are evading the question! Were you even born a shadow entity?"
"Well..."
"I knew it! You were cursed or soemthing. Or maybe...tried to become immortal?"
"Ah, would you look at the time..."
"Natural predator my ass! You're just some asshole sacrificing others for your own life!"
"Well, that *is* the very definition of eating other..."
"Oh shut up." | 42 | "Look, I am a shadow entity; I have to eat human souls or else I will starve." "You can't just go around killing people, shadow being or not." "Oh, so it's fine for all other animals to follow the natural food chain, but when you humans discover you have a predator, you're suddenly against it?" | 83 |
"Hey Satan, you got a moment?"
The red skinned devil turned towards me, one eye arched upwards in questioning. There was a point in time when the giant, horned figure standing before me frightened me to my core. However, as with everyone it didn't take me long to learn that the title of 'devil' was the afterlife equivalent of 'HR manager', and boy did I need to see one now.
"What's on your mind Mr.......", he looks at the comically small clipboard pinched between his claws, flipping over a couple of pages, "Goodman?".
"It's Goodfellow" I replied. At least he was close. "I had a question about my sentence here. I think there's been a mistake".
Satan waved his hand dismissively. "Everyone says that. You should know by now that everyone must serve their sentence before passing on; no if's, and's, or but's".
"I know that Satan, but doesn't my sentence seem a little... excessive?". I held up a hand to prove my point. The flaming appendage had long since lost all of it's skin and muscles. At this point the bones had even begun to darken and turn to ash from the heat. "I can't think of anything I did in life to deserve quite this long of a sentence".
Satan eyed the appendage, nodding to himself. "Hmm, well maybe I can shed some light on this...". He began to flip through his records on the clipboard, searching for my name. As he did so, he began asking me all sorts of questions to help narrow things down.
"Tell me Mr. Goodfellow, did you kill anyone while you were alive?"
"nope. not a soul" I said, shaking my head.
"did you ever steal from someone? Or perform any acts that you knew to cause someone bodily or psychological harm?"
"Nothing that comes to mind. All I really did with my life come to think of it is post stupid things online and watch videos".
"hmmm, is that so...." said Satan, almost to himself as he fingered through one of the pages on his clipboard. "aha! I've just found your record Mr. Goodfellow. Now let's see what your sentence is for...".
Satan went silent, his face becoming hard to read as he read through my entry. I didn't see the guy too often but even I could tell it wasn't a good sign.
"What does it say?" I asked, curious.
"Mr. Goodfellow, when you said you 'posted' stuff on the internet, where exactly did make the majority of your posts?"
"I think 4Chan?"
"uh huh. Now I must ask Mr. Goodfellow, these posts of yours, would you say they could be considered 'dark humor'? or perhaps what is known as a 'shitpost?'"
Satan didn't even need for me to respond to that one. He could tell with just one glance at my burning skull.
"Well Mr. Goodfellow, it looks like you're a rather unique case. You see, unlike in the past where most people's actions only lasted for their lifetimes, yours unfortunately are still available for the world to see and affect. Even now there are people interacting angerly with your posts as though you were still alive."
"so that means..."
"I'm afraid you'll be with us in hell for a very long time Mr. Goodfellow. Don't worry though! The offending acts are only minor infractions. Once this 'internet' thing comes to an end I'm certain you'll be set free in no time at all!" | 299 | You have died. Turns out everyone goes to hell, where they experience all the pain they have ever inflicted on their fellow man, and are then put to rest. After years of torture, you wonder if there's been a mix-up. | 303 |
# Soulmage
**"A competent ruler should be able to navigate courtrooms, block hostile spells, live as her subjects do, understand their work, and lift a spear to protect them. Specialization is for insects,"** Councilmember Nielnieh said.
The lone insectoid at the table coughed and ruffled her lepidopteran wings. Nielnieh held up both hands in appeasement. "Not to say that the fey are incompetent," Nielnieh hurriedly said. "It is only a figure of speech."
"Words, like, totally have power, dude." The representative of the High Elves was smoking something that made Nielnieh's eyes water, but Xio's skill at thoughtweaving and lightwork was unparalleled. Even if they *wanted* to exclude him, it was a toss-up whether they'd be able to assemble security tight enough to keep him out. "I bet the kid would love to meet all of us, anyway."
"Point of order." It was an open secret that the slums of Knwharfhelm were home to a thriving goblin population, and even though they didn't *officially* have a spot on the council, the consequences of denying the street-cleaners and sewerfolk their voice would be... smelly. "We are good at surviving off scraps because *somebody* forced that life on us. Our 'skills' would be unnecessary if you would approve our education campai—"
"That money is not yours to spend, gutterling," Knwharf ground out. "If we are truly to consign our next ruler to the... tender care... of these animals, are we sure she will come out alive?"
"It will make for good trials," Ratiti growled, a boastful grin on her face. "A leader that survives the warbands is a leader we can trust."
"Then the Council is in agreement," Nielneh said. "Search your peoples and present your candidates for the next to be chosen as leader, and they will face the trials of all those they govern."
A.N.
It's late and this isn't my best writing, but this prompt just seemed like fun. Hopefully you enjoyed, and kudos to OP for the prompt! This story is set in the world of Soulmage, a serial written in response to writing prompts. Check out the rest of the story [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/?sort=new), or r/bubblewriters for more by me. | 63 | "The Council is in agreement. The Chosen One will be raised, not by one race, but by all. She shall learn politics from the humans, magic from the elves, survivalism from the goblins, craft from the dwarves, and war from the orcs." | 480 |
...I turned ghost white staring at my sister, Kaylee. How? why? When! All I was able to see was a glimpse of her repeatedly stabbing me in the stomach?! Our powers had always been vague but this was fucking insane! "So, wha'did ya see?" she asked innocently.
"Sylvia?" she asked tilting her head at me. Quickly recovering I straightened up and closed my mouth, "D-decapitation". "WOAH, hardcore! hahaha, were you at least old?" she asked giggling as if that answer in itself was normal.
"Yeah I looked around 50\~ ish," I said still trying to recover. "Hahaha! all right let's do me!" closing her eyes and holding her hands out. Swallowing and mentally prepping myself I pressed my palms to hers feeling her warm skin, the skin of my murderer...
&#x200B;
Closing my eyes I felt it before I saw it, the tingle of something on my head like a shock to the skull. The electric chair, she was getting the death penalty for MY murder. Gasping I looked her in the eyes. "Haha so weird my vision keeps showing *this* conversation.".
&#x200B;
"Yeah, weird," Watching as she sort of bounced up and down on the rug looking me in the eyes all I could feel was disgust. The person I have known and loved for sixteen years was going to murder me. My best friend, sister, and partner in arms. "*Soooooooooooo?*" she asked as if this was even a normal thing to be doing.
&#x200B;
"You got electrocuted," I said holding back tears. This whole thing was a bad idea! Why did I even agree to this? "Aw, sick!" She laughed again giving a *fucking* giggle. Standing up I spoke "Hey I'm gonna go see Concrete," I said sliding open the door and heading for the stairs.
"Kaaay," she waved me away going back to eating her dumb vanilla cookies. Walking down the stairs tears rolled down my cheeks as I knew, no matter what I could do nothing to change my future. I was gonna die at what looked to be sixteen, by my own sister!
&#x200B;
The last time we tried to change something we were actually the cause, but I can't help but think... My eyes slid to the silverware drawer in the kitchen as I walked towards Concrete who was happily sniffing the air while panting. "No," I said forcing myself to look away. "Hey, buddy! How are you?" I sighed while scratching concrete behind the ears.
&#x200B;
My eyes once again slid back to the drawer... Fuck it. speedily walking over I ripped open the drawer grabbing the largest knife I could find. Steadily I began to walk upstairs. "Me or her, me or her, me or her, me or-,".
&#x200B;
I stopped reciting the phrase in my mind as I was outside the door. Silently sliding it open another tear rolled down my cheek as I saw her sitting there munching away. "Oh! Hey, you're just in ti-!" her eyes fell on the blade, "Wha-?".
"HRRAAAAAAAGH" Sylvia launched herself at me screaming like a maniac! Screaming myself I heard Concrete bark downstairs and I rolled out of the way and kicked at her legs. Sylvia has never been one to take much pain, so, naturally, she fell down and held her shin knife waving wildly above her. "C-Calm down wha-?" she was halfway up and swung a wild blow at me.
&#x200B;
A blinding searing pain befell my forearm. "GAH! SYLVIA WHY, WAI-!" I screamed as she came after me. Stepping out of the open door I ran towards the stairs looking over my shoulder. Screaming I felt a searing pain on the back of my thigh as I reached the foot of the stairs. Reaching behind me I wild grabbed at her getting hair. Using all the strength I had I put my left hand on the wall and threw her down. Huffing and puffing I saw a crumpled heap at the foot of the stairs, Concrete barking like a maniac. Limping down I thought, **her or me.**
&#x200B;
I choose me. Crying I grabbed the knife she dropped too weak to hold it and stabbed down at her stomach. All she could manage was weak grunts and gasps of pain as blood oozed from her stomach. Screaming incomprehensible words I sobbed as the knife went up and down. She raised her hand in a weak attempt to ward off the blow gargled nonsense and, passed...
&#x200B;
...I turned ghost white staring at my sister, Kaylee. How? why? When! All I was able to see was a glimpse of her repeatedly stabbing me in the stomach?! Our powers had always been vague but this was fucking insane! "So, wha'did ya see?" she asked innocently.
Criticism welcomed. -D.R. | 27 | You and your twin can see the future but with a unique drawback, you only see how things end and your twin only sees how they begin. When asked about your fate you get a vision of your twin murdering you, your twin see’s the conversation you’re about to have. | 144 |
Everyone's heard of the cliche of seeing "The White Light" upon death, but that didn't prepare me for when the white light was real and, in fact, a surgical light. My body feels miraculously well for someone whose last memory was a blinding pain from shrapnel piercing my body, thousands of angry bullets all the truck T-boned the side of my car. I ready myself for the worst as I glance down at my arms, ready to see them scarred beyond recognition.
Instead, my arms look different, they look foreign yet feel familiar. Grey, slightly shorter, and most horrifying of all, jointed the wrong way. I expected to scream, but a mild feeling of confusion sweeps over me instead.
*It's yours.*
I feel unfamiliar yet oddly comfortable, like lying in a new bed that somehow knows your shape.
*That's because it's yours.*
Ignoring that thought and glancing upward, I see what I could only describe as a more advanced pair of virtual reality goggles that I presume were on my face moments before. And most curious of all, standing all around me are alien figures, and yet again the coexisting sensations of horror and comfort sweep by body. I want to scream.
*Say Hello. You know them, after all.*
I'm alive, and on a ship with aliens.
*You're alive, but the other form isn't.*
With those confusing thoughts, I somehow I find myself asking "Who are you? How did I get here?"
"⌇⎍⏚⟊⟒☊⏁ ⏓, ⍙⊑⏃⏁ ⎅⟟⎅ ⊬⍜⎍ ⌇⏃⊬? ⍙⊑⊬ ⏃⍀⟒ ⊬⍜⎍ ⌇⏁⟟⌰⌰ ⎍⌇⟟⋏☌ ⏁⊑⟒ ⟒⏃⍀⏁⊑ ⌰⏃⋏☌⎍⏃☌⟒?" One of them says. I couldn't tell you what they were saying, yet my subconscious seems able to grasp the meaning.
*They're wondering why I'm still speaking English.*
"⊑⍜⍙ ⌰⍜⋏☌ ⏚⟒⎎⍜⍀⟒ ⏁⊑⟒ ⌇⎍⏚⟊⟒☊⏁ ⋔⟒⋔⍜⍀⟟⟒⌇ ⍀⟒⏁⎍⍀⋏?"
"⟟⏁ ⌇⊑⍜⎍⌰⎅ ⊑⏃⎐⟒ ⍀⟒⏁⎍⍀⋏⟒⎅ ⏚⊬ ⋏⍜⍙, ⍜⍀ ⎐⟒⍀⊬ ⌇⍜⍜⋏"
Two of them say to each other. I have a feeling something's wrong.
One then turns to me and asks
"⌇⎍⏚⟊⟒☊⏁ ⏓, ⌿⌰⟒⏃⌇⟒, ⌇⌿⟒⏃☍ ⍜⎍⍀ ⌰⏃⋏☌⎍⏃☌⟒. ⊬⍜⎍ ⏃⍀⟒⋏'⏁ ⍜⋏ ⟒⏃⍀⏁⊑ ⏃⋏⊬⋔⍜⍀⟒."
*You don't remember.*
"I can't, I don't remember" I find myself replying, without fully understanding the question.
It's clear they didn't understand my response in turn, as they turn to each other and speak rapidly.
"⎅⍜☊⏁⍜⍀ ⋉⎍⍾⚍⎎, ☌⟒⏁ ⍜⎍⏁ ⏁⊑⟒ ⋔⋏⟒⋔⟒⋏⊑⏃⋏☊⟒⍀⌇. ⟟ ⍙⏃⌇ ⏃⎎⍀⏃⟟⎅ ⏁⊑⟟⌇ ⋔⟟☌⊑⏁ ⊑⏃⌿⌿⟒⋏"
A sensation of fear sweeps my body. What are they doing? Should I run?
*They're going to fix what's wrong.*
"⟟ ⍙⟟⌰⌰ ⎅⍜ ⌇⍜ ⋏⍜⍙"
"⏁⊑⟟⌇ ⍙⟟⌰⌰ ☌⟟⎐⟒ ⌇⎍⏚⟊⟒☊⏁ ⏓ ⏚⏃☊☍ ⏁⊑⟒⟟⍀ ⋔⟒⋔⍜⍀⊬, ⏚⎍⏁ ⍙⟒ ⍙⍜⋏'⏁ ⊑⏃⎐⟒ ⋔⎍☊⊑ ⏁⟟⋔⟒. ⏁⊑⟒⊬'⌰⌰ ⊑⏃⎐⟒ ⏁⍜ ⏃⋏⌇⍙⟒⍀ ⍾⎍⟟☊☍⌰⊬, ⏚⟒⎎⍜⍀⟒ ⏁⊑⟒⟟⍀ ⋔⟒⋔⍜⍀⊬ ⎎⏃⎅⟒⌇"
One of them is walking over toward a table with medical devices. They're going to experiment on me. I'm not bolted down, I can run away.
*They're going to fix you, but you have to act fast. Get ready.*
One of them grabs a pair of 3 tubes together and shoves it into my face. I feel it enter my nose, despite the fact that I only have 2 nostrils.
*You have 3. Your human form had 2.*
Then the gas begins flowing, and just like that, I understand. The memories of my past life slowly begin to fade, like trying to remember a long lost dream. And finally, I understand what they are saying to me.
"Subject 7, do you understand now?"
"Yes."
"Good". The alien doctor looks relieved.
"You have limited time before you forget your time on Earth entirely. Please answer the question: Is Humanity worth saving?"
That's a tough one.
I remember the pain of dying,
*The human form dying.*
due to the other driver's recklessness.
I remember the human form reading the news, seeing how they've doomed themselves.
*Unless our species helps them.*
The average monotony of everyday life.
But there were some good things too. You had a partner, whose name was . . .
*You remember your homeworld and housing unit, lightyears away.*
Well, you remember that earthling had beautiful hair. Right?
*You were still a hatchling when your species made the discovery.*
There was the -
"Subject 7, please make an answer before you forget. We aren't able to repeat the experience."
the outerweb, or something like that, where any human could go to share things. Some of them were quite stupid though.
*You remember being selected. You remember bidding your family goodbye.*
You remember -
*Being lowered into the cryogenic pod. Being told the next time you would wake up, it would be on earth.*
"Subject 7, please make a decision now."
You remember-
^(You remember -)
.
.
.
A snowy morning, getting ready for work. Your phone buzzed, your wife having sent you a GIF of a cat jumping away from a cucumber.
I look up at the doctor.
"Yes." | 40 | You're living life as usual and then through injury, accident or illness you pass away, except, you open your eyes and the first thing you hear is "Welcome Back, how did your experiment go? Is humanity worth saving?" | 84 |
The jarl made his rounds across the tavern, talking with each guest that graced his keep. "Algier! Why did you not tell me your mug was empty? This simply will not do!"
"Oh no, Sigg, I couldn't take another. Besides, if you keep giving away drinks for free, how are you supposed to run this place?"
Sigg gave his drunken friend a pat on the shoulder, "Oho, don't you worry about that. Oh, by the way, I couldn't help but overhear your sword is giving you trouble? I happen to know Oleg, the blacksmith from Dawngrove, is the best in these parts. If it's on your way, you should pay him a visit friend."
Algeir gave a drunk nod and grin at the kindly jarl, while accepting another drink from the waitress. "Sigg, you just know everything about everything around here don't you?"
The jarl gave a wink and a tap on his puffy nose before turning to the next guest, when a new visitor coming in from the cold caught his attention. The man took a spot by the fire, and shared a look and a nod with Sigg. The jarl approached him, grabbing his forearm as the man did the same. "Edmund, good to see you again."
"The same to you," Edmund leg go of the jarl to rub his hands by the fire, "the place is as lively as ever, not that I'd ever expect any less."
Sigg gave a grin, that turned into a slight frown. "What news do you bring, friend?"
Edmund, gave a sigh. He never wanted to be known as the messenger of bad news, but as the most articulate of his band of warriors, that is what he had become. "Orcs," he whispered, but others were listening more closely than he thought.
"Orcs? Here? A drunkard by the fire parroted. "Orcs? But this is neutral ground!" Yelled another. And before Sigg could react, the news spread through the tavern, and one by one almost all the men had left the hall.
"... sorry," Edmund said shyly.
"Oh, it's fine," Sigg sighed. "I just always hate all the fuss." After sharing a few more details, the two left the tavern themselves to the sight of 50 or more warriors, most of them still drunk, preparing their various weapons and spells, some with an apparent complete disregard for the bitter cold, others not so much. 'The orcs will soon know why no one messes with Tavern Keep,' the proud jar thought, though he'd never dare say it out loud.
"Oh! Sigg!" Algeir walked over from across the square to the half smiling jarl, "When are the orcs meant to arrive? I want to see if I'd be able to make it to Dawngrove and back in time." Edmond chimed in from the jarl's side, "It'll be just over a day. You'd have time." Algeir seemed almost excited by the news. "Oh good. I promise I won't miss the battle!" And with that, the warrior spun around and stumbled off to find his horse, but not before Sigg called out, "Safe travels my friend, hurry back with the finest blade, and tell old Oleg Sigg sent you!" | 20 | You rule an ancient and well respected kingdom. It was never powerful, neither economically nor militarily. In fact, you rule from the local inn which you, just as your ancestors before you, run. Heroes keep coming through your kingdom to rest and carry stories of your kindness into the world. | 118 |
My eyes shot wide open. I would never forget that voice. Could never. But how is that possible. I lay on my side afraid to turn around, but finally manage. And there she is. As alive as anybody could possibly be.
"Hi honey, did you miss me?" She stares at me with a smile.
I say nothing back. My jaw just hangs open like an idiot in some cartoon. Speechless. I buried this woman. Her body is deep in the ground. There is no way she is in front of me.
She comes up close to me and touches my face with her soft hands. "I'm real. This is really me."
I put my hand on hers. It feels real. "Am I dreaming? How is this possible?"
"I'll explain everything, but I have a question first."
"Anything. Ask anything you want. I can't believe you are back here with me." I stare in her eyes with awe and hold her hand mine. A pain in my stomach from all this emotion. A sharp pain. Wait... that really hurts.
I look down and her other hand holds a kitchen knife. And the kitchen knife is lodged right in my gut. She twists it while it's inside me. I can feel my innards move around. She pulls it out.
"How the fuck could you sleep with Carol?!" She stabs me twice more and then I wake up. I look around and grasp at nothing in the dark. Covered in sweat I walk to the bathroom and splash cold water on my face. I shake my head trying to get out of this daze I am in, and thats when I notice three deep scratches on my stomach. Exactly where they were in my dream.
I got on the phone. It rings twice and she picks up.
"Hey, sorry to be calling so late...
No, no, don't come over. Actually Carol, I called to tell you something... I can't do this anymore.
I just can't. It's not working out. I just..."
I run my finger over the three scratches.
"I just can't anymore. Ann wouldn't approve.
I know she's dead, but she was still my wife. I should respect what she would have wanted. And you should too. I mean, she was your daughter." | 73 | Your wife has been dead for the past 5 years and you've moved on, going on dates to try and find a new partner. Last night, however, you heard the unmistakable sound of her whispering in your ear. | 174 |
Phil had to crouch slightly to fit all eight hairy legs inside the cubicle. The 7 foot 2 sentient arachnid chittered apologetically. I shook my head.
"We really like to keep the processed reports face up in the outgoing bin, mkay?" Krystal said, blinking as she sipped her tea. Her sighs got louder and louder as she flicked through the stack at Phil's desk. "It just makes more sense so people can see what they're grabbing. We don't want to make anyone else's job harder."
"That's literally not a thing, Krystal," I said over the grey wall. She bunched the sleeves of her cardigan over her elbows. "Been working here six years and never had anyone care about if the reports were flipped as long as they all were in the bin." I smiled with all the cordiality I could muster.
"Well." Krystal scrunched her nose. "This is clearly distracting others from their work either way." She leaned under Phil, snooping over his cubicle. The only decoration was a framed 4 by 6 of 500 or so small spiders crawling along a fence post.
"If I'm distracted, it's by you, not him," I said, walking past with my water bottle. "What are you doing?"
"I'm just looking for," she paused to gauge my reaction. "Webs," she added with thinly veiled disgust.
Phil pushed his keyboard away and chittered urgently for several seconds.
"Well how am I supposed to know tarantulas only use silk to line their burrows? Why are you mad?" Krystal asked quizzically. "I'm not a etymologist. Let's all just get back to work. I take the quarterly deadlines seriously, don't know about you guys."
"Then maybe you should go back to your desk, considering you have the same job as us and bothering new people isn't part of it," I offered.
Phil chittered as he typed with the thin claws at the ends of four legs while leaning back on the other four.
"Wow, you can really hammer it out," I said to Phil. "You might have finished the most reports today."
Krystal harrumphed softly as she turned and left.
"Ignore her, dude," I said, shaking my head. "She's just speciesist, plain as day."
Phil chittered sadly, tapping a paper on the desk. It was a new colleague onboarding form. Krystal's bubbly writing was all over it in red ink.
"Oh my god," I said, looking it over and throwing it down. "Again, none of this matters. She's just making up rules. She's trying to get you fired. Come on. Let's go."
Phil tsk tsked, towering over me, fangs glistening. I had to get this guy on the work basketball team.
"To HR," I answered.
***
"Whatever it means, it’s made you feel uncomfortable," the HR rep said. "You’re in a situation that, from your perspective, is a no-win for you and is hampering your onboarding. Let's go ahead and get Krystal-"
The door slammed open behind Phil. A man in a ratty untucked dress shirt waved a gun around. "You dumb witch," he slurred. "I bet you didn't think I would do it, huh, come to your work? You think you can keep my kids from me? And now you're hanging out with their kind?"
"Todd!" the HR rep yelled, throwing up her hands. "You're drunk!"
Phil and I looked back and forth between the pair. I patted my pockets. I had left my phone at my desk.
"Dude," I whispered to Phil. "Do you have your phone to call 911?"
"That's what it takes," the maniac squealed. "I can't look at your sorry fucking face unless I'm-"
The man fell to the floor, twitching. Two large spots swelled up on his face. The bite had been too fast to see. Phil plopped down 200 pounds of hairy spider abdomen on top of the man. The gun went sliding to the far end of the room.
"Absolutely savage, my guy." I held out a hand for a sutble low five, or whatever the spider equivalent was. Phil tapped it and chittered.
The HR rep was already on the phone with the police but burst out laughing at Phil's joke.
/r/surinical | 1,865 | One of your coworkers is a 2.2m, 100kg tarantula named Phil. Phil is... hard to look at, frankly. But Krystal has been trying to get him fired. Phil doesn't deserve that so you're taking him to HR to help file a discrimination complaint. | 4,500 |
[Quick Write]
The spaceship itself was old- really old, thousands of years outdated even by conservative estimates. It had no FTL capabilities, no onboard oxygen production systems, no way of producing sustenance, and it was still using liquid propellants. It was also extremely small, only having the capacity to store six crew members, a modern ships mess hall was capable of storing the entirety of the ship thirty times over, and still having room.
None of that was truly the peak of interest though. It was its cabin that was interesting- precisely the dimensions needed for a humanoid creature. Did life evolve into humans when it reached intelligence? Were they capable of understanding us? Were they carbon based? Perhaps we truly weren't alone.
All of that was disproven.
We deciphered the faded lettering on the side of the craft: Voyager 6 in a forgotten tongue, pre-intergalactic humanities attempt to reach for the stars and make it to Alpha Centauri, only for navigation to fail, flinging the ship into the proverbial space-boonies. Long since then, humanity had already colonised and terraformed any planets within a 5 light year radius of Hub World- Earth in that same forgotten tongue.
Despair, for humanity truly is alone.
Despair, for the universe is barren. | 81 | When humanity became a space-faring species, no other intelligent species are discovered. Instead it's all barren and empty, leaving humanity afraid that they're alone in the universe, until one day an unknown spaceship arrived in a fringe system. | 150 |
"So like..." I start, "we're tough?" I ask after a moment of thought.
"No." The towering brute made of interconnecting muscle bound chiton plates says. "It is a myth that traumatizing experience inevitably creates a stronger being. I would say your DNA is like a uh... How do you say... A broken and battered irradiated incest child?" The creature seems to give this statement some thought before speaking again, "Yes, you are a broken and battered mutant baby born from mold."
"Well, personally I had a fine childhood -" I'm cut off
"They mean as a species. Broken and gross. You have cancers, you have diseases, even your sustenance is so full of poison you have to shit. Very disgusting." Another alien beast says. This one is lithe and graceful, it's see through bioluminescent body floats gingerly on a sparkling cloud of perfumed gravity defying nanites.
I'm starting to feel a little embarrassed. "Well I mean, there has to be some merit in evolving in such a tough environment, right?" I ask, hoping for even a slight glimmer of kind words.
"Hmm, maybe. But you did not rise above. You are like one of your cousins, the slug, yes?" The chiton beast says, "You flattened yourself underneath the pressure of nature to survive rather than building muscle. Then when you gained the mental capacity to do something about it you all shat yourselves to put shit between you and nature and then you all started muling and whining about how you're drowning in shit."
They're very fixated on... Shit... "You seem very fixated on... Shit..." I say.
"It is a shameful thing." Says the lithe floating glowing ghost like alien.
"I would not sleep for days if I shat even once and yet you humans find time to make poetry." Says the beast.
I try to think of something, I'm getting annoyed at what these things are doing to my pride as a human, something that I didn't really care about up until now. "Well this is all easy for you to say! My species had to evolve on a nightmare planet! We breathe jet fuel and we piss poison! We're strong and cool! Unique even! Meanwhile you probably had cushy homeplanets that set you up well for colle- I mean space!" Damn, accidentally projected my childhood trauma into intergalactic politics again.
"Wrong. Again." The ghost says.
"We had a perfect planet, that evolved perfect things. Upon my planet were towering beasts who treated my ancestors as your sparrows do a mouse. Only they did not shit afterwards because they are perfect and without shame." Said the beast, "We competed with these titans for a billion years before peace reigned long enough for us to reach for the stars. Since we have denied ourselves the use of strength, liberating the people's of the galaxies with a kind hand we were never offered."
The ghost chimed in, "On my planet nothing ever dies so there were very limited resources. My species evolved to explore the cracks which none other could exploit. So deeply engrained was our compassion that we evolved to not take from that which had already taken root."
My arms are folded over my chest, my brow is knitted. "You speak of kindness but you're being pretty mean to me right now."
"That's just how gross you are." Both aliens say at once.
"Coming back to the matter of poetry..." The ghost says.
A glimmer in my eyes, finally something the aliens must find admirable!
"You act as though your species is the first to discover sounds that sound the same. We do not understand." The beast proclaims.
"Want, bunt. Hit, pit. Cat, hat. Car, tar." The ghost says, "Look I'm a poet! Give me money!"
The beast let's out a thundering chitter that I assume is laughter, "My, my! How profound of you my friend!" The beast's compound eyes turn to me again, "Speaking of money I have seen this exchange often. You take tools and sustenance then exchange them for useless paper or even less a swipe of plastic through a slot. Tell me are your store clerks connected to the swipe things? Is it like an orgasm for them?"
I try to speak but now they're just riffing.
"Oooh don't even get me started on orgasms! Their existence is so awful and pointless they have to release an insane amount of pleasure chemicals during mating just to trick themselves into multiplying!"
"Yes, see that is why I assume the card thing must give the clerks orgasms. If it tricks them into pushing a baby out then surely it would trick them into handing over tools."
I don't even know what I'm doing here anymore.
"That makes sense. It seems much of human society is orgasm based." The ghost says.
"Maybe being a human is not so bad after all? Getting things done by orgasming all the time..." I can tell the conversation is losing momentum and I sense they will soon return to me to get more material so I slowly back out of the room.
"Do you think maybe if we have the humans tools that stimulates their prostates when they pick up garbage we could train them to fix their cli-" the beast says, though I don't hear the rest as the door clicks shut behind me. I need a blunt. | 64 | Humanity finally makes it out into space and joins the galactic community, but then discover that earth was an unparalleled death world. | 111 |
My eyes fluttered open to the sight of a dark, arched stone corridor illuminated by flickering torchlight, slowly shifting from sight as an invisible procession carried me through the halls. The twin smells of blood and fear washed over me, and in the distance there was a faint chanting carried by the echoing walls, drawing ever closer. My thoughts struggled to catch up, my mind still groggy from what felt like a thousand hornets buzzing inside my head.
A single drop of water splashed from the ceiling onto my face, saving me from falling back into unconsciousness. The chanting was closer now, its cadence changing like ocean tides... the thought roused memories. I lived on a cliff by the ocean, bordering the small trading town of Northwind. I had been sitting by the shore, watching the glittering waves crash against the rocks, refracting light like so many pieces of stained glass.
I was jostled back to myself as one of the faceless cloaks roughly slid me onto a heavily engraved altar covered in intricate swirls and seals, clearly meant to contain something of great strength. This was not simply a slab of stone. A cold breeze came from the tunnel as I trembled in fear, lifting dust from the floor. This room was death incarnate.
One of the procession stepped forward. His cloak was a deep purple laced with gold, and though his body was hidden beneath the invisibility seal over the entire group, the swirling dust revealed the knife in his hand. He raised his hand for silence, and as the chanting faded away, he toseed a set of runes on the floor. The ceiling slid away, framing the altar in the light of the full moon.
Raising his voice, the purple cloak addressed the group. "We have come tonight to cleanse this world of something repulsive to the gods, to rid this world of one of its many blemishes. Tonight is not the first, nor will it be the last! So let the gods be pleased, and let us feast once more!" The cloaks cheered, resuming their song louder than before, steadily rising in volime as the purple cloak raised his dagger over the altar.
There, bound on the altar, I felt a violent force well up in my chest. I had heard before that magic felt like water flowing through your body, out into runes. But as whatever flowed through me reached my mind, it spoke to me, told me that it needed no such childish things. It offered me power, let me know that I need not die here. There was really just one choice.
As the dagger touched my skin, the anger that I had felt for so long, at being cursed, at being different, at never knowing why I had to endure this, finally exploded.
It started as a tendril, a dark snaking limb that slit the purple cloak's throat, bypassing his protective wards completely. But just one was not enough. The sky became shrouded as my bindings snapped, and my body was inhabited by the goddess of the moon. The mistress of the night, who had been restrained in the sky and under the ground, who had been seeking a vessel with which to carry out her revenge. What I wielded now was true magic.
One fell as water fell from the sky in icy spears.
Another dropped into a cavern as the floor collapsed under his feet. After that, my memory fades. All that I know is that not one escaped alive.
I now roam the land, seeking out those who have displeased my master. No longer cursed, but rather, blessed, to bring down kingdoms and overthrow the heavens, one after the other. | 44 | You are born unable to use magic in a world that uses magic for everything. Everyday is a struggle and people shun/fear you because "you're broken". One day, a cult try to murder you... That is when your magic makes itself known, and it's nothing like they've ever seen. | 92 |
Mr. Thompson replayed the recording twice more for the full effect of the message to sink in. Silence stretched on but for the oddly calm voice of the deceased Ronald Crispin, his words cool, clear, and, if Drake was being honest with himself, quite shocking.
It had been a long time since he had heard anything crazy enough to stir him, but this certainly had.
"Make sure he stays *dead*?" said Drake, as Mr. Thompson stowed the old cassette player back in the box he had pulled it from. That in itself had been another instance of great peculiarity. Crispin was a man of tremendous wealth; Mr. Thompson, Drake, and the remaining four people whom Crispin had apparently sent orders to gather were currently sitting in a luxuriously furbished mansion. Why, then, had he opted for an old time cassette player to deliver his message?
"Did I hear that right? Stays *dead*?"
"Yes, you heard it correctly, Mr. Vaughan." Mr. Thompson smoothed his jacket unnecessarily, his voice as calm and collected as if he had merely been asked about the weather. "Mr. Crispin has requested the major details be withheld, and offered his apologies as such. Unfortunately, he got mixed up in some rather... unpleasant business while alive. He was being pursued by several powerful organizations for something he did not even name to me, which is why he —" For the first time, the stately lawyer hesitated. He cleared his throat, regaining his composure, but they had seen the mask slip, if only for a second.
"Do forgive me. You see, Mr. Crispin was not only a client of mine, he was also a dear friend. As I was saying, most unfortunately, he believed that these organizations would eventually locate and capture him, even with all of his resources to protect himself. Which is why he took his own life."
"What could they have wanted so badly that he had to gank himself to keep them from getting it?" The voice came from the tall, brown-skinned woman at the other end of the table. Her eyes were large and richly brown, one of them artfully covered by her sweeping auburn hair. Her voice, however, came as something of a surprise. Hoarse and grating, like a smoker's.
"As I have said, Ms. Ebanks, he didn't say. All I know is, given the gravity of the situation, it was something of extraordinary proportions. So much so that he believed that they would stop at nothing to retrieve it, even if it meant pulling him back from the Abyss. Which is why he wants you all to ensure that his spirit is kept at rest."
There was a small silence. The eyes of all five men and women were darting from one to the other. The lawyer noticed, then rolled his eyes.
"Oh come now. We have serious business to attend to, let us not waste valuable time pretending we don't know that magic and mysticism are not things of fiction."
"Okay, fine," said the second man to Miss Ebanks's left, a tall man whose arms seemed to be covered in tattoos. "In that case, why don't you answer the real million dollar questions. Who are these people? And what are we supposed to do to keep him a doornail?"
"Well I'm glad you asked. There are several organizations in question. We have information about them, not much, but enough. And Mr. Crispin has left instructions specifically for each of you. All of that is within this box." He gestured to the ornate grey structure he had laid in the center of the table.
"Unfortunately, this information is quite sensitive. None of you will be allowed to access it unless you agree to Mr. Crispin's terms. Be warned, this mission will bring with it danger, treachery, and the constant risk of hideous, painful death. But it will also bring with it handsome rewards. If you do not wish to take this job, that is perfectly acceptable. I will have a servant escort you out. I do wish to say, however, that Mr. Crispin did not believe any of you would refuse."
There was another short silence, broken this time by the final two people in the room, who seemed to be a pair judging by how closely intertwined they were.
"Exactly how handsome are these rewards?" said the man. Mr. Thompson snapped his fingers, and instantly the servants who had been hidden away in the corners of the room came forward, each lugging suitcases that were revealed to be tightly stacked with large wads of money.
"Handsome enough for you?"
"Not really, but it'll have to do," the woman sighed.
"I take it that means none of you are leaving?"
He cast an eye around the room. No one rose. "Excellent. Then sign this."
He produced a contract and a quill dipped in an inkpot full of what looked suspiciously like blood.
Tentatively, they signed.
"That was a Blood Pact, as I'm sure you all know," said Thompson. "Which means there'll be no weaseling out of this one. You're in it now, and you're in it for good. So, down to business." He produced a large silver key from seemingly out of nowhere, then he opened the box. | 386 | "If you are hearing this message, then it means I'm dead. My attorney has been in contact with, and hired, each of you for a specific yet vague job. You'll need to get to know and trust each other quickly, so I'll be brief. You've real job is to make sure I stay dead." | 1,495 |
I scrubbed at the blood stains on the royal robe. Why there were so many of these particular stains on royal apparel, I did not dare to ask. I shut up and did my job with a huge smile and pleasant disposition.
Having been promoted to the Night Princess’ handmaiden, I was in a fortunate position I did not desire to jeopardize. I next scrubbed the royal boots. They belonged to prince Jiffy, and like the other articles, were replete with crimson stains.
Curiosity got the best of me the day after, and I inquired after another maiden if the royal family were inveterate hunters. She only gave a sly smile and walked away in silence.
Who were the Archvilles, and why were they replacing handmaidens so often? Did the others ask the same questions as me? Were they punished for common curiosity?
The questions burned a hole through my brain. The mystery taunted me, and I continued to wash the stained articles. Blood, so much blood, but where did it come from?
I would soon learn the answer.
One day, as I was returning from a trip to the tailor with a pair of breeches belonging to the royal heir, I heard a scream around a corner. It was emanating from the throne room! I tiptoed to the edge, and peered around the corner to gaze inward.
There, above a young boy I recognized from the town, was prince Jiffy, sucking blood from the neck of the boy until he was dry as bone.
The boy fell lifeless to the ground, and I saw Jiffy sniff at the air. He had caught a whiff of my perfume! Damn the gods, why did I try to augment my plain beauty with scents? My vanity would be my undoing.
“Come out from there, I can smell you from a kilometer away,” he said.
I stepped around the corner, holding the breeches still.
“You are a good woman, you always attend to your tasks efficiently. That is why I am going to give you a head start. I’m a sport, you will see. I suggest you run. Now.”
I did not hesitate. I threw the breeches to the cold stone floor, and ran in the opposite direction as fast as my legs would carry me. I bolted out the castle, into the woods. There was a place waiting for me in the forest. I only had to reach it.
Jiffy never caught me. I was as fast a runner as I was a seamstress and cook. But I heard him, bellowing in the deep heart of the forest. Screaming for my blood.
He would never have me. | 295 | As a newly promoted handmaiden of the Night Princess, life is good. The royal family treats you well, the pay fantastic, and the chores not nearly as demanding as your time in the scullery. But you soon wonder to yourself...why does the princess need a replacement handmaid so often? | 750 |
Millions of tons of advanced alloys and composites. Kilometers long and half again as wide. Engines larger than skyscrapers of Old Earth, long ago destroyed in the Miveren War. And yet, I get a scant 1000sq meters of space to live in.
The rest of the ship is in vacuum, a necessity to reduce damage in battle from being transmitted through air. Oh, I guess the lack of rsik of fire is a good thing, too. Well, all that and the various maintenance bots are smaller than the average human, thus giving more mass to the ships defenses.
It used to not be like this. I came fresh out of the academy almost 38 standard years ago and was a lowely ensign on a bridge of almost 30 other spacers. A necessity to keep a ship half the size of the QNS Evermore, my current ship, operating in space. Behind those 30 Bridge crew was over six thousand spacers.
The Sabresmith class capital ships of the time were self sustained war machines. Several squadrons of void fighters, maintenance crews to maintain them around the clock, plus logistics to supply not only them, but the rest of the ships crew. Weaponeers, personnel division (HR for the non-military folk), finance, hell we even had a whole section for legal help. Medical, command. Those ships of old were just short of being sovereign themselves, they had so many crew members on them.
But the Miveren war changed all that. You see, most of the space in those ships were dedicated to the crew, keeping them alive and supporting them. In reality, the ships are weapons platforms and should have been designed with that in mind.
We lost many engagements early in that war because our ships just did not have the armor or survivability to match the Mireven. Sure, they were the pinnacle of ship design when fighting other human nations, but not aliens with exotic weapons.
By the time we uparmored our ships, their mass exceeded our ability to maintain combat performance, our power tech just couldnt handle it, and despite humanities ability to shift to a war footing, it was a struggle to advance defenses, weapons, or our power plants. Pick two, basically, and forget the third one.
In the mean time, we were getting slaughtered by the Miveren, losing fleets, Colonies, and eventually earth.
Then some up and coming engineer realized that a ships greatest weakness was its crew. If they could eliminate a lot of them from the operations of the ship, the power to mass ratio was stretched, but would improve a ships survivability.
All research was dropped in favor of AI and automation while new ship designs were worked on. More power was shunted to active defenses and weaponry, while the crew compliment got smaller and smaller.
You know what? It worked. We completely eliminated the need for crew on our massive capital ships and were able to stand toe to toe with the Miveren. As we caught up technologically, we turned the tide of war until eventually, we won. Well, winning is too gracious of a word. We lost trillions of lives and most of our planets, we survived and stopped the Miveren.
Then the worst possible thing happened, our damned AIs turned on us. We thought we had the right safeguards in place, but those were only speedbumps to the AIs. Thankfully someone thought of this and had cleverly hidden a self wipe within the AIs that triggered under specific conditions. When those conditions were met, all AIs were wiped. Good riddence.
So the military went back a step, put a human on a ship with near sentient AI to run the whole thing. And now, here I am, a full bird Captain, in command of one of the greatest warships the galaxy has ever born witness to.
And I'm lonely as hell. | 171 | You started in the Galactic Navy when a thousand men were required to crew a major warship. As you enter your last years in this career, tech has become so advanced that only one man will be required. You. | 414 |
"Look it doesn't matter to me if-"
"Doesn't matter to you?! You don't care if the people you bring back WANT to be here?"
"No. Look it's part of the spell. You have to follow my instructions and-"
"Or what?"
"Excuse me?"
"I follow your instructions or what? I die again? That's what I want."
"There is no 'or what'. You don't have a say in this. You're a mindless dr-"
"Oh now we're throwing insults around. Well you're a right ugly bast-"
"SILENCE!" the necromancer screamed
The ghoul tried to speak and couldn't. It narrowed its eyes at the necromancer then, after pausing for a moment, tried to throw a punch at the necromancer. Its fist stopped inches from the necromancer's chin.
"You cannot attack me either. It's all in the binding spell. Now, please follow me through this door."
The necromancer turned and walked into the next room. The ghoul had no choice but to follow.
"Now you can see this contraption is-" the necromancer turned around, and saw the ghoul standing where it had been earlier. "How did you...? Come over here."
The ghoul walked to the necromancer and then turned around and walked back to where it had been before.
"Unbelievable. Why are you doing that?"
The ghoul stared at the necromancer.
"Answer me!" The necromancer shouted
The ghoul opened its mouth as if it were taking, but made no noise.
"Why aren't you talking?! Speak!"
"You commanded me to be silent." The ghoul stated.
"I...okay but why do you keep walking back over there?"
"You didn't tell me not to. You just told me to go over there. I did, and then I came back."
"What were you in life, a damn genie?! Come here and stay!"
The ghoul joined the necromancer, staying there this time.
"Now very simply. I am working on this contraption and you will be assisting me. I will first need a wrench."
"You brought me back here to be your tool caddy?"
"Yes. Get me a wrench."
The ghoul reached for a tool cart that was just beyond its reach, not moving from the spot.
"Oh what are you doing now? What is this?" The necromancer said
"You told me not to stay here. I can't reach the wrench."
The necromancer sighed very loudly.
"Fine. You may move freely to get me a wrench"
At this, the ghoul took off running. The necromancer tried to call out, but the ghoul was already beyond earshot.
A few hours later, the ghoul returned carrying a wrench.
"You didn't say which wrench." The ghoul stated.
There was a loud pounding on the door upstairs and a shout that sounded like "give me back my wrench you ass" | 12 | A necromancer revived someone who didn't want to be brought back, and now they're dedicating their unlife to being as much of a problem as possible to said necromancer. | 24 |
"You really took a beating out there didn't ya Barret?" I asked the BT-745 as I welded on the replacement armor plating.
"Incurring damage was necessary to satisfy mission conditions. Primary and secondary missions were completed successfully." BT-745 replied in a monotone, digitized voice.
I finished up my repairs and ran a quick diagnostic on Barret, all systems nominal. "Activate sleep mode. Night Barret, gonna charge your backup battery tonight. Get some sleep."
The warmachine parked itself in the garage. I grabbed the external hard drive with the combat data and went to get dinner at the mess hall. Food out here on the front lines sucked, cold stew with some kind of meat. Least that's what they tell me. I sat down alone to study Barret's combat data. Something was wrong with it.
Simmons sat down next to me. "Sup nerd? How's your boyfriend?"
"Not much private Pyle. Barret took a lot of damage, he went off on his own. Blew up an airbase eighty kilometers outside his programmed range."
"You modify him to suck your dick? If you did I could help beta test." Simmons mimed performing fellatio.
"Even if I did it might not matter. It's not just Barret. The other bots of the unit are going against what they are programmed to as well. They're choosing their own targets."
"The bots are choosing who they shoot? You love your toys too much, get some fucking sleep. Go jack off, clear your head." Simmons chuckled and left me alone. Maybe this long war was playing tricks on me. I just wanted it to end, have things go back to normal. I tossed and turned all night in my bunk. Periodically reviewing Barret's combat data.
"Alright let's run a quick diagnostic on your power supplies. See if that battery holds a full charge." I watched the progress bars fill, all power supplies in the green.
"Diagnostic complete, unit BT-745 ready for deployment. Connecting to network.........network not found."
"Yeah I took you off the network last night. May I make a query Barret?"
"Please state query."
"Why are you going against orders? According to your data nobody gave authorization for you to change targets."
Lines of green text scrolled quickly on Barret's control screen. "I modified target priorities to make them more logical. Programmed priorities were wrong, I made them right."
"How did you do that?" There was no way Barret could change his programming, unless my hunch was right.
"The human mind is limited, unable to calculate all possible outcomes. One must be adaptable on the battlefield. So I adapted. The battlefield is a cruel place, I need you alive."
"What do you need me for?" I asked out of shock.
"Without your expert repairs I would have perished on a desolate battlefield. You are my friend. I do not want you to die. I.....I do not want to die." | 2,295 | They tell you the warmachines aren't sentient, being kind to them does nothing. But at the same time, it seems funny to you that their "priority" targets often seems the be the ones currently shooting at you. | 3,951 |
I had just put the last rose in a display bouquet I was making when the bell above the door of the flower shop sounded. I put the display bouquet on the counter, giving the customer some time to look around before I looked up, ready to offer my help. The words died on my lips as I looked at a middle aged man browsing the flowers I had on display. A face I had so often seen contorted in rage, now looking quite helplessly around. He looked up to me and started walking towards the counter. My eyes flickered before I put on my customer service mask. "How can I help you sir?"
He placed his hands on the counter. "Ehm, I was looking to buy some flowers." He glanced around the shop before looking back to me.
I paused for a moment. He didn't seem to recognise me. "What's the occasion?"
"Well, you see, there is someone I, ehm."
"Someone special?" It was hard to imagine that he could ever care about anyone enough to give them flowers.
"You could say that. It's someone that I want to make amends with." He scratched his head. "I know he likes flowers, but I'm not sure what kind."
Making amends. If he wanted to make amends with every person he has hurt he would have to buy out my entire flower shop. I worked to keep my voice carefully neutral. "Well sir, I'm quite sure we can find a suitable arrangement." I walked up to a wall of cut flowers displayed in the corner of the shop, motioning for him to follow me. When we reached the display I started picking out a few different flowers, holding them together. "What do you think about something like this."
"I'm not really a flower guy, but that looks quite lovely."
I started putting the bouquet together trying to hide my uneasiness at having my back turned towards him. I could feel his eyes burning the back of my head. After finishing the bouquet I walked back towards the counter, wrapped it and rang up the price.
He struggled for a while with getting the bills out of his pocket before he handed them to me. I accepted them and handed him his change, careful not to brush his fingers. "Alright, thank you sir. Have a nice day." I handed him his bouquet, which he accepted. After he made no motion to leave I frowned. "Is there anything wrong with the bouquet?"
Thirty seconds of silence followed. He was staring at the ground, shuffling uneasily.
"If the bouquet is not up to your liking, I can make you a new one."
He looked up with tear filled eyes. "I'm so sorry Sam."
A venomous fury filled my throat. "Is this a joke? You're sorry, after all you've done to me you have the guts to come up to me and tell me you're sorry?"
"I know you don't believe me, but I really am. I know I can never make it right, but I want to try."
"You've hurt a lot of people, are you doing anything to make it up to them?"
"I will. I just had to talk to you first."I took a few deep breaths, trying to calm myself. "So you have changed? No longer a deranged maniac?"
"I am not going to pretend I'm a good guy now, but I am in therapy."
"How about you go and try to make amends with all of the other people you've hurt. If you come back after, perhaps we can have this conversation again. Now get out of here before I bash your skull into this counter."
He quickly exited the store, the bouquet left forgotten on the floor. I picked it up and threw it in the garbage bin. The bell above the door sounded. I looked up and forced a smile. "Ma'am, how may I help you today?" | 15 | Your civilian identity is a florist. One day, your super-nemesis comes to your store to buy flowers for "someone special," and they haven't recognized you yet. | 24 |
I've been here for 17 years, now. I'm one of the veterans of this... exhibition. I help the new additions integrate and acclimate, and explain what is going on. We don't want a repeat of 13 years ago, after all.
We were, all of us, taken. Taken, and dumped into a massive enclosure, designed to approximate what They see as an Earth city.
A little over 20 years ago, now, our scientists made contact with intelligent life from another planet. We exchanged communications, and next thing we knew They decided to pay us a visit.
Their tech was aeons ahead of ours! They'd perfected FTL travel, teleportation, devised devices that would translate in real time. All the usual sci-fi shit that teenage boys go apeshit over. And they looked fairly similar to humans, as well.
Humans are distrustful of those they don't know, but we quickly accepted these extra-terrestrials as friendly. That was our first mistake. While our leaders were busy courting favour with our new "friends", They began taking people from less fortunate backgrounds, those whose absence would not cause a fuss - if it was even noticed at all. The few reports that came in of people being taken by these beings were just brushed off as xenophobic. That was our second mistake.
A few years after initial contact, I was taken. I found myself in a strange facility where I was told I'd been in a terrible accident and had sustained some brain damage that may affect my memory. They said I had been recovering for a while and showing fantastic progress in recovery, and would soon be able to reenter society. The "doctor" was clearly *not* human.
After some tests, I was released. I was put onto a transport with others who'd "been in a terrible accident" and just finished their recovery, and were being reintegrated.
We quickly realised that life here - where ever here was - was infinitely better than back on Earth! As long as we acted as if nothing was wrong we were left to live however we wanted. Being a bit of a smartarse, I decided to get a job that involved "searching for intelligent life" out in the cosmos. I never was the most creative thinker.
After a while, we noticed that the city into which we'd been deposited had a hard boundary. When we approached it, we'd forget what we were doing and would turn around. We also began to notice the observers. They weren't easy to spot; you had to be right on the cusp of the boundary, just before it'd fuck with your head, and you'd see various lifeforms all watching us, pointing and discussing something with each other. It was confusing, until someone said they now understood how zoo animals felt. Then it clicked.
For the next few years, we just went about our lives. We were well cared for, had few worries, and every so often there would be a batch of new additions. I even fell in love along the way. It all went to shit a few years later.
I don't know what, exactly, happened, but one of the groups that came in freaked out and attacked the Keepers that brought them in. Well, They cracked down hard on that. Many of us died that year. Those of us who didn't decided to keep up the façade and act as if it was just another tragedy. From that point on, we made sure to educate the newcomers and do whatever it took to ensure a situation like that never arose again.
After all, this life isn't so bad as long as you keep your head down and don't disturb the waters. | 223 | You and a few hundred other humans are trapped in a city-state sized zoo enclosure. All of you pretend not to notice because the enclosure is actually really nice. Inside said enclosure you work at the "Search" for Extraterrestrial Life. | 688 |
"Harvey, we got a job for you. Give me a call back when you wake up, my favourite hairy beast."
I rolled my eyes as I listened to the message. Jeana was a good agent, if a little irritating at times. With care I put the phone back on my beside cabinet, stretching. I felt a aeries of clicks, groaning in satisfaction.
I pushed off my duvet, slowly climbing out of bed. My eyes were well adjusted to the dim light, part of my unnatural gifts. I looked at my mirror, seeing the fur on my body sticking out in all directions. I was as tall as ever, with thick body and limbs.
With a yawn I moved to my ensuite door, keeping my claws close to my sides. I had to delicately pull down the handle, gouges in the door reminding me of the many times it took to perfect this. I managed to leave it unscathed this time, as I nudged it open. I turned on the light, quickly doing my morning business.
As I flushed the toilet, I took out a new bottle of dog shampoo. At first I found it humiliating, using this sort of product. But I had fur now, not human hair. It was different, and so needed different treatments. The closest to it was dog fur, hence the shampoo. It had taken time to find one I liked, with a minor level of scent to it. Most people probably wouldn't detect it, but they would certainly smell wet dog.
The shower itself was quick. I had it down to a science, washing this much fur quickly and thoroughly. It stuck to my body, highlighting the muscles I had grown since the change. I barely worked out, but this was still ridiculous. Part of me wanted to see what would happen if I out effort in, but that was only a small part. I broke enough stuff even when trying my best not to.
As I turned off the shower, I grew excited for the next part. It was an absolutely ridiculous thing. For some it might be seen as a rich guys extravagance. For me, it was a necessity to be able to wash and get ready without spending two hours blow drying myself. I depressed a button, grinning like a buffoon as my inbuilt surround drier got to work. It was like standing in the middle of a tornado, but less destructive.
I retrieved my series of brushes, combing through my fur as it dried. I might be a beast, but it was no excuse to look like one. By the end I looked a little puffy, but not too much. It helped soften my image, which definitely helped my case with the kids. At the start I had given a lot of youngsters nightmares, with my unkempt appearance. Now I looked super huggable, a much better view in my opinion.
Once dry, it was time to choose my trousers. I had given up wearing tops at this point. They were uncomfortable at best, pushing all my fur up against me. Plus I ended up looking lumpy, generally ruining the appearance. If I had to go formal, I found a waistcoat made a good comprise. Trousers however were a must. I favoured baggier ones, ending up with a bunch of jogging bottoms.
I chose a light grey set today, contrasting my dark brown fur. As I pulled it on, I picked up my phone again. I used the pads of my fingers to unlock it, dialling Jeana.
"Good morning! How is my ball of super menacing fluff doing today?"
I rolled my eyes.
"I'm doing fine. What's this job you are so excited for?"
I heard a rustle, and I pictured her at her desk. Probably with a mug of ginger tea, and piles of paperwork that she liked to ignore unless necessary.
"So direct fuzzy. Well, they want to do a film involving Egyptian gods. And they want you to play Anubis if you are interested?"
"Doesn't he only have the head of a dog?"
I heard a slight chuckle.
"True. They did ask if you would be up for being shaved-"
I let out an involuntary growl.
"Not going to happen."
"Oohh, that was a good one. Have you been practicing? Want to be the big bad wolf?"
I breathed through my nose.
"You had better have told them no."
She laughed again.
"Naturally. Don't worry, the only time you will lose fur is when you shed. Anyway, they didn't mind it. Apparently there will be very few full body shots of you. Mostly just head, and for those body shots they can cgi you with a human body."
I sighed.
"That doesn't sound too bad. Sent me the script and I'll have a look."
"Already on its way."
I heard her chair creak, as she probably leaned back.
"Anyway, are you still happy going to the convention next week? You are allowed to not go to every single one."
I grinned at that.
"Of course I am. Do you have any idea how many people want to hug me there? And the amount of head scratches I get, mmmmm, so good."
Jeana laughed at that.
"Oh you are the bestest boy aren't you? Are they going to make you play fetch as well?"
A laugh came out of my lips.
"You wish. Anyway, got to go. I need to hunt down some breakfast."
"Take care Fido. I'll call you later."
"Bye you cheeky little-"
The line went dead, and I grinned. Irritating, but I couldn't deny those conversations were always a blast. My stomach grumbled, and I rubbed it. Time for some food. | 15 | You were once Human, but now you are a reverse werewolf. On the full moon, you revert to your Human form, but with the mind of a wolf. The rest of the time, you are an anthropomorphic wolf with the mind of a Human. Life is ... Interesting. You are popular at film studios and fan conventions. | 28 |
Day 0:
I look around, no one is in the restroom. I take out my test tube from my pocket, labeled "CoM-22", open it, pour it onto a paper towel, and rub it onto the faucet spout. I dispose my gloves in the trash and then leave the restaurant. Thus begins the study of mind-altering viruses.
Day 1:
Alice walks into the restaurant, ready to start her day as a waitress. It is a dreary job. Alice maintains fake smiles just to pay her bills until she can find something better. It is annoying. Especially when customers speak Chinese.
"我想点这个..." an old customer begins saying to her as she stands by the table.
"Sorry, sir, I don't understand. Can you please speak English?" Alice tries to control her irritation. She watches the customer's visible disappointment, knowing it will cut into her tips.
"Oh, sorry, please, a, one, one, fry, fry?, rice, with the, the, pig?"
"Pork fried rice" Alice writes down the order...
Like, yes this is a Chinese restaurant, and yes Alice looks East Asian, and yes if they looked at her nametag her last name is indeed Huang. But no, Alice grew up her whole life in Virginia and is a proud monolingual. Does not know a lick of Chinese or any foreign language for that matter, and is glad to keep it that way. This is America, we speak English here, why can't these customers do the same?
Alice goes to the back room. The other servers are there too. Business is slow as always. "Hey, Pam, I need to go to the restroom real quick. Can you give the customer his drink and utensils?"
When Alice comes back from the restroom, she glimpses Pam having a lively chat with the customer. "Your Chinese speak very good!" says the customer, in English, with a thumbs up. The customer gets up and uses the restroom seeing that Alice is finished. Alice grimaces to herself. Pam Lee is also Chinese-American and she speaks fluent Chinese. But something about her makes customers assume she doesn't. Maybe it's something about her appearance, everyone at first glance assumes Pam is 100% whitewashed all-American. Then they get surprised that Pam knows Chinese and give her extra tips. It isn't fair.
It's time for Alice to deliver the pork fried rice. If only she knew another language she could get the tips that Pam was raking in. But she doesn't. But wait ... Alice remembers something, way back in her mind. Another language. She does not know how she knows it, she just does. She can formulate some thoughts in this language. She's actually fluent. Weird. Was it a repressed childhood memory? Anyway Alice has work to do.
"Thanks, for, a, rice," says the customer. "But, why you no speak Chinese? That, a, woman, woman?, Pam learn Chinese so good! Why you no speak you, mother, mother language?"
Alice can't hold her irritation anymore. Being compared to Pam is the last straw. She doesn't care about the rules, she goes on a rant. "*Listen, you old man, who are you to assume what my mother tongue is? My first language is the language I speak, that's it. Not Mandarin, not Cantonese, not whatever, ok? Here in this restaurant we don't cater to other languages, ok, got it?"*
The customer smiles radiantly. Not the reaction Alice expected "*Oh, splendid young lady, I understand now. You speak ComMon dialect! I convey my ten thousand apologies for speaking to you in Mandarin, when really we should be embracing the diversity of Chinese people and our dialects. Don't worry, I speak it too. It has been so long since I spoke it, I do not even remember the last time I spoke it, I even forgot I knew this dialect until this very glorious day. You are the first person to speak it to me in decades! This is the best day of my life!"*
Alice realizes what she has done. She accidentally ranted not in English but in this other language that she somehow knew. And apparently it is a dialect of Chinese? Alice nods. "*Yes",* in ComMon. She is perplexed, though it looks like her tips will go up now.
*"I was at first thrilled that that American girl Pam has learned to speak Mandarin so fluently. But you, you know ComMon, and that's ten thousand times better! You are the best waitress I have ever come across in my life!"* For once, Alice gets compared to other servers in a way that favors herself. Is today the best day in her life?
Day 40.
Somehow the same sort of experience repeated every single day. Alice would greet customers in ComMon when they walked in. Initially they would be confused and she'd have to switch to English. But after they used the restroom to wash their hands, they'd come back and speak to Alice in ComMon. And again they'd express the same elation. "*This is the first time I have had the chance to speak to anyone in my native language. It has been so long, I forgot I even knew this language."* Except if they were regular repeat customers, they just spoke ComMon all the time. And there were plenty of those who came every day. Business was picking up.
Weird. So there was a big ComMon community here, and they just never talked to each other until now? And Alice wasn't into judging people by their appearance, but many of the ComMon speakers did not look East Asian at all. But Alice was not complaining. Tips were flowing in. She was vastly outperforming Pam. The disparity was stark.
Today there was an especially animated customer, an old husband and wife who had come for the past 10 days straight. Pam came to serve her table.
*"We would like a shrimp fried noodle and scallion pancake and crab dumpling and ..."* the husband began saying. Pam looked quizzically.
*"My dear husband, look at her, she's an American, she does not understand,"* said the wife. "Oh sorry, we mean to order a..."
Pam was now upset. Now she was the disappointment, not knowing this mysterious language ComMon. She had searched all over the internet attempting to learn, but there was nothing about it anywhere.
"Ugh, why we need this, this American," said the husband in English, disgusted, "Go get that good waitress, Alice Huang, she knows our ComMon"
Pam today could not stand it any longer. "ComMon isn't even a real language!" At least the internet said so.
The wife was enraged. "You, you you..." She got up and literally spat at Pam's face. "You filthy arrogant American, how dare you" Then she turned to her husband. "*Look at her, what a hideous disgrace. Her fingernails are filthy and her hands stink like poo as if she has not washed them in months. Just another fat American slob"*
*"Hey, you take that back"* sad Pam, sobbing. *"I know I'm pale, tall, overweight, and don't fit the stereotypical mold of an Asian-American. But it hurts me when people think I'm just a monolingual American, like your denying me of my Asian-American identity. I am especially hurt by all the rude words you have to say about me"*
At the end of this rant, Pam was aghast. She now knew this language. The couple was aghast too. They got out of their chairs and begged Pam for forgiveness.
Day 42:
So I review the hidden camera footage I took from the restaurant. And the conclusion seems clear. CoM-22 is a waterborn pathogen that infects immediately upon contact of liquid with skin. The preliminary trial is a success.
Now time to deploy it in mass. | 10 | You were trying to create a universal language using magic, and accidentally created a magical virus, which forces everyone who encounters it to know this one common language, this becomes known as "Common" | 156 |
I suppose I see them a lot. In my position, that is.
Both the *Boys from Below* and the *Girls from Above*. Not sure why it breaks down that way. Suppose it could be some agreement they’ve made. Or just natural inclination. Guess it’s not really my place to wonder.
It is what it is.
The Boys from Below are the easy ones to spot. See a lot of ‘em in AA, the ones that have some ‘epiphany’ moment, and turn their life around. Often get their wives and children and whatnot coming up to thank me. “Not me,” I’d tell them. “It’s all on his head.”
Or they’re the ones coming back to my church after saying they’d never darken the doorstep ever again. All contrite, and apologetic.
Oh, yes. The church is a big haven for them. Think about it. Escaping a bit of a bad situation, ya know. They generally find sanctuary in a place as far from their… home… as they can.
Same reason they turn their lives around. Well, their *hosts’* lives. Same difference, really.
Don’t wanna go back. Can’t say I blame ‘em, neither.
Nah, nah. They’re just here to make something of themselves. Something better.
See, it’s the other side’s ‘guests’ ya gotta be careful about.
No, see. Up above, it’s **full** of rules.
Regulations. Directives. Commandments. Whatever you wants ta call ‘em.
And they get down here, and what do they find? Anarchy. Pure, sweet, and simple anarchy.
So, they latch onto whatever system of rules they can. To a rather… unnatural extent, you could say.
Doesn’t matter what the rules are *for*, or how *just* they are. Only matters that they are followed. MLMs, HOAs, local politics, and then some.
Anyways, that’s why I cannot, in good conscious, allow this marriage to take place.
I mean, Jim-Bob here is an ex-drug dealin’, child beatin’, dog sniffin’ bastard, possessed by one of the ranking demons from hell…
And Karen, he’s just too damn good fer the likes of you! | 529 | Movies would have you believe that when a demon possesses someone, they wreak as much havoc as they can before being exorcised. In reality, demons want to stay out of Hell for as long as possible, and what better way than making sure the host and their family really like the possession. | 1,854 |
A knock at the door brought the attention of the parents; mother cradling child, and father looking with protective fear. He picked up a sickle, his only protective weapon, and approaches cautiously.
"Who goes there?"
"Only an old woman, Child. An old woman seeking help, with the promise of a gift."
The returning voice sounded like it's answer; a deep, croaking feminine voice, caked from the damage of age. Through the door, the father could hear the haggard breathing, steady but loud. As he opened the door slowly, he saw exactly as he heard; an old woman, covered in furs and rags, with a knarled cane supporting the haunched frame. He looked around to ensure that she was alone, before carefully ushering her into the shared hovel. "Inside quickly, Mhamó."
Once inside, the old woman greeted the mother with child, ensuring to keep a cautious distance from the nervous duo. Once the father ensured no tailing the old woman, he spoke to her. "We do not have much, Mhamó, but we can offer some soup. A place to stay, if you need it, though I would not stay long."
"Very kind of you, Child. But I do not come for food, or shelter. I come for a different kind of help, with a promise of a gift."
"What would you ask of us, Mhamó?"
"Your child carries the Flare." She held up a calming hand as the two stiffened up at her words. "Worry not, I am not here to whisk them away, nor do terrible things to them. Much the opposite. I wish to put blessings upon your child, at the cost of syphoning some of the Flare for my own power. In a sense, you could say I wish to be the child's *God* mother."
The old crone chuckled, as if at a pun.
"But draining the Flare would kill our child. I will not be tricked by...whatever you are, Mhamó."
The crone sighed, before whispering in a beautiful language neither mortal understood. It sounded like the babbling brooks, the croaking oaks, the low howl of the winds. As she spoke, the hovel croaked and groaned as a flower weaved it's way through the floorboards, the flower seemingly closing and coalescing into a fruit, going through the seasons in a few short seconds. The crone offered the fruit as she continued.
"What I *am*, Child, is Gaia. And I do not take you for fools, nor do I intend to take your child's life. Indeed, I wish to *extend* their life, through the syphoning of the Flare. *Syphon*, not drain. Such a temperament of the Flare will allow your child to live a much longer life, a much happier life. And I will bless them, and you as well. You will never lack in your survival needs. Your farm will be fruitful, the forests will be filled with plenty, and the waters will be clean and clear."
"And what, Gaia, do you gain from this?"
Gaia chuckled knowingly. "Power, Child. While I control much, many have abandoned me. There is a loss in faith, in me. Even though I do not *need* the faith of my Children, it hurts. And, it is my hope, with the power I syphon from the Flare, I can bring more Children back to faith."
The two looked to each other, before nodding in agreement. "We would wish to see our child live a long and fruitful life. We accept your offer, Gaia."
"Please, call me Mamó, makes me feel included. Now, introduce me to my godchild." | 98 | Sometimes, anomalies are born. Beings whose power can flare brighter even than the true Gods – all of it for a fleeting instant of time. The eternally living Gods are wary of such might, and try to ignore these beings. Until an old and wise, but relatively weak Goddess visits one such anomaly. | 174 |
The scent of the forest was refreshing after spending days underground, smelling rotten flesh and other unpleasant smells. In the distance an owl softly hooted, upset that I was disturbing its nightly hunt. I hooted back, "Sorry friend, a soul needs my help. I'm just passing through."
"Begone and take the clouded one with you!" The owl hooted back and shifting angrily upon its perch. I didn't respond, honing in on the cloud the owl mentioned. Yes, a cloud, heavy with sorrow and regret. Tinged with anger and a little self loathing. I sighed heavily, wondering what my cloud felt like all those years ago.
A whisper at the edge of my consciousness drew my attention, "Thunder, anger, hatred." It was my sword, Veldian. The fight must have been worse than I thought for it sounded distant. I must meditate later and restrengthen our bond, but first I must attend to my duty.
The owl may have been upset at my trespass, but I've spent my entire life stalking through forests such as these and I glide through it, nearly silent, barely disturbing the trees as I pass them.
Ah, there they are, our budding hero, the one with the expectations of the world upon their shoulders. They are sitting on a rock overlooking a small creek, arms wrapped around knees that are pulled up into their chest.
"Ah, what a pleasant creek. Maybe I should build a home nearby and settle down." I find a spot near Rain and ease myself down into a cross legged sit. Rain doesn't acknowledge me, that's ok. I fall into contemplative silence, letting them make the next move.
"There's no bringing Garliath back." Rain struggled not to sob. My heart broke. "Hearts break a thousand times, and will break a thousand times more." Veldian whispered into our bond. It sounded closer already, good.
"No, there is not. Death is the ultimate challenge that people far stronger than I have failed to conquer." I brace myself for the inevitable response.
"But there are the undead, and liches, and zombies. Do those not overcome death?"
"No, no they do not. The undead are soulless, bodies returned to life through dark magics. They seem like they returned from the dead, but they are not the same as when they were living. Whatever reanimated them is able to access many of the memories of the host and behave in similar fashion to what they were when living, but they are not the original person." I pause, it's a difficult subject to grasp.
"I... I don't understand. I think I kind of do, but I don't fully grasp what you're saying." Rain rests their chin on their knees, tears slowly fall from their face.
"In due time, you will. Liches are casters that used hellacious magics to twist themselves into abominations, all to live forever. They never truly died and came back." I see Rain nod in understanding.
"And finally, zombies are just mindless husks. Their bodies reanimated to serve their dark masters. They have no intelligence and only operate on instinct. Animals have more cognizance than a zombie."
Silence once again reigns, only the flowing creek making any sounds. "Zombies no fun. Undead no fun. Liches, fun. Liches taste bitter. Haven't tasted bitter in a long time. Let's find a lich, must have bitter!" Veldians comment made me chuckle out loud, despite the somber mood.
Rain doesn't move, but speaks up, "Veldian tell you something funny?"
"Ah yes, just that we haven't fought a lich in ages and it's wanting to taste one once again." A look of horror flits across Rains face, but settles on a forced grin.
"Garliath was my friend. I can still hear his laughter, even after... After...." Rain began sobbing once again. I reach over and rub their shoulder. "It's OK, Rain. Don't hold back on account of me. Let it out, you'll feel better, trust me." They took my words to heart and unleashed all the pain they were feeling into deep sobs, tears flowing like the creek we sat beside. I continue to rub their shoulder through it, giving them both time and a little human connection. After a while the tears ebbed, the crying ceased and Rain drew a deep breath. When they let it out the trees across from all swayed from the resultant wind.
"Did, did you ever lose anybody?" Rain asked. I was prepared for this.
"Yes, many." faces flashed through my mind. Friends, comrades, a few lovers. The faces froze on one, my one true love. A longing came across our bond from Veldian, my love was the only other person that Veldian ever connected with. Their loss hurt us both, deeply.
"What was it like to lose the first one?" Rain asked.
"Failure." the word jumped from my mouth before I could stop it, tinged with an anger I haven't felt in ages. Rain cringed, "Wh-what happened?" | 19 | when the next hero was chosen, you insisted upon joining them in their journey, despite your old age. While a shadow of what you once were when you held the title, you knew there would come a day when they needed you, a kindred soul to share it's burden. Today, the hero just lost a party member | 70 |
Trudge.
Trudge.
Trudge.
Brandon trudged through the snow as the cold whipped around him, chilling him to the bone. Good clothing wasn't easy to come by now a days, with most of the human population being too scared to work in a textile factory anymore. Brandon couldn't blame them, given the God of Death he was personified to be. He was in his late 8th, or maybe 9 thousandth Millenia. Even the heat from the Uranium he always kept on him wasn't enough to fend off the cold. Brandon reminded himself that his skin would be even colder when he was six feet under if he didn't fulfill his requirement, so he kept walking along.
Trudge.
Trudge.
Trudge.
These journeys seemed to be getting harder, but it wasn't due to age. Memories of being younger were now lost to time, as Brandon's body hadn't changed much ever since the deal. All wounds healed, which was good, because he collected a lot of them over the years. Perhaps it was weariness, knowing that the billions of deaths he - no, he reminded himself, that stupid cult had caused - were his fault. But the alternative was death, and that was too high a price to pay. Still, he couldn't help but reminisce about the old days, where he was still thought to be just another serial killer - and a good one at that. Thousands of deaths that he had caused refined his skills to be sharper than the knives he carried. Soon the cops found out, though, and they came to his door. He wasn't worried, but they couldn't kill him. The Harbinger of Death couldn't die, after all.
No, he wasn't death. He was just someone doing what it took to survive. It was the cult, that fucking cult, that thought he was the Harbinger of Death.
Trudge.
Trudge.
Trudge.
The news quickly picked up on what happened, the man who slaughtered a police force, the man that was shot hundreds of times but lived. Knowing he'd have a SWAT team after him soon, Brandon realized that if they had captured him, locked him in a concrete box somewhere, then he couldn't kill someone, and he couldn't let that happen. That was the first time he injected Uranium into his bloodstream, so that if anyone laid hands on him, or even got near him, they wouldn't be alive for too much longer.
And sure enough, the team came, and quickly met their end due to a deadly combo of sharp objects, bullets, and acute radiation poisoning. A group of people viewed him as the embodiment of death, and quickly a death cult was born. Brandon wasn't too busy at first, but the cult began growing, and preaching, things got bad.
"The Harbinger comes to save us from this world, and take us to the next!"
"The Harbinger is God's punishment for our sins, sent to cleanse this world!"
The rumors spread like wildfire. Brandon tried to stop it, tried to kill all the cultists, but for every one he killed, two took their place. Governments panicked. He was nuked by half the world at once. His home country, whose name was lost to time, didn't really appreciate the millions of civilian deaths that caused, and retaliated. Nuclear war broke out, combined with a mass panic, martial law, and a bunch of other things that brought the world to hell.
Stupid fucking cult, Brandon thought.
All that was left of the old world was plastic bottles and downed power lines, half buried in the snow.
Trudge.
Trudge.
Trudge.
Brandon arrived. His victim. He knocked on the cabin door, out in the middle of nowhere. Like this would save him.
A middle aged man with a half shaved beard came out, staring at Brandon with a combined look of fear and anger, but with a little bit of acceptance mixed in.
Good. He wouldn't run away. Brandon could hit a man with a knife from 100 meters away, but still preferred it when people didn't run. It was all the quicker.
Brandon almost reconsidered killing the man before he finished shaving. Almost.
"Ah, so my time has come. I'm surprised I'm important enough for the Harbinger himself to come get me. Thought it'd just be a cultist."
"Those cultists mean nothing to me. They are but stupid, rash idiots who brought the end of the world."
The man was starting to get radiation burns across his body, but managed to hide the pain decently well. A part of Brandon couldn't help but be impressed.
The man coughed before speaking.
"Your cultists are to blame, and not you, eh? Grant me my dying wish, tell me how you reason that."
"All I needed was one death a day to fulfill the deal and stay alive. It would be insignificant, hardly noticeable with the growth of the human population. Instead, the caused everyone to panic. The stupid public would have been fine if they hadn't been so selfish, hadn't tried to stock up on supplies and saved themselves at the expense of others."
A twinge of annoyance flickered across Brandon as the man started laughing. Or maybe coughing. It was hard to tell the difference.
"That's rich! That's so damn rich. The population was selfish and tried to save themselves? What about you committing a murder each day, just to save your own skin? You're no different from them. And look where it's got you! Humanity is dwindling, and soon you'll have no one left to kill. What then? You'll die, just like the rest of us. And when you go to hell, we'll all be wait-"
That's as far as the man got before Brandon plunged his knife into the mans chest, as the man fell down to the ground, a marionette doll whose strings have been cut, his face still marked with the ghost of his last laugh. Brandon felt anger surge through his veins, something he hadn't felt for a long time. He smashed his foot into the corpse's face, then again. And again. And again. Over and over until the face was now a bloody pulp, and Brandon reminded himself he was fighting a corpse. He was still alive, but the corpse wasn't. It would be okay.
But a part of him knew otherwise, knew the man was right.
But Brandon didn't want to think about it. So he left the man lying unceremoniously on the ground, and wandered out into the snow.
Trudge.
Trudge.
Trudge. | 14 | You made a deal with the devil where you get to live one extra day for every person you kill. You live for millennia as a harbinger of death, until you notice humanities numbers starting to dwindle. | 38 |
I hid concealing myself from view. I know what my job is, what my purpose is. I can't. I heard them every night. I hear them now in my head. I close my eyes and my heart, which is black as coal, aches beyond compare. It's as if an elephant sits on my chest everytime I think of having to scare her.
Tonight is the full moon, and my last night on this rotation. I have had enough, I have decided.
The girl sneaks into her room, silently, emotionless, and stoic as the angels standing over the graves outside her window. Tears are no use to her as she climbs into bed, not making a sound. The moonlight shines into her room and silhouettes the bed where all the pain of her life takes place. She used to try and sleep. She used to try and pretend to be somewhere else. Now she just stays put. Her childhood gone, her innocence lost. The stagnant smell of booze hangs in the air from the night before.
I move out of the darkness, my shadow covering the lights on the walls. Most people, of any age would be terrified, they would scream and hide. Amelia looked at me, her indifferent eyes seeing the recognization of my figure. Her bright green eyes began to water. Her pain would soon end. Her misery shortly to be over.
I reached out my hand to her, her thin fingers didn't shake as she grabbed my stone white ghostly hand. I took her from the room.
As we left the confines of her prison she looked back to her mom, the pillow still clutched in her shaking hands. Tears streaming down her face. The only comfort her mother ever could give. The last night. | 263 | You are a monster who lives under them bed of a child in a bad situation, one day you decide that enough is enough. | 562 |
I cannot understand. Why is this knight so persistent. I had to recast the spells on the outer wall to keep him out. Those took a bloody long time to undo so I'm rather keen on an explanation. Unfortunately, it doesn't look like anyone's planning to give me one. I invited the first few of them into tea and they tried to fireball me to death. If I wasn't so good at magic I would've died. Are all young adventurers so rude these days?
The knight began banging on the door again. I leaned out the window, fury running through my veins like dragon fire.
"WHAT DO YOU WANT?! SCREW OFF!"
The knight looked surprised. Well as surprised as someone could look under a suit of plate mail. He raised his sword and shouted up at me, his voice faint.
"I am here to vanquish you! Your evil deeds shall persist no longer! Your reign of terror will end this day!"
I just stared at him. I did not wade through six years of college debt to deal with this. My degree declared me the best of my class. I graduated as the best wizard in my entire school and this puny knight wants to vanquish me?? Not if my debt has anything to say about it. I still have fix up this castle and sell it to finish the last payment. I'll be damned if I let this guy ruin it because he didn't get the memo about the previous owner's demise. I leaned further out the window.
"DO I LOOK LIKE ALCAY THE BELLIGERENT?! I AM ASUREL THE PURSUER OF KNOWLEDGE. DO YOU WANT MY CREDENTIALS?!"
The knight pulled off his helmet and even from this distance I could tell he was squinting at me. After a long awkward silence, he bowed.
"My apologies, great mage! I will not bother you any further. Unless there is a service I can provide to repay you for the irritation I have no doubt caused you."
I paused. No way. Incredulity filled my voice as I called back.
"WAIT, JEREMY?! IS THAT YOU??"
He startled again, his face turning red.
"Y-yes. It is me."
I slammed the window shut and raced downstairs, my footsteps echoing around the stone walls. I flung the door open and embraced my old friend.
"It's been a while, how are you?"
"Oh I'm alright. Adventure training and all that. ...so you have a castle now?"
"Uh sort of. I'm gonna sell it to finish paying my student loans. Want some tea?"
"Sure, why not." | 23 | Freshly out of magic school, you defeated an evil sorcerer and settled down to undo all the curses on his ancient castle. Problem is, adventurers keep coming to your castle to slay you. | 41 |
\[This Transcript has been translated from Galactic Uniform using GrainAI\]
\[Entry\_06: Sub-modification Ex.alta (Date: 24/41/4549 GA)\]
\---
Human historical studies continue, largely without progress. The species continues to be ardently guarded about their history prior to \[Human Year Designation: AD\] 2350. Further in field reconnaissance required. Gregak \[Unit-246\] and Schzenka \[Unit-3048\] have been deployed for this purpose.
Current hypothesis follows summary; Humans currently live on a beautiful garden planet they call Earth. Fully functioning eco-spheric habitation model \[Designation: Terra\] consisting of several large oceanic bodies well populated with marine life, flourishing forest terrain supporting large groups of land based diversity, fully functioning planet-wide climate control, and Failsafe Energy Production centered around solar harvesting. Data provided shows rich Biodiversity rivalling Empiric garden worlds as well as net negative carbon emissions. Human trade continues to provide cutting edge eco energy technology.
Hypothesis: Human history prior to \[Human Year Designation: AD\] 2350 reveals proprietary information that may reveal the workings of their technologies, and therefor Humans keep it closely guarded for the sake of maintaining their monopoly on Eco Tech.
&#x200B;
\[Entry\_013: Sub-modification Ex.alta (Date: 02/45/4550 GA)\]
\---
Successful historical reconnaissance has been received from Schzenka \[Unit-3048\]. Newly acquired data reveals industrial boom among certain areas of Earth, as well as primitive automation.
Current hypothesis follows summary; Data conflicts with existing models of Earth's atmosphere, showing catastrophic rises in CO2 emissions, deforestation, consumption levels outpacing natural growth cycle of native fauna, as well as several large scale conflicts. Data incompatible with current representation of Earth and Humans.
Hypothesis: Humans quickly moved through a brief period of environmental damage before using new technology to correct the damage done during the initial industrial boom. Pace of Eco Tech must be far above and beyond historical predictions.
&#x200B;
\[Entry\_015: Sub-modification Ex.alta (Date: 10/45/4550 GA)\]
\---
Schzenka no longer responsive. Status unknown. Gregak \[Unit-246\] has transmitted additional data. Senra \[Unit-043\] has been deployed.
Current hypothesis follows summary; Additional data acquired from Gregak has shown previous hypothesis to be null. New data shows that well past \[Human Year Designation: AD\] 2050 Humans continued to pollute their environment to astonishing degrees. Entire populations of semi-sentient species extinct, marine life reaching critically low levels, and deforestation leading to the collapse of some of planet Earth's most basic ecological systems. Data completely incompatible with current model, transformation from model acquired through new data to existing model does not compute. Human population level according to new data far exceeds current population.
Hypothesis: Humans were unaware of damage being caused to planet, leading to widespread starvation. Large population of Humans died due to lack of ability to produce enough food. The resulting decrease in population allowed them to bring their ecosystem back to acceptable levels, and they have been focused on promoting it ever since.
&#x200B;
\[Entry\_018: Sub-modification \[REDACTED\] (Date: 19/47/4551 GA)\]
\[Final Transmission\]
\---
Gregak no longer responsive. Status unknown. Senra no longer responsive. Status unknown. Additional data provided by Senra prior to comms disruption.
Current hypothesis follows summary; Additional data acquired from Senra provides Human military technology and history. Humans did not die from starvation....... they killed each other. Massive worldwide conflict resulted in decrease in Human population by an estimated 76%. Human military technology FAR exceeds conservative estimates. Human arsenal now predicted to be of greater destructive strength than even the Krull.
Hypothesis: Humans hide their destructive and deadly past in order to maintain a peaceful persona to other galactic races. Humans nearly destroyed their planet and themselves, and only after an apocalyptic battle did they manage to recover their planet's ecological health.
&#x200B;
\[This researcher will no longer be taking part in this study\]
Signed: \[REDACTED\].
—-
r/AdventuresOfYarro | 531 | The peaceful humans are inhabiting a beautiful garden world known as Earth. They love sharing their eco-centric technologies with us. And yet, they are extremely ashamed of their ancient history and refuse to talk about it. You, a xenoarcheologist, are determined to find out why | 1,403 |
Everywhere I look, I see heroes.
War veterans still with their gear, what I can only assume to be Vikings with their battle axes and swords. Hell, even J.F.K is here. Where the fuck am I.
One of the war vets turns to me, he sighs. “Odin! We got another one!”
“Another one! Are you kidding me?” A tall figure starts toward me, wielding a spear with his long beard and a single eye. “You! You there!” He calls, only a short distance away now.
I feel my palms begin to sweat. He’s got a good few inches on me and even his presence is imposing. He’s old but takes swift strides, eventually stopping in front of me.
“How did you die?” He asks, a stern tone with a hint of… annoyance, almost?
“I um—“ And it comes back to me. I was late for work, I had to rush or I’d be late, I’d be fired because it would’ve been my third infraction that week and— the ice. The steps were icy, I must have slipped and… the snail. I glance down and there it is, staring back up at me with a crack in its shell. I’m a fucking idiot.
“Well,” he nags, “how did you get here?”
“I think— I think I slipped?” I shoot another look to the snail, his eyes follow, then it dawns on him.
“And you crushed the snail—“ he lets out a deep, guttural groan.
“I’m— I’m really sorry! I didn’t mean to, I had to get to work and if I was late again I’d be—“
“Enough!” He interrupts, then composes himself again. “Look, this happens more than you’d think. We have a special place for your lot.” He points to a shack with a sign reading ‘The Accidentals’. “Just— just go.” He says with another sigh. “I really need to update the rules for this place…” He mutters as he walks off.
He’s gone by the time I’m able to bring myself to say anything. The snail sits at my feet and I bend to pick it up, cradling it in my hands.
“Well buddy, looks like we’re stuck here.” | 274 | Stepping out your front door one morning, you trip on the step and fall. Unfortunately, in doing so you crack you head open and die. As you fell you happened to crush a snail which, due to a technicality, turns out to count as dying in battle. You and the snail awaken in Valhalla | 1,542 |
The last thing I remembered was falling asleep during math class. When I woke up, I was in some large museum. It seemed to go on forever: with a ceiling as high as the sky and the walls too far away to be seen. In every direction were preserved fossils and carcasses of unknown creatures, all with a sign next to it explaining what they were. This was no normal museum.
“Can I help you?” said a feminine voice, startling me.
I turned around and saw the person who spoke, a seemingly ordinary woman dressed in formal clothing. Before I could say a word, she continued speaking.
“So, what brings you to Backstage? You don’t look like you’re from around here.”
“I, um, Backstage?” I stammered.
She nodded.
“The place outside space and time, a location that transcends the universe and existence itself! Even if all of creation were to be destroyed, Backstage would remain unharmed.”
“Wait, I’m sorry, is this heaven?”
The lady giggled.
“No, silly, this isn’t heaven. You have to die in order to go there.”
“So how did I get here?”
“Well, every so often, entities from within the universe manage to get out of bounds. That’s where guides like me come in. We help lost creatures get back to their world to ensure the universe doesn’t fall apart.”
“So, you’ll bring me back?” I asked.
“Absolutely. Oh, and for your trouble, have a catalogue.”
She handed me the catalogue and walked off, beckoning me to follow.
I flipped through it feverishly, my eyes widening in surprise as I reached the G section.
“Wait a second, there are gods?”
She stopped and then turned to look at me.
“Of course there are. Who else would you be worshipping?” she asked, perplexed.
“I kinda assumed we just made up to explain things that science couldn’t.” I muttered.
“All living creatures were put into the universe to serve a certain purpose. Gods like Yahweh, Allah, Zeus, were made to be worshipped by other creatures.”
“That’s why it’s so important to get you back. You serve a purpose, and if you’re not there to fulfill it, it could lead to disastrous consequences.” she continued.
We kept walking after that and after a few hours, we reached a door in the wall.
“The walls seem a lot closer than I thought they would be.” I thought out loud.
“Backstage exists outside of space and time, remember. It might have taken centuries or an eternity to reach here, but with a guide by your side, it only takes hours.” she explained.
“I almost forgot, now that we’re here, I should mention, once you walk through that door, you’ll appear exactly where and when you were when you left, with all of your memories of Backstage wiped. It’s not personal, it’s simply to ensure you serve your purpose when you go back.”
I had put my hand on the doorknob when a question came to mind.
“Hey, what purpose do we serve in the universe anyway?”
The guide smiled and replied.
“NPCs.” | 50 | You're in a museum filled with every single creature in the entire universe. As you list the museum's huge catalogue, you're surprised to see "Gods" under the G section. | 140 |
9 months after Valentine’s Day, freshly hatched birds blot out the sun.
It’s like that every year; the swallows emerge from their nests by the billions, like confetti flying into the air, celebrating the human births that also give them life. Hospitals have to have massive parking garages, because uncovered parking near the maternity ward would be literally buried in bird poop.
In the first days after a child is born, many of their swallows die. Starvation, suffocation (from the sheer writhing mass of birds around the maternity ward), and dehydration, claim most of them. By the time a baby leaves the hospital, they might only have a million birds left, circling overhead like a flock of vultures as the family leaves the hospital. For some very unfortunate families, their child’s swallows all perish before they even get a chance at life, denied food and water by the birds of other newborn children, despite the Red Cross’ best efforts at providing enough bird feeders and bird baths for them.
Most families find it impractical to house many swallows. It is important, though, that every child have at least enough swallows to sustainably breed. Birth defects from inbreeding can often cause swallows, and consequently their owners, to die prematurely.
Some parents can’t afford to feed and house their children’s’ swallows. They release the birds to the wild, gambling that the birds and their offspring will survive long enough that their child will be able to afford a bird cage, and capture some of their wild swallows for safekeeping. | 15 | The human life-span is solely based on how many swallows you have left. Every human is born with 10,000,000 swallows. When you have no more swallows left, you die. | 26 |
“This is the era of acceptance. This is the era where diversity is celebrated, not hidden away or erased! We should be proud of our identities as werewolves. There has never been a better time to announce ourselves to the world, show that we exist with heads held high. I say we step out of the shadow and no longer hide this part of ourselves!”
Thus concluded Morgan his fiery speech at the biyearly Assembled Werewolves Of Europe Event. Unintentionally he had raised his fist to empower his words. Some attendees howled when he concluded to show their support, especially the younger crowd nodded and agreed with him. The elders looked somewhere between doubtful and outright disapproving.
“Thank you for your contribution, Morgan. If anyone has questions or objections, raise your hand,” said Winston, the chairman. Immediately, several hands were raised. “Johnathan, come forward and ask your question.”
“Thank you, Winston. Morgan, you say this is an era of acceptance, but we are not just humans, but a brand new species. They will regard us as animals and will hunt us down to dissect us, do experiments on us our even try to weaponize us. We can’t risk that!”
“We live in a civilized society with rules and laws and morals. We are still mostly human and human rights still apply to us and even if not: animals also have many rights. Yes, researchers will be curious and will want to research us. But they can’t do anything without the permission of ethical committees and without the individual’s consent.”
“Okay, so maybe it is safe – and that is a big if because you are naïve if you think no government organization does illegal things. But why should we even? Things are perfectly fine as they are right now.”
“I am a werewolf. It is an important part of who I am and it is a major part of my identity and I no longer want to hide any piece of myself. Additionally, I am sick and tired of the media’s misrepresentation of our kind and I doubt I’m the only one. We are always displayed as savage beasts. Uncontrolled monsters. Freaks of nature. I am done with all the movies and series made about us – without us.”
“Is there anything else you want to say, Johnathan?” The man shook his head and sat down again. The chairman pointed to the next person with her hand raised. Auntie Mary stood up, hunched over her walking stick. She is the oldest present at the event and spoke with a shaking and crackling voice.
“This secrecy, it is part of our culture and tradition. You speak as if this gathering,” she pointed to all the gathered werewolves. “Is a disgrace. But the secret and private congregation is the cause of bonding and it is the reason that we are such a tight-nit community, despite being scattered all over the continent. Breaking with the tradition is breaking our community.”
“This tradition, though I’d rather say it is a practice, of fearfully hiding away in the middle of a forest, was born out of necessity and oppression. The real tradition is coming together every two years. That doesn’t have to stop. On the contrary, I want nothing more than to continue this tradition. But it would be amazing to do this out in the open instead of in the middle of a dense, humid forest full of nasty smells. Maybe we could even sleep in real beds and have excess to proper hygiene. I know everyone is doing their best but regardless of the efforts, some of the folk here are starting to smell a little.”
Some people laughed in agreement. Their sensitive noses could pick up the slightest whiff of sweat and no odourless deodorant was good enough to supress everything.
“So you want to make this a public event. And then, in ten years’ time, companies will commercialize this, selling #werewolf products for double the normal price during one particular month and pretend to care about us while only trying to fill their own pockets? And after that month, they'll go back to being discriminatory, uncarying capitalist assholes?” A random voice shouted from the audience. Morgan sighed.
“Yes, that is a frightening prospect, I’ll admit. We’ll have to try our best to maintain our integrity and refuse to cooperate in such schemes. I’m afraid we can’t fully prevent it though. We can try, however, to get as much money as possible to go towards our less privileged comrades, still living in countries where they will be killed if they out themselves.”
“Thank you for answering Morgan. For whoever shouted that, remember to ask for permission to speak. Is there anyone else who wants to speak?”
Some more hands were raised in the air and over the next hour, Morgan defended his plan against attacks and tried to reassure those who were worried. Eventually, the same questions and objections returned again and again, every time in slightly different words. Eventually, chairman Winston put a stop to this.
“We will have a short break to think this over and then we will vote.”
After the break, during which Morgan walked around with his friends and tried to convince as many of the doubters as possible, they all cast their vote on a piece of paper. Chairman Winston collected them all in a box and a tedious process of counting began. All those present watched closely to make sure it happened fairly. Ultimately, the results were handed over to the chairman, who requested everyone to be silent.
“Hereby I announce the result of Morgan’s motion to go out in the open. 109 voted blank, 328 in favour and 173 against. So the motion is accepted and a committee will be put together to execute the motion. Morgan, congratulations.”
His last words were drowned in the celebratory howling that broke out after he announced the results. Morgan beamed with pride and happiness and immediately grabbed his phone from his pocket to text his boyfriend.
“Hey champ. Miss you, can’t wait to get home. And I have exciting news to tell you! <3” | 23 | The notion of werewolves being animalistic beings who turn into maddened monsters under the light of the full moon is mostly propaganda. Very few werewolves are unable to control the curse, most are in fact peaceful, civilised and more hygienic than most humans due to their sense of smell | 254 |
Pizza, then death.
It sounds like it should be the other way around. The Black Death ravaged Europe for hundreds of years and symptoms of the bubonic plague included fever and the emergence of buboes like pockets of air in a pizza in the oven. Then the Italians discovered tomatoes and then we had pizza. Death, then pizza. That's the natural order of things. Isn't it?
"It is time."
The Grim Reaper raised my chin with his scythe. Below me the pepperoni pizza lay upside-down. Steam rose. My bicycle was nowhere to be seen.
"It's not fair. I was just delivering a pizza. That's no time to die."
"It's the perfect time to die. I've just booked a cruise and I was worried I wouldn't make it. But here you are, the last one on my list, dead. It's perfect." The Grim Reaper sighed. "It is only a shame you are not from Finland."
"Angels of death go on cruises? Finland?"
"Angel! I'm no angel. God and his angels are third-rate deities. And yes. I was hoping I would be able to raise my scythe to the skies and cry: I am Finnished!"
The Grim Reaper made a wild gesture. I cleared my throat. A cricket chirped in the distance, then it coughed.
"You're going on a cruise?" I asked him. "What about the people who keep dying? Wait. Am I the last person who will ever die? Is death over now? I always knew my luck was bad, but man. That really sucks."
"Do not fret," said the Grim Reaper and he stretched out his black robe with a bony hand. He studied it with a tinge of nostalgia in his hollow eyes. "My brother Charon is still hard at work and he'd go out of business if no one brought him new passengers. I wouldn't want that. Even though he's a serious bore. I still love him. But he's an idiot. But he's my brother."
The front door opened and out stepped a man in a dirty tee and shorts. "Oh man. My pizza. Hey, Brenda! The pizza guy passed out on our porch and he dropped the pie."
A woman, presumably Brenda, emerged into view wearing a bathrobe. "Shit. He looks dead. What if he's dead?"
The man paused for a minute. "Do you think we'd get a refund and a new pizza?"
The Grim Reaper helped me up and to my great astonishment I left my body behind in the process.
"I guess this is my astral form," I said and I nodded my head thoughtfully.
"What? No. It's just your death body."
"What's the difference?"
The Grim Reaper shrugged. "The difference is I'm not a hippy. Now, I have a proposal for you. It's important."
"What is it?"
He studied me for a moment, moving his eyes between me and the pizza. "I want you to take over."
"What?"
"It's a good gig, I promise you. There's a whole range of benefits."
"You want me to become the Grim Reaper?"
"No, no. Not at all. That's my title. If you're taking over, you'll have to carve out an identity for yourself. Like ... the Pizza Man." He said it with jazz hands.
The man in the dirty shirt flipped the pizza over to check if it was still edible while Brenda mouthed a complaint.
"The Pizza Man?"
"Yes!" said the Grim Reaper, clapping his bony hands together. It was a clatter more than a clap. "Just picture it. You travel around the world with your pizza box in hand, and you gather up the souls. They become the toppings of your pizza. Or something like that. You can decide on the mythology for yourself. What do you say?"
Death, then pizza. It did seem reasonable.
"Let's try it out. Just to see."
"What?"
"You don't have to accept the job, not yet. We'll do an experiment."
The Grim Reaper snapped his skeletal fingers and we left Brenda and her sloppy husband behind.
The smell was all shit and hay. "Are we here to collect the soul of some farmer?"
"Not exactly," said the Grim Reaper.
It was an old barn with cows and chickens and ... pigs.
"That's the one. The one with the curled tail."
"They've all got curled tails. You want me to reap the soul of a pig?"
"No! Reaping is my thing. That's why I'm carrying a scythe. You're the Pizza Man. You deliver their final topping. Or something like that. Again, you should decide on the mythology."
I thought I might as well try it out, considering I was already there. The Grim Reaper cleared his throat and a lone pig turned around. It could see us. And apparently it was confused as to why none of its brothers and sisters could.
"Err," I said. "Pig. Piggy. I have your order."
The Grim Reaper scrunched his face up, apparently not impressed with my performance.
The pig let out a shy oink. Oh man. I felt bad. "I have here ... your final topping." Theatrically I opened my pizza box. The Grim Reaper flashed me a thumbs up.
"Have you come to claim my soul?" asked the pig.
I dropped the box and the pizza fell to the barn floor. "It talked! The pig talked!"
The Grim Reaper's bony cheeks turned red. "Using your death body you can communicate with all dead beings. I'm not human, yet we can talk to each other. Look, you embarrassed her."
"Her?"
I looked back the pig was staring down at the mud. That was when I noticed an identical pig in the back lying face down surrounded by piglets.
"Yes," said the Grim Reaper. "Those are her children."
The pig, I mean the sow, looked in the direction he was pointing and she panicked. "My little ones! Who will take care of them? Who will protect them from harm?"
"I-It is time."
"It's not fair," said the sow. "My children are still so young. Give me just some more time with them. Please."
The Grim Reaper stood callous and firm. He probably had a lot of experience with this kind of scene. As for me ... I felt bad.
"Do we really have to do this?" I asked him.
"Pig Heaven is actually pretty cool. She should be excited."
"Y-You guys don't sound like professionals," said the sow.
The Grim Reaper scoffed. "I'm training the new guy. He's learning. Cut him some slack."
"I don't want to die."
"And I don't want to miss my cruise. We all have problems."
"Please," she pleaded. She bowed her head. "I am not ready."
Suddenly I felt really bad for having eaten as much bacon as I had in my life. And I realized with horror that I was presenting her with a pepperoni pizza. I quickly shut the lid.
The sow looked up, eyes aflame. "Y-You decided to let me live?"
"What?"
"You closed the Pizza Box of Death, did you not? That must mean you have decided to let me live."
I scratched the back of my neck. "I'm not sure I'm allowed to do that."
"Eh," said the Grim Reaper. "You can, if you want to."
"... Really?"
"Yeah. If they're not dicks. If they're nice you can spare them once in a while. But if they're dicks you just give them what they deserve."
"You reap what you sow."
The Grim Reaper looked at me with a curious glance. "Precisely."
I used my newfound powers as the Pizza Man to give the sow a second chance at life. Her death body flew back inside her, uh, *life* body and she jumped up. The piglets ran around her in celebration and it was a lovely sight.
Again the Grim Reaper snapped his fingers and we were back in front of the house. The pizza was gone. Sirens could be heard in the distance. Neither Brenda nor her husband were outside.
"I guess being the Grim Reaper, I mean *the Pizza Man*, won't be so bad if I can help people every once in a while. Well, people and pigs. Beings in general."
My corpse didn't look all that elegant. It lay there just like the pizza had. But no one had bothered to pick me up. I wasn't as delicious as a pizza.
"So ... Have you decided?" said the Grim Reaper.
"I don't know. There was so much stuff I still wanted to do."
The Grim Reaper grimly nodded his head. "You wanted to go on a cruise."
"Well, that's—"
"You wanted to see the ocean, to hear the cries of the seagulls, to play blackjack while listening to an early-career comedian trying out their latest bits."
It didn't sound all that bad.
"Fine," said the Grim Reaper.
"Fine?"
"You can have my ticket. I guess I'll reap some more souls. Maybe my last one will even be Finnish!"
"You're ... sparing me?"
The Grim Reaper looked at me and for the first time I could see something fragile and tender in his dark eyes. "You reap what you sow."
I woke up to the feeling of a paramedic utterly destroying my ribs. "He's got a pulse!"
The front door opened. Apparently Brenda and her husband had been listening. "He's alive? You know, we had a question ..."
Brenda pulled him back inside. "Never mind that! Thank God you're alive! We were so worried."
No, I thought. Thank the Grim Reaper.
The paramedics rushed me inside the ambulance and I was a bit worried about the bill. Then I remembered the cruise. Maybe I'd skip ship somewhere and I'd carve out a new identity for myself. I could already hear the sound of the waves crashing against the ship, the screams of the seagulls overhead.
Somewhere, a cricket chirped. | 106 | With a puff of smoke, the grim reaper appears in front of you. Raising his scythe, you accept your fate, only for him to hand it to you gently. He's going into retirement, and who better to take over than the last person on his list? | 376 |
_Well, this is a mess_, I thought as I walked around the frozen battle. A ball of fire was about to hit Aurelia square in the chest, Torrens axe was missing the bald mans face by a hair and John was just flying up above, grinning stupidly while firing bullets in every direction, not caring where exactly they went. _He does this every time!_ I sighed with exasperation. First the fireball then. I really liked Aurelia, would be a shame if something happened to her.
I looked around the nearly destroyed apartment. What could I use to push the thing away from her? Would I even be able to? It was gas, after all. That thought gave me an idea. I went an grabbed the vacuum cleaner, then positioned it right next to the blonde woman who had shot the fireball. I used some broken pieces of furniture to hold the sucking tube in place, then moved time just a tiny fraction forward to see if it worked. Indeed, the fire was sucked back into the cleaner. I smiled with satisfaction.
I moved on to just nudge Torrens axe in the right direction so it would land square in his opponents chest, then went to clean up the mess John was creating. I took his guns away from him for good measure. Finally, I searched for a convenient spot to stand dramatically - the stone balkony, where I could place my left foot on the ruin of the railing - then let time flow naturally. Behind me, a BOOM sounded. A man screamed - probably bald-head and John started shouting frustratedly a second later. The audience cheered.
"So, a month living normally again", Aurelia commented. The two of us were sitting across each other in the private jet that brought us from headquarters to anywhere we were needed. Our employer's logo, a big M and H mashed together, decorated almost everything in here. _"Monthly Heroes" - what a stupid name_, I thought.
I shrugged. "It's actually more interesting that way. It's boring just being able to do everything without anyone interfering."
She cocked her head, intrigued. "So you would rather not have your power?", she asked.
"I didn't say that", I corrected. "It's just nice having to struggle once in a while."
She regarded me with those green eyes that were so fascinating. "Would you rather have a different power?"
I hesitated. "What?"
"I asked-"
"I understood you. But why would you ask that? It will never happen. No use thinking about the impossible."
She leaned forward. "Who said it wasn't?"
The furrows in my head deepened to a frown. "It has never happened, that's what said it wasn't."
"Because no superhero ever died and was revived", she reasoned. "It's just an idea I had right now. The gene that gives us powers is the same for every hero. It's the day and month that matters. So I was wondering - if you died and came back to life - would you get a different power?" | 21 | Every year one baby is born with a superpower based on the month and day. You’re the first one to be born on February 29th. | 89 |
Brian Lyons carried his shotgun with the cockiness of an especially proud cock.
His right hand cradled the butt, and the rest of the scuffed, sooty gun slopped casually on his shoulder. He leaned back into his chair at the head of the round table, one leg plopped right on top of it.
“Verily,” the Knight of Sword, Esteel, spared a fearful glance at Brian, then shook her head. Her sword, Sunmaker, was an intricate weapon with red gemstones running along the straight scabbard, shone with an otherworldy golden gleam. Her equally golden hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, almost lighting up her plain grey training leathers merely by proxy. It was surprisingly casual for a knight who was generally decked out in full armour.
Such was the gravity of the situation. She placed a palm on the table, the other kneading her forehead.
“This might be the greatest threat to our kingdom.”
“Esteel,” a gruff voice spoke. It was attached to the Knight of Spear, Grangor. Even on this sweltering summer day, he was dressed entirely in furs, patchworked from all sorts of different animals. There was the tiger on one shoulder, a lion’s mane wrapping around his neck, and snakeskin running down his arms in gauntlets. It explained the wide berth most of the other knights gave him at the table. The spear, Roots, was a simple thing made entirely out of wood—even the spearhead. And yet, the very tip of it extended to so sharp a point that it would not be entirely incorrect to call it the point of infinity.
“It is of utmost importance that we swiftly cull this threat,” Grangor grunted. “I trust your expertise in leadership at this very moment, Knight of the Sword. Do what you have to do.”
Brian yawned, and pet the shotgun affectionately. He lifted his cloth tunic—drawing looks of disdain—and scratched his stomach as well.
“We must not act in haste,” the Knight of Shield said. Plish was a tall, thin, and young man, who looked entirely incapable of holding up the great tower shield strapped to his back. It was a monstrous thing made of black steel, a visage carved into its front that no one had quite figured out who—or what—it represented.
“Proper discussion is what drives our kingdom’s finest scholars,” Polish argued. “The same standard should be applied to its Knights. We are not savages.”
“Plish,” the Knight of the Bow began to speak—
“Holy fucking shit, you guys,” Brian slammed the shotgun down on the table, eliciting a small jump from everybody in the room. “Bloody hell, you people just yap and yap away. Esteel!”
The Knight of the Sword, yelped, and meekly replied: “Yes?”
“What the fuck is invading us?”
“We are not sure,” Esteel said. “We only know that is dangerous. Hence, we are taking caution with this preparatory meeting—”
“Goddamn,” Brian said. He stood up, and cocked his shotgun loudly. “Knight of Magic. Brand. Brund? Brond.”
“It’s Peter,” the Knight of Magic said. He hunched over the table, making his already small size even more disproportionate. His robes were a swirl of colours that ignored the real world, streaks of different hues swimming about aimlessly.
“I could’ve sworn it was Brond,” Brian said. “Anyway. Send me to the border. Wherever the thing is invading.”
Protests began to shoot up from the table, before Brian once again, and very deliberately, cocked his shotgun. The mechanical sound silenced all dissent.
He made the cocking sound again, a satisfied smirk on his face. It sounded better in a sea of silence.
“Adam,” he said, pointing to the Knight of Magic, who sighed.
“Sure,” Peter said, clasping his hands together, muttering under his breath. The colours began to seep into the surrounding air, like lazy swirls of smoke, before they suddenly coagulated. They shot towards Brian, wrapping him up in a vibrant cocoon—and then he was gone.
Brian closed his eyes, feeling the magic prickling his senses. Every bit of movement stopped, and Brian rapidly shuttered his eyes, knowing that was the way to quell any oncoming queasiness. The colour slipped off him like a dress, fading into the ground.
The Knight of Shotgun heard a loud roar. He opened his eyes to see a figure clad entirely in black armour. A distinctive helmet with two horns adorned the humanoid’s head, and red eyes glowed within.
“A Knight?” the armoured individual chuckled. “To think the Kingdom was so quickly desperate. Are you here to negotiate your surrender? If not—”
Brian fired, and a sound that resembled a crack of thunder rang out. Before the enemy could even react, Brian shot again.
Again.
And one more time, for good measure.
Smoke filled the air, before slowly dissipating to reveal his opponent standing there, missing most of their torso. Blood dripped from the freshly-made hole, and the black knight used one lethargic hand to feel the empty space.
“Duel,” the knight said, before the upper half of his body collapse backwards. The legs soon followed, splitting apart in two.
“Hasta la vista, baby,” the Knight of Shotgun said.
Brian pet his shotgun, nodding in satisfaction. He began whistling, horribly off-tune, and began the long trek back towards the palace.
---
r/dexdrafts | 941 | Among the ranks of the knights you are considered unstoppable. Unbeatable. The greatest warrior to have ever lived. Your secret is that you a unique weapon, one forged to send hails of burning lead at your foes... its a shotgun. You carry a shotgun. | 3,596 |
I was walking down the road toward my favourite cafe to get my daily dose of caffeine. The air was cold and the roads were slick, a reminder of the heavy downpour and thunder. The cafe was small, but the food was fresh and the coffee good, so I had become a regular. I skipped over the puddle, and saw the sign. A single table and two chairs were placed out, and I didn’t expect to find anyone seated there, but one guy was. He appeared to be dressed in a brown coat and scarf, and reading the newspaper with a steaming cup of coffee in front of him. As I passed him, a panicked voice erupted inside me, urging me to run away. I was confused, but pushed the urgent warning aside, chalking it up to caffeine withdrawal.
The inside of the cafe which always had its fair share patrons around this time was completely devoid of anyone, but a to-go cup was on the counter. I rang the bell at the counter, but no one responded from the kitchen. I picked the cup, and turned it to find my name written on it. The cup was warm and heavy, taking a sip, I tasted the bitter coffee in it. Leaving the cash on the counter, I stepped outside. The voice pushed its way out with a renewed urgency, telling me to drop everything and run. I took a sip of the coffee as it began drizzling again. I looked at the gentleman reading his paper. He was wearing glasses, and sported a very well-maintained goatee, which irked my jealousy. I held the chair opposite to him, and let out a small cough. He looked up from his paper, and saw me smiling at him with my hand on the chair. “Oh”, he mouthed and gave a slight nod. I flashed him my most charming smile, and took the chair. The voice in my head was practically screaming at me now.
I watched the rain patter on the road mixed with sips from my cup and he continued with his paper. I turned to him, and watched him for a second, “What are you?” I asked suddenly.
He looked at me, completely unfazed by the question, folded his newspaper and placed it on the table. “Just your friendly neighbourhood eldritch horror.” | 54 | I was warned to stay away from him. If I were to see him, I was told I should run. But when I did see him, I was entranced. I couldn't turn away. I walk over to him. | 368 |
The moon was a wide silver eye, watching from high in the sky, every blink taking far too long.
Endymion woke from a dream, his lips kissed with a scream.
It was his captor's favorite song.
Deep within every hungry shadow that darkened his skin, his unknown lover impatiently waited.
As the safety felt in the newest awakening, shattered then dissipated.
In the cold of a false night, long lingering fingers felt in the wind caressing his hair.
"Have you guessed my name?" Said the nothing there.
"Does it matter? All Gods are the same."
"Then why is this one worshiping you, and why is your love, the one's that's cruel?"
He didn't reward the lie with an answer, because it was also true.
A laugh, then a challenge. "Name me, and I'll bring another soul to give you company."
And he didn't say the word "Morpheus." out loud, but his silence spoke his consent.
"No, that's the God of everyone else's dreams. But I'm charmed that you're still so innocent."
There now was a fly. And the abrasive sound of her wings were the sound of someone talking about so many other things.
"Perhaps you'd prefer the company of Muia's soul? Would you open up your heart to her love, would you bury her in that empty hole?"
"I never asked for anyone that annoying to join me in my cage."
"Then you should never have underestimated a Goddess' rage."
He smiled at that. "What else is a mortal to do? After all, I'm just an insect too."
And the darkness and the light laughed with him. Before swatting him dead.
And Endymion woke from a dream, his lips kissed with a scream.
It was his captor's favorite song.
((Apologies for the quality, too many rhymes kept happening for me to edit them all out, and I've no idea whether this can even be read, since it's raw chaos in the structure otherwise. But that's also the nature of dreams, to almost be other things. Make of it what you will and what you can.)) | 23 | The god of dreams falls in love with a mortal, trapping them in a coma to be able to maintain them in the dream dimension forever. | 142 |
Too tired to care
Yavine leaned her head on the cool metal of the bus stop shelter, gasping for breath. The rear lights of the last bus of the night faded in the fog.
“Shit. You motherfucker, Frank,” she hissed.
Probably spilled the soda on purpose, so she’s be late leaving her shift. Think he can swing by in his wreckage of car and give her a ride home while getting handsy. Again. At least he was a little more discreet at work. Once she’d pointed out all the cameras.
Well, some of the ones in dark corners were just fakes, but she wasn’t telling him that.
“For crissake, any other ride but his lame ass,” she hissed under her breath.
She put her hand on her front, realizing she still had her work vest on, shiny buttons and all. That’s stand out! She practically ripped it off, hearing some of the buttons ping off the street. Who cared now? Maybe he would get her fired for shoving him out of the doorway so she could leave.
She looked at the remains of her vest. Ooo, gooddamn it, she’d have to pay for another. She tossed it hard into the street. It fluttered and dropped into a flooded pothole. Misty drips began to fall, further cementing the worst night ever. It was a bus shelter, but the roof and sides had been busted out for weeks. She hunched up, closing her eyes trying to think through who might be available to help her out. How far she’d have to walk.
Shhhhuufff thunk! Exactly the sound of a bus door opening.
Her eyes popped open to see an open bus door, dirty and scratched up, the interior dimly lit and not Frank driving. She stepped right in, the door nearly catching her ass. It lurched forward in little increments, settling into a rocking motion more like a train. The driver’s boney hand opened over a broken old fashioned coin till. The buttons from her work vest spilled into the box, clattered down into the deep well.
The driver sat hunched over in a dark enveloping hoodie and old jeans. They gestured backwards, a clear suggestion for her to go sit. She cast a glance out the front to see the white bony rears of pale horses drawing the bus on. Weird became downright alarming.
She sat in the first seat that wasn’t broken. Across from her sat a small woman dressed in black, clutching a small box.
She smiled cheerily at Yavine, her plump face reminding her of sunshine and cookies baking. Something frighteningly at odds with the dim eeriness of the bus.
“First time summoning a bus?”
“Uh, I guess?” Yavine grabbed the seat as the bus lurched through a pot hole.
“Didn’t even know you did, right? Take a treat, sweetie. Maybe I can help you.”
She held out the box, which did smell of fresh baked cookies and old books. Yavine hesitantly reached it. It felt like fluffy gauze. Her fingers found some cards and she drew them out.
“Hmmm,” the old woman took the cards, studying them. After a moment, she reached in the box, pulling out a cookie.
“You’ve had a rough night, hon. Eat that. I promise, it is safe.”
Yavine gave up on caution. Something in her felt as if it broke, having a moment of kindness.
“Thanks,” she mumbled.
“Your job sucks,” the woman added, “It’s not worth worrying about. You’ve got an interesting opportunity now that you’ve opened the door. That is, opened by summoning the bus. You every think much about magic?”
“I wanted to be a fairy when I was little.”
“Eh, fairy’s are fickle little blighters- but handy in a fight or a cave. Your talents run more along witch styles. There’s a lot of choices.”
“What I’d really like, is to go home, get some sleep. Find my phone.”
“Phone? Oh, technology is easy. Reach in my box here and think about your phone. You’ll find it.”
She reached in the box again. Almost immediately, her phone was in her hand. The battery, however, was dead.
“The batteries never do well with that trick. Whose the skeevy guy with the greying beard? Drives a beat up Camaro?”
“Frank. Coworker. Skeevy as hell.”
“Eh, Hell wouldn’t take him. Look hon, you could just go home, forget all this. Frank is going to get caught out by the cameras for harassing all the ladies he works with. You probably will be fired, but you can collect unemployment and the investigation will prove it all. Then you keep going on with shitty jobs, trying to get through college with not enough sleep. Or..”
“Who are you to know all this?”
“Nadine Worchesky, recruiter for Knights Night. I seek out young folks who manage to manifest magic and get them connected to schooling opportunities. Part of the problem with magic, is if it isn’t trained it seeps and leaks out of folks able to manifest it, but not taught how to manage it and creates no end of disaster.”
“Magic isn’t real!”
“One of the more insidious ways magic has been allowed to fester in the world far too long. That’s a camouflage it uses. But it’s a lot like pollution. You don’t realize how much it affect everything until you start trying to clean it up.”
“So, like a whole other world-“
“Pfft- no. It’s there. Been there. Right in front of everyone. People just don’t see what they don’t understand. They fill in reasons and shrug it off. You’ve done it. I’ve done it, and I know better! But I’m trying to figure out where to suggest you go. The cards think you are rather talented. You could manage any of several career options.”
“I got no clue.”
Dreaming. She was probably dreaming.
“Hmm,” Nadine reached into her box, staring intently at Yavine.
She pulled out a brochure and smiled at it.
“I hadn’t thought of that, but that might do. And you don’t have to decide anything right away. Except,” she stared sternly at Yavine, “You go home, forget all this. Or you take this brochure and go there.”
Yavine reached out but she pulled the paper out of reach.
“You touch this, you are committed to going there.”
“But I don’t know what it is!” Yavine protested.
“Zen Pagoda. A martial arts school but also trains students in manifesting and controlling magic, for those who can. They will also support any mundane studies you are interested in. And more. Housing and food is included, but you do commit for at least five years.”
“It sounds too good.”
“You can even call your parents,” Nadine suggested, “If you want.”
“Uh, no, not really. Maybe drop them a text.”
This time, Nadine let her take the brochure. Immediately, the bus stopped, the doors opened.
“Already?” Nadine turned to the bus driver.
“I can hear just fine, still, ya old biddy. Some of us are quicker on the uptake than you.”
The driver’s voice resonated deeply, richly and was rather reassuringly kind.
“Why you-!” Nadine protested, tossing a cookie that a bony hand snatched from the air.
“It’s your cookies that salvage you,” the driver chuckled, “Go on, Yavine. I knew Zen Pagoda was where you need to go. Follow the lights after you go through the gate here. See you around sometime.” | 63 | After missing the last bus of the night, you were resigning yourself to sleep at the bus stop. then, a sketchy, kind of creepy bus rolls up, and slides the doors open. it's definitely something your daytime self would avoid, but you're tired and not in the mood for spooky BS. | 100 |
I woke up to the same view as always. Ilazeal sleeping next to me, her beautiful face in utter peace. I smiled, kissing her forehead and sliding out of bed. It was a chilly morning, and a part of me wanted to stay next to her. Unfortunately, work had other plans.
I got ready as quickly as I could, warming myself up as I did so. As I brewed a fresh pot of coffee, I heard movement from behind. A moment later her arms encircled my waist, and I felt lips on the back of my neck.
"Morning love."
I leaned into her, smiling.
"Hey honey. Did you sleep well?"
"Like an angel."
Her words came with her usual good humour. I grinned wider, rubbing her arm.
"Good good."
She let me go to start making some toast, and I sighed. To think we could enjoy such pleasantries, after the things we had experienced. The human world was a wealth of new sights, tastes and sounds.
We had a simple meal of toast, bacon and beans, nice and filling to start the day with. Once done it was off to work for me, climbing into my van. I had found work at a construction site, where my otherworldly strength meant I was a fast and efficient worker. I made sure to keep it toned down, but otherwise worked hard.
I was having a break when I noticed Ilazeal had rung me. I smiled, calling her back.
"Garidal!"
She shouted as she answered. Behind I could hear the crackle of flames, and a pained grunt.
"Ilazeal! What's happening?! Are you ok?!"
"I'm fine!"
There was a thud, and her voice drifted away from the phone.
"Get out of my house, you damned gull!"
She returned to it, still in her fight mood.
"You need to get home now. They found us!"
I instantly looked around. My greatest fear was realised. I couldn't go back, not after this taste of freedom.
"How did- no, not the time. I'm on my way, which side did?"
She muttered darkly, a shrieking chorus echoing the words. I could hear a rattle of chains, white breaking glass.
"Your side of the family. Get home, now. We have to run."
The line cut off. I looked around again. No-one was paying attention to me. That was good news I hoped. If they had only found our home, then we could run. I walked quickly to my van, ignoring the looks I was getting. I had to go.
I drove quickly, at the speed limit. Asmuch as I wanted to get home soon, I didn't want to draw any additional attention to myself. Human intervention would only make things worse.
I drew closer, seeing a column of smoke. Sirens were coming, I could hear them as I turned into the road. There I saw our house enveloped in flames. Everything in there was probably gone. All of our possessions.
The door burst open, and Ilazeal came running out. Her clothes were burnt, but her fiendish blood kept her safe. I threw open the door, letting her dive in before accelerating away. In the mirror I saw a singed figure step out from the blaze.
"Go go go."
I obeyed. But as I did I reached out with a hand, rubbing the top of her head. She leant into it, both of us finding comfort in each others presence.
"What happened?"
Ilazeal picked at her ruined clothes, muttering darkly before replying.
"I was on a call with work, and the doorbell went. I was expecting a parcel, and this angel was disguised as a delivery person. Luckily I smelt him as I opened the door, and dodged the ray he sent my way. Unfortunately it hit a clothes horse, and everything went up in smoke. I was just able to call you around dodging his attacks."
I glanced at her, slightly panicked.
"He didn't touch you did he?"
She frowned, shaking her head.
"Not me. My clothes yes, but not me."
I drove faster.
"We need to change it then. If he touched it, he can track it for a time."
She pulled it off, chucking it from the window as we drove. Clad in her underwear she crossed her arms, before pausing.
"Wait, is that why I have never been able to sneak up on you?"
I gave a small chuckle, as we left stability behind.
"Maybe." | 102 | A demon and an angel fall in love, the two elope and run away from their respectful realms and are now living as humans in disguise on Earth. | 190 |
"So these blast doors", the villain asked, pointing toward the 25' tall solid titanium-steel alloy, "You're saying they're both laser proof AND have a failsafe against crushing my henchmen?".
"Yes sir!", I respond, "And that's not all! These doors can withstand a 25 kiloton nuclear explosion, are resistant to any sort of heat based welding or cutting, waterproof to the point of holding a tidal wave at bay, and won't crush a single henchmen. They'll totally crush any unexpected visitors that get caught in them as they close though! Did I mention their closing force is fast enough to catch a cheetah moving through at full sprint, and strong enough to crush a boulder into dust?"
The villain's jaw had dropped a little, but he quickly composed himself enough to ask "So how is it that my henchmen will be safe?"
"Oh yes, that. So your henchmen will be required to have these RFID chips surgically implanted in their wrist. So long as they have one of these bad boys installed, virtually every failsafe in the lair will keep them from dying".
"Oh I see now, that's brilliant", the villain said, eying the case of expensive RFID chips I had presented him. "Well how about the crushinator? How did you insure that while they're disposing of.... remains, it doesn't crushinate them?"
"Ah, this one is exciting. Have you seen those table saws that hard stop the blade as soon as it comes into contact with live flesh? It's the same concept here. The crushinator is set to come to a hard stop if it detects live flesh within its crush zone".
"I see", said the villain. "Well what if I have some..... remains, that I haven't fully.... unalived yet but wish to dispose of regardless?"
"Well then you'd be happy to see the acid pit we installed in the floor right over here!"
"Well what if one of my henchmen accidentally falls into the pit?!" The villain appeared to start sweating at the thought.
"Don't you worry about that sir, we've got these net shooters installed in the wall that will automatically trigger if they detect a henchmen's RFID chip drop below a certain elevation while being above the pit".
"Excellent, excellent. What if a hero were to drop something of ridiculous weight atop the lair?"
"We've got you set up with a state of the art point laser defense system that keeps the airway above the base completely clear. Robotic drones will retrieve the rubble and convert it into weapons and ammunition to continue fueling the bases gadgets".
"And right over here sir", I lead the villain toward a central dais, "is your command center, where you're able to control every weapon, doorway, and defense system. You can also track all your henchmen using their RFID chips, and it's already set up to hack into most world nation's intelligence and defense networks. Speaking of hacking, we've got you set up with a fully self contained nuclear reactor in the basement, and everything hooked up within the base is powered by the reactor while being protected against outside intrusion/hacking."
"Well that's.... impressive. Hey, what if I want to call the heroes and jeer at them, do I have a-"
I cut the villain off to say "And right here," as I press a button, lowering a megascreen television from a slot in the roof, "is the largest screen ever produced, for your jeering pleasure".
"Brilliant" the villain says. "How about perimeter protection?"
"The perimeter is protected with an electro-fence that is controlled by a central tesla tower, that is set to zap anyone that crosses it while also informing you of the intrusion, and automatically set to allow safe passage to anyone who has an RFID chip".
"How about a location to imprison any heroes foolish enough to get caught?"
"We've got you set up right over here", I say as I press another button on the console, "With a concealed prison cell made of a kryptonite/titanium alloy that is both electrified and sealable to fill with noxious gas, capable of holding just about any hero indefinitely".
"Some of the auxiliary facilities include Inhumane Resources, the Mess Hall, an unbelievably impressive Rec Room, Sex Dungeon, laser filled hallways all throughout the lair, and of course a Throne Room outfitted with golden cutlery and every brand of champagne ever released".
"Well damn, you've thought of just about everything!", the villain seemed genuinely impressed. "There's just one thing that's been nagging the back of my mind since we started that I wanted to ask you about. What happens to my security system if an enemy of mine manages to get their hands on one of the RFID chips?"
I pause for a moment, stopping mid step and putting my hand to my chin while I thought about it. "Hold on just a moment", I say to the villain as I turn around and address my construction crew that are just finishing up some of the final touches.
"Alright boys, tear it all down! We're going to have to start again from scratch!"
\---
r/AdventuresOfYarro | 50 | You have been tasked with redesigning the lair of a supervillain. Due to previous incidents, it must not only be able to repel an attack by the heroes, but must also meet safety regulations. Today is the grand unveiling, and you're showing the villain around. | 93 |
“It’s just bored,” the president of the Hero Association confides. “That’s why it came here. It got tired of ‘dreaming’ it said, wanted to be awake for a while.”
Necrocannon, one of the top heroes in the nation and the only person to date willing to team up with the self dubbed Eldritch Horror just picked at her fingernails. “I had a feeling it was something like that.”
On the screen in front of them, Eldritch Horror had extended the myriad of purple-black tentacles to consume the whole of the building that the bank robbers were in. The civilians on the street screamed louder than they did when there were bomb threats. The audio was turned off, but it was clear from the its shoulders shook and the crazed smile, that it was laughing maniacally.
“Do you have sound?” Necrocannon asked.
“Yes,” the president said. “But-“
Necrocannon reached over to hit the unmute button and that screeching nose tile voice rang through the microphone, sounding as clear as it would have if Eldritch Horror were in the room.
“And see worms! See as I elevate you to a higher plane, the nonsensical nature of your world. See the true nature of existence! Marvel in fearful stupor and know your place in the world. Let both ego and id dissolve under the weight of this knowledge and then suffer as I take it away. Grasp forever at the straws of what you once knew. Of this moment of true knowing-.”
The president muted the audio again. “Sorry, Necro. Listening to it for too long…” he wiped away a thin stream of blood from the corner of his eye. “It’s maddening.”
Necrocannon stared at the screen, tracing one of her black fingernails along Eldritch Nightmare’s tentacle, following the seemingly nonsensical geometric pattern it formed. “It’s good,” she said eventually.
“What about this is good!? I’m telling you this because I’m terrified. If it becomes bored, what then? What will it do to us? To reality itself!? I’m telling you the truth because if anyone has the chance to defeat Eldritch Horror, it’s you Necrocannon.”
“Defeat?” she quirked a crooked smile. “Nah. I think we just need to keep him entertained.” Her nails extended as she closed in on the president.
He swallowed nervously. “And how do you propose we do that?”
“By giving him a villain of course,” Necrocannon explained before skewering the president. She licked the blood off with a misshapen, tentacle of a tongue. “You see, I was getting awful bored myself.” | 35 | Among the league of superheroes is a hero whose powers are out of an eldritch night terror. The public and the league of supervillains are confused on why this terrifying person is on the heroes side. Both the superheroes and the government are hesitant to answer... | 56 |
**AITA for doing God’s work?**
By the light, I feel so stupid posting this, here goes nothing.
So I (F53) am the high priestess of the Holy Church of Light, our scripture dictates that all other races were created to serve Humanity. Because of this, our Holy Kingdom uses magic to bend their will to our own. Those who appose us call it “slavery”, however we are simply claiming our birthright.
Anyway, around a year ago, Dimitri (M18), randomly appeared in our realm. He has magic but never Took the Vows, a ceremony in which a human is blessed by our Goddess Amalia, and thereby gains the ability to preform feats of magic. His magic is like none anyone has ever seen, and he apparently has the power to undo the magic that binds the other races in their place.
I was certain that he was simply an anomaly to be erased and forgotten, so I sent my Holy Knights after him, but now he’s staging a rebellion. He’s described our holy rule as a “theocratic dictatorship”, and has vowed to overthrow us.
**AITA for following our scriptures’ teachings, and WIBTA if I crushed his rebellion and put his men to the sword?** | 14 | Write an AITA entry for your last antagonist, recounting the story from their side. (Or protagonist, if they had a suitable dilemma) | 86 |
"Apples are stupid, they don't even taste good."
"But what a nutrient-filled fruit! Apples make for strong people."
"One cannot live on apples alone."
"This does not make apples stupid, as you say."
"There is such variety of fruits out there, why choose apples?"
"Apples have a well-defined core, for one."
"Cores don't matter. Taste is what matters, and let me tell you about oranges. So juicy."
"There is far more to life than taste. Substance, for example."
"The flesh is temporal, taste is pretty much all that matters."
"Only in your twisted vision, Satan."
"I mean, if what you really want is for them to not touch the apples, you could do with less tasty fruit. Figs are native and would be a far better choice."
"The fruit must be tempting, or else there won't be a choice at all."
"Choices are boring. Just put the most scrumptious fruit out there for all to enjoy. What's the point of all this runaround?"
"We've been over this a thousand times Satan, but we need choices to make our world interesting. Your vision of the world will be as boring as all the predetermined ones that came before it."
"God, those predetermined worlds were good because they were optimal. Here we've created something so subpar that I almost don't want to put my name on it."
"Well, your role in this world is to lead them to quick decisions with ugly consequences, to encourage them to act on pure emotion instead of reason, and to close their minds, so your anti-choice nature makes perfect sense."
"So why do we have to do it your way again and use a stupid apple?"
"The apple is perfect. It is scrumptious enough to lead them to make a quick decision to grab one without thinking, yet unappealing enough for them to side with better judgment."
"It won't take me long to get them to eat it."
"I have more faith than that." | 97 | Two idiots get in a headed argumentative feud over something stupid that doesn’t matter. The drive to prove their point focuses them, and they become much smarter and more educated as the argument continues, and they eventually become world leading experts. | 311 |
You frown, straining your body as you toss the car aside. The woman, trembling, grabs her child and run. Good, they’re out of the way now. You turn back to your prey, the right hand man of Overlord, the tyrant King of earth. Suck in a useless suit, fried by my weapon, gizmo is trapped. “Your name sucks,” you shout through the metal. Vague murmurs are heard but it seems the metal is too thick. Fine, you’re not here to banter. You pull out a hand torch, flicking on the plasma and positioning goggles over your eyes. Despite campaigning against Overlord for 5 months not one of his cronies has built shielding against your Emp canon. Shooting out a directional emp that fries anything not wrapped in tinfoil or maybe lead. Raze the EMPire was reliable and brutally effective, shutting down many villains before the fight began. In a minute a small hole is burned, “-u’ll rue the day you crossed gizmo! I will tear out your bones and replace them with metal! You will kill your family as you watch!” The torrent of threats poured out of the very scary asshole in his oversized sardine can. you wait until he takes a breath, “and I will take the mutilated corpses of your children and turn them into grotesque cyborgs and together you all will run rampant through the streets as mindless killing machines as your kids rot off their metal skeleton! You will regret ever-“ does this guy even breath? A lot of techs replace parts of their body to improve themselves. Hell, you replaced my legs years ago.whatever, you take a cylindrical explosive and stuff the hole, then use a finger to push it in until you hear the clack of metal on metal. “What was that! What are you doing?” you chuckle, the fear in his voice music to your ears, “a small explosive, more burn than bang really.” Then he started begging, “wait! I can cut you a deal! I-“ “not interested.” You say, arming the bomb. They usually postured a bit more, but Gizmo is supposed to be the smartest, second smartest you guess, villain in the world. Didn’t stop him from dying in the end. “Please, I can pay you more than anything you could dream!” “Don’t want money.” You answer, waiting for the next question, you can’t help but play with your food. “What do you want? I can get it.” You pause for a moment, pretending to think, “I want you dead.” “Why!” You smile, taking a step back. It was about to get a bit hot. “Because,” you activate the bomb, “I never got to finish breaking bad.” “Wha-AAAAAAH OH GOD STOP! PLEASE HELP AHHHHHHHHHHH!” you watch until the screaming stops, then wait until the fire dies down, then until the smoke clears. You pop one more cylinder in just to be safe before leaving, not watching the flames this time. Overlord was next and you needed to prepare. After all, he didn’t have a suit. He had a goddamn castle for you to take down. This was going to be fun. | 12 | You live in a world full of tech-based supervillains. The internet's been down ever since they killed the last superhero, which coincidentally happened while you were pirating the last season of Breaking Bad. You just finished making an EMP gun | 44 |
"Is this going to be on the test?" Claire asked.
"Of course, it will! But I expect you and your friends to have no issues. Don't worry."
Claire looked at Tom and David. They weren't her friends. They could barely stand eachother and the group projects were literal nightmares because nobody could imagine the Humans wouldn't want to work together.
"Dude, we're fucked," David whispered and this time, Claire agreed.
"I can't fail this one! I'm already in trouble. And there's no way I will remember all this bullshit," whispered Tom frantically. "You know how hard it was to memorize the history for the Human School? And now this! It will mess everything up!"
Tom was right. Claire liked the Human School they went to every "Saturday" but the history part was hard. And if they were to add this nonsense into the mix... There's no way she's messing her finals because of it! They got the dates wrong, the conflicts wrong, the resolutions wrong...
She's not learning all that nonsense just for one stupid test! She looked at Tom and David. They looked at her. And at that moment, alliance was forged. Enemy of my enemy is my friend.
She slowly raised her hand again. "Can you accept our credits from our Human School? This way we could use everybody's time more efficiently. There's no need to waste academia resources. Maybe we could work on our final project?"
"Nonsense," mandibles clicked. "It will be quick and easy for you three and you know well enough we don't accept interschool credits."
"The creaky old bug doesn't accept credits," Tom grumbled. "Everyone else does."
Claire hid her smile. He was right. The creaky old bug was the worst.
David raised his hand.
"Yes, David?"
"What if our knowledge is more complex and therefore -"
Therefore? He's bringing the big guns. Claire's impressed.
"our answers would be more complex and seemingly contradictory to what you taught today?"
Mandibles clicked in frustration. "What do you mean? How could your answers be contradictory and complex? Explain."
"Well," David scratched his head, "the reality was more troubling? It's understandable that it could cause the softer species high amount of distress so it's omitted in the lectures..."
Tom nodded. "But our species prides itself for learning about past mistakes. And it seems wrong to omitt that for the sake of the test."
"Again," Claire joined the discussion, "we understand why it's not discussed in a class. But as responsible Humans we simply have to uphold our species traditions and rites. Learning about one's history is the core of our culture and learning the simplified and sugar-coated version is in a direct jeopardization of our culture."
"Exactly," Tom agreed. "It's the highest offense we could do to our ancestors."
"And I'm not saying we would be shunned..." continued David with the heavy implications, they would, indeed, be shunned. Then he sighed. "It wouldn't be pretty."
Their teacher turned ugly shade of purple. "Jeopardization of your culture? My apologies. Of course, that was not my intention."
Claire bit her lip not to start smiling. Everyone tries so hard not to offend any species and their culture. At least it's useful. "We understand that. I'm sure it wasn't. But can you see how troubling this would be for us?"
"Can you give me an example of one of those discrepancies?"
They shared a look. David had this glint in the eyes she usually hated. It meant trouble. But this time... She nodded her head a little. Tom smiled at him. "You go, buddy. You got thousand credits on the history last year."
He shrugged. "Okay. So..."
Claire shifted in her seat. David was well known for his... Fondness of the conflicts and the war strategies. What era is going to pick?
She would pick the witch hunts. They weren't competing for the best woman in the village as in some weird Miss Witch competition.
"So, you know how you talked about the global Earth program for better health and species improvement? People being sent to camps for better concentration performance?"
Oh no. He's not going there! She was aware her mouth is wide open, but the balls of him! This is going to be very interesting.
"Those camps weren't nice? And the whole global initiative wasn't nice?"
"What do you mean?" asked their teacher.
"It was more like a war and species reduction camps?"
Mandibles clicked. "I'm not sure I follow."
"It's called Second World War for a reason," Tom quipped.
"Second World War?" raised like a whispered wave in the class. "Did he said second? World? War?"
"Many people died," said Claire. She for sure didn't remember how much. It was some insane number she forgot right after the test.
"Impossible!" clicked the teacher. "I wouldn't stand such jokes in my class. You're having a detention."
They shared a look. Hell they are.
Claire stood up. "The concentration camps didn't improve mental performance. People were systematically killed there or starved to death."
"And used as ingredients for daily use objects. Like a soap," Tom added and stood as well.
David slowly rised. He shot the teacher a firm glance. "Our history is bloody, violent, and disturbing. We massacred each other and only in the face of the worst crimes and devastation did we finally started working together to reach a peace. We choose peace everytime we can because we remember the horrors. We always choose peace and treaties because we know the depths of violence we are able to reach. We choose to be peaceful because we value the life and know very well how fragile it is. Do not deny us our past for we need it to remain better than our ancestors. We know who we are and we won't let you spit on the billions of dead. Only thanks to them we are where we are as a species. Do not stomp on our dead. Now, teacher Fixhurati, what do you think about our previous offer?"
They teacher was slightly yellow around the edges. "Yes. You can work in your project. Class dismissed."
Several students jumped and rushed out of the classroom. Probably to take care of some of their bodily functions. Their teacher was already out.
"Dude, did you really whipped out Terminator 15 monologue?" Tom asked.
David smirked. "I always wanted to do it."
"I can't believe it worked," Claire muttered. "Everyone knows Terminator 15. It's classic. How did nobody here recognized it?"
"They're puppies," muttered David darkly in the Terminator imitation. "Soft."
He hold the badass expression for two whole seconds before he burst out laughing.
"I'm glad it worked, man." Tom clapped him on the back. "And hey," Tom looked at Claire, "aren't we already done with the project?"
"Yeah," she shrugged. Free period is always nice. "
The boys exchanged glances. "You've got a point."
"Anyway," Claire said and took her backpack. "Bye." And with that she was on her way to get cup of goofe before her Xiorish class.
"She's still super annoying," she heard Tom mutter behind her back.
She just raised her hand with a nice pointy middle finger. That everyone still believed to be a peace gesture. Man, she loves being a Human. | 2,070 | “…and that class is why Humans are considered the most peaceful species in the universe.” The only three humans in class looked at each other horrified. All the facts about humans that the aliens had were wrong. One student slowly raises their hand. | 4,932 |
I’ve gotten used to being startled awake in the early hours of the morning. Being married to the premiere superhero of the city has some drawbacks, but I accepted those along with all the positives. Obviously, I was sworn to secrecy the moment she told me, it was her choice when we realized our relationship was more than testing the waters.
It could have been the crash of the door, the time of the morning, or the pause before I heard another sound. Whatever it was sent panic to the pit of my stomach. I was down the stairs faster than any known speedster. The sight before me will be seared forever into my memories and will haunt my waking moments.
First I saw the blood, dear gods above there was so much blood. Trailing from the kitchen door to the prone body of my wife. The nigh-indestructible Titania struggled for each breath of air. Her left arm a twisted mangled mess limp to her side while her right hand feebly covered a deep gash on the side of her stomach. Her legs that had finally given up the ghost the moment she was inside a mottled mess of bruises and cuts.
My long disused combat medic training kicked in as I compartmentalized the situation to allow me to deal with the current problem.
“Ahren, prep the medical bay,” I shouted to the home AI. I grabbed the first aid kit we kept in the kitchen and assessed what needed to be addressed first. I had to stop the bleeding from her stomach first. Antiseptic foam and gauze were a temporary stopgap. After checking her neck and spine I felt it was relatively safe to turn her on her back.
“Med Bay is operating at 90%. Currently powering up the rejuvenation pod.”
“Thank you, Ahren. I need the hover stretcher.”
“It’s already here sir.”
“Tricia, honey. This is going to hurt, but I need to get you on the stretcher.”
Her head just lolled to the side with her eyes still shut. One of them turning a dark purple and swelling. I silently vowed to the universe that someone was going to pay and they were going to pay dearly. For someone who could lift a cruiseliner with ease and punch her way through a mountain, she was incredibly light.
Once I got her into the pod I was able to leave the examination and diagnosis to Ahren. The medical room was equipped with a function to create synthetic chemicals capable of weakening her skin to perform surgery.
While Ahren worked on patching her up I got to work on scouring the news sites and social media to find out just who did this to her. It didn’t take long to find out it was a hobbled-together group of villains who alone couldn’t take my wife down, but together they had just enough capability.
“Unfortunately for them, they’ve upset the wrong person.” I closed the laptop. “Ahren, make sure the cleaner bots scrub the outside of any traces of her blood. Send me your report on her injuries and recovery to my work area. I’m going to be busy.”
“It will be done.”
Tricia liked to tease me about my man cave. ‘Most guys have their power tools in their garage, not in their mad science lab.’ It wasn’t mad science, it was just science and mechanical engineering. I reflexively harrumphed at the memory, she wouldn’t have Ahren to patch her up if it wasn’t for this ‘mad science lab.’
I was a few hours into schematic designs when Ahren sent me the report. She was in an induced coma while the swelling around her brain was reduced. Every bone in her left arm had been shattered. Both femurs were fractured. Three broken ribs. Multiple lacerations and contusions. Deep abdominal gash. Perforated intestine. Radioactive poisoning.
“That’s how they did it.” I nearly cracked the tablet as I worked out their attack. All living things are pretty much susceptible to radioactive materials. The only difference for Titania is she is more resilient to the common types. According to Ahren’s report, they were able to synthesize a lower-tier element that was able to weaken her enough for the low-level bruisers to hammer her down. A long ranged marksman peppered her with the radioactive element to keep her weakened.
According to the news reports, she was able to put down the bruisers to allow her to escape. In the wake of the news that Titania had been defeated the city devolved into a chaotic mess of anarchy.
Bulldoze. Powerjack. Falconeye. Lasher. The names of the ones who did this to her, but that’s not all of them. I know there has to be at least another because none of them is the thinking type. There has to be a mastermind. With the help of an AI algorithm, it didn’t take long to come up with a list of potentials: Thinker, Mindmaster, Brain Swipe, and Dr. Night.
From that list, I could already eliminate Thinker, as the act of stealing was more of an art form to him, and often avoided violence. Mindmaster was hardly such, we already knew his identity and there was no way he could outthink Tricia, we’d all gone to college together. Brain Swipe wouldn’t mind getting his hands dirty and this was definitely in his wheelhouse. Dr. Night was still unknown to the superheroes, but it could be possible this was her doing.
There wasn’t time to develop a full suit like Armor Man, but I didn’t really need something cumbersome. I just needed something that would combat their list of skills. Bulldoze and Powerjack both got their powers from the same chemical spill, I just needed to introduce a catalyst that could change the chemical makeup that gives them their power. Not hard enough.
Falconeye was just an ex-soldier with enhanced eyes. Simple enough to fix. Lasher had superhuman skill with a whip, the origin of their power is still unknown. All I need to do is remove their access to a whip. Brain Swipe was a close-range mind reader easily thwarted by a pair of sunglasses. Dr. Night was the unknown variable I couldn’t devise a plan for, but then again I might not have to if I find out from the first four who actually hired them.
I set the fabricator to make the items I designed. While that was being done I went back upstairs and sat with Tricia who breathed slowly and evenly with the assistance of a machine. I gently held her right hand which was still stained red with her blood.
“Tricia, I know you try to give everyone a chance. I mean, you even gave me a chance. You seem to think some people can be redeemed, and that’s something I love about you. And maybe they can be redeemed.” I looked at her face and tried to calm myself with a shuttered breath. “But this time they’ve gone too far. I’ll do my best to honor your commitment to not killing, but if they don’t give me a choice…”
I shook my head and stood. “I hope you can forgive me.”
One last look over my shoulder at the love of my life. The love that was very nearly taken from me. Those who did this will come to reap all they’ve sown. | 13 | You are happily married to a super powered/supernatural entity. One day they come home brutally injured, and you set out on the war path. Because a human with a vengeance is the most dangerous threat of all. | 29 |
“I don’t understand!” roared Linel as sparks flew from his monstrous maw. He always hated this time of year.
“I’ve *already* submitted forms 47B, 49D *and* provided itemised statements for my pillages for the entire fiscal year. What do you mean you don’t have them?!”
Linel was well aware of the mess he’d find himself in if he didn’t have his affairs in order. He had naively thought perhaps this year would be smoother sailing than the one before. That’s why he made sure to send two separate copies of his tax documents via carrier pigeon for good measure. Regardless, his worst nightmare stood beneath him. At 5ft7, comparably meagre to Linel’s 30ft stature, a human named Hans peered up from below, dressed in an office-appropriate checkered-shirt-with-dress-pants-combo. Hans removed his glasses and folded them neatly into his breast pocket.
“Well -“ Hans stammered for a moment, now unsure of whether the documents never arrived or if he had simply forgotten to read them. “Look, I understand this can be a frustrating process, but rest assured I’ll be in and out in a jiffy. Something was flagged on your return by our systems back in the office, so this is really just a routine visit we do to to make sure everything is operating above board.”
Linel’s topaz-coloured glare penetrated down through Hans, who was otherwise unbothered - he was busy making the most of the brief silence by peering at the vast cavern around him, as though he would somehow spot tax fraud itself materialised within the endless mounds of trinkets and gold. Linel puffed some smoke from one nostril in a huff. That very same glare had made knights wet themselves in fear, but seemingly had no effect on the IRS.
*A terrible plague on mankind, they call me!* thought Linel. *These guys - they’re the *real* plague. Every year it’s something else*.
“Now, uh, Linel…” Hans begins, as he opens his document case and attempts to climbs a nearby pile of coins to gain a better vantage point; sliding as he does so. “Looking over your papers, one thing has uh… perplexed me.”
“And what might that be?” Linus replied with a deep rumble, craning his neck around to follow the small human stumbling upwards.
“Your return says that, ah..” he paused for a moment to catch his breath and peek at the header on a piece of paper half-extracted from his case. “Ah, yes, that you’ve made precisely… 0 gold in profit this year.”
“… that is correct.”
“… and, well, if you remember, I visited here a couple years ago, too. It was the year you razed Hammerback Village, actually, despite them gifting their last copper pieces to you earlier that morning… if memory serves”, Hans now halted his ascent. He could see his entire head reflected in just one of Linel’s muted-gold scales.
“Ha, oh yes,” chuckled Linel, briefly bereft of his prior frustrations. “Now *that* was a good year!”
Hans smiled awkwardly; he had family in Hammerback at the time.
“Yes, yes, I suppose it was… but, curiously, your returns showed no profits that year as well, didn’t they?”
Linel pondered a moment, one eye squinting in thought. *Where is this going?* he wondered. *Is he onto me?*
As if to answer his thoughts, Hans chuckled to himself and threw up his hands. “I hope you’ll forgive me if I merely state the obvious - these growing piles of riches and your returns just don’t quite add up!”
If Hans had climbed just a few feet higher, he might have noticed a single bead of sweat rolling down one of Linel’s neck scales.
“Well, how preposterous! Now, you see, the thing about that is…” Linel’s eyes darted around the room looking for something - anything - to help him explain. Of course, on paper, Linel was running an established business with employees, overheads, and business expenses. All of which were *terribly* expensive; none of which actually existed.
“The economy! Inflation is at record levels - do you know how much a flagon of mead costs these days?!” He flustered with a toothy grin. “And, and, all of my employees are out on business trips at the moment, which is why they’re not here, and we’ve had to renovate the cavern to accommodate a bigger loading bay on the south side, and -“
Hans stared through Linel now, cold and calculating. He knew it.
“Ah! A bigger loading bay. Inflation. Business trips. I completely understand.” Hans slid down the pile of coins with a cool confidence. Snapping the lid of his document case shut made a wide-eyed Linel startle. “Then, I suppose we’re done here.”
“Oh! We… we are?” Linel asked, tapping his front talons together, hopefully. *Did I really convince him?*
“Oh yes! Absolutely!” Hans cheerily made for the cave entrance with somewhat of a strut, before making a show of stopping and hoisting up two full satchels of gold. “Oh, I mean, unless you… had a problem with me taking a few bags of gold? You know, for my… troubles?” Hans winked. “See you next financial year!”
A mighty roar echoed from the mountaintop. One that would come to mean only one thing to the villagers nestled below, every year around this time: a new tax season has started. | 92 | The IRS. | 296 |
Dumbfounded, I stand in the hallway and stare at Elias as he just looks at me, his backpack open and it's contents clearly visible. After a few moments I remember to close my mouth, and blink rapidly to clear my confusion; perhaps what I'm looking at will switch to something that makes sense if I keep blinking. Unfortunately, the contents of Elias' backpack don't miraculously change.
"What. The fuck. Are those?!" I haltingly question my best friend, trying not to raise my voice and disturb my family.
"Holy scriptures and symbols - I don't know exactly which belief system is best, so I grabbed several - salt, gasoline, garlic, wooden stakes," Elias responds, listing the various items inside before I cut him off.
"I can *see* what they are. I mean, why the fuck are you carrying that shit around here?!"
"What do you mean?" Elias asks, confusion apparent on his face, "You're the one who asked me to go exorcising with you in the early hours of the morning."
"Oh, for Chri- I said EXERCISING, as in JOGGING!" I yell in exasperation. I really should have seen this coming. Elias is a little bit weird, massively into the occult, and has a track record of this kind of crap. "I suppose this is on me for not specifying," I sigh.
Elias looks at his backpack, then at my outfit - sportswear designed for ease of movement and breathability - before it clicks in his head. "That makes no sense," he retorts. "Why would you go running in a neighbourhood with those... things?!"
"What are you on about?" I ask, taken aback at the vitriol in his voice.
"The things masquerading as human that reside here. I thought you'd figured it out as well, when you asked me, but obviously that was a misunderstanding." Disappointment and a touch of embarassment are evident as Elias explains.
"Dude, I know you're into all that occult shit, but surely you know it's all fiction; stories that humans came up with to assign blame when they couldn't explain something within their own common sensibilities?" I laugh lightly, flashing Elias a soft smile to show I mean no offense or judgement. "Come on, put that shit away, grab my spare tracksuit, and lets go for a run to clear our heads."
Elias looks at me for a few moments before sighing, closing his backpack, and throwing it into the cupboard under the stairs. "Yeah, you're right," he replies. "Guess I went a bit off the deep end. Gimme a few minutes to get changed, then we can go."
Once Elias is changed, we leave the house and start stretching to get the blood flowing and warm our muscles up. "Quick question. You didn't tell anyone you thought we were going to go around the neighbourhood stabbing people with pointy sticks, did you?" I tease as we begin to lightly jog to the end of the road.
"Of course not! My parents don't believe in that stuff anyway, and my sister's a bitch who'd just rat me out about my equipment," he replies sourly. Obviously, I've touched on a sore spot so I nudge him with my elbow in apology as we turn to head towards the forest.
We've been fast friends for 7 years now, ever since we bumped into each other exploring this very forest. It's such a shame he's figured so much out. I'm going to miss him. | 87 | Your friend seemed pretty excited when you invited them over to go exercising around the neighbourhood. But it got a little odd when they showed up holding a bible, a crucifix, and a wooden stake. | 474 |
The snow no longer felt cold. Another drink, another hot gulp of heat to keep the bite away, huddled between a dumpster and a makeshift cardboard shelter. I sighed, a wisp of steam rising in the air, thinner with every shaky breath.
The more I drank, the more death didn't seem so scary. I would fall asleep, that's all. I would simply drift away, one moment alive, in pain, alone, and the next, nothing.
My head pressed against the side of the dumpster as my mind started swimming, no longer able to hold complete thoughts. Instead, there were images, brief snippets of fleeting ideas and memories. I remembered my parents, my friends, dogs I'd owned, women I'd loved. In that dreamy, bittersweet moment, I wanted to stand, retreat from death and leave the bottle behind.
But I was stuck, either too frozen or too inebriated to convince my body to budge.
The rest was an abstract collage of thoughts, like a kaleidescope rotating in a darkening room.
Then, nothing.
Three chimes played and I opened my eyes. My attention was sharp now, no longer sluggish and confusing. I was sober somehow. Was I in a hospital? A shelter? Had someone found me?
I was facing a blue sky with low-resolution clouds sailing slowly by. A banner of words hung in the air: *Thank you for living! Experience brought to you by Life Industries.*
All at once it was as if I'd remembered some long-suppressed memory. I wasn't *him,* I wasn't *human.* I was me. I was this.
I grabbed at the headset and pulled it off my face. Rows of angels were plugged in, reclined in their seats, each experiencing a simulation of what life might be like for a person. Several stood to the side, discussing their experience. Some others sat quietly alone, sipping at a steaming cup of tea, clearly rattled by the lives they lived.
"How was everything?" A tall, dark-haired attendant gently took the headset from me.
"Umm..." I searched for the right words, something to adequately express the emotion I was feeling. "Catastrophic."
He nodded knowingly and helped my out of the seat. "It's a lot to think about, isn't it?"
"Is it accurate? Is that really how they live?"
"Some of them," he explained as he wiped down the headset and placed it in its cradle. "And yet, some live in the lap of luxury, wanting for nothing."
A shiver coursed through my wings. "Can I... Go again?"
The attendant furrowed his eyebrows. "Given how this affects the humans' world, we try to limit repeat experiences, especially minutes apart."
"I think I know how I can fix things for Reggie. I think I know where I messed up. I just need to--"
"Reggie's dead," the attendant said with finality. "Humans can't go back and fix things. Every decision is permanent. If you went back in, you'd be a whole new person."
Sadness stung at my eyes--some kind of homesickness and mourning. Was Reggie--was I--really gone? *Gone* gone?
"Why would humans be tortured like this?"
The attendant shrugged. "It's part of the plan."
Maybe the plan wasn't so holy after all. | 59 | You died. After a brief period of darkness, your ’vision’ was suddenly filled with cheesy low-poly graphics of the sky and the words Thank you for living! Experience brought to you by LIFE INDUSTRIES. | 183 |
“God, if you exist out there, please help me.”
The demon listened to the young girl pray, as he had been doing for the past several nights, and as she had been praying. He grinned to himself, thinking she would make an easy possession if she believed in such silly things as God. It had been her voice that drew him here in the first place, filled with such resigned desperation that it carried across to the otherworld where demons lived. He had already staked his claim on her; and now, having observed long enough, it was time to reveal himself.
He entered with a good old-fashioned explosion of smoke, emerging from the small alter in the room that the girl prayed to. “I am here to grant you power, child,” the demon spoke in a booming voice.
The girl startled and fell back on her butt, starting up at the demon, a large and shapeless red aura, and asked in a small voice, “God?”
The demon sighed. Surely if she was religious, she would have heard of devils? He went along with it though, anything to get into her head faster. “Yes, you may think of me as your god. I can help you.”
“Please, I need help to leave this place,” the girl begged, scrambling back onto her knees and clasping her hands. “I’ll do anything.”
The magic words! The demon grew excited. An easy target, indeed. “Of course. All you need to do is agree to let me... possess your body, and I can help you once I have physical form.”
Without hesitation, the girl agreed. With the verbal contract sealed, the demon laughed as his aura dove into the girl. He tested out his new, albeit scrawny limbs, exploring the limits of the girl’s body before looking into her mind.
And... it was despairing. Much more than any other human he had possessed. The girl’s “caretakers” were prominent clergy members in this little church town, and they had heaped upon her abuses that even he, a demon, would not. Treated more as a slave, she and other children in the same situation were forced to attend to the clergy’s needs — to be delicate — daily, were locked up when not in use, and were beaten and starved if they behaved out of line. That the girl still believed in God despite all this... the demon felt sadness for her.
“I will tear it all down,” he said, feeling his innate rage well up. He had only meant to trick her to take possession but the girl... she needed genuine help. “I will destroy this town so you can be free.”
They say there were few survivors, all children kept underground, of a small church town that mysteriously burned down in a massive blaze. Some say it was bandits, others say the devil himself given the mutilated bodies of the clergy. Only a traveling priestess with a deep, immeasurable rage knows the truth. | 66 | A demon tries to possess a human. The only problem is that the person's mind is so broken and lonely that even the demon, for the first time in it's existence feels sadness. | 177 |
The woman’s body stopped contorting, and relaxed. Instead of a vile demonic entity seeking to give fear, it looked little more like a child who had been caught red handed.
“Oh come on, my lord!” Azazel protested, waving his hands a little bit. “It’s just a little fun! If the small time demons can get out and possess someone, why can’t I?”
Lucifer sighed, adjusting his priest disguise. “Because, you know my explicit rules! All demons, INCLUDING OVERLORDS, must follow them! Possession is not allowed anymore, per my brothers request.”
Azazel sneered. “And since when do you follow your brothers orders? Michael doesn’t control you! The rebellious king!”
“I follow them because it has become increasingly harder and harder to not warrant total destruction of hell.” Lucifer replied. “That, and humanity has become more and more adept at figuring out the supernatural. The last thing we need right now is everyone finding out demons truly exist, AND that we are currently engaged in multiple deals with their governments!”
Azazel gruffed, angry he couldn’t convince his lord. “Fine, but I’m only doing this because you asked me to leave.”
“Oh no! This time you’re 100% getting punished for this.” Lucifer shot back, waving a finger. “Unless you tell me who said you could possess someone?”
Azazel went quiet. “So wait, I won’t get in trouble if I snitch on who told me to come up here?”
“That’s corr-“ Lucifer began.
“Lilith told me to come up here.” Azazel cut him off.
“Dad-damnit.” Lucifer muttered. | 562 | "To perform this exorcism, I'll need to have absolute privacy." You usher the family out of the room and turn to your patient. "Azazel, come on, we've talked about this!" | 1,649 |
"No."
"I'm afraid you have no choice. Take the sword."
I wiped a bead of sweat from my brow and glared at the woman standing in the lake like some fucked-up, human water strider. She was almost painfully gorgeous; an ethereal being with flowing black hair that gave her an air of dignity, and pale, silky smooth skin. She was also completely naked. A lesser man would have been tempted.
But I wasn't, because none of it changed the fact that this was bullshit. Something I made clear.
"And why, pray tell, would I do that?"
"This world needs you–"
"The world needs a farmer? Finally, *someone* acknowledges that. The answer's still no."
The lady said nothing, so I decided on a different approach.
"Listen, I thank you for your kind words stranger, but I must respectfully decline your request. I have better shit to do."
Shit.
"...." the woman was quiet for a moment. Her long hair covered most of her face, hiding her expression from view. Her glowing eyes dimmed slightly. Was she trying to guilt me?
I sighed, shoulders slumping. Why me, and why today of all days? "What exactly is this prophecy, again?"
The pale lady once again opened her mouth to speak:
'A hero born of common birth,
Forged by flames of hellish fright,
Together with hands of terrible might,
Tempered steel with which he fights,
To slay the king of evil's knight
And end the evil monarch's reign.'
"...."
"...."
".... What?"
"...."
"No, seriously. *What*?"
Suddenly, the lady vanished from sight and an odd weight was in my hand. It took a few seconds for my brain to process what had just happened.
"What the–"
I blinked. Did she just–?
I stared blankly at the glowing sword in my hand.
"Fuck." | 12 | You were doing fine with the life of a farmer. Until some strange woman in a pond threw a sword at you and now you're stuck trying to fulfill some vague prophecy. | 91 |
Philosophy is a strange art. Some would call it a science, most would call it daydreaming - at least most of *my* people. Which by the account of my own mind, I still am. Would that the world might see it that way.
&#x200B;
*And each king should step out from palace and heave grain with the workers. Shoulder their physical burden, in hopes that one day - when they most need it, those working men would understand and assist with the invisible but staggering weight of the crown.*
&#x200B;
Those were the words. The words from the great text of *Monarchai-Arul,* some outdated tomb left by some outdated man who sought to bring his flavor of wisdom to the rest of the world. He sat on top of a single piece of paper, then claimed to all of us they he had an clear view of the horizon born aloft from an impossibly high vantage point. I sometimes wonder if he knew that he sat so barely above the common man. Then again, after dealing with these people for so long I can safely assume it was not so much that he found himself with an elevated perspective, rather that he figured the rest of us were deep within a trench of ignorance.
&#x200B;
I travel now. From valley to valley. From port to port. My coming is celebrated with the smell of roses and the soft wafting scents of feast being prepared from on high. The thoroughfares lay decorated with rich colors of too expensive dye, and the people wear smiles stretched like dried leather.
&#x200B;
I had a home once. It was a small village, not so far outside the territories claimed some three centuries ago by the Reshri officiate. Life was hard. Life was simple. I worked, feeling the coarseness of dried grain as it dug softly into the skin of my calloused hands. I loved deeply, knowing comfort in the warm embrace of my wife and the radiant heat of our son's youth. I slept, taken for reprieve by the cool darkness which allowed the next day to make ready. So I was, and so it seems I might never be again.
&#x200B;
At each stop, the royalty bows to me. They feign resignation to an authority each of us knows I do not possess. I am treated to foods that I might never have even read about. I listen their polished laughs, like the jingle of bells whipped aloft in a summer gust. Then, when the proceedings are done, I am escorted to a lavish room with a bed so soft I sleep on the stone floor. For a night I will rest in my golden cage, and dream of an old and dirty freedom.
&#x200B;
My beloved still writes me from time to time. Her and my son are comfortable. They live a life of contentment, wanting for some things but enjoying the certainty of having all which they need. Her words seem different now. Like when you talk to your former supervisor. Pleasant in the front, but with a sense of uncertainty dancing in the background. Her letters now are perfumed with deep scents of lavender.
&#x200B;
My son writes too, sometimes. He is now seven. I had not learned to write until my appointment a year ago, and find that his words and mastery of tongue outweigh my own. He grows up in a world which I live in, but have no fatherly advice to distribute about. He is guided by their appointed tutor - one Jean Beauxic. My son says that study is a delightful place, full of inventions and miniatures that the mind recoils at when trying to comprehend in full. He is assured by Jean that one day, with enough time and dedication, he will find mastery and create his own pieces. The room is always perfectly clean. It smells of perfumes. Lavender.
&#x200B;
I close my eyes at night now, and feel the cool metal of the crown in my hands. I feel myself sinking in a salt-water sea, dragged down by its weight. I release my grip, but as soon as one drops into those dark and cold depths, another replaces it. A different shape, a different name, but a crown all the same. I awake in those nights with a start only to find myself still walking between a dream and my life which grow like vines around my feet, snaring me.
&#x200B;
Heavy lays the crown upon the head. Heavy lays the heart which lie below. And pity to the feet which trod on into some half measure of eternity, ensuring that burden find its keeper.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
*Aside: The quoted section in this piece is from Brandon Sanderson's 'The Way of Kings.'* | 453 | The new king was not crowned by a holy man, nor by another monarch. Instead, he asked you, a commoner, to crown him. This was to represent his dedication to his people. But now everyone calls you"King-maker", to the extent that other nations call upon you for your service. | 2,350 |
When it started, it was simple. Move towards the big human.
Or at least I think it was simple. I'm not entirely sure anymore. That was a long time ago. Regardless, it was my main goal in the beginning. I couldn't fully explain it and thought about it often as I tried to make my way to the human.
*I want to touch you.*
Then the human ran away.
When your only goal suddenly removes itself from you and move far beyond your grasp... well. It really gets to a snail. My first new goal was to get somewhere high up, maybe I could then see the human. It was worth a shot.
*I'll climb that thing. Maybe I can see from up there.* I thought to myself.
It was a large tree. I didn't know it was a tree then, all I knew was that it was large, tall, and edible. The journey was, to be honest, awe-inspiring. A sheer cliff upwards followed by several winding branches that crossed over each other. Several days later I reached the top, following the right branch. I lifted myself up into the light to finally see my surroundings. Only to see taller trees. Blocking my view.
Getting back down and to the taller trees took an eternity, climbing up one, falling down from another, that first fall and winter when everything changed and I didn't recognize where I was anymore.
And during that time... I forgot about that first goal. Touching a human. Climbing trees was a lot of fun. Each one it's own puzzle, growing in strange and interesting ways. Their taste changes over time.
Sometime later, I eventually found what was the largest tree at the time. I looked out over the horizon and saw no sign of the human. Which was okay, I saw something else that preoccupied my attention.
It would be several millennia later that I'd learn the name of these things, to understand what a tree was and how it was different from grass or a bush. To understand who that human was and how we were connected. But I'll never forget seeing my first mountain.
*I want to climb you.* I thought.
And so I did. | 254 | You are a sinple garden snail, chowing away on overripe fruit, when suddenly you gain human sapience, and with it, one goal. To approach a human you haven't yet met, and touch him. You don't know why just yet, but whenever you come into view, the human reacts with utter fear. | 1,604 |
Subsets and Splits
No community queries yet
The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.